In the landscape of the 21st century, a quiet but profound revolution is taking place. For decades, the prevailing sociological narrative suggested that as societies modernized, they would inevitably secularize—leaving religion behind as a relic of a bygone era. However, recent data from both the United States and the United Kingdom has upended this expectation. A striking trend has emerged: Gen Z men are retaining or adopting Christian identity at rates equal to, or even higher than, their female peers.

This is not merely a statistical anomaly; it is a spiritual homecoming. Many young men today report feeling culturally dislocated, marginalized, or even villainized by progressive secular discourse regarding masculinity. In an era defined by “fluidity”—where identity, gender, and morality are treated as ever-shifting social constructs—young men are finding themselves adrift. In response, they are gravitating toward the ancient, the “thick,” and the traditional. Traditional forms of Christianity, particularly Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy, offer a narrative of responsibility, sacrifice, and hierarchy that provides a defined role for men seeking solid ground.

The Crisis of Masculinity and the Divine Design

The modern challenge to masculinity, driven by aggressive progressive cultural forces, has created a deep-seated confusion regarding gender roles. Over the last decade, the cultural “circuitry” of society has been rewired. By attempting to dismantle the traditional understanding of what it means to be a man or a woman, secular society has inadvertently created a “void in the soul” for a generation of men.

When we speak of masculinity today, it is often through the lens of “toxicity.” Young men are told that their natural inclinations toward strength, leadership, and protection are inherently problematic. This has led to a state of cultural dislocation. After years of feeling like they have no place in the modern narrative, Gen Z men are reacting against the chaos. They are finding that the “freedom” promised by secularism feels more like a vacuum.

From a secular sociological perspective, many scholars overlook the fundamental reality of the human condition: the Imago Dei—the image of God—and the “common grace” implanted in the human soul. There is a fundamental tension that occurs when human design is distorted. Much like a high-performance vehicle—if you begin short-circuiting the electrical design or putting the wrong fuel in the tank, the car will sputter, stall, and eventually break down.

Similarly, the human soul becomes restless, tired, and worn out when it operates outside of God’s design. This is the heart of the Gen Z cry. They are tired of the “short-circuiting” of their nature. It is in this state of exhaustion that the invitation of Christ becomes a lifeline:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me… for my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

The Biblical Foundation of Identity

To understand why Gen Z men are returning to the Church, we must look at the foundational architecture of identity found in the Book of Genesis. The Bible establishes that gender is not a social performance, but a divine distinction.

“So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” (Genesis 1:27)

Crucially, God breathed His life specifically into them—an act not extended to the animals or the plants. This “breath of life” confirms that only humanity is created in the image of God. This truth stretches far beyond the Garden of Eden; it provides the very definition of male and female in this world.

“Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life… Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.” (Genesis 2:7, 22)

When society pushes a “social construct” agenda to redefine these roles, it leads to the spiritual and social decay described in the first chapter of Romans. Paul describes a society that exchanged the truth of God for a lie and worshiped the creature rather than the Creator. The result was a “giving over” to confusion and disorder.

“They exchanged the truth about God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator… Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural sexual relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another.” (Romans 1:25-27)

Yet, it is precisely because of this darkness that the light of the Transcendent is becoming so attractive again. In a world of “liquid modernity,” only the Transcendent offers the certainty and serenity that the human heart craves.

From Judgment to Grace: The Path to Restoration

While the diagnostic portion of the Bible warns of the consequences of turning away from God’s design, the Scriptures do not leave us in the pit of despair. The transition from Romans 1 to Romans 3 is one of the most powerful movements in all of theology.

Paul moves from the judgment of God to the grace of God. He acknowledges that while all have fallen short and experienced the “short-circuiting” of their nature, the grace of God provides a pathway for joy, forgiveness, and total restoration.

“This righteousness is given through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference… for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.” (Romans 3:22-24)

This is the message that Gen Z men are finally hearing. They are realizing that they do not have to be “self-made” men; they can be “God-made” men. Despite the “giving over” to disorder that we see in the culture, the grace of God is working a quiet miracle. The time has come for Gen Z to experience this restoration. They are seeking a framework that is not social, but spiritual; not temporary, but eternal.

The Role of Modern Intellectuals: Re-enchanting the Bible

We cannot discuss this trend without acknowledging the role of public intellectuals, most notably Jordan Peterson. Peterson has played a pivotal role in “re-enchanting” the Bible for a secular male audience that had previously written it off as a book of fairy tales.

By framing biblical narratives as psychological maps for meaning rather than strictly metaphysical claims, Peterson created an “on-ramp” for secular men to enter religious spaces. He spoke to men in a language they understood: the language of competence, responsibility, and voluntary sacrifice. He challenged young men to “stand up straight with your shoulders back”—a call to alertness that mirrors the biblical command:

“Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong.” (1 Corinthians 16:13)

Peterson’s work has paved the way for a religious lifestyle for many who were otherwise lost in the spiritual vacuity of modern life. He helped them realize that the Bible isn’t just a book you read; it’s a reality you inhabit. The keyword here is yearning. There is a profound yearning for meaning in a world that tells young men they are “toxic” or “unnecessary.” By providing a bridge between psychological truth and biblical orthodoxy, these intellectual movements are navigating young men back toward the timeless wisdom of the Scriptures.

