Losing Our Religion is a complicated book, and readers will find much to agree and disagree with, as I did. It offers a fascinating, personal, raw, and at times puzzling look into our recent and ongoing struggles with faith, politics, culture, and loving—or at least co-existing with—our neighbors.

Around twenty years ago as a graduate student, I attended a gathering in Princeton organized to kick off a campaign for a federal marriage amendment. That gathering included a Who’s Who of socially conservative academics, pastors, and activists. I had just settled down in my seat at a table near the back of the conference room when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see Princeton University’s Robert P. George, who whispered to me with a sly grin—channeling Jesus in Mark 14—“Friend, come up to the higher table.”
I followed Professor George to a table near the front of the conference room and sat down only to look around and see that on my right was Charles Colson and on my left was James Dobson. I don’t really remember much about the conversation, but for a starstruck young evangelical raised in the ’70s and ’80s by parents who had Dare to Discipline and Born Again on their bookshelves, this was like sitting next to evangelical royalty.
Much has changed in twenty years. Colson passed away in 2012. Dobson is still active in many ways but has understandably slowed down in his 80s, and is perhaps most known in recent years for characterizing Donald Trump as a “baby Christian” in 2016. The evangelicalism that they did so much to define in the last fifty years, following figures like Billy Graham and many others, is embattled, lively, marginalized, shrinking, or unrecognizable, depending on whom you ask.
I begin this book review in such a personal fashion in part because Russell Moore’s Losing Our Religion: An Altar Call for Evangelical America is a very personal book. I also begin this way because if you were to ask me before 2016 who would most likely be the next Charles Colson for politically conscious and devout evangelicals, I would have said Russell Moore.
As I noted, much has changed.
Russell Moore currently serves as the editor-in-chief of the evangelical mainstay magazine Christianity Today, originally founded through the efforts of Billy Graham and Carl F. H. Henry. He hails from the Southern Baptist (SBC) stream of evangelicalism, having served in senior posts at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and as the president of the SBC’s Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (ERLC). He is a gifted preacher and an incisive and insightful academic.
At my first tenure-track job working among many SBC friends and colleagues at Union University, we hosted Moore twice, once to mark an anniversary of George’s Making Men Moral, and the other to speak on marriage at a conference honoring Colson after he passed. If you follow those links to the audio and video of those remarks respectively, you’ll better understand how remarkable a speaker and thinker Moore is, and how close the family resemblance is to his elder brother in the evangelical faith, Chuck Colson. While Moore was at the time a big fish in the Southern Baptist pond, he transcended those boundaries, working with Christians in other traditions and crossing over into secular venues as well.
Today, Moore is no longer part of the SBC, and Southern Baptist views on him range from mildly sympathetic to hostile to vitriolic. Losing Our Religion is in part an account of this falling out. It aligns with much of our national narrative of the epistemic and cultural fracturing that may not have started with Trump’s election in 2016, but was certainly exacerbated by it, followed by the summer of George Floyd, and the compounding stress of the Covid-19 pandemic and our governments’ (federal/state/local) medico-political responses. Add to this tumultuous mix the scandalous sexual abuse epidemic rampant in so much of evangelicalism (and elsewhere), and one has the proverbial perfect storm. Moore’s writing here then is something of a memoir and a testimony, in good evangelical fashion, taking us back to the heartfelt and fervent faith of his youth and through what can only be described as a painful and poignant break-up with the religious tradition that nurtured and raised him. Moore only occasionally names names (Jerry Falwell, Jr., for example), and often cites anonymous comments shared with him by his fellow churchgoers. But SBC insiders will recognize the specific scenes and acts—and actors—in the last few years of SBC drama.
There has been something of a cottage industry of publications on the status of evangelicalism. Some are defiant and fiery defenses of what has become the status quo. Others are more sociological or historical accounts that treat evangelicalism not as a spiritually inspired and genuine (if imperfect) movement, but a political, cultural, or even racist and sexist ideology masquerading as religious. And then there are the “ex-vangelical” accounts of many who were raised in evangelical homes, but have come to leave either that version of Christianity or Christianity itself. Fortunately, Moore’s book fits none of these categories.
