Ways to Grace: Bacterial and Viral

Preface
Before I begin, I want to say that I was greatly enlightened by Kiran’s history of Adventism in class last week. Afterwards, I was further enlightened, not to say shocked, when I watched the Ty Gibson video Kiran mentioned. All that enlightenment came at the cost of some dismay. It made me see that many of my dear friends are caught in a distressing tension between the conservative and liberal doctrines—or is it more accurate to say factions?—within the Adventist Church.

But it also led me to admire even more than before their openness to fresh ideas, diverse viewpoints, and contrasting interpretations of the Bible. Most of that credit is owed to each of them individually—it is just the way they are, thank God; but I must also credit the Seventh-day Adventist Church’s ostensible openness to fresh ideas, diverse viewpoints, and contrasting interpretations of the Bible, even if some individual Adventist hearts seem more open than others. I have not come across any other denomination that explicitly proclaims such openness, though I’ve met many individuals in other denominations who are themselves refreshingly open. 

My purpose today is, in a way, to discuss the difference between institutions and individuals in relation to the spreading of the gospel.

1. The Metaphor: Bacterial vs. Viral Spread

I’d like to start by proposing the metaphor of bacteria and virus to capture the two main ways by which Jesus’s teachings have spread. That’s a bit icky, I know, but think of them as benign bacteria and virus. 

The first way the gospel spread—the original way—was as a virus that infected the early Christian movement. Viruses spread through intimate, host-to-host contact, rapidly transmitting a transformative energy that adapts and evolves with every new encounter. It outputs itself. It does not rely on accumulating and organizing material assets; it is about the organic, spontaneous proliferation of an idea. The virus spread through the “Two or three gathered in My name” meetings mentioned (I would say encouraged) by Jesus.

The second main way the gospel is spread is of course the institutional Christian church—the church that we know today. Think of the church as a more or less good bacterial infection. It is methodical in its growth into macroscopic colonies in a stable, resource-rich environment, just as the church embeds itself in society over time. It takes the gospel as input and secretes a much embroidered and embellished version of it as output.

The Christian church bacteria build lasting colonies—institutional structures—through resource accumulation, while the Christian movement virus, which never actually died, spreads haphazardly, inspiring individuals and communities without institutional frameworks and material power. I like to think of this, our class, as a part of the viral movement. 

It seems to me that differentiating between the two ways of spreading the gospel helps in understanding how faith and salvation are experienced and transmitted. The bacteria/virus metaphor invites us to consider not only the strengths of each approach but also their limitations. Bacteria are not biologically immortal. They experience aging due to the accumulation of cellular damage. But viruses can induce a state of uncontrolled cellular proliferation that leads to immortalization of its host cells. 

Over the course of this talk, we will trace the evolution of the early Christian movement, examine the shift from movement to small-c catholic church, which began to unfold after the Council of Nicaea, and scrutinize the contentious journey within Adventist theology—from a legalistic fear of judgment toward a message of grace and assurance.

II. A Personal Journey

Before we dive into the historical analysis, let me share a bit about my own journey. I only do so for anyone who stumbles across the transcript of this talk on our class “blog”—the “Interface” website at www.donweaver.org—and wonders about my credentials for even talking about these matters. They are, admittedly, not great credentials, but they’re all I have.

Growing up, I was for a while an altar boy in an Anglican High Church, which is close to being Catholic, but I found the answers to my questions about the Bible unsatisfying. I don’t blame the church—I was pretty dumb then. Still am. As a teenager, I grew disenchanted with organized religion, but like many, I never quite lost my curiosity about spiritual matters.

My curiosity was rekindled when I went to the Far East, a-serving, as Rudyard Kipling put it in his poem Gunga Din, of ’er majesty, the Queen. Fifteen years in Malaya, Borneo, Singapore, and Hong Kong broadened my exposure to various cultures and I became somewhat acquainted with Islam, Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism. 

For a couple of years I spent many an interesting weekend visiting Chinese temples, and occasionally drinking concentrated tannin stew out of tiny dolls’ teacups with Teochew (an unique ethnic group in eastern Guangdong province) temple keepers. I did so on behalf of a god-collector friend. My mission was to buy idols gathering dust in a closet, having been replaced on the altar by shinier new ones. Through these visits, and my extended Chinese language lessons, I discovered the richness of the Daodejing—the blissfully short “bible” of non-religious Doaism. Its philosophy of a forgiving yet inexorable Dao or Way of life resonated with me as spiritually satisfying. The Zen-like duality of yin and yang in much of Chinese religion also gelled with my growing understanding of quantum mechanics, where zero equals one.

