The Challenge of Evangelism in the 21st Century
Ken Oliver
As we prepare to enter the third decade of the 21 st century, the evangelical movement is facing a serious challenge: our methods of evangelism – spreading the good news about Jesus – are becoming ineffective because society and our relationship to society has changed over the past three decades.
Every generation has its own point of entry for the gospel message. For the past 30 years, we have been very successful reaching out to the “spiritual seeker.” Much of the mega-church movement is built on the idea that people are looking for God in all the wrong places, and the task of the evangelist is to show the seeker that what they really desire is found in Christianity.
This seeker-centered approach to evangelism has affected our public theology.
Public theology is the Christian engagement and dialogue within the church and the larger society about the common good. It has two aspects: first, it is our teaching with respect to the public square. The audience is the society in general, and the task of public theology is to provide Christian insights into human nature, justice and the common good in a way that helps the whole of society make wise and moral choices. The second aspect of the public theology is the teaching with respect to the Christian community. It is our way of educating fellow Christians how to think about our faith in the context of our culture, so that we can become good citizens.
It is my thesis that before we can address the challenge of evangelism in the 21 st century, we need to understand how our public theology has been shaped and why it is failing us now. In other words, before we can correct our evangelism methods, we need to correct our public theology.
The public theology of the seeker generation was of two kinds corresponding to the two tasks:
first toward the world we focused on Apologetics. Our task was to show that Christianity was a reasonable alternative, and that the other alternatives fell short. Thus our focus on atheism, secular humanism, Marxism, Eastern spirituality, and – to a lesser extent – other theistic religions as counter point to Christianity. If we could remove the intellectual barriers, the pathway for the seeker to Christianity was clear.
The second aspect of our public theology, the teaching within the Church, focused on political
action. Society was going in the wrong direction, and moral scolding was not enough. Evangelicals needed to enter the public arena and engage the political process in order to reverse the course that began (depending on your historical reference points) either in the 1920’s or the 1960’s. This engagement was essentially conservative in nature, and thus evangelicals found the best alliance with the conservative political party, namely the Republicans.
What this public theology lacked was a sense of theological reflection. If the second task of public theology is to help Christians think about the relationship of Christianity to culture, then the evangelical version took a pass. We entered into the task with a high level of self-confidence that we had the tools and understood the issues. The reason why we felt that we did not need to engage in theological reflection is that we already had the answer: Worldviews.
The concept of worldviews was developed by Dutch philosopher Herman Dooyeweerd, adapted by theologian Abraham Kuyper, further refined by conservative American theologian Cornelius Van Til, and popularized by Francis Schaeffer. The Van Til/Schaeffer version of “worldviews” became an apologetic tool that Schaeffer used to refute those ideas developed since the Enlightenment that did not fit into his theological framework. At first, “worldviews” was adopted by the apologist wing of evangelical public theology, but it was soon used by the political activist wing as well.
The use of “worldviews” by the activist wing of evangelicalism allowed for categorical rejection of opponents. The idea that “truth” was shared along the political spectrum and the public theologian’s role was to move both sides to a more Christian understanding of society – that idea was no longer valid. The arguments of “liberals” did not need to be engaged because they were not discussing solutions to specific issues, but were promoting a worldview that was hostile to Christianity. The new role of the evangelical public theologian was to defend the Biblical Worldview against its enemies. To win this battle, we needed to make alliances with groups that had worldviews compatible with the Biblical Worldview. Political conservatives might not all be Christians, but when it came to their worldview, they were close.
Thus an alliance with, and a corresponding loyalty to, the Republican Party developed. Because the model of public theology used by evangelicals did not engage in theological/cultural reflection, we accepted worldviews as the correct way to understand and engage society. We did not see the extent to which our “worldview” was shaped more by contemporary culture and less by the Bible than we thought. So we did not engage in serious theological dialogue with our culture as it changed over the past thirty years. We also did not critique the failings of the conservative approach to public policy issues. Instead, it was “us” against “them,” thus binding us to the Republican Party as it became the party of Trump.
The challenge of evangelism is that our world has changed. The generation of seekers – baby boomers and Gen-X – has been replaced by Millennials and Gen-Z. The justice issues raised by political liberals resonates with this generation, while the values associated with the new Trump led Republican Party are rejected. This generation is less self-focused (“my spiritual needs”) and more community focused (such as care for the disadvantaged). Evangelicals, because of the alliances that we have made, do not have credibility to speak to these new issues of concern. This is a shame because Evangelical Theology has a lot to say about justice, the poor and the sojourner. However, our public theology has put a muzzle on our Biblical theologians. Even when we manage to make a statement about Biblical justice, it is not only obscured by the filter of politics, it is often openly challenged by the activist wing. Witness the trials of poor Russell Moore trying to stand up for a traditional understanding of Christianity and immigration.
