A new book calls readers to leave the safety of the sidelines and step into the arena. Michael Clary, lead pastor of Christ the King Church in Fort Thomas, Kentucky, takes aim at what he calls “Loser Theology,” an evangelical theology that is weak, woke, winsome, and wimpy.
He points the finger at popular teachers like Russell Moore, David Platt, Tim Keller, and John Piper, as well as outlets like Christianity Today and The Gospel Coalition. He laments “low-agency” Christianity that maintains the status quo while our culture decays, and he commends a “High-Agency” Christianity that is “muscular,” “rugged,” courageous, and hopeful.
With witty turns of phrase and bold pastoral appeals, Clary presents readers with a stark choice: Surrender or advance; be a spiritual doormat or exercise dominion.
Unpacking Perceived Problems
The opening chapter unpacks what “Loser Theology” is. Clary writes, “I use the term because it’s a theology that advocates for losing as the way to be faithful to God. Loser Theology can refer to theological perspectives and movements that emphasize passivity, retreat, and defeat, often conflating suffering and loss with humility” (25).
Loser Theology presents “a half-Christ who always bears the cross, never wears the crown, and calls us to follow his example of losing.” It offers “no vision for victory” but sees believers only as a marginalized cultural minority (9).
The next three chapters substantiate this critique of Loser Theology, calling it “Spectator Spirituality” (chap. 2), “The Doormat Doctrine” (chap. 3), and “White Flag Christianity” (chap. 4).
Clary presents readers with a stark choice: Surrender or advance; be a spiritual doormat or exercise dominion.
Clary contends that the “gospel centered” movement associated with leaders like Keller presents a “narrow, therapeutic, hyper-introspective version” of the gospel “that stripped away the gospel’s public mandate to assert Christ’s lordship over all of life” (32). By emphasizing private spirituality over against earthly concerns, Loser Theology maintains “a significant blind spot, a kind of ‘deliberate inaction zone’ where outward engagement with the world is either discouraged or dismissed as worldly” (33).
Chapter 3 critiques popular pastors, like Platt and Piper, who call people to live radically for Christ and freely embrace suffering. Clary argues that advocates of Loser Theology imply by their strong rhetoric that serious Christians who truly love the Lord will sell their possessions, plant churches, and cross oceans to evangelize the lost, while ordinary middle-class churchgoers are second-rate. He claims that the “Doormat Doctrine” misunderstands suffering, persecution, human depravity, and humility.
Clary’s concern about engaging the political and cultural arenas emerges more clearly in chapter 4. He writes, “White Flag Christianity sanctifies political apathy with biblical language,” and he calls Christians to live as “exiles, not culture warriors” (120). Appeals to “lay down power” may seem spiritual, but they are manipulative and misguided, Clary says, resulting in a muzzled public witness for the church and accelerating cultural decline.
Clary claims the church’s retreat from political responsibility leads to “Trust Fund Christianity,” where believers take for granted the cultural inheritance they’ve received (134). He borrows the label “Pessimillennialism” from David Chilton (a well-known Christian reconstructionist) for believers whose eschatology fosters an “expectation of losing” and does not motivate them to build and guard cultural institutions (137). Another feature of White Flag Christianity is “Wokevangelism,” a compromised “third way” strategy of defending the gospel by flattering progressives (142).
This sweeping critique sets up Clary’s commendation of “Rugged” or “High-Agency” Christianity in the chapter fittingly titled “The Righteous Pursuit of Power.” Jesus’s parable of the minas in Luke 19 is Clary’s key biblical anchor. The master is an investor, the first two servants are “men of action,” while the third servant is passive, takes no risks, and lives by fear.
Clary concludes, “In the economics of the Kingdom of God, there’s abundant grace for courageous Christians who take Spirit-filled risks and fall flat on their faces” (155). He commends agency, power, and authority as gifts rooted in the creation mandate of Genesis 1:28. Power, according to Clary, “is the ability to do things . . . agency in motion,” while authority is “the right to rule,” commanding or restraining the actions and attitudes of others (162, 169).
Chapter 6 unpacks “High-Agency Christianity,” which includes not only avoiding evil but also “pursuing the glory you were made for.” Clary shows that Christians participate in God’s glory by acting with courage and working with excellence. Chapter 7, “Hall of Courage,” highlights various biblical and contemporary exemplars of virtue, from David the giant slayer to the late activist and evangelist Charlie Kirk. Clary asks, “Are seminaries producing men of courage? Or have they become credential farms that add letters to our bios but fail to equip us with steeled spines?” (219–20).