Conclusion: The Return to the Ancient Path

The rise of “Digital Orthodoxy” and the return to traditional liturgical worship among Gen Z men is a sign that the secular experiment has failed to satisfy the human soul. The aesthetic of antiquity, the rigor of discipline, and the clarity of the biblical narrative are far more appealing to a young man than the hollow promises of a fluid culture.

The “human vehicle” is being brought back to the Manufacturer. The confusion of gender roles and the “man-made” problems of the last decade are being met with the ancient “God-made” solutions. It is absolutely comforting to know that the time has come for the Gen Z man to react to the void and reach for something solid.

They are moving from the chaos of Romans 1 into the grace of Romans 3. They are finding that in the hierarchy of God, there is freedom; in the responsibility of the Cross, there is strength; and in the image of God, there is a true identity that no social construct can ever take away.

The time has come for Gen Z. Praise the Lord.

When Jesus and His disciples crossed the stormy Sea of Galilee—after He had rebuked the winds and waves with a word of authority—they stepped ashore in the region of the Gadarenes (or Gergesenes, as some manuscripts read). Immediately, two demon-possessed men came rushing from the tombs toward Him. These men were so fierce and uncontrollable that no traveler dared pass that way anymore. Yet in the presence of Jesus, the demons inside them could not remain silent. They cried out in terror: “What have you to do with us, O Son of God? Have you come here to torment us before the time?” (Matthew 8:29, ESV).

This dramatic confrontation reveals truths that cut to the heart of spiritual reality. First, these demonic beings—ancient, rebellious spirits—instantly recognize and confess Jesus’ divine identity as the **Son of God**. This is the same title Peter proclaimed in faith (Matthew 16:16), the same one the Father declared at Jesus’ baptism (Matthew 3:17), yet it is a truth billions of people in our modern world actively deny, dismiss, or ignore. The demons know what many refuse to accept.

“Have you come here to torment us **before the time**?”

But the second part of their cry is even more unsettling: “Have you come here to torment us **before the time**?” They are not confused or uncertain about the future. They possess clear, terrifying knowledge of an appointed “time”—the final eschatological judgment day when Satan and all his angels will be thrown into the lake of fire and sulfur, tormented “day and night forever and ever” (Revelation 20:10). Jesus Himself describes this as “the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels” (Matthew 25:41), a place of unquenchable fire and undying worms (Mark 9:48). In the parallel accounts in Mark 5 and Luke 8, the demons beg Jesus not to send them into the abyss—a temporary place of restraint and suffering before the final sentence falls. Their desperate plea shows they fully expect torment; they simply dread facing it prematurely.

This moment makes the supernatural uncomfortably real. Hell is not a medieval scare tactic, a psychological symbol, or a cultural holdover from less enlightened times. It is a literal, eternal destination for those who persist in rebellion against God. The demons’ fear underscores that spiritual forces operate with full awareness of cosmic justice. They tremble at what awaits them, even though the appointed time may still be centuries or millennia away.

Tragically, many contemporary Christians have largely tuned out this same reality.

We live in an era bombarded by distractions: endless scrolling on social media, the pursuit of financial security, entertainment that numbs the soul, and a prevailing cultural narrative that insists a truly loving God could never allow eternal punishment. The result is a mental compartmentalization—judgment feels distant, abstract, or even incompatible with the compassionate Father revealed in Scripture. Many churches contribute to this by focusing almost exclusively on themes of grace, healing, community, and personal fulfillment (which are all biblical and essential), while rarely addressing demons, spiritual warfare, the wrath of God, or the vivid warnings Jesus gave about hell more often than He spoke of heaven.

A divine wake-up call: the end times are not merely future prophecy; they are a present spiritual reality that must shape our daily priorities, decisions, and mission

This selective preaching is not harmless. If fallen angels—who have rebelled against God for far longer than humanity has existed—shudder at the certainty of coming torment, how much more should redeemed believers, who possess the complete revelation of God’s Word and the indwelling Holy Spirit, live with holy urgency? The Gadarenes encounter is a divine wake-up call: the end times are not merely future prophecy; they are a present spiritual reality that must shape our daily priorities, decisions, and mission.

The personal and communal implications are profound and life-transforming. A genuine, heart-level awareness of eternal judgment would radically alter how we live as followers of Christ. Evangelism would cease to be an occasional activity reserved for special events or mission trips; it would become the natural overflow of our lives—sharing the gospel boldly, relationally, and relentlessly every single day. We would stop wasting energy on petty doctrinal arguments that divide rather than unite, on chasing material gain that rusts and fades, or on conforming to cultural wickedness that dulls our spiritual senses. Instead, we would lift our eyes to the eternal horizon and invest in what truly lasts.

Pause and consider the emotional weight: What if the people we love most—our children, our spouse, our closest friends, our coworkers, our neighbors—are on a path toward eternal separation from God? The image is heartbreaking, almost unbearable. Yet it is precisely this kind of piercing grief that should stir us out of complacency and into fervent action. Love that is truly Christlike does not remain silent in the face of danger; it warns, pleads, and pursues.

“Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so he may run who reads it.

The prophet Habakkuk received a similar divine mandate in a time of impending judgment: “Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so he may run who reads it. For still the vision awaits its appointed time; it hastens to the end—it will not lie. If it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come; it will not delay” (Habakkuk 2:2–3, ESV). This vision included both the certainty of judgment on sin and the promise of God’s ultimate justice and restoration. When the message is proclaimed clearly and faithfully—without dilution or apology—it produces action. “Run” is not a suggestion; it is an imperative verb calling for urgent, purposeful movement.

