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This is a guest post by Bryan Hart of One Harbor Church, North Carolina Imagine: You are the leader of a small Iranian house church. The police have just arrested, tortured, and interrogated someone from a sister house church, and there are rumors that you have been named, along with your spouse and children. Though you are accustomed to fear and anxiety, the paranoia is now full-blown. You experience severe mood swings, from profound grief to seething anger. And you’re not the only one, you’ve got a church to pastor. Here is the question: what resources has God given you to help you through your suffering?A big part of that answer includes the Psalter, the prayers of God’s people. In the case of poems like Ps. 23, Christian appropriation is fairly straightforward. But what of the so-called imprecatory Psalms, where the Psalmists invoke curses and judgment on their enemies? For example, consider the final six verses of Ps. 139:[19] Oh that you would slay the wicked, O God! O men of blood, depart from me! [20] They speak against you with malicious intent; your enemies take your name in vain. [21] Do I not hate those who hate you, O LORD? And do I not loathe those who rise up against you? [22] I hate them with complete hatred; I count them my enemies. [23] Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! [24] And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting! (ESV) May Christians pray such passages today? Could you, in the scenario above, use such a Psalm to vent your rage at the injustice of evil? We commonly read or hear that Christians should not. For example, Bruce Waltke argues that the imprecatory Psalms are “inappropriate for the church” because “ultimate justice occurs in the eschaton” and we should be more focused on forgiving than condemning.1 This approach has become attractive to modern evangelicals, finding endorsements in popular-level works such as Ian Vaillancourt’s recent Treasuring the Psalms—overall, an excellent resource. The problem is that Waltke’s view has hermeneutical, historical, and theological problems. And the stakes are not small: while in the West, the Christian response to persecution is often a theoretical exercise, in other parts of the world it is viscerally practical. In what follows, I would like to give some historical and theological context to imprecations and malediction as a form of speech, address some hermeneutical inconsistencies applied to these texts, and then make the case for Christian appropriation of these Psalms. The persecuted church needs all the help she can get in the face of violent evil, and the imprecatory Psalms are a gift to her from our Heavenly Father. Putting Imprecations in Context The imprecatory Psalms (those that invoke curses, calamity, or judgment) are often directly or indirectly tied to what may be called the “retribution principle”: those who are righteous should flourish, and those who are wicked should suffer, both in proportion to their virtue or vice.2 Thus, the imprecations are, in one sense, prayers for the enforcement of the retribution principle: may the wicked get their just desserts. This was, however, not a distinctively Israelite impulse—the principle can be found throughout the literature of the Ancient Near East (ANE) and within the Mesopotamian religions, in particular. However, non-Israelite religious systems did not depend on the justice of the gods (for the gods could be wicked) but on mutual incentives: gods and people needed one another.3 Life outcomes were determined by one’s pleasing or offending of the gods, knowingly or not.4 In contrast, the Israelites believed God to be utterly just and without wants. It is his holiness, rather than his neediness, that informs the Biblical idea of retribution. In another sense, imprecations are curses. Curses of many kinds can be found throughout ANE literature, nearly always invoking deities: “execration texts” that name specific enemies to be destroyed, treaty texts that specify punishments of disobedient vassals, and so on.5 However, where ANE curses (and blessings) were often understood to be magical formulas, Israelite versions of both were better understood as prayers to God in which the power resides in him and not the words themselves.6 We moderns are quite unaccustomed to imprecations and curses, though in that sense we are certainly a minority across human history. It has been observed that “malediction [the use of curses] was a speech-form in the ancient world . . . and a widespread phenomenon.”7 We can go further and suggest that malediction has likely been a part of social discourse universally until the modern world. As it existed throughout the ANE, so it also exists within the Hebrew OT and the Greek NT, which will be seen below. From councils of the early church, which addressed heretics with the biblical term anathema, to the fiery polemics of the Reformation, church history has been no stranger to curses. Modern aversion to this form of speech may have more to do with what C.S. Lewis called “chronological snobbery” than with Christian piety. A Biblical Theology of Imprecations Of the sixty laments in the Psalter, nearly all mention an enemy.8 Not only that, but a rich vocabulary—94 different words!—is used to describe them. “In fact, hatred, enmity, violence, retaliation, and even revenge are not sub-motifs in the psalter: they are substantive parts of it.”9 Though the Psalter is generally considered a book of praises, the enemies in the life of God’s people take an outsized role. The Psalmists do not merely lament over bad things; they cry out against bad people. Justice must be served. An attentive Bible reader will readily note that justice is hardly a peripheral idea within the OT writings; justice and righteousness were central to the Israelite religion.10 Furthermore, they serve as the basis for scriptural judgment and imprecations: justice must be served because God is just. He is also coherent and unchanging—his attributes are not at odds with one another or expressions of various moods. In Jer. 9:24, God says, “I am Yahweh, showing steadfast love, justice and righteousness on the earth.” This view of God is at the heart of Ps. 139 and all other prayers like it: for the wicked to receive less than they deserve would compound the injustice and call into question the goodness, righteousness, and even love of God. Outside of the Psalms and wisdom literature, imprecations are found in three OT contexts: sanctions for covenantal disobedience, prophetic judgments, and oath-taking.11 The Mosaic law used curses as a warning against disobedience, which are detailed in Lev. 26 and Deut. 28-32. Doug Stuart identifies twenty-seven types of curses found in those passages that will come upon the Israelites if they violate the covenant but consolidates them with six terms: “defeat, disease, desolation, deprivation, deportation, and death.”12 Throughout the Torah, those things and people that are meant to be “devoted to destruction” (e.g., the Canaanites in Deut. 20:16ff.) are often translated by the Septuagint as anathema, “cursed things.” This informs the context of Paul’s NT use of the word, to which we will return. In the prophets, imprecations may be made against the nations, the wicked, and the kingdoms of Israel and Judah, but it is always on account of disobedience before God, not because of personal injury experienced by the prophet. In the case of Israel and Judah, the breaking of the covenant is generally the basis for the curse. For example, Jeremiah 11:3 says, “You shall say to them, Thus says the LORD, the God of Israel: Cursed be the man who does not hear the words of this covenant.” But even Gentile nations are guilty of disobeying God. Jeremiah 10:25 contains an imprecation on nations that do not know God because they have oppressed God’s people. Isaiah 13-23 includes a series of oracles against the nations, which is justified in 24:5: “The earth lies defiled under its inhabitants; for they have transgressed the laws, violated the statutes, broken the everlasting covenant.” Therefore, Israel may enjoy a special status within its covenant with God, but all of creation bears the responsibility of obedience to God, even if some are unaware of their obligation. But what about the NT? It is not as different a picture as some might assume. Jesus himself issues a curse on a fig tree in Mk. 11:12-14 and Mt. 21:18-22. I share the view of many others that the fig tree represents Jerusalem and the religious establishment, which suggests that the curse is not merely for the tree. Fruitlessness and spiritual barrenness are the result of covenantal disobedience and thus become the subject of Christ’s malediction: “And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness’” (Matt. 7:23). Twice, the apostle Paul issues curses. In 1 Cor. 16:22, he writes, “If anyone has no love for the Lord, let him be accursed.” And in Gal. 1:8-9 he states twice that anyone who preaches a different gospel, even an angel (!), is accursed. Both passages use the word anathema. As the Septuagint used this word to discourage disobedience, so Paul uses it in the same way. In 1 Cor. 16, he discourages the ultimate disobedience within the Christian community, that is, a failure to love the Lord.13 In Gal. 1, he is discouraging false teaching, which is a