What Makes Seventh-day Adventists Different?
Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash
(An eight-minute read.)
It’s a question I get asked a lot.
As I’m hanging out with people from all different Christian persuasions, or no persuasion at all; as I’m interacting with Jews or Buddhists or even non-religious people, inevitably the question comes up: what is it that makes Seventh-day Adventists “different” from other Christians?
What are the beliefs and practices that distinguish my particular faith community from others?
The question often arises out of ignorance—through no fault of their own.
The reality is, despite having over 20 million adherents world-wide, and being represented in more countries than any other Christian communion outside of Roman Catholicism, the Seventh-day Adventist Church remains—for whatever reason—a largely unknown and sometimes-misunderstood faith community.
And even those who think they’ve heard of us often confuse us with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (i.e., Mormons).
Admittedly, I often fumble around when asked the question—even though I should be well-practiced.
But this is as much because I’m unsure of where the questioner is coming from, or what level of religious knowledge they have, as it is a lack of clarity.
The question is also, to some degree, complicated—because there are surface-level differences that most people would probably notice, but these differences don’t necessarily lie at the heart of what differentiates us from other Christian communities.
Interestingly, I posed this question to my congregation a few weeks back, during our Saturday gathering, and I got myriad answers that largely reflect what most people would probably think of—things like our observation of Saturday as the Sabbath, our belief in the soon return of Jesus, and our emphasis on and interpretations of the Bible’s prophetic books.
These things are all well and good and important—but I’m not sure they’re actually all that unique to Adventists, nor do I believe they necessarily get at the core difference.
Instead, I’ll offer what it is I think makes Adventism different (or should make us different).
What makes us different, I’d propose, is the way we fit all these ideas together, and the framework by which we make sense of God and Scripture’s teaching about God.
Simply put, what makes Adventism different—at least according to how I understand things—is that we are radically committed to, and wholly believe that, God is love.
That’s it. That’s what makes us different.
Indeed, we believe that the world, the whole universe, the Bible, God, religion—everything—only makes sense in the light of this all-encompassing idea.
This is the glue that holds everything together. It’s the thread that is woven through all of human existence.
God is love—simply, yet profoundly, in all its depth and beauty.
We were created by love and for love. We were created to love and to be loved. And existence only makes sense in light of this love.
Underwhelmed? Surprised?
At first glance this idea probably doesn’t seem all that unique to Adventism.
After all, every Christian believes God is love—and would fully affirm the idea if asked.
And most people, from whatever religious persuasion or non-persuasion, would likely say that love lies at the heart of human existence and purpose.
But in my experience—though just about every Christian broadly affirms the idea that God is love—few soak the idea for every last ounce of its meaning, value, and beauty like Adventism, properly and faithfully articulated, does (even while, admittedly, falling far short of this ideal both in our proclamation and demonstration).
Indeed, from my observations, some Christians either promote other teachings that seemingly contradict that love (like the idea that God will torture some people forever simply for rejecting him during their few years of earthly existence), or they leave the idea of God’s love so vague and ambiguous that it lacks any emotional power, depth, or force.
Instead, what I see Adventism offering is a rich and robust picture of that love—filling out the canvas to a much greater, and more beautiful, degree than I’ve encountered elsewhere.
I don’t pretend that I’ve figured it all out, but I’ve been trying my hand at this idea recently in a series of talks I’ve been giving to my congregation over the last few months. The title of the whole series is, “Because God is love . . . ” and I’ve been unpacking the implications of this idea as I’ve sought to place Scripture within the framework of this theme.
I could write for days about the subjects I’ve addressed in the series, but just briefly: I’ve noted that because God is love, he is defined fundamentally as community, he creates, he communicates, he invites questions, he is humble, he shares power, he is not in control, he covenants—and so forth.
The point here is that everything about God, and everything he does, flows out of the fundamental reality of his love. This is the foundation of everything—and nothing can be understood about God apart from his love. And nothing should be explained about him apart from his love.
