Theology on Tap

Preaching Christ in the Haunted South, Pt III: From Christ-Haunted to Christ-Beloved

2011-06-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

Hazel Motes understood that the best way to avoid Jesus was to avoid sin. Only sinners need a savior. If we can redefine sin as manageable behavior, according to our own preferences and predilections, we can steer clear of Him. We can be “good Christians” without Christ.

American Christianity has been aptly labeled by sociologists as Moralistic Therapeutic Deism, a.k.a., the gospel according to Oprah. At Advance10, Tyler Jones refined the label in application to southern Christianity, referring to it as “quaint moralism.”

Quaint as the Christian faith may seem to Yankees, in the South it is the norm. In the film The Shawshank Redemption, the inside joke among the prisoners was that everybody was innocent. In the South, everybody is born again. Many can even articulate a doctrine of salvation “by faith alone.” However, an essentially Galatian confusion prevails. That is, Jesus’ work isn’t sufficient to make us good. It merely makes our becoming good possible. The rest is up to us. And of course, as with the ritualistic legalism foisted upon the Galatians, what constitutes this “good” is reduced to an arbitrary minimum.

If you’re Old South, this moralistic reduction looks like avoiding the stereotypical Baptist taboos: “don’t drink, smoke or chew, or go with girls that do,” or some variation thereof. If you’re New South, it’s a bit more complex. Tolerance, open-mindedness, authenticity, transparency and suspension of judgment – these are the shared values of our culture. And we dutifully perform them. We are very careful to show grace toward others, to self-deprecate and not be outshone in humility, to carefully construct our “authenticity” in front of others, etc. In our dedication to modesty, we insist with Jesus, Do not perform your righteous acts before men to be seen by them! Yet this is precisely what we’re doing all the time.

When you drill down deeper, what you find is that the South (New or Old) isn’t so much concerned with morality as with the pretense of morality. We are far more interested in appearing to lead moral lives than actually living them. In Dixie, appearance is everything. And it is our peculiar rules of image-maintenance, of sustaining the show of righteousness, which constitute the “quaintness” of our southern-fried morality. If I’m convincing enough, then I am justified. My deism here is nearly atheism.

But even our most compelling performances do not exorcise the Ghost. Behind our careful façades we, like Motes, know we’re not clean. We run from the spreading stain, and a long, cruciform shadow.

As the public spectacle of sin and divine wrath, the blood-spattered cross exposes the depth of my shame. I am so broken that nothing less than the violent crucifixion of Jesus Christ could save me! To embrace the cross, then, I have to abandon my displays of moral fitness. The show mustn’t go on. I have to confess that I am not, after all, “a good Christian boy.”

Yet at the cross of my sin and shame is simultaneously revealed God’s unfathomable love. There hung “the Son of God who loved me and gave himself up for me.” Such love makes me tremble.

As this gospel of God’s overwhelming love and justifying grace in Christ is boldly and repeatedly proclaimed, I am arrested in my Christ-haunted flight to find my rest in Him…as Christ-beloved.

Preaching Christ in the Haunted South, Pt II: From Christ-Haunted to Christ-Fearing

2011-06-28T12:26:00.000-07:00

If you read Mark 4:35-5:20 closely, you’ll see a Jesus who was especially frightening. Though his supernatural power saves them on the violent Sea of Galilee, the disciples are not comforted but “filled with great fear” (4:41). Jesus is more frightening than the life-threatening storm.

Next, in a scene straight from a horror movie, a demoniac in a Gerasan graveyard, clad only in broken chains, shackles, and dried blood, literally runs at Jesus, only to fall to the ground in a panicked heap. The monsters in the man scream, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me” (5:7). Jesus scares demons.

After Christ commands the demons into the pigs and they rush into the sea – all 2,000 of them! - the townspeople arrive. They see “the demon-possessed man sitting there, clothed and in his right mind and they were afraid” (5:15). Then, just as the unclean spirits had previously begged Jesus to spare them, the locals “beg Jesus to depart from their region” (5:17). They too want to be spared. Jesus is more frightening than a legion of devils.

The disciples fear because they still haven’t comprehended Christ’s cosmic authority. The demons fear precisely because they have. The Gerasenes, on the other hand, fear not only the terrifying display of Jesus’ power, but the violent interruption He inflicts upon their way of life. Two thousand pigs is a lot of bacon.

The failure of faith and subsequent lack of nerve that occurs on the Sea of Galilee, and much more tragically in the country of the Gerasenes, is the fearing of something or someone more than Jesus. Such idolatrous fear renders Christ utterly terrifying to us.

If the South is Christ-haunted, it is so because it isn’t Christ-fearing. We are haunted by Jesus because we fear for our idols. And through an infinite variety of means - alcohol, television, trips to the coast, church-attendance, desperate prayer – we beg Him to leave us alone.

What are the idols we fear for in the South? Where is the money spent? Where is time invested? What are the boasts of the culture?

Southern Comfort

Southerners are notoriously lazy. By and large, we labor not for status but for comfort - for the twin engine boat on the lake, the mountain home in the Blue Ridge, that beach trip next summer on the Isle of Palms. Living in South Carolina for the last four years I’ve concluded that the state song should be Margaritaville. Life’s a beach – at least on the weekends. That’s what we live for, and when we really live! We love life after work. We love our vacations. We love our cookouts and porch swings and sweet tea. We love our comfort food. We love our comfort. And Jesus threatens our comfort.

Southern Hospitality?

We southerners pride ourselves on our “famous hospitality.” Yet the South also has a darker reputation in terms of welcoming strangers. This is ironically intimated in this early 19th century observer’s description of Southern hospitality:

"The hospitality of southerners is so profuse, that taverns are but poorly supported. A traveler, with the garb and the manners of a gentleman, finds a welcome at every door," (Jacob Abbott, New England, and Her Institutions, 1835).

