Sunday, January 18, 2026

The Redeemed Man Serving in His Church

My wife and I are blessed with nine children, five of whom are boys. As I write this chapter, my oldest son just turned twenty-one, and my next oldest son is heading off to college. So, when I think about this book, and my chapter in particular, I can’t help but think of the young men in my own household. The thought in my mind is not just “What do I want men to know about serving in the church,” but “What do I want my sons to know about serving in the church?”

Before talking about anything else, I want my sons (and every other man for that matter) to notice four words in the title of this chapter. 

The first word is “redeemed.” As Christian parents, I trust that we pray for more than morally decent, responsible, respectful, hard-working adult children. We must pray that our children would be genuine, born-again, blood-bought Christians. Every man reading this book must endeavor to know his own soul and be sure that he is, first and foremost, a redeemed man.

The second word is “church.” It isn’t enough for the Christian man to read his Bible and pray, or to be a part of a Bible study during the week, or to get involved in a campus ministry while in college, or to read good theology books, or to listen to good Christian podcasts, or to listen to good sermons while he’s driving in the car. The redeemed man must be involved in a church. In one of the last books that he wrote before he died, John Stott said this about the importance of the church: “I trust that none of my readers is that grotesque anomaly, an unchurched Christian. The New Testament knows nothing of such a person. For the church lies at the very centre of the eternal purpose of God.”1 Stott was right. An unchurched Christian is a contradiction in terms.

The third word is “his.” I understand that some people don’t like putting a possessive pronoun before the word “church.” The argument is that we shouldn’t speak of “my” church, “their” church, or “pastor so-and-so’s church” because the church belongs to Christ and not to us. While I appreciate the caution, it seems to me there is something healthy about referring to “my” church or speaking about the Christian man and “his” church. The possessive pronoun reminds us that the Christian isn’t merely a member of the universal church; he must belong to a specific local church—a body of believers that meets in a specific place, at a specific time, under the leadership of specific men. The word “his” also underscores that we don’t need more church hoppers. The mature man doesn’t float from church to church, flitting in and out of different congregations as his mood (and his weekend schedule) dictates. God calls men to belong to a local church and to be in that church every Sunday unless providentially hindered (such as by illness, death, emergency) or unless necessary travel (such as family vacation or essential work commitments) means he will worship in a different church.

The fourth word is “serving.” I almost missed this word myself. I started to write about the three words that I want my sons to notice, and then I came back and realized I had skipped what may be the most important word in the title. The goal is not simply to have redeemed men who join a good church and sit in the pew Sunday after Sunday. All of that is foundational and indispensable. But the call of God is more than signing up and showing up. The call of God is to serve in the church. This call may mean serving in church office as an elder or deacon. This may mean, for an even smaller subset of men, serving as a pastor or staff member in the church. But those are just the most obvious ways to serve. Whether a man ever holds ecclesiastical office or not, he is still called to be a serving member of the church. He must be more than a consumer of fine preaching, quality programs, or excellent music. Certainly, his church involvement must consist of more than making good business connections, making himself look good in the eyes of others, or simply making his wife happy. The redeemed man is in his church in order to serve his church, because in serving the body of Christ he serves Christ Himself.

Set Apart to Serve 

When I think about redeemed men serving in the church, my mind goes immediately to the many fine elders I have served with. I know too many pastors have horror stories of the immature, untaught, sometimes even unconverted men they have had to serve with on the session (the governing elder board). By God’s grace, I don’t have those stories. With very few exceptions, the men I’ve served with have been sincere, hard-working, and eager to do God’s work in His ways.

I could talk about many such men, but I’ll just mention one. I’ll call him Tom, so as not to embarrass him if he ever reads this book. Tom was one of those pillars in the church, the kind of unflashy, but stalwart individuals that every church needs. For decades, he worked a blue-collar job—a tough, monotonous, on-your-feet-all-day kind of job that, in my opinion, sounded harder than being a pastor. Although he was often tired, I didn’t hear him complain. He worked his normal job, and then gave hours and hours after that to the church. I’m pretty sure he didn’t make a lot of money, but I know he gave consistently and generously. He showed up every Sunday morning and evening. He and his godly wife raised four children, all of whom are walking with the Lord. He liked to read history especially. He took seriously his responsibility to care for the members in his elder district. He volunteered for committees. He discipled younger men. He and his wife welcomed people in their home. He read his Bible every morning. And often, when he shook my hand after church, he’d look me in the eye and say, “I want you to know I pray for you every day.”