Because, ultimately, I believe at the heart of this “God is love” idea is a foundational story—a story about a God who is seeking to demonstrate—once and for all—the trustworthiness of his character to the entire universe.
This is why he invites questions—so that he can ultimately prove himself faithful and trustworthy in order to reestablish a universe that operates only on the basis of love. Instead of “pulling rank,” and telling people to trust him without question, he opens himself up to judgment, seeking to demonstrate his love through action rather than divine prerogative.
And the cross, of course, is the pinnacle of this demonstration, where Jesus fully revealed God’s character of love to the universe.
In other words, God is trying to restore the universe to a safe and secure existence, beyond the possibility of selfishness ever rising again, which can only happen when all creatures fully affirm his goodness.
How that all shakes out is a much longer story—but that’s enough to whet the appetite for now.
And it’s enough to show that what really makes Adventism different has very little to do with some of the more visible distinctions—such as the day we “go to church” on or what we do or don’t eat—and a great deal to do with how we understand who God is as a person, and the story that lies at the center of his (and the universe’s) existence.
My punk rock friend
I saw this all play out rather surprisingly a few weeks ago when I recorded the audio for a book I wrote a decade ago, called There’s More to Jesus, which largely expounds upon the themes I’ve outlined above (though written much differently, and more dogmatically, than I would articulate it today). The publisher wanted me to record it, to turn it into an audiobook, and so they set me up with a small studio here in Bangor.
The young man running the studio was a 20-something, and he’d started the studio just so he and his punk band could record music.
Needless to say, I wasn’t sure how he’d respond to having to sit through me reading through a book about Jesus for 10 hours, but I figured there was nothing to lose (and he was making a few bucks on the endeavor anyway).
Of course, over the span of our time together, I tried to learn a bit of his story—which is probably my favorite thing to do in the world—between chapters, which he seemed happy to do.
He told me he actually grew up going to a small Bible-believing church—one that most people would probably consider to be on the front-lines of Jesus-centeredness—when he was a kid, brought there by his grandmother, but that he wasn’t “practicing” these days.
Finally, after about eight hours of reading through my book, I bit the bullet and asked him a question I was really curious about.
“So,” I started, “how does the contents of this book compare to what you encountered growing up?”
“Oh, this is so different,” he excitedly explained. “This is so much better and more beautiful.”
He then went on to explain that the church he went to growing up was “fear-based,” and that his grandmother tried to scare him into belief in God. It wasn’t for him.
“What you’ve written in this book,” he then explained, “tracks so much with where I am these days. I’m all about love and forgiveness and grace. That other type of Christianity doesn’t work.”
It’s ironic. As I said above, if I was to mention the particular denomination he participated in growing up, many Christians would probably claim it was very Jesus-centered—certainly more so than Adventism. Adventists are the ones who have the reputation of not talking about God’s love, many would say, not those Christians.
Granted, Adventism’s reputation is, sadly, somewhat warranted—because most Adventists don’t understand our “secret sauce” I’ve mentioned above, failing to recognize the powerful “God is love” paradigm that (ideally) undergirds all our religious thinking and practice.
But that’s what I’m here to say. As my new punk rock friend picked up on so implicitly and poignantly: properly-articulated Adventist theology is so incredibly unique, beautiful, and love-centered—surpassing what I’ve encountered in other iterations of Christianity.
It’s why, as I’ve shared before, I’m a Seventh-day Adventist.
But the real shame is that many people within Adventism don’t even realize this is our secret sauce—and, as a result, most people outside our faith community don’t realize it either, because we so often fail to squeeze out every last ounce of God’s love in our religious reflections, and, more importantly, we so often fail to live out that love.
But I want—and I’m imperfectly trying to do my humble part—to change that perception.
Shawn is a pastor in Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil (PhD) student at the University of Oxford, focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.
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