On the latest Life and Books and Everything podcast, I talked at some length about what we are really arguing about when it comes to some of our current cultural flashpoints. I won’t repeat everything I said on the podcast (you should subscribe!), but I thought it might be worthwhile to give the basic outline of my monologue.
My overarching point is this: we need to be clearer as Christians about where our disagreements lie.
That is to say, we often talk as if we are disagreeing about significant elements of the Christian faith—whether that has to do with God’s sovereignty or worship or justice or racism or abortion—when actually we are disagreeing about a host of issues surrounding those issues. By drilling down to our actual disagreements, we may not find a new consensus or a mythical third way, but perhaps we will be able to talk to each other with more charity and humility.
Let’s look at three of the most contentious issues dividing churches (or about to divide churches) at the moment.
Presidential Election
Christians disagree about all sorts of things related to the election. I don’t want to talk about Trump vs. Biden. Instead, I want us to think about voting itself. How should Christians in America think about their vote for president? I see at least four approaches.
1. Vote for the best candidate of all the candidates. Pretty simple. Look on the ballot (or write someone in) and vote for the person you think best represents Christian values and will effectively carry out the responsibilities of the presidency.
2. Vote for the best (or least bad) candidate of the two major parties. It is almost assuredly the case that the Republican or Democratic nominee will be president, so, this argument insists, we ought to vote for whichever of the two candidates is better. And what do we mean by better? That is open for debate as well. For most people “better” means some combination of policies, platform, appointments, personal integrity, and the political party you would be putting in power. You may or may not be excited about the person at the top of the ticket, but you figure you are voting for a network of policies and influencers, not just one person.
3. Vote for the best candidate—of all the candidates, or of the two leading parties—so long as the candidate meets a certain threshold for character and ideology. This is like 1 and 2, but instead of saying, “I will always vote for the lesser of two evils,” it says, “I won’t cast a vote for someone I think is actually evil.” You think to yourself, I could never cast a vote for someone who advocates the killing of all puppies. He may be better than the person who supports the killing of puppies and grown dogs, but I simply can’t vote for someone who doesn’t pass a basic test of moral decency.
4. Vote in a way that you believe best advances the long-term interests of your policy goals and convictions. You may reason that Candidate A is less bad than Candidate B in the short run, but you are going to vote for Candidate C because you want to signal that you hope your party will select better candidates in the future. Or you may reason that even though you agree with Candidate B on more issues, that candidate’s style or character makes those positions less palatable and actually hurts the goals and policies you care about most. Instead of viewing the election as a matter of immediate national life or death, you think it best to play the long game and vote accordingly.
I’m not telling you how to look at your vote. Maybe one of these approaches makes more sense in our given context than another. But then we should be clear that we are arguing about a philosophy of voting—something not nailed down in Scripture—rather than about issues of first-order importance. I don’t think all of the approaches above are equally compelling, but I do think they are all reasonable ways to approach the act of voting.
Police Shootings
Let’s take another controversial issue. Many churches are divided over how to think about police shootings. Too often, we throw around accusations of racism or cultural Marxism or not caring about the Bible or not caring about people of color, when we are actually disagreeing about the facts of a given situation. It’s easy to jump to conclusions, and then jump to counter-conclusions, when slowing down to ask certain questions can isolate what we are really talking about and (likely) disagreeing about.
When it comes to the specific issue of a specific police shooting—not all race issues in general—we would do well to ask four questions.

What happened?
How often does it happen?
To whom does it happen?
Why did it/does it happen?

Of course, it’s possible that we ask questions in a way that only serves to obfuscate the issues. We’ve all heard people say, “I’m only asking questions,” when they are really just trying to gum up the discussion. But highlighting the four questions above—even if we don’t agree on the answers—can at least highlight that our disagreements may not be about a lack of concern for justice or an affinity for Critical Race Theory.
Instead, our disagreements may focus on: whether the shooting was justified or not, whether police shootings happen a lot or little, whether they happen disproportionately to some people over others, and whether the shooting was because of race, poor training, poor judgment, or some other factor. In other words, we may think we are arguing about social justice, when actually we are arguing about shooting data and police unions. Or, we may not, in fact, be arguing about remotely the same thing at all but have reached an impasse because one person is looking for empathy and a recognition of historical wrongs while another person is parsing out the nuances of proper compliance and policing procedure.
Covid-19
One more issue, and this may be the most difficult. It’s no secret that Christians don’t agree on when and whether to open church, on when or whether to wear masks, and on when or whether to disobey the government. Again, the arguments are often pitched as fundamentally about the Bible, theology, and personal devotion to Christ. And they may be. But more often in my experience, the hottest part of the argument is about other issues not spelled out clearly in Scripture.