Tom would be the first (and last) to tell you that he wasn’t perfect. He’d list the gifts he didn’t have in abundance. He’d tell you what he wasn’t good at. He’d demur, without any false humility, that he wasn’t sure he was qualified to be an elder. But he was a great elder. Better yet, he was (and is) a great Christian. And that’s crucial, because there is no being a truly great elder or a great pastor or a great man in the church without first being a great Christian. “Be thou an example of the believers,” Paul exhorted Timothy, “in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity” (1 Tim. 4:12). That’s a lot of ground to cover, but that’s what my friend Tom was like, and that’s what godly manhood looks like—to be exemplary in what we say with our mouths, where we go with our feet, what we do with our hands, what we believe in our heads, and what we do with our sexual thoughts and sexual parts. After more than twenty years in ministry, I still find 1 Timothy 4:12 challenging, convicting, and inspiring.

When the church in Jerusalem was struggling to minister to the widows in Acts 6, the answer was to find godly men to address the problem. The situation was volatile. Some women were being overlooked in the daily distribution, and the oversight looked like ethnic prejudice to boot (v. 1). The apostles knew they couldn’t ignore the problem, but they also knew they were not the ones to directly fix the problem. Their God-given priorities were prayer and the ministry of the word (v. 4). The God-given solution was to find “seven men of honest report, full of the Holy Ghost and wisdom, whom we may appoint over this business” (v. 3). Not just any old warm bodies, but men they could trust, men who were good with people, men who were spiritual in the deepest sense of the word.

We know that women also served in the early church (Rom. 16:1), no doubt in integral and invaluable ways (see, for example, all the women mentioned in the rest of Romans 16). But the spiritual temperature of the church will always have a hard time rising higher than the spiritual temperature of the men in the church. That’s not a statement of comparative worth between the sexes. It’s a statement about reality—the way God made human beings and the way He made the church. Godly women flourish when they have godly men in the church to serve and to lead. It was a judgment upon ancient Israel when they had women to rule over them (Isa. 3:12), not because every man is apt to be a better ruler than every woman, but because it is a sign of spiritual declension when strong, wise, just, compassionate men—to govern and to rule—are nowhere to be found.

Older Men 

The New Testament says more about what men should be like in the church than what men specifically should be doing in the church (other than possibly serving as officers). That makes sense because no amount of competence can make up for a lack of character. If we don’t want to be “barren” or “unfruitful” in our knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ, we must be growing in godliness (2 Peter 1:5–8). One of the few character texts addressed specifically to men is found in Titus 2. There Paul tells Titus what particularly he ought to tell the older men, the older women, the younger women, and the younger men. Let’s look at the first and last of those categories.

In Titus 2:2, Paul admonishes “the aged men” to be marked by six qualities: sober, grave, temperate, sound in faith, in charity, in peace.”

(1) Sober may have reference to alcohol, but the term means more than that. To be sober is to be balanced. The problem with alcohol isn’t alcohol per se; the problem is with imbalanced intake of alcohol. God is telling older men to be measured, even-keeled, and balanced. After walking with the Lord for many years, older men should be less inclined to get tipped over to one side or the other. They don’t fly off the handle with anger. They hear both sides. They are consistent. Godly men are calm, clear-headed, not governed by the mob, not willing to give in to negative peer pressure. Older Christian men should be anchors.

(2) Older men should also be grave. This doesn’t mean dour, grim, and joyless. Think of the word gravitas. It suggests someone who is dignified, serious about the right things, and worthy of respect. We live in a society where people are famous for being famous. The digital age promises instant notoriety, instant influence, and insta-everything. The church, on the other hand, needs men who know how to love and care for their wives for decade after decade, men who know how to raise godly children, men who prioritize substance over sizzle. 

