As the process of re-enchantment continues, I believe we will see more and more people dissatisfied with the hollow cave of materialistic atheism and seeking experiences of the transcendent. Will the church be ready to offer compelling answers to their questions? And will the worship and fellowship of the church be so imbued with the presence and power of God that visitors stop and say “God is really among you” (1 Cor. 14:25)? May God move in mighty ways to not only draw the lost to Himself but to revive our churches to be vibrant outposts of Kingdom life.

Living in Montreal, I am used to encountering deeply secular people. No heaven above, no hell below, no God at all. Can you even show me one solid piece of evidence for your God? Why would you believe in old debunked myths? These are the kinds of questions they ask. How does one share the hope of the gospel with such people?
Depending on the particular stripe of unbelief, it may be to poke holes in the materialist fortress, to point out self-evident echoes of eternity in their own beliefs, to show the moral implications of atheism, or any number of similar approaches. All of these are types of pre-evangelism: tilling up the hard ground of unbelief so that the seeds of faith in Jesus might have a chance to grow.
Over the last few years, however, I’ve been bumping into another kind of person who is asking very different kinds of questions: Are the spiritual beings around us benevolent or malevolent? How can we more deeply connect to the spiritual realm? Or, like one young man asked me: Can I ever be free from the spiritual forces I opened myself up to by engaging in occult practices?
In another case, a new convert at my church shared with me how, soon before coming to Christ, she had travelled to Brazil to experience a shaman-guided experience with the psychedelic Ayahuasca. Thankfully the ceremony was cancelled at the last minute. These are people with a very different set of beliefs than the typical secular young person, and they lead to very different conversations.
What is going on here? It seemed to me that I was encountering a new wave of the New Age.
Growing up, the people I knew of who were into New Age beliefs and practices were generally middle-aged women. In high school, the mother of one of my friends had a room in their house where she “spoke to angels.” For a few bucks, she could even tell you what they had to say. I avoided that room – there were lots of strange things hanging from the ceiling.
Then there was Oprah, who symbolized the smiling non-threatening face of New Age spirituality. All of this seemed to me far more like wishful thinking, scams, and mushy sentimentality than anything engaged with serious spiritual forces.
So my assumption was that the appeal of the New Age was mostly for that demographic. The young people I encountered were either deeply secular or, if their families had not had a decisive break from organized religion, mildly theistic.
The Rise of Long-Form Podcasting and Joe Rogan
While New Age beliefs never went away, they certainly fell off my radar for a few years. Around the time of Jordan Peterson’s rise to fame, I became aware, like many others, of an online world where serious conversations were taking place in long-form podcasts and YouTube interviews. The format seemed to foster nuanced, open, and surprisingly deep conversations at a time when the content of primetime news shows was devolving into 90-second shouting matches between talking heads.
One strange little corner of that online world was Joe Rogan’s podcast. With marathon 3-hour episodes of – shall we say – wildly varying quality, no one (least of all Joe) expected it to become so popular. Rogan is vulgar and blunt, but he has a winsome personality, a good dollop of common sense, and perhaps his most dynamic qualities: an insatiable curiosity and a capacity for wonder. Listen to him and his guests talk about grizzly bears or ancient Egypt and you’ll quickly find your own curiosity and wonder awakened.
Recent controversies have continued to polarize opinion about him and, ironically, broaden his reach. To some he is a dangerous purveyor of misinformation who platforms discredited and dangerous fringe thinkers (and to be fair, he certainly talks to some strange folks); to others he is a voice of sanity and one of the few remaining spaces where free speech is defended. But one thing is for sure: his audience is massive, easily eclipsing other podcasts and cable news shows. And the lion’s share of that audience seems to be young men – millions of them.
These are the men facing the meaning crisis – the existential inheritance of postmodernism. Or, more simply, the meaning crisis is what happens to a soul when you teach it that everything is a cosmic accident and therefore nothing has any real or ultimate meaning. They have no interest in organized religion, but they love the masculine competence and self-respect that the podcast exudes.
To these young people, Rogan offers not only entertainment through interesting interviews but also a taste of re-enchantment through his curiosity and wonder, the promises of technology, and his experiences and endorsements of psychedelic substances as gateways to wisdom and knowledge. This is where I see a connection between Joe Rogan’s massive popularity and influence and the unexpected reappearance of New Age spirituality in young people.
In this article, I want to focus on aspects of Rogan’s project that I think the church should take note of because they are illustrative of much broader societal trends which present Christians with both challenges and opportunities. But first, let’s see how this fits within the broader cultural narrative.