At some point, though I can’t pinpoint a specific trigger, I began to identify as a philosophical Daoist. But I never lost my conviction that Jesus personified The Way, or the Dao, as described both in the Bible and in the Daodejing—although I am sure many Christians and Daoists might dispute that comparison.

Around the same time, I also discovered Alfred North Whitehead’s process theology—the idea that God is both Being and Becoming. For me, Daoism, quantum mechanics, process theology, my belief in Jesus as The Way, and even my more recent ruminations about the future of AI have all converged and transformed my understanding of the divine. To me, the idea that God—that Jesus—is both Being and Becoming perfectly aligns with the notion that AI might contribute a saltationary leap in the evolution, the Becoming, of God.

When I met Dr. Weaver some 20 years ago and discovered in him a like mind, it became a no-brainer to participate in the discussion group he leads every week—this class, a Bible study program of the Seventh-day Adventist church in Taylor, Michigan.

III. The Evolution of Organized Theology

In the earliest days following Jesus’s resurrection, his family members and closest followers formed a vibrant, loosely organized community. They gathered in homes and shared the teachings of Jesus through oral tradition, sometimes bolstered by written accounts. Over time, these accounts were compiled into what became canonized in the 4th and 5th centuries CE as the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Before then, these texts were not standardized; they often existed in a fluid, evolving state with variations in wording, order, and emphasis.

Thus, the earliest Christians experienced a dynamic, personal form of faith that spread like a virus—resilient and transformative enough to endure through centuries. Enter the apostle Paul, who played a pivotal role in marshaling, taming, harnessing that organic force into something resembling an institution. In my view, the pre-church Christian movement was not broke and did not need fixing. Its informal structure, with all its challenges of diverse interpretations—and even, yes, occasional misinterpretations—of Jesus’s teachings, was a feature, not a bug. Still, I can see how tempting it must have been to impose structure and control; it is part of human nature.

By the time of the Council of Nicaea—325 years after Jesus’s death—the Christian movement had spread organically throughout the Eastern Roman Empire (modern Turkey, Syria, Egypt, and Greece) and even into parts of the Latin West, including Rome. The Council was not solely an attempt to unify theology. Many of its participants were driven by the desire to systematize the church in order to gain power and influence—a human failing that, in my view, would inevitably betray the resilient, grassroots, gospel-oriented, and Christ-driven spirit of early Christianity. Human beings just love to harness, for their own benefit, anything more powerful than themselves.

Over time, that harness was refined with more doctrinal, theological straps and buckles in order to steer the denomination ever more finely in whatever direction its increasingly sectarian human organizers desired. What could have been the justification for placing a harness on the early Christian movement in the first place? What were—what are—the perceived benefits of organized, doctrinal theology?

A systematic theology is assumed to provide clarity and a shared language to unify an otherwise diverse community. But does it, in fact, do so? In this class, we share, recognize, and even celebrate diverse theologies—from Islam to Zen. Would it not be great to systematize our class into a religion that fuses together the Bible, the Qur’an, the Bhagavad Gita, and other texts into a shiny new Scripture? Think of the tax breaks we’d get! Thank God we’ve resisted that temptation… so far! Another, more genuine, benefit that has accrued over time through systematic theology resides in the centuries of recorded reflection and debate stored in its libraries and vaults. That legacy today confers a sense of legitimacy, authenticity, and rootedness. The archives stimulate reflection, dialogue, and critical examination of the mysteries of faith.

Yet, organized theology also carries risks. At Nicaea, codifying beliefs led to rigidity. The joyful, personal, and transformative experience of a grace-filled life was stifled into what became a bland, corporate, and forbidding obstacle course, far from the easy burden and light yoke promised by Jesus. The heavy emphasis on rules and doctrinal purity—the harness and blinders—shifts the focus from the liberating power of Christ’s love and replaces assurance with fear. Finally, intricate theological debates born of formalized doctrine risk obscuring—or even distorting—the simple, enduring truths of the Gospel.