Is the virus a very serious health concern, or has the threat been greatly exaggerated?
Is the government exercising its authority in consistent ways, or does it seem to be singling out churches for worse treatment than other establishments?
Is the government trying to achieve its public health goals in the least burdensome way, or are its rules arbitrary and unreasonably heavy-handed?
Is the government generally to be trusted as looking out for the best interests of its citizens, or is the government ramping up oppressive measures that it will be slow to relinquish?

These are all important questions. I’m not suggesting we don’t try to answer them. But in answering them, let’s be clear that we are making decisions about epidemiology, mathematical modeling, and government bureaucracies. One church may say, “Don’t you love Christ? Why won’t you meet for worship?” Another church may say, “Don’t you love your neighbor? How dare you open for worship?” Of course, every church ought to be absolutely committed to public worship and loving our neighbors. The reason two churches like this are criticizing the other has much more to do with their epidemiological views than their theological views. Being clear about the disagreement is a step in the right direction.
Four Final Thoughts
Where does this leave us? Quickly, four thoughts.
1. Let’s be clear what we are arguing about (and what we are not arguing about). Drill down to the issue really causing separation.
2. Let’s be less dogmatic about our approach to voting, and our reading of police data, and our take on the severity of the virus than we are about fundamental articles of the Christian faith. By all means, we can try to persuade about all those other matters, but let’s realize we are outside the realm of inerrant, or often even uniquely Christian, conclusions.
3. Let’s humbly acknowledge our position when disagreeing with others in the church. Instead of raising every disagreement to the highest rhetorical level, we might say, “I’m not questioning your commitment to Christ, but I don’t think the virus is the threat you think it is. Here’s why.”
4. Let’s understand that most pastors are trying to find a way to hold their congregation together in divisive times. It may be that your pastor is cowardly trying to make everyone happy. That won’t work. But it may be that he is trying to wisely shepherd a diverse flock in a way that helps the sheep to focus on Christ and him crucified. If the disagreement has become public in your church, then the pastor is usually wise to deal with it publicly. That takes courage. But don’t expect that he is going to take a definitive side when he is not an expert in the contentious matter, and reasonable Christians can come to different conclusions. The loving pastor should show that he understands both sides and is sympathetic to the good things people want on both sides. He should not pretend he has found the third way that everyone will agree on or that piety alone will transcend all our disagreements.
Make no mistake, these are difficult times and leaders will have to make difficult decisions. But the fallout from these decisions can be made less difficult if we know what we are disagreeing about, can state clearly why we think the way we do, and are willing to allow that others may reasonably think differently.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