Our bad public theology is killing our evangelism. We need not new methods of evangelism, but a new public theology. We need to park the “worldview” approach to the side for a while. It is not wrong, but it is not serving us well at this time. Instead we need to develop a robust public theology that takes the Bible seriously, is willing to engage in public issues without the filter of partisan politics, and is willing to take a moral stance in the face of evil. We need to take seriously the Jesus model, where sinful behavior did not elicit rejection but compassion.
The first task of the new public theology will be speaking to the faith community. Before we can engage the world, we need to correct a lot that has gone wrong at home. So many evangelical Christians are ignorant of the Christian tradition about society and justice, and have adopted unchristian views on so many public issues. The first engagement is the education of the church.
We have a new generation that needs to hear the good news. If what they are hearing from evangelicals is “we hate gays” or “there are good people on both sides” they are not going to listen to anything we want to say about Jesus. No new method of evangelism will overcome that reality.
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As America has been declining, I have had a sense of God Standing-by, Ready to Help. But our culture thinks it can handle things by itself.
Evangelists need to forget politics, find an entry point to the culture, then use a logical approach to evangelism. That entry point, in the current culture, may be sports.
In the first century, people were so much less knowledgeable about things in general. We now think that we are far more knowledgeable about many more things. Today we “know” so much that:
Modern society,
Which touts its ability,
Trusts more in humanity
Then it does in Divinity;
It bids the Almighty
To leave the vicinity.
Modern man "knows" so much, that he is not afraid of God, while the ancients feared Him. Many today, would not even know to which meaning of the word “fear” that pertains. Thus, man uses his own logical powers to run his life and others. He sees little use for Christianity.
Heaven is Perfect. We are not. Like a sports team that has lost even one game, we cannot make our own “record” perfect. A sports league commissioner, on appeal, can overturn that one lost game. Christ is the only one, who on appeal, provides us with an unblemished life.
Other theologies state that all one needs to get to Heaven, is a “winning record,” more good deeds than bad. Such a record is not perfection. How could Heaven be perfect if imperfection is allowed to enter?
If logic in humans begins where the mind connects with the heart, Christianity is the Logical Choice.
GUEST POST ~ How The Suburbs Became the Promised Land for American Evangelicals
Travis Michael Fleming
Evangelical theology—especially white evangelical theology—is not just a set of beliefs; it’s a cultural and spatial phenomenon. It grew up in particular places and was shaped by flight from particular others.
Through the lens of suburban development—especially postwar Chicagoland—Miller shows how white evangelicals weren’t just reacting to theology or politics, but to space. White flight wasn’t just about race; it was about maintaining a particular vision of “the good life,” one that became deeply tied to evangelical identity (p. 25). What’s striking is that many churches and denominations followed these demographic shifts. In doing so, they embedded theology in a particular cultural moment and geography—suburbia.
This raises two complex and necessary questions:
All theology is shaped by context. Even the theology we’ve inherited from Augustine, Calvin, and Luther was forged within specific geographical and cultural conditions. That’s why we talk about Black theology, Latin American theology, and Asian American theology—each an attempt to refract the gospel through a distinct cultural lens.
While the idea is unpopular, there is an American white evangelical theology. It, too, is shaped by its context, and for many of us, suburbia has shaped our theological expression and understanding more than we care to admit.
Gospel Expression
You don’t necessarily know the content of your theology or the depth of its contextualization until you are challenged by someone outside of your context. That helps you see your blind spots and helpfully theirs. This is another reason why we need to hear from voices from the global church—to help correct our blind spots and confirm our core.
Allow me to illustrate. There is a Presbyterian church nearby with a pastor who has a PhD in John Calvin. He is a wonderful expositor of the Word. The first time I entered the church, I was struck by how everyone looked like me—white, middle-aged, bald, and bearded. That is not necessarily a surprise—many Presbyterians look the same. But it was surprising in that context, because the community around the church is diversifying rapidly, and the church doesn’t in any way reflect that change.
That would mean that the church exists for a people, but not a people reflected in that community, which suggests their gospel expression is malformed. They may be fantastic theologically, but they have failed to translate that theology to the people in that place.