failure to love the brethren. Thus, malediction, in the form of imprecations and curses, is used to serve the NT church. Perhaps OT imprecations find their greatest NT parallel in Rev. 6:10, where the martyrs in heaven pray to God, “O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?” Two things are to be noted here. First, vengeance is assumed to be good. (This accords with Rom. 12:19 and Heb. 10:30, both of which present a positive view of God’s vengeance.) Second is that the martyrs do not merely desire vengeance but are actively interceding with God about it. Thus, Scripture demonstrates that God’s people make imprecatory prayers on earth and in heaven. This is not to say there is only continuity between the Testaments regarding imprecations, curses, and vengeance. For example, hatred (of which we read in Ps. 139) is more nuanced in the NT perspective than the OT. But here, again, the discontinuity is not as great as some would assume. The prohibition of hatred seems to stem from Matt. 5:43-44, where Jesus says, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Interpretive challenges abound here (to say nothing of those presented by the entire Sermon on the Mount). Namely, the referent of this antithesis is only partially found in the OT scripture—there is no text commanding the hatred of enemies. More to the point is the semantic challenge: what is meant by love and hate (Greek: miseō)? Some lexicons unhelpfully suggest that miseō always refers to the interior, emotional posture of the believer.14 It is more likely, however, that Jesus is speaking here of actions (which accords with the themes throughout the rest of the Sermon). Luke 6:27 bears this out, where Jesus says, “But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.” In this context, the opposite of hate is a love that does good rather than a love that feels good. A further demonstration of Jesus’ figurative use of hate is in Luke 14:26, where Jesus says anyone who follows him must first hate his family and even his own life. Clearly, the hyperbolic use of hatred in this case is meant to establish the priorities of allegiances within the life of the believer. The use of miseō in Rev. 2:6 is also relevant, where the church is commended for sharing God’s hatred of the works of the Nicolaitans.15 Thus, when reading passages like Ps. 139, Christians should not be too quick to assume that the NT prohibits hatred in every sense. Though Christians are given a new vernacular and a new way of relating to enemies in the teaching and example of Christ, they may surely join the martyrs in heaven who pray for vengeance against their enemies, and they may feel the disgust of God toward wickedness and sin. Let us return, now, to the hermeneutical problems that have plagued Christian interpretation of these Psalms. Hermeneutical Issues The reticence to use the imprecatory Psalms today stems from at least two problems in modern evangelical interpretation. First, there is an emphasis on the royal or kingly nature of these Psalms that is rightly stated but perhaps over-applied. For example, because most of the imprecatory Psalms were written (or associated with) King David, the enemies in view are not merely personal enemies; they are the nation’s adversaries. In a theocracy, that makes them the de facto enemies of God.16 We must, so we are told, hear them how ancient Israelites would have heard them. In the conclusion of his chapter on the royal orientation of the Psalms, Bruce Waltke states: “It is the king who is in view throughout the Psalter. It is abundantly evident that the subject of the Psalms is not the common man.”17 Fair enough, but how would the common man have heard them? What would he have done with them? Would a family in the temple, singing the songs of their king, not be shaped by these Psalms? Indeed, would King David have been unaware that, in teaching the people to sing about his own enemies, he was also instructing them in how to sing of theirs? Furthermore, how far do we extend this kind of reasoning? Should Christians apply a different hermeneutic to the application of first 18 verses of Psalm 139 (some of the most beautiful poetry in the Psalter) than the final six? Is Psalm 23 a reflection of how God cares for the king alone? Surely not! Overapplying the royal aspect of the Psalms, even Christologically, ultimately leads to a neutering of the Psalter for the believer: everything they express is reserved for the king (or Christ), and nothing is available for the church. This touches on the second problem with the modern interpretation of the imprecatory Psalms: an inconsistent application of the NT to the OT interpretation. Waltke believes the imprecatory Psalms are inappropriate for the church (see above), and notes that “the saint’s struggle is against spiritual powers of darkness. He conquers by turning the other cheek and praying for the forgiveness of enemies.”18 But what keeps us from applying this kind of logic to other types of Psalms, such as the laments? For we are also told in the NT that our afflictions are “light and momentary” (2 Cor 4:17); Jesus told us when persecuted that we should “rejoice and be glad” (Matt. 5:12); Peter tells us that suffering is not something to be concerned about, but to “rejoice to the extent that you partake of Christ’s sufferings” (1 Peter 4:12-14); Paul and James both command the church to rejoice in suffering (Rom. 5:3, Jam. 1:2). We could go on. It seems that the NT is applied inconsistently to the expression of emotion in the OT and in the Psalms in particular. For example, Vaillancourt endorses Waltke’s view of the imprecatory Psalms but critiques the lack of lament in the church, arguing that “to sing and pray our tears is an essential part of Christian life.”19 Why should we so heavily “re-format” our anger while baptizing our grief? Can we not sing and pray the full range of our emotions in the New Covenant? The Case for Christian Imprecations It is my view that Christians not only can but should pray and/or sing the imprecatory Psalms, especially since there is no clear NT teaching they shouldn’t (I will address Rom. 12:14 below). However, the teaching of the NT regarding anger and vengeance (and grief as well) is nuanced. Therefore, three things are necessary for the church to use these Psalms. First, Christians need a more honest vocabulary for anger and hatred. If Jesus can stretch the semantic range of miseō (hate) to describe the distance between allegiance to God and allegiance to family (even hyperbolically), certainly we can stretch our English equivalents to describe our feelings about those who harm us or are opposed to Christ. The reality is that Christians will feel the full range of human emotion and must be able to express it. If they are only told that it is wrong to hate, then they will carry on having intense, negative feelings but will likely minimize or deny them out of a misplaced sense of piety. As noted above, the commands in the Sermon on the Mount do not address the emotions but the acts of the will. If we cannot distinguish them, it will be impossible to pray the imprecatory Psalms without feeling like we are guilty of sin. (It is for this reason that perhaps the Hebrew word śānē, translated above as “hate” in Ps. 139:21, would be better rendered as “resent” so that Christians can more easily connect with the emotion being described and acknowledge it.) Second, the imprecatory Psalms demand an appropriate context. A clear distinction is necessary for those inside and outside the church, particularly as it relates to enemies. 1 John, in particular, warns of hating brothers and sisters in Christ. This does not mean that we cannot express emotions when betrayed by fellow Christians, but we must be careful not to treat (or speak of) wayward family members as we do enemies of Christ. Not all suffering is of the same kind, and it is more pastorally appropriate to encourage resilience in the face of most day-to-day troubles. Such woes must not be grouped with the existential and profound agony of Christians who suffer distress at the hands of their enemies because of faith in Christ. So, to restate, it is not my view that the imprecatory Psalms cannot be sung by Christians today, but I also do not think they must be sung by every Christian on their own behalf. If Calvin was right that the Psalms are “An Anatomy of all Parts of the Soul,” then let us, as wise physicians, prescribe and use them as the soul requires. Third, we are in need of a fuller, more biblical, and more comprehensive theology of forgiveness. To argue that Christians should want forgiveness for their enemies rather than judgment overlooks the role of judgment in the act of forgiveness. In forgiving, God does not ignore or minimize sin but pours out his wrath in judgment on the crucifixion of Jesus. This tendency to pit judgment and vengeance against forgiveness fails to account for the fact that salvation is accomplished through judgment, not in lieu of it. All sin will be judged—either at the cross of Christ or the second coming of Christ. Paul is clear about this. He says, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Gal 2:20a). In Rom. 6:4, he says that to be a Christian is to be “buried with [Jesus] by baptism into death.” If forgiveness of sin is not thoroughly expressed in the language of judgment and the language