In conversation with Kevin M. Young 

Kevin M. Young is a writer, pastor, weightlifter and public theologian. I first ran across Kevin on Twitter, where he regularly comments and laments within a social media environment dominated by conservative Theo-Bros who exult in cruelty and call it strength. “Heretic” is one of the nicer names he gets called as he stands up for the marginalized and pushes back against bad theology. Kevin is the author of the book Reconstructing Your Faith: Ancient Ways to Make Your Relationship with God Whole Again, founder of Christ’s Table, and a welcome voice of reason on social media. I’m grateful for Kevin’s work, his witness and these words.

 

Greg Garrett: I’ve had the opportunity to talk with a number of people who have worked to de- and reconstruct their faith in the wake of the hard-right turn taken by some in evangelical Christianity. Your book Reconstructing Your Faith is a gift for people in the pews (or formerly in the pews) and also for people in ministry who love Jesus but have discovered the church kind of sucks. Why did you decide to write the book?

Kevin M. Young: Ecclesiastes says: “Be warned! There is no end to the writing of books” and nowhere is this more evident than in discourse on “deconstruction.” The American church seems intent on creating a generation of people who are disappointed, disillusioned or just plain done with the organized religions.

But I hoped to do more than point out problems. I sought to help people salvage the precious fragments of their faith from the metaphorical ashes and construct something more beautiful. Like an artisan crafting a stained-glass masterpiece from countless broken shards, I aimed to guide others who are reconstructing their faith.

GG: I love that image of broken stained glass from the book’s cover. Can you talk a bit about how your visit to the Abbey of Genesee took you on the journey that led you to attend to your own shattered faith?

KMY: This book transcends pastoral guidance — it’s also profoundly personal. It emerged from a crisis of faith that nearly precipitated my departure from both the pastorate and Christianity. My salvation came through an 11th-hour decision to sequester myself at an abbey among silent Trappist monks, temporarily leaving behind my family, congregation and voice. There, in the silence, I heard God’s voice for the first time in a long time, maybe ever.

It came in the most surprising of ways, and the book recounts that story of reclaiming my faith. The monks expressed their faith not through preaching but through practice, following ancient rhythms that, I would discover, had sustained followers of Jesus’ Way since New Testament times.

This revelation unlocked an entirely new dimension of spirituality and kindled fresh hope within me. My faith found restoration not through altar calls, apologetics or impassioned sermons, but through saints, sacred rites and rhythms, catechisms and creeds, feasts and fasts.

GG: We’ve just celebrated July 4, and before the Central Texas weather turned dangerous my wife and I were supposed to go out on the lake with old friends with whom we have some profound religious, political and cultural disagreements. I’m always seeking ways to bridge those divides. Can you talk about what you’ve come to realize about the table? What are some of the tangible ways people of good faith can gather with people who don’t share our values?

KNY: Holiday gatherings remain among the few occasions that still draw us all together at the table. Thanksgiving feasts, Christmas luncheons, Fourth of July barbecues and Mother’s Day brunches weave through the tapestry of our enduring family narratives. At the abbey, I discovered our profound attachment to these moments stem not merely from the presence of loved ones, but from their sacred setting: the table.

“The church Communion table is where we meet Christ; the home table is where we meet Christ in others.”

It’s no coincidence that our most meaningful and transformative moments unfold around this gathering place. The table stands as the most sacred piece of furniture both in our homes and our worship spaces. The church Communion table is where we meet Christ; the home table is where we meet Christ in others. The Eucharist table is where we receive grace from God; the home table is where we give grace to others.

Psalm 23’s “table set in the presence of enemies” offers profound insight. Those who share bread are unable to remain adversaries. Jesus’ inclusion of Judas at the table exemplifies how we should utilize this sacred space to recognize the humanity in those we’ve previously dismissed or dehumanized. We witness Jesus regularly dining with society’s outcasts — sex workers, tax collectors, Pharisees and nobodies. The table serves as the great equalizer, dissolving boundaries and softening hardened hearts.

Of course, breaking bread with those who hold opposing viewpoints presents challenges. Even Jesus faced criticism for “sharing meals with such scum.” Yet when we break bread together, our mouths become occupied with bread rather than belligerence. A mouth filled with food must pause its speech and learn to listen. Just as my abbey experience taught me silence precedes understanding, I discovered shared meals can bridge seemingly insurmountable divides — even among enemies.

“When we break bread together, our mouths become occupied with bread rather than belligerence.”

GG: You and I both grew up in traditions in which the Bible was, frankly, idolized. One of the most beautiful things I got from your book came from your wrestling with how you’d been taught to understand the Bible and its relationship to your faith. Could you say a little about that journey? How do you read the Bible now, and how do you teach people to read it as a pastor?

KMY: My upbringing instilled a particular view of both Scripture and the divine: absolutely authoritative, utterly infallible, fundamentally unquestionable. It was that last part that really stuck in my craw, because I had questions! So. Many. Questions.  But because I never found myself in safe space to wrestle with those questions, I bottled them up.

The more I learned, the more questions I had. The more questions I had, the more that bottle became like a Jack-in-the-Box waiting to explode at any moment. And explode, it did, whenever I realized Scripture itself overflows with divine interrogators.