Streams of Re-enchantment
In his book ‘Return of the Strong Gods,’ R.R. Reno, editor of First Things magazine, shows how the disenchantment – a kind of spiritual malaise – that has spread across the West is not simply a byproduct of secularization but the result of a specific strategy adopted in the aftermath of the two World Wars.
Traumatized by the horrors of Auschwitz, Western intellectuals embraced what Reno calls ‘the post-war consensus,’ the idea that strong beliefs, convictions, and claims to truth are what give rise to the passions that caused such atrocities. In order to ensure that such things never happen again, these ‘strong gods’ were cast out and replaced with weak ones: pillars of objective truth gave way to plastic values, solid moral virtues dissolved into liquid cultural preferences.
If this is the case – and I found the argument of Reno’s book to be, on the whole, persuasive – then the intentional suppression of the human hunger for transcendence in the West since the end of the second World War dovetailed with the natural effects of secularization to create a situation where souls have been starved for a taste of eternity as never before.
This dual process of secularization and suppression brought low the ceiling of the world and drained the vibrant colors of life to a paltry grey, leaving young people with a gnawing hunger to come into contact with something beyond what they can see and touch, to be swept up into something bigger than themselves.
Like a mighty river held back by a hastily-built dam, this God-given hunger was artificially restrained. But now it seems to be breaking forth as that dam comes apart in pieces. The wave of re-enchantment washing across the West manifests itself in various ways. In what follows, I select just three streams that have struck me as particularly relevant to Christians, the third of which will bring us back to Joe Rogan.
First, the spiritual shape of political ideologies.
Many seek and find an echo of transcendence in the crusader-like pursuit of political and cultural goals.[1] Invariably these beliefs take the shape of grand narratives that mimic the Biblical story, including some pristine Edenic state, a fall into sin, a path of righteousness, and an eschatological hope. Radical environmentalism, the LGBTQ activist movement, and the progressive Left all fit this pattern and hold increasing cultural and institutional influence in our day.
Some movements on the far-Right such as white nationalism take the same general shape and likewise require a whole-life commitment.
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A thorough commitment to evangelical and Reformed theology was everything needed in times past to move Christians to compassion and care for the neediest members of fallen humanity. All the resources for a vibrant social ministry are found in the Reformed tradition. But more importantly, they’re found in the Scriptures themselves, which summon Christians to love their neighbors (Mark 12:31), to do good to all (Gal. 6:10), and to be a people zealous for good works (Titus 2:14).

In conservative evangelical circles, “social ministry” can sometimes sound like a four-letter word. Some view Christian activism and ministries of mercy among the poor as an impulse of theological liberalism. This isn’t altogether surprising, as theological liberals often promote social activism as part of the church’s primary purpose in the world. So when one finds a group of Christians passionate about social justice, helping the poor, and feeding the hungry, some may assume they must be theologically liberal or, at least, acting out the instincts of liberalism.
It’s worth noting that political and economic developments, especially in the 20th century, caused a net deflation in the value of Christian social ministry, as many advanced Western countries launched government-subsidized welfare programs to care for their neediest citizens. What some had once understood to be the responsibility of churches and charitable organizations (often founded by conservative evangelicals) was, by the early to mid-20th century, increasingly seen as the responsibility of the wider body politic, mediated through local and national taxation.
It’s at least plausible, then, that the twin developments of the rise of theological liberalism on the one hand and state subsidies on the other sapped conservative evangelicalism of what had been its characteristic zeal for mercy ministry.
Nonetheless, Charles Spurgeon should challenge us in this regard. If his social concern seems unusual today, perhaps it says more about us than about him.
Charles Spurgeon, Liberal?
Though “the Prince of Preachers” by no means championed a social gospel, he oversaw dozens of benevolent ministries in the heart of 19th-century London—organizing free schools for destitute children, advocating for American slaves, and caring for orphans and widows. But was Spurgeon’s social concern an evangelical anomaly, deviating from the Calvinistic tradition in which he was raised? 
Such a question betrays a contemporary consciousness shaped more by modern cultural debates than a serious reflection on the heritage of the Reformed and evangelical traditions. To properly understand Spurgeon’s commitment to social ministry, we must realize he saw care and concern for the needy as springing forth from his understanding of the Bible—as well as from the body of doctrine he’d received from his theological forebears. Without question, Spurgeon saw himself as living out the consistent social implications of Reformed and evangelical theology.
When one studies how many Protestants, beginning in the 16th century, prioritized care for the poor and needy, Spurgeon begins to look more like the norm. Meanwhile, many evangelicals today who are suspicious of social concern appear more like a departure from their historical and theological heritage.