Of course, contextualizing ministry is complex, and churches can’t change demographics overnight. But if a church isn’t at least attempting to reflect or reach the community around it, it signals a disconnect between theology and mission.
Brian J. Miller helps us see this clearly. Sanctifying Suburbia is more than a sociological study; it’s a mirror held up to the evangelical church in America, revealing how deeply place has shaped our theology—and how hard it may be to see that from inside the system.
Thematic Overview
At its core, Sanctifying Suburbia is a sociological examination of how the American suburbs—and especially white evangelical migration to them—have shaped evangelical theology, identity, and practice. Brian J. Miller brings together data, historical narrative, and cultural analysis to show that American evangelicalism, particularly in its white suburban form, cannot be understood apart from the geography it inhabits.
1. Suburbs as Theological Formers
Miller challenges the assumption that theology is only a matter of doctrine or biblical interpretation. Instead, he argues that the material and spatial environment—the design of neighborhoods, the values of homeownership, the reliance on cars, and the emphasis on privacy—form people spiritually.
Suburbia isn’t a neutral space. It subtly trains people toward individualism, consumerism, privatized faith, and suspicion of the “other.” Evangelical theology, when embedded in such a context, often reflects these same values, even unconsciously, and struggles when challenged (v. 25-26).
2. The Spatial Context of White Evangelicalism
One of Miller’s most important contributions is his insistence that we consider space as part of evangelical identity.
Evangelicalism’s center of gravity shifted from urban centers to suburbs during the postwar years, often through patterns of “white flight.” As cities became more racially and economically diverse, many white evangelicals sought homogeneity and safety in suburban enclaves (v. 26). Their theology—churches, and even denominational headquarters—moved with them.
3. Suburban Values and Evangelical Theology
Miller traces how suburban life reinforces certain evangelical emphases: the nuclear family (and as Graham & Davis have shown, the “success track” along with it), home ownership, child-centered ministries, moral boundary-setting, and an aversion to structural critiques of society.
Evangelicals often frame faith in terms of personal salvation, and this dovetails neatly with suburban ideals of self-sufficiency, privacy, and individual moral responsibility. The result is a theology that tends to avoid systemic critique and instead locates sin and transformation purely in the hearts of individuals (p. 22).
4. Race, Class, and the Limits of Translation
One of the more insightful threads throughout the book is the implicit whiteness of suburban evangelical theology. As suburban neighborhoods grew more racially and economically diverse, many white evangelicals doubled down on individualism and “colorblind” ideologies, often avoiding engagement with structural racism or inequity.
Miller draws on scholars like Emerson and Smith to show that this individualism isn’t just theological—it’s also racialized (p. 164). In failing to confront systems of exclusion, evangelicalism became, in some expressions, a theology of comfort rather than costly discipleship (p. 30).
5. Theological Contextualization and Cultural Blind Spots
Miller doesn’t argue that evangelicalism is false. Rather, he shows how deeply its expression has been shaped by a particular time, place, and social class—namely, post-war American suburbia. This has led to what many have called the “suburban captivity” of the church. Miller poses two pressing questions: Can a gospel shaped by suburban ideals still speak prophetically to a rapidly changing and pluralistic society? Or has it lost the ability to cross boundaries?
This suburban captivity isn’t just theoretical—I experienced it firsthand while pastoring in ethnically and economically diverse neighborhoods in Chicago. The discipleship materials sent from suburban evangelical publishers assumed a stable, nuclear family: one parent working, the other staying home. But in my context, more than half the kids came from single-parent homes. Families were navigating overloaded schedules, poor schools, and complex cultural tensions. That material might as well have been written in another language.
The second time I clearly saw how difficult it can be to cross these boundaries was during a conversation I had with a white suburban pastor about racism. My church was ethnically diverse and made up largely of working-class and lower-income families, situated in a blue-collar suburb. His, by contrast, was located in a more suburban-rural area, predominantly white and upper-middle class.
I shared with him some of the stories I’d heard from people in my congregation—accounts of racial profiling, economic injustice, and the quieter, more persistent forms of exclusion they encountered regularly. He quickly dismissed their experiences. Then, without hesitation, he pivoted to share how he had been discriminated against for being a larger man.
It was a jarring moment—not because his pain was invalid, but because he couldn’t distinguish between systemic, historically-rooted racial injustice and the more individualized experience of bias he had encountered. What became clear in that conversation was that we weren’t just talking about different experiences—we were operating from entirely different social imaginations. He lacked the framework to understand racial injustice as anything more than personal meanness, and as a result, he couldn’t hear what I was saying.