Chapter 8 outlines “Twelve Disciplines of High-Agency Christianity”: (1) fear God, not man, (2) know thyself, (3) be meek, not weak, (4) reject victimhood, (5) take responsibility, (6) honor the ordinary, (7) grow in wisdom, (8) stop overspiritualizing big decisions, (9) do something you don’t have to do, (10) pursue self-control, (11) do all things with excellence, (12) take Spirit-filled risks.
These disciplines have some affinities with contemporary psychologies like Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life and Beyond Order, Ryan Holiday’s Courage Is Calling, and Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt’s The Coddling of the American Mind. Many will likely agree with Clary’s 12 rules, even some whom Clary accuses of promoting Loser Theology.
Commending What Is Commendable
I have some significant disagreements with and questions about Clary’s project, but I also appreciate and commend his calls for moral clarity and Spirit-wrought courage in times when both are in short supply.
Clary rightly calls Christians to stand firm against abortion, homosexuality, and transgender ideology even if our culture celebrates such sins in the name of love, progress, and (intolerant) tolerance. He rightly warns against adjusting our doctrine or apologizing for what the Bible teaches as though “God has a PR problem” (141). I am reminded of Don Carson’s prescient warnings about “subtle ways to abandon the authority of Scripture in our lives,” such as “heart embarrassment before the text.”
Many will likely agree with Clary’s 12 rules, even some whom Clary accuses of promoting Loser Theology.
Courage is one of the dominant themes of this book. Clary asks whether our churches and seminaries are producing men of courage “forged by a lion-hearted faith through the flames of adversity” (220). I take this question to heart as a husband and father, a church member, a minister of the gospel, and a seminary president. I want to be a man of conviction and courage, and I want my sons and my students to “be strong and courageous” (Josh. 1:9). One of my editorial columns in Themelios commended Nehemiah’s prayerful, faith-filled, courageous, and discerning leadership in response to vicious slander, violent threats, and stringent opposition.
Clary issues blunt challenges and bold invitations that many—perhaps especially young men—need to hear. Ditch Call of Duty and embrace real responsibility. Get off the couch and make your life count. Or as the apostle Paul says, “Flee youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart” (2 Tim. 2:22); “Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong” (1 Cor. 16:13).
Eight Reasons for Caution
While there is much to commend in this project, there are also reasons for caution and concern.
In the spirit of “test everything; hold fast to what is good” (1 Thess. 5:21), I offer eight questions to reflect on the claims and contribution of Loser Theology.
Who Are the ‘Losers’?
Clary’s provocative title prepares for several different sorts of critique that are bundled together.
First, Loser Theology may refer to Christians who are passive, slothful, fearful, and coasting through life. They need a fiery pep talk to stop burying their minas, read the book of Proverbs, and pursue something that is hard yet good—get married, start a business, serve your community. Clary is perhaps most effective when addressing this group of “losers.”
Then there are Christian leaders whom Clary critiques for their left-leaning theology and limited cultural vision. His most frequent target is Russell Moore, his former theology professor at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He takes issue with Moore’s assertion, “The Bible Belt is teetering toward collapse, and I say let it fall” (5).
Clary accuses Moore not only of progressive sympathies but also of hypocrisy: “When one of the most powerful voices in evangelicalism is telling us to give up power—when one of the most influential voices in evangelicalism is telling us to give up influence—it starts to feel like you’re being played” (7). And he calls out Moore’s “rage” when commenting on the events of January 6, 2021, and more recently on a televised interview with Doug Wilson. Clary does not hold back: “Ironically, CNN was interviewing Pastor Wilson precisely because he’s winning. . . . Moore doesn’t want all Christians to embrace the loser posture, just the conservative ones” (14–15).
Loser Theology also extends to a third group of Christian leaders like Platt and Piper, whose theology largely aligns with Clary’s but whose rhetoric leads people astray into waving the white flag in the public square, embracing unhealthy views of suffering and risk, and feeling guilty about enjoying the good gifts of life. Clary’s argument is imprecise and tendentious at points, offering as evidence claims like “I’ve seen firsthand how people apply this teaching in ways Piper may not have intended” (73) or “Some do just that. I’ve seen it myself” (94).
