Whether we are tempted to leave one church for another over a matter of mere preference, whether we are tempted to remove an element of our worship service because it no longer resonates with people, whether we are tempted to try something novel and new, we must always turn first to the Word, first to the one who knows exactly what we need. He will lead us, he will guide us, he will help us to worship in the ways that please him and that satisfy our hungry souls.

NPR recently ran an article about the future of the Christian church. Church attendance is in decline, they said, but some creative leaders are finding ways to keep it relevant in a new cultural context. Pastor Chris Battle has walked away from traditional church because it “was not connecting with people” and now leads a “spiritual community” called BattleField Farm & Gardens. Rector Billy Daniel and Pastor Caroline Vogel of an Episcopal Church in Knoxville use their sanctuary for yoga, breathing exercises, and other alternate forms of spirituality. “Just because you leave organized religion doesn’t mean the hunger to connect with the divine is going to cease,” she says. Bradley Hyde, a Methodist minister, sees churches like his hemorrhaging members and is also turning away from traditional services to focus more on community involvement.
It needs to be said: I care what NPR thinks of the church about as much as I care about what North Korea thinks of democracy or what Jehovah’s Witnesses think of the Trinity. But the article did have some tremendously revealing components to it and ones that are worth considering because they reveal universal human tendencies and temptations.
One of these comes courtesy of a participant in Chris Battle’s church who describes herself as “a refugee from fundamentalist churches.” When asked why she is part of BattleField Farm & Gardens she says, “Generally, I’m here because I want two things out of church … I want time to sit down, like we do on Sundays sometimes or around the fire, and, like, pray and re-center and figure out what we’re about in the world. Because the world is very noisy. And then I want a church to get [expletive] done with your community and for your community.”
The key part of her comment is not the bit about sitting around the fire and re-centering and it’s not the bit about getting [expletive] done within the community. The key part is at the beginning where she says, “I want two things out of church.” The assumption is that her desires are relevant, that what she wants out of a church is even the least bit consequential.
But then she is well-trained because the pastor, when he became convinced church was no longer relevant, said to himself, “maybe we need to begin to do church differently. But what does that look like? And I didn’t know until I got to the garden.” There’s no indication that he looked outside of himself for answers, but only that he looked inside. He asked what he wanted, not what God wanted. He indicates no source of authority beyond his own desires or his own reasoning.
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Written by Dr. Andrew Matthews |
Friday, February 18, 2022
The weakened state of the church is the direct consequence of the church’s actions during Covid. If we hope that God restores the fortunes of her people it is incumbent upon us to first take stock of our actions during the pandemic, repent, and then consider how we might acquit ourselves henceforth. To the extent that the church has permitted the suspension of the ordinary means of grace experienced in public worship she is responsible for the poor spiritual state of believers. As enumerated previously, the church needs a renewed spirit of boldness to counteract the spirit of fear dominant in society. Our spiritual health should be considered more important than our physical health. We need to determine the limitations of the government’s authority over church operations. Leaders should make it a priority to properly teach biblical ethics. Church ecclesiology needs to be refortified to respond to emergency situations and the overwhelming authority of the state. If we are to expect God’s blessing on the church we must recommit to God-honouring worship and renew our trust in the merciful and mighty God who rules over all things.

And some of the wise shall stumble, so that they may be refined, purified, and made white, until the time of the end, for it still awaits the appointed time. -Daniel 11:35
The world-wide Covid-19 pandemic is the severest test of our generation. The Christian church specifically ought to consider the calamities of the past eighteen months as part of a painful trial that God has inflicted upon his church in order to refine her. Since both individual Christians and the church universal never reach a perfected state in this world we are constantly subject to tests that expose our short-comings. As the church has been forced to respond to the Covid crisis, Christian leaders have had to make ecclesiastical decisions, navigate ethical issues, and counsel their members how they should appropriately act. In spite of their good intentions and best efforts, I believe that the pressures of Covid-19 have exposed a number of weaknesses in our theology and ecclesiology that require reexamination and recommitment. To paraphrase the book of Daniel 5:25-28, we are a church that has been weighed, measured, and found wanting.