As I understand from Kiran’s talk last week, early Adventist thought too was characterized by an oppressive, legalistic fear of the investigative judgment. For many, this translated into anxiety over personal worthiness. Some prominent Adventist leaders at that time, including Ellen White, championed a message of grace and assurance, emphasizing that salvation rests on Christ’s sacrifice. But after Ellen White’s time, conservative elements within the church increasingly pushed a revisionist, legalist, judgment-oriented doctrine that shifted the church’s focus away from the liberating message of grace. In fact it underscores the tensions inherent in all organized theology (not just Adventism), where doctrinal control is often used to consolidate power.

IV. The Need to Reevaluate: Salvation, End Times, and the Role of Doctrine

What I am saying is that Christian churches, over their long history, have evolved from God-given and Christ-driven social and spiritual communities into man-made and man-driven systems burdened with organized doctrines and detailed theologies. Dr. Weaver, with whom I shared a draft of this talk, thought it would be crucial here to address a common misconception. The misconception lies in viewing the church as the conduit for salvation. This perspective is misguided. Salvation is not dispensed by the church. It is a gift dependent solely on God’s eternal grace. 

Ideally, the church was designed rather to foster a community where we take care of one another. Acts 2 describes an early Christian movement that exemplified this by emphasizing mutual care and support, not a rigid system of salvation or excommunication and damnation. As the movement morphed into a corporate institution, its role shifted away from being a nurturing community toward one that judged and excluded. The parable of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25:31-46) describes the real, the divine—not the ecclesiastical—judgment, where Jesus separates people like a shepherd separates sheep from goats. Those who help the needy are rewarded with eternal life, while those who do not are sent to punishment. The parable stresses the importance of compassion and reminds us that while God takes care of us, it is also our responsibility to care for each other. This perspective calls for a reexamination of the church’s true purpose as a living, caring community that reflects the grace already bestowed upon humanity by God.

Maybe I’m missing something, but I find no organized theology in the Gospels and the parables of Jesus. The gospels are simply a record of events, and the parables and teachings of Christ are just lessons. I see no attempt by Jesus to impose a systematic educational or dogmatic framework around them. Perhaps theologians manage to extrapolate such a framework from these teachings, but for the most part (there are, admittedly, some exceptions) the messages, the lessons, given by Jesus are simple, straightforward, and easy to live by.

These simplicities contrast starkly with the complexities we’ve been discussing in our recent series on salvation and the end times. These topics, as presented mainly in Revelation and Daniel, are far from simple. We’ve even called them a theological minefield. We struggle even with the terminology: Does “end time” refer to our own personal, individual death, or to that dramatic moment when the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse appear on the horizon? Is it the purpose of salvation to let us live eternally, in spirit, after mortal death? Or is it so that we can live a good, enriched life here and now? It is vital that we tease these meanings apart if we are to think about them rationally. 

I am reminded of Kiran’s testimony of a young man sitting on a water tower, feeling sorry for himself, burdened as he was by deep, inner spiritual discontent. In that vulnerable moment, he experienced an epiphany. He was not scanning the horizon for apocalyptic signs He turned inward and found grace. In that very moment, was he not saved? I would argue that he was—but saved not from some cosmic cataclysm, but rather from the great and oppressive despair within himself. He was saved not by adhering to the rigid doctrine to which he was introduced when he converted to Adventism but by the simple act of looking inward and discovering the Holy Spirit’s gentle, assured grace.

We must not allow the weight of doctrinal detail (remember where the Devil is?) to obscure the fact that salvation is already present. It seems to me to be crucial to distinguish between a personal end time—the cessation of our own mortal existence—and the grand, theatrical end time visions that too often dominate our discussions. We should embrace the understanding that the kingdom of heaven, as established in Jesus’ parables, is not some distant realm reserved for life after death. It is here and now, manifested in the transformation of our daily lives through accepting a grace that does not force itself upon us but is there, at hand, when needed.

In our class discussions, there is always a risk of wandering into the minefields of theology. I believe that if we focus on the living words of the Gospels and the simple, profound parables of Jesus, we might avoid that trap altogether. We do not need to reconstruct a full-blown system of theology when the transformative power of grace is already at work in our lives.