Yet so many believers today remain spiritually sedentary, passively waiting rather than actively running. The reason is clear: the church has too often watered down the full counsel of God, choosing “winsome” politeness over the confrontational boldness Jesus modeled. He did not hesitate to call out hypocrisy, warn of judgment, or speak of Gehenna’s fire in ways that offended religious leaders and casual hearers alike. We must recover that same courage.

The terrified confession of the demons in the Gadarenes lays bare the unseen battle raging beneath the surface of ordinary life.

This must change—now. The terrified confession of the demons in the Gadarenes lays bare the unseen battle raging beneath the surface of ordinary life. Judgment is real. The appointed time draws nearer every day. And the gospel of Jesus Christ remains the only rescue from the wrath to come.

Let us therefore reclaim the whole truth of Scripture: a love so deep it willingly bore the cross to save sinners from deserved wrath; grace so powerful it transforms rebels into saints; and an urgency so compelling it drives us to proclaim Christ boldly, urgently, and unapologetically while there is still time.

May we write—and live—this vision plainly today. Let it awaken hearts, ignite passion, and send us running toward eternity, reaching the lost before the time arrives. The demons know the stakes. It is time for the church to remember, to repent of our slumber, and to respond with the fervor the gospel demands.

Al Ngu,  Jan 9, 2026

The New Testament bursts with accounts of signs and wonders—not only through Jesus Christ, the Son of God, but also through ordinary men like the apostles. Peter raised the dead (Acts 9:36–42), Paul healed the sick and cast out demons (Acts 19:11–12), and the early church witnessed healings, deliverances, and bold proclamations that turned cities upside down. These were not rare anomalies; they were the expected outflow of the Holy Spirit’s power.

Yet today, in many corners of the church, such demonstrations feel distant—sporadic at best, absent at worst. Why? Why do we read of an overwhelming abundance of miracles in Scripture, yet see so few in our own lives and ministries? This question haunts me, especially as someone who has ministered in charismatic contexts and now lives in the bustling, skeptical heart of New York City.

Jesus promised this power explicitly: “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth” (Acts 1:8, ESV). The purpose is unmistakable: Holy Spirit empowerment for witness-bearing, from our local streets to the ends of the earth. When was the last time you stepped out to share the gospel in your city and felt genuinely electrified, expectant, and empowered? For too many of us, the answer is dishearteningly rare. We’ve grown accustomed to disappointment. Signs and wonders seem to have faded into the background, leaving us frustrated that the very power promised for evangelism is so often lacking.

This tension finds its mirror in Matthew 8:23–27, the account of Jesus calming the storm:

And when he got into the boat, his disciples followed him. And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep. And they went and woke him, saying, “Save us, Lord; we are perishing.” And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm. And the men marveled, saying, “What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?”

The disciples panicked as the waves crashed over them. They cried out in fear: “Lord, save us! We are perishing!” Jesus’ response is piercing—first a rebuke: “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?”—and only then a command that brought instant calm. The disciples marveled at the authority of the One in their midst.

If we were in that boat, how would we react? Honestly, most of us—pastors, theologians, everyday believers—would likely do the same: cry out in terror. Yet Jesus held them to a higher standard. He expected faith that trusted His presence and authority, perhaps even faith to rebuke the storm themselves in His name.

Why this expectation? Because Jesus was physically there, mere feet away. Today, He is ascended, but the Holy Spirit dwells within every true believer (Romans 8:9–11; 1 Corinthians 6:19). So why the scarcity of signs and wonders?

The roots run deep. The Enlightenment of the 17th and 18th centuries shifted Western thought toward rationalism, empiricism, and a suspicion of the supernatural. Miracles came to be viewed as violations of natural law—improbable, superstitious, or impossible. Thinkers like David Hume argued that miracle reports could never outweigh the uniformity of nature. This mindset permeated education, culture, and eventually theology.

Thomas Jefferson famously created his own edited version of the New Testament, *The Life and Morals of Jesus of Nazareth* (completed around 1820), by literally cutting and pasting passages to remove all miracles, references to Jesus’ divinity, and the resurrection—focusing solely on moral teachings. Later, in the late 20th century, the Jesus Seminar—a group of scholars—voted on the authenticity of Gospel events, dismissing most miracles as legendary inventions.

These efforts reflect a broader cultural trajectory: the supernatural was sidelined to make faith more “palatable” in a scientific age. Universities filled with secular professors and textbooks promoted worldviews that often excluded God, sometimes leaning toward materialism or even Marxist influences. The church was not immune. Many congregations gradually abandoned praying for the sick, prophetic ministry, and expectant faith for miracles. Services became centered on preaching and singing—good things, but often without the demonstration of power.

Is it any wonder signs and wonders are rare? Expectations have plummeted because teaching has shifted. As Paul reminds us, “Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Romans 10:17). When we cease proclaiming a God who still intervenes—who calms storms, heals bodies, and empowers witnesses—faith naturally weakens.

The solution lies in a full reboot: a renewed mind, a philosophical and theological return to Scripture’s full witness, and a complete surrender to the Lord. We must embrace the congruent power of Spirit and Word—the Holy Spirit’s dynamic presence working through the authoritative Scriptures. This is the God who performed mighty acts through Christ and the apostles, and who still desires to do so today for His glory and the advance of His kingdom.

Let us pray for revival: that our churches would once again expect, pursue, and witness the signs and wonders that authenticate the gospel. In our cities, our nations, and to the ends of the earth—may the power promised in Acts 1:8 be unleashed anew.