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A great cry is coming. Will you be jolted from sleep with joy and gladness or surprised with fear, trembling, and judgment? Watch therefore for you know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of Man will suddenly come!

And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him.Matthew 25:6
Last time we considered the sudden return of Christ. Today we will consider the surprising return of Christ. The end of the world will come with joy and expectation for the believer but will be a terrible surprise for the unbeliever.
At that great day of the Lord most will wish they had done something different before the Lord returned but it will be too late. The time will be at hand, the hour of salvation will be passed, and those who are not in Christ will desire for the mountains to cover them and the hills to fall on them (Hosea 10:8).
The Lord Jesus affirms the surprise with reference to the worldwide flood that came in the days of Noah (24:39). Noah warned men to repent. He told them of the pending flood. He spent 100 years preaching and building the ark to keep himself, his family, and many animals safe. But nobody outside his family listened. Nobody saw it coming until the flood was upon them, the ark door was shut, and the waters carried all away to their doom.
Jesus told us that same scenario will happen again. Most will not listen to his warnings. Most will not believe that His return is imminent. Most will mock and ridicule Christians for trying to remain unpolluted from the world. Most will not think of Jesus Christ until they see Him descending in power and glory at the last day. They will be surprised.
In one sense, there is no sin in being surprised by along-awaited event coming to pass. Who among us has ever experienced Christ’s coming? It will be surprising and sudden for the Christian in the sense of jolting and glorious. However, for the Christian, Christ’s return should not be surprising in any unexpected sense.

 The Evangelical church must address the plank in its own eye. And that plank is…that we are failing to be the body of God in the world. The church must be re-embodied in neighborhoods so that it may once again enact the love of God through the love of neighbor. The church must transform lives by offering new patterns of being, rather than simply changing minds by offering new information. Therefore, participation in the body and spirit of Christ must happen extremely locally, with the very small and specific group of people that are…our actual neighbors.

Two central streams run throughout the Bible in seemingly opposite directions. I do not say these are the only two streams, nor the only important streams. But they are central and unavoidable. The first I’ll call holiness; the second, inclusion. Ultimately, these two opposite-flowing streams run together in Christ and in his church. But it is not immediately clear how this works. Holiness means “set apart.” Inclusion means “bringing in.”
The two can easily be pitted against each other. Very often they are. For instance, the modern debates between “liberal” and “conservative” Christians regarding sexual ethics, heaven and hell, how to read the Bible, etc, tend toward a “holiness versus inclusion” paradigm, where conservatives argue for some form of holiness and liberals for some form of inclusion.
At the risk of oversimplifying some very complex topics, the basic problem with this paradigm is that if your God is all about inclusion, what are people being included into if not holiness? Likewise, if your God is all about holiness, who then can enter in? Thankfully, the Scriptures do not force us to choose one way or the other. On the contrary, the Bible is the story of the patient reconciliation of opposites. In the very first scene, God creates the heavens and the earth. The heavens and the earth. Separation, or set-apartness–light from darkness, waters above from waters below, “each according to its kind,” etc–is perhaps the central theme of the creation account. Fast forward to the final scene of the Bible and what do we find? The heavens and the earth, which seemed insurmountably estranged…are now being wed. The Holy (Set Apart) City comes down from heaven to be the place of ultimate inclusion, where God and man may dwell together for eternity.
