Confronting Evangelical Voyeurism

Eschewing the "thrill" of participatory peeking

Most church-life analogies utilizing spectator imagery suggest that Jesus wants us to get to work playing on his blood-bought team instead of just sitting in the stands or watching from the sidelines as others use their gifts, make disciples and so on. Christianity is not a spectator sport or one where we simply cheer for Jesus as the mascot.

Regrettably, another application of the spectator imagery is now apropos: very much like electoral politics, the church has become a spectator sport at a national level. Fueled by the internet, social media and dueling factions, millions of Christians simply cannot resist the thrill of keeping up with what’s going on “out there in the church,” especially when controversy is involved.

Moving beyond the sports analogy, it is not inaccurate to suggest that many people are caught up in something akin to evangelical voyeurism. Delighted by observing a whole host of situations that aren’t really our business from behind a veil of pixels, we watch the misfortune and/or ostensible victories of people and organizations with algorithmic consistency. Of course, we feel better about it because at some point someone else made these things public, but we can’t shake the intuition that we were probably not the intended audience.

Have most so-described voyeurs contributed to the circumstances they are eagerly following? No. Do they have a responsibility to engage with what they are witnessing from afar? Almost certainly not. Do they have the ability to contribute solutions on behalf of people they have never met and churches they have never attended? Also no. Are they able to offer the subjects of their hidden gaze personal encouragment, thankfulness or rejoicing? Negative. But that doesn’t matter because the allure of peeking is potent—they still desire to watch the play-by-play from a distance, particularly when things start to get hot. Some people do birdwatching—they do evangelical-church-in-America watching. For many, it really is little more than a hobby, a spectator sport with its ups and downs—good teams and bad—very much like college football.

I should clarify that certain people do have legitimate reasons to be concerned for what is going on in the church more broadly, pastors and leaders of Christian organizations and denominations being clear examples. Furthermore, those who are members of particular denominations obviously have a stake in denominational goings-on. And of course, having a wider picture allows us to widen the scope of our prayers, even if such prayers will inevitably be quite general.

But here is the candid truth: the average Christian would be far better off keeping up with what is going on in their own church—through flesh and blood interactions—and being involved in it than spectating the internet for the next share or comment-worthy evangelical performance.

Of course, sometimes “church news” will be thrust before our eyes. Such exposure is inevitable and unproblematic. But I suppose I genuinely question what fruit comes from monitoring evangelical social media in the same manner that recruiters patrol LinkedIn. I’ve never met a single person who has claimed that their digital oversight of the evangelical church in America has contributed to their peace, joy and general edification or their ability to edify others in turn. Instead, I fear that such digital invigilation is little more than a church-wrapped dopamine snare that agitates as much as it “thrills.”

Over the years, people in our church have asked if I am aware of this or that happening in the larger evangelical church. Often, I am, but sometimes I am not. This has occasionally led to some surprised expressions. But the truth is, even as a pastor, I just don’t have that much interest in what is going on in “the American church” (if such a thing can be coherently described) at large. I have limited time, limited focus and a lot to do—church pulse-taking at the national level doesn’t regularly make it to the top of my priorities. With few exceptions, I simply don’t care what bizarre new thing they are doing out there at Bethel “Church,” the latest moral failure or who spoke at what conference. Do you? If so, why? Again, some have good reasons to care, but most don’t.

As an example, Ligonier recently released their State of Theology 2025, providing a (dismal) theological snapshot of those who profess to be evangelical Christians in America. I read the report and thought: 1) Wow, that’s very sad; I wonder what counts as “evangelical” nowadays and 2) virtually no one in our small (Reformed Baptist) church would provide any of the incorrect answers given in that survey (e.g., 53% of respondents agreed that the Holy Spirit is a force and not a person; 54% of respondents replied they agreed that everyone sins a little but most people are good by nature). Given that I have no ability to influence such people and no responsibility to pastor America, I read the report, asked some clarifying questions about it, sighed, and moved on.

I realize that Ligonier’s report was published research, not the latest “happenings” in American church life. Perhaps Steve Lawson’s very public fall would have been a better example. But my approach to both was more or less identical and represents how I believe most people should engage the events of the evangelisphere: superficially and sparingly. This posture will keep us from the tendency to engage in unhealthy, and potentially participatory, “peeking.” #peeksharing

In contrast to voyeuring the evangelisphere is vigilant localism—and localism, friends, is the way.

Local churches, local associations, local pastors’ fraternals, local communities—that’s where most people should really care about being informed (this includes our local support of international efforts). Our degree of concern for knowing “what’s going on in the church” should drop precipitously outside of our spheres of participation and influence. In other words, our desire to be informed should be delimited by and in proportion to the areas in which we will be most affected and in which we stand to similarly affect others.

For most people, becoming engrossed by the broader evangelical narrative lies somewhere between an odd hobby and utilizing a dopamine machine that causes frequent consternation. And while acknowledging that it isn’t wrong to be concerned about the weather patterns in Vermont as a Floridian, you might think that for most people there is a better way to spend one’s time and direct one’s focus.

Furthermore, in the case of spectating the evangelical church in America on the internet, there is also the real danger (inevitability?) of misperceiving the actual shape of the evangelical church. After all, one more faithful pastor preaching one more faithful sermon to an otherwise ordinary congregation doesn’t light up the socials; it doesn’t excite us. And yet, accurately discerning the shape of the “American evangelical church” without the tens of thousands of mundane pastors, posts and parishioners is a project doomed to certain failure.

And so, while it isn’t necessarily wrong to be curious or aware of evangelical headlines, most of us would benefit from caring quite a bit less about “what’s going on out there” and quite a bit more about what’s happening within our closest associations and partnerships. Proverbs 26:17 says, “Whoever meddles in a quarrel not his own is like one who takes a passing dog by the ears.” It’s fine to notice the dogs that pass by on our social media feeds, but for goodness’ sake—and perhaps even God’s sake—in most cases, we can afford to keep our hands to ourselves.