Amen.

A Polarized Moment: Academia and Political Power in Early 2026

As 2026 dawns, American evangelicals stand at a peculiar crossroads of cultural influence and caution. The early days of January have already seen renewed debate over higher education’s ideological landscape, prompted by the lingering effects of the Trump administration’s 2025 “Compact for Academic Excellence.” This initiative, designed to tie federal funding to reforms promoting merit-based admissions, balanced hiring practices, and greater viewpoint diversity, was ultimately rejected by most elite institutions. Critics framed it as government overreach threatening academic freedom, while supporters viewed it as a necessary corrective to longstanding imbalances. Yale University’s December 2025 Faculty Political Diversity Report—released just weeks ago—has fueled the conversation. Analyzing 1,666 faculty members across undergraduate departments, law, and management schools, the report revealed Democrats outnumbering Republicans by more than 36:1 overall, with an astonishing 27 of 43 undergraduate departments registering zero Republican faculty members. Peer institutions tell a similar story: Harvard’s Faculty of Arts and Sciences continues to show roughly 63–70% identifying as liberal in recent surveys, Princeton maintains comparable left-leaning ratios in key disciplines, and Columbia’s humanities departments reflect the national trend where conservative voices are often outnumbered by margins exceeding 10:1.

Simultaneously, evangelical proximity to political power has reached levels not seen in decades. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, a prominent evangelical voice, has continued hosting high-profile Christian worship services at the Pentagon—a practice begun in 2025 that blends military tradition with explicit faith expression. These gatherings, attended by service members and occasionally livestreamed, have reignited longstanding debates over church-state boundaries and the rising visibility of Christian nationalism. Influential figures connected to Doug Wilson’s network in Moscow, Idaho, have gained advisory roles in policy circles, celebrating what they see as a long-overdue reclamation of cultural influence. For many believers, this feels like a moment of vindication after years of perceived marginalization. For others, it raises uncomfortable questions about the entanglement of faith and state power.

Paul’s Framework: The Power of the Cross Over Human Wisdom

In this charged and polarized atmosphere, the apostle Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 1 provide a strikingly relevant framework for discernment: “For Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the gospel, and not with words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power” (1 Cor. 1:17, ESV). Paul, writing to a fractured church in cosmopolitan Corinth, deliberately rejected the rhetorical sophistication prized in Greco-Roman culture. A former Pharisee with impeccable credentials, he could have dazzled with philosophical arguments or impressive oratory. Instead, he chose simplicity—not out of anti-intellectualism, but to ensure that faith rested solely on God’s power rather than human persuasion.

Craig L. Blomberg, in his commentary, explains that 1 Corinthians 1:18–2:5 expands this theme, contrasting divine wisdom with human wisdom while directly addressing the Corinthian problem of self-centered factionalism.[1] Believers were dividing into rival camps, boasting loyalty to charismatic leaders: “I follow Paul,” “I follow Apollos,” “I follow Cephas.” This wasn’t mere personality preference; it reflected a deeper captivity to worldly values—valuing eloquence, status, and human achievement over the unifying reality of Christ crucified. Paul’s response was uncompromising: the message of the cross, which appeared as foolishness to Greek philosophers seeking wisdom and as weakness to Jews expecting miraculous signs, is in fact God’s profound wisdom and power.

Dual Temptations: Silence and Over-Alignment

Two millennia later, evangelicals navigate strikingly parallel temptations amid 2026’s cultural battles. One path leads to retreat and relative silence. Despite possessing rigorous biblical and theological training—MDiv programs, seminaries, and doctoral work producing thousands of graduates annually—many pastors, scholars, and lay leaders with intellectual depth remain largely absent from public discourse on pressing issues. Topics like education reform, human sexuality, religious liberty, immigration policy, and bioethics often see robust secular commentary but muted evangelical contributions. This isn’t universal; voices exist on podcasts, books, and niche platforms. Yet in mainstream media, legislative hearings, or university panels, theologically informed perspectives are frequently underrepresented. Possible explanations abound: exhaustion from the culture wars of previous decades, fear of professional backlash or church splits, or a well-intentioned but narrow focus on “gospel ministry” that avoids “political” topics. The result, however, is consequential: younger generations within the church risk growing up spiritually vibrant yet intellectually under-equipped to engage a world shaped by sophisticated secular narratives.

The opposite temptation is over-alignment with worldly systems of power. When evangelical leaders celebrate political appointments, policy wins, or public displays of faith in government settings as unambiguous kingdom advances, Paul’s caution against “eloquent wisdom” takes on fresh urgency. Proximity to power can subtly shift dependence from the cross to human mechanisms—electoral strategies, institutional leverage, or cultural dominance. History offers sobering precedents: whenever the church has tied its fortunes too closely to empire, the gospel’s scandalous offense gets softened, its call to repentance muted, and its transformative power redirected toward maintaining influence rather than confronting sin in all quarters.

Paul drives this home in verse 19, quoting Isaiah 29:14: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.” Blomberg notes that God actively frustrates superficial religion and prideful autonomy, clearing space for genuine revelation.[2] The “wisdom” Paul targets isn’t neutral intelligence but humanity’s rebellious attempt to define truth apart from the Creator—a pattern Paul traces in Romans 1:18–32, where suppression of truth leads to divine judgment. True wisdom, by contrast, begins with reverent submission to God (Prov. 1:7; 9:10).

