Weak & Foolish: Exactly How God Wants Us
Why The Gospel Doesn’t Need Celebrities
Evangelicals don’t have popes, but at times it appears that we sure want them.
There's something intoxicating about watching a public figure wrestle with faith on a massive stage. Whether it is Joe Rogan musing about the mystery of existence to millions of listeners, or when Jordan Peterson's voice trembles as he speaks of the profound weight of biblical narratives, we lean forward. Or when your heart skips a beat when your favourite sports star unveils a shirt that says, “Jesus is King.” I have previously felt excitement for these moments, not merely because they're entertaining, but because they feel significant in ways we struggle to articulate. Very few of us have this level of exposure. We aren’t celebrities or have platforms that people are devoted to following. These famous people command attention, and shape conversations across continents. If they followed Jesus then that might just crack open the cultural conversation about God in ways our small church gatherings never could.
I understand this longing. There's something deeply human about wanting our deepest convictions validated by those who lead in unmistakeable ways, who command every room they walk into, who possess what can be called "cultural capital." Yet as I've wrestled with this phenomenon, it is a weird phenomenon. We appear to have a gravitational pull toward the charismatic and influential throughout history, and not just in the church. Yet, I've begun to wonder if we're looking in precisely the wrong direction. Not that we shouldn't pray for those exploring faith in public spaces; we absolutely should. But perhaps God's strength reveals itself most powerfully not in the social media messages or podcasts of the famous, but in the quiet faithfulness of ordinary saints whose names we’ve probably never heard of.
The Allure of Platform and Personality
We live in an unprecedented age of platform. A single podcast episode can reach more people than the apostle Paul addressed in his entire lifetime. A thoughtful interview can plant seeds of spiritual curiosity in minds across every continent in milliseconds. When someone with Joe Rogan's reach begins asking questions about God, or when the boxer Oleksandr Usyk is seen reading his Bible after another victory, the potential feels enormous. These are the personalities that cut through cultural noise, that reach people who would never darken the door of a church, who speak the language of a generation increasingly suspicious of institutional Christianity. It can be found in whatever branch of celebrity we can think of. Imagine if this person came to faith. Imagine if they began sharing the Gospel. Imagine if they made Christian music, or movies, or books.
The appeal runs deeper than mere apologetic strategy, though. There's something in us that craves intellectual and social respectability for our faith. We want articulate spokespeople who can hold their own in any arena, who can make Christianity sound not just true but compelling, even inevitable. When Jordan Peterson speaks of the psychological necessity of the biblical narrative, many go ‘Wow!” Or when Francis Collins who led the Human Genome Project, speaks of the finger of God in human existence our heart skips a beat. See? We're not naive. Smart people take these things seriously too!
I've felt this pull myself. There is a quiet pride that comes from watching a respected public figure stumble toward questions my faith has been grappling with for years. There's a validation there, a sense that perhaps the Gospel isn't quite as foolish as the world makes it seem. Perhaps, with the right messenger, the right platform, the right intellectual framework, we can finally Make Christianity Cool Again. I’ll start printing the MCCA hats!
But this is precisely where I think we need to pause.
Weak and Foolish? Me?!
The Apostle Paul anticipated our fascination with impressive messengers. Writing to the Corinthians, a church apparently as enamoured with eloquent speakers as we are with compelling podcasters, he offered a diagnosis that cuts straight to the heart of our platform obsession.
"For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God."
The entire passage in 1 Corinthians 1:18-31 reads like a systematic dismantling of everything we think we know about influence and power. God's "foolishness" is wiser than human wisdom. God's "weakness" is stronger than human strength. And then comes the devastating observation:
“Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth.”
Hey Paul – are you calling me stupid and weak?! Have you seen how many social media followers I have?!
This isn't accidental of course. Paul isn't apologising for Christianity's apparent lack of impressive converts. Of course there were many. He's revealing something fundamental about how God operates in the world. He is pointing to the reality that the cross itself is the ultimate reversal of worldly expectations about power. Here is God choosing to save the world not through overwhelming force or irresistible argument, but through what appeared to be defeat, weakness, foolishness. I remember reading years ago that the Nazi’s desired to remove images of the crucified Jesus from churches as they felt it laughable that people would worship such a weak image. OK, maybe we’re not at that level, but are we slightly guilty of triumphalising Christianity?