We should use this Covid experience as our refining fire in order that we may discover where our deficiencies lie and make the necessary changes. Instead of self-justifying and denying our sins, we should humbly assess our decisions, confess our failings, and profess a renewed obedience. I am a Christian pastor who had been responsible for pastoring a church during this season. I write from a position of grief at the church’s present failings and remorse over my past failings. The ultimate aim of this writing is not condemnation but reformation. Though the provenance of this essay is under home-confinement orders in locked-down Australia, its message extends to the wider church. Under seven rubrics I would like to highlight a number of areas in which the church has shown itself to have fallen short in its practice and principles. Martin Luther began his 95 Theses with the assertion that,“When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent!” he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” Jesus Christ said,“those whom I love, I reprove” (Rev 3:19). Let us embrace a spirit of humble repentance as we examine how we have measured up during the pandemic and how we should acquit ourselves henceforth.
Spirit of Fear
When Covid-19 struck in early 2020 the response of world governments and the public was excessive and palpable fear. No one was certain how lethal the disease was, so as a precaution nations closed borders and locked down their people. Fear motivated every decision. Indeed, to not be fearful was considered a sign of recklessness. As more data became available, it was determined that Covid was fatal primarily to the very elderly and unhealthy, which were generally the same category. The median age of Covid death in Australia as of October 2021 is 84 years old [1]. The aggregate case-fatality-rate among economically developed countries is around 2% (Australia: 1.1%; USA:1.6%)[2]. In age groups under 60 years old, the recovery rate for Covid in Australian is about 99.9%[3]. The vast majority of people who get Covid suffer mild symptoms and recover. Only a small minority of cases require hospitalisation or ICU care[4]. In spite of these encouraging statistics, our societal leaders were able to effectively cultivate and maintain a culture of fear. The level of panic in the public is incommensurate with the lethality of Covid.
One could understand how a secular people without hope and without God in this world would be susceptible to fear, yet the church herself has fallen into a similar panic. Despite the plethora of biblical injunctions to “fear not!” the church on the whole has not exhibited a robust spirit of courage. It is understandable that churches populated by the elderly would be particularly cautious, but elderly saints should be exhibiting more faith than those who have journeyed fewer days. One esteemed elder in my church in the early months of 2020 did not leave the bounds of his hobby farm for over two months, and did not let anyone on to his property for six months. The base-line attitude of Christians should be bold trust in God in the midst of a dangerous world. The Christian knows that God watches over them, is with them, and keeps them throughout the course of their journey, so they should not be paralysed with fear by a respiratory disease. Most of all, a Christian should have no fear of death. Biblical testimony and empirical evidence have proven that the inevitable end of all humanity is death, so after our “seventy or by reason of strength eighty” years of life (Ps 90:10) we expect to return to the dust. Christians should therefore exemplify a wisdom and assurance in the face of the prospect of death. An essential axiom of the faith is that in Christ one has eternal life, and that the next world—not this one—is our true home. This fear of death rife in the church undermines the core truth of the gospel which is “to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Phil 1:21). What does it say about our teaching and preaching ministry if our people cling to this life and have a frail assurance of their eternal salvation? The teachers of the church need to reinforce the Christian affirmations of the brevity of temporal life, the reality of judgment, and the hope and certainty of eternal life in Christ.
In addition to the disease itself, the fear of people is rampant in the church. One of the arguments for full compliance to public worship closure was that the wider public would deem an assembled church a threat to its safety. Our public witness or testimony became a prevailing concern in our deliberations. Church leaders have also been afraid of their own congregation’s opinions on Covid compliance. The divergence of perspectives on the proper Covid response has threatened the peace and unity of the church. Not only ministers and elders but also congregation members have fretted over what other members will think about their own level of personal compliance. Christians have to then subtly ascertain how strict or free other Christians are in their compliance to health measures in order to reestablish relationships. The government’s social-distancing mandates have solidified in our minds that social interaction with people puts us at risk. Covid-positive people have become the new lepers—“Unclean! Unclean!” And now everyone who is unvaccinated is seen as a de facto Covid carrier. How can we fellowship as a church when every individual is seen as a threat to your life? Fear has fractured the bonds of Christian fellowship.