This moment crystallized something I had been slowly realizing: our theology and discipleship frameworks were shaped by different social worlds. His suburban setting had shielded him from certain realities my community faced daily. The church, in his world, wasn’t equipped to listen—let alone respond—because its formation had not prepared it for complexity, lament, or solidarity across lines of race and class. It hadn’t been discipled for that. And in many ways, that’s the problem Miller is naming.
Strengths
Miller’s central insight—that context matters—is one that many urban pastors have been voicing for decades. But Miller names it sociologically and historically, adding new layers to how we interpret evangelicalism’s rise and influence. His use of Chicago as a case study and his tracing of key evangelical hubs—Wheaton, Colorado Springs, Grand Rapids, and Orange County—offer compelling evidence.
I was especially struck by Miller’s treatment of the South’s exclusion from national evangelical conversations. Southern evangelicalism, with all its theological and cultural distinctives, was largely sidelined by the National Association of Evangelicals. Miller asks what evangelicalism might have become had the South been fully included. It’s a provocative point that hints at deeper structural questions—ones that merit future exploration.
Weaknesses
As a sociologist, Miller leans heavily on data. For some readers, especially pastors or practitioners, the data may feel like a barrier to the more actionable parts of the argument. You may find yourself skimming to get to the application. The biggest gap is that pastors are left wondering, “What do I do with this?” Identifying patterns is one thing. Responding to them faithfully is another.
Personal Reflections
What gives me hope is that the suburban landscape Miller critiques is rapidly changing. Suburbs are no longer monocultural enclaves. They are becoming centers of ethnic, economic, and religious diversity—something I have seen and welcomed firsthand.
When my family discerned where to relocate, we intentionally sought out a growing, diverse environment. That search led us to St. Johns, Florida, just outside Jacksonville—a suburb expanding in size and diversity. One local elementary school includes 244 Indian families, making up 22% of the student body. Whites still form a slim majority at 55%, but Hispanic/Latino, Black, and multiracial populations are growing. Suburbia is “browning”—and that’s good news.
But here’s the challenge: many suburban churches, shaped by the assumptions of white evangelical theology, are ill-equipped to reach the emerging diversity around them. Their theological expressions were formed within a narrow cultural frame, and as a result, they lack the tools to engage the complexities of today’s suburban reality.
We can no longer assume—nor should we—that every ethnic group will simply form its own church. The church, as a new creation community, is called to reflect the full diversity of the people God is redeeming. While schools reflect their neighborhoods by default due to geographic zoning, churches should do so by intentional design, out of a gospel-driven desire to embody the multiethnic kingdom of God in a specific place. Our congregations should look like foretaste communities, where people of every background gather not because of shared ethnicity or class, but because of shared allegiance to Jesus.
The opportunity—and responsibility—lies with existing churches to rethink their theology, discipleship, and mission.
Conclusion
Miller’s thesis is compelling. The real question isn’t whether he’s right—I believe he is. The question is whether suburban churches can recognize how deeply they’ve been shaped by a particular cultural moment and adapt accordingly. Can they move beyond assumptions of uniformity, stability, and familiarity to engage the new realities of their own neighborhoods? If the current theological and ecclesial models can't hold the weight of a more multicultural, socioeconomically complex suburbia, then new paradigms—more biblically rooted and globally informed—are not optional; they’re essential.
That’s why I advocate for missioholism. Missioholism doesn’t merely acknowledge cultural forces; it critically examines how those forces have shaped our theology, discipleship, and mission practices. But it doesn’t stop there. It seeks to build a bridge to a more universal, resilient expression of the faith—one that is at home in diverse neighborhoods, able to withstand cultural pressures, and strong enough to unify people across lines of race, class, and background. It’s not about abandoning evangelical theology but about refining and re-grounding it for the global, pluralistic, and often fragmented world we now inhabit.
Miller has done the church a service by peeling back the layers of suburban evangelicalism and exposing both its gifts and its limits. His work calls us not to nostalgia but to repentance, reflection, and innovation. The suburbs are no longer the religious monocultures they once were—they are fast becoming mission fields. And if we want to meet this moment with integrity, we will need theological frameworks that are missional, contextual, and holistic. We will need to move beyond sanctifying suburbia and toward sanctifying the people within it—by offering a gospel that speaks to the full complexity of modern life, yet remains rooted in the timeless, boundary-breaking kingdom of God.