of the cross, then the imprecatory Psalms will seem strange indeed. How, then, can Christians pray these Psalms today? After all, aren’t we told to bless and not curse? Yes, but the context of Rom. 12:14-21 is the relationship between the believer and his enemy. Pagans cursed their enemies directly, but in the Bible, imprecations are always addressed in prayer to God.20 There is a big difference! (And an often-overlooked fact is that the motive Paul gives for doing good deeds to our enemies is that it will “pour burning coals” on their heads—something Paul assumes his readers would like to do.) All of that said, I agree that some “New Covenant” re-formatting is appropriate when praying the imprecatory Psalms—though I think that this is necessary for the entire Psalter, not just those Psalms that offend modern sensibilities. (For example, the laments should not be sung without some consideration of the NT perspective on hope and suffering. I agree with Vaillancourt that the church should learn to pray its tears, but I also agree with Paul that we do “not grieve as others do who have no hope” (1 Thess 4:13).) With that in mind, I believe that Christians can sing a re-formatted version Psalm 139:19 by using the NT expression of justice, judgment, and vengeance in this way: “Lord, destroy the enemies of your church, either in your wrath or in the waters of baptism.” Like the saints of Revelation 6, Christians today are free to desire and invite the vengeance of God. Contrary to popular opinion, Rom. 12:19 does not prohibit Christians from desiring vengeance—it commands them to leave it to the wrath of God. The imprecatory prayer I have suggested, then, asks the Lord to do what he has promised to do, and no Christian should feel embarrassed to ask for that! Thus, a persecuted Christian can know that if his enemy is forgiven in Christ, that means his enemy has first had to repent, that he has had to die to himself, and that on the cross of Christ, God poured out the full measure of his wrath. This is why baptism is better than condemnation. In the latter, the enemy is merely vanquished, but in baptism, our enemy is not only destroyed—a friend and brother (or sister) is born. The gospel is not contrary to malediction, judgment, or any of the imprecatory Psalms. Rather, it gives them their best possible expression, as it does for the rest of the Old Testament. Let us use them, then, as we use the rest of the Psalms: for the glory of Christ and the good of the church. ———— Bryan Hart lives in Morehead City, North Carolina with his wife Kimberlee and five children. He serves as a pastor at One Harbor Church.  

“What is the crux of secularism? It is that belief in an underlying or moral equality of humans implies that there is a sphere in which each should be free to make his or her own decisions, a sphere of conscience and free action. That belief is summarized in the central value of classical liberalism: the commitment to 'equal liberty'. Is this indifference or non-belief? Not at all. It rests on the firm belief that to be human means being a rational and moral agent, a free chooser with responsibility for one's actions. It puts a premium on conscience rather than the 'blind' following of rules. It joins rights with duties to others.”Larry Siedentop’s definition of secularism gets to the heart of current tensions surrounding issues of conscience and personal liberty. Secularism can be criticised as ‘mere consumerism, materialism and amorality’, but Siedentop (anticipating similar arguments made by Holland, Trueman, Wilson, et al) argues that secularism properly defined owes its origins to Christian expectations of personal liberty – that our understanding of the ‘individual’ is inseparable from the Christian message: Paul’s conception of the Christ introduces the individual, by giving conscience a universal dimension. Was Paul the greatest revolutionary in human history? But what of when individual liberty and conscience collide with that of another? Whose conscience should be given priority? In my home town our council has established a public spaces protection order (PSPO) around the abortion clinic. This order expressly forbids prayer within the exclusion zone; and from the end of this month a new law will enforce a similar 150 metre buffer zone around all abortion clinics in England and Wales. This week Adam Smith-Connor was handed a two-year conditional discharge and ordered to pay more than £9,000 costs for praying outside our local abortion clinic. According to the Bournemouth Echo Smith-Connor, “emailed the council before each visit, informing he would be silently praying for his son who was aborted 22 years ago and for the end of abortion in the UK and across the world.” Arguably, Smith-Connor was looking to be made a martyr. Before his arrest he was clearly given time and opportunity to walk away. Or he could have simply denied he was praying. But that someone should be arrested, receive a criminal record and have to pay a significant fine (the council had initially asked for costs of £93,441 to be awarded) for silently praying is troubling. As professor of law Andrew Tettenborn observes, This episode should worry all of us, pro-life or pro-choice, if we believe in the idea of liberty. The by-law Smith-Connor was convicted under (not strictly a by-law, but it has a similar effect) effectively bans the expression of moral opinions that are entirely lawful and quite widely-held from within a sizeable chunk of suburban Bournemouth. Smith-Connor was following the secular principle, he was acting as “a rational and moral agent, a free chooser with responsibility for one’s actions.” He was placing “a premium on conscience rather than the ‘blind’ following of rules.” Within British cultural and legal tradition this would be considered entirely unexceptional and Smith-Connor’s arrest and conviction feels more akin to the actions of a totalitarian state than a democratic one. The paradox of secularism though is the way in which it, “joins rights with duties to others.” Did Smith-Connor, in the exercise of his rights, fail in his duties to others? The PSPO was introduced to protect the rights of women attending the clinic – including the right to not feel threatened or harassed as they enter it. Whose rights should triumph here? This is where the PSPO, and the forthcoming buffer zones, feel a blunt instrument. Had Smith-Connor been acting in a way that was clearly intimidatory he could have been moved on but it is hard to see how to stand silently praying constitutes a threat to anyone. Last year our church undertook to prayer walk every street in Bournemouth, Christchurch and Poole. This meant that at some point one of our church members infringed the PSPO, even as they were praying for the blessing and wellbeing of our town. Personal, private prayer: in a culture of death this is now an illegal act. Not being allowed to pray in a small area around abortion clinics might not feel a vast infringement of individual rights: Smith-Connor could have stood further away and prayed without interruption. Yet his arrest is part of a general slide from policing actions to policing words to policing thought itself. This is a retreat from the secular ideal. As Andrew Tettenborn says, it should worry us all.  

A characteristic of our cultural moment is a lexicon that everyone is meant to know, use, and defer to. On a long car journey I had fun thinking about how some of these terms could be appropriated for gospel use. I’m sure you could add to the list.Enough Something you can never be. No, not ever. But Christ is enough, and in Him each of us can find all we need. Mindfulness The conscious awareness of our sin and lostness outside the grace and forgiveness of the Saviour. This leads to living in step with the Holy Spirit and experiencing peace and joy. Wellbeing The position of being found in Christ. In Him we are brought into the shalom of God and can say, with genuine sincerity, ‘it is well with my soul.’ Safeguarding The eternal security of those found in Christ. He knows who are His and will never let them go – nothing can separate them from His love, not death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present or future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation. Woke Awakened to the reality of personal sin and need of a Saviour. This is why it is said, ‘Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.’ Triggering What happens when a fellow believer is offended because of a weaker conscience. The mature believer is free to adapt their behaviour in order to not offend against conscience in this way. Intersectionality The place where my sin and God’s grace cross, at the Cross. The Cross is the intersection where God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. Inclusion What happens when someone puts their faith in God and discovers that Christ is their peace, the dividing wall of hostility has been removed, and they – along with all believers – have access to the Father by one Spirit. Systemic Sin. Diversity The people of God, a numberless multitude, from every nation, tribe, people and language, who will stand before His throne and give Him praise. Safe space The blessing into which the forgiven enter, knowing God is their hiding place, who protects them from trouble and surrounds them with songs of deliverance.