Health Idolatry
Of paramount importance throughout the pandemic has been the issue of public health. The church has accepted the world’s principle that remaining alive is the summum bonum of living. Christian theology, however, has always asserted that eternal life takes precedence over temporal life. When Jesus was tempted by Satan to turn the stone into bread, he asserted that to live by God’s word was more important than to “live by bread alone” (Luke 4:4). Obedience to God was more important than staying alive. The spiritual trumps the physical. However, the government’s restrictions on public worship prioritise human safety over all other considerations. To not congregate, sing, or partake of sacraments is justified by the need to preserve physical life. The church has concurred with the state’s perspective by its willingness to set aside the ordinary means of grace lest there be any potential threat to the life of a congregant. We ministers need to reconsider how important is the preservation of human life within the whole course of Christian discipleship. The testimony of Christians who take up their cross (Mat 16:24), are faithful unto death (Rev 2:10), and consider God’s love more valuable than life (Ps 63:3) stands in stark contrast to the world which is demonically enslaved by its dread of death (Heb 2:14-15).
Very disturbingly, the public health orders of the government have become an omnipotent tool that the government has used to supplant any ordinary right or prerogative in society. Our society is ruled by an army of “-ologists.” Under the warrant of public health the government has been able to close off international travel, lock down society, seperate families, limit public assembly and protest, close worship, and shut businesses and schools. Since society at large fears Covid and privileges public health, the populace has permitted the government to take complete control of their lives. The health orders are like a giant Trojan Horse that we have welcomed into our city. If a communist or progressive government made a direct attack against Christian assembly the church would undoubtably fight back. If the government were to close our churches due to ideology, we would publicly resist—or go underground. Yet, when the government closes our churches due to health orders, we submit without question. Though the motives may be different, the end is the same. The state has found an effective mechanism by which the church will cede its sovereignty.
The church needs to consider how we have established a dangerous precedent that public health warrants can be routinely used to restrict and suspend church gatherings and practice. Is public health a justifiable grounds by which the state can exercise absolute control over the affairs of the church? Having established a precedent on physical health grounds, the state can easily transition to further control of doctrinal issues on the basis of mental health. Church leadership needs to establish the boundaries of health restrictions on church practice and also standards by which the government should justify its restrictions.
Submitting to Caesar
Under the government health orders, the church has felt that it has had no option but to obey. Both the Bible (see Rom 13:1-7: Tit 3:1; 1 Pet 2:13-15) and our confessional documents (see Westminster Confession of Faith, Chapter 23: “Of the Civil Magistrate”) assert the duty of the church to submit to human rulers, i.e. “the civil magistrate”. The obligation to “render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,” (Luke 20:25) has been a hallmark of Christian citizenship for two millennia. The contemporary church recognises that the state has a legitimate interest to protect its citizens, so it has supported the state’s involvement in church matters as they relate to child protection, building regulations, and tax and accounting law. Since the government has imposed restrictions on the basis of public health and not ideology, the church has bent-over-backwards to show its support of measures that further the public good. In the initial stages of the virus, church leaders closed the doors, since they were fearful of the unknown dangers of this Covid and expected that the suspension of services would only last a few weeks. In good faith the church has aimed to demonstrate that its dutiful compliance has aided the state’s goal of public welfare.
The church’s compliance to the health regulations is, however, not merely about voluntary compliance but authoritative submission. Though government leaders may have spoken softly, they still carry a big stick. At the end of the day, the church is required to submit irrespective of its views. The church may put on a facade of voluntary compliance, but its leaders know that they don’t have a choice—at least not without a cost. Noncompliance to health orders carries immense penalties such as hefty fines to the primary stakeholders in the church, personal legal liability to leaders if a person dies of Covid, and possibly criminal prosecution for unlawful assembly. Not many elders and ministers, regardless of their convictions, are able to withstand the enormous pressure that comes from the government, ecclesiastical authorities, public opinion, and from within the congregation itself. If a pastor were to make a principled stand and disobey public health orders the most likely outcome for him would be a charge of ministerial misconduct and contumacy to the ecclesiastical authorities coupled with a loss of income, housing, and ministerial career prospects. The upholding of genuine convictions carries a significant cost.