Note the qualification. Those who didn’t fit that description were, shall we say, less welcomed. And even those who were welcomed didn’t always experience a sincere reception. One student of the South, for instance, writes of the “natural theatricality” of southern hospitality, consisting in “a comedy of manners that will apparently run forever, no matter how transparent its characters and aims” (Shirley Abbott, Womenfolks: Growing Up Down South, 1998). That is to say, our southern warmth and decorum is itself an attempt to maintain a distance between ourselves and the other.

Xenophobia means “fear of strangers,” and stands in obvious contrast to philoxenos (“love of strangers”), which is the Greek word we render “hospitable.” Racially, politically, economically, geographically, denominationally, and even regionally, the South has been infamously xenophobic.

What’s the root of this fear? R.C. Sproul, in his classic book The Holiness of God, insightfully wrote:

God is the ultimate object of our xenophobia. He is the ultimate stranger. He is the ultimate foreigner. He is holy, and we are not.

The sad scene in Mark 5:14-17 is duplicated by “southern hospitality” ten-thousand-fold. Jesus is the terrifying Other who threatens that with which we are familiar and comfortable. He ain’t welcome here.

But for the South to become truly hospitable, we must first and foremost open the door to the Stranger outside (Rev.3:20). At our own doorstep we need to encounter the living Christ in all the trauma and grace of His awesome presence - to hear His voice in the preached word of the gospel. Where some will beg for Jesus to leave them, others of us - by the mercy of God - will beg to go with Him (Mark 5:18).

Preaching Christ in the Haunted South, Pt I: Church without Christ

2011-06-28T12:21:00.000-07:00

If you want to understand the South, you have to read southern authors. Folks like Mark Twain, Tennessee Williams, William Faulkner, Katherine Anne Porter, Walker Percy, Pat Conroy, etc. Flannery O’Conner, one of my favorites, summarized its religious culture best: “While the South is hardly Christ-centered,” she wrote, “it is most certainly Christ-haunted" (The Habit of Being).

What did she mean by “Christ-haunted”?

Consider Hazel Motes, the main character in O’Conner’s first novel, Wise Blood. Hazel is haunted by the legacy of his evangelist grandfather who "had ridden over three counties with Jesus hidden in his head like a stinger." He despised both the preacher his grandfather epitomized and the Jesus the old man preached - a Christ who paid to redeem your soul, and now comes to collect. Yet Hazel could never quite run (or drive) far enough away. Throughout his life this Jesus stalks him as “the ragged figure who moves from tree to tree in the back of his mind." And despite himself, Motes would become a preacher.

Mocking the old forms of his tent revival roots (even down to the clothing), Haze announced “a new Jesus” and a new church: The Church of God Without Christ. Salvation without a savior for souls without sin! But in that pungent irony so peculiar to Southern Gothic, we later discover that under his shirt the anti-preacher wore barbed wire, and in his shoes he packed shards of glass and rock. This self-inflicted punishment was “to pay,” he explained. Despite his earlier insistence to the contrary, Haze would finally confess, “I am not clean.” His previously nonexistent soul needed atonement.

Motes’ tortured caricature of southern Christianity, in all of its grotesque proportions, is dead-on. O’Conner would later refer to him as "a Christian malgré lui," a Christian in spite of himself. And the same could be said of the South itself. The truth is, Jesus makes us uneasy; and yet still we pine for that “ole time religion.”

Here in the Bible Belt, Hazel’s Church without Christ is new in name only. The “Jesus” on our lips is more dead-letter creed than living Person. The Christ “in our hearts” is more ritual and rule than risen Lord and Ruler. Yet we know He’s still out there. We are haunted. Like Hazel Motes, we’re on the run. And what better place to hide than the church?

But we’re doubly haunted. In Christ’s absence, the spirit that remains is hardly holy. The specter haunting us is more often a monstrous distortion, such as Haze imagined. A Jesus whose redemption means bondage, whose forgiveness only enslaves.

What the South needs more than anything is to be introduced to Jesus through the clear proclamation of the gospel. Not a new Christ. Nor the Christ we imagine. In our flight from God, we need, like Saul, to be wonderfully interrupted by the living Christ. “Who are you, Lord?” “I am Jesus…whom you are fleeing.”

The Cross of Christ Part II: The Death of God, or the Death of Man

2011-05-11T13:23:00.000-07:00

Zizek correctly identifies a devastating problem within Christianity, which theologians have historically called antinomianism – namely: my 'religion' has removed any and all prohibitive fear of punishment or consequence, thus encouraging me to "enjoy [my sin] with impunity." But, as I argued in my previous post, Zizek incorrectly implicates this conclusion with historic orthodoxy.

If this is corrent, then his proposed solution to the problem no longer seems necessary. Zizek's proposal can be summarized as the removal of God as "the Absolute" from Christianity - within Christianity, as signified at the cross - and in the resulting Absence, embracing the "abyss of our radical freedom." But this, I am arguing, is predicated upon an interpretation of Christ's death that is incoherent, and, finally, not radical enough.

Regarding this interpretation, Zizek once again quotes Chesterton as suggestive of his own position:

When the world shook and the sun was wiped out of heaven it was not at the crucifixion but at the cry from the cross, the cry that God is forsaken of God…

The cry Chesterton is referring to here is the so-called "cry of dereliction": Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani, which is Aramaic for “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” “At this moment,” Zizek states (perhaps still quoting Chesterton?) “God seems to be an atheist…” In other words, Christ is hereby gesturing toward atheism, and so subverting Christianity “from within itself."

But what is needed for the very real problem of antinomianism is a more radical interpretation – the orthodox one. Corrie Ten Boom’s interpretation.