V. Conclusion: Embracing the Living Truth

The evolution of organized theology—from the organic, grassroots spread of the early church to the codified structures established at Nicaea, and the subsequent debates within Adventism—provides a rich field for reflection. However, our reflection should always return to the core of Jesus’s message: love, grace, and transformation. Our challenge is to hold onto that living truth, balancing doctrinal structure with the personal, lived experience of the divine.

Anonymous: I share your view of the church.

David: I’m not saying it’s bad. Not at all. It’s just lost its way. It still does a lot of good, but it could be better.

Kiran: I agree too. We have the tendency to systematize everything and then say, “This is how it should be,” and not deviate from it. In research, when I’m teaching my undergrad students, I write a protocol and teach them according to it, giving them very little room to deviate—because I want the job to be done the way I want it to be done.

We tend to do the same thing with people in religion. But the beauty of the gospel is that you can be anybody you want to be. You can be from Africa, India, China, South America, the United States, or Portugal and still experience something profound within your own culture. That’s why it spread so wildly in the first century.

God takes care of you, and you take care of others—that’s the simple message. So why have we complicated it so much with theology? Why do we have to go through so much pain to unlearn?

Don: Evangelism—a viral method—isn’t just about sharing correct information with someone who has incorrect information. It requires the conversion of not just the target, but of the evangelist as well.

We see this particularly in the story of Peter and Cornelius. Cornelius doesn’t get converted without Peter being converted himself. But that’s not how we typically approach evangelism. Usually, we think, “I have the correct information, you have the incorrect information—let me correct yours, and then you’ll be on the road to salvation.”

The gospel message, the message of Jesus, is: “Let me take care of you, and you take care of each other.” That, I think, is the true message we need to be sharing as a church.

Donald: Amen. But those of us with an Adventist background face a particular challenge. When I was baptized, the baptismal certificate spoke not just to my relationship with God but also included very specific agreements tied to becoming an Adventist.

We’ve made conversion a one-step process into Adventism. It’s not about me taking care of someone else—it’s about converting them to be like me. And once they do that, they, too, receive a baptismal certificate.

I don’t know what the current certificate looks like, but back in the day, it was very integrated. Doesn’t that, in itself, make things challenging? Shouldn’t you be able to take a step toward Christ independently of taking a step toward a set of doctrines?

Don: In an ideal world, a set of doctrines would be steps toward Christ. As we’ve said before— I think Kiran mentioned it last week or the week before—if your doctrines don’t uplift Christ and teach you about God’s grace, then they’re not worth anything.

C-J: To me, doctrine is like the shoelaces in a boot. You put the shoelaces in, lace them up, draw them tight, and tie a bow. The boot won’t fall off your foot, and it will keep you on the path. Take care of your gear, and your gear will take care of you.

You can’t do anything without having a plan. Doctrine might be about power, but it has to be grounded in good social norms and interpersonal relationships. The spiritual part is God’s job, but hopefully, doctrine carries that overlay of being a servant—kindness, all the things we see in the Ten Commandments, demonstrated and woven into it.

I think those shoelaces are critical because when things get tough, if you’re wearing slippers, you can’t run fast or far. But if you have a good pair of boots, you’ll make it through the swamp.

Carolyn: As a young person, I remember meeting people, and my whole idea was to share Jesus. But then they would ask me, “I don’t want to join a church, but can I still be baptized?”

And I thought—what does my relationship with Jesus really mean? Am I supposed to tell them that accepting Jesus is enough, or does baptism have to be tied to the church? I love Jesus, and I love the church, but at that time, I was left without a doctrine if baptism could only happen within a church setting.

Are there churches that will baptize anyone?

Donald: Yes. Community churches do. We used to go to one in Chicago, and they would announce weeks in advance that a baptism was coming up. It was literally performed in a pond or maybe a small lake. When the call was made, you went forward, got baptized, and received a white towel—no paperwork.

For us, it was startling to see that you could separate baptism from membership in a particular denomination or church.

There are so many traditions in the Seventh-day Adventist Church that I find great comfort in—but I’m afraid some of them have become doctrines. Growing up, going to camp meetings, listening to a particular type of music on Friday night, and gathering with Adventists again on Saturday night—that was rich.

It’s the detail that David talked about. Having been part of this group for 20 years, and when I was an Adventist university administrator, I saw it front and center. There was no question in my mind that parents sent their sons and daughters to an Adventist university with the expectation that they would graduate as Seventh-day Adventists.