The book of Isaiah has been referred to as the “fifth gospel” since at least the time of Jerome and Augustine. Rightly so. In soaring poetry and often dramatic prose, it radiates evangelical clarity, eschatological hope, experiential joy and evangelistic passion. The goodness of God, the certainty of his judgment and the scope of his salvation shine from its pages. Generations of believers, faced with challenging circumstances or spiritual dryness, have found comfort and delight in Isaiah’s words, and particularly his promises of redemption and restoration in Christ. His significance is also highlighted canonically, as the first and greatest of the major prophets, as well as Christologically. When the Lord Jesus began his public ministry, it was Isaiah’s scroll he quoted.Yet for readers and preachers, it does present challenges. How does the entire book hold together, not just as a series of edited highlights (e.g. chapters 6, 40 and 53), but as a unified whole? What do we do with the numerous oracles of judgment and their very obscure imagery? Why are there so many cryptically-named children in the book, and what is their significance? How can we read chapters 1-39 in such a way as to “behold the King in his beauty” (33:17)? Why do the New Testament writers quote Isaiah in ways that seem so different from his original meaning? (Here’s to you, Ahaz!) What historical backstory makes best sense of each section? How do you preach from a book this long? How do you even read it devotionally without getting lost in the eighth century weeds? These are just some of the questions we will be considering at our upcoming THINK conference, from 1-3 July 2025. We will spend three days together in Isaiah’s magnificent scroll, hosted and taught by Andrew Wilson (King’s Church, London) and including plenary sessions, breakout discussions, meals together, rich times of corporate worship, and time for Q&A. The cost of THINK 2025 is £150 per person, which includes tea, coffee, and meals together at lunchtime and in the evenings but does not include breakfast or overnight accommodation in London. We will begin at 3:30pm on the Tuesday, and finish with lunch on the Thursday, at King’s Church London King’s Church London, 21 Meadowcourt Road, London, SE3 9DU. Come. Take time. Be refreshed. Think. You can book in here.

Twenty years ago last week, a young woman was sitting in a leisure centre near Nottingham, wrapped in tin foil. Her clothing and bedding were drenched. So were the clothing and bedding of all her friends. So were the possessions of over a thousand other young people, each of whom had been evacuated from the Newark Showground into nearby leisure centres to stop them all from catching hypothermia; a third of the delegates would return home without finishing the event. The first Newday had been comprehensively flooded.Last week, that young woman was at the Norfolk Showground with teenage children of her own, speaking in a seminar stream as Newday turned twenty. It was a very different experience. The weather was glorious - warm in the day, cool in the evening - and nobody was evacuated or wrapped in foil. The number of people on site was more than three times as large as in 2004, with just under 10,000 in attendance. At the risk of reducing young people to statistics, there were 553 first time responses to the gospel and 534 healing testimony cards filled out, to say nothing of the thousands who encountered God in fresh ways. The majority of the main stage speakers and worship leaders last week were young teens themselves when Newday started; at least three of them would not even have become Christians yet. Most of the leaders of the 2004 event were still there in 2024, but in supporting roles: co-oordinating prayer meetings, typing out programmes, meeting with trustees, praying for healing, or simply encouraging youth workers. The crowd of people listening to that young woman’s seminar was vastly more diverse than the foil-clad group in Nottinghamshire two decades earlier. Shivering in that leisure centre, she would not have imagined that Newday would still exist twenty years later, let alone be thriving like this. I only know that because two weeks later I married her. The fact that Newday is the same age as my marriage shapes the way I think about it. I track its progress over time. I see it maturing as an institution, like marriages do, as it learns more and more what it is uniquely called to do, and what it must (sadly) lay down in order to do it as well as possible. I notice the obvious changes in size, activity, diversity, accessibility and leadership, but I also notice the way in which they reflect what Newday always hoped to be. A twentieth anniversary is a good time to observe the differences between who you were and who you are, but it is also a time to celebrate the continuities, and the way in which God has changed you in order to keep his purpose for you the same. So the song lists and musicians have changed, but in order to preserve the exuberance and encounter we have always hoped for. The preachers, topics and seminar titles have changed, but so as to maintain the combination of biblical fidelity, prophetic clarity and evangelistic urgency we started with. We no longer bus young people into football stadiums, but more people respond to the gospel now than they ever did. And so on. Two things struck me particularly. One is the model of team leadership that has always been a feature, but seems to have become heightened over time. I saw at least eight different people lead out in corporate worship, three men and five women, even though there were only two bands on the stage all week. The only people who preached more than once were the people who did the morning sessions, and neither of us were involved in leading the event. If you asked a group of teenagers which individual was in charge, you would have got several different answers, and none of them would have been right. As one speaker put it on the Wednesday night, there has never been a Mr or Mrs Newday. The other is something that has never changed, and I hope it never does: the kindness, humility and diligence of the serving teams. It still astonishes me that there are people who take a week off work to come to a campsite in Norfolk to look after my children, and that they are ceaselessly enthusiastic and thoughtful as they go about it. People go out of their way to be helpful as they set up and pack down venues, empty bins, cook meals, fix things, steward venues, oversee safeguarding, care for people with disabilities and run sporting activities, even though they are tired, sweaty and (obviously) unpaid. As ever, it is the cleaning team that amazes me the most. At one point I encountered two individuals - one a hugely talented gospel singer, and the other a pastor with thirty years experience - clothed in luminous jackets and rubber gloves, with huge grins on their faces, telling me about what they had witnessed as they cleaned the toilet blocks that morning. I was as captivated by their joy as I was horrified by their anecdote, and I know similar things could be said of many, many others. I have no idea how many people have served in such ways over the last twenty years. Someone must have set up the venue for my first seminar. Someone must have given my soon-to-be wife a sheet of foil in that leisure centre. Someone was on the doors when my son made his first response to Jesus, and someone else was on the front gate that day when my daughter lay down in the driveway and refused to move, and someone else had to deal with the pastoral fallout of that public mistake I made. I don’t know any of their names. And despite my desire to honour a great many individuals over the last twenty years, I haven’t used any names in this article, except one. His is the only Name that matters.

