The Gospel Coalition

This past weekend, men hoping to become Donald Trump’s running mate have vied to see who can be more pro-choice on abortion. Florida senator Marco Rubio previously cosponsored federal legislation that would ban abortion after 15 weeks. But when recently asked about whether the GOP platform should include a long-standing call to ban abortion, he said, “I think our platform has to reflect our nominee” (referring to, and aligning himself with, Trump’s objection to a federal ban on abortion). Not to be outdone, Ohio senator J. D. Vance says he supports access to the abortion pill mifepristone (referring to, and aligning himself with, Trump’s support for the abortion pill). They likely knew that by Monday, the GOP platform would be adopted and, for the first time in 40 years, reflect a pro-choice position on abortion. In Ernest Hemingway’s novel The Sun Also Rises, one character asks another, “How did you go bankrupt?” The other responds, “Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.” The same answer could be given to social conservatives wondering how the GOP became pro-choice. It was happening gradually for some time. But then it happened suddenly.

When I was 10 years old, I attended a screening of a movie called A Thief in the Night. It offered a vivid depiction of end-time events, images that would terrorize me well into young adulthood and leave me paralyzed to read the book of Revelation. One of the scenes that caused me the greatest anxiety involved the tattooing of a barcode on the forehead of one of the main characters. I used to lie in bed at night, repeating to myself, “Whatever you do, don’t get the tattoo.” Because I was too afraid to read Revelation, it was years before I learned it holds multiple scenes in which people receive marks, and not all of them are terrifying. Some are extremely reassuring.

It’s probably not an exaggeration to say the four Gospels of the New Testament—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—are the most studied books in history. Every story, every sentence, every word has been scrutinized for generations by both scholars and laypeople alike. But this never-ending microscopic analysis of the text, as necessary and important as it is, can prevent us from seeing something equally remarkable: what is not in the text. We’re so focused on what’s there that we never reflect on what isn’t there. What the biblical authors decided not to tell us may be as significant as what they did tell us. There are many surprising absences in the accounts of Jesus in our four Gospels. For example, what did Jesus do for the 40 days he spent with his disciples after the resurrection? What did he talk about? What teachings did he deliver? The four Gospels don’t tell us. But we have an apocryphal Gospel (a writing about Jesus not included in our Bibles) that does. In the Dialogue of the Savior, Jesus makes numerous post-resurrection appearances to his disciples, answering their questions and waxing eloquent on various theological topics. Other apocryphal Gospels (e.g., the Gospel of Philip and the Gospel of Mary) offer similar stories. To give another example, ever wonder what it would’ve been like to see Jesus resurrected? What did it actually look like for him to come out of the tomb? The four Gospels don’t tell us (when the women arrive early that Sunday morning, Jesus is already risen). But we have an apocryphal Gospel that does. In the Gospel of Peter, we’re given a purported first-hand account of Jesus walking out of the tomb at the moment of his resurrection. He emerges from the tomb flanked by an angel on each side, and his head touches the clouds. The most poignant example of a surprising absence in our Gospels pertains to Jesus’s childhood. What was Jesus like as a child? How did this “junior” Son of God behave? Did anyone know he was divine? Aside from the singular story in Luke 2, the four Gospels don’t tell us. But we have an apocryphal Gospel that does. It’s called the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, and it has been well known to scholars for generations. Moreover, on June 13, 2024, CBS News announced a new manuscript of this Gospel has been discovered that’s purportedly the “oldest written record of Jesus Christ’s childhood.” Now, that’s an enormous claim. If it’s true, that could substantively change our understanding of the historical Jesus. But before we reconsider everything we think we know about the childhood of Jesus, we might want to pause. Sometimes “new” discoveries, on further investigation, aren’t as new as they first appear.

When a leader falls, his local church feels the collateral damage. They’re like a crowd standing too close to the curb on a rainy day. The crisis drives by and splashes everyone. It drenches the elders who stood close to the leader, and it sprays shame across the whole community (1 Cor. 12:26). Judgments often follow the embarrassment. Some church members instinctively sympathize with the leaders and staff who remain after a crisis. Others, stung by betrayal, express self-righteous suspicion or angry cynicism: “You hypocrites preach community and accountability, but you clearly don’t practice it!” They see the leaders as fully culpable for sin in areas where accurately assigning blame sometimes requires more time and examination. How does a remaining elder team respond to this rock and hard place? How do they rebuild? I’ve spent years helping churches work through crises, and I’ve encountered an array of complex situations. Some I handled well. In others, I added to the problems. But in God’s providence, failure can be the best tutor. Here are some lessons I’ve learned about how a church’s leadership team can rebuild trust with one another and with the congregation after the crisis.

Twenty-five years ago this month, a full-page advertisement appeared in the middle of a small-town newspaper in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. The ad showed a cartoon of Jesus in the style of the TV show South Park. He was standing on top of a globe, wearing only shorts and a pair of boxing gloves. His fists were raised, like he’d just gone 12 rounds with somebody. Immediately, the 663 residents of Berkeley Springs started asking questions. The image of Jesus seemed blasphemous, and the list of speakers didn’t help. They knew those names—Matt Carter, Geary Burch, Garrett Kell, and Jason Seville were high school and college boys who played sports, chased girls, and partied on the weekends. Kell’s Sunday school teacher, Tom Close, rarely saw him in church. “He was a hellion,” Close said. And sure enough, a rumor sprang up that “Garrett’s throwing a party at the church!” But when some folks complained in letters to the editor, Close wasn’t among them. And on July 30, he showed up at the Christ Night Revival. “God can change anybody,” he said. Unless the teens proved him wrong, he’d take them at face value. “I had a feeling I knew what was going to happen,” he said. “I’d taken kids to different events—Christian concerts and things like that. They’d get some loud music—drums and guitars. They’d sing some Christian rock songs.” He was right about that—the music was loud. But nothing else about Christ Night was predictable. Curious locals crammed into the church until it was standing room only. Most of them weren’t Christians. They listened to the boys share their stories of coming to faith—dramatic stories of God’s salvation from drugs and sex and alcohol.

