Page 1406 – Christianity Today (2024)

"This baby will live to be 120," proclaimed the cute yet provocative cover of National Geographic's May issue. Good news for the baby—but bad news for society, according to most white evangelicals.

Most agree that medical innovations that extend human life are a good thing. But a much smaller number percentage think that "radical life extension" would be as positive, according to a recent study by the Pew Research Center.

Only slightly more than a third of white evangelical Protestants (34%) say that procedures allowing humans to live for 120 years or longer would ultimately benefit society. Compare that to the 61 percent who think that "medical advances that prolong life are generally good" and the 50 percent who said that "medical treatments these days are worth the costs."

Black Protestants, meanwhile, support the prospect of extending life to near-biblical lengths in higher numbers than any other religious affiliation. Pew found that 54 percent of black Protestants approve of radical life extension, compared to 44 percent of Hispanic Catholics, 43 percent of the religiously unaffiliated, 41 percent of white mainline Protestants, and 31 percent of white Catholics.

And surprisingly, those who believe in life after death are more in favor of delaying the afterlife as long as possible than those who don't believe in life after death—by a 43-percent to 37-percent margin. (CT previously noted debate over research showing that religious cancer patients were more likely to seek invasive treatments that prolonged life.)

By contrast, white evangelicals who attend worship services weekly are half as likely to want treatments to live decades longer as those who attend services less often (22% vs. 40%).

As for evangelicals who would personally want to live much longer, aside from the larger benefits to society? Only 1 out of 4 said they would take advantage of such medical advances if available.

Pew also tapped religious groups for statements on the ethics of life extension.

Additionally, CT regularly covers discussion of death and dying—including whether faith prolongs suffering for cancer patients, and whether parents' prayers for their children's healing are inhumane.

Editor's Note: In April 2013, Time magazine created waves with a story titled simply "¡Evangelicos!" On its cover, the magazine was more elaborate: "The Latino Reformation: Inside the New Hispanic Churches Transforming Religion in America."

Christianity Today beat Time to the punch by more than 20 years with its October 28, 1991, cover story by Andrés Tapia, "¡Vivan Los Evangelicos!"

Both articles talk about the tremendous growth that Latino evangelicalism has experienced in the United States, offering challenges and opportunities to both Catholic and Protestant Evangelical churches. They also project the growth and influence of the U.S. Hispanic population, expecting it to be a major cultural force nationally. In 1991, Christianity Today predicted that by 2070, the Hispanic population would reach 57 million, making Hispanics the largest minority group in the US. That prediction was way too conservative. Hispanics became the largest U.S. minority in 2001, when they reached 37 million, and by 2011, the U.S. Hispanic population was just under 52 million.

To stay abreast of the statistical and sociological picture, please visit Barna: Hispanics and the Pew Research Hispanic Center.

One thing that hasn't changed from 1991 is the fear that many people experience as they face seismic demographic shifts. Immigration and population issues are complex and require carefully designed changes in public policy. However, the Hispanic population is likely to strengthen the pro-faith, pro-family, pro-work ethos that helped make the United States economically strong.

While many of the issues portrayed in the article remain constant, the U.S. Catholic church has increased its efforts to retain Latino adherents. Only time will tell, but we suspect their efforts have come too late to preserve the traditional Catholic influence on Hispanic immigrants. Today, among Latinos who continue to identify as Catholic, church attendance is significantly lower than among their evangelical counterparts.

One positive change to note: in the church, there has been a healing of the breach between the immigrant generation with its desire to retain its language and culture, and the younger, native-born generations who have assimilated and prefer English, while holding on to their love for Latin food and music and other signs of their cultural heritage. Dr. Jesse Miranda, quoted in this 1991 article, has played a key role in reducing these tensions, and as younger leaders have now taken the stage, Latino evangelicals are adjusting to new ways of being Hispanic in the United States.

One further update: Andrés T. Tapia, a young Peruvian-American journalist in 1991, is now president of Diversity Best Practices.

With that context, we hope that you enjoy this classic—and prophetic—article from Christianity Today.

—David Neff, former editor in chief, Christianity Today

On the two-mile stretch between the Montrose and Foster Avenue beaches on Chicago's lakefront—with pricey condominiums to the west and showcase architecture to the south—thousands of Hispanics celebrate Memorial Day. Salsa, Latin America's contemporary beat, shimmies out of huge Sony boom boxes; the staccato of Spanish punctuated with an occasional "hey man" fills the air; the smell of tortillas grilling on Weber Smokey Joes wafts across the park; and wiry soccer players elicit cheers from huge families that include parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, first, second, and third cousins, and the boy next door.

As an Anglo couple whizzes by on their 10-speeds, the man comments, "I feel like I'm in another country!"

The browning of America

According to the Census Bureau, by 2070 the 21 million Hispanics legally in the U.S. today (there are estimates of up to 10 million here illegally) will have multiplied to 57 million, making them the largest minority in the U.S. Currently, in some Texan cities, Hispanics make up the majority (in Laredo, 95 percent; in El Paso, 68 percent; and in Corpus Christi, 51 percent), and in some important regions they make up a substantial number of residents (37 percent of Los Angeles County and 24 percent of California). In the seventies, the Hispanic population grew by 61 percent, says the U.S. Department of Commerce, while the entire U.S. population grew only 11.5 percent. In the eighties, the Hispanic growth rate was 34 percent.

This Latin explosion is spicing up nearly every sphere of mainstream North American life. Jews in Skokie, Illinois, are heard humming "La Bamba" as they leave movie theaters; yuppies dance away their stock-portfolio worries to Miami Sound Machine's "Conga Beat" in discos; teenagers go nuts over Latin heartthrob Esai Morales; and everyone, including Scandinavians in Willmar, Minnesota, are eating tacos.

But the changes go beyond People magazine editorial copy. Numbers bring power.

Political candidates court the Hispanic vote. Michael Dukakis gave part of his acceptance speech in Spanish, while candidate Bush, in an effort to reach out to the Hispanic vote that backfired, referred to his Mexican-American

grandchildren as "my little brown ones." In Chicago, with their 20 percent of the population, Hispanics hold the balance of power between the polarized white and African-American communities, each representing 40 percent of the city.

By 2070 the 21 million Hispanics in the U.S. legally today will have multiplied to 57 million, making them the largest minority in the U.S.

Madison Avenue, in the meantime, courts the Hispanic dollar. With a purchasing power of $130 billion, Hispanics are getting the attention of companies such as Procter & Gamble, which spent $30 million in 1990 advertising to Hispanics. P&G, Anheuser-Busch, Campbell's, and myriad other companies spent over $628 million last year targeting Hispanics sometimes in tortured translations) on any of the two national Hispanic TV networks, 145 Spanish-language magazines, 30 bilingual or English publications, or 450 Spanish radio stations.

The numbers also bring fear.

The Immigration Reform and Control Act passed four years ago granting amnesty to certain illegal aliens has also made it a crime to hire knowingly those who do not qualify for amnesty, making some employers hesitant to hire anyone of Hispanic descent. Former U.S. Sen. S. I. Hayakawa of California, founder of the English Only movement, is so concerned with Hispanic growth that he wants English to be declared the United States' official language. And once a month, frightened white southern Californians hold a Light Up the Border rally by shining their pickups' headlights across the Mexican-U.S. border to help nab illegals.

The browning of the church

In addition to being the fastest-growing ethnic group in the U.S., Hispanics are also the fastest-growing segment of the Protestant church. According to various polls, more than 20 percent of Hispanics are Protestant—an astounding figure given the virtual assimilation of Catholicism into Hispanic culture. In the past two decades, the growth has occurred at a dizzying rate. According to studies conducted in part by Clifton Holland, executive director of In-Depth Evangelism Association, the number of Hispanic Protestant congregations in Southern California jumped from 320 in 1970 to 1,022 in 1986 to 1,450 in 1990.

Factors contributing to the surge are the influx of legal and illegal immigration, the highest birth rate among all ethnic groups, and massive defections from the Catholic church. It is in the reasons for the defections that the story of Hispanics and the evangelical church lies.

Defections from the Catholic church in the U.S. to Protestant denominations are occurring at a pace of 60,000 a year, or 1 million in 15 years. This is according to a report presented in 1987 by Allan Figueroa Deck, a Catholic theologian and specialist in Hispanic studies, to the National Conference of Catholic Bishops. Sociologist of religion Father Andrew Greeley refers to this exodus as an "ecclesiastical failure of unprecedented proportions."