(3) Older men must also be temperate. We sometimes laugh at cranky old men, but irritability and rage are not fruits of the Spirit. To be temperate is to be self-controlled. Older men ought to have a measure of discipline in their lives—in prayer, in the word, in conversation, in what they eat, in what they watch, in how they spend their time.

(4) Older men are to be sound in faith. This does not mean that the older man has every question answered or never has a single doubt. But it does mean that his life is marked by a profound trust in God. The older man has been through the highs and lows of life. He should be able to look back and say, 

Hitherto Thy love has blest me;
Thou hast brought me to this place; 
And I know Thy hand will bring me
Safely home by Thy good grace.
2

(5) Older men should also be sound in charity. I remember from a previous church an older man I sat next to in the choir. He was smart, well-educated, funny, and happy. He also had a number of quirks and not a few, um, senior moments. He was a godly man too. I knew that his wife had health problems because she never came to church. When I heard that she was in the hospital again, I asked what it was like to care for her as her health deteriorated. Without a word of complaint, he rattled off all he had to do for her, where he had to take her, and how he had to give her pills, change her clothes, and keep her washed. “Oh,” I said, “It must be hard having to do that for. . . .” I didn’t finish the sentence, because I didn’t know how long he had been caring for his invalid wife. Then he filled in the blank: “Twenty-seven years.” Here was a man sound in charity.

(6) Finally, older men are to be sound in patience. Oh, how the church needs saints who finish well. Anybody can be impressive at twenty five, but what about sixty five, seventy five, or eighty five? Too many Christians fizzle out. They press on at first but end up coasting. The Christian race takes endurance. If you are a seasoned saint reading this, don’t put the controls on autopilot. Don’t waste twenty years of your life in trivialities. Of course, we are bound to slow down. Spending time with grandkids is good. Hobbies can be pleasing to the Lord. If we live long enough, we will retire from a job, but we don’t retire from the kingdom. Winston Churchill lived an amazingly full life, and then he became Prime Minister. The church needs Christian men who run the race all the way through the tape. After winning the gold medal in the 1924 Olympics, Eric Liddel was asked the secret of his success in the 400 meters. Liddel replied, “I run the first 200 meters as hard as I can. Then, for the second 200 meters, with God’s help, I run harder.”3

Younger Men 

After beginning his exhortations by singling out the older men, Paul finishes his instructions to Titus by mentioning the younger men. Somewhat surprisingly, Paul only has one command for the younger men: “be sober minded” (sōphroneinTitus 2:6). Verses 7 and 8 apply to the younger men too, but they are strictly speaking Paul’s instructions for Titus as an example to younger men. There is only one direct command for the younger men, and it’s not at all original. Closely related Greek words are used in verse 2 (sōphrōn, translated “temperate”), verse 5 (sōphrōn, “discreet”), and again in verse 12 (sōphronōs, “soberly”). So, is Paul going soft on the young men with this one meager command?

Not at all. Paul issued instructions that were not, by and large, exclusive to any one group, but addressed that group’s particular challenge. Take the older men. They are into the second half of their lives, so God is concerned that they be dignified, worthy of respect, and finish well with patience and endurance. Older women, without kids in tow, might wander from house to house, talking more than they should. God is concerned that they not be slanderers, but examples and teachers for the younger women. On the other hand, the younger women, for their season of life, need exhortations regarding the family and the home. In each case, there is some overlap, but the commands are chosen to fit what that specific group needs to hear.

It seems likely, then, that Paul hits on this characteristic of godliness because it is the one that young men struggle with most, and perhaps the type of virtue that young men aspire to least.