I love teaching in leadership training contexts. One of my favourite things to do in those contexts over recent years has been to throw out this discussion question and to see the looks on people’s faces: ‘If three people love each other and agree to enter into a committed, sexual relationship with each other, what’s wrong with that?’ Responses vary, but laughter is probably the most common response. Some laugh because it’s something they think is so unlikely it’s comical. Others laugh because they feel a bit nervous, unsure of how to answer. But it’s a question I think we Christians – and certainly Christian leaders – need to start thinking about, because it’s a question that will be coming up a lot more in real life in the coming years. The rise of polyamory The relationship envisaged in the question is an example of polyamory – a romantic and sexual relationship between three or more people with the consent of all involved. It would also be an example of consensual non-monogamy ­– a broader category encompassing any sexual relationship where those involved agree the relationship is not exclusive. Polyamory and consensual non-monogamy will almost certainly be the next step in western society’s journey away from traditional, Judeo-Christian-rooted sexual and relationship ethics. While perhaps still a fringe practice at the moment, acceptance and practice of polyamory and consensual non-monogamy are on the rise. The last few years have seen an increasing number of polyamorous and consensually non-monogamous relationships being portrayed in popular media. Shows such as the BBC’s Wanderlust and Trigonometry and Channel 4’s The Couple Next Door centre on such relationships, and popular shows like Netflix’s Sex Education and Australian soap Neighbours have featured polyamorous characters or relationships. This year there has been a significant increase in media coverage of the topic (see Polyamory in the News). And this month saw ‘Week of Visibility for Consensual Non-Monogamy’. This all matters and is likely to have a considerable impact. Ask that discussion question – ‘What’s wrong with a three-person sexual relationship?’ – of most people in the modern west today, and they might first respond with an instinctive distaste for the idea, but push them on why and they are unlikely to be able to defend their position. For those familiar with Jonathan Haidt’s work, this is people’s elephant’s (their intuitions) reacting and then their rider (reason) becoming a PR person trying, but struggling, to defend the elephant’s direction of travel. Most secular people won’t have any convincing arguments against polyamory (even though there actually are some – monogamy is good for both society and individuals, especially women and children.1) And because they don’t have good arguments, the visibility of seemingly healthy and harmless polyamory that brings happiness to those involved will begin to change people’s perspectives. To think in Haidt’s terms, the visibility of polyamory will appeal to the moral intuitions most prominent for many modern westerners (care/harm, liberty/oppression, fairness/cheating) and that will change the direction of people’s intuitions – their elephants. This is why it seems pretty certain that polyamory and consensual non-monogamy will grow in acceptance and practice, possibly quite quickly.2 Now is the time That means now is the time that Christians need to be thinking about polyamory. If we’re honest, many of us might find we’re currently quite like our secular neighbours: We instinctively sense that polyamory and consensual non-monogamy are wrong. We can probably take the extra step of saying ‘Because the Bible says so’. (Although could we then defend that claim well? And what do we do with the practice of polygamy in the Old Testament?). But many are likely to get stuck at that point. Because of this, many Christians will be susceptible to being swayed to acceptance (just as we’ve seen with same-sex sexuality), and many will be ill-prepared to communicate God’s good plan to the world around us. The Christian opposition to same-sex marriages is currently often one of the biggest barriers to people considering the Christian faith. In a decade or so, our opposition to polyamory could be another big barrier. Will we be ready to help clear that barrier so people can consider the claims of Jesus? I think this is an important moment for Christians. I also think it’s a moment of opportunity. We have the chance to get ahead of the curve, to work out what we believe and why now, before we’re having to explain and defend that. We have the chance to learn from some of the mistakes in our past handling of sexual ethics (for example, in the same-sex sexuality conversation), so we can do better at loving people in this conversation. And we have the chance to prepare to engage well on this topic, not just playing catchup and trying to defend Christian teaching, but showing people how God’s plan for sexuality and relationships is good for all of us and how it is in the gospel and God’s way of living that we can find the best answer to the desires often driving the practice of polyamory. ‘What’s the problem with polyamory?’ At the moment, our problem may be that we don’t really know. Now is the time to ask that question for ourselves, because soon enough, we’ll have other people asking it of us. To help jumpstart the Christian conversation on polyamory and consensual non-monogamy, I’ve written a short booklet titled Three or More: Reflections on Polyamory and Consensual Non-monogamy (Grove, 2024). In the booklet, I talk about how society has got to this point, how we can engage well with biblical teaching and with arguments in favour of polyamory, and I give some pointers to start our thinking about a Christian response. Get your copy now.

In an election in which there was no party for which I wanted to vote, my personal opinion was that the least worst result would be a Labour victory with a small majority. This would have allowed the change of government the country needs but with sufficient challenge for it not to be able to steamroller all decisions. Clearly that was not the outcome. So what next? Apart from the big issues of economics, foreign policy, climate change and so on, issues on which faithful Christians can legitimately disagree, what of some of the social issues? Thinking from the perspective of a Christian pastor who seeks to be biblically faithful and maintain theological orthodoxy here are some things we are now likely to face: Issues around sexuality Keir Starmer has already made it plain that when there is a conflict between Christian orthodoxy and the LGBT agenda he will support the latter. The introduction of a ban on so called ‘conversion therapy’ is now as good as inevitable. This is likely to put many of us in a very difficult position. It may well be that praying with someone about their sexuality becomes illegal. It may well be that preaching a biblical sexual ethic becomes illegal. We saw sabre rattling about this just before election day when a report into former MP Miriam Cates highlighted the fact that she belonged to a church that expected gay people to, “eventually understand the need to be transformed to live in accordance with biblical revelation and orthodox church teachings.” It may be that such an understanding is criminalised. We will need to act with the innocence of doves and the wisdom of serpents. We will also need the courage of our convictions as for some of us there will be a price to pay. Churches should also be preparing financially for the possibility of charitable status being removed. In the decision to apply VAT to independent schools Labour has demonstrated it is not afraid to penalise charitable bodies of which it disapproves. It is certainly possible that adherence to the current sexual orthodoxy will become a requirement for churches if they are to receive the financial benefits of charitable status. Many of our churches rely on Gift Aid to meet budget. We should probably start planning for when this ceases to be the case. Euthanasia Whoever had won the election it was likely that moves to legalise ‘assisted suicide’ would again have been brought before parliament. But a massive Labour majority (supported by the LibDems and Greens) means this is now more likely, and more likely to succeed where previously it had been rejected. The pastoral implications of this are significant. As we have seen from countries like Belgium and Canada where euthanasia has already been legalised, there is always ‘mission creep’. Not only those with terminal illnesses, suffering unbearable pain, choose euthanasia, but those with mental health issues, including young people, and older people who feel a burden on their families. Palliative care tends to be undermined. As pastors we will have to think about how to counsel those who are considering euthanasia, how to counsel the families of those who have chosen this course, and how to advise medics in our congregation who will be expected to cooperate with the process – especially in a context where exemptions on the grounds of conscience are being increasingly squeezed. And we will need to think about how we approach the funerals of those who have chosen euthanasia. Hopefully some things will be better under the new government, others may be more challenging. Either way, the Church is called to be a faithful witness to the good news of Jesus Christ, who is eternal king over all. But we will need to do some planning.