To express this same notion of cooperation between God’s holiness and inclusion, the Church Fathers often used the image of God’s left and right hand. With his left hand, it was said, he judges, separates, casts out. With his right hand, he brings in and has mercy. You see this in the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats, for instance. The “two hands” of God is a helpful analogy, because it proves that opposite purposes, like opposite hands, are not always ultimately opposed. Our own bodies depend on the integration of left and right. Having or being able to use only one hand is a major handicap. Sadly, the body of Christ in the world has often suffered from this handicap. The church has tended to swing the pendulum from holiness to inclusion and back again, each time tying one of its hands behind its back. So that should be our first point: Let’s not be a one-handed church. Holiness and inclusion are both needed now.
And yet…
The “both-and” solution, while true in the abstract, does not always solve the problem on the ground. Some tasks require one of our hands and not the other. Insisting on using both hands in every instance because “both are good” would be silly. Likewise, obedience to God, in the Bible and in our daily lives, is usually quite specific, concrete, and contextualized. We reach a fork in the road, where we must choose a way, even if, theoretically, both ways could be good. In the history of the people of God, there have often been such forks in the road. Prophetic movements in Scripture have often called God’s people to focus on one good thing at the seeming cost of another. The calls of Nehemiah and Jeremiah were in opposite directions. One honored God by returning and rebuilding Jerusalem; the other by settling down in a foreign, unholy land. The point is…both exile and return can be blessed, depending on what God is doing in that particular moment.
Perhaps an even more fundamental example of this phenomenon is the juxtaposition between the stories of Joseph (at the end of Genesis) and Moses (at the beginning of Exodus).
The Joseph Movement (Inclusion)
Joseph, the favorite son of Jacob, is sold into slavery in a foreign land by his murderous brothers. However, during his Egyptian exile, God seems to bless everything Joseph touches. Thanks to his wisdom and ability to interpret dreams, Joseph overcomes extreme trials and winds up being the right hand man of Pharaoh himself. When a famine strikes the land, he not only saves Egypt, but also saves his own starving people who venture into the foreign land in search of food. The newfound riches of Egypt (thanks to Joseph) strangely bless the sojourning people of God (thanks, again, to Joseph). Joseph even marries the daughter of an Egyptian priest, and their two sons become two of the twelve tribes of Israel (foreshadowing Gentile inclusion for not the first time in the first book of the Bible!). In a word, every way that Joseph seems to embrace the unholy people of Egypt leads to unexpected blessing. His multi-faceted union to a foreign nation blesses the foreign nation and the people of God.
At the very end of Genesis, Joseph’s father Jacob is brought before Pharaoh and even pronounces a blessing–yes, a blessing–over him (Gen. 47:10). But this Joseph Movement does have an expiration date. By the end of Joseph’s story, Pharaoh has amassed a great deal of power and wealth, thanks in no small part to Joseph. And the people of God have found themselves in close proximity to Pharaoh’s rule. By the time we reach the opening chapter of Exodus, the people of God have become slaves in Egypt, and the new Pharaoh is calling for the killing of every newborn Hebrew boy. This is no proof that the Joseph Movement was unwise or mistaken. Again, the Joseph movement was unquestionably blessed. And yet, now the blessing has reached its saturation point. “Now there arose a new king over Egypt, who did not know Joseph” (Exod. 1:8). The moment is ripe for a new movement of God.
The Moses Movement (Holiness)
From the very beginning of Exodus, it is clear that Moses will be a leader on a very different track than Joseph. As opposed to Joseph, Moses begins his life in Egypt. In fact, he is raised in the same royal courts into which Joseph earned his way. But unlike Joseph, not all his actions in the foreign kingdom are blessed and prosperous. His first major act in the story, the (seemingly just) killing of the Egyptian, does not, like Joseph, lead to further admiration and promotion for Moses. Rather, it leads to further fear and suspicion. This ultimately leads to Moses’s exile, which ironically amounts to a kind of reverse exile (or mini-Exodus), since it is an exile toward his true home. It is there, at Mt. Horeb (the future Mt. Sinai) that God reveals himself to Moses in the burning bush and tells him that he shall lead his people out of Egypt. Thus begins the Moses Movement…away from the powers and influences of unholy Egypt, toward a new, holy (set-apart!) future.