Before I get to that, let me first suggest that Zizek's interpretation is self-refuting, since Christ’s supposed “gesture toward” philosophical atheism would render his cry - to borrow Zizek’s borrowing of Marx -“first a tragedy then a farce.” Briefly, if Jesus’ cry is finally a despairing of God (though this reading is quite impossible within the canonical narrative, cf. Luke 23:46), then, as Schweitzer would have it, Christ’s evident experience of abandonment on the cross signals the horrifying and pathetic realization that his whole mission was a desperate failure. But in so reading Jesus’ death as the casting off of the transcendent Other, we must of course despise Jesus’ life (as predicated precisely upon this “old Guy up there.”) And, thereby, Christ’s death is emptied of any possible, transcendent significance. He is in this way silenced forever at Golgotha; yet another messianic pretender crushed by Rome, and so to be rejected - most especially - by the faithful (cf. Paul’s logic in 1Corinthians 15:12-19, according to which, if a realistic interpretation of the resurrection be rejected, it is not God's intergrity that comes into question). To then present this as the supposed “perverse core” of Christianity - the undermining of faith’s transcendent object from within the framework of faith itself - as though it had any sustainable force is simply a farce.

That Zizek proposes such an incoherent undermining of Christianity “from within” as compelling only demonstrates just how “outside” of the faith he stands.

Consider, for instance, the film Inception. If Cobb’s totem at the end of the movie were to continue spinning indefinitely, at first, the audience would conclude that the final sequence was in actuality yet another dream (within a dream, within a dream…) – just as Zizek’s interpretation of Christ’s death would signify an awakening from the ancient dream of God. But it would not stop there; the whole narrative would in fact collapse like dominoes. Ultimately we would have to question whether Cobb’s explanation of the spinning totem is itself to be trusted. Isn’t even this just an irrational construct within a dream? Finally, we would be left with nothing to hold on to with any certainty, and could only dismiss the film as an entertaining "tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing."

But Jesus’ identification in the cry of dereliction is with something/someone far more shocking than a mere atheist. He was identifying with a Goddamned atheist...and a Goddamned rapist, and a Goddamned thief, and a Goddamned murderer, and a Goddamned perjurer, and a Goddamned religious hypocrite, etc., etc. Moreover, this wasn’t a gesture. This was an execution. Jesus’ identification wasn’t in being just “like” a forsaken man, “as it were,” cursed of God. He was Godforsaken. He embodied accursedness (Gal.3:13). At the cross, the righteous Son of God becomes the condemned sin of man (2Co.5:21; Ro.8:3).

Thus the cross signifies not the death of God as such, but rather the death of man as such. That is, the death of post-fall man, existing "in Adam" under the law and under wrath.

The cross of Christ is a spectacle for the whole world to behold - to see both the historical reality of God’s love and mercy for condemned men in the giving of the Son as a “propitiation for the sins of the whole world,” (1Jn.2:2; Ro.3:25), and the historical reality of God’s justice and wrath in the apocalyptic revelation of divine retribution against his sin (Ro.3:26).

As a result, we learn from the cross that man is condemned to die. He must die. He will either die in Christ at the cross (Rom.6-8) in the day of His judgment (Jn.12:31-32), or he will die "the second death" in Adam (Rev.19; 1Cor.15) on His coming day of judgment (Rev.20). Here is the radical conclusion:

through the law I died to the law so that I might live for God. I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me (Gal.2:19-20).

In answer to the original question posed - which is the more obscene interpretation of suffering: that which slays God, or that which slays man? - at the foot of Christ's cross, the obscene answer is inescapable. "Though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him..."

The Cross of Christ Part I: The Trauma of Golgotha

2011-05-11T12:02:00.000-07:00

“Christ’s death on the cross,” Zizek argues, “means precisely that one should drop without restraint the notion of God as a transcendent caretaker who guarantees the happy outcome of our acts…”

He goes on:

Christ’s death…is the death precisely of this God…the God above , the old Guy up there, so that when you are trouble here you can say, oh don’t worry too much, somehow we know it will all end well…

In this way, Zizek concludes, the cross of Christ signifies the death of religion that "obfuscates the brutal real of historic catastrophes."

There are two objections that occur to me at this point. The first is Zizek's assertion that this moral obfuscation is the inevitable result of the traditional interpretation of the cross. The second is the 'radical' interpretation he offers instead. In this blog post, I'd like to address the first objection...

It is absolutely incorrect, on the basis of historic orthodoxy, to say that God’s existence as “transcendent caretaker” implies a “happy outcome” for all our actions. Such theological nonsense might well be promulgated within heterodox simulations of Christianity, but it does not represent historic orthodoxy. Here I would wholeheartedly agree with Zizek in his exposure of (inauthentic) religion as the negation of any moral consequences to our actions. And it is everywhere! The cross means never having to say you're sorry. Or, to use his hilarious illustration: the teenage girl who prays to “her who conceived without sin, 'Please, let me sin without conceiving!'”

Of course what Zizek is here referring to is the ancient heresy of antinomianism: the perverse logic that concludes, 'let us sin since we are under grace and not law' (see Rom.6). Zizek is absolutely right to detect and diagnose this ancient perversion within today's "institutional church." However, just as this carnal twisting of the gospel has been found in the church since the very beginning (see Romans 3-8; Galatians 5-6; 1Peter 2-4; James; 1John; etc.), so orthodoxy has always vigorously opposed and condemned it. So here Zizek is very orthodox!

Yet such amoral rationalizations studiously ignore other aspects of the gospel. In particular, antinomianism must always circumnavigate the basic significance of Jesus' doctrine of hell. That is, unless there is a radical change in us, our actions will ultimately be answered in the superlative trauma of “falling into the hands of the living God,” (He.10:31). Here the unrepentant will experience a catastrophe so terrifying that even the most infamous calamities of our collective past can only serve as mere approximations (Mt.10:15; Lk.17:29; 2Pe.2:6; cf. Dt.29:23; Rev.19:20). So cataclysmic is this apocalypse of wrath that it will in fact mark (as the “outer darkness” of existence) the very end of history as we know it.