Deck and others point to studies demonstrating that Hispanics will constitute the majority of Catholic faithful in the United States by the year 2000. However, as Roberto Gonzalez and Michael LaVelle observed in The Hispanic Catholic in the U.S., fewer than 23 percent of Hispanic Catholics are practicing. This has Catholic leaders worried. As Deck told the nation's Catholic bishops, "If we miss this historic moment, the window of opportunity may close on us for many centuries to come."

In fact, the Vatican is worried. In the spring of 1987, Pope John Paul II made his second visit to the U.S. His stops: Miami, San Antonio, Los Angeles—three cities with significant Hispanic populations.

As in all major demographic changes, both push and pull factors are at work in the exodus from a church that in this century has traditionally served the nation's immigrants. These factors can be summarized as intimacy, opportunity, and expression.

Intimacy

The emphases at evangelical churches on a personal relationship with God and on the fellowship of believers are an invitation for intimacy at a divine and human level.

Jesse Miranda, president and founder of AHET (a research institute in Pasadena, California, dedicated to examining issues affecting Hispanics in the U.S. church) and trustee of Fuller Theological Seminary, explains that the need for intimacy among Hispanics is especially acute. Not only is Latin culture relationship-oriented, but as with any recent immigrant group, Hispanics are in a state of uncertainty and flux. "The upheaval of immigration creates a need for familiarity and intimacy." The evangelical focus on small groups and accessibility to God meets this need.

In addition, says Miranda, "the Catholic church has neglected Hispanics." Catholic officials concur by saying that the church has driven away some minorities through apathy and insensitivity. Meanwhile, evangelicals are busy knocking on doors, presenting their message, and inviting people to church. Allan Deck writes in his book The Second Wave: Hispanic Ministry and the Evangelization of Cultures: "A mature and creative response to the Hispanic presence requires a great deal of energy. Frankly, there are some signs that the energy is not there [in the Catholic church]. The vigorous and often effective outreach of evangelical Protestant groups to Hispanics compared to the sometimes lackluster outreach of Catholic parishes and schools to the same group is a case in point."

H. O. Espinoza, founder and president of Promesa, a parachurch organization dedicated to training second-generation Hispanics to serve in the church and integrate into U.S. society, points to another reason Hispanics feel less attached to the Catholic church: "The Latin American Catholic church, which was virtually left untouched by Vatican II, is very different from its U.S. counterpart. The result is that the U.S. Catholic church feels foreign to many Latin American immigrants."

Isaac Canales, who is currently pastoring an inner-city church while completing his doctorate in New Testament at Fuller's Center for Advanced Theological Research, adds, "By already being in a milieu of change—new neighborhood, new language, new jobs—and dealing with a lot of fear and trepidation, immigrants begin to question fundamental traditional religious values. Hence their openness to the evangelical church down the street."

Opportunity

The opportunity in evangelical churches to serve and be served is also attracting Hispanics.

The promotion of lay leadership and the emphasis on the priesthood of all believers empowers people who have long struggled with powerlessness. In addition, Miranda says, evangelical churches such as the Baptists and Pentecostals raise and recognize indigenous leadership. The Catholic church is not even close in terms of raising leaders from within the barrios. Only 4 percent of U.S. Catholic priests are Hispanic and, worse, many of these priests are not from the communities they are serving. Most are from Spain or South American countries where the cultural differences between their heritage and, say, an immigrant Mexican community are significant.

In contrast, the Southern Baptist Convention claims to have 2,400 Hispanic pastors, while the Pentecostal denominations and independent churches have an estimated total of 4,200. And according to Deck, three times as many Hispanics are enrolled in Protestant seminaries and schools of theology as are enrolled in Catholic seminaries.

Other hindrances for Hispanics to serve in Catholic parishes are the church's rigorous entrance exams and long preparation time, which, for many Hispanics with lower incomes and less education, become almost insurmountable. Meanwhile, in the fastest-growing Protestant denominations, the academic requirements are less stringent and place more emphasis on spiritual anointing. ''I'm indebted to Bible colleges with low entrance requirements," says Miranda, who nevertheless earned a doctorate in ministry from Fuller Theological Seminary. This philosophy of leadership development, he says, "eliminates the rails between the clergy and the pew." Adds Canales, "This gives Hispanics a wonderful sense of ownership."

The opportunity to be served draws Hispanics to evangelicalism as well. Hispanic churches spontaneously and frequently take up collections for a needy family ih the congregation. Sermons are practical, speaking to daily issues, while prayers focus on specific needs such as jobs or health. "We're a vulnerable people," says Miranda. "Since many of us don't have Blue Cross/Blue Shield, we Hispanics need to rely on the Spirit for help."

Miranda speaks from experience. When he was a boy, a revival in his New Mexico family began when his mother was instantly healed through the prayers of two door-knocking Pentecostals. Faith for this type of divine intervention comes easily for Hispanics, whose world view includes a belief in common supernatural occurrences.

The other opportunity to be served, of course, is the one for which Hispanic immigrants made the long trek—a chance

to better their economic condition." It is important to note that the image of America in Latin American villages is that of a Protestant nation. And so Protestantism gets equated with technology and advancement," says Miranda.

Longitudinal studies by David Martin, documented in his book Tongues of Fire, do indeed show a correlation between Protestantism and upward mobility. This is borne out in the Hispanic sectors of the church. The median income for Catholic Hispanics is $19,000, while for Protestant Hispanics it is $25,000. Canales believes that the Protestant ethic, with its emphasis on work, stewardship, and tithing, helps lower-income Latinos get hold of their personal finances. Discipleship, with its focus on changing destructive lifestyle behaviors such as drinking, adds Canales, also goes a long way toward bringing economic stability to families.

Expression

It is the difference between la iglesia fria (the frigid church) and la iglesia caliente (the hot and spicy church). While worship in most parishes is muted and private, gatherings in many Hispanic evangelical congregations rock and sway to loud and effusive music-expressions of the Latin spirit of fiesta. At Hope Christian Fellowship, a multiethnic Christian Reformed Church in Chicago's predominantly Puerto Rican Humboldt Park, the Afro-Latin beat of the conga accompanies both Spanish coritos and traditional North American hymns such as "Amazing Grace."

The freedom to pray and preach in a style true to their cultural background is also inviting to Hispanics. "While Anglos are afraid of emotion, for us it's a way of life," says Miranda. Sermons by Hispanics have a certain level of intensity that speaks to the Latin heart. Writes Alex Montoya in his book Hispanic Ministry in North America: "A typical Hispanic speaks with his soul not just with his mouth. Hands wave in the air, feet move back and forth, the eyes are aflame and penetrating, and there's an urgency in the tone of his voice. This is the way he speaks about everyday life. Can we imagine him accepting the truths about God with any less energy?"

Because of these factors—intimacy, opportunity, and expression—it is no wonder that the churches with the greatest Hispanic growth are the Pentecostal churches, the Southern Baptist Convention, and the American Baptist churches. Hispanic membership in the Southern Baptist Convention climbed 54 percent in the eighties while it climbed 35 percent in the Assemblies of God. Holland observes that if it weren't for the Hispanic explosion, the Assemblies would actually have, after accounting for demographics, a flat growth curve. Miranda says that nationally, 15 to 20 percent of all Hispanic evangelicals consider themselves Pentecostals, while the Latin America Mission found that 58 percent of all Latin Protestants in Florida's Dade County are Pentecostals.

Aggressive evangelism

The message of what evangelicalism offers is spreading through aggressive evangelism within the U.S. and Latin America. According to Manny Ortiz, a professor in the practical theology department at Westminster Theological Seminary, many Latin immigrants are pre-evangelized either in Latin America, which is experiencing a Protestant explosion of its own, or in the charismatic renewal sectors of the Catholic church, which stimulate excitement in people for a living relationship with Jesus but often cannot nurture them further.

Canales sensitively, yet unabashedly, extends invitations to accept Jesus at funerals for gang members in his church near East Los Angeles. One time a whole gang came forward, made a circle around the coffin of their fallen comrade, and accepted Jesus. Protestant evangelism, not surprisingly, is causing tensions between Catholics and evangelicals. Archbishop John L. May of St. Louis, Missouri, says Protestant groups have a deceptive plan for recruiting Hispanics that includes churches featuring Catholic art and music to draw Hispanics in to hear anti-Catholic teaching.

