In internet lingo, to “say the quiet part out loud” means to reveal one’s true intentions or motives that were supposed to remain publicly unsaid. Recently, a couple of prominent organizations that deal with children have “said the quiet part out loud” when talking about parental rights. 
The first was the National Education Association, which has a long history of advocating extreme, sexually progressive ideology in schools, such as, for instance, advising teachers to hide transgender students’ name and pronoun changes from parents. In November, the NEA tweeted: “Educators love their students and know better than anyone what they need to learn and thrive.” 
Hmm. Could they be overlooking anyone? Such as, I don’t know, students’ parents? It’s as if any right that parents have to be involved and aware of their children’s education ends at the ability of progressive teachers to shepherd their students into alternative lifestyles, sexual practices, and abortions. 
Speaking of abortion, another group that deals with vulnerable children and teens also recently said the quiet part out loud. Parental rights advocate Megan Brock tweeted a clip from a video conference by the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia Policy Lab. In it, Dr. Sarah Wood explained the group’s strategy for circumventing Pennsylvania’s parental notification law for minors seeking abortions. 
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The Presbyterian Church USA (PCUSA)…made headlines in October when its Office of General Assembly announced that it would be adding a “nonbinary/genderqueer” option to its official church statistics in a push to be “inclusive,” according to a press release. The mainline denomination is theologically liberal and ordains women as well as practicing members of the LGBTQ community.

The largest Presbyterian denomination in the U.S. has hemorrhaged membership in recent years, which several conservative Presbyterian clergy members attribute, in part, to its departure from its own historical teachings.
“I believe that the lampstand has been removed, that Christ has removed his blessing from the PCUSA and the end result of that will be just fading into oblivion,” Presbyterian pastor Zachary Groff told Fox News Digital, referencing the second chapter of Revelation.
The Presbyterian Church USA (PCUSA), which is the largest Presbyterian denomination in the U.S., made headlines in October when its Office of General Assembly announced that it would be adding a “nonbinary/genderqueer” option to its official church statistics in a push to be “inclusive,” according to a press release. The mainline denomination is theologically liberal and ordains women as well as practicing members of the LGBTQ community.
The PCUSA boasts 1.1 million active members and 8,813 member congregations, but it has been rapidly losing numbers during the past decade. It reported having about 700,000 more members and 1,400 more congregations in 2012. More than 51,000 members have left since 2021, according to its most recent annual report.
Rick Jones, director of communications for the PCUSA’s Office of General Assembly, attributed the diminishing numbers to factors such as aging congregations, the COVID pandemic and an increasing skepticism toward institutions generally.
Jones also told Fox News Digital that many have left because of “the denomination’s understanding of the Gospel and how it compelled us to take more progressive stands on gay marriage as well as issues like Israel/Palestine or divestment from fossil fuels.”
“The PCUSA is not alone in that nearly all mainline Christian denominations have seen a decline in membership as less and less people in this country see themselves as Christians,” he added.
“An Issue about Theology”
Groff, who pastors a church near Greenville, South Carolina, is now a member of the conservative Presbyterian Church in America (PCA), but said he grew up and found his faith in a PCUSA church in Pennsylvania. He mentioned that his home church was one of the congregations that ultimately departed from the mainline denomination over doctrinal issues.
Issues of sexuality and gender have sowed discord not just among Presbyterians, but among all Protestant denominations in the U.S., Groff said, though he traced the root of “the current woes” in churches to deeper disagreements on the authority of the Bible.
“All of this goes back to not even an issue about sexuality directly, but an issue about theology and what we believe about God and His Word,” he said, adding that Protestant clergy’s confidence in the Bible’s teachings has been steadily eroding since theological liberalism swept into U.S. seminaries from Europe during the 19th century.
Groff believes that the growing rifts among Presbyterians and Americans generally are manifestations of “a spiritual and supernatural battle.”
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One can view theological concepts as academic, arcane doctrine. Theology can seem so dry and lifeless at times. But theology breathes and becomes more than just information in a confession or textbook when it becomes the story of your life and when it constitutes bread in a desert.

Imagining the Worst
Like most people, my mind sometimes wanders to places of doom, to places where my imagination entertains (what I perceive to be) the Worst. In my adult life, I had made this mental journey enough times that my Worst had developed with vivid detail.
My Worst was likely the same as that of many parents: the persistent fear that my child would die. But my Worst had a second layer for me.