Being sensible and disciplined is not what teenage boys and college-aged men are known for. Harnessed by the Spirit, young men can be bold, fearless, courageous, and accomplish great things. Ruled by their hormones and their not-yet-fully-formed brains, young men can push each other to be wild, foolish, and careless. The ungodly man will not just stumble into a less than sober minded life; he will look for it. Self-control, for young men, is often an area of vice not a virtue.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. We mustn’t think that the only kind of masculinity is toxic masculinity. God made men to be strong, aggressive, risk-taking, protective, and self-sacrificing. If young men are to serve well in the church, they must show themselves to be sober minded sexually (channeling the sex drive into marriage), sober minded emotionally (putting to death fits of rage), sober minded socially (proving to be responsible, dependable, and reliable) and sober minded spiritually (pursuing Christian service and Christian maturity with the same passion that they pursue sports, career, hobbies, and adventure). Throughout church history, young men have been catalysts for missionary movements, for reforming the church, for bettering their homes, and for reaching their neighbors with the gospel. A zealous young Christian man with wisdom, discernment, and self-control is a holy weapon in the hand of God.

The Manly Virtue of Magnanimity 

We learn another character quality crucial for serving the church from John Witherspoon, who was the president of Princeton (then called the College of New Jersey) from 1768, when he arrived from his native Scotland after a career in pastoral ministry, until he died in 1794. Twice during his presidency—in 1775 and again in 1787—Witherspoon preached a message before commencement on a theme we don’t hear a lot about today. “My single purpose from these words at this time,” he told his all-male students, “is to explain and recommend magnanimity as a Christian virtue.”4

The heading above calls magnanimity a “manly virtue.” By that, I don’t mean that magnanimity is unique to men or that women are not also called to this trait. But I do think magnanimity is a virtue particularly befitting to manhood, and that manhood bereft of magnanimity is especially lamentable. When the apostle Paul enjoined the Corinthians to be strong, to stand firm in the faith, and to “quit you like men” (1 Cor. 16:13), he was calling men and women to courage, but he was also embracing the notion that fortitude in the face of opposition is what we associate with manliness.

According to Witherspoon, magnanimity entails five commitments: (1) “to attempt great and difficult things,” (2) “to aspire after great and valuable possessions,” (3) to face “dangers with resolution,” (4) “to struggle against difficulties with perseverance,” and (5) “to bear sufferings with fortitude and patience.”5 In short, the magnanimous Christian is eager to attempt great things and willing to endure great hardships.

Witherspoon took for granted that the world approves of magnanimity. His concern was that some might conclude that calling men (like his Princeton graduates) to strength and valor and ambition does not fit with the tenor of the gospel. Christians have often struggled to know how godliness and manliness mesh. But virtues, Witherspoon insisted, can never be inconsistent with each other. He noted that while the gospel would have us mourn for our sin and cultivate a humility of spirit, we are also “called to live and act for the glory of God and the good of others.”6

Christianity is not opposed to ambition, but ambition will look different for the Christian. “Everyone must acknowledge,” Witherspoon said, “that ostentation and love of praise, and whatever is contrary to the self-denial of the gospel, tarnish the beauty of the greatest actions.”7 True greatness does not lie in self-promotion, endless bravado, and passing along our own praise.

Likewise, manliness does not mean we must be larger-than-life gunslingers and gladiators who swagger into town ready to kill or be killed. There is more than one way to be brave and many ways to be strong. Not everyone will be gifted with brains or brawn. Not everyone will have the opportunity for world-altering heroism. “But,” Witherspoon noted, “that magnanimity which is the fruit of true religion, being indeed the product of divine grace, is a virtue of the heart and may be attained by persons of mean talents and narrow possessions and in the very lowest stations of human life.”8

If magnanimity calls us to attempt great things, it also compels us to endure great suffering. Merriam-Webster defines magnanimity as “loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity.” Would that our leading Christian voices, and Christian men in particular, were models of this kind of magnanimity! While we all should disdain pettiness, there is something particularly discomfiting when a man feels the need to advertise the offenses against him and swing at every offender. The magnanimous person does not bear grudges, does not wallow in self-pity, does not demand penance, and does not stoop to settle every score.

