(Image source: TexasMonthly. Illustration by Jon Stich)

In 2017, Dallas Jenkins—an evangelical filmmaker and director who had spent years moving between Hollywood and Christian media without significant success—directed a short film about Jesus’ birth for a small Illinois church. When the short went viral online, attracting millions of views, Jenkins began developing it into a multi-season streaming series about the life of Jesus Christ and his disciples. He called it The Chosen. After traditional distributors rejected the project, Jenkins raised $11 million from nearly 11,000 individual investors to film Season 1, which was released in 2019. Then, Jenkins partnered with Angel Studios, a production company known for projects with Christian themes, and turned directly to audiences with an unusual proposition: watch Season 1 for free through a dedicated app, then “pay it forward”—make a donation of any amount through the app, with that money going directly toward funding the production and global distribution of future seasons. Season 2 alone raised over $6 million from more than 300,000 contributors. By the show’s fourth season, over 200 million people watched what became the highest-grossing crowdfunded media project in history, raising over $40 million across multiple seasons from people who saw themselves not as consumers but as ministry partners.

What drew them—and, intriguingly, millions of non-Christians—wasn’t just a retelling of familiar Bible stories. It was a radically different kind of Jesus story. In The Chosen, Mary Magdalene’s demon possession is rendered as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) complete with panic attacks and painful flashbacks. The disciple Matthew exhibits behaviors consistent with autism spectrum disorder. Jesus appears remarkably likable and cracks jokes. In The Chosen, his Sermon on the Mount becomes an intimate small-group conversation rather than a thundering public proclamation.

These deliberate, provocative creative choices have attracted one of the most unusual audiences in the history of religious media. Over 30% of viewers identify as non-Christian. On Reddit, one self-described non-believer wrote: “You see the disciples as human beings. Jesus has human characteristics too—a sense of humor, he’s bad at sports.” Another wrote that after months of anguish over the war in Gaza they began watching on Christmas Eve: “It gives me some comfort and hope.”

The Chosen represents a shift in evangelical media and, for some evangelical viewers, a new way to connect with biblical stories that resonate more strongly than what they found in their churches. When evangelical viewers open an app alongside—or sometimes instead of—attending church, when they fund episodes alongside or in place of tithing to congregations, when they encounter a Jesus who cracks jokes and an autistic Matthew who struggles with eye contact, they aren’t merely consuming entertainment. They are participating in a restructuring of how American evangelical Christianity locates authority, constructs community, and imagines the divine. The Chosen reveals an evangelicalism actively transforming—embracing therapeutic frameworks as theology and utilizing the latest media technologies of the day.

The Illusion of Democratization

Jenkins framed his crowdfunding model—in direct video appeals to potential donors and in press interviews—as disrupting two distinct gatekeeping forces: Hollywood studios on one side, and denominational authorities who had historically controlled religious media on the other. Traditional Christian films followed predictable patterns: low-budget productions distributed through church networks, or big-budget productions backed by major studios. Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ (2004) grossed over $600 million worldwide, but Gibson had to finance it himself after every major studio passed—eventually distributing it through the independent Newmarket Films. Since both approaches assumed gatekeepers—studio executives or denominational leaders—Jenkins’s pitch promised something different. Crowdfunding would let believers themselves decide on the content’s viability. Some donors even earned roles as extras in crowd scenes, literally inhabiting the world their contributions created.

The financial numbers require careful reading. Angel Studios reported $44.75 million raised for production and platform infrastructure, $41.6 million for distribution, and $31.9 million for marketing to reach 106 million people— a figure reflecting earlier seasons; by Season 4, total viewership had reached over 200 million —a combined total of over $118 million across all seasons, far exceeding the “over $40 million” figure that refers specifically to the earliest crowdfunding rounds. But when The Chosen severed ties with Angel Studios in 2023–2024, Jenkins went public with a specific allegation: Angel Studios had been keeping more than 60% of “pay it forward” donations for itself, leaving less than 40 cents of every donated dollar reaching The Chosen LLC. The claim landed hard among the show’s most devoted fans. “I feel completely deceived,” one donor wrote on Reddit after Jenkins’s announcement. “I thought I was supporting the show, not paying Angel’s operating costs.” An independent arbitrator ultimately ruled “overwhelmingly in favor of The Chosen LLC,” a decision Angel Studios subsequently appealed and lost. The rupture exposed what the democratizing rhetoric obscured. Crowdfunding doesn’t eliminate gatekeepers. It creates new ones: platform owners who control distribution, algorithms that determine visibility, and charismatic directors whose creative visions become interpretive authority for millions.