There was no value, in the parents’ view, in spending that kind of money only for their children to leave without becoming Adventists. That was a very challenging thing for the university to navigate during those young adult years. But I didn’t see it any other way—that was our responsibility, independent of our personal thoughts about the corporate church. If you are part of the corporate organization, then you must recognize the role it is there to play.

Sharon: There seem to be two distinct and parallel aspects to this discussion. One is the sociological dynamics of belonging to a faith group, which has real merit. I’ve said before that I wouldn’t have had many of the privileges I’ve had in my life if I hadn’t belonged to the sociocultural group of Seventh-day Adventists. Wherever we go in the world, we’re all studying the same Sabbath School lesson, and we have this shared identity—this sense of belonging and family.

But that doesn’t preclude us from the discussion David is leading today, about the organic nature of our own spiritual maturity and personal walk. If we cannot question and evolve as Christians outside the comfort zone of the Church’s boundaries, we’re missing something crucial in our personal relationship with Jesus.

There will always be new light and new ideas, and we must embrace the ability to grow and learn. If we become rigid—always seeing ourselves as the peculiar, the right, the ones who know everything—we lose the dynamic, organic nature of a trusting relationship with Jesus Christ. His grace should guide us personally when we realize that a doctrine we were socialized to believe no longer aligns with our walk with Him.

We need to acknowledge the benefits of belonging, but we also must not constrain the Holy Spirit’s ability to lead each of us individually toward a broader light. The grace of Jesus brings freedom—something you don’t necessarily have when you are baptized into the Seventh-day Adventist Church rather than into the Lord Jesus Christ Himself.

David: Well said. 

I’d like to comment on evangelism. It seems to me that, by definition, evangelism is a one-way street: I talk, you listen. But ideally, it should be a two-way conversation; it should be about listening, discussing, comparing, and sharing one another’s joys and experiences.

When I went to the Far East, I had no intention of being an evangelist for Christianity. Yet, while asking temple keepers and others about their gods, their faith, and their beliefs, I could not avoid but mention my own, when occasion demanded. Maybe that, too, is a form of evangelism—sharing your thoughts with others. You are bound to leave some kind of trace, some kind of impression, some kind of witness.

But I don’t know if you can ever formalize that kind of evangelism as a bacterium when, really, it needs to be a virus.

Don: There was a time when people feared the church. The church was the instrument of salvation, and if you were excommunicated, you were essentially damned. I wonder—does anyone fear the church anymore?

Maybe part of the tension today is that the church wants to be feared, because fear would give it control over its parishioners. But people no longer fear the church the way they did in, say, the Middle Ages.

As for evangelism—unless you assume that you know everything about everything, you have to recognize that something in your understanding of scripture, divinity, and the holy word might be in error. But the idea of being wrong is unsettling to most people. They don’t want to believe they could be mistaken.

And that takes us back to the notion that right thinking, right believing, and right rituals are what frame salvation. Unless we can somehow reorder our understanding of what the organized church is for, I fear we may mislead people.

C-J: I see it happening in this country. We have a separation of church and state, yet the influence of religious doctrine in our political system is undeniable. The message seems to be: This is mandated from heaven, and we interpret it. We know more than you do, and this is what we believe God wants this country to do at this time.

That’s very scary to me. When we take it to that level—without discourse, without consideration, without benevolence and grace—it becomes a dangerous weapon, the equivalent of damnation.

Some are waiting for the tribulation and to be taken up in glory, while believing that all others will be punished for their disbelief and stubbornness. That’s dangerous.

Donald: The division is between conservative and liberal—between a more flexible set of ideas and a stricter, more conservative framework. But what’s striking—and I’ve observed this in my own backyard—is that some conservatives are turning against other conservatives. The corporate church is coming down on the most conservative factions within its own group.

You’d expect the liberals to challenge the conservatives, but when the corporate church itself starts pushing back against its most conservative members—well, that’s a bizarre thing to try to process.

C-J: How is that any different from how the Roman Catholic Church operates? They do the same thing. Is this about the Roman Catholic Church, or is it about the catholic (universal) church as a whole?

Within the Catholic Church, you have traditionalists who want the Latin Mass, the rituals, the top-down hierarchy, and divine inspiration coming from people in robes with incense. But then you also have moderates and liberals. They’re at odds with one another. Some want strict tradition; others want reform.

It’s dangerous.