Reformed Benevolence
Consider the Belgic Confession (1561), which requires that churches be properly ordered, in part, “so that also the poor and all the afflicted may be helped and comforted according to their need.” Or the Thirty-nine Articles of the Anglican Church (1571): “Every man ought, of such things as he possesseth, liberally to give alms to the poor, according to his ability.” Or the Second Helvetic Confession (1566): ministers should “commend the necessity of the poor to the church,” and the church should use its resources “especially for the succor and relief of the poor.” Or the Heidelberg Catechism’s (1563) question: “What is God’s will for you in the fourth commandment?” The answer in part is “to bring Christian offerings for the poor.”
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Even before the pandemic, the stress levels in our country soared to record highs. Since COVID-19, it seems we need new indicators to measure the off-the-chart angst, rancor, and overall unsettledness weighing on so many. More than ever, people need plain and unadorned speech—compassion without pretension and assurance rather than arguments.

“Welcome to the Program; how are you feeling?” I asked the caller to my radio program for family caregivers.
“I’m blessed!” The caller answered me sweetly, and then her voice dramatically changed. ”But I’ve had it with my Mama!”
The caller detailed challenges caring for her mother and the ensuing resentment and frustration. We chatted for a while on the air, and I remember it as a good call, but I couldn’t forget her opening, “I’m blessed, but….”
Many Christians, unfortunately, often lapse into “God-talk,” and their vocabulary sounds more like a seminarian who exclusively uses the King James Bible. That caller represented one of those fluent in “God-talk,” and her call prompted me to direct future callers away from the “Christian-ese.” Whatever people struggle with, moving to a healthier place always involves having a real conversation without the affectations.
Another negative side effect of the God-talk is an unfortunate lack of awareness of how off-putting it is for those “outside the bubble.” It is hard to say whether the vernacular is a deliberate effort to sound more spiritual, but it often seems intentional.   Yet, is that necessary?
More than 100 physicians have treated my wife since her car accident in 1983, and we’ve always appreciated when doctors avoided condescension or talking over our heads. The most meaningful exchanges were when they spoke normally – even about complex and distressing things.
How is it different when talking about matters of the heart and faith?
I knew a young pastor who was affable, relaxed, and easy to converse with – until he stepped behind a pulpit. When he preached, he used this sonorous tone that affected his speech and distracted from his message. He left that church soon after, and I haven’t heard him preach in years, but I hope he sanded off the affectation. When a pastor talks like Jeff Foxworthy in person and Dr. Martin Lloyd-Jones from the pulpit, people notice – and not in a good way.
Somewhere along the way, it seems many Christians started feeling that talking to someone about their faith (whether over coffee or from a pulpit) meant assuming an air of spirituality. Yet that kind of speech is dropped when talking about a favorite meal, movie, or event. When witnessing, do we sound scripted? When ministering to someone in distress, must we echo a Christian greeting card?
Worse still, do we adopt a religious tone to make gossiping more acceptable?
Growing up in the south, we had it down cold when speaking detrimentally about anyone. We could always soften the insult or gossip with one of the most familiar phrases in southern lingo, “…bless his heart.” Regardless of the accusation or slight, “bless his heart” makes anything more palatable.
“He kills puppies …bless his heart.”
As ridiculous as that sounds, how is it different from the God-talk assumed when wanting others to think better of us – or less of someone else?
Even before the pandemic, the stress levels in our country soared to record highs. Since COVID-19, it seems we need new indicators to measure the off-the-chart angst, rancor, and overall unsettledness weighing on so many. More than ever, people need plain and unadorned speech—compassion without pretension and assurance rather than arguments.
In college many years ago, I met a couple who went to the mission field as Bible translators. Their work inspires me, and the model they use seems to represent a path for all of us. “Embrace people and understand their ways, culture, and history. Share the Gospel in a way that makes sense to them – and one day, when fluent in their language, translate the Scriptures.”
Embrace, understand, share, translate. Those four steps – in that order – represent a practical path for communicating to people in whatever circumstances. Embracing requires no “God talk” or affectation, but it does require humility. More than just observing, understanding also means appreciating the circumstances of others. Sharing and translating allow us to communicate for the benefit of others rather than elevating ourselves.
When looking at the life of Christ, that’s what He did (and does) for us – and the model hardly needs embellishing.
“…just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life a ransom for many” (Matthew 20:28).
Peter Rosenberger hosts the nationally syndicated radio program, Hope for the Caregiver. 
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