Retrofitting Scripture with Therapeutic Categories

Understanding what The Chosen does with biblical stories requires looking closely at its specific creative choices—and what those choices reveal about the audience it is addressing.

What distinguishes The Chosen from previous Jesus films and TV series isn’t production quality—it’s the psychological framework retrofitted onto first-century figures. In one of the series’ most discussed creative choices, depicted in Season 1, Mary Magdalene doesn’t simply appear healed from demon possession; she experiences intense PTSD symptoms. Likewise, Matthew exhibits behaviors consistent with autism spectrum disorder, inspired by Jenkins’s own son. These are deliberate departures from how the stories appear in the Bible—and that is, in part, the point.

Why give biblical characters autism and anxiety disorders? Because it makes them immediately legible to twenty-first-century viewers who recognize these experiences in themselves. The choice reveals the show’s deeper project: transforming Jesus from a challenging prophet into an accessible friend, from distant Messiah into empathetic therapist who can relate to the issues facing people today.

Jenkins defends this approach, even as others might take issue with some of his creative license. In a 2025 interview, he described his guiding principle: “On day one of writing, six years ago, when I was in my basement, we put up a word on the wall on a big white piece of paper and it just said ‘Authentic,’” he said in a video he posted to Facebook. “Everything that we did we wanted to be as authentic as possible.” He has also acknowledged the scope of his creative license: “Which then puts me in a dangerous spot when I’m making a show about Jesus where 95% of the content isn’t from the Bible…I use the Bible as the first and foremost source of truth for the show.”

Jenkins’ choice moved many viewers. When autistic viewer Kaelyn, who contributed musical compositions to the series, recognized herself in Matthew—”I also know what it feels like when people don’t understand you”—she expressed how Jenkins’s reimagining of biblical characters could speak to people who have not seen themselves reflected in Scripture.

(A scene from the fourth season of The Chosen)

This transformation of biblical narrative into stories that address mental health and trauma reflects a broader and well-documented shift in evangelical culture—one with deep historical roots. Research has consistently found that evangelical Christians have been more likely than other groups to view mental illness through a spiritual lens, as caused by sin, weak faith, or demonic influence rather than as a medical condition. A 2014 LifeWay Research survey of over 1,000 evangelical Protestant pastors found that 49% rarely or never spoke about mental illness from the pulpit, while 65% of family members of people with acute mental illness felt their churches should be doing more. A peer-reviewed study published in the Journal of Psychology and Theology in 2020 found that evangelical Christians who attributed mental illness primarily to spiritual causes showed significantly lower levels of mental health literacy overall. In many congregations, seeking therapy was treated as evidence of insufficient faith.

But, a growing number of younger evangelicals have looked past their pastors on questions of mental health and turned instead to mental health professionals and, increasingly, to cultural touchstones like The Chosen that validate their experiences through familiar language. The Chosen gives them Jesus as empathetic therapist rather than challenging Messiah. And yet, the show does not present therapy as the path to healing—healing always comes through encounters with Christ. But the framework through which viewers experience that healing is drawn from contemporary therapeutic culture: trauma is named, vulnerability is modeled, and emotional recognition is treated as spiritually transformative.

Additionally, the series cast an actor with cerebral palsy and scoliosis as Little James — Jordan Walker Ross, a young actor whose disability is written into the character’s storyline. That choice, much like portraying Matthew as autistic, provides visibility that mainstream media often denies neurodivergent and disabled people. Yet the series does so within a framework that emphasizes characters’ spiritual journeys — and given that the show is set in the first century, it does not engage with, nor could it reasonably be expected to engage with, modern critiques of ableist theology or contemporary church practices.

Who’s Watching, and What Are They Finding?

The Chosen’s audience skews younger than traditional religious media, with significant Gen Z viewership. Additionally, over 30% of app views come from outside the United States; the show has been translated into 50 languages. And, the therapeutic, emotionally accessible Jesus of The Chosen has found an audience far beyond the evangelical world—and the reactions of non-Christian viewers are among the most revealing data points the show has generated.

Over 30% of The Chosen viewers identify as non-Christian, including agnostics who report they “often weep when watching.” These demographics show the series succeeding where previous faith-based films failed: reaching beyond evangelical subcultures.