The church has yet to determine the bounds, limitations, and duration of the state’s new-found health authority. As much as the church affirms the right of the civil magistrate to adjudicate its affairs within its sphere of responsibility, it also asserts that government authority is not absolute. The state’s edicts have ethical and ecclesiastical limits. Citizens, especially Christians citizens, are under no obligation to comply with government laws that violate God’s moral law. The second half of Christ’s injunction—“[render] unto God the things that are God’s”—is still perpetually binding upon the church. The civil magistrate has no absolute authority over internal ecclesiastical matters, especially the doctrine that is to be taught and how worship is to be conducted. With respect to the latter, that has already occurred in Covid health restrictions: no gathering, no singing, no sacraments. If we accept the premise that the government, even with a health warrant, does not have unbounded authority over the affairs of the church (Acts 4:19), where will the church draw the line? My wife had a discussion with a moderator of a state assembly who told her that there was no consensus among ministers where the proverbial “red line” lay. For some it is the state’s regulations over church worship; for others it is the mandates prohibiting unvaccinated church attendance. Others are keeping their powder dry until the state threatens our inviolable theological commitments—coming soon from the progressive ideological movement.
The church’s obedience to the government has extended to the expectation of unwavering public support to their policies. The “Honour the king” (1 Pet 2:17) injunction appears to mean that church leaders should in no way publicly criticise government health policies. In regards to Covid policy, it seems the church must not only submit, but do it smilingly. The official church leadership has not made any overt prohibitions against government criticism, but one can feel that a culture exists which frowns upon public rhetorical challenges to government policies. In my own church, my leadership expected me to explain to the congregation the worship restrictions, but opposed me publicly expressing my disapproval of them. Is it not allowable that a person can submit to a law yet not agree with it? In that vein, there is a perception among some of the laity that church leaders put up little resistance to the government’s health restrictions. How much resistance was given to the government over the church being designated as a “non-essential service”? The “sons of light” could learn some shrewd lessons from the “sons of this world” (Luke 16:8). Sometimes insecure politicians back-down in the face of resolute resistance.
The church’s unwavering support of the government is predicated on the belief that the government’s sound wisdom and good character is unassailable as it pertains to Covid policy. The health advisors are experts in the fields of science and medicine, so we lack the competence to question their judgement. We have been repeatedly assured that government ministers and health authorities are driven by genuine love and good motives. The public’s safety, not a desire to undermine the church is the motive behind all their policy. The questioning of motives is always a dangerous business. We assume that the church has not been targeted, for the public assembly rules apply equally to all types of organisations. Perhaps only the most cynical conspiracy theorist would dare to question the motives behind Covid policy. I ask the question: given the downward ethical trajectory of our government’s policies in the areas of abortion, euthanasia, homosexual marriage, transgenderism, prostitution, conversion therapy/theology and religious vilification, how is it still possible that we assume that our government is inherently favourable to the evangelical church? Is it not telling that during the Covid lockdown in New Zealand and Australia significant legislature has been pushed through on euthanasia and abortion, yet a religious liberty bill has stalled in the Australian parliament due to the pandemic? The greatest absurdity of all is that Covid restrictions were issued to preserve the life of the most vulnerable, the sick and elderly, yet governments have been passing euthanasia bills in order to kill the sick and elderly. I guess it is acceptable to the government for the elderly and sick to die, as long as it is not from Covid.
It is time to shed our naiveté and assume a posture of dubious and vigilant pessimism towards the government.
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The new free documentary Lost Boys: Searching for Manhood spotlights five young men who have decided to tell their stories. Alex, Brian, Njada, Ritchie, and Torren come from a variety of backgrounds. No two of their stories are exactly the same. Each is like a fingerprint, unique to the storyteller. But all five men have something in common: courage.

I would definitely like to have been a woman, because I feel, whether rightly or wrongly, that then everything would have fallen into place. The way I speak, the way I walk, the way I move, and the thoughts in my head would not any longer have been remarkable. They would have been acceptable. What I’m so bad at is being a man. — Quentin Crisp
When transgenderism was a budding fad, some people looked into their crystal balls and shrewdly predicted that a reckoning was coming. It wouldn’t be immediate, of course. It would take time for young people to realize they’d been screwed over. And it would take courage. Lots and lots of courage.
Over the past few years, a number of women have displayed that courage, coming forward to tell their stories and sue the medical professionals who harmed them. A few men have as well. But many more women than men.
This shouldn’t be surprising. Statistically, men are also more reluctant than women to report sexual assault, which also requires a great deal of courage for both sexes. But for men, it carries an extra weight of shame. The same is true when it comes to identifying as a victim of transgender “medicine.” Like telling one’s rape story, it’s not easy for anyone. But it will always be easier for a woman to stand up and say, “I thought I was a bro” than it is for a man to stand up and say, “I thought I was a sissy.”