Importantly, Moses’s story begins much as Joseph’s story had ended–being delivered from danger early in life into the blessing of Pharaoh’s court, enjoying a place of honor there, taking a foreign wife, and leading a mixed multitude. Moses’s life is not a contradiction of Joseph’s life. Rather, he is a new embodiment of Joseph, the seed of Joseph now headed in a new direction. The rest of the story of Moses (and the story of the Torah) is about holiness…about what it will mean for the people of God to leave behind the ways and the gods–even the seeming blessings–of Egypt, in order to assume a new identity as the set apart people of Yahweh. The removal of his sandals at the bush, the circumcision of his son, the plagues, the exodus, the Cloud, the theophany on Sinai, the Ten Commandments, the tabernacle, and the law all point to the same theme of holiness.
And yet, notice, this holy path does not leave inclusion behind. Just as Joseph, though in exile, remained a holy man, Moses, though leaving Egypt for the Holy Land, brings with him a mixed multitude and a foreign wife. Even the Law, which required set apartness, spells out ways in which God’s people must welcome outsiders. The necessity of inclusion remains. But holiness has taken center stage for a time. There must be separation before there is reconciliation; separation for the sake of reconciliation; holiness for the sake of love.
Where We Find Ourselves
Without going into great detail, I believe the 20th Century in America experienced the blessing of a Joseph Movement.[1] What we now know as the Evangelical Movement reached its climax with men like Billy Graham, who not only filled stadiums and TV screens across the country, bearing the fruit of millions of conversions, but also sat at the right hand of literal Presidents. I believe this was the blessing of God. We have this phenomenon to thank for the conversions of many of our parents and grandparents–whether in a Billy Graham crusade or a Young Life meeting (my mother-in-law was the former; my father-in-law the latter). Indeed, many in our own generation met the Lord outside of the church in ministries like Young Life. This is perhaps why many of our contemporary Evangelical churches look and feel more like Young Life meetings than traditional worship services.
To be clear, I am not calling the modern Evangelical movement into question. As with any movement, I’m sure we could retrospectively poke holes in it if we chose to do so. I believe that would be a waste of time and possibly an inappropriate exposure of our spiritual fathers and mothers. My purpose, rather, is to propose that the American Evangelical Movement, which was and is a Joseph Movement, a movement of inclusion toward an unholy world, has now reached its saturation point. It is time for a Moses Movement.
Recently, an article on The Gospel Coalition website revealed the findings of a recent study on American church attendance.
We’re living in the largest and fastest religious shift in U.S. history. Some 40 million adult Americans who used to go to church at least once per month now attend less than once per year. This shift is larger than the number of conversions during the First Great Awakening, Second Great Awakening, and the totality of the Billy Graham Crusades combined.
The authors go on to make a number of deep observations, challenging major misconceptions about why these changes are taking place. For instance, one would assume highly educated, liberal-minded, white collar Americans would constitute the vast majority of the drop-outs, and that their reasons for leaving the church would be ideological in nature (e.g. Wokeness, etc). Not so. The vast majority of the drop-outs were blue collar, politically-conservative Americans who left for casual, non-ideological reasons (e.g. no deep connection to pastor or community, left during COVID and never came back, listen to sermons online, etc). Though the authors give us a deep glimpse into the problem we now face, their own concluding exhortation ironically reveals a commitment to the same Evangelical paradigm which may now be the cause of the problem, rather than the solution:
Our local churches can grow institutionally to be bolder and clearer with our doctrine, religious affection, and cultural engagement. We pray that God uses our book and study to encourage church leaders and give them actionable ways to engage unchurched people.