In light of this horror, Jesus warns his disciples: “Does your eye cause you to sin? Then gouge it out, and throw it away from you! It is better to enter into life maimed with only one eye, than having both eyes, be cast into the fiery hell.” Or again, “Do not be afraid of those who can destroy the body, but cannot kill the soul; but rather fear Him who is able to destroy both body and soul in hell.”

In other words, historical trauma is to be preferred and endured rather than the dreadful trauma to come in judgment.

Of course, as we’ll see, the trauma of divine wrath is central to the cross’s meaning. Only if we neglect the crucifixion of Christ as the (violent) demonstration of divine justice (Ro.3:26) can we forget that the gospel we preach always and everywhere involves the God of judgment, “who will judge the secrets of men through Christ Jesus,” (Rom.2:16). To quote the apostle Paul:

…in the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God, who will render to every man according to his deeds: … to those who are selfishly ambitious and do not obey the truth, but obey unrighteousness, wrath and indignation …

All of this to say - and it is almost too obvious to state – God’s reign from heaven does not guarantee the happy outcome of all our actions. It is exactly the reverse here: the divine sovereignty guarantees the unhappy outcome of our actions. I.e., we will NOT “get away with it,” but rather are assured that all of our transgressions are subject to the unrelenting punishment of an exacting justice.

Zizek’s critique here could only be felt among those who fail to see at the cross the apocalyptic judgment of God against sin (more on this later), and therefore already reject as unreal the God of Gehenna.

The Brutal Obscenity of Slovej Zizek…and Corrie Ten Boom

2011-05-11T09:07:00.000-07:00

There is perhaps no public intellectual today more vigorous, more fascinating, more ambitious, more mystifying and simultaneously more illuminating than Slovej Zizek. In a recent lecture at the New York Public Library entitled "God without the Sacred" Zizek presents his case for a materialistic Christianity.

In accordance with the lecture's subtitle, "The Book of Job, the First Critique of Ideology," Zizek suggests that the ancient book's radical thesis is that suffering in the world is, finally, fundamentally meaninglessness. He argues this, purportedly, with the help of G.K. Chesterton. In actuality, however, he has turned the great Catholic author on his head; for the radical skepticism played out in God’s cross examination of Job which Zizek references functions, according to Chesteron, to undermine the very skepticism Zizek’s here positing. Is Zizek misreading Chesterton? Deliberately misrepresenting him? Or does Zizek interpret Chesterton's comments as something of a Freudian slip, and - like a good psychoanalysist - pushes these toward their (psycho)logical conclusion?

Whatever the case, there is one particular question Zizek’s lecture raises for us that I believe deserves serious reflection. Namely:

Which obscenity is to be preferred, Zizek’s obscene assertion that suffering is without meaning, Or, the obscene orthodox assertion that suffering is divinely orchestrated, and hence morally meaningful - even if that meaning is to us inaccessible?

Zizek fiercely rejects the supposition of the latter view regarding “the God who sees the entire picture in what appears to us as a stain…,” and asserts as patent that “if there is a whole totality which can teleologically justify and thus redeem an event like the holocaust…then we are finished.”

Over and against this skepticism is the remarkable faith of the Dutch holocaust survivor, Corrie Ten Boom. She reasons, in direct contradiction to Zizek's claim, that the “stains” of the world are in truth all part of a divine patchwork. And though incomprehensible to us ‘this side of heaven,’ the unperceived pattern is real and imbues our sufferings with a transcendent significance.

In recounting the horrors of the death camps, Corrie would often hold up a purple cloth with a crown embroidered on it. She would first show the tangled, confused underside of the cloth. “What is it,” she would ask. We cannot make sense of it.

Nevertheless, she insisted, there is a pattern. She would then turn the tapestry around, showing a bejeweled, golden crown. This is the pattern the King is weaving for His children.

Given these two, diametrically opposed understandings of suffering, it is perhaps remarkable that Zizek and Ten Boom both look to the same event as decisive in determining what our response to "the problem of suffering" ought to be: the cross of Christ.

In our next post we will explore the meaning of Jesus' death as understood by Slavoj Zizek and Corrie Ten Boom, respectively...

Lord, Save Me from the Perfect Church!

2011-04-18T07:03:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine sent this quote from Martin Luther to me today:

“May a merciful God preserve me from a Christian Church in which everyone is a saint! I want to be and remain in the church and little flock of the fainthearted, the feeble and the ailing, who feel and recognize the wretchedness of their sins, who sigh and cry to God incessantly for comfort and help, who believe in the forgiveness of sins."

Of course, Luther is using "saint" in it's popular sense. And it is a refreshing reminder that those who are blessed by Jesus as His own ("little flock") are not the "haves," the obviously "holy," or the terminally happy. Rather, to those who hunger and thirst (for what they apparently lack), to the meek who mourn, who are despised and rejected, is the Father's Kingdom given.

On this note, especially in terms of today's cultural currency, we might equally well pray: May a merciful God preserve me from a Christian Church in which everyone is cool!

Art and Protestant Iconoclasm

2011-04-11T20:20:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine passed along this interesting article by Daniel Siedell last week. It provoked some thoughts...

I tend to agree with Siedell’s assessment that “the Schleiermacher-Barth axis of thought” is “two sides of the same coin,” and that “it has Kant's face on it.” But should we lay Protestantism’s allegedly cretin aesthetics at the feet of a disproportionately left-brained Kant? Since reformational iconoclasm predates the 18th century philosopher by a couple hundred years, he isn’t the likely culprit. This is to say, I doubt seriously that Protestant theology’s “larger project” is adequately represented by the liberal and neo-orthodox portraits.

And didn’t Kant’s radical skepticism regarding the noumenal world, in a sense, proliferate ineffable mystery in the impenetrable and ubiquitous shroud of the quasi-mystical ding an sich?