In the end, the two parts of magnanimity are inseparable, for the great man is measured not only by what he does but by what he does not do. We would do well to be more like David pardoning Shimei than the sons of Zeruiah looking for the next enemy to execute. Bearing burdens, eschewing meanness, and setting an example of noble generosity is not just a saner and more effective way to live; it is the way of the cross. For the manly virtue of magnanimity is the way of the One who accomplished great things by defeating His foes, even while crying out, “Father forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).

The redeemed man who would serve in his church—no matter what specific tasks, offices, or responsibilities he signs up for—must be a man we can look up to. He may be ordinary in gifting, in resources, in abilities, and ordinary in a dozen other things, but he must be exemplary in virtue. The men in our churches need not make any apologies for being men, but they do need to keep their eyes on Jesus in order to see what true manhood looks like. We must press hard after the manly virtue of magnanimity, for such is the Savior we serve. 

This article is Kevin DeYoung's chapter from The Redeemed Man, a book that aims to help men answer Christ’s call to become a man in His image—the kind of man the world needs.


Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

 

Monday, January 12, 2026

Why the Church Matters More Than Ever

New Atheists like Richard Dawkins spent the better part of two decades preaching that science, not religion, was our key to unlocking the mysteries of the universe. Disenchantment was supposed to free humanity from believing in “fairy tales” like Christianity. 

But this worldview has proven unlivable. People are still searching for spiritual meaning. The rise of artificial intelligence has ushered in an era of reenchantment, with AI proselytizers using unscientific, mystical, and even religious language to describe the technology’s transformative potential for humanity. They have likened their role as midwives birthing a nonhuman supersentience or as prophets summoning gods.

This reenchantment is not value-neutral. AI is not being developed in an ideological vacuum. Rather, its design is indelibly shaped by quasi-religious beliefs rooted in digital gnosticism—a dualistic worldview that seeks transcendence over the material world by leveraging digital technology.

Ancient Greek Gnosticism viewed the material world as a cosmic mistake, a prison from which to escape and ascend to a more true spiritual existence by divining “secret knowledge.” For digital gnostics, the limitations of embodied life are existentially vexing. Every inefficiency, from the ordinary frictions of community to the inevitability of death, must be overcome through technology. And the downstream implications—for both the church and religious belief in America—are legion.

More than 80 years ago, C. S. Lewis issued this warning in The Abolition of Man:

“There is something which unites magic and applied science [technology] while separating them from the “wisdom” of earlier ages. For the wise men of old the cardinal problem of human life was how to conform the soul to objective reality, and the solution was wisdom, self-discipline, and virtue. For the modern, the cardinal problem is how to conform reality to the wishes of man, and the solution is a technique.”

AI is the digital gnostic’s messiah. It offers every user the gift of knowledge and power, untethered from wisdom and virtue. So much so that artificial general intelligence (AGI) has been called humanity’s “last invention,” after which it will supposedly be able to do all future inventing for us. If so, our “technological Rapture” is just around the corner.

Digital gnosticism then, is the “good news” that we will be saved by merging with the machine, allowing AI to optimize us for eternal life (as in Bryan Johnson’s “Don’t Die” movement) or using AI to project our consciousness across the universe.

I wish I could say this was science fiction, but these are genuine beliefs flooding a culture now lacking the gravitational pull of Christianity at its center. 

This is why the church is needed more than ever. As I wrote in The Reason for Church, “the church is not merely the sum of individuals who believe the same thing and live in the same geographic area. Every church is a living, breathing embodiment of the gospel story” (emphasis added).

As such, weekly worship is a “strange, thin place between a fallen world and the God who helps us make sense of it all.” It’s no wonder that widespread dechurching has only made people more desperate for meaning and less discerning in where to search for it.

Recently, a Google employee at our church who works with AI asked the students in our youth ministry, “Where do you go when you have questions you don’t think your parents will be able to answer?” About a quarter of them said ChatGPT. We already trust online influencers more than institutions, and 42 percent of adults use AI for emotional support. Digital divination—trusting a chatbot to tell us the truth about reality—doesn’t require a leap of faith.