But throughout this book, Clary himself employs strong rhetoric in calling people to live by faith and take Spirit-filled risks. At times, Clary sounds like Piper and Platt calling people to rejoice in suffering, live radically for Christ, and carry out the Great Commission. I can wonder if the real issue is not a preacher’s strong rhetoric but what aims are worthy of faith-filled risk taking.
Clary’s analysis may have been strengthened by engaging other works like Michael Horton’s Ordinary, which urges readers to turn from frantic striving to seeking contentment in the gospel and God’s “ordinary means of grace.” Yet Clary’s animating concern is not commending everyday means of grace but casting a vision for “recovering cultural ground, rebuilding institutional courage, and training a generation to engage the world with confidence” (22–23).
In What Arena Do We Strive?
Here is the nub of the issue: Clary’s project urges Christians to set their sights on “winning” in the arena of politics and culture. He wants them to not pursue ordinary faithfulness to Christ but also “to move society” like courageous saints of old (271). He writes,
Christianity built the greatest, freest, most prosperous, and most virtuous society the world has ever seen. The Christian West was built by godly men and women with a superior work ethic, competence, and resolve. It should be the same in our day. We should be known for our fortitude, honesty, conviction, loyalty, courage, and faith. No one is going to give it to us. We have to go out there and take it. (271)
Clary’s call is inspiring, but does his vision accord with the teaching of the New Testament? Yes and no, in my view.
It is easy to find biblical support for most of Clary’s “Twelve Disciplines” enumerated above, particularly general exhortations like “fear God, not man,” “grow in wisdom,” and “pursue self-control.” Some others like “reject victimhood” and “stop over spiritualizing big decisions” are more specific applications of pastoral wisdom to American Christians. And Clary’s charge that “it’s time to step into the arena” (272) would have a much different connotation for believers living before Constantine: When Christians like Polycarp and Perpetua stepped into the arena, it was for the public spectacle of their executions.
What Power Should We Seek?
Clary’s discussion of “the righteous pursuit of power” is a mixed bag. He correctly explains that God’s power is fully and gloriously displayed in the gospel, and that Jesus promises his witnesses power to carry out his mission (162–64). Clary concludes, “Therefore, we should regard the totality of the Christian life and obedience as not primarily marked by weakness, but by power” (164).
Clary’s call is inspiring, but does his vision accord with the teaching of the New Testament?
Then he immediately pivots to reject Acton’s famous dictum—“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely”—and reasons that righteous people should seek out institutional power. This seems to be an example of equivocation, shifting from one meaning of a term (power) to another meaning midway through an argument. Spirit-wrought power to bear witness to the gospel of Jesus Christ, pray, and fight sin is different than exercising a political position of power.
Clary confidently appeals to the laudable example of William Wilberforce as “a clear refutation of Acton’s thesis,” but here again the author’s logic does not follow. A member of the House of Commons does not have “absolute power,” and one positive example of a Christian who “learned to wield [institutional power] for the glory of God” does not confirm Clary’s claim that “a righteous man with power becomes more effective at doing good” (165).
Paul Tripp has called pastoral ministry a “dangerous calling,” and other positions of power and authority present their own temptations and trappings, dangers that require spiritual vigilance: “Therefore let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall” (1 Cor. 10:12).
Nevertheless, I affirm with Clary that godly Christians should be zealous for good works and should not shrink back from opportunities to lead, serve, and promote what is good. I agree with Jonathan Leeman: “Authority is a good and dangerous gift. People can use authority for great good or for great evil.”
We start by exercising godly authority in managing our own households well (1 Tim. 3:4), and then by aspiring to serve God’s household, the church (v. 5). We don’t want to be like Diotrephes, “who loves to be first” (3 John 9, NIV), but seek to follow Christ’s example of radical, self-denying service (Matt. 20:28).
I know from experience that it is a weighty responsibility and amazing privilege to raise children in the fear and admonition of the Lord, to preach God’s Word to the gathered church, to watch over the souls of fellow saints, to manage employees, to lead an organization, to serve on a board, to coach a team. In these and other areas, leaders serve “by the strength that God supplies” that the Lord may receive glory through Jesus Christ (1 Pet. 4:11).
What Sustains Us Through Suffering?
