Not Cultural Christians: A Different Kind of Legacy

Something that has intrigued me since becoming a mom is the idea of generational Christian families. Henry and I would both consider ourselves “first-generation” Christians, not because our families lacked religion, but because what we grew up with was more cultural than rooted in genuine faith. After having kids of my own, I started wondering: how does a family become one where generation after generation is walking with the Lord? It’s a beautiful vision: children who love Christ, who raise children who love Christ, but it’s also something that used to trouble me. I know that once my kids grow up, their choices are between them and God. I can’t control their hearts. We can't be their holy spirit. As parents, our influence is real, but it isn’t absolute.

In those early years of motherhood, I was certain that leaving the Mennonite church meant I was finally on the “right path” to raise what I thought of as true second-generation Christians. (Again, in my naiveness, I assumed this; it was false thinking.) I assumed that stepping out of a culturally driven church experience and into a faith-driven one would naturally change everything.

To my surprise, what I encountered in many generational Christian homes outside the Mennonite tradition looked strikingly similar to what we had left. Yes, English-speaking evangelical churches were more modern, but underneath the surface I often saw the same pattern: Christianity practiced as culture, not conviction. Church on Sunday, but weekday lives that ran on autopilot, largely untouched by Scripture, discipleship, or obedience.

As Henry and I searched intently for a church to raise our children in, we were surprised by how many churches we tried felt like culturally correct Christian churches, but many of them felt flat. Sermons felt like TED Talks, worship felt like mini concerts, and mingling felt clique-y. While I love a good heartfelt story and analogies that are easy to follow, my discernment alarm bells went off at one church in particular when the pastor referenced maybe two verses and closed his Bible for the remainder of the service. Christian culture is seeping into churches, and it’s concerning.

For Henry and me, guarding our home starts with remembering that our kids will imitate what we live, not what we merely say. If Christ is only spoken of on Sundays, then Christianity becomes a costume, something you put on for a few hours and take off when you get home. We fight that drift by making faith a normal part of everyday life. Scripture is read out loud, not just silently. We pray with our kids, not only for them. We talk about our own sin, not pretend we have outgrown the need for repentance. We confess when we’re wrong so they see that humility isn’t weakness; it is obedience. We don’t want our home to look “Christian” because of decorations or routines. We want it to look Christian because Christ is central, interrupting the comfortable parts, challenging our habits, reshaping our reactions, and being invited into every ordinary moment. Cultural Christianity might raise polite kids, but our goal is Christ-dependent kids.

Scripture is honest: faith is never inherited. It is handed down through teaching and example, but ultimately a choice that our children will either choose to follow or choose to stray from. “One generation shall commend your works to another.”  Psalm 145:4“These words… you shall teach them diligently to your children.” Deuteronomy 6:6–7“I will put my Spirit within you and cause you to walk in my statutes.” Ezekiel 36:27

The Bible paints generational faithfulness as something both fragile and hopeful. Fragile, because a single generation can forget God (Judges 2:10). Hopeful, because God delights in showing steadfast love to a thousand generations of those who love Him (Exodus 20:6).

That balance keeps parents humble. We plant and water, but God gives the growth. Our job is not to manufacture perfect Christian children, but to faithfully sow truth into their hearts while trusting the Spirit to do what we cannot.

Raising little ones has revealed how much of parenting requires surrender. I can disciple them, teach them, correct them, and model faith, but I cannot regenerate their hearts. That realization used to terrify me. Now it steadies me.My role is faithful obedience. God’s role is transformation.

And yet, the weight of influence is real. When I watch my daughter mimic my reactions or hear my sons echo the phrases they hear us say, I am reminded that spiritual formation is happening quietly and daily. Not in grand emotional moments, but in the ordinary spaces of home: at the breakfast table, in car seats, during arguments, in bedtime prayers. The tension between responsibility and release keeps me dependent on God. It keeps me praying more. It keeps me aware that their souls are more important than their behavior. And it keeps me watching my own heart because the faith they see in me will preach louder than any words I give them.