Two weeks’ time and there will be a new government in the UK. I’m still not sure how I will vote (‘None of the above’ feels the most attractive option) but regardless of the outcome there are increasing ethical complexities coming down the tracks which pastors should be alert to.Beginning of life issues I’ve been writing about the problems with IVF on Think for years but it still doesn’t seem to be an issue that enough pastors have grappled with. A developing complexity is that of polygenic screening. Increasingly, parents – at least those who can afford it – will be able to screen their embryos for a wide range of ‘defects’; and, increasingly, to select for desired traits. This should be ethically concerning on multiple levels. Firstly, it will make all conceptions IVF ones, as the screening can only happen with lab-generated embryos. Secondly, it will produce many more ‘spare’ embryos which then have to be discarded. Thirdly, it will reinforce and encourage the notion of childrearing as being a consumer choice rather than divine gift. What does your church teach about the conceiving and raising of children? Would you know how to respond if a church member was considering polygenic screening and came to talk it over with you? End of life issues For a very long time it has felt that the legalisation of some form of euthanasia is inevitable. Mercifully parliament has consistently voted against it, but prospects of a Labour super-majority make a change more likely. I’m not going to rehearse the rights and wrongs of ‘assisted dying’ here (suffice it to say, the wrongs far outweigh the rights, as the evidence from Canada, Belgium, etc., makes increasingly clear), but want to urge consideration of a pastoral corollary: if euthanasia is legalised, what happens when we are asked to conduct the funeral? Any suicide is always a deeply sad and regrettable event. Taking the funeral of a suicide is always pastorally fraught, but how will we respond if members of our congregations opt for medical suicide? The fact that such deaths will be more obviously planned than ‘regular’ suicides means we should be able to do some ahead of the event pastoral planning too. Personally, I think I would have to refuse to take the funeral of someone who had opted for euthanasia, certainly for church members. Or, I would take it only on the understanding that I would declare their decision to have been wrong. Either way it’s difficult. What would you do? All of life issues Genetic screening will increasingly not only be an issue at the conception of life but throughout it. For many people getting a genetic test will seem a no-brainer: it is free on the NHS and seems to promise all kinds of information that could be beneficial to health. The offering of these tests will become increasingly routine and to refuse them will put you in the same moral camp as those who refused covid vaccines. There are many concerns about this though. An individual might have legitimate concerns about the amount of information, and control, having this kind of data could give actors who don’t necessarily have our best interests at heart. (This is especially the case given the NHS’s notorious propensity to IT failures and data leaks, never mind malicious hacking operations.) It might push up your insurance premiums. But from a pastoral perspective I anticipate one of the biggest issues being an increase in anxiety. Genetic testing is meant to, at least in part, stem anxiety by providing information. I fear the reality will be rather different. Most people are very poor at interpreting data and statistics. If a genetic test revealed that an individual is ten percent more likely than the average to develop a particular cancer what is the likelihood that that individual will experience far more stress from worrying about this possibility than they are to actually experience it? My strong hunch is that more widespread genetic testing will create more anxiety, more neuroticism, and hence more pastoral work. The double-edge of technology Genetic testing is an example of a technology that can have clear benefits but which we might discover causes more harm than good. Technology is often like that. Technology, specifically digital technology, is the driver of so much disorder and sin. Digital technology opens the door to worlds that in some cases weren’t even previously imagined, as well as those that were imagined but impossible. We all know the reality that the action of going into a newsagent and purchasing a magazine off the top shelf created a far higher barrier to accessing porn than does the instant access provided online. We also know that this is fuelling ever more extreme and depraved examples of porn, and that in turn affects expectations and behaviours. The dating apps create opportunities, some good, many bad, that wouldn’t have existed without technology. And so on and on. These technological trends will only accelerate. Are we thinking about these issues, and are we teaching into them? Digital technology offers so many wonderful benefits and blessings yet at the same time many of us are like toddlers who have been handed a chainsaw. If we are going to make disciples then discipling people in how to handle technology in a God-honouring way is going to be essential. If you are a pastor you may well think that trying to finish off your message for Sunday, let along working out which way to vote, leaves you with no time to consider ethical issues like these. But you should do. The issues are unavoidable.

Aaron Renn's concept of the "negative world" has never sat right with me, although that may just be because I'm not American. If you're new to it, the idea is that there have been three stages in secularisation: the positive world (up to 1994), where society at large has a positive view of Christianity; the neutral world (1994-2014), where Christianity is neither privileged nor disfavoured; and the negative world (2014-present), where being a Christian is a clear social negative, especially among elites. No doubt some of my scepticism comes from my own experience, in which Christianity was definitely not positively (or even neutrally) treated in my teenage years; given that Renn is talking about America, this is neither here nor there. But I don't think that's all of it. Would that framing sound plausible if you lived in New York or San Francisco in the early nineties? If you were African American? If you were on a university campus during the Iraq war? I can't be sure, but I have my doubts.That may be why I found Alastair Roberts’s recent article on it so interesting. His response is very different from mine, and much more interesting. The Negative World, he argues, is basically the Internet - and it is negative for everybody, not just Christians. Take your time: There is one huge missing piece in Renn’s account, its absence both glaring and baffling. While he rightly mentions the importance of digitization, which concentrates great power in a few online companies, he simply does not adequately wrestle with the impact of the Internet. Without considering the Internet, I do not believe that much of what Renn terms ‘negative world’ will truly make sense. Indeed, key inflection points in the wider adoption of the Internet coincide with some of the shifts that Renn identifies: global Internet use took off in the mid-90s and it was in the mid-2010s that the age of the mobile Internet arrived and social media reached its dominance. The shifts to neutral and negative world are certainly not monocausal, but I believe that the Internet is by far the more powerfully explanatory factor. The following is a rough sketch of some of the relevant ways in which I believe that its impact has played out: The early Internet radically changed the form of public discourse. Whereas broader cultural discourse had formerly been the preserve of a few, a realm protected by gatekeepers within elite institutions, publishing, media, and politics, the Internet started to open the conversation up further. As a growing realm of discourse, the Internet reduced the control of legacy media, the political and party establishments, academic institutions, and other such agencies, and the power of old liberal elites at their heart. Within the former cultural ecology, liberal elites were less threatened by hostile and unwelcome voices, which could more safely be siloed outside of mainstream discursive contexts or policed within them. The obscurity that people could enjoy outside of such mainstream discursive contexts was also a source of safety for them. To become a public voice, you would need to pass through credentialing and other gate-keeping institutions and agencies and demonstrate some degree of loyalty to the norms of the liberal establishment that they constituted. In many ways, this allowed for a more generous Overton Window. Liberalism’s confident culture of good faith and respectful disagreement was easier to maintain in a context where participation in public discourse was more reserved to those who had undergone extensive formation in its institutions, belonged to its elites, and honoured its norms, while more fringe or plebian voices lacked the same access to publicity and could safely be ignored. While people might have strong differences, they shared institutions and a broader liberal culture in common and were less likely to be seeking to destroy each other or burn it all down. In such a setting, despite political, religious, and ideological differences in society, there were still effective consensus-forming mechanisms and institutions, elite control over the dominant means of publication, and a confidence in a culture of persuasion. Legacy media, with its gatekeeping and credentialing, could restrict participation in the public to persons with formation in liberal discursive values, but the Internet changed this. Whereas positions might formerly have been represented in public by more erudite and polished advocates, the Internet opened realms of conversation in which differences could be discussed by the average Joe. Now people could talk more directly with people of different viewpoints. The earlier Internet was dominated by more intellectual, creative, and technologically literate males, who developed their own fora and typically male-coded cultures of argument. The liberal dream of a culture of persuasion began to sour in this context, however, especially as less intellectual persons started to go online ... People who had hoped for thoughtful and friendly debate encountered flamers, trolls, and fools. Instead of interacting with thoughtful exponents of different positions, you might unwittingly find yourself arguing with some anonymous obnoxious fourteen-year-old. Some of us might have been that fourteen-year-old. The world prior to the Internet was one in which people of different contexts were far less visible to each other. People could live within their own bubbles, with much less exposure to people and ideas outside of them. The Internet, however, started to pierce a lot of these bubbles, enabling people to look beyond their social worlds and to be formed in ideas and values and engage with people from outside of them. This weakened the power of those worlds to maintain internal norms and consensus; it also made it easier for dissidents to arrange movements within and against them. It also started to make formerly obscure bubbles easier for outsiders to look into. Among other things, these shifts increased the felt need for apologetics, for both outsiders and insiders. It also intensified the perceived threat that different bubbles could pose to each other. It was in such a context that a strong atheist movement started to emerge. More young people from Christian contexts were rejecting the bubbles in which they had grown up. And, especially following 9/11, more secular atheists were starting to look at the religious worlds of many of their compatriots as a threat. The belligerent New Atheist movement was a product of the earlier Internet culture, strongly male-coded and debate-driven. Alexander suggests that a loss of confidence in the power of persuasion led people to look for a ‘hamartiology’, an account of sin. The New Atheists came to believe that religion was at the root of people’s blindness and resistance to reality. They were strongly committed