The Catholic church is trying to make parish life more Protestant in appearance. The National Pastoral Plan for Hispanic Ministry, published a few years ago, lays out a strategy to make parish life more intimate and inviting by increasing lay leadership and developing small groups. It also suggests emulating the more personal, emotional, and mystical style of the Pentecostals.

Canales remembers Pope John Paul II's mass at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum a few years ago. "It could've been a Billy Graham crusade. The mass included a popular liturgy, Protestant hymns such as 'How Great Thou Art,' and a focus on Jesus rather than on the Virgin of Guadalupe." And Saint Louis Catholic Church in Miami, Florida, which has 3,500 Hispanic parishioners, effectively uses evangelical programs such as James Kennedy's Evangelism Explosion.

But Catholic efforts have little chance of stemming the exodus. As Pablo Sedillo, coordinator of the pastoral plan for Hispanic ministry told the Chicago Tribune, "When dioceses meet to balance their budgets, one of the first things to get axed is the Hispanic Ministries office. This is a dangerous action. Their congregations become a prime prize for fundamentalists."

Challenges for Protestants

The Protestant success has its down side, however. The evangelical church now faces some of the same issues Catholics have not been able to resolve.

Hispanics, as all other immigrant groups before them, experience prejudice in many evangelical churches. "Hispanics coming to a white church often face racism," says Canales. "The murmuring begins with 'Who are all these Mexicans coming to our church?' These murmurings get louder when the Spanish-speaking congregation or the Hispanic department gets larger than the mother church. Whites begin to fear that Hispanics are going to take over."

Partnership is at the crux of whether the Protestant success among Hispanics will continue. Says Espinoza, "Anglo churches are receiving Hispanics with open arms, but then they are asked to serve in the kitchen rather than in decision-making committees."

Espinoza feels, however, that Hispanics share some of the blame because of their own insecurities in stepping up to the calling that God has for them. Miranda equates today's situation with what the early church had in Acts 6:1: "The biggest problem after revival is distribution." Miranda again: "That's why I don't like Hispanic departments within churches, because Anglos still hold control. We've been saying 'listen to us' for a long time. I hope that now that we have the numbers, churches will begin to."

The comments that follow come from long struggles and frustration. While the level of anger seems to have decreased in the past few years, key issues remain to be worked out. Here's a sampling of what Hispanic leaders want their Anglo brothers and sisters to hear: Don't treat us as just another marketing target group. ''I'm afraid that we are

being seen as commodities" says Ortiz. Miranda shares this sentiment: "Often, dwindling white urban congregations look to Hispanics as a means of paying the gas bill rather than seeing the need to build a Hispanic church," he says.

The evangelical community needs to prepare leaders better for urban ministry. Seminaries, say the Hispanic leaders interviewed, are not adequately preparing pastors for work in urban multicultural settings. Classroom case studies, for example, involving a budget of $50,000 for the church's education program are irrelevant to future Hispanic pastors charged with leading·low-income congregations. Furthermore, the dichotomy most seminaries continue to perpetuate between social justice and evangelism leaves Hispanic seminarians with few ways of applying to the street what they have learned in the classroom.

Curriculum is not the only problem. The lack of sensitivity to the unique challenges Hispanics face means that Hispanics are being recruited to seminaries as students and faculty but not nurtured in their new environments. "Retention levels for Hispanic pastors

and faculty in Anglo settings is minimal in hierarchical church structures," says Ortiz. This reality is leading Hispanics seriously to consider establishing alternative institutions that focus on the city and unique Hispanic issues.

The church needs to address the illegal immigration issue theologically. Not all Hispanics have the same view on this issue, but many congregations must deal with its conequences. How should churches minister to those illegal aliens in their congregation? When does help cross over to become active support? Should churches act as advocates for illegal aliens? Some point out that it is not simply a case of legality. A U.S. missionary in Mexico points out that 95 percent of missionaries in that country are there illegally because Mexico does not give visas to missionaries. "If the evangelical church can justify breaking the law in order to stay here, why can't Mexicans break the law in order to stay there?"

Realize that not all Hispanics are alike. The differences between a Cuban in Miami and a Mexican in San Diego are great. Because values, foods, slang, and economic status differ among the 20 different Hispanic nationalities in the U.S. (see "Not All Hispanics Eat Tacos"), outreach methods much be appropriate to each Hispanic subculture. Advertisers are realizing that to reach a Puerto Rican, they must use salsa and not a mariachi band. The church must do the same.

Challenges for Hispanics

Hispanics face challenges of their own. The Hispanic leaders interviewed had these words for Protestant Hispanics:

We need to become more U.S.-oriented. Espinoza feels this strongly: "For a long time we Latinos complained that North American missionaries to Latin America were trying to Americanize us. But now we have situations where many of the Latin American leaders in the U.S. ministering to Hispanic Americans are trying to Mexicanize or Guatemalicize us. They are trying to recreate the past in the U.S. rather than working with God on the creation of something new. This polarizes our people."

The challenge is to "become future-oriented without forgetting the past," Espinoza says. "Fortunately, a new kind of Hispanic leader is emerging for whom Latin America is a foreign country. These men and women have an unabashed commitment to what God is doing here in the U.S."

We must stem brown flight. "Hispanic pastors and congregations are moving further away from the inner city," says Ortiz. "Brown flight is following white flight as some Hispanics find their economic conditions improving. In the past, displacement was forced on us by oppression, but it is now time for us to look at voluntary displacement like Paul described Jesus doing in Philippians 2."

Ortiz observes that most cross-cultural mission is coming from the Anglo community. "Will we stay? For Anglos coming from the outside there is a sense of heroism, but for us Hispanics who stay, there won't be many strokes because society's assumption is that this is where we belong." He concludes, "The challenge to stay is the very challenge Hispanics and blacks have put to Anglos for many years."

We must promote racial reconciliation. Ortiz is concerned that the highly publicized statistic that Hispanics are about to displace African-Americans as the largest minority is setting up both communities for great tensions. "Demographics means money, scholarships, and other resources," he says. "We Hispanics need to talk about our own racism and begin bridging gaps between us and other communities, especially blacks."

Learning from each other

The Hispanic influx is changing both the Hispanics coming in and the evangelical church as a whole. If partnership can be achieved, the church will end up much richer and stronger.

According to the leaders interviewed each culture has something the other needs. The white church, long one that has served more with its head than its heart, has the potential to lose many of its inhibitions as it experiences the freer, more soulful styles of Hispanics. Hispanic culture, long fatalistic to the extent that even its language reflects a sense of powerlessness (for example: "el avión me dejó," which translates as "the plane left me," rather than, "I missed the plane"), can learn from the Anglo can-do attitude.

In the same vein, the focus on management in Anglo America can help Hispanics more efficiently serve their communities. And Anglos, who have come to run churches like Fortune 500 corporations, can imitate the Hispanic reliance on the spontaneous and the inspired leading of the Holy Spirit—perhaps even catching the spirit of siesta by focusing more on relationships than on productivity.

George Muiioz, a lay Catholic partner at the prestigious Mayer, Brown, and Platt law firm in Chicago, describes another contribution Hispanics are making to U.S. society in general: "What made this country strong were the values of the Protestant ethic: deep religious faith, strong families, loyalty to the country, and a working ethic. With the breakdown the American family and the declining significance of religion among North Americans, it's no coincidence that U.S. economy is not strong. Hispanics have what it takes to carry the banner of the American Dream in to the twenty-first century—not just for themselves, but for all Americans."

It is this new blood in evangelicalism that can bring renewed vitality to the North American church to reach with more relevance and conviction to its inner cities and to the pueblos across the oceans. A popular Mexican saying goes, "Pobre Mexico—tan lejos de Dios tan cerca de los Estados Unidos." Mexico, so far from God and so close to the United States. The paradox today is that by coming to the U.S., millions of Mexicans, and other Latin Americans are getting the opportunity to come closer to God.

Andrés Tapia is a technical writer and journalist of Peruvian and Anglo descent. He is the author of The AIDS Crisis (IVP).