Clary’s treatment of suffering is likewise inconsistent. He acknowledges, rightly, that “sometimes the path to glory runs through suffering,” and that believers must endure trials and even persecution following Christ’s example (208). Yet earlier in the book, Clary takes issue with Piper’s claim that “the call of Christ is a call to live a life of sacrifice and loss and suffering,” which Piper clearly qualifies as “a life that would be foolish to live if there were no resurrection from the dead.”
It may appear that both authors are making similar points, yet Clary claims that Piper’s “rhetoric” glamorizes suffering and leads people to conclude that their main duty is to “get stepped on for Jesus, then go to heaven” (75–76). This is sloppy scholarship and a misleading caricature of Piper’s theology of suffering. Piper in Desiring God calls suffering “the Sacrifice of Christian Hedonism,” and he goes to great lengths to stress that believers do not seek suffering as an end in itself; rather, we pursue “joy in God, whatever the pain,” which powerfully testifies to God’s supreme worth.
Clary goes on to explain,
A high-agency Christian will encounter more opportunities to suffer precisely because they are in motion, enduring painful losses during courses of action they could have avoided. The single man who risks rejection to pursue a godly woman is exercising the same high-agency faith as the missionary who risks danger to plant a church. It’s the same principle applied at a different scale. (209)
Is this in fact the case? I grant that pursuing marriage to a fellow believer and laboring in a distant land to make Christ known are both worthy aims that require faith and faithfulness. But Clary seems to be implying more than this.
Elsewhere in Loser Theology, he pushes back against the assumption that “ordinary, middle-class” Christians are “JV” compared to more spiritual, more radical “Varsity Christians” who serve as missionaries (67). He contends that Platt and other teachers lead many passionate young people to spend years “chasing missionary glory when they should have been providing for a family instead” (95).
While I agree that it is unwise to “hastily” send out missionaries who are motivated by false guilt and glory-seeking, I am concerned that Clary does not acknowledge or encourage worthy motivations for missionary service like zeal for the glory of God (Hab. 2:14), a concern for lost people (Luke 15:4), and a longing to make Christ known to those who have never heard the gospel (Rom. 10:15; 15:20–21).
What About the Global Church?
Loser Theology only occasionally mentions the global church. Clary writes, “In other parts of the world, people routinely face violent, tribal horrors that people in the Christianized West can barely imagine.” He then highlights the example of Nigeria: “Christians are being routinely slaughtered in such numbers to constitute genocide. Entire villages have been burned, pastors beheaded, women raped and taken as slaves, with the international Christian community remaining largely silent” (135).
How does muscular, high-agency Christianity respond to such fiery trials that Christians around the world are facing? The New Testament provides various instructions and examples of prayer, solidarity, and support for suffering saints (e.g., Acts 11:29–30; 1 Cor. 12:26; 2 Thess. 1:4; Heb. 10:32–34; 1 Pet. 5:6–10). I expect that Clary would encourage his congregation to respond in these sorts of ways, yet Loser Theology stresses that these troubles are taking place “in countries that once had a robust Christian cultural influence and surrendered it” (135).
Thus, the persecution of believers abroad is mentioned merely as a cautionary tale “of what happens when evangelical Christians abandon the public square.” He writes, “Are we so foolish to think these things couldn’t happen in the United States?” (145).
What Ambition Should We Rescue?
Clary frequently speaks positively of “ambition.” For example,
Glory scales with ambition. That’s why these things matter. The hope of glory is meant to be a powerful motivator to pursue ambitious goals. The greater the ambition, the greater the participation in glory when it is accomplished. . . . Glory is out on the battlefield, pursuing ambitious goals, and taking risks. (211)
He says that Loser Theology questions or suppresses ambition because it may be tainted by pride or other sinful motives. He commends the examples of “high-agency” billionaire tech pioneers Marc Andreessen and Steve Jobs, who “understand how power can be wielded to accomplish incredible things” (237–38).
Clary does not acknowledge or encourage worthy motivations for missionary service like zeal for the glory of God and a concern for lost people.
But Clary does not discuss either the New Testament’s warnings against “selfish ambition” (e.g., Phil. 2:3) or the New Testament’s clear commendations of the aspiration to live quietly and work with one’s hands (1 Thess. 4:11), the holy desire to serve the church as an overseer (1 Tim. 3:1), or the missionary ambition to preach the gospel where Christ has not been named (Rom. 15:20). I worry that the ambition of “High-Agency Christianity” aligns more with the ideals of this world than with the countercultural values of the kingdom of God.