 The Academy as Carrier of Worldly Wisdom

Elite academia today often functions as a primary carrier of this autonomous wisdom. The ideological homogeneity revealed in Yale’s report and similar studies isn’t merely statistical; it profoundly shapes institutional culture. Curricula prioritize certain frameworks—critical theory, progressive views on gender and sexuality, secular humanism—while biblical perspectives are often sidelined or framed as outdated. Students graduate equipped with sophisticated tools for cultural critique but little exposure to robust Christian alternatives. This isn’t conspiracy but consequence: when one worldview dominates hiring and promotion, echo chambers form, and dissenting voices self-censor or leave. The Compact for Academic Excellence sought to address this, however imperfectly, yet its rejection underscores how deeply entrenched these patterns have become.

Paul’s point, however, is ultimately hopeful rather than defeatist. God thwarts worldly discernment precisely so that “those who are called, both Jews and Greeks” might recognize in the cross “the power of God and the wisdom of God” (v. 24). What the world dismisses as folly—a suffering Messiah executed as a criminal—becomes the very means of reconciliation, resurrection, and renewal. The Spirit illuminates hearts across ethnic, intellectual, and cultural divides, revealing Christ’s death as the ultimate demonstration of divine love and justice.

Probing Questions for the Church Today

This biblical dynamic raises probing questions for evangelicals navigating 2026’s realities. If Scripture—from the prophetic confrontations of the Old Testament to the ethical teachings of the New—consistently addresses justice, human dignity, authority, family, and the common good, why do so many theologically trained voices remain on the sidelines? The prophets challenged kings; Jesus engaged Pharisees and Roman officials; Paul reasoned in synagogues and marketplaces. In a nation that still constitutionally protects free speech and religious expression, the relative absence of biblically grounded contributions risks ceding moral and intellectual formation to systems fundamentally at odds with Christian truth. An entire generation within the church could emerge passionate about worship yet unprepared to articulate faith in public square conversations.

Conversely, when faith becomes a tool for political branding—Pentagon services as photo ops, policy victories as spiritual triumphs—the cross risks being emptied of its offense. It ceases to confront all powers, including those friendly to the church, and instead serves human agendas.

Signs of Hope: Vitality on Campuses

Yet amid these challenges, encouraging signs are emerging, particularly on the very campuses often seen as lost causes. Despite faculty imbalances, 2025 witnessed continued vitality in student-led faith movements. Cru (formerly Campus Crusade) reported record participation in evangelistic outreach and discipleship programs, with thousands of students making faith commitments. InterVarsity Christian Fellowship expanded chapters and multi-ethnic witnessing communities, emphasizing biblical justice alongside personal salvation. Catholic campuses saw surges in Mass attendance and RCIA inquiries, with some diocesan reports noting double-digit percentage increases in young adult engagement. Apologetics-focused groups like Ratio Christi equipped students to engage professors and peers intellectually, hosting debates that drew hundreds. Events like UniteUS gatherings united thousands in prayer and worship, echoing the 2023 Asbury outpouring while sustaining momentum into the new year.

These developments reveal a generational hunger for authentic spirituality that transcends ideological conformity. Gen Z students, often portrayed as secular or disillusioned, are responding to the unadorned message of Christ crucified—finding in it not weakness but power to navigate anxiety, identity questions, and cultural chaos.

Confidence in the Cross

Paul’s message in 1 Corinthians 1 ultimately points beyond diagnosis to quiet confidence. The cross requires no supplementation—neither elite credentials nor political access—to accomplish God’s purposes. It stands as the divine instrument to confound the wise, save the called, and transform societies from the inside out.

For evangelicals in this pivotal year, the challenge is clear: to engage culture with intellectual rigor, prophetic clarity, and gospel humility—neither retreating into silence nor grasping at worldly power. By preaching Christ crucified plainly and trusting the Spirit’s illuminating work, the church can navigate polarization without losing its soul. In doing so, it offers a fractured world what it most needs: not another ideology, but the wisdom and power of God made manifest in a Savior who died and rose again.

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[1] Craig L. Blomberg, *1 Corinthians*, NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1994), 52. 

[2] Ibid

In an age dominated by self-promotion, ideological echo chambers, and relentless pursuit of human acclaim, the apostle Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 1 cut through the noise with startling clarity. “For Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the gospel, and not with words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power” (1 Cor. 1:17, ESV). Paul, a highly educated Pharisee turned apostle, deliberately eschews rhetorical flair and sophisticated argumentation—not because wisdom is unworthy, but because reliance on it risks diluting the gospel’s inherent power. The cross, in its apparent foolishness and weakness, stands as God’s ultimate demonstration of wisdom and might.

Craig L. Blomberg, in his commentary on 1 Corinthians, insightfully notes that verses 18–2:5 expand on this theme: “Genuine, full-orbed Christianity stands opposed to the fundamental values of a fallen, sinful world but provides the necessary antidote to the self-centered factionalism of the Corinthians.” This factionalism—divisions along lines of favorite leaders (“I follow Paul,” “I follow Apollos”)—mirrors the prideful rivalries Paul confronts. Extending this to our day, we see similar fractures not only in society but within the church: ministers vying for platforms, influencers building personal empires, and believers splintered by cultural wars. Self-centeredness breeds misery, as it isolates us from the communal joy found in Christ alone. Mortifying this ego-driven mindset is essential to our sanctification; a life orbiting the self is ultimately empty, while one centered on the cross brings true fulfillment.