Not long ago an acquaintance bemoaned the "Stay Off the Lawn" signs that ran around a church property near her house. She joked that she wanted to sneak back at night and cover the "Stay Off" signs with ones that instead offered an invitation to come play on the lawn.

I'd like to tell you that she actually did this—and signed Jesus' name to them—but I don't want to get anyone in trouble. So I'll just say the whole thing was hilarious, and maybe felonious, but it cut to the quick of a big problem we the church face: our nasty reputation for being less than welcoming.

This is not news. Lots of folks talk about how churches and the Christians who fill them up are known more for what we're against than what we're for and more about whom we'd like to keep out than who'd we want to invite in, or at least keep in.

Plenty of churches combat this reputation with neighborhood outreach programs or signs and banners proclaiming that all are welcome. These ideas are good ones; it's important to declare a welcome posture to a doubting world.

But a trip to Disneyland this summer—and few moments with a video gone viral —reminded me that if we church folk want to welcome the world Jesus-style into God's house, programs and banners won't cut it.

Consider the Disney welcome: After receiving a fist-bumping, "high-fouring" welcome from Mickey Mouse-gloved cast members who lined Disneyland's Main Street, my 6-year-old said, "It's like heaven."

And he couldn't have been more right.

In fact, upon seeing the smiling employees waving and wishing us good morning, telling us to have great days, my eyes teared up a bit as my body tingled with the delight of this over-the-top greeting. Because indeed the Disney-style welcome we received that day was a picture of heaven—or at least the way I hope it'll be.

But more than the kind of welcome it will be, I realized the Disney-style welcome is the kind of greeting every welcome should be, at least for those of us interested in being the kind of Christians who bring about God's kingdom—one that sparkles of heaven—here on earth.

This conviction solidified a few days later, when I watched a video about Tim's Place, a restaurant in Albuquerque where they serve "breakfast, lunch and hugs" to everyone who walks through the doors.

While I'll admit that I've never once entered a restaurant and wanted a hug from the staff, the overwhelming sense of welcome Tim offered his diners touched someplace deep once again.

Probably it's the shy, awkward, "I'm sure they don't really want me around," place in me. That place that longs to belong and to be wanted, accepted, welcomed. It's a place we all have. And it's the place Jesus went straight toward when he walked this earth—and the place he still reaches into. Certainly, it's the place we should be aiming for in others as we walk around as his hands and feet. It's a place where we as the church definitely have some work to do.

I don't want to add to the "all that's wrong with the church" fires that sweep across the interwebs, but if we are interested in keeping folks of all ages in church and living out the gospel, getting good at the simple art of welcoming people is a must.

Even for—especially for, probably—those of us who are no good at it. Case in point: moi. I'm not naturally friendly. I'm reserved. And shy. And introverted. I'm not gifted with hospitality—in either the Martha Stewart or the spiritual sense. I'd rather retreat than greet. Small talk does me in. I have no idea what to say to most people. Whether I know them or not.

The folks at Disney and at Tim's Place understand that the welcome guests receive is often make-or-break for a business. It sets the mood for the entire experience.

While the cynic in me roars that the employees are only so welcoming because they're being paid to or because we paid a pretty penny to walk down Main Street, the Christian in me whispers: Jesus paid a pretty penny for us too. And while we aren't being paid per act of kindness, Jesus did tell us to love the folks around us. It seems being over-the-top welcoming, extending hands and smiles and well-wishes to everyone who crosses our paths or walks through our doors or plays on our lawns is the initial, most elemental way of loving them. Of course, the love doesn't end there, but it's a start.

The way Jesus welcomed folks—the demoniac and the Pharisee, the strangers and the family, the lepers and the beaming with health, the women and the men, then children and the aged, the powerful and the poor—changed hearts and minds and courses of eternities. Not unlike Disney (gasp), the welcome was make-or-break for Jesus.

And how we welcome is make-or-break for us. Not for their business, but for their souls. Church should be better than Disney or Tim's at welcoming. But this means people like me can no longer assume this role is reserved for the "gifted" greeters. For church to become the heaven-on-earth, we're-thrilled-you're here kind of place it should be requires an all-in effort. Whether we're gifted at hospitality or not. And welcoming takes all kinds of forms: from the first smiling, warm greeting at the doors to a willingness to scootch down in—or give up—our seats to alleviate ackward moments or newcomers and latecomers. From a firm handshake and a "what's your name" to a personalized escort to that Sunday School class. From asking a name to remembering a name. Or at least a face and admitting a terribleness with names (as I do, every Sunday). From noticing a broken-heart in need of a hand or hug to dropping everything, throwing awkward to the wind and praying with a stranger.

Becoming a welcoming church means we treat everyone—no matter how they're dressed or who's hand they're holding—as the guests of honor that they are. After all, these are God's children walking into his house. And we welcome them in can set the mood for their entire experience with their Father. I'm pretty sure a few high-fours in his name is the least we can do.

Reza Aslan's Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth resurrects the theory that Jesus' ministry and death are best explained against the background of Jewish zealot movements at the turn of the era. There is little here that is new. The ablest presentation of this line of interpretation was made by the British scholar S. G. F. Brandon in 1967. Few followed Brandon then; virtually no one does today. I doubt very much that Aslan's fresh take on it will win a following—at least not among scholars.

Aslan, who is writing for non-experts, describes Jewish zealotry (largely in terms of zeal for the temple and for Israel's law of Moses) and surveys some of Israel's history between the Testaments. He reviews the attempts of a number of men who in one way or another sought to throw off either King Herod or the Roman yoke and win freedom for Israel. He places Jesus of Nazareth and his following squarely into this history and social setting. On this understanding, Jesus' proclamation of the coming kingdom of God was a call for regime change, for ending Roman hegemony over Israel and ending a corrupt and oppressive aristocratic priesthood.

Aslan's core contention might be outlined as follows: The regime change that Jesus and his followers anticipated did not take place. Jesus was arrested and executed, along with two other rebels. Not long after—however it happened—Jesus' followers became convinced that their master had been raised from the dead and that his mission had not been a failure after all. Unlike other zealot movements that ceased after the deaths of their respective founders, the Jesus movement not only continued, even in the face of severe opposition. It flourished, soon reaching large numbers of non-Jews.

This is where it gets interesting. With the conversion of Saul of Tarsus (who becomes the well-known Paul the apostle of New Testament letters and the book of Acts), the Jesus movement began to be pulled in two directions. One camp remained loyal to the very Jewish roots of Jesus and his family, while the other increasingly came to view Jesus as a divine figure, a figure very attractive to non-Jews who otherwise had little interest in traditional Jewish thinking and living. It was the latter wing of the Jewish movement that eventually won out, thus creating a new religion, one destined to have the most followers around the world. Ironically, what it became was not what its founder proclaimed or intended. Or so Aslan contends.

Riddled with Errors

There are numerous problems with Zealot, not least the fact that it heavily relies on an outdated and discredited thesis. But it also introduces a number of its own novel oddities and implausibilities. Aslan has canvassed much of the responsible scholarship in the field, but he does not always choose his options prudently. He often opts for extreme views and sometimes makes breathtaking assertions. I cannot help but wonder if Aslan's penchant for creative writing is part of the explanation. Indeed, Zealot often reads more like a novel than a work of historical analysis.

Aslan assumes the latest possible dates for the Gospels and Acts, dating Mark after A.D. 70, Matthew and Luke-Acts in the 90s (perhaps later), and John somewhere between 100 and 120. After assigning such late dates he declares that there is no tradition of eyewitness accounts (without engaging Richard Bauckham's important book on this subject, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses). The circularity of this reasoning is hard to miss.

Zealot is riddled with errors, probable errors, and exaggerations. Aslan tells us a builder in Nazareth had "little to do." Excavations at Nazareth and nearby Sepphoris suggest otherwise. Being a builder (or "carpenter") meant that "Jesus would have belonged to the lowest class of peasants in first-century Palestine." Where does this come from? Sepphoris, a major city of Galilee, is said to be "a day's walk" from Nazareth. Actually, it takes a jogger about 45 minutes. Scholars will be surprised to learn that the first-century Jewish prophet Jesus ben Ananias, mentioned by the historian Josephus, prophesied the "imminent return of the messiah." He did no such thing.

