A surprise bestseller — and the powerful hope behind it

I have a friend at church who out-reads me. Not only does she read more books than I do, she actually finishes them, which is more than I can say for the half-read stack on my nightstand. Over the years we’ve traded titles back and forth, the way book aficionados do.

So earlier this year, when she said, “I read a book that you must read,” I paid attention.

She had never said that to me before.

Then came the twist: it was a novel. I rarely read fiction unless it’s science fiction or anchored in history. But her conviction made me curious, so my wife Jamie suggested that I look it up.

My habit is to check the library first. The Indianapolis Public Library’s catalog told me I was 21st in line for one of 20 copies. I had never seen anything like that.

So Jamie and I drove to Barnes & Noble. The book wasn’t in New Fiction, so we walked over to the reference desk. The answer was standing right beside it: a tall stack of copies of Theo of Golden.

A word-of-mouth phenomenon

Theo of Golden is the first novel by Allen Levi, a Georgia lawyer, songwriter and former judge who self-published it in 2023 while in his late sixties. With no marketing machine behind it, the book spread one reader at a time — from friend to friend, book club to book club, even through cancer support groups. Sales grew from about 3,000 copies in its first months to tens of thousands, then to more than 100,000, until Simon & Schuster’s Atria Books acquired it in the fall of 2025.

What happened next has stunned the publishing world. The Wall Street Journal has called it “an unprecedented bestseller.” It has sold roughly 4 million copies, is the best-selling print book in America this year, and has appeared on The New York Times bestseller list every week since November 2025 — many of those weeks at No. 1.

I agree with my friend. It is a book worth reading. It isn’t for everyone, but it will make you think.

Why this book, and why now?

I won’t spoil the story. But I can tell you it is a book about hope. It is about people who feel unseen being genuinely noticed. And it is about kindness — thoughtful, deliberate, often anonymous kindness. Again and again, readers say that Theo, the main character, seems to be speaking directly to them.

Consider the country into which this book has landed.

In February 2026, Gallup reported that only about 59 percent of Americans rate their future lives highly — the lowest level in the nearly 20 years Gallup has asked the question. Gallup’s research director noted that over the past decade, optimism about the future has eroded almost twice as much as satisfaction with life today.

A national study released last fall, The Civility Paradox, found that 53 percent of Americans describe our society as uncivil, compared with only 26 percent who call it civil. Two-thirds said incivility had harmed their mental health in the past year. And in a Pew Research Center survey of 25 nations, the United States was the only country where more adults rated the morals of their fellow citizens as bad than as good.

A twin drought of hope and trust

Here is what I take from all this: Americans have not stopped valuing kindness. They have stopped trusting that others share it.

One reader put it simply: in today’s world, she needs hope more than ever. And that is the point. A society truly without any desire for hope and love would not buy millions of copies of a book about them. The success of Theo of Golden is evidence of a deep hunger — to experience kindness, to see civility modeled, and to believe that hope is still possible.

Notice how Theo goes about it. He is fundamentally earnest. He resists sarcasm. He asks questions and actually listens. He treats strangers as interesting people rather than as opponents, or as obstacles to wait out until it’s his turn to talk. In a culture that has largely lost the habit of imagining what civility looks like, the book quietly shows us.

And that is where you and I come in.

“Let us not grow weary”

The apostle Paul wrote to the churches of Galatia: “let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith.” (Galatians 6:9–10, English Standard Version)

We often stress the last part of that verse — caring for our brothers and sisters in the faith. But notice the first: Paul tells us to do good to everyone we have the opportunity to serve.

That was not a feel-good slogan. Paul was writing in the middle of the first century, to believers living in a harsh, status-obsessed, often brutal Roman world. In a society starved for hope and decency, people who displayed the fruit of the Spirit stood out.

Their lives became part of the message.

The same is true today.

Why kindness cuts through the noise

I’ve spent my career in marketing and communications, and here is a hard truth from my field: most messages never get through. There is simply too much clutter, and the flood of AI-generated content — what many now call “AI slop” — has made it dramatically worse. By many industry estimates, only a small fraction of messages ever reach their intended audience, and of those, very few are remembered.

The Church faces that reality every day as it proclaims the Gospel. And the resources are not what they once were. From a traditional media perspective, in an highly cluttered, multi-channel environment, the church’s collective voice can seem diminished.

But there is one factor that changes everything in communication: personal experience. When a message is tied to something a person has experienced firsthand, both delivery and recall rise sharply.

That is exactly what Theo of Golden demonstrates. No advertising campaign made that book a phenomenon. People did — by experiencing something good and passing it on.

And that is where every one of us can make a profound difference. In a world hungry for hope, a person who consistently shows kindness — in ways small and large — who lives God’s way of life, who steps away from the customs of this world, and who still shows genuine, outgoing concern for others, is going to stand out.

Don’t hide the lamp

Jesus Christ, the living Head of the Church, gave us this direct command:

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:14–16, ESV)

If the success of a novel proves anything, it is that a series of simple, earnest acts of kindness can move millions of people. Done as Paul instructed, those same acts can open hearts to the Gospel of the Kingdom of God — and even lend credibility to what we teach.

But if our good works stay hidden under a basket, no one will see them. But if we step into our own spheres of influence and quietly help others, even as we step away from the ways of this world, people will notice.

And then they will ask questions. Perhaps not sweeping theological ones, but questions about the faith they see in action. When that happens, Peter gives us the framework:

“But in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect.” (1 Peter 3:15, ESV)

Make a difference

Letting people experience the transformation God is working in you is an extraordinarily powerful way to preach the Gospel.

When people are uncivil or cynical, respond with kindness. When you see someone who could use a kind word, let them know someone notices and cares.

Be the person who does good without expecting anything in return.

Theo of Golden is a work of fiction. The hunger for hope it uncovered is not.

So let us not grow weary of doing good. As we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone.

And if a fellow book aficionado ever tells you, “You must read this,” pay attention.

By Michael A. Snyder