It’s an exciting time to do theology. Technology allows unprecedented access to vast deposits of historical resources. Scholars across disciplines are talking to one another in new ways. Conversations across traditional divides enable both interdisciplinary and ecumenical sharpening of iron by iron. For those faithfully listening to God speaking in Scripture, these are encouraging developments that have yielded fruit in recent theological publications. In Systematic Theology: From Canon to Concept, Stephen J. Wellum leverages these trends to make a strong case for the importance of careful and cohesive theological reflection on Scripture. Like his earlier work on biblical theology, this text is thoughtful and clearly written. Wellum sets out in this text—the first of two planned volumes—to introduce the task of systematic theology and explore the doctrines of revelation, Scripture, God, creation, and providence.

Many women, including me, endure the tragic experience of Scripture being misused against them, often by men. It can be difficult to untangle Scripture’s truth from man’s manipulation. But even when the Word is handled rightly, some passages are difficult to engage as a woman. They seem unfair or even cruel. Could any passage be as troubling for women as Deuteronomy 22? A decade ago, Rachel Held Evans raised this passage in A Year of Biblical Womanhood. To be biblical, Held argued, women had to marry their rapists. To be biblical, Christians should stone anyone caught in an adulterous affair. To be biblical, Christians should kill a woman who didn’t cry out as she was being raped. To fully engage Evans’s argument would require dealing with her definition of “biblical,” which is outside the scope of this article. Nevertheless, she raised legitimate questions: How should we understand Deuteronomy 22? And does its inclusion in the Scriptures mean the Bible cannot be trusted to guide and direct women today? These questions can’t be completely answered in a single article. But we can begin to make sense of them by considering both history and hermeneutics. We’ll start by looking at the specific situations described in light of their historical context. Then we’ll zoom out to consider this passage in Scripture’s larger story. As we do, please keep in mind that this article is addressing a specific textual question rather than offering counsel for victims of sexual assault. Questions about Deuteronomy 22—as much as questions around eschatology, soteriology, or ecclesiology—require a hermeneutic. We need a holistic way of reading Scripture’s long story to understand this chapter. Jesus is that hermeneutic, the lens through which we must read the Bible. Let’s consider what Deuteronomy 22 says and then seek to understand what it means for women today.

In Exodus 13:21–22, the Lord went before the Israelites to guide their steps. Though I (Jessika) couldn’t see it then, I’m convinced the Lord went before me during my final pregnancy. When intrusive thoughts simmered in my second trimester, I did my best to counter lies with biblical truth. But when worry and fear came to a rolling boil, I brought my concerns to the Lord. What was going on spiritually that I couldn’t see? How was I to pray? I lacked clarity and felt confused. Was it the labor and delivery I was to pray over? Was it for my child? I didn’t know what lay ahead, but I trusted that God did. On my living room sofa, the Lord guided me to circle particular Psalms and commit to praying them. For one month, I faithfully prayed those circled prayers and for my fear and anxiety to break. But when my son was born in our home at 42 weeks, weighing only 4 pounds, 14 ounces, I realized it wasn’t over; it was just beginning. At 36 hours old, Ezra seized in my arms—a strange twitching was followed by an odd stillness and my son’s glossy, vacant stare. Something was wrong, and I had to act immediately. My husband rushed to my side, snapping his fingers and clapping his hands, hoping our son would “snap” out of it. Feeling helpless, I began to sob. I called 911, but in the shock and trauma of our circumstances, I couldn’t even remember our address. I was paralyzed with fear.

“Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?” (John 4:29) When was the last time you heard the Samaritan woman at the well presented as a model for anything, let alone apologetics? I’m guessing the answer is not lately, if ever. Yet there may be no better model of witness in the Gospels than her. Most teaching about the Samaritan woman centers on her past rather than her preaching. Interpretations of her encounter with Jesus easily focus on speculation or label her simply as a prostitute or adulteress. But speculation can be blinding. It can obscure what’s explicit in John’s narrative: her witness led to a city-wide harvest (John 4:30–42). The Samaritan woman led more people to Christ in a day than most of us will in a lifetime. This shouldn’t shame us but instead encourage us to learn from her as a powerful example of apologetics in exile.

Last month, The Gospel Coalition hosted its largest ever gathering. Nearly 9,000 women assembled in Indianapolis for TGC’s 2024 Women’s Conference, themed Behold and Believe: Encountering Jesus as the Great I AM. Attendees came from 49 states and 27 countries, with over 65 percent being first-time attendees at a TGC Women’s Conference. These attendees heard keynote messages unpacking the seven I AM statements in John’s Gospel, from speakers including Jen Wilkin, Ruth Chou Simons, and David Platt. Through more than 40 topical breakout sessions and workshops, the conference also provided attendees with practical, biblical help for various aspects of life and ministry. Now, we’re excited to announce the release of all the audio and video sessions from TGCW24, available for you to stream at your convenience and share with others. To access the seven keynote talks and more than 40 breakout sessions, simply head to our TGCW24 On-Demand page and dive into the enriching content.