Is the culprit, as Siedell suggests, simply poor taste? Does the Protestant “iconoclastic tendency” come down to a lack of aesthetic imagination? That is, “not having refined enough palettes to recognize that the Church Fathers and the Biblical witness are a much more robust foundation than Kant and the whitewashed sanctuaries of Enlightenment reason.” Again, I’d point to the obvious fact that the reformers predate the Enlightenment, and that post-Kantian theology is a poor representative of the legacy of Luther, Zwingli, Calvin and the gang. Perhaps his critique addresses Barth’s bare walls…but the larger Protestant project?

But what exactly is the “robust foundation” of the Church Fathers? Citing the Seventh Ecumenical Council of Nicea (787 AD), he summarizes it as an “aesthetic imagination, embodied in and shaped through icons,” through which “we appreciate—see—God's mysterious and beautiful work in the world through Christ.”

Now surely Siedell isn’t claiming that icons are necessary in order to contemplate the mystery of God in Christ. It would, after all, be exceedingly difficult to demonstrate that the apostolic church employed icons in their corporate worship (interestingly, the Council refers to these forms of iconic veneration as "according to ancient pious custom"). Rather, I assume, in saying that such imagination is “embodied in and shaped through icons,” he is simply stating that, in this particular way, the church of late antiquity (on through the medieval period) exercised its aesthetic and religious imagination. So in seeking to preserve and cultivate a contemplation of the mystery of Christ through icons, the church simultaneously preserved and cultivated an aesthetic value of visual expression and beauty. These are historically connected, but not therefore theologically correlated. Right?

But when he condemns Protestant iconoclasm, and its supposed lack of aesthetic imagination (which itself is a questionable conclusion) as not only “a failure of culture,” but “a failure of dogma,” surely his rhetoric has gotten away from him. This would be true only if the Council was correct to affirm “the necessity of the veneration of icons of Christ, the Theotokos, and the saints as a means to preserve the mystery of Jesus Christ as the God-man.” [Italics mine]

If Siedell, however, actually does mean to affirm the Council’s conclusion on this point, then he shouldn’t be surprised to find opposition (even serious opposition) among his Protestant brethren. For such a claim is precisely what historic Protestantism has always vigorously attacked as fundamentally idolatrous. The charge then that iconoclasts, in this case, lack aesthetic imagination is I think a red herring – a blatant ad hominem (as is, I think, Hart’s arguments against Nietszche). The issue here isn’t primarily aesthetical but theological. Namely, is the mystery of God known through icon or logos? Image or word?

I don't wish to be guilty of posing a false dichotomy here, but isn't it remarkable that the sacred artifact bequethed to us by the historic people of God is not an icon (eventually even the 'holy relics' of Aaron and Moses were destroyed), but holy writ? It is the consistent testimony of the New Testament that we have come to know God in Christ, not by what our eyes have seen, but by what we have heard (1John 1:1-4; 1Peter 1:8-12; Ro.10:14-17). The cross of Christ is apparently most effectively portrayed through a proclamation (Gal.3:1-5). Surely this is significant.

And it seems to me that this insight - that the invisible God has authoritatively revealed Himself through logos rather than icon (see Deuteronomy 4 in particular) - is the genius of Protestant iconoclasm, typifying its protestant nature in toppling idols and smashing the sacred cows of Christendom (ecclesia reformata semper reformanda secundum verbum dei). Though it wasn't without it's obvious excesses, it’s a worthy heritage, and much needed today among evangelicals.

Having said that, God did give us both word and image in Christ, the God-man. Christ faithfully and flawlessly portrayed the invisible God as the perfect imago Dei. He literally and figuratively embodied the Word of God fully and finally. And from Christ we have the Church as His (mystical) body. Surely, as the community of those who are being restored in the image of God in Christ, we are, in a real sense, icons of the divine mystery of Christ (cf. Eph.3:10-11). And this I think is the real issue.

The fact is, we should have icons in the church – they should be us. Siedell raises the excellent question: “how can we appreciate—see—God's mysterious and beautiful work in the world through Christ?” The answer, however, cannot be something so paltry as iconography. Is this mere poor taste on my part? I love art (I swear). I think it's grand. But we mustn’t fall into the opposite ditch in attempting to redeem what is undoubtedly a neglected subject in the modern evangelical church by raising it to the status of sacrament.

But perhaps coming from one who makes his living by talking, you might be justified in suspecting that mine is a rather biased perspective. If iconography is too slight to bear the weight of the divine mystery, let it also be acknowledged that preaching alone is insufficient. (Certainly a means of grace, preaching should neither be conflated with the sacraments of the church - nor should it be functionally equated with the Word of God itself, as the Second Helvetic Confession would appear to do).

There is reason Paul passed on to the Church not only a "pattern of sound teaching," (2Ti.1:13), but a pattern of life (Phil.3:17-18). The predominant disconnect we suffer today between biblical proclamation and biblical living is a fatal self-deception (Jas.1:22-24). This dual emphasis on "life and doctrine" (1Ti.4:16) is seen throughout the scriptures, and perhaps most explicitly in the Pastoral Epistles, wherein Paul instructs Timothy and Titus on the life, worship and witness of the Church. Reading these letters in particular (and see Dr. Reggie Kidd's excellent article on Titus), it becomes clear that the apostles were concerned to “adorn the gospel” of the mystery of God - and they sought to do so through the exemplary character of the Church (see Titus 2).

The Church is Christ’s true icon in the world. In all of our concern to let the mystery of God been seen, to image Christ, let this be our focus and highest priority: the building and edification of the Church as God's holy temple. Let the Church shine in all of the reflected grandeur and glory of Christ. Let the Bride be decked out in good deeds; stunningly beautiful in her love - in her Christ-like sacrifice for one another, for neighbor and enemy. Let her shine in all things she undertakes: in her marriages and families, in her work, in her generous service to the world, and, yes, in her God-glorifying (creative, powerful, prophetic, innovative, idol-toppling) art.