Moses, Abraham, Job (persistently), and even Jesus himself questioned extensively. Once I saw that, I couldn’t ignore it. It was almost as if God wanted to be questioned, longed for someone to push back. Perhaps God not only tolerates questioning but actively invites it.

“This mindset allowed me to move the Bible from being an idol — the fourth member of the Trinity — to being a source of life.”

This epiphany transformed both my relationship with God and my approach to Scripture. I realized God rarely provides direct answers to questioners, and Jesus almost always responded to a question with further questions, not answers. This mindset allowed me to move the Bible from being an idol — the fourth member of the Trinity — to being a source of life.

Rather than mining the Bible solely for answers, I began seeking the heart of God and the essence of Jesus’ Way. This approach mirrors the early church’s perspective: viewing Scripture as an illuminating resource rather than a rigid rulebook. Not until the Reformation did we witness Scripture’s transformation into a weapon wielded by warring ecclesiastical factions trying to dunk on their denominational opponents.

Therefore, rather than adopting the “Onward Christian Soldiers” mentality, brandishing Bibles as weapons, I encourage my congregants to become compassionate carriers of God’s message, embodying Micah 6:8’s elegant trinity: “Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly.”

GG: One of the things I admire most about your online presence is how you robustly push back against trolls, against attacks on the faith and practice you now try to live out. Can you talk about why you make the effort to stand up to online bullies and how you balance your time doing in-person ministry and being an online presence?

KMY: I have conflicted feelings about social media and the value of my presence there. The last thing the world needs is another keyboard warrior who looks like me. I embody the church’s greatest problem: an aging, privileged white man whose voice risks drowning out more insightful and experienced perspectives. Diverse voices from society’s margins have long advocated for justice, pleaded for mercy and critiqued ecclesiastical failures — yet evangelicalism has systematically marginalized these prophetic voices in favor of guys who look like me.

“I feel compelled to stand up, shout and advocate alongside marginalized voices until there is no longer a need for someone to stand between Bible-toting bullies and the oppressed.”

I feel compelled to stand up, shout and advocate alongside marginalized voices until there is no longer a need for someone to stand between Bible-toting bullies and the oppressed.

I don’t think I’m saying anything new, unique or revolutionary. I am simply one of a few individuals of my demographic willing to speak truth to power. Contemporary evangelicalism has created an environment where championing Jesus’ causes often carries severe repercussions. Pastors who denounce Christian nationalism face expulsion from their pulpits. Believers who challenge the unholy amalgamation of religion and empire find themselves ostracized from their congregations. I want others to know they are not alone, and I hope my crazy loud voice gives others the courage to speak up and speak against.

In advocating for others, I’ve discovered remarkable parallels between my physical and digital ministries. Both spheres overflow with individuals wounded by the false notion that salvation comes by way of allegiance to a political party or particular platform. It’s my job to show them Jesus and, with as much compassion and clarity as I am able, point them to the true Way of Jesus.

GG: Your book filled me with hope. One of the things I’ve most enjoyed about these interviews for Baptist News Global is asking people about where they are finding hope in their faith, in their lives, in things they’re reading, watching or listening to. Thanks for any light you can offer, and for being a light yourself.

KMY: Philip Yancey once wrote a book called The Jesus I Never Knew. While the book’s contents were challenging in a way that rattled me to the core, it was the title that haunted me the most and continues to do so even today. My fundamentalist roots had taught me certainty was the highest goal of my faith, and the eradication of doubt through apologetics and answers for everything was a requirement for righteousness. But then I began to wonder: What if an unknown Jesus existed beyond my limited understanding? What if my constructed Christ differed from the actual Messiah?

The possibility wrecked me and sent me on a journey to discover the Jesus of reality, one that would end up replacing the rather boring one of my Baptist roots. I discovered a Jesus who gave me hope, not shame and guilt.

During these unbelievably trying times in which we find ourselves, where other certainties crumble, Jesus remains my anchor. I have lost hope in everything but Jesus. Thankfully, I see him everywhere I look. I see him in the determined gaze of immigrants and the resilient spirits of LGBTQ individuals. I see Jesus in the movement that happens in a shared meal and in advocacy against the cruelty of places like “Alligator Alcatraz.” I see Jesus in the bravery of pastors who use their pulpits to speak against the evils of Christian nationalism and in the grandmothers who give out of their Medicare to help others in need. I find Jesus in both the questioners and the questioning, in those tentatively beginning their spiritual journey and those uncertain whether to begin at all. When I encounter Jesus in Scripture, it’s typically after first recognizing him in these, my neighbors — these living embodiments of God’s presence.

 

Greg Garrett is an award-winning professor at Baylor University, where he is the Carole McDaniel Hanks Professor of Literature and Culture. One of America’s leading voices on religion and culture, he is the author of 30 books, most recently the novel Bastille Day and The Gospel According to James Baldwin: What America’s Great Prophet Can Teach Us about Life, Love, and Identity. He is currently administering a major research grant on racism from the Eula Mae and John Baugh Foundation and finishing a book on racist mythologies for Oxford University Press. Greg is a seminary-trained lay preacher in the Episcopal Church and Honorary Canon Theologian at the American Cathedral of the Holy Trinity in Paris. He lives in Austin with his wife, Jeanie, and their two daughters.