But what if our divining isn’t a digital facsimile? What if there are ghosts in the machine? Scripture reminds us that the spiritual world is just as real as the material one. God exists, miracles happen, and angels and demons are at work. Because we wrestle “against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Eph. 6:15), we can’t categorically dismiss reports that, as Rod Dreher put it, “evil discarnate intelligences use [AI] to communicate with people.” If the cardboard and plastic of a Ouija board can be a gateway to dark spiritual forces, why not digital ones and zeros?

Whether AI is merely reflecting our superstitious hopes and fears back at us or there is a ghost in the machine, Deuteronomy 18 wouldn’t list using mediums, divination, and necromancy as “abominations to the Lord” if there were no spiritual risks.

Digital gnosticism will ultimately prove just as futile as secular materialism. We are creatures made of dirt and breath. We will never transcend our need for the fullness of existence. And in Christ, we have it. 

Because American individualism has always been more than a little gnostic, we often see our union with Christ as  a merely spiritual reality. We treat church as optional, but it never would have occurred to Paul that one could be spiritually in Christ without fully and physically abiding in Christ’s body. It is only in the church, Paul says, that “the manifold wisdom of God should be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places” (Eph. 3:10).

If we want to be reenchanted by the gospel and inoculated to digital gnosticism, we will need a rechurching even greater than our dechurching. We can start by devoting ourselves to a local church and participating in the ordinary means of grace—Word, sacrament, and prayer. In our gathered worship and witness, we rehearse the drama of redemption. In serving our neighbors and loving our enemies, we resist artificial intelligence with otherworldly love. 

AI may offer “a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ” (Col. 2:17, ESV). God loves us too much to let us go on existing without him. That’s why I believe reenchantment will include a greater openness to the gospel. It is therefore the church’s task—nay, privilege—to welcome digital gnostics into a true and better enchantment.

Brad Edwards is the lead pastor at The Table Church in Lafayette, Colorado. He is the author of CT’s Book of the Year, The Reason for Church, and cohost of the podcast PostEverything.
 
Edwards' book The Reason for the Church is Christianity Today's 2025 Book of the Year




Tuesday, January 6, 2026

Facing Death, Ben Sasse Points to Life

Two days before Christmas, former Nebraska Sen. and University of Florida President Ben Sasse
announced he has been diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. His tweet was a gut punch to anyone who knows Sasse and to the many around the nation who have admired his presence in public life. A statesman through and through, Sasse embodies an aspirational politics that even those who viscerally disagree with him seem to admire. Well wishes came from across the political divide, as bitter ideological foes united to pledge to pray for a gifted political talent fighting cancer at age 53. 

Yet, despite his years of public service, it’s the way Sasse announced his diagnosis that might be his most important contribution to American political life. It reflects the deep and serious theological beliefs that animate the former senator’s life. 

“Advanced pancreatic is nasty stuff; it’s a death sentence,” he wrote. “But I already had a death sentence before last week too — we all do.” This is the undeniable reality that Christians such as Sasse embrace. Death comes for all of us, and few know when their last breath will be. The New Testament book of James reminds us, “Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes” (James 4:14). To be sure, Christianity isn’t mere nihilism, for believers also understand death to be an intrusion on God’s original created order, the final foe that Christ, in his resurrection, defeated. The Apostle Paul says that the Christian faith allows believers to look at death and say, “Where is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15). 

Sasse echoes this, attaching his announcement to the season of Advent. “As a Christian, the weeks running up to Christmas are a time to orient our hearts toward the hope of what’s to come.” What’s to come, he says, is the real Christian hope of a new world, a world devoid of the pain and tragedy of this one: 

Not an abstract hope in fanciful human goodness; not hope in vague hallmark-sappy spirituality; not a bootstrapped hope in our own strength (what foolishness is the evaporating-muscle I once prided myself in). Nope — often we lazily say “hope” when what we mean is “optimism.” To be clear, optimism is great, and it’s absolutely necessary, but it’s insufficient . . . A well-lived life demands more reality — stiffer stuff. That’s why, during advent, even while still walking in darkness, we shout our hope — often properly with a gravelly voice soldiering through tears. Such is the calling of the pilgrim. Those who know ourselves to need a Physician should dang well look forward to enduring beauty and eventual fulfillment. That is, we hope in a real Deliverer — a rescuing God, born at a real time, in a real place. But the eternal city — with foundations and without cancer — is not yet. Remembering Isaiah’s prophecies of what’s to come doesn’t dull the pain of current sufferings. But it does put it in eternity’s perspective.