That is a robust foundation (1Tim.3:15-16).

Missional Church?

2011-01-18T19:59:00.000-08:00

Theologians have an irksome propensity for needlessly multiplying technical terms. Words like “Christ-event,” “contextualization” and “demythologize” come immediately to mind. The Germans are especially good at this (Heilsgeschichte!...God bless you). These impressive terms, though often simple in meaning, give an air of grave seriousness and intimidating expertise. As a friend of mine once observed regarding an email I sent slovenly littered with theological jargon: “Ah yes, James, this is why we go to seminary, to keep the laity at a distance and in the dark.” This is the worst kind of Christianese.

One bit of Christian-speak in particular that has found widespread currency among evangelicals as of late is “missional.” Its meaning is less clear. J. Todd Billings, in his article "What Makes a Church Missional?" writes,

With so many variant views, the term missional church now needs something like an FDA label: Warning: Contradictory and conflicting views of the church inside.

“Missional” is a completely made-up word, echoing, perhaps, the similarly coined “incarnational,” or the recently re-appropriated term (from secular leadership studies) “transformational.” From it has spun other delightful neologisms, such as “post-attractional” and “urban missionality.” I’ve even encountered “emergental” as a description of incarnational-missional, ancient/future-liturgical churches… Confused yet?

At any rate, there is much that falls under the rubric of “missional” that I agree with, and actively promote. In fact, I hope our churches are missional, and incarnational, and transformational…I think. Furthermore, in our endeavor to follow Jesus, I want us to be relational, contextual, intentional, vocational, inter-generational, and even sensational. Yet I am still unclear as to the precise meaning of missional (if it has one). This is my feeble attempt to parse its usage and usefulness.

First, missional is almost always contradistinguished from attractional as its mirror-image. For instance, consider this refreshingly simple and concise video on the missional church. To be clear, when the narrator begins with “in the past…,” he really means, “since the early 80s.” That is to say, since the advent of the so-called seeker-sensitive movement, which is closer to what he's describing (and to be fair, this isn’t necessarily synonymous with 'attractional church'). Really, what this video is saying is that ‘missional church’ is the self-conscious rejection of the seeker-friendly, consumer-driven model of doing mission, as exemplified and promoted by such ultra-mega-churches as Willow Creek and Saddleback. Along these lines, I think Mark Driscoll does the best job of concisely critiquing the seeker-sensitive approach over against the so-called missional approach here.

But isn’t this really just a return then to the oldskool rule of thumb: “we gather to edify and scatter to evangelize”? I hope so. Certainly when Driscoll goes on to describe missional church in contrast to the seeker model his definition appears to be, basically, the biblical paradigm.

Yet, surely being missional is more than simply a return to the church Before Hybels (BH). The traditional Western church, it is argued, was conceived within the cultural context of Christendom, and operated with the same basic assumptions that the seeker-friendly, attractional model continues to presuppose. Namely, that we inhabit a Christian world, and that non-churched people simply need to “attend church.” However, we now live in a post-Christian culture, or so it has been insisted by secularists and, ever since Francis Schaeffer pronounced it so over 40 years ago, evangelicals alike. We can no longer assume “if you build it, they will come.” This is why, we're told, the attractional model is no longer effective (or at least is losing its effectiveness). No matter how cool you make the "church experience," non-Christians still don’t want to burn their ‘lazy Sunday’ listening to contemporary Christian rock (even if you show clips from Narnia). [This is undoubtedly true, but the sad fact is, many wannabe-hipster Christians actually do!]

So being missional means, in great part at least, taking seriously our ‘post-Christendom’ situation and rethinking our call as missionaries to a non-Christian context. [By the way, it strikes me as ironic here that the seeker-friendly movement - the apparent epitome of missiologically backward approaches to doing church - developed out of the church growth movement, which was based on the broader missiological principles outlined by missionary-theologian Donald McGavran]

This ‘cultural shift” is the focus of Tim Keller’s explanation of the term. However, it is striking to me how he appears to continue to conceive of the church in essentially traditional categories: “everything [the missional church] does…not just the evangelistic programs, but the worship, the education, spiritual formation, assumes that people … need to be pretty deeply reshaped by the gospel.” Note here, also, how Keller speaks of being missional primarily in terms of how the non-Christian experiences Christian gatherings (he cites specifically corporate worship, preaching, and small groups). I’m not suggesting that Keller thinks exclusively in attractional “come-and-see” terms. Of course he doesn’t. But he doesn’t see attractional as the opposite of missional either. His concern is basically about content, not, fundamentally, about method: namely, how missional churches in “everything from education to the worship service to the preaching” are “connecting the gospel to baseline cultural narratives, problems, aspirations, etc.”

Along these lines, it is also noteworthy that influential missiologists such as Ed Stetzer do not see the attractional and missional (or incarnational) approaches as mutually exclusive. A healthy church, we are told, should have both dynamics at work. I agree. What is the difference then between seeker-sensitive attractional models and what Keller is describing? Apparently, one attracts business professionals, while the other attracts artists.

However, I am beginning to wonder whether our quickness to de-christen America - a nation that is still overwhelmingly Christian in its religious affiliation and stated beliefs - isn’t conceding too much too soon to our secular critics. It’s difficult to deny that Keller’s church is a testimony to the sustained ‘attractional’ efficacy of “good preaching and good worship” – and that in one of the most secularized and pluralistic cities in the country. Driscoll himself has acknowledged the obvious effectiveness of a titillating sermon series for 'church growth'. I’m not criticizing any of this. It simply raises the question of whether our cultural context is really so radically different that the attractional dynamic has become outmoded.