Aslan would have us believe that in an interval of one or two years (the time Jesus spent with John the Baptist) Galilee had become "urbanized, Hellenized, iniquitous." Previously it had been a place of family farms, open fields, and blooming orchards. Excavations at Sepphoris indicate that even this large, somewhat Hellenized city had not adopted foods and customs contrary to Jewish law and traditions in the time of Jesus. In fact, excavations throughout Galilee have revealed how faithful to the law of Moses the people were. When Jesus commands the cleansed leper to show himself to the village priest and do as Moses commanded, Aslan thinks "Jesus is joking." And his discussion of magic and miracles is confusing and inconsistent.

There are further mistakes. Aslan consistently mishandles the Greek term for "apostles." He assigns Eusebius to the third century, but the Christian apologist and historian flourished in the fourth century. He assumes throughout that Jesus and his disciples were illiterate (pg. 171: "they could neither read nor write"; pg. 178: "illiterate peasants from the backwoods of Galilee"). There is no engagement with scholarship that suggests otherwise. We are also told that James, the brother of Jesus, wore "simple garments made of linen, not wool." But linen was worn by the wealthy (see Luke 16:19), not the poor and simple.

Reader Beware

The real problem of Zealot is seen in its exaggeration of the differences between Paul and the original apostles. There is no question that Paul sharply disagreed with Peter and other leaders over the question of the role of the law of Moses in the lives of non-Jewish converts. Aslan would have his readers believe that the debate centered on Christology, the divinity of Jesus, rather than on Ecclesiology, life in the church. But the debate as described in the book of Acts and in Paul's letters (especially Galatians) centers on food laws, Sabbath observance, and circumcision, not on the divinity of Jesus. Aslan would have done well to consult theologian David Wenham (author of Paul and Jesus) and others who show the misguided nature of claims that Paul invented Christianity.

Recent media coverage has drawn attention to Aslan's Muslim heritage. As he himself explains, he was raised as a nominal Muslim, became a fundamentalist Christian as a teenager, and then abandoned his new faith after being exposed to biblical and historical criticism in his later education. Aslan earned a PhD in sociology and is now a professor of creative writing. I see nothing in his book that reflects distinctive Islamic beliefs about Jesus. The Qur'an, for example, explicitly asserts that Jesus was not executed, but rather one like him (Simon of Cyrene, who assisted Jesus in carrying the cross). Aslan contradicts this strange teaching (which apparently originated with the second-century heretic Basilides), rightly emphasizing the reality and brutality of Jesus' death on a Roman cross.

At points Aslan's book is informative; it is often entertaining. But it is also rife with questionable assertions. Let the reader beware.

Craig A. Evans is Payzant Distinguished Professor of New Testament at Acadia Divinity College in Nova Scotia, and the author of Fabricating Jesus: How Modern Scholars Distort the Gospels (InterVarsity Press).

Whether or not you'll like Elysium is almost totally determined by whether you liked director Neil Blomkamp's debut film District 9, because it and Elysium are about as related as two films can be. Both feature men caught up in situations much bigger than themselves, both plots are intensely allegorical, and both are at times heavy-handed in a way that scares off and repels some critics.

While District 9 paired modern times with an alien twist, Elysium moves all the action 150 years from today, sans aliens, into an overpopulated and dilapidated Los Angeles. Matt Damon's Max works as a reformed ex-con in a sort of dystopian factory, manufacturing the very police drones that are comfortable with breaking his arm on the way to work. However, after managerial carelessness results in Damon receiving a lethal dose of radiation, Damon has only five days to reach the ultra-rich space station/lifeboat Elysium, which floats in the earth's atmosphere like another moon and harbors the terraphobic rich of 2154.

Elysium has none of District 9's multivalence, and that has prompted critics to castigate Blomkamp for a preachiness that was really there all along. Maybe Blomkamp's smartest move in District 9 was using the alien Prawns as a metaphorical double whammy. They represented both the struggles caused by apartheid in the past and the modern-day struggles over immigration.

Because of this, Blomkamp made no ideological enemies; people who enjoyed his stance on immigration chose that metaphor, and even if you thought countries should all have the closed-est of borders, well, no one thinks apartheid was a good thing. The even allegorical sell didn't alienate any potential viewers.

But now, releasing a film whose MacGuffin is a medical pod that heals any wound, in our cultural context—Obamacare, Medicare, discussion as to whether or not a society should provide at all for "the least of these," and if the answer is yes, how much and in what way—shows a boldness that wasn't present in District 9.

Most criticism of the movie has been directed at the heavy-handedness of the message, a feature of Blomkamp's work that forms its only continuity with the gee-whiz Gene Roddenburyesque sci-fi of yesteryear. Sci-fi has, at its core, always been allegorical and preachy: writers basically fashioning ad absurdum arguments in narrative form. (Sci-fi's closest formal cousin isn't fantasy, which generally is escapist in aim. It's satire, which also holds a mirror to society, but whose funhouse mirror is made out of comedy rather than technology and the passage of time.)

The movie is far from perfect. Sharlto Copley is almost a too-easy antagonist (a trait he shares with District 9's Jason Cope), Alice Braga's character is underdeveloped, the end is too convenient and preachy—but I feel that those complaints miss something staggeringly important about Elysium. The problem is just that Blomkamp likes to make his movies look like they're about the things they're not about, which is confusing, because I don't think Elysium is primarily "about" healthcare or inequality at all, any more than Apocalypse Now is "about" Vietnam.

Elysium is about a young boy growing into an understanding of where he belongs in a big scary world that he doesn't understand. The movie's prologue and epilogue actually make this point almost agonizingly clear: the movie is almost not about the effect Damon will have, but what it will mean for him as a character.

Blomkamp did the exact same thing in District 9 with Copley's Wikius: with or without his actions, the ending would have happened, just in a slightly different way and slightly faster. Elysium is not quite as deterministic as District 9 (in which Copley's mission is to solve a problem that he himself caused), but it still operates around one man trying to find his identity in the midst of huge systemic upheaval.

If anything, District 9 and Elysium are fraternal twins, sharing concerns of systemic injustice and "worlds colliding" and people exploding into red paste. But they also—I think most importantly—share a very specific view of their heroes, because Blomkamp seems less concerned with Copley and Damon's function as Plot Motivators, more interested in exploring their moral nature, like their capacity for fear, cowardice, regret, and, ultimately, heroism.

In both District 9 and Elysium, Copley and Damon's characters have opportunities to try and persevere through hardship, to take the "heroic" route through, to make their own way. And in both films, the hero turns it down in favor of what's easier.

In what is perhaps District 9's best scene, the supposed "hero" is equipped with space-age battle armor, and has the opportunity to free his alien companion. But Copley turns to his captors and shouts: "You have the prawn! You have what you want. Just let me go," and then runs in the opposite direction.

That's profoundly unheroic behavior, the kind of thing that we'd barely tolerate from a hero in the opening pre-reformatory glimpses of a protagonist, let alone in the third act. But Blomkamp's heroes, well, aren't—aren't self-consciously heroes, that is. They are just people, caught up in events too big for them to comprehend, even though they've been given enough power to manipulate them at will.

Both films star protagonists who've been granted more power than they know what to do with, and in both, they fail. In a superhero origin story, the protagonist usually "fails to be strong enough," but that's not what's going on here. These "heroes" have a choice between selfishness and selflessness, and they choose to be selfish, because they're scared, and don't understand, and don't care about politics and struggles, and just want to be safe. This makes Blomkamp's heroes at once kind of unlikable and uniquely human, certainly within the realms of the summer blockbuster.

Elysium's opening has a nun explain to Max-as-child that he's destined to do great things for earth, but the movie's message seems to directly contradict that sentiment at every turn—Damon isn't destined for anything, but will get exactly what he chooses. His decision to rely on the easier-but-selfish solution to his problems (as well as ignoring pleas for help from others) has direct consequences for him. But it's never unfathomable why he'd make that mistake in the first place. In fact, it could hardly even be called a mistake—just selfishness, just moral failure.

That's not the end, though. In District 9, Copley doesn't leave his alien compadre to his doom, and Elysium's Damon accepts his failure and learns from it. And that's incredibly important, because most movies take one of two ways when it comes to the idea of right and wrong.

They may promote a concrete sense of right and wrong, in which the heroes are never wrong in a substantial way. So someone may be a poor father at the beginning of the film, but will never make grievous moral errors that would make us think they're bad. That way we know that there's morality, and that our heroes are on the right side of it.