To many, this may come across as pie-in-the-sky, a comforting myth that helps you get away from the cold, hard reality of death. But Christians really believe there is another world coming, that this broken reality will give way to a world made right by the one who made it. Christians really believe that because Jesus rose again after his death, we too will rise again, body and soul. This is the hope about which pastor Tim Keller wrote in his final days. It’s what allowed Dietrich Bonhoeffer to whisper, before he was executed by the Nazi government, “This is the end, but for me it is the beginning of life.”

The hope of the eternal doesn’t erase the reality of cancer in a fallen world. True Christian hope is not flippant about death. The 11th chapter of the Gospel of John tells the story of Jesus, standing before the rotted corpse of his friend Lazarus, weeping and overcome with rage. Christian theology teaches that death is an aberration, an intrusion into God’s good creation, the work of an unseen enemy. It is an attack against God himself, who fashioned humans in his image. Even the most devout Christian doesn’t welcome a terminal diagnosis, doesn’t shrug when loved ones are taken early. Because we see humans as God sees them, we are repulsed by death, sickened by violence, and must be defenders of human life. 

Sasse rightly pledged to fight his cancer and we should all pray that God, through the human instruments of advanced medicine, heals his body and gives him many more years. Death isn’t natural—to fight death with the materials of God’s creation—is the natural thing. Yet, the inevitability of what comes for us can be faced with an otherworldly kind of joy. 

Keller writes:

"Christians have a hope that can be “rubbed into” our sorrow and anger the way salt is rubbed into meat. Neither stifling grief nor giving way to despair is right. Neither repressed anger nor unchecked rage is good for your soul. But pressing hope into your grief makes you wise, compassionate, humble, and tenderhearted. Grieve fully yet with profound hope!

"The Christian resists a culture of death–a cheapening of human life through violence of any form–yet accepts as reality that Christ, in his life, death, and resurrection, has defeated it and offers himself as a promise of new and eternal life."

This is why Sasse, the college professor, might be offering the world perhaps his greatest lesson: how to face the prospect of death well. Sasse, whose discourses on civics on the Senate floor still inspire and whose books on American cultural maladies are widely read, is now offering his life as a template for millions of Americans who might walk a similar path. 

Nobody, including Sasse, chooses to sign up for such suffering. Nobody would, as Sasse wrote, want to think that they may miss the milestones of life. Even among believers, few, if any, among us understand the complex mysteries of a God who allows cancer to take hold of some of our best people in the prime of life. Yet, such a sober reality can help clear the mind and focus the heart on the things that really matter. It can give us a gratitude for each day we are granted, for the little blessings we overlook. Our petty disagreements, our nonstop partisan bickering, our junior-high level social media dramas seem to melt away when faced with our own mortality. 

Sasse’s thoughtful announcement comes at a time when Americans have few models of suffering well. On the one hand, tech entrepreneurs publicly muse about transhumanist utopias, where the body is mere hardware to be upgraded and extended indefinitely. On the other hand, there is the advancing Orweillian horror of “death with dignity,” where the sterile answer to a less-than-ideal life is no life at all. Governors in New York and Illinois recently signed expansive legislation that mirrors Canada’s expanding Medical Assistance in Dying (MAiD) regime.

To fight against cancer with joy and hope, to suffer well in the face of his own mortality, is a kind of counter to these insidious social movements that seek to deny our humanity. And Sasse offers the rest of us the perspective we need to live with purpose for however many days we have left on this earth.

As a middle-aged man not much younger than the former senator, I read his words with much grief. I wondered how I’d face a similar future, with my own children in high school and college. I wept, not only for him and his family, but for an America that desperately needs his voice. 