The new free documentary Lost Boys: Searching for Manhood spotlights five young men who have decided to tell their stories. Alex, Brian, Njada, Ritchie, and Torren come from a variety of backgrounds. No two of their stories are exactly the same. Each is like a fingerprint, unique to the storyteller. But all five men have something in common: courage.
Their stories are interwoven with reflections from two therapists, Joe Burgo and Az Hakeem, and Irish writer-activist Graham Linehan (who lost his reputation, family, and career after publicly opposing trans ideology). Linehan doesn’t have very much screentime, but his presence is a sad reminder that we’re dealing with a top-down cultural contagion, enforced by people with enough power to completely demolish someone’s social capital.
There is also a sixth young man whom we never see. Instead, we see his father, Steven. Steven tells us how the boy “came out” transgender in his senior year of high school, walked away, and has never come back. He remains “lost.” “The last thing I think about in a day is my son,” Steven says, “and first when I wake up, before I’m even out of bed.”
Although each story is unique, there are certain recurring patterns. One running theme is that the men in these boys’ lives often seemed to be either absent, predatory, or weak. This is not a grand unifying theory. There’s Steven, after all, apparently a loving and present father who reports that he and his wife were “blindsided.” But it ties several stories together. Ritchie Herron, a young Englishman, only ever talks about his “mum” showing up to appointments with him and being pressured to make decisions. But he found plenty of men willing to enfold him into a “community” online. These men, of course, were predatory.
Meanwhile, Torren grew up in a blue-collar American subculture where the men occupied themselves with a narrow range of “manly” interests (cars, beer, hunting), while the women, in his words, “ran the show.” Similarly, Njada’s father tried to push his son towards “manly” interests and tasks, but when Njada drifted into gender confusion, he ironically failed to “man up” to his own wife. Njada recalls how she instantly took the driver’s seat and began to insist, “You better use the pronouns.” Like the women in Torren’s world, she was definitely running the show. These two stories are particularly interesting, because they complicate simplistic narratives of “toxic masculinity.” If anything, they evoke a world in which men become absorbed in “manly” pursuits while simultaneously failing to embody masculine leadership in the home. Thus lacking immediate models of how to be their own distinct selves while still being healthy men, these boys sought guidance from the broader culture. But as they discovered, that broader culture of teachers, therapists, and influencers was not going to help them become healthy men. Quite the opposite.
In the film, Joe Burgo proposes a nuanced third way for how men can properly lead and nurture misfit boys—neither by questioning their manhood if they diverge from rigid norms of masculinity, nor by “problematizing” all distinctly masculine traits, a trend which he believes has increased male depression. If boys do in fact like distinctly “boyish” things, that should be fine. If they don’t, that should also be fine.
I once discussed this in person with Burgo at a cocktail party in Washington. When I asked him what he thought of Richard Reeves’ book Of Boys and Men, which is generally sympathetic to the plight of boys, he said he still disagreed with Reeves’ idea of nudging boys towards more “feminine” trades—teaching, nursing, etc. As a disclaimer, I still need to read Reeves for myself, but I agree that particular idea isn’t going to solve the masculinity crisis. As I put it to Joe, it’s less urgent to mix up more statistically feminine trades and more urgent to re-dignify masculine trades. Here Joe looked up with a little smile, very taken with this, and said, “One thousand per cent.”
The other featured therapist, Az Hakeem, is also very concerned about the masculinity crisis, and he makes a further connection to the co-factor of autism. He’s consistently observed that young male patients on the spectrum followed a certain rigid chain of logical reasoning, based on their tendency to create rigid categories: “To be male, you have to be like this, this, and this. I’m not like this, therefore I’m non-male. Therefore I must be female.” Burgo adds the observation that autistic young people will struggle more than average with the changes their body undergoes in puberty, more likely to feel disgust or a desire to disassociate from who they’re physically becoming.
Several of the young men in this film are themselves either on the autism spectrum or, relatedly, on the OCD spectrum. Depression and anxiety are also recurring themes, as is p*rnography addiction. Yet the “professionals” who should have cared for them bypassed all these cofactors and glibly promised that everything would be “solved” not by treating their mental health, not by quitting p*rn, but by female hormones. All of them took estrogen, though Brian, Njada, and Torren seem to have reversed their process before pursuing surgery. Njada recalls how the therapist he sought out in college informed him that “transition is the typical treatment that makes people feel satisfied with their life.”
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