Paul’s humility is striking. As a renowned apostle addressing a divided church, he could have asserted authority through impressive oratory. Instead, he declares that eloquent wisdom would empty the cross of its power. There is profound poise here: the cross needs no human embellishment. No preacher, no matter how gifted, can claim credit for its efficacy. Glory belongs solely to God, ensuring unity as all boast only in Christ. This culminates in verse 18: “For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

Paul bolsters his argument in verse 19, quoting Isaiah 29:14: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.” Blomberg explains this as scriptural support for Paul’s thesis, where God judges superficial religion by upending human pride. The Hebrew term translated “thwart” or “frustrate” implies rejecting, ignoring, or invalidating worldly discernment. This is no petty divine sabotage but a merciful intervention. Worldly wisdom, crafty and seductive, suppresses truth and fuels rebellion (Rom. 1:18–32). By confounding it, God clears the way for revelation—true wisdom that begins with the fear of the Lord (Prov. 1:7; 9:10).

To the ancient world, the gospel was scandalous. Greeks sought philosophical sophistication; Jews demanded miraculous signs. A crucified Messiah—a suffering God, a criminal executed on a Roman cross—seemed absurd and weak. Yet Paul proclaims that human wisdom, in rejecting God, invites divine judgment: salvation through a cursed death appears foolish, confirming humanity’s blindness.

For “those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God” (v. 24). This calling is the Spirit’s work, convicting and illuminating hearts to see the cross as transformative. As Blomberg observes, the Spirit touches lives across ethnic divides, revealing Christ’s death as God’s profound wisdom (reconciling sinners through atonement) and power (conquering sin and death via resurrection).

This message resonates powerfully today. Our world, like Corinth’s, idolizes human wisdom: expertise, credentials, viral rhetoric. Elite institutions embody this “wisdom of the wise.” Recent reports highlight stark ideological imbalances in American higher education. At Yale University, the Buckley Institute’s 2025 Faculty Political Diversity Report analyzed 1,666 faculty members across undergraduate departments, law, and management schools. Findings reveal over 82% registered as Democrats or primarily supporting them, with Republicans comprising just over 2%—a 36:1 ratio. Notably, 27 of 43 undergraduate departments have zero Republican faculty. Similar patterns persist at peer institutions: Harvard’s Faculty of Arts and Sciences surveys show around 63–70% identifying as liberal in recent years, with conservatives often under 5%. Princeton and Columbia exhibit comparable left-leaning skews, contributing to a national trend where liberal faculty outnumber conservatives significantly in humanities and social sciences.

This entrenchment of secular worldviews in academia echoes Paul’s “wisdom of this age”—philosophies that marginalize biblical truth and promote self-autonomy. Generations are shaped by ideas dismissing the cross as folly, prioritizing human speculation over divine revelation. No wonder Christianity has retreated from many campuses; naive approaches—relying solely on emotional appeals or spiritual experiences—fall short against sophisticated intellectual challenges.

Yet Paul’s words compel engagement, not withdrawal. God intends to “destroy the wisdom of the wise” precisely through the gospel’s proclamation. Christians must confront worldly intellect with redeemed minds: robust apologetics, deep theological literacy, and confident articulation of Christ’s superiority (Col. 2:8). The book of Proverbs reminds us wisdom starts with fearing God; only then can we dismantle crafty ideologies.

Encouragingly, signs of vitality persist. Campus ministries thrive amid secular dominance. Organizations like Cru, InterVarsity, and Reformed University Fellowship report growth, with bold preaching, worship, and evangelism drawing students. Catholic Newman Centers and evangelical groups provide communities where faith flourishes. Recent revivals—as at Asbury—highlight Gen Z’s hunger for authentic spirituality. Christian universities see enrollment surges as students seek meaning and connection in faith-based environments.

Despite imbalances, God’s promise endures: He thwarts human discernment to exalt Christ. The cross remains the antidote to factionalism, pride, and emptiness—both in Corinth and today.

Paul’s approach models faithful ministry: preach Christ crucified plainly, trusting the Spirit’s power. No eloquent additives needed; the message itself transforms. In churches plagued by celebrity pastors and in societies fractured by ideology, this humbles us all. No one steals glory from the cross—not Paul, not modern influencers.

As we navigate intellectual battles and cultural shifts, let us embrace the “foolishness” of the gospel. To the called, Christ is wisdom and power, satisfying the soul’s deepest longings. May we proclaim Him unadorned, uniting believers and confounding the wise, until He returns.

Cultural apologetics refers to the defense and commendation of the Christian faith through deep engagement with culture—its art, stories, values, longings, and narratives—rather than relying exclusively on intellectual arguments or evidential proofs. Its goal is not merely to show that Christianity is true, but that it is beautiful, meaningful, and fulfilling.

A biblical model for this approach is found in Paul’s address at Mars Hill (Acts 17). Paul did not begin with Scripture quotations alone, but with Athenian poets, altars, and philosophical assumptions. He entered their cultural world in order to redirect their deepest longings toward Christ. Christianity was presented not as foreign or absurd, but as the true fulfillment of what their culture was already searching for.

Modern proponents of cultural apologetics—such as Paul Gould—emphasize the renewal of the Christian voice (reason), conscience (moral awareness), and imagination (a sense of awe and wonder) in an increasingly secular and disenchanted world. Yet at the heart of cultural apologetics—and indeed all apologetics—lies one indispensable reality: the conviction brought by the Holy Spirit.

