I thought it would hurt the church. I feared it might spur deconstruction. I feared it would make pastoral ministry intolerable.
It was Kristin Kobes Du Mez’s Jesus and John Wayne—an historical analysis of American evangelicalism, arguing that the core of the movement is toxic masculinity and hunger for political power. To be clear: I appreciated parts of it. But I also feared it would deeply undermine trust in normal churches and normal leaders who hardly matched the book’s macho description. After all, Du Mez competently described a part of evangelicalism, not the whole. I feared people might not understand that her’s is a partial history, self-consciously rooted in her own presuppositions about gender and church leadership. Therefore, plenty of good churches were beyond the scope of her work—would people see it?
My fears never came to fruition. Not because people read Jesus and John Wayne critically. But because hardly anyone in our church read it. And this wasn’t the last time I was wrong. I felt the same fear after consuming other books, podcasts and articles. Each time, I wondered is this it? And each time I was wrong. Most people didn’t know or care to know. They’ve never heard of Du Mez and they don’t care about what’s happening on evangelical Twitter. Instead, they’re interested in doing what they’ve always done: laboring faithfully in children’s classrooms, leading student Bible Studies, and gathering together in small groups to pray.
This is not to say that the last four years haven’t been uniquely challenging. People on the left and the right have brandished their ideological pickaxes and hammered away at Christ’s bride. Books were sold. Names were made. And relationships were broken, because there certainly were some people who used the books, podcasts, and tweets to burn, accuse, and justify an angry exit. But those people weren’t the norm. Normal people walked in the way of Nehemiah.
When Sanballat and his lackeys tried to distract Nehemiah from his labor with accusations and threats, he remained atop the wall with hammer in hand and responded, “I am doing a great work and I cannot come down. Why should the work stop while I leave it and come down to you?” (Neh. 6:3). Nehemiah doesn’t catastrophize. He doesn’t lose sleep. He doesn’t let Sanballat live rent free in his mind. Why? Because he was a builder, and he had more constructive things to do.
Despite innumerable broadsides against the church, the body stands. To be clear, Du Mez is not a Sanballat. But distractions and obstructions come in many forms and nonetheless, the builders build on. Revivals and renewals are popping across Gen Z. Conversions happen every day. Addictions are defeated. Sin is mortified. Why? Because pastors, ministry leaders, and lay people had the boldness to stay on the wall, keep their hands on their hammers and say, we can’t come down.
Sure, our social media era may signal-boost the demolition experts and anti-institutional voices. But what’s it matter? The Spirit amplifies the builders. He carries their work into eternity. So I’ve been learning to join the normy chorus: We can’t come down.
This essay is not a review of Megan Basham’s Shepherds for Sale. Like Jesus and John Wayne, I found parts I appreciated. To be sure, there are a few evangelical leaders who have drifted toward theological liberalism. But I’m not here to evaluate whether she substantiated her title’s damning claim or weigh in on the wisdom of her concluding argument—namely that believers must fight all her opponents as Aragorn fought Sauron’s hordes. Other, more capable critics have already reviewed Shepherds, and found it wanting.
Instead, because I’m a pastor in the middle of Missouri, I want to address myself to normal Christian leaders like me. Those who hardly match Basham’s description of corrupt sellouts, but nonetheless fear that Basham’s splashy political project may cause ordinary people to lose trust in good churches and good leaders. Those who cannot help but wonder, is this it?
Here’s the message we all need to hear: Don’t come down. Don’t get distracted from the good work at hand. You’ve seen this playbook in the past. And while you know that a publication like Basham’s may affect a few sincere people in your church, it mostly affects highly online people. And it turns out your people aren’t highly online. They’re in the nursery. They’re at the soup kitchen. They’re playing at home with their kids.
This book is like all those that came before it: not a big deal. So when sincere people come to you with concerns, listen to them graciously. Respond pastorally. But most of all: remain non-anxious. Remind them that this book isn’t about your church, and your church is about much bigger things than this book. Refuse to get sucked into a fight. If you let them see that you aren’t worried, they may very well worry less themselves. If you must, share an example of her sloppy research and false claims to show why you don’t take it seriously. (I’d recommend Gavin Ortlund’s response videos.) But after that, move on. Don’t let it absorb your pastoral efforts. It’s not worth it. The kingdom marches on. This is a drop in a very big bucket.
Above all, remember that God called you to be a builder. Remember that renewals and revivals are rarely launched by historians or journalists leveling alloyed critiques at Christ’s bride. Revival starts in small places. Revival begins in quiet prayer. Revival takes root where the builders are faithful, even if they are few. Revival is a work of the spirit in the body of Christ, and he doesn’t stop working to accommodate the publishing cycle. So wait on him and faithfully soldier on.
We should seek to make Paul’s aspiration for the church our own, “Everything we do is for your strengthening” (2 Cor 12:19). We confront sin, we fight for holiness, we grow in grace, we share the gospel, we live the gospel, and we train others in the gospel. This is all extraordinarily ordinary, boring, everyday work. It’s anathema to fearmongering social media algorithms. But its also the only garden in which Christian life grows.
So tend to your garden. Build the church. Shake the dust off your feet. Don’t come down.
Remember that Basham’s book won’t be the last of its kind, though it’s one of the first of its kind from the right. Read it if you must. Chew the meat and spit out the bones. If God uses it to convict you, then praise him. But if you find yourself irritated by misinformation or frustrated by speculative takes… then set it down before it distracts you from eternal labors. Don’t get emotionally entangled.
After all, I am not a “shepherd for sale” and neither are you. I’ve only been bought once—by the blood of Christ. There are no George Soros funds in our offering plates. So this book isn’t for us. It isn’t about us. It doesn’t help us. And it probably won’t help most ordinary Christians who probably won’t read it anyway. So don’t be afraid to reference and learn from Basham’s most poorly chosen villains—people like Tim Keller. After all, Keller was a builder, too. He pastored in small town Virginia before he moved to New York, and even then spent decades quietly laboring without fame or recognition. If he was sold out to anything, it was building the church. His ministry spawned countless church plants, shaped countless ministries, and led countless people to become servants of Jesus, not a progressive agenda. A single book cannot hope to dent a lifetime of faithful gospel ministry. So we shouldn’t let it distract us from our ministries, either.
The church should welcome critique where it is merited. The church is never beyond reproach. We should repent. We should learn. There is a place for institutional demolition in the service of institutional renewal. After all, there would be no reformation without prophetic polemics.
But we must not forget: Luther was a deeply institutional man, invested in everyday churchwork. As was Calvin. They were reforming builders, not just reformers. This sets their critiques apart from those who are more clear about what they’re against than what they’re for—who know what they want to destroy, but cannot articulate what they wish to build. The needs in any given moment differ, and given that anti-institutionalism is the spirit of the age, we must be cautious about overemphasizing such projects. Today I am more convinced than ever that what we need most are not leaders with demolition equipment, but leaders with blue prints and hammers—leaders with constructive visions. And here’s the good news: they’re already here, quietly laboring in churches across the country.
So to all my fellow builders, working in local churches, addressing local problems, caring for local families and friends, and preaching the gospel in local communities, I offer you this encouragement: God’s spirit is at work in the builders. Construct. Create. Know what you’re for and work for it. Become a constructive visionary. The latest Twitter takedowns and publications will not last. They all find their way into the dustbin of digital history. What will last? God’s work in and through the church for the sake of the world.
So plant churches. Preach the word. Lead with integrity. And let us all say together, “We’re doing a great work. We can’t come down.”