to the hard sciences and to a world of facts and reality. While very aggressive, they still tended to uphold liberal values of open discourse: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” It seems to me that the rapid passing of New Atheism as a movement might be a difficult thing to explain within Renn’s three world framework. In the early 2010s, atheism discourse was everywhere online and then suddenly the movement failed and many of its leaders fell into disfavour. What happened? Alexander suggests that the New Atheist movement ‘seamlessly merged into the modern social justice movement’, the hamartiology of the latter replacing that of the former. I think that Alexander is right that New Atheism largely shifted into social justice. However, I do not think that he adequately accounts for the mechanisms by which this happened: I think that the evolution of the Internet provides a far better explanation. The key shifts occurred around the time that Renn locates the movement into negative world. The earlier Internet had chiefly been a realm of words and ideas. Although there were intense circles of feminine-coded online activity, more masculine forms and cultures of discourse generally tended to be more defining of the Internet as it related to the ‘public’ realm (the ‘there are no girls on the Internet’ meme belongs to this era). The rise of social media radically changed the culture of the Internet. While the former Internet had been more anonymous and detached from offline identities and relationships, in the new social media age everyone was increasingly putting themselves online. Whereas the Internet had been a weird place with lots of anonymous strangers onto which you could go, now your real-life identity and relationships were online. It was no longer a Wild West into which you could wander or a secret friend to whom you could confide, but a virtual village in which you resided. The earlier Internet was also decentralized and unmapped, filled with obscure corners where you could find groups of strangers who shared some interest. Or you could set up your own online homestead with a blog, perhaps joining some friendly circle of fellow bloggers. The social media Internet completely changed this. In place of subscribing to RSS feeds, on the social Internet things were disseminated socially. ‘Virality’, ‘memes’, social media ‘mobs’, and other such concepts tried to wrestle with the novel results and forms of the emerging dynamics of the social Internet, where ideas spread along more tribal, reactive, and emotional trajectories. The social Internet made formerly obscure parts of the Internet visible to each other, collapsing formerly detached spaces into vast common planes of discourse, within which we were all potentially visible to everyone. In the social media Internet—which would be intensified by the mobile Internet—the distinctions between public and private, and those between political and personal started to fail. Before the advent of the social Internet, there were also strong feminine-coded worlds online. In particular, the worlds of fandom and fan fiction. The Internet gave a powerful voice to fan communities, who obsessively talked about, speculated concerning, created artwork relating to, and spun off their own fantasies from their favourite properties. Especially for young women, such contexts were realms within which they could theorize their identities, relationships, and worlds. The intimacy of the things that a young woman could confide of herself in such realms also gave them a social intensity and fierce protectiveness and sensitivity. Katherine Dee (Default Friend) has argued that it is impossible to understand the cultural shift to so-called ‘wokeness’, or what Wesley Yang has called the ‘successor ideology’, without appreciating the role that Tumblr in particular played. Tumblr was a step away from the more obscure worlds of earlier fandoms into a more visible and open world. I think Dee, perhaps the most perceptive commentator on such Internet subcultures, rightly appreciates the importance of Tumblr. However, it seems to me that the mainstreaming of Tumblr culture required larger social media such as Facebook and Twitter, which brought masculine and feminine forms of the Internet into more direct contact and collision with each other and led to the dynamics of the latter prevailing over the former. The immense popular user base of Facebook and the widespread use of Twitter among the commentariat, academics, and other public figures gave them immense power to shift the tone of the broader cultural conversation as platforms. And their social character meant that there was a concern for personal identity, relationships, and communal dynamics within them that one would not encounter to the same degree in former public realms. The intense self-reflexivity and theorization of identity and society encouraged by Tumblr and other such contexts could break out into the broader culture because Facebook and Twitter created flattened contexts of discourse, disrupting the oppositions between public and private and political and personal that would formerly have limited the spread of its discourses. As social media increasingly swallowed public discourse, it led to a growing preoccupation with the fragilized and bespoke identities of those who came of age online. Whereas the old context of liberal discourse was gatekept and bounded, distinguished from more social spaces, and operating according to more masculine-coded norms, the new discourse, occurring in social places, became preoccupied with feminine-coded sensitivities about identities, victimhood, and etiquette. The structurally egalitarian character of the new social media also made it very easy for authorities to be challenged and unsettled through group pressure. It made it a lot easier for marginal groups to organize across contexts, to make themselves visible to themselves and others, and to exert pressure upon majorities. The intense fandom culture also encouraged the rise of a fixation upon media representation of various groups and identities in various properties and powerful lobbies to press for them. Without the advent of social media, the shift to social justice and its more feminine-coded politics would probably not have occurred in the same way. In the New Atheist movement this shift initially played out in controversies such as that surrounding ‘Elevatorgate’ and in a migration of focus from discourse focused upon scientific and philosophical realities to its own internal dynamics and to issues of ‘social justice’: feminism, antiracism and racial justice, and the various concerns of the LGBTQ+ movement. The concerns of this politics were concerns that were more natural to an age dominated by Spectacle, where appearance and representation have increasingly taken the place of ‘everything that was directly lived’, and the personal and political are elided. In this context, the old confident liberalism has failed. The once bounded public square is bounded no longer. The participants in society’s discourses—at all levels—increasingly appear as victims and vulnerable persons requiring protection. A public square to which people are more directly exposed and in which they can more directly operate (perhaps to be followed by its evaporation) has set the stage for the passing of a culture of robust exchange of differing viewpoints, confident in a common reality. Much of the old liberal establishment has withered and lost its former confidence. The legacy media has shrunk and its authority diminished. Academics are more precarious in their employment and more conformist; there has been a rapid diminishment of political diversity in academia. Academic institutions are increasingly driven by the interests of administration and business. The old realms of the public square have been weakened and what has taken their place operates very differently, a small number of corporations exerting considerable power over it. More restrictive managerial oversight of societies without consensus reality but with repeated alienating and polarizing interactions is taking the place of the more open liberal societies of the past. Power has shifted to large corporate agencies, untrustworthy custodians of liberal values. The Overton Window is no longer the more expansive one of the old liberalism, but one that serves the interests of a new managerial elite, brokers of a social order for their dependent and biddable clients, whose constant petitioning of them in the hyper-politicized symbolic causes of their personal lives is rather less threatening than traditional politics might be. In many respects, it could be regarded as a depoliticization of people, so that the market can proceed unobstructed: ‘neoliberalism is social justice’. In the deluge of data characteristic of the Internet Age, the fact has died and, in its place, we have multiple competing narratives, with little allegiance to a grounding reality. The politics of such an age of spectacle and social media will tend to be ‘scissor’-politics, repeated narrative-driven polarization (Floyd, COVID, and Gaza are examples of such stories). In such a context, disdain, anger, resentment, and cruelty will tend to proliferate. Its reactivity will also encourage competing extremisms. Trump was a symptom and accelerant of such politics, among other things designed to attack the dignity that liberals might see in the office of the presidency. There is a great deal more that could be said about the impact of the Internet. However, I want to consider how it might relate to Renn’s negative world thesis. The development I have described weakened an old liberalism, reordered societal discourse, transformed the public square, elevated more feminine-coded values, fragilized communities and identities by making them more porous and exposed, thrust more of societal life into a collective Spectacle, and strengthened managerialist neoliberalism. It was not targeted against Christianity, though. In many respects, we all live in a negative world now. The loss of consensus reality, the failure of effective consensus-forming institutions, the extreme polarization of our politics, and the fragilization of our communities and identities leave everyone feeling exposed and vulnerable in new ways. No one thinks that they are winning. In other respects, the development has fallen especially hard upon particular groups. In America the place that Jews once enjoyed in the old liberal establishment, for instance, is rapidly shrinking and rising open antisemitism and less certain government policies concerning the state of Israel are signs of a loss of their cultural power. In such a context, it is easy for people to confuse some of the ways that the emerging order seems to threaten their groups with some ‘negative world’ hostility to the Christian faith. Responding to such a sense, it is easy for identitarian victimhood politics to elide Christian identity with fragilized cultural identities—with ‘white masculinity’, for instance—and to pursue sectarian politics in Christ’s name. As such politics impact the Church, they will tend to be both highly divisive, resistant to the Church’s concrete catholicity, and to compromise the moral integrity of the Church and the primacy of its bonds for the sake of effective political coalitions. Accentuating political tribalism offers a sort of security for anxious Christians, but at the cost of Christian faithfulness in preserving the peaceful bond of the Spirit in the Church. A key reservation I have about Renn’s thesis is that it might lead us to focus our attention upon ourselves and upon American society’s reduced hospitality to Christians and their faith. This is not without importance, but, in many respects what we are experiencing may be a particularly pronounced form of a more general societal malaise, much of it brought about or accelerated by the Internet. Recognizing this might equip us to think better about the manner of our response. For instance, we might think more carefully about how to guard our own lives, contexts, communities, and organizations from some of the more damaging dynamics of the Internet. We might also consider how the Church might function as an Ark for others, protecting them from the collapse of the former order and the threats of its successor.