The Necessity of the Holy Spirit’s Conviction

Jesus makes this unmistakably clear in John 16:8–11:

“And when he comes, he will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment…”

No apologetic method—cultural, philosophical, historical, or scientific—has the power to bring a sinner to Christ apart from the convicting work of the Holy Spirit. Arguments may persuade the mind, but only the Spirit can awaken the heart.

Conviction targets the whole person. In contemporary culture, Christianity is often rejected not because of a lack of information, but because it is perceived as irrelevant, unattractive, or morally oppressive. The Spirit convicts in three interconnected ways:

• Concerning sin: exposing unbelief and revealing moral inconsistencies embedded in cultural ideals such as radical autonomy and moral relativism.
• Concerning righteousness: unveiling Christ as the true standard, in contrast to the counterfeit moralities of the age.
• Concerning judgment: revealing the ultimate futility of worldly systems operating under the dominion of the “ruler of this world.”

Cultural apologetics prepares the soil by highlighting truth, beauty, and goodness within culture and redirecting them toward Christ. But it is the Holy Spirit who causes the seed to take root, transforming the gospel from merely reasonable to deeply desirable.

Re-Enchanting a Disenchanted World

Modern secular culture is profoundly disenchanted—materialistic, utilitarian, and spiritually hollow. Yet beneath the surface lies a deep and persistent longing for meaning, identity, love, and transcendence. Cultural apologetics engages films, music, literature, and moral debates to re-enchant the imagination, showing that Christianity does not suppress human desire but fulfills it.

In this sense, cultural apologetics is spiritual warfare. The gospel confronts and subverts the idols of the age—wealth, sexuality, power, self-definition—exposing their inability to satisfy the deepest longings of the human soul. These idols promise fulfillment but deliver bondage. Christ alone offers true freedom, joy, and restoration.

Biblical Illustrations of Conviction and Desire

Consider the woman with the issue of blood (Mark 5). Socially ostracized, ceremonially unclean, and physically exhausted after twelve years of suffering, she heard of Jesus and believed that even touching the fringe of His garment would heal her. Her desperation overcame fear, shame, and cultural barriers. When she touched Him, she was healed instantly.

This story illustrates the triumph of gospel power over the false hopes of the world. Everything her culture offered had failed her. Christ alone satisfied her deepest need. Her faith was not produced by argument, but by conviction and hope awakened within her.

Contrast this with the rich young ruler. He was morally disciplined and religiously sincere. Yet when Jesus exposed his idol—wealth—and called him to surrender it, he walked away sorrowful. The allure of money proved stronger than his desire for the kingdom of God.

This is a sobering reminder that cultural apologetics does not guarantee conversion. When idols are cherished more than Christ, even the clearest invitation to eternal life can be refused.

Sexuality, Identity, and Cultural Confusion

Few issues reveal the need for cultural apologetics and spiritual conviction more than the modern crisis surrounding sexuality and gender. Among Gen Z, confusion regarding identity has surged in recent years, fueled by postmodern assumptions that sexuality is infinitely fluid and socially constructed.

At its core, this movement is not merely political or psychological—it is theological. Young people are asking profound questions: Who am I? Why do I exist? Where do I belong? The tragedy is that they are being offered identities that cannot bear the weight of the soul.

Scripture addresses this crisis not by beginning with prohibition, but with creation. In Genesis, God created humanity male and female, designed for covenantal union, fruitfulness, and shared dominion. Sexual difference is not arbitrary—it is purposeful, relational, and life-giving.

The distortion of sexuality described in Romans 1 is not merely moral failure; it is the result of exchanging the truth of God for a lie. When the Creator is rejected, creation itself becomes confused.

Cultural apologetics here must do more than argue ethics. It must present a better story—one where identity is received rather than constructed, where desire is ordered rather than suppressed, and where fulfillment flows from alignment with God’s design rather than rebellion against it.

Yet even here, persuasion alone is insufficient. Only the Holy Spirit can convict hearts, unveil deception, and awaken a desire for truth that leads to repentance and restoration.

Conclusion: Conviction Is Central

Cultural apologetics is valuable, necessary, and biblical. It clears obstacles, challenges false narratives, and exposes cultural idols. But it is not the engine of conversion. The Holy Spirit is.

Without conviction, apologetics becomes intellectual theater. With conviction, even a single word, gesture, or encounter with Christ can overturn a lifetime of deception.

Ultimately, the gospel advances not by cultural dominance or rhetorical brilliance, but by the Spirit of God awakening dead hearts to the beauty, truth, and sufficiency of Jesus Christ—the incarnate Son of God, the Messiah of the world, and the only source of eternal satisfaction.

In the middle of a psalm filled with enemies, danger, and warfare, King David pauses to voice the deepest desire of his heart: Ps 27:4

One thing I ask from the Lord,
    this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
    and to seek him in his temple.

One thing. Not ten things. Not even two. In a life threatened on every side, David declares that everything else can wait; only one pursuit is non-negotiable: to behold the beauty of the Lord.

We rush past that phrase too quickly. Beauty. We immediately picture symmetry, color, or physical attractiveness—the categories our culture has trained us to notice. Yet the Hebrew word David chose, noʿam, carries a far richer freight. It means pleasantness, delightfulness, sweetness, favor—the quality in something that makes it irresistibly attractive and life-giving all at once. When Scripture elsewhere speaks of the “beauty of holiness” (Ps 29:2; 96:9) or the “beauty of the Lord” resting upon His people (Ps 90:17), it is this noʿam that is in view.