Sharon: The issue of conservative versus liberal often boils down to law versus grace.

This morning, I went to church here in Malawi with university students. The entire sermon was about don’t do this, don’t do that, don’t do this. Not once did the preacher encourage the students to turn their faces toward Jesus for strength in overcoming the challenges of being young today.

I think fear is at the heart of it—fear and control. I’m not sure how it is in North America now, since I’ve been away for a while, but here, the church is all about control. And that kind of control creates closet behaviors—hypocrisy that ultimately shames the name of Jesus.

Instead of open, healthy systems, we have closed systems. For me, it’s not just about conservative versus liberal; it’s about those who believe in the law and judgment versus those of us who believe that true religious freedom comes from the grace of Jesus. Grace transforms our brokenness into something beautiful.

C-J: I think at the core of rule of law in any church is the tithe.

If you can shame people, instill fear in them, or promise them rewards—if you tell them that giving tithe, plus an act of faith or seed money, will bring blessings—it becomes a means of control.

But in the days of Christ, the church didn’t tithe in the way we think of it today. They gave everything they had to support a communal life. If you needed a coat, you were given one. If you were hungry, you were fed. It was about serving the community in obedience to Christ—loving, giving, and sacrificing, even unto death.

Now, it has become institutional. And institutions require money. They need buildings, leadership, infrastructure. They need financial reserves. Institutions are about money—and about accumulating it for a rainy day.

Kiran: My experience of the church was one of rules and laws controlling everyone—whether intentionally or not. When I heard that message, my reaction was, Okay, what else do I have to do to be perfect?

Can you imagine going through that at 19 or 20, as I did, and then spending 15 years beating yourself up for failing to achieve perfection? Why am I not sinless when I’m doing everything the church tells me to do? And how come all these people seem happy while I’m miserable?

Then you realize that the very people telling you to live this way are themselves doing objectionable, even unmentionable, things. That’s the problem. And it’s not just the Adventist Church—it happens everywhere.

Becky: In our congregation, we’ve had some sermons that have been refreshing in some ways—reminders of the framework of our denomination. Our pastor often reminds us that we are a prophetic movement and that our role as a denomination is to declare the messages of Revelation 14.

For me, that’s pivotal in how I relate to my denomination—but not to my salvation.

I’m just trying to place that in the context of what David was saying this morning. If that’s his concern, then yes, Adventists have a lot of baggage to deal with—the idol in Daniel, the book of Daniel itself, and Revelation 14.

There’s this idea of being part of the elect, a kind of selection process—you’re either ready or you’re not. That’s where fear has crept in for me over the years, and I’ve spent years unlearning that fear, holding onto grace instead, and being grateful for it.

But now, I’m in a different stage of maturity—figuring out what I need to return to, what I need to hold on to, and what I need to let go of. As Donald explained, it’s a different position to be in now that I’m no longer employed by the corporate church.

This is part of my faith journey. Please don’t think that means I’m walking away from the 60 years I’ve spent in the Adventist Church. I’m just grateful for the freedom to ask questions, have these conversations, and be surrounded by friends who help me on this journey. And, of course, for the faithfulness of Scripture, which assures me that I’ve given my heart to the Lord—and I am safe in His arms.

David: Last week, Kiran mentioned Ty Gibson and shared a video link, which I watched. One of the issues he raised was the dwindling number of young people staying in the church.

A big study just released yesterday suggests that the decline in church membership (overall, not just SDA) has leveled off. But, of course, that could change. Is the SDA Church still experiencing decline? Are young people leaving? Does the administration acknowledge it, or is it just Ty Gibson talking about it? Is it disputed?

And if there’s any truth to it, what should the church be doing about it?

Donald: We’ve been involved in this journey long enough to see the students we taught at Adventist universities grow into adults—and now their children are going off to college. And I can say that virtually all of them are sending their kids somewhere other than to Adventist universities.

Apparently, they don’t see what they themselves got out of an Adventist university education to be important enough to merit sending their own children to one.

In North America, the church might claim that membership numbers are stable, but they are certainly not what they were 20 or 30 years ago. And the demographics of those numbers have shifted significantly.

One major factor is the cost of attending an Adventist college. When I was in school, a summer job plus some parental support would suffice to pay your way through. But now, that’s not even close to being possible.