Over the past few months, I’ve been camped out in 1 Corinthians in my daily Bible readings. As I have returned to this passage and I really sit with it, it unsettles me. It suggests that my longing for Christianity to gain respectability through impressive spokespeople might itself be a form of spiritual immaturity. God chooses "the foolish things of the world to shame the wise" and "the weak things of the world to shame the strong." He does this, Paul explains, "so that no one may boast before Him." In some ways my prayers are asking for the opposite of the very thing God seems to be working towards. Ouch!
There's a profound humility embedded in the Gospel that resists our attempts to make it impressive by worldly standards. The moment we begin to think that Christianity's truth depends on its acceptance by cultural elites, we've subtly shifted the foundation from God's power to human approval. We might not believe we are doing it, but we are trying to make the Gospel not only credible, but plausible for people. Yet perhaps we aren’t doing this for the sake of the Gospel or our Saviour, but to present ourselves as not as weak and foolish as we are.
The Dangers That Platforming Brings
This shift carries real spiritual dangers. When we unconsciously tie the Gospel's credibility to its endorsement by compelling personalities, we risk something more serious than bad strategy. We risk idolatry. Not the obvious kind where we bow down to statues, but the subtle kind where we measure God's kingdom by metrics that would make sense in a marketing department. We begin to think in terms of "reach" and "influence" and "cultural impact" in ways that can gradually eclipse our concern for individual souls made in God's image. Could it be that we get far more excited at a famous podcaster making a fleeting comment about Jesus, than for Mrs Fitzpatrick reading the Bible and sharing the Gospel with her neighbour each Tuesday afternoon? Ah, but she doesn’t have millions of subscribers! I wonder if our temptation is rather to market Christianity rather than proclaim it. The cross becomes a brand to be managed rather than a stumbling block that forces us to choose. Charisma begins to matter more than character, cleverness more than faithfulness. This has permeated much of Christianity, and I believe has caused a lot of heartbreak in affirming leaders in giftedness over character.
This isn't to say that intellectual engagement is wrong, or that we shouldn't care about reaching influential people. But when the tail begins wagging the dog, when our sense of the Gospel's power becomes dependent on its acceptance by those with platforms, then perhaps we've lost something essential about what it means to follow a Saviour who was rejected by the religious, social, and political establishments of His day.
The Power of Ordinary, Humble Saints
Turn back to the New Testament and notice who actually advanced the early church's mission. Yes, Paul had impressive credentials and rhetorical skill but look more closely at the supporting cast. There's Lydia, a businesswoman from Thyatira whose heart the Lord opened during Paul's riverside teaching. No platform, no celebrity endorsement. Just a woman who listened, believed, and immediately opened her home to serve others.
Or consider the Philippian jailer, whose dramatic conversion came not through a carefully crafted argument but through witnessing Paul and Silas sing hymns while chained in prison and then almost committed suicide in an earthquake. His entire household was baptized that night, and a church was born through the faithfulness of ordinary people responding to extraordinary grace. I also note that this isn’t one of the prescriptive forms of evangelism that we pursue in our culture!
Then there's the tent-making couple, Priscilla and Aquila, who show up throughout Paul's letters as faithful servants who hosted churches in their homes, taught newcomers like Apollos, and risked their lives for the Gospel. No one followed them on social media. No one analysed their cultural influence. They simply lived lives of quiet, consistent obedience that created space for God's kingdom to flourish.
These stories matter because they reveal something profound about how God typically works in the world. His strength appears not primarily through the impressive but through the faithful, not through those who command attention but through those who serve in obscurity. The kingdom advances one converted heart at a time, one act of service at a time, one quiet conversation at a time. Many of us hero worship the English preacher Charles Spurgeon but go and Google “Mrs. Lavinia Strickland Bartlett.” You might have never heard of her name, but in many ways the great Spurgeon wouldn’t have been who he was without people like her.
When we become too enamoured with platform and personality, we risk missing the quiet revolution happening all around us. We might miss the ordinary people allowing God's power to flow through their weakness, their availability, their willingness to love the person right in front of them. We might pray for more Spurgeon’s, but the longer I am in ministry the more I find myself praying for more Mrs. Bartlett’s.
Praying for High-Profile Seekers (Responsibly)
None of this means we should stop praying for public figures who show signs of spiritual hunger. When someone with a massive platform begins asking the right questions, when they demonstrate genuine wrestling with the things of God rather than mere intellectual curiosity, we absolutely should pray for them. These are image-bearers whom God loves, souls for whom Christ died, people whose conversions would bring joy in Heaven. But we need to examine our motives carefully. Are we praying for their salvation because we love them as individuals, or because we love what their conversion might do for Christianity's cultural standing? Are we genuinely concerned for their spiritual wellbeing, or are we calculating the potential impact of their testimony? The difference matters more than we might think.