Moreover, I suspect our less-than-enthusiastic description of churches “in the past” may be a sort of chronological snobbery, a jaundiced view of those who’ve come before us. Was it ever a justifiable assumption that “if you build it they will come”? The false belief that our non-churched neighbors simply need to be re-churched has always been opposed by evangelicalism's ardent demand for radical regeneration. Similarly, effective church-planting was never without a real penetration and presence in the culture.

All too often, ‘missional’ gets defined at the expense of those on whose shoulders we now stand. I am tempted to conclude that the real message of so many explications of missional church is: “Yo momma’s church sucked, but this ain’t yo momma’s church!” Wasn't this precisely the critical reflex of the now defunct emerging church?

For instance, in a recent online article by a church-planter I respect and admire, the author contrasts ‘missional church’ from ‘institutional church’ (hint: ‘institutional’ is never good) by defining the latter as a "church with a mission" and the former as "church as mission." But this distinction seems to me to be more rhetorical than substantial. For example, it is not clear that all the instances he cites of “church with a mission” are communities that necessarily conceive of mission as mere "event," or as somehow optional, as he charges. There are too many ‘institutional churches’ that simply don’t fit this pejorative stereotype.

Moreover, the church as a mission is always a church with a mission, precisely because the church is both the product and process of Christ's mission in the world. Along these same lines, in his article “Defining Missional”, Alan Hirsch writes:

Because we are the "sent" people of God, the church is the instrument of God's mission in the world. As things stand, many people see it the other way around. They believe mission is an instrument of the church; a means by which the church is grown. Although we frequently say "the church has a mission," according to missional theology a more correct statement would be "the mission has a church."

Again, a false dilemma is presented to us. Neither one is more correct. It is the case that both the church has a mission (i.e., our commission from Jesus), and the mission (i.e., the divine administration in Christ, Eph.1:10; 3:9; 1Ti.1:4) has a church. Surely the mission is an instrument of the church (Eph.4:11-16)! Surely the church is the instrument of God’s mission (Eph.3:1-11)!

It seems to me that we need to stop justifying the mission of God by unflatteringly caricaturing any and all pre-Grunge churches. We also need to vociferously reject this false pitting of ecclesiocentric against missiocentric perspectives that abounds in the missional movement's apologetics.

So here is my question to my fellow planters, pastors, and theologians. What if we stopped calling ourselves “missional”? As though this label were clear or particularly helpful. As though it won't be dated in a few days, months, or years. What if we just said we want to obey Christ's commission? If we want a single adjective to put in front of “church,” how about “biblical”? If that strikes us as too broad, well, consider again the ambiguity of "missional." If it smacks of arrogance, as if to suggest that all other forms of church are ‘out of God’s will’, than ask yourself whether this isn’t precisely the implication of our present use of ‘missional’. Finally, let’s acknowledge that many churches before 1992 were “on mission,” even if they failed here and there to be thoroughly so – just as ours do now. I am praying for repentance from my own shortcomings as a missionary to my culture, and a renewed alignment of my own view and practice of the church with the missionary’s only authorized field guide.

Navigating Past Nihilism, Or Shipwrecked?

2010-12-10T12:10:00.000-08:00

Earlier this month the following article was published in the New York Time's Opinionator: "Navigating Past Nihlism."
What was surprising to me wasn't that such illogic should be found in the NYT opinion page, but the fact that the author of the piece, Sean D. Kelly, is the chair of the Harvard philosophy department(!).

Dr. Kelly proposes to chart a course between the Scylla and Charybdis of "nihilism and fanaticism." Nihilism is the extreme of a materialistic atheism (the position of the author) and 'fanaticism' is the extreme of those who hold religious convictions (though it would appear fanaticism is the only option open to those who sincerely hold to any traditional belief in God).

He begins with the thesis that "God is dead." He attempts something of an argument to support this, but it fails miserably. Ultimately his case degenerates into a vicious circle, turning on the confusion arising over the ambiguity of the term, "God is dead."

Socially speaking, it is true that "the social role that the Judeo-Christian God plays in our culture is radically different from the one he has traditionally played in prior epochs of the West." In this sense, God is dead. However, this is obviously distinct from the ontological question of God's existence. And to conflate the two, as the author plainly does, is a clear instance of the fallacy of equivocation.

To put it another way, modern society's apparent rejection of "the sacred" does not demonstrate that any one religious worldview - and the Christian worldview in particular - is false. To dismiss as "self-deceit" an operative religious perspective within our secular world, without engaging the truthfulness of the relevant beliefs, is obviously not an argument. It is merely an assertion.

Hence when he writes,

"For today’s religious believers feel strong social pressure to admit that someone who doesn’t share their religious belief might nevertheless be living a life worthy of their admiration. That is not to say that every religious believer accepts this constraint. But to the extent that they do not, then society now rightly(!) condemns them as dangerous religious fanatics rather than sanctioning them as scions of the Church or mosque,"

Kelly assumes that (radical) multiculturalism is not only the dominant zeitgeist and ideology of our present society, but that, philosophically speaking, it is the correct position. Interestingly, we might note here, in order to protect and establish his conception of multiculturalism, he encourages the exclusion and marginalization of those who continue to actually take seriously their religious traditions in their contemporary context. So much for multicultralism! (Slovej Zizek has provocatively argued that ideological multiculturalism is simply a postmodern form of xenophobia). At any rate, he assumes that God is indeed dead, and then concludes as a matter of course that continued belief in God as the organizing center of all life must be "self-deceit."

Hence his argument is as follows:

(1) "On this account there really is no agreement in the culture about what constitutes a well-lived life; God is dead in this particular sense."

Granted.

(2) "But many people carry on in God’s shadow nevertheless; they take the life at which they are aiming to be one that is justifiable universally."

Granted. However, the lack of agreement in society on the matter is irrelevent to whether or not a particular religious worldview is "justifiable universally." It might simply be the case with God that, to (mis)quote Mark Twain, "rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated."