What Future Hope Fuels Our Mission?
This muscular Christianity is fueled by an optimistic vision of the future here on earth, not by the “pessimillennialism” of Left Behind. Regrettably, Clary does not expound on his own eschatological positions, but four positive references to David Chilton’s works (Paradise Restored and The Days of Vengeance) suggest he is at least sympathetic to a version of postmillennialism.
Further, Clary follows recent postmillennial interpreters in rendering Matthew 28:19 “disciple the nations,” arguing that this command extends beyond “the souls of individuals . . . to the nations they inhabit.” He explains, “Every domain of human life must be brought under the Lordship of Christ, including law, art, education, government, family, and business. The Great Commission doesn’t narrow the Creation Mandate to spiritual matters alone” (161).
Yet Jeremy Sexton has convincingly argued that our Lord does not command us to disciple nations qua nations but individuals from all the nations, since nations as such cannot receive baptism or personal discipleship. Even when biblical arguments fall short under close scrutiny, the modern brand of postmillennialism seems appealing to many. Sexton explains why:
It focuses on this world, to which our hearts are naturally drawn, rather than on the one to come. It promises triumph in this age, and modern postmillennial movement leaders (from Rushdoony to Wilson) inspire their followers to fight for that victory. Postmillennialism rejects retreatism and denounces defeatism, offering a more compelling narrative instead.
What Is True Victory?
Finally, the Winner Theology promoted in this book does not square with Scripture’s vision for true “victory” for those in Christ. The verb νικάω occurs 17 times in Revelation and is typically translated “overcome,” “conquer,” or “be victorious.” The book’s victory motif highlights the tension between the earthly and heavenly perspective on the church’s situation.
On the one hand, the church hardly seems to be winning: John has been relegated to an island, and believers face tribulation, poverty, slander, imprisonment, weakness, rejection, and even death (Rev. 1:9; 2:9–10, 13; 3:8–9; 6:9–11; 20:4). Further, the beast makes war on the saints and conquers them (13:7; cf. 11:7).
On the other hand, God repeatedly promises a glorious inheritance in the new Jerusalem to “the one who conquers” (2:7, 11, 17, 26; 3:5, 12, 31; 21:7). Thus Revelation ironically casts the church as conquered conquerors who experience present suffering and defeat yet await ultimate victory. Our perception of true victory is shaped by the Lion of Judah who ironically conquered as the slain Lamb (5:5–6) and who will achieve complete victory over the beast and his allies (17:14; 19:11–21).
“Victory” is not a matter of military might, political influence, or athletic achievement; rather, it entails costly faithfulness to Christ and spiritual conquest against sin and evil. According to Revelation 12:11, God’s people conquer Satan “by the word of their testimony, for they [love] not their lives even unto death.”
Craig Koester explains, “Revelation transforms the images of conquest and victory, which brought high honor in Greco-Roman culture, into a call for Christians to resist aspects of that culture. Faithfulness to Jesus could bring dishonor in society, yet in Christ’s eyes the faithful are worthy of the victory wreath.”
I worry that the ambition of ‘High-Agency Christianity’ aligns more with the ideals of this world than with the countercultural values of the kingdom of God.
Thus, the final book of holy Scripture redefines “victory” for the church this side of glory as we “follow the Lamb wherever he goes” (14:4).
The New Testament includes examples of office holders, military leaders, and other people of means, status, and influence who received the good news of Jesus Christ and were called to be “rich in good works” (1 Tim. 6:18). But the apostle reminds the church, “Not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth” (1 Cor. 1:26, emphasis added).
Paul himself has ample reasons for confidence in his Roman citizenship, his Jewish piety, his impressive education, and even his status as an apostle of Jesus Christ, yet he concludes, “I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him” (Phil. 3:8–9. emphasis added).
Better Challenge
Michael Clary wants masculine, high-agency Christian leaders to “out-hustle, out-work, and outsmart the pagans competing against them,” and he insists it’s time to stop making excuses and “step into the arena” (272).
It’s a bold challenge for the 21st-century American church, but ultimately Clary misses the mark by redefining “winning” and “losing” according to conservative American values and optimistic eschatology rather than the priorities of Jesus and the apostles.
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Editors’ Note: A version of this article will appear in the upcoming issue of Themelios.
The Gospel Coalition