Responsible prayer for high-profile seekers focuses on their authentic encounter with God rather than their potential usefulness to our cause. We pray that they would experience conviction of sin, repentance, and genuine faith, not that they would become more effective apologists for Christianity. We pray for their protection from those who would exploit their spiritual journey for political or commercial gain. We pray that their eventual testimony would be marked by humility rather than pride, by dependence on God rather than confidence in their own insights. Most importantly, we pray with the same intensity for the seeking landscape gardener as for the seeking celebrity, recognising that both souls are equally precious in God's sight and equally powerful when transformed by grace.
Equipping and Valuing the Local Church
This perspective shift has practical implications for how we think about ministry and mission. Instead of waiting for the right celebrity endorsement to make Christianity culturally acceptable, we might invest more energy in equipping ordinary believers to live faithfully wherever God has placed them. Indeed, due to celebrity, we have often catapulted celebrities to positions of leadership or prominence in a fast-tracked fashion. I remember when Kanye West made his, “Jesus is King” album, and there were churches falling over themselves to have him preach. Or an Instagram influencer coming to faith and three months later being a keynote speaker at a large Christian conference. I’m not suggesting that these people have nothing to contribute, but perhaps we are pole-vaulting over discipleship for ‘impact.’ In this way the hermeneutic of the Gospel is less about the local community of faith, and whichever famous person who is currently en vogue.
The local church, with all its imperfections and limitations, becomes not a launching pad for platform-seeking but a community of formation where ordinary people learn to embody extraordinary love. Here, away from the spotlight, character is developed, gifts are discovered, and disciples are made who will scatter into every corner of society carrying the fragrance of Christ. I'm convinced that if we spent half as much energy celebrating and supporting faithful service in small churches as we do analysing celebrities' spiritual statements, we might see more genuine kingdom growth. These ordinary believers are the saints who actually transform communities from the inside out. When we equip and value these ordinary saints, we participate in God's favourite kind of miracle, the transformation of the world through the faithfulness of the weak and foolish, the chosen and beloved.
The Quiet Revolution
As I write this, I realise I'm caught in the same tension I'm describing. Part of me still hopes that someone with a massive platform will have a dramatic conversion that shifts cultural conversations about faith. But a deeper part of me has begun to trust that God's way of working, through the ordinary, the humble, the faithful, is not a consolation prize but the way He has chosen to work. The quiet revolution is already happening. In countless unnamed lives, God's strength is appearing in weakness, His wisdom in foolishness, His power in what our world considers insignificant. Every small act of sacrificial love, every gentle word of truth spoken in love, every quiet choice to follow Jesus even when no one is watching, these are the building blocks of the Kingdom that God delights in. And I confess, I have overlooked these as ordinary at times to my shame. In my desire to see ‘cool’ people come to faith, I’ve missed the beautiful faithfulness of dear saints I wish now I would have spent more time encouraging and learning from.
Perhaps the most radical thing I can do in an age obsessed with platform and personality is to embrace ordinariness as a platform for God's glory. To believe that our faithful service in our small spheres of influence matters as much as any celebrity testimony. To trust that God delights in using the weak and foolish not despite our limitations but because of them. I wonder what would happen to our hearts if we committed to praying not just for those exploring faith on public stages, but for the quiet saints our own communities. These are the people through whom God's strength most often appears, the ordinary saints through whom extraordinary grace flows into a watching world.
Postscript:
These comments from
and lst Sunday (27th July 2025) kind of summed up this current climate so I added them to my article. Perhaps as Ian says, we should focus on just keeping on keeping on irrespective of how appealing our current societies view the Christian faith. Remember it was the same Lord that caused Romans to build elaborate places of worship that they denounced when feeding His followers to wild animals decades before…If you’ve been blessed by this article, perhaps you’d like to ‘like’ it or Restack it for others to read. However, if you would also like to buy me a coffee to keep me writing and caffeinated, you can do so at the button below:
"1 Corinthians ... suggests that my longing for Christianity to gain respectability through impressive spokespeople might itself be a form of spiritual immaturity."
Amen bro!
Heard Mark Sayers talking about his latest book and associated thinking a couple of months ago. Moving from 'platforms' to 'pillars', aiming to be the unassuming, faithful people that encourage and disciple, out of that Kingdom desire you mention - not out of desire for a name or fame - just equipping people where they are.