Or, the movie might disregard the idea of things being right or wrong. That means it doesn't matter what the protagonists do, because they're as justified as they can be by pursuing self-interest. In these stories, good is what our "heroes" want, and bad is what our heroes' enemies want.

But in both of these treatments of right and wrong, the heroes are morally immaculate, either by virtue of correctly following prescribed moral guidelines, or by ignoring their existence entirely. They kind of have to be, for us to stick with them.

Blomkamp's heroes exist in the murky middle ground of the two—which is, incidentally, where everyone reading/writing/ignoring this article lives as well. Elysium and District 9 feature right and wrong, but also show their heroes being human and messing up in big, ugly, complicated ways.

But unlike some other films, which seem to exist to degrade our morality structures (and thus I guess impress us with their faux-edginess and coolness), Blomkamp's movies suggest that our heroes can make amends. Their morality isn't pre-established, but is actually a function of what they choose to do. Their choices matter.

This is similar to my favorite thing about AMC's Breaking Bad, and I think there's no coincidence there. It's not that all media should follow one prescribed pattern—just that both Breaking Bad and Blomkamp's films touch on something really important about how we're responsible for our own moral choices. It's a massively unpopular message that also touches the heart of what it means to be a human being. (It's my guess that a life spent somewhere like South Africa helped render Blomkamp immune to the kind of hyper-sterilized feel-good moral universalism that permeates most of our movies today).

So whatever problems the movie has—and there are many—I don't care about them that much. I care about Max, and what happens, and what he learns, because he's interesting, because he's a flawed person, like me. And I'm willing to tolerate some heavy-handedness to get to that. That's interesting and valuable, especially for a big-budget Hollywood flick. And it's strange to me that I had to go 150 years into the future to see one of the most human endeavors I've seen on the big screen this summer.

Caveat Spectator

Exploding people, common and unflinching gore, a blasted-off face shown in high detail, shootings, stabbings, frequent uses of f- and s-words, a sociopathic character who is purported to rape and murder people and is violent towards a woman, and more blood than the finale of Reservoir Dogs make Elysium a movie for only adults and mature teens. A tense scene shows Damon undergoing surgery. Convoy space ships full of immigrants to Elysium (originally wrote "innocent illegal immigrants" but realized that most readers wouldn't take kindly to the claim) are blown up by the authorities in Elysium, trying to keep their ship free of intruders.

Jackson Cuidon is a writer in New York City. He enjoys movies with explosions and music with loud guitars.

For today’s entry in the Friday Five interview series, we catch up with Gary Thomas.

Gary Thomas is writer in residence at Second Baptist Church in Houston, Texas, and an adjunct faculty member teaching on spiritual formation at Western Seminary in Portland, Oregon. He is the author of over a dozen books, including Sacred Marriage, Sacred Pathways, Pure Pleasure, Sacred Parenting, and the Gold Medallion Award-winning Authentic Faith. Gary’s latest work is The Sacred Search, What If It’s Not About Who You Marry, but Why?

Today we chat with Gary about Christian dating, why pleasure is okay, and the challenge of articulating a biblical view of marriage in the 21st century.

Earlier this year you released The Sacred Search, a Christian guidebook of sorts for dating relationships. What makes this book different than what you typically find on this subject in the Christian bookstore?

Most pre-marital/dating books focus on finding “the who.” I suggest it’s important to ask “why” first (thus the subtitle: What If It’s Not About Who You Marry, but Why?). It’s not that the “who” doesn’t matter—in fact, it matters very much. It’s just that asking the “why” question first helps lead you to the right who. I present neurological evidence for how we can responsibly understand and handle infatuation. I make the biblical case that the notion of there being just “one right person” finds its origin in Plato, not Scripture, and that this false notion has led more people into poor choices than wise ones; I’ve worked hard to present a compelling biblical case for what you want to look for in a marriage partner, and why. If singles looking for a spouse don’t know the biblical realities (and limitations) of marriage, they can’t intentionally make a wise choice about who to marry. People who have attended the Sacred Search talks and early readers of the book have been kind in suggesting that this material seems very fresh and helpful.

What does the Christian culture get wrong when it comes to dating and relationships? How can pastors and church leaders help guide young singles?

Though we have worked hard to prepare Christians to face sexual temptation, we have not adequately prepared them to face romantic infatuation. Singles need to understand how powerful it is, and they need tools to manage it. Infatuation isn’t evil—it’s there by God’s design. But it makes a very poor “god” and shouldn’t be treated as one.

Secondly, the myth of the “one,” which we’ve Christianized into this pious sounding, “God created one person just for me and He will bring the right person at the right time if I just wait” needs to be re-examined in light of Scripture. I make the case that Scripture suggests the choice of whether we marry and who we marry is up to us, and our choice is to be made on the basis of wisdom and righteousness (I explain in detail what that means), not trying to second guess “destiny” or even providence. When someone realizes they could have a fulfilling God-honoring marriage with perhaps dozens of different people, it changes the nature of their pursuit considerably.

Finally, I want to create a vision for how wonderful and fulfilling a marriage based on Matthew 6:33 can be. If couples will intentionally join around a shared life of worship, service, and mission, they’re going to be blessed immeasurably. It may not be an easy life, but it will be rich and eternally significant.

A few years ago you wrote a book, Pure Pleasure in which you encouraged believers to “not feel bad about feeling good.” Today there is a surge in books that emphasize radical discipleship—which can seem on the surface like feeling bad about feeling good. Is there in imbalance in current Christian teaching?

The message of Pure Pleasure helps us live out a life of radical discipleship, which should be based in worship. God’s not just our redeemer; He’s our creator, and the good gifts He has given us help us to live a life of service and purpose. I liken God-ordained pleasures to water-stop aid stations along a marathon route. There’s a lot of work between those stations, but the refreshment is essential to keep us working along the way. If we skip too many of those aid stations, we’re liable to break down, quit running, or turn in a sub-par performance. If we don’t view our lives as a marathon, we’re liable to run ourselves into the ground. It takes humility to realize we can’t run without what God designed us to experience (appropriate pleasure). Those who arrogantly think they can do without often crash and burn, and bring much of their ministry down with them. I applaud the call to service; I just hope we recognize our vulnerability, our need for humility, and God’s call to celebrate as we sacrifice. It doesn’t have to be either/or. The complete Christian life is both/and.

In your best-selling book, Sacred Marriage, you encourage Christians to rethink their view of marriage in terms of being “holy not happy.” I’m guessing this has relevance for today’s debate about the definition of the institution itself.

One of the problems the church has gotten itself into is that for a generation we tried to tell the world that if they would just live by a few Christian principles, we could “one up” the secular vision of marriage: we could provide marriages that would be more fulfilling, more fun (thus the teaching of date nights), more sexually fulfilled (thus we’ll have an eight week series on sex), less financial hassles (so we’ll bring in the best teaching on financial management) and happier kids (so we’ll hire the best youth worker we can find). Instead of confronting the selfishness in our thirst regarding marriage, we fed it!

And so, faced with contemporary arguments: “Doesn’t God want us to be happy?” we find ourselves at a loss for words. In the end, it comes down to this: I am married to a woman for life because that’s what God created me to be and what God has called me to do. It’s how I worship Him, and serve Him. I personally believe it’s the happiest life I could ever know, but that’s not why I’m in it. I’m in it as a desire to worship God and to participate in the world as He designed it. Any view of marriage that counteracts God’s creational design mocks Him rather than worships Him, and I want no part of that.

How can church leaders communicate that model of marriage in a winsome way?

First, of course, we need to “communicate it” through our lives. The consequences of pastoral failure in marriage can be severe; I’m seen entire youth groups turned away from (or at least grown significantly colder toward) God as a result of a pastor’s fall. Second, we have to show the joys of spiritual partnership. Selfishness gets boring, so trying to build marriages on self-centered ends won’t work; it’s a short-term fix.

Creating a sense of spiritual purpose, partnership, and connecting marriage more closely to worship should become a part of who we are and what we do before it’s something we say and talk about. But once we are living it out, let’s be bold. I tell young people, “How does Hugh Heffner know that sleeping with hundreds of women is more fulfilling than sleeping with one woman thousands of times? He’s never done it God’s way and doesn’t know what he’s talking about! Instead, he gets in a pathetic, selfish relationship with a woman who could be his great-granddaughter, and I’m so supposed to listen to him about the pleasures of eros? No thank you!”