Yet I was inspired by a man who, facing the worst days of his life, is meeting them with true Christian hope and joy. I’m moved by a husband and father who will fight this disease with courage and yet will cling to the Christian hope of the life to come. In facing death so publicly, Sasse may teach us, if we listen, how to really live.

By Daniel Darling, director of the Land Center for Cultural Engagement at Southwestern Seminary 

Reorient Your 2026 With These Questions

What Do You Fit Into God's Story
We ask good questions in the Christian life. But are they God-centered? Here’s a look at how turning our
questions around can reorient us toward God’s glory.

Is the way you view your life truly God-centered?

Is the gospel a part of your life? Or does the gospel frame your life?

In his update of his classical work on the mission of God, renowned bible scholar Christoper Wright summarizes the biblical storyline stretching from creation to new creation. It’s a story grounded in the reality of God and his mission to redeem the world: “He is the originator of the story, the teller of the story, the prime actor in the story, the planner and guide of the story’s plot, the meaning of the story and its ultimate completion. He is its beginning, end, and center.”

Once you grasp the radically God-centered nature of reality (and the Bible’s account of history—past, present, and future), you can’t help but rethink the kinds of questions we instinctively ask about the Christian life. We get demoted. God gets exalted.

Turn Around These Questions

Below, some challenging questions that might help you reorient your thinking toward God and his purposes.

We often ask: Where does God fit into the story of my life?
Better to ask: Where does my little life fit into the great story of God’s mission?
The first question assumes my life story is the baseline into which God must somehow fit. But God’s mission is the frame for our lives, not the other way around.

We often ask: What is God’s purpose for my life?
Better to ask: What purpose does my life have within God’s purpose for all life, wrapped up in his mission for the whole of creation?
The first question assumes we should be looking for a tailor-made purpose designed exclusively for ourselves. The better question places our individual callings within the larger, sweeping purpose God has for the world.

We often ask: How can I apply the Bible to my life?
Better to ask: How can I apply my life to the Bible?
The first question subtly assumes my life is the central story, to which Scripture must somehow apply. But the Bible is the reality—the true Story—to which we’re called to conform ourselves. The goal isn't merely to apply disjointed bits of the Bible here and there but to inhabit the whole biblical story, embracing both its demands in the present and its hope for the future.

We often ask: How can we make the gospel relevant to the world?
Better to ask: How does God intend to transform the world to fit the shape of the gospel?
The first question assumes the gospel must be adapted to fit the world’s frame. The better question recognizes that gospel proclamation and demonstration are meant to display God’s redeeming work as it unfolds in human history.

We often ask: What activities and priorities make up the mission God expects from his church?
Better to ask: What kind of church does God desire for his mission?
The first question narrows “mission” to a set of tasks or programs. The second recognizes the church as the people of God, chosen and called to extend and embody the mission of God in all its biblical fullness, in both word and deed.

We often ask: What kind of mission does God have for me?
Better to ask: What kind of me does God want for his mission?
The first question shrinks the notion of mission down to an individual’s calling. The better question starts with God’s overarching mission, so that we then assess our lives—our character, gifts, and obedience—in light of his worldwide purposes.

God-Centered Frame

Reframing our questions places us where we belong. The Christian life isn't less meaningful when God is at the center but more so. We discover our significance not in seeing ourselves at the center of the story but by inhabiting the grand narrative the Scriptures set before us.

When we stop treating God as a supporting character in our personal story and instead see ourselves as participants in his great redemptive drama, our questions begin to change. And when our questions change, so does our orientation. We learn to ask not “How do I fit God into my life?” but “How does my life fit into the story of God’s glory?”

By Trevin Wax --  who is vice president of resources and marketing at the North American Mission Board and a visiting professor at Cedarville University. A former missionary to Romania, Trevin is a regular columnist at The Gospel Coalition and has contributed to The Washington Post, World, and Christianity Today. He has taught courses on mission and ministry at Wheaton College and has lectured on Christianity and culture at Oxford University. He is a founding editor of The Gospel Project, has served as publisher for the Christian Standard Bible, and is currently a fellow for The Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics. He is the author of multiple books, including The Gospel Way Catechism.