Romans 12:15 is a divine command and a vital aspect of Christian maturity. As God’s holy people (Rom. 12:1), Christians are to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. In recent years, the second half of the verse in particular has been emphasized as a key component in caring for victims, in listening to the stories of the oppressed, and in showing compassion to the hurting.
These emphases are right and proper. Oftentimes the first thing we must do with sufferers is simply come alongside them, acknowledge their pain, express our condolences, and assure them of our love and prayers. Many of us can testify firsthand that when we look back at seasons of intense grief, we don’t remember the exact words people shared, but we do remember the people who showed up and sat with us in our tears. I love what Romans 12:15 teaches about Christian compassion and pastoral care. The verse is a needed reminder for any of us who may be tempted to treat suffering with indifference or to approach hurting saints as broken people in need of a quick fix.
“Weep with those who weep” is an important, biblical command. But it should not be taken as a one-size-fits-all formula that demands a rigid application in every situation where people are sad or distraught. Surely, the second half of Romans 12:15 does not mean that the only response to grieving people is to grieve with them. Diving into facts, pursuing objectivity, listening to all sides—these are not invalidated by Romans 12:15. “Weep with those who weep” does not dictate that the reasons for our weeping can never be mistaken. In short, the verse must mean something like “weep with those who have good, biblical reason to be weeping.”
If that sounds like an unnecessary neutering of a beloved verse, consider three observations.
One, almost everyone interprets the first half of Romans 12:15 along the lines just stated above. That is, no one thinks God wants us to rejoice with those who rejoice over the Taliban coming to power. No matter how genuine the rejoicing may be, Christians should not join with those who celebrate abortion or parade their sexual immorality or delight in racial prejudice. Instinctively, we know that the first half of Romans 12:15 means something like, “rejoice with those who have good, biblical reason to be rejoicing.”
Two, a rigid application of Romans 12:15 is untenable in real life. The point of the verse is not to train our emotions to match every emotion we encounter, but rather to be a thoughtful, considerate person who doesn’t sing a dirge at a wedding or bring a kazoo to a funeral. I remember after the 2016 presidential election hearing some disappointed Christians say that other Christians were obliged to weep with them as they grieved the outcome of the election. Romans 12:15, it was said, commanded others to share in their sorrow. But of course, on that application, Christians were also obligated to celebrate with those who cheered the results of the election. The verse cuts in both directions. A reasonable application of Romans 12:15 does not insist on being as sad as the saddest person in our lives, but in being considerate to others who feel differently about disputable matters or are going through different experiences than we are.
Three, strictly speaking, Jesus did not always weep with those who wept. He certainly didn’t feel obligated under every circumstance to match the mood of those around him. When the crowds were rejoicing on Palm Sunday, Jesus wept (Luke 20:41), and when the women were mourning for Jesus on his way to the cross, he told them not to weep for him (23:28). Jesus was always kind, but almost never sentimental. To those brokenhearted over their sin or looking to him for deliverance from their suffering, his tenderness knew no end. But to those grieving the puncturing of their pretensions or indignant because of the truth he proclaimed, Jesus could be unsparing in speaking what they did not want to hear.
What, then, does it mean to weep with those who weep?
For starters, we should remember that others may not feel the same way at any given moment, or in response to the same events, as we do. If one mother’s son just got accepted to his dream school, while another mother’s son has been turned down every place he’s applied, the Apostle Paul would have the sad mother be happy for her friend and vice versa. Love is not rude, which means obnoxiously mismatching the mood of those around you is inconsiderate at best, and a sin at worst.
But more than that, Romans 12:15 is fundamentally about maintaining the warmth and unity of Christian fellowship. That’s why verse 15 is followed by commands like “live at harmony with one another” (v. 16), “do not be haughty” (v. 16), “do what is honorable,” (v. 17), and “so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (v. 18). Raining on parades and dancing at gravesides does not help keep the peace.
Be thoughtful. Be compassionate. Be quick to lend a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on. Christians look to comfort the sad.
But our sympathy is not untethered to all other considerations. Weeping in itself is not sacrosanct. The one who laughs the loudest is not always laughing for good reason. Likewise, the one who shares most conspicuously his pain is not always lamenting for good cause. Our suffering is not sovereign.
Romans 12:15 is a precious verse meant to provide pastoral wisdom in the church and inject personal sensitivity into our relationships. We honor the verse by obeying what it means to command, not by insisting on what is impractically one-sided, out of step with the context, and inconsistent with the example of Jesus.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