I think young people respect it when we push back and say that, in the end, God’s way is the best way. We don’t have to be ashamed, because God’s way really IS the best way! Sadly, many Christians DO punt on their long-term sexual intimacy in marriage, and it shows. We need to cultivate relationships of worship and delight so that we can speak boldly out of worship and delight.

You might not expect an Emmy-nominated tastemaker to tell The New York Times, "I want to believe there's a heaven. But I can't not believe there's a hell." Yet that's exactly how Vince Gilligan, the creator of Breaking Bad, summed up his personal philosophy in 2011. The quote should not surprise anyone familiar with the show, which makes its final, infernal push Sunday night.

For four and a half seasons, Gilligan has told the story of Walter White, a docile chemistry teacher who, after receiving a terminal diagnosis, turns to cooking methamphetamine (crystal meth) to provide for his family. As he develops a taste for the trade, Walt discovers a gift for deception—and self-deception—taking him down a path that turns "Mr. Chips into Scarface," as Gilligan's original pitch put it. Filter that premise through the severity of Cormac McCarthy and the dry humor of the Coen Brothers, and you're in for a compelling ride.

AMC debuted Breaking Bad when the cable network was fresh off the success of their first foray into original programming, Mad Men, and Breaking Bad appeared to be cast from the same mold. These were television series as serialized novels, exploring both grand visions and intimate corners of characters' inner and outer lives.

It's no coincidence that the revitalized format features antiheroes like Tony Soprano and Don Draper. The extended run time lends itself to complicated protagonists, whose humanity is never in question but whose behavior keeps viewers guessing. As both perpetrators and victims, they can be reprehensible one moment, vulnerable the next, capable of premeditated malice and violence as well as tenderness and charity.

Breaking Bad may be the apogee of this pattern. When we first meet him, Walt is a fairly decent guy, a bit sullen and overproud, but by no means the villain he is by the end of season four. Breaking Bad embraces the same loosely biblical anthropology as its predecessors: people as neither strictly good nor evil but dual-natured and often in conflict with themselves. And like Mad Men, Breaking Bad works as a commentary on the illusions of the self-made man. In both cases, what looks like an ascent (increased power, wealth, and confidence) is in fact the opposite.

But where Mad Men can play on the charms of postwar Manhattan, Breaking Bad looks to the blighted vistas of present-day Albuquerque and the surrounding desert. As such, it is a far less benign (and popular) affair. If, as critic Daniel Mendelsohn has suggested, Mad Men is partly interested in depicting boomers' parents to elicit sympathy and even forgiveness, Breaking Bad offers no such mercy.

Instead, the show runs on a frightening moral logic: No one gets away with anything. Breaking Bad revolves around the least fashionable concept imaginable: wrath. It offers something quite different from the fatalism of The Wire, where things start off ugly and pretty much stay that way. In Breaking Bad, things get steadily worse.

The further Walt "advances" in his new career, the more obstacles he overcomes, the more he believes himself to be invincible, and the deeper he descends into a hell of his own making. When he tries to manage his crimes, he begets worse crimes. Intoxicated on the fumes of self-righteousness, Walt consistently mistakes atrocities for victories. And each time, we come to detest his rationalizations a little bit more—especially how he relegates right and wrong to the realm of less evolved, less scientific minds.

Most series of this caliber are careful never to judge their characters, but Gilligan seems to believe that such judgments are necessary for honest characterization. He is brave (or sly) enough to get the viewer to feel the same. We see where Walt is coming from, we may even empathize with him (especially at the beginning), but at no point are we moved to acquit him.

Like all of us, Walt dwells in moral gray areas, but their universality doesn't make them any less gray. And Gilligan courageously doesn't flinch when the characters reap what they sow. He has placed something unshakably retributive at the heart of his onscreen world: the horror of getting what we deserve, or, you might say, a world of law devoid of grace.

Our current "golden age of television" tends to depict conventional morality as quaint but outdated (Mad Men), if it is not simply irrelevant and forgotten (Girls, Game of Thrones). Gilligan's belief in fixed consequences—existential, moral, spiritual—is what distinguishes his show. As Michelle Kuo and Albert Wu noted in the Los Angeles Review of Books, "In the world of Breaking Bad, reality cannot be constructed by man. Rather, metaphysical truth exists—good and evil, moral and immoral, action and consequence. … This is the stuff of the Old Testament."

Breaking Bad has placed something 
unshakably retributive at the heart 
of the onscreen world: the horror of 
getting what we deserve, or, you might say, a world of law devoid of grace.

Graceless Universe

Gilligan himself admitted as much in the Times profile: "If there's a larger lesson to Breaking Bad, it's that actions have consequences. … I feel some sort of need for biblical atonement, or justice, or something." Of course, the show's violent and grisly subject matter has kept it from connecting with the religious audience that might actually share Gilligan's moral vision.

In one of the most memorable scenes of season four, the theological implications of Gilligan's vision become clear. Anguished after committing murder in cold blood, Walt's long-suffering former-student-turned-accomplice Jesse Pinkman attends a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in hopes of finding relief. After Jesse shares a thinly veiled version of his own crime, the group leader counsels self-acceptance. "We're not here to sit in judgment," he says, to which Jesse explodes:

Why not? Why not? … If you just do stuff and nothing happens, what's it all mean? What's the point? … So no matter what I do, hooray for me because I'm a great guy? It's all good? No matter how many dogs I kill, I just—what, do an inventory, and accept?

Jesse rejects a world in which his transgression garners no consequence or cost. He seems to know that clemency must have some basis, that as much as we might wish it were so, absolution cannot be conjured out of thin air, at least not if it is going to address a truly guilty conscience.

Jesse might even agree with the Christian understanding of forgiveness, as something that does not suspend justice so much as assuage and allay it. But in Gilligan's graceless universe, Jesse is left in despair, with no hope beyond making the next score (or getting even with Walt).

Jesse's agony is ultimately what separates him from his partner. Walt's true pathology will be just as familiar to those who have read their Bible as Jesse's desire for propitiation: his staggering capacity for self-justification and the hubris that fuels it—what some might call garden-variety original sin.

Early on, Walt refuses a sincere offer from a former colleague to help him pay for his treatment. Here we catch a glimpse of a man whose low station in life belies an enormous amount of pride. Soon, in an inversion of the Book of Job, Walt leverages his personal suffering to justify entering "the business." As the factors that ostensibly led him to "break bad" disappear, each justification gives way to the next until he is completely convinced of the righteousness of his cause simply because it is his. How else could a man utter lines such as, "I'm not in the drug business, I'm in the empire business," with a straight face?

All this thematic potency wouldn't matter much if the writing weren't so taut, the performances so spellbinding, the suspense so addictive. But without fail they are. Which is why we have every reason to trust that Gilligan and company will bring their parable of pride to a satisfying conclusion.

Whether or not that conclusion entails redemption for Walter White remains unknown. We certainly shouldn't count on it, especially since it might compromise the integrity of the show. As we all know, the only way Walter White could ever be redeemed is the same way any of us whom the law declares broken and bad are—by the miracle of God's grace.

Or, to paraphrase Vince Gilligan, by something too good not to believe.

David Zahl is the director of Mockingbird Ministries and editor in chief of the Mockingbird blog.

The documentary is one of the trickiest mediums for storytelling.

First of all, you don't have control of the story—you can't make it fit the story you want to tell. You have to follow what you find. Documentaries can uncover stories that the public may have missed and put them together creatively.

However, moviegoers often view the form skeptically, because it's difficult to do it well. Even a good documentary can seem unpolished or unfinished.

Rising from Ashes is a welcome exception to this.

The bicycle is a primary form of transportation in Rwanda. It was also a means for survival during the genocide. The country has made great strides towards healing the deep wounds left by the horrific events of 1994, but the work is still far from finished. So when legendary bike builder Tom Ritchie hears that a few young Rwandans have formed a cycling team, the story begins.