Ten years ago I wrote an essay reflecting on the events of twenty years before that: the ‘Toronto Blessing’, or ‘Present move of the Spirit’ of 1994. And here we are, ten years on from that essay and thirty years from 1994. (I appreciate there will be many readers of this blog too young to have any idea of what I am talking about!)In that previous essay I raised questions as to the extent that our spiritual experiences are conditioned by the culture in which we live. To what extent were the phenomena of 1994 a reflection of wider cultural currents of the time? Ten years on from those questions and observations I can both still detect traces of what happened in 1994 in the ‘ministry shape’ of churches with which I am involved; and if anything I am more convinced of the influence of the wider culture in our spiritual experience. Way back, in December 1993, I read Arnold Dallimore’s George Whitefield. This two volume biography of the great 18th century evangelist was very shaping in my life and ministry but it has only been recently, more than thirty years later, that I have picked it up and read it through again. It was only a few months after first reading it that the Toronto blessing swept through our churches and we were laughing, weeping, and falling over. I’m not sure to what extent I connected the dots with Dallimore’s descriptions of phenomena accompanying revival in the 18th century but it is fascinating to read his account and make those connections now. Wesley, and others, seem to have encouraged the same kind of external manifestations that we saw in 1994 – viewing them as evidence of God’s working. On the other hand, Whitefield, and others, discouraged them – viewing them as a fleshly distraction from the true work of God that risked bringing the revival into disrepute. A standout moment in Whitefield’s ministry was the revival at Cambulsang, Glasgow, in 1741-2. This provides an interesting mirror against which to hold the events of 1994. As John Arnott wrote at the time of the Toronto blessing, “The fruit produced in a person’s life is the…way to evaluate a spiritual experience.” What was the fruit of Cambulsang? And what the fruit of 1994? At Cambulsang, and nearby Kilsyth, were two faithful but uninspiring ministers, William McCulloch and James Robe. These men had laboured in the gospel for years but with little result. They were known for being dull communicators but in 1741 something changed. A fresh anointing fell upon these two men and a new spiritual hunger came upon their congregations. Central to this awakening was a conviction of sin. Robe reports, “bitter cries, groans, and the voice of their weeping.” Whitefield appeared on the scene in July 1742, preached three times in the space of ten hours and reported, “For about an hour and a half there was such weeping, so many falling into deep distress, and expressing it in various ways…Their cries and agonies were exceedingly affecting.” The following Sunday came the famous Cambulsang communion service. Services were conducted over the whole weekend, culminating on the Monday, with constant preaching by a relay of ministers, and communion served on the Sunday. All this took place outdoors. Those wanting to take part in the communion were personally examined by a minister and if their ‘conversion and manner of life’ was deemed sufficiently genuine they were issued with a small metal token that gave access to the communion table. A month later Whitefield returned for another communion service. Thirty thousand were in attendance but only about three thousand were admitted to the table: “Worship began at 8.30 on the Sunday morning, and the last table was being served at sunset.” Dallimore states that there were two kinds of ‘emotional phenomena’ displayed during these services, “the outcrying and trembling among the unconverted and the ecstatic rejoicing among believers.” Not everyone was so affected though (Robe thought it to be one in five of the congregation) and Dallimore concludes, The bodily distresses were not encouraged, but when they occurred they were considered of value only inasmuch as they arose from a sorrow for sin so intense they could not be restrained. And what of the fruit? An accounting of the revival, written in 1871 relates, This work… embraced all classes, all ages, and all moral conditions. Cursing, swearing and drunkenness were given up by those who had come under its power. It kindled remorse for acts of injustice. It won forgiveness from the vengeful… It bound pastors and people together with a stronger bond of sympathy. It raised an altar in the household… It made men students of the Word of God and brought them in thought and purpose and effort into communion with their Father in heaven. True, there was chaff among the wheat, but the watchfulness of the ministers detected it, and quickly drove it away. And for long years afterwards, humble men and women who dated their conversion from the work at Cambuslang, walked among their neighbours with an unspotted Christian name, and then died peacefully in the arms of One whom they had learned in the revival days to call Lord and Saviour. What happened in Cambulsang in 1742 was of a different order to what we experienced in 1994. To be fair, this is why we described what was happening as a blessing rather than as a revival, but it does seem that we placed far too much emphasis on the phenomena. Rather than one in five displaying strong emotional phenomena we looked for everyone to do so. This made it difficult for the few who did not – I remember some individuals becoming very disillusioned because they were untouched amongst a sea of flailing and falling bodies. With hindsight, my perspective is that the focus on phenomena was a mistake: there was a great deal of chaff among the wheat. And, as I remember it, conviction of sin was almost entirely absent. There wasn’t any great turning of the unconverted to God. I concluded my 2014 essay with an observation about how culture affects our spiritual responses and then a question, An obvious question that arises for us out of this observation is at what point our cultural envelope becomes a hindrance to actively receiving the Spirit. Arguably some cultures are more open than others – would a 1970’s style charismatic renewal have been possible in the more straitlaced 1950’s? At the least, we should be alert to the importance of ‘discerning the times’ and aware of the impact of the wider culture upon us. Over the past few years there has been a lot of conversation about the church ‘impacting the culture’. It seems to me that the impact is rather more likely to be the other way around, and most of the time we do not even realise it. That is how culture works, even when we think of ourselves as charismatic. Over the past ten years there have been some cultural shifts that wash into our expectations and practices in the church. The therapeutic worldview has become increasingly dominant. Technology has more and more impact in peoples lives. There has been a growing suspicion of leadership. To what extent do these cultural realities affect and condition any move of God among us? In our current climate of individualism and leadership suspicion it is very hard to imagine a context in which ninety percent of a congregation would tolerate being kept from taking communion, or in which pastors would have the courage necessary to enforce it! Thirty years on there are things I am grateful for that came out of our experiences then, as well as things I would do differently now. But oh for a move of God that cuts through all our cultural realities and causes trembling among the unconverted and ecstatic rejoicing among believers.