Every summer—at some time during several weeks of vacation and study leave—I try to read a book on preaching. For many summers, this has meant rereading Martyn Lloyd-Jones’ Preaching and Preachers. This year it meant reading a book I would have never picked up had not Alistair Begg recommended it. I’m not sure I agree with all of the theological presuppositions or with every point of practical application, but taken as a whole Heralds of God, first published in 1946 by the renowned Scottish preacher James S. Stewart, was a good, bracing tonic for the soul.
More than anything, Stewart drives home the point with relentless force that preaching is an immense privilege and preaching is supernaturally powerful.
On the privilege of preaching:
To spend your days doing that—not just describing Christianity or arguing for a creed, not apologizing for the faith or debating fine shades of religious meaning, but actually offering and giving men Christ—could any life-work be more thrilling or momentous? (57)
On the need for power in our preaching:
The very terms describing the preacher’s function—herald, ambassador—manifestly connote authority. Far too often the pulpit has been deferential apologetic when it ought to have been prophetic and trumpet-toned. It has wasted time balancing probabilities and discussing opinions and erecting interrogation-marks, when it ought to have been ringing out the note of unabashed, triumphant affirmation—“The mouth of the Lord hath spoken it!” (211)
I wonder if we believe all that? Of course, most people reading this blog will confess with fervent acclamation that they believe in preaching. But do we really?
Let me ask of those sitting in the pew, do you come to the word expectant each week, prepared in heart and mind to hear a great word from our great God? Are you convinced that what you need to hear from the pulpit is of far greater importance than what you need to see on your favorite television show, what you need to read from your favorite website, what you need to hear from your favorite podcast? Are you letting punditry shape you more than preaching? Are you willing to give your pastor the time he needs to for prayer and study—not just time away from other people’s concerns but, when necessary, to the seeming neglect of your concerns? Do you pray for your own soul that it might be fresh kindling for the word? And do you pray for your pastor that he might bring fire from heaven Sunday by Sunday?
As much as the congregation needs to be reminded of the power and privilege of preaching, I’m convinced that preachers need to be reminded of these things even more.
As much as the congregation needs to be reminded of the power and privilege of preaching, I’m convinced that preachers need to be reminded of these things even more. It seems to me that ours is not an age of great preaching. The gifted pulpiteers on cable television are usually vacuous and superficial, if not heterodox, while solid expositional teaching can be filled with exegetical truth but lacking in homiletical polish and heraldic power. Perhaps the preaching in the average church is better than it used to be. But if it is, it is hard to see when bad news and controversy in the church get all the headlines.
Over fifty years ago Lloyd-Jones declared, “without hesitation” he said, “that the most urgent need in the Christian Church today is true preaching; and as it is the greatest and most urgent need in the Church, it is obviously the greatest need of the world also.” Is that true? If it is, then every solo pastor, every senior pastor, every man called upon to announce the good news of Christ and him crucified should take note.
If you are the main person responsible for preaching in your congregation, preaching must be your thing. You can’t let counseling or visitation crowd it out. You can’t let administration crowd it. You can’t let the pull of people pleasing crowd it out. And you can’t let the allure and expectation of nonstop cultural commentary crowd it. Of course, pastors do more than preach, and depending on their gifting, context, and the elders and staff members around them, they may be able to have a public ministry besides preaching. But that ministry must never be in place of preaching or to the detriment of preaching.
Brother pastors, we are preachers first, not podcasters. We must be preachers before we are political pundits, bloggers, tweeters, book reviewers, controversialist, or social commentators. Preaching is not all we can do but let us be careful: in our age of instant digital access and immediate digital output, a great many pastors are being pulled away from the center out to the periphery. To be a professional scholar, or a weekly columnist, or a hospital chaplain, or a daily news commentator, or a conservative activist, or a community organizer, or a social reformer, or an expert in police reform is to be called to an admirable vocation. But the calling of the preacher is to preach.
Here’s the harsh and freeing reality: you can’t do it all. I can’t do it all. Anyone paying attention can see that I do some of the things listed above. But some, not all. Some of the time, not most of the time. And never, I hope, in a way that cuts in front of the necessary task of preaching. When the apostles devoted themselves to the word of God and prayer, they were not just establishing priorities ahead of waiting on tables. They were committing themselves to preaching and praying instead of other good things they could be doing.
The Apostle Paul believed in preaching. He could not have stated his command to young Timothy any stronger. If Paul had been writing on a computer, he would have used italics, and underlined it, and made it boldface 24-point font. He underscored the central and abiding importance of preaching with a fourfold oath formula—I charge you (1) in the presence of God, (2) and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, (3) and by his appearing (4) and his kingdom: preach the word (2 Tim. 4:1-2). The word for “preach” is keruxon; it means to herald. Preaching includes teaching, but it is more than that. It is a word of proclamation, a “Hear ye! Hear ye!” announcement on behalf of the King. Preaching is no mere recitation of facts, no bare exegetical commentary. Preaching is, in the words of John Murray, personal, passionate pleading. It requires the whole man—everything he has in body, mind, and strength.
If there is a crisis of confidence in preaching, it is a crisis in the pulpit as much as in the pew. “Who is going to believe,” asks Stewart, “that the tidings brought by the preacher matter literally more than anything else on earth if they are presented with no sort of verve or fire or attack, and if the man himself is apathetic and uninspired, afflicted with spiritual coma, and unsaying by his attitude what he says in words?” (41). Brothers, we must put our best effort into preaching. We must strive year by year to get better at preaching. Dare I say, we must open ourselves to a few godly counselors for evaluation of our preaching. And above all, we must reestablish in our own hearts the centrality of preaching and our confidence in it. What Stewart said about his century is just as true about ours: “When all is said and done, the supreme need of the Church is the same in the twentieth century as in the first: it is men on fire for Christ” (220).

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.