David is not imagining God as a handsome statue. He is longing for the radiant sum of all God’s perfections—His holiness, goodness, mercy, faithfulness, power, wisdom, and love—shining forth together in perfect harmony. To gaze upon the beauty of the Lord is to have the heart ravished by who God is and what God does rather than merely by how God appears. It is the moment when covenant promises cease to be ink on a page and become fire in the bones.

The Sweet Burning of Jonathan Edwards

Few have described this gaze more vividly than Jonathan Edwards. In his Personal Narrative he recounts seasons of private prayer when the glory of God in Christ suddenly overwhelmed him:

“The sense I had of divine things would often of a sudden kindle up, as it were, a sweet burning in my heart; an ardor of soul, that I know not how to express… Sometimes only mentioning his name would cause my heart to burn within me… I had an inward, sweet sense of Christ and the beauty of His person… My soul was melted, and tears gushed from my eyes.”

Notice the language: sweet burning, ardor of soul, heart melted, tears gushing. This is not cerebral appreciation; it is whole-souled captivation. Edwards was not abnormal; he was simply awake to what every believer is invited into. The beauty of the Lord is meant to be tasted, felt, and enjoyed—not merely assented to.

Answered Prayer and the Disclosure of Beauty

One of the most common ways Christians actually experience this beauty is through answered prayer. When we cry out in desperation and God bends low to meet us—when the doctor’s report turns, the prodigal texts “I’m coming home,” the marriage that was dead breathes again—we are granted an undeniable glimpse of God’s noʿam breaking into history. Answered prayer is the beauty of God made tangible. It is the moment abstract attributes become concrete faithfulness, and we taste that the Lord is good (Ps 34:8).

The presence of God and the beauty of God are inseparable. Wherever the Holy Spirit grants comfort in grief, strength in weakness, or joy in obedience, there the beauty of the Lord is being unveiled. The same Spirit who hovered over the waters at creation now hovers over our chaos, whispering, “Behold your God.”

A Beauty the World Can See

For those who do not yet know Christ, this beauty must first be displayed rather than merely described. Unbelievers cannot see what we see until it is translated into deeds of justice, kindness, and sacrificial love.

William Wilberforce spent decades in Parliament fighting the British slave trade. When he finally succeeded, the beauty of Christ—the worth of every human being made in the image of God—shone so brightly that even secular historians still speak of it with awe. On a smaller scale, every act of forgiveness in a fractured family, every refusal to gossip at work, every meal shared with the lonely widow is a public witness to the same beauty.

Jesus Himself made the connection inescapable: “When I was hungry you fed me… when I was in prison you visited me… Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matt 25:35–40). Feeding the hungry and visiting the hopeless are not merely social obligations; they are living demonstrations of the beauty of Christ.

When Christians live this way, the world is forced to ask, “Where does this kindness come from? Why do they love the unlovely?” The answer, whether spoken or unspoken, is always the same: we have seen the King in His beauty, and we cannot help reflecting what we have beheld.

Made for an Infinite Beauty

Augustine famously wrote, “You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.” The Latin is even more poignant: Fecisti nos ad te—“You have made us toward Yourself.” We are, by constitution, theocentric. Our intellect, will, memory, and especially our capacity to love are oriented toward the Infinite. We are capax Dei—capable of God.

This built-in restlessness is not a flaw; it is a mercy. It is the ache that keeps us from permanently settling for counterfeits. C. S. Lewis later reframed it memorably: “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

Every lesser beauty—however genuine—is finally too small. A sunset can stun us, but it cannot forgive us. A spouse can cherish us, but cannot justify us. Achievement can exhilarate us, but cannot ultimate satisfy us. Only the infinite beauty of God is large enough to fill the God-shaped cavity in every human soul.

From Duty to Delight

In recent decades, preachers like Tim Keller have recovered a vital emphasis: Christianity is not finally about fear-driven duty or cold legalism. It is about being captivated by the surpassing beauty of Jesus until loving and obeying Him becomes the most natural thing in the world.

Legalism says, “I must.” The gospel says, “I want to.” The difference is everything. When we behold the beauty of the Lord, our affections are re-tuned organically. Worship flows spontaneously. Obedience becomes delight. Evangelism is no longer a grim obligation but an overflow of joy: “Come and see!”

This is why David’s single request in Psalm 27:4 is so revolutionary. In the midst of real danger he sought refuge—not first in strategy or allies, but in the presence of the Beautiful One. There he found courage, comfort, and unshakable joy.

Learning to Linger

How, then, do we cultivate this gaze? The primary place Scripture appoints is gathered worship on the Lord’s Day and the daily rhythm of Scripture-soaked prayer. We come expectantly, asking the Spirit to “open our eyes that we may behold wondrous things out of Your law” (Ps 119:18). We linger in adoration longer than feels efficient. We sing until the truth moves from head to heart. We meditate on the gospel until we see fresh facets of Christ’s loveliness.

The promise is sure: those who look to Him are radiant (Ps 34:5). Beholding is how we become. As we gaze upon His beauty, we are slowly transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another (2 Cor 3:18).

One day the gaze will be perfect. Faith will give way to sight, and we shall see Him as He is (1 John 3:2). Until then, may David’s prayer become ours: Ps 73:25-26

Whom have I in heaven but you?
    And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
²⁶ My flesh and my heart may fail,
    but God is the strength of my heart
    and my portion forever.