As a youth pastor, I worried that my faith did not possess enough fortitude. God had given me a relatively comfortable life. Any white American male like me, raised in an affluent, stable Christian family, for whom friendships, sports, school, and career had come easily, surely would believe that God is good. I feared that if my Worst occurred, I would lose my faith. I would turn my back on God and walk away from Christianity, and, consequently, my spiritual failure would shatter the faith of hundreds of students to whom I had proclaimed the promises of Christ for over a decade.
My Worst, indeed, entered my life as tragically as I ever imagined it could.
This book considers 12 life-giving truths that Christians can cling to in the midst of tragedy—truths that brought vital hope and comfort to the author when grieving the sudden loss of his 3-year-old son.
My Worst
On Sunday, November 10, 2013, finding my three-year-old son’s lost Lego ax prompted the most magical conversation of my life. After recovering his coveted toy, my three-year-old son, Cam, exclaimed, “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus!”
Out of nowhere, my little boy started to ask serious spiritual questions. He asked if we could go see Jesus. When I explained that, while we couldn’t see him, Jesus is always with us, he asked if we could drive to see Jesus. After explaining to Cam that we would see Jesus when we got to heaven, my son turned his attention to heaven.
Cam asked if we would see Adam and Eve in heaven. He then declared, “I’m not gonna eat that apple.”
My wife and I reminded Cam that we all “eat the apple.” We reminded him that God sent Jesus because we all make the same mistake as Adam and Eve did: we all sin.
The conversation ended with my son saying, “Jesus died on cross. Jesus died my sins.” In the minutes following that sweet proclamation, my wife, Lauren, and I realized that we had witnessed the dearest dream of every Christian parent—our son had professed faith in Christ.
That night I went on a short, overnight campout with a leader and some students. I awoke on Monday, November 11, to three missed calls from my wife in the span of a minute. I then encountered a voice of terror.
My Worst had entered.
My wife pleaded for me to drive to the children’s hospital as soon as possible but offered no explanation. I pressed her for more information until she reluctantly delivered the worst news of my life: “Cam is dead.”
Lauren had found our perfectly healthy child lifeless in his bed. Paramedics were attempting to resuscitate him, but she assured me that it was futile. In what remains a medical mystery, our three-year-old child inexplicably died in his sleep, something that occurs to one in a hundred thousand children over the age of one. My child’s profession of faith was the last meaningful conversation I ever would have with him on earth. Our son’s life had ended in the blink of an eye.
The first half of my dreadful daydreams had become a reality. I had imagined this moment hundreds of times. Here was the point of departure between God and me. Here was that moment when my faith would crumble. In my imagination of doom, here was when I would curse God, resign from ministry, and pursue a life of self-interest as a bitter, faithless man.
But the Lord put a word in my mouth that surprised me. When Lauren delivered the tragic news, I said to her, “Lauren, Christ is risen from the dead. God is good. This doesn’t change that fact.” God gave me faith and hope while I stood squarely in the middle of my Worst.
The Narrative of Hope
That initial proclamation stood as the first of many moments of hopefulness as I discovered that God had been preparing me for such a tragedy during my entire life. Knowing that this day would come, God used lessons from Bible studies, conversations, theological reading, sermon podcasts, and previous trials to build a foundation that would stand when an overpowering wave of tragedy struck my life.
Throughout the journey of my worst nightmare—my descent into a dark, sad valley—the Holy Spirit would remind me of truths that comforted my soul and sustained my life. Very often in the month after Cam died, I would say to my wife or a friend that I could not conceive how anyone could survive such pain if they did not believe certain biblical principles.
How could a person survive if one did not know the gospel? How could one subsist if one did not accept the sovereignty of God? How would one function if one did not know the possibility of joy in suffering? How could one move forward without the hope of heaven?
There are some truths that mean nothing to a person who is gasping for existential air. When tears seem to flow continuously in your life, the nuances of the Trinity or the particulars of a certain end-times theory do nothing to comfort. However, other biblical concepts can walk a person back off the metaphorical or literal ledge when jumping seems so reasonable and appealing.
One night I sat down and wrote down all of these comforting theological principles as a personal creed. I began to realize that the Lord had embedded these individual truths in my heart that collectively constructed a narrative under which I could live during my Worst. This narrative gave me hope.
Gospel
The road ahead of me is long and painful, but Christ has defeated sin and death through the cross. I can face reality and make this journey, because on the other side of the cross is the resurrection. In the same way that Christ rose from the dead, so too can my life emerge from the darkness into light. The gospel tells me that I cannot redeem myself; only Christ can heal and free my heart. My only hope is to trust him to do so. My tragedy has not disrupted the narrative of my life. My story remains God’s story, and that is a story of redemption.
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