The reactions from non-Christian viewers reveal what the show actually communicates across religious boundaries. “I’m an atheist and I’ve watched this show four times,” one viewer wrote on Reddit. “The humanity of the characters is what gets me—not the miracles.” Another described recommending it to a non-religious friend: “She cried through the whole episode where Jesus heals the paralyzed man. She said it wasn’t about religion for her, it was about being seen.” Katherine Warnock, the show’s vice president of original content, celebrates diverse viewership as evidence of encountering “the authentic Jesus.”  The Chosen could therefore be seen as a successful media attempt to evangelize beyond evangelicals.

The App and the Sanctuary

This unusually broad viewership points to a larger trend: The Chosen has become a primary point of contact with the figure of Jesus for millions of people who have no institutional religious community to provide context, interpretation, or accountability. That infrastructure gap is not incidental—it is built into how the show is delivered

The infrastructure delivering The Chosen matters as much as its content. Viewers don’t gather in congregations at scheduled times; they watch episodes on demand, often alone. The “pay it forward” mechanism creates digital tithing directed toward content distribution rather than supporting local congregations or pastoral care. Comments sections and social media groups serve as fellowship halls. The app becomes a church.

Heidi Campbell, a scholar of digital religion at Texas A&M University, describes this dynamic through her concept of “networked religion.” Campbell uses the term to describe how people construct faith practices by drawing from multiple sources simultaneously—a church service, a podcast, a streaming series. “They don’t go between the church world and the Internet world. They just live in both spaces,” Campbell says. “The Internet is not transforming religion,” she adds. “In many respects, what it is doing is just reflecting these broader shifts that are also happening offline.”

But for The Chosen viewers, church and streaming service don’t just coexist; streaming can become a devotional practice. Sharing becomes evangelism. Financial contributions become stewardship. The app delivers what many churches currently struggle to provide: compelling narratives, communities transcending geography, and participation beyond passive consumption.

Evangelical Backlash

The show’s disruption of traditional religious gatekeepers has not gone uncontested. Conservative evangelical objections to The Chosen have been substantial and specific—and they have come not just from anonymous comment sections but from named public figures with significant platforms.

The most sustained criticism has focused on Jenkins’s creative license with biblical stories. Alisa Childers, an evangelical author and podcaster with a large national following, has published multiple critiques arguing that the show’s invented dialogue and psychological backstories risk misleading viewers—particularly those with little knowledge of the Bible. “We need to think carefully about what we’re putting into our minds,” she has written, warning that dramatized scenes risk becoming more memorable than the biblical accounts they are drawn from.

Specific scenes have drawn particular fire: In a Season 2 storyline, the show depicts Jesus being arrested and briefly held in chains by temple guards before his crucifixion—an event with no basis in any Gospel account. The scene generated extensive discussion across evangelical blogs and YouTube channels, with critics arguing it introduced a fictional crisis into Christ’s life. Jenkins himself acknowledged the stakes: “I believe it is important to watch The Chosen as though the Bible didn’t exist,” he said in one widely-shared interview—a line critics seized on as evidence the show was positioning itself as a replacement for, rather than supplement to, Scripture. Jenkins has clarified that he meant viewers should not expect every scene to be word-for-word biblical—but the quote continues to circulate as shorthand for the show’s broader creative approach.

A second line of objection concerns the show’s ecumenical reach. Jenkins has never promoted The Chosen as a specifically evangelical product—he emphasizes Catholic, Protestant, and Messianic Jewish contributions. He has also spoken at events organized by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and defended those relationships publicly. Some evangelical critics have questioned whether such ecumenical collaborations dilute Protestant theological distinctives—that the show’s appeal to all Christians flattens doctrinal distinctions that evangelical communities consider essential.

The Chosen and Evangelical Christianity Today

The Chosen phenomenon reveals American evangelicalism caught between institutional change and digital innovation. The series succeeds by offering what many churches struggle to provide. But that success does not provide a unity that many evangelical leaders want.

For evangelical leaders, the question isn’t whether The Chosen is effective entertainment. The question is what kind of religious formation such entertainment facilitates and what it forecloses. When millions encounter Jesus primarily through Jenkins’s therapeutic vision, when they fund content distribution rather than supporting struggling congregations, when they process biblical narratives through psychological categories rather than theological traditions, what kind of Christianity emerges?

The Chosen doesn’t answer that question. It embodies it, revealing less about early followers of Jesus than about twenty-first-century evangelicalism negotiating the space between tradition and innovation, and between the authority of the past and the algorithms of the present.

David Zepf is a writer and educator whose work explores the intersection of faith, culture, and American religious life. He writes with particular interest in how digital media and popular culture are reshaping the way Americans practice and imagine Christianity.