Sharon: Cost seems to be a big issue in the North American Division, but globally, the Seventh-day Adventist Church is growing rapidly. Our division is the second-largest in the world, and the number of baptisms and new members is skyrocketing.

The number of students wanting to attend an Adventist university is also very high—whether that’s because they genuinely want an education or for other reasons. There’s a huge cultural difference between Adventism in developing countries and Adventism in the U.S. Today, it feels like what Adventism in the U.S. was 30 or 40 years ago.

Here, young people are in church all day on Sabbath, and they are excited—singing, engaged, and fully present. I can’t speak to what’s happening in the U.S., but here, going to church is a privilege. They love the social connectedness. They’re all in singing groups. We still have the old Adventist AY (Adventist Youth) meetings that used to happen on Sabbath evenings in the U.S., but here, they last all afternoon. The social component is incredibly strong—something I think is missing in technology-based cultures.

Here, people still rely on each other. The sense of cultural and social bonding in the church is powerful. There’s a real sense of community that I don’t see in other churches, and I think that’s what’s missing elsewhere.

We recently had what they called a “Big Sabbath,” where 400 people were baptized in one day. It’s just a different social dynamic.

Now, I’ll admit—some of the theology here is uncomfortable for me personally. But it’s clear that people aren’t necessarily being baptized into the Holy Spirit; they’re being baptized into a church, a bureaucracy, and a system where they are expected—and even shamed—into paying their tithe.

Lord, forgive me for saying that!

Donald: It’s often said that the Seventh-day Adventist Church works very well for people who are upwardly mobile—but not as well for the middle class to upper class. It thrives among those moving from lower class to middle class.

I don’t know exactly how that relates to the differences between the church in America and Africa, but I think it plays a role.

Parents who can afford a Seventh-day Adventist Christian education now seem to prioritize sending their kids to schools that will lead to rewarding and financially beneficial careers.

So, who is sending their kids to Adventist schools? It may be families who can’t really afford Adventist higher education—but they’re making it work by taking out big loans. That wasn’t the case in the past.

Reinhard: I came to Adventism from another denomination. I wouldn’t say Adventists were holier, but I was very interested in their practices. I even applied to attend an Adventist university.

Before I became an Adventist, I used to smoke. Looking back, if I hadn’t joined the church, I might have ended up with tobacco-related diseases, like many people in the community I came from. But when I became a member, I stopped smoking.

As we study God’s purpose for our lives and place our faith in Him, we have to recognize that other churches have doctrines too—that’s how they survive. God didn’t specify that only Catholics or Adventists are right. We all have to choose how we will live according to Christ’s commands.

Jesus gave a simple instruction before He returned to heaven: preach the gospel to all nations, make disciples, baptize them, and teach what He commanded. The scope of God’s command is broad. The Adventist Church has 28 fundamental beliefs, and we don’t always follow them perfectly, but one advantage of being Adventist is the global community.

I travel a lot—in Europe, America, and elsewhere—and wherever I go, I can find an Adventist church that welcomes me like family. Maybe other denominations, like Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons, have something similar. But discussions like this, where we engage with our faith, make me feel spiritually alive.

Given my background, I can compare different religious experiences—even within my own family. I wouldn’t necessarily say that Adventists know more truth than others, but Adventism is what I’ve embraced. Some doctrines may need to be challenged if they no longer fit with what we understand now.

I also see the difference Sharon mentioned—between Adventism in remote areas and in more developed countries. When missionaries came from more advanced places, people paid attention to what they brought. That influence shaped people’s understanding of truth.

In many places, like where I’m from, worship lasts all day. My family spends the whole Sabbath in church. That sense of community, that glue, keeps people together. They discuss the Word of God, they sing together—it strengthens their faith and their connection to each other.

We don’t see that in most North American churches. Here, technology has changed everything. People are more individualistic. They don’t need a strong church community to enjoy life. But I believe that sticking to truth is what truly sets us free.

For me, being a member of this church gives me peace. I enjoy it. I feel comfortable in it. And I believe in it.

David: If I were an Adventist, I’d be asking: How can we recover from the decaying bacterial colony that is Adventism in the United States and return to the vibrant, viral community it’s capable of being?

Sharon’s description of Adventism in her part of the world shows that it’s still alive elsewhere. So surely, it can be done.

The only questions are: How can it be done? And who is going to do it?

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