Partners and Citizens

Many Christians today feel disenfranchised as they look at the world around them, noting the accelerating dissolution of the basic institutions and public moral grammar they took for granted even a few decades ago. In response, some have looked back to “Christendom,” the long era from Constantine to the Peace of Westphalia when the Western world was marked by the magisterial establishment of Christianity. That experiment, which was an intentional entwining of church and state, furnished Europe and its colonial descendants with a shared religious and cultural heritage that now seems all but lost. Against this backdrop, Stephen Wolfe’s The Case for Christian Nationalism stands out as a sophisticated defense of retrieving something like Christendom.

In a conversation with a friend, we discussed the thought: there’s a Hall of Fame for everything—tow trucks, insurance, even cockroaches. But the real question is sharper:

If there were a Christian Hall of Fame, who would be in it—and by what standard?

I recently finished the final season of Stranger Things. The season had its uneven moments, but I was genuinely satisfied with how the story ended. I also laughed at how often the writers staged deep, emotionally honest conversations while the world was literally collapsing around the characters. Still, after five seasons of battles with the Mind Flayer and Vecna—after the Upside Down, the abyss, and everything in between—the series closes where it began: in a basement, among friends.

Denis Johnson tells the story of Robert Grainier, a man shaped by loneliness, labor, and loss in the American West near the turn of the twentieth century. Without spoiling the plot, Robert’s life is marked by repeated catastrophe, interrupted by only brief pockets of ordinary joy. He is resilient—stalwart, loyal, and hardy—and yet the tone of the story is unmistakably melancholic: a man doing his best to live well while the world moves on without noticing.

I believe in preaching. But a 45-minute monologue once a week—delivered by one person—cannot, by itself, meet the discipleship needs of an entire congregation. Weekly Bible studies provide another layer, but many believers can’t attend consistently because of work and family constraints. So we’re left with a practical question: how do we provide consistent, effective discipleship to most Christians?

My answer is simple: people must read more.

We live in an era where leadership training is everywhere. Books, podcasts, and conferences promise the latest framework, the newest method, the secret that will finally “move the needle.” Pastors and church leaders, in particular, are routinely targeted as prime consumers of leadership content.

And yet leadership remains in crisis.

Many people had already “followed” Jesus—right up until his words offended them or his mission threatened their dreams. In John 6, after Jesus refused to be used as a political deliverer or a bread machine, the crowd thinned fast:

“After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him.” (John 6:66)

That’s the danger Jesus is addressing in John 16. Not merely external persecution, but internal collapse—when the thing you really love gets threatened, and Jesus no longer seems worth it. So the question beneath the passage is not, “Will you face pressure?” You will. The question is: “What will hold you when you do?” Because what you love will hold you.

Everyone possesses a theology, whether they admit it or not. If you have not reflected on the source of your worldview, it is guaranteed that your theology has been shaped by the influences surrounding you. For example, children raised exclusively in Muslim communities often grow into adults with a fatalistic mindset, as that culture is grounded in determinism. During the year I lived in Bahrain, I heard the Arabic phrase “Inshalla,” meaning “If God wills it,” probably ten times a day. Conversely, a child raised in secular America often has a markedly different outlook, believing that they are the masters of their own destinies. America is obsessed with liberty and freedom, which may partly explain why many Westerners cringe at the mention of Calvinism, as it suggests that we may not be as in control of our outcomes as we wish to believe. That said, the great director Mr. Nolan undoubtedly has his own theology, and my purpose today is to explore some aspects of that worldview as reflected in the plot of Interstellar.

When I worked at Central Church in Collierville, Tennessee, I had a daily routine I came to love. After parking by the Worship Center, I’d walk straight into Central’s coffee shop and bookstore—the Crosswalk—managed by Carlene Boldizar. Without fail, she’d hand me the best cup of coffee in town: beans roasted by her husband, George, and brewed to perfection by Carlene herself.

About an hour before the event, I spotted a beat-up car slowly wandering through the parking lot near the classic show vehicles. My heart rate skyrocketed. Certain this lone assassin was seconds away from totaling someone’s prized ’68 Camaro, I locked eyes on the threat and marched heroically toward the scene—only to walk directly into a metal No Parking sign.