What’s wrong with “being bolder and clearer with our doctrines” and “engaging the culture/unchurched people?” Nothing, of course…in the abstract. But we live in a particular moment in time. In a Joseph Movement, we can expect God to bless our participation in and engagement with an unholy paradigm. The sons of Jacob had no other choice but to bless and be blessed in Egypt. Yet, once the Joseph Movement had run its course, it became problematic to continue with the same plan. By the time of Exodus, anyone who was still saying something like, “Let us stay and be blessed among the Egyptians” (Exod. 16; Num. 14) was clearly in the wrong.
The Moses Movement had a different emphasis: not engagement with the unholy culture, but departure from it. And this, it turns out, was the best possible form of evangelism. When Moses leaves Egypt, all sorts of “unchurched” (if you will) people come along for the ride. Even unbelievers, who had once enjoyed the blessing of Egyptian food, wealth and protection, could now see that they had become its slaves. On the other side of the Red Sea, many of them would eventually be circumcised into the family of God.
Again, engaging the culture is a good thing. We should invite the unchurched in. But…if we are not a holy people, then what are we inviting them into?
“Come as you are,” is the modern Evangelical gospel at its core. And it will always be a valid gospel invitation, especially in a Joseph Movement. But it is not the only gospel invitation. There is also, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself, pick up his cross daily, and follow me.” Normally, of course, we save this latter invitation for later, or as the case may be, never bring it up at all. After all, it feels like more of a demand than an invitation, and demands don’t tend to feel very gospel-y to us Evangelicals.
As strange as it sounds, I believe we are now living in a moment where outsiders might actually prefer to be asked to pick up their crosses rather than merely come as they are. In a moment absolutely rife with mental health crises, meaning crises, identity crises, broken marriages, substance addictions, online addictions, and deaths of despair, people do not so much want to be “welcomed as they are” as shown what they could be. They actually want a truth that demands something of them. That is what they want to be invited into. In a word, holiness.
At this moment, I guarantee you can generate more curiosity, concern, and genuine conversation in a room full of strangers by quoting, “Be perfect as your heavenly father is perfect,” than “For God so loved the world…” That is not to say one is more true than the other. Jesus said them both. It simply reveals the moment we are in. We live in a parched and unholy land. The only water that will quench our thirst is holiness. It’s no longer “religion versus relationship” (a phrase Tim Keller wielded with great success at the height of the Joseph Movement). No, in the 2020’s, give me religion. In fact, give me a religious relationship, because every non-religious relationship–including my teenage relationship with Jesus–is running dry.
This is where we find ourselves. The age of the supermarket, with its millions of options for every consumer “need,” is in decline. The age of Trader Joes is on the rise. “We have one type of vanilla ice cream. Do you want it or not?” Turns out people do. And they’ll pay twice the price, thank you for saving them the time, and go and tell their friends to do the same. We no longer have to cater to everyone’s individualized consumer preferences. Consumerism has exhausted and enslaved us all, and we now know it. Only mention you’re leaving Egypt, and the modern mixed multitude will grab their jackets and meet you at the door. The best evangelism today…is holiness. But how do we do that?
A Parish Movement: Four Characteristics of the Future Church
Parishes
Our churches should be neighborhood-based, encouraging people to re-embody their faith, worship, and obedience where they live, alongside their actual neighbors.
Background
A parish is an old word for a neighborhood (from the Greek paroikos, “to dwell beside”). Particularly, it means a neighborhood under the care of a priest or minister. Catholic, Orthodox, and Mainline Protestant churches (Episcopal, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Lutheran) have all traditionally functioned according to ministerial districts or parishes. A group of adjacent parishes is often called a diocese, which in most of these traditions is overseen by a bishop.
This is the ancient–and, I believe, biblical–structure of the church: highly localized, moderately hierarchical. In the 21st Century, the parish structure is still evident in Catholic and Orthodox churches, but among American Protestants it has almost become extinct. This is in large part because, in the 20th Century, the influence and membership of Mainline Protestant churches, where the traditional parish structure was still assumed, began to fade drastically just as modern liberal theology was becoming commonplace amongst its leadership.[2]
During this time, many Protestants left the church entirely.
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