He persuades his old racing rival, the eccentric Jock Boyer (first American to compete in the Tour de France), to come with him to Rwanda and be a part of hosting a race they called "The Wooden Bike Classic." There they meet Adrien Niyonshuti, a strong-spirited young Rwandan with an incredible aptitude for the sport. Not only did the Rwandan riders exhibit a real talent, but they had a reason to ride. After Adrien won the Classic, he was asked what he hoped for next. He responded that he hoped that these white folk would keep racing with them: "I think it would bring hope to our lives and our country."

To make a long story short, Jock moves to Rwanda and begins coaching the beginnings of a national team. Their story is truly remarkable as they embark on a journey to compete in the London Olympic Games.

But really, there are two stories going on here. One is the story of a country still recovering from a brutal history and the unity and hope that a national sports team inspires. The other is the story of Jock and the team, particularly Adrien. Jock's troubled past (which includes some jail time) and his own journey to healing uniquely equipped him to relate to the boys. In many ways, Jock sees himself in Adrien.

At one point in the documentary, Jock looks at the camera, tells us exactly why he served time, and takes full responsibility for his actions. His honesty is surprisingly refreshing. It's this willingness to name the evil that is necessary to healing Rwanda as well. Adrien lost about 60 family members in the genocide. He knows what it is to lose, but he also knows the importance of forgiveness. Adrien and Jock inspire one another.

What's great about Rising from Ashes is that you kind of forget it's a documentary. The cinematography is excellent throughout and even stunning at parts, particularly in its portrayal of the races. Many times documentary filmmakers have to reenact scenes or find some other way of portraying the events they are telling, because, well, they've already happened. And they can't go back and film them.

But this project has been over six years in the making. The filmmakers took a real risk and began documenting the story before they knew if it would have a happy ending. The races they filmed could have ended differently. The team could have broken up, or given up.

Robert Frost says the following about the artistic process in his essay "The Figure a Poem Makes":

It begins in delight, it inclines to the impulse, it assumes direction with the first line laid down, it runs a course of lucky events, and it ends in a clarification of life… a momentary stay against confusion.

That is exactly the approach that was taken with this film. It began in delight—particularly the delight of Tom Ritchie, Jock Boyer, and director T.C. Johnstone, as they saw something hopeful and possible in a recovering nation. They had a hunch about a story that hadn't happened yet, and they inclined to the impulse.

The result is a beautiful and truly inspiring piece of cinema that serves as "a momentary stay against confusion." In the midst of this reckless and often violent world we live in, Rising from Ashes is a reminder of redemption.

Carol Anne Ausband is a summer intern with Christianity Today Movies and a student at The King's College in New York City.

High-profile pastors have long complained (along with other celebrities) of impersonators on social media. But Rick Warren recently revealed just how widespread the problem is.

Warren announced Tuesday that in the months since his son Matthew's suicide, more than 200 fake Facebook pages have popped up, soliciting funds in Matthew's memory. So far, he has succeeded in shutting down 179 of them, which he said were "making money on my son's death."

Warren, whose church is indeed raising funds to combat mental illness in Matthew's honor, referred Twitter followers to Facebook, where he noted, "Thanks to you friends for reporting them and thanks for for [sic] 'LIKING' this real page."

But with evangelical leaders—such as Joyce Meyer, Max Lucado, and Andy Stanley—proving more influential on Twitter than pop-culture celebrities, Warren isn't the only one whose profile has been targeted.

In a recent high-profile incident, pastor Joel Osteen fell victim to an elaborately-crafted scheme in which posers crafted a website, Twitter account, and fake news outlets to announce Osteen's supposed turn from faith. The real Osteen has nearly 2 million Twitter followers and more than twice as many Facebook "likes." But the plan's mastermind, Justin Tribble, noted that he simply wanted to "get through and have a dialogue" with Osteen. "I didn't want to hurt the guy, didn't want to defame him," Tribble told ABC News. "I want a message to get through to this guy, turn down the clichés and get real."

Christian leaders Ed Stetzer, Miles McPherson, Benny Hinn, and Perry Noble have also reported fake online accounts, often urging followers to report such sites.

Warren's wife Kay recently raised the alert when another impersonator hacked her husband's account, changed the Twitter name to @iamsam241, and tweeted about Warren's return to Saddleback at the end of July. "Whoever you are, not cool," she tweeted on July 27. Her complaint on behalf of her husband, who has more than a million Twitter followers, drew the attention of Twitter employees, who offered to help remedy the situation.

Meanwhile, Rick Warren remains determined to tackle any remaining imposters posing in his name. "We're still working on the rest," he said on Facebook.

Warren recently returned to preaching at his Saddleback Church for the first time since his son's death in April, announcing in his sermon plans to start a new ministry targeting the stigma of mental illness. Shortly before Matthew's death, he also spoke with CT about his upcoming retirement, goals for his bestselling The Purpose Driven Life, and plans for gospel outreach to those unexposed to Christianity.

In the mid-90’s, there was a popular (and dreadful) series of “Big Johnson” novelty t-shirts for guys. You remember—those sophom*oric t-shirts that not-so-subtly touted the size of one’s genitals with crude, witless metaphors.

At one point, the majority of guys at our school owned one. This could have been because of one of two possibilities:

1.There was a secret virus unleashed upon the public and undetected by science, that targeted 12-19 year old males resulting in gargantuan genitalia.

2.This was a display of adolescent insecurity that really had nothing to do with large genitals (perhaps actually indicating the opposite), and more a statement about the parents who let their kids wear such shirts than any actual anatomical abnormalities.

Option two seems more likely.

It makes sense that the perfect storm of adolescent insecurity would make high school males want to find identity with silly “mine is bigger than yours” rhetoric. If only this kind of juvenile comparison was limited only to boys in the 90’s! But unfortunately, it describes the behavior of plenty of grown men and women, even those in ministry.

But comparison is never a good idea, especially when the actual measure of a Christian leader isn’t anything other than faithfulness.

What defines us

That’s easy to forget though, especially in our success-obsessed culture. You would think by now that in a world as stupid as our own, humanity would have learned long ago that whatever is big and popular does not equal “best.” But we still buy the lie. (If you don’t believe this, then please explain to me the phenomena of the Kardashians, “Jersey Shore,” and Nickelback. Popularity obviously isn’t a fair indicator of quality.) But it’s also equally faulty to assume that something more pure, holy or “deeper” because it is smaller.

Christians are responsible to steward our influence for maximum impact within the communities we serve. Crass popularity or lack thereof does not make us automatically either successful or unsuccessful. But we often play games of comparison, feeling the same insecurities of identity evidenced by the “Big Johnson” crowd.

And here’s the twist: while my adolescent schoolmates wore their “Big Johnson” insecurity visibly, we ministers are less overt. Our obsession with comparison comes out subtly, in our discussions and caveats about ministry. When we over-insist that ministry isn’t all about this or about that, it betrays the fact that we are actually captured by what we’re trying to convince others we’re free from. To quote Hamlet on guilt: “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Here are some examples I’ve seen:

1.The pastor you can’t have coffee with without hearing the same endless rant: “It’s just not about the numbers.” Why is he/she always talking about this? Typical translation: I’m insecure about my church not being bigger.

2.The pastor who’s always talking about how “it’s not just about theology and head knowledge.” Typical translation: I’m insecure about my lack of theological education.

3.The guy who runs the discipleship program who is always telling anybody who will listen about “how dumb/shallow the institutional church is.” Typical translation: I’m insecure because I didn’t advance in the last institutional church I was in, and my feelings are still hurt.

4. The worship leader who is always talking about how nobody “gets” their artful music. Typical translation: I’m insecure because I didn’t get a record deal or a slot leading worship at a big conference.

When I hear ministers spend as much time tearing down other ministries or talking about what “real” church isn’t, it’s typically not prophetic critique. It’s rarely incisive cultural commentary. It’s thinly veiled insecurity. If we’re actually doing something that bold or different, there is no reason for insecurity—we can celebrate the lives that God is already changing and keep doing what He’s given us to do.

And on the other side of this self-protective cover, we often aren’t doing anything different at all. We are just navel-gazers attempting to publicly talk ourselves through our own insecurities.

There’s no need to define ourselves by what we’re not. If we feel that tug, we should ask if it’s a sign of our own insecurity. We’ll be able to tell what we are about by what we are actually doing.

And isn’t that what we want to define us?

Jonathan Martin is the lead pastor of Renovatus: A Church for People Under Renovation in Charlotte, NC. He is the author of Prototype (Tyndale House, 2013).