(3) "In this case the happiness that Brooks identifies in the suburbs [constituted, in part, by traditional religious belief] is not genuine happiness but self-deceit."

Obviously, this is a non sequitur conclusion (for reasons noted above). It is akin to arguing that the earliest civil rights advocates were self-deceived simply because they lived in a racist society.

In making his arguments against such "fanatics," Dr. Kelly appears cognizant of the implication of a universally valid system of valuation (contra his radical multiculturalism or, as he labels it, "polytheism"), and so ends his paragraph:

"...there are nevertheless many different lives of worth, and there is no single principle or source or meaning in virtue of which one properly admires them all."

First of all, the truth of this statement is questionable (and it continues to beg the question of multiculturalism). Now of course it is true that any one particular 'theism' cannot admire all lives equally as "lives of worth." After all, there's a reason why there's thunder in heaven (and tumults upon the earth): the gods generally don't get along terribly well. But this does not mean no one perspective can "properly admire" many different "lives of worth" - "properly" and "worth" being the operative terms. Secondly, the polytheistic "possibility" presented is admittedly not capable of providing a coherent basis for evaluating "lives of worth," or determining what is "properly" admired. It entails, rather, all sorts of commitments that are mutually incommensurate, without any attempt to integrate or reconcile them. The new possibility posited then is not an actual point of view, but rather a collection of irreconciliable points of view, merely tolerating their differences (for now) - lest we come into "tension with the demand in the culture to recognize that those who don’t share your religious commitments might nevertheless be living admirable lives." And apparently, coming into such tension with our culture is very bad.

So we are presented with an incoherent collocation of various worldviews as itself the solution, held loosely together by a liberal (and, we might add, arbitrary) ethic of tolerance. Kelly earlier states that diverse, incommensurate commitments can nevertheless yield lives "deserving" of admiration. But of course the critical question is, by what measure is it determined that admiration is deserved? On what basis can he even distinguish between what is deserved and what is not? Isn't the very formulation of "deserved" and "properly admired...lives of worth" fundamentally self-defeating for his 'solution'? Dr. Kelly offers us no justification for this language, other than apparently what the culture presently dictates. This is obviously a recipe for titanic disaster.

I find the Christian justification for a multicultural tolerance far more coherent and substantive. Not only is an ethical basis given for evaulation of ourselves and others, but we also find biblical and theological rationale to admire virtue in the lives of those who do not share our religious beliefs (e.g., the 'righteous pagans' of Jonah's narrative). Moreover, the spiritual nature of the Church, both in terms of its constituency and mission (in contradistinction to the ethno-theocratic form of Islam or ancient Israel), demands a true tolerance of other beliefs and practices in the public domain (even while openly preaching against such, and, within the community of faith, having at certain points a 'zero tolerance' policy - see 1Co.5:9-12), and arguably, constitutes the historic ground for our modern inclination toward tolerance and principled pluralism.

Nevertheless, that there is good in all cultures and religious traditions to be admired and commended does not thereby imply that the gospel-command to repent, to change our lives, no longer applies. Despite whatever good is there, there are always also elements present that are not admirable - and not only in the lives of the non-Christian, but of the Christian first and foremost (again, see the book of Jonah). The same gospel demands that both "repent!" and find their identity, meaning, and joy in the One God who has died in Christ, and rose again for the redemption and formation of the multi-ethnic, multicultural people of God.

Radical Religion

2010-10-28T06:29:00.000-07:00

James' inspired letter to the "twelve tribes of the diaspora," as a New Testament analogue to the most fervent of jeremiads among the OT prophets, is remarkable among the so-called "catholic epistles." In this concise work, James unleashes a thorough and devastating critique of the mockery of vain religion - Jewish or Christian. His argumentation is theologically grounded (e.g., locating the unity of the law in the oneness of the Lawgiver), psychologically insightful (e.g., a frank recognition of our seditious lusts), and morally profound.

Religion is understood, in various ways, as fundamentally conservative. This is undeniable. For all religion is constituted by its sacred traditions, embodied in holy oracles, and ritual practices and paraphernalia. As the sacral objectifications of authority and truth, one does not progress beyond these. Rather, we must constantly look backwards to these traditions in order to move forward.

According to Slovenian philosopher, Slavoj Zizek, using the taxonomy of Hegel, "the people's religion" (Volksreligion) is "intrinsically bound up with a particular people, its life and customs. It required no special reflexive act of faith: it was simply accepted," (The Puppet and the Dwarf, 2003, Slavoj Zizek, p.4). But Judaism and Christianity is distinguished from this form as "positive religion," which consists of abstract, outwardly imposed rules and rites. In other words, Judaism and Christianity begin to peel religion from the formative culture’s Naturwuchsigkeit. Thus a tension is introduced between "true religion" and "culture." What is then produced is a new sort of conservatism - a culturally subversive conservatism. It is conservative because it locates its epistemic and ethical norm within a fixed, religious tradition. It is subversive, however, because it comprehends the dominant culture as distinguished and divergent from that tradition. Here, in failing to practically differentiate these, Christendom went astray according to critics like Kierkegaard and the Anabaptists of the "radical reformation.”

However, even given this distinction between volksreligion and positive religion, there is something else, something strikingly progressive or radical about the religion James discusses. It is not simply that true religion is to be distinguished from the dominant culture. It is the persistent call to even the religion's practitioners to change.

In his classic book, Critique of Religion and Philosophy, Walter Kauffman writes:

Every great philosophic work says, like Rilke's "Archaic Torso of Apollo": "You must change your life." The critic who does not realize this is a Philistine - or possibly a positivist: he has a very inadequate notion of philosophy," (1990, p.19)

This can be said, not only of philosophy, of course, but of religion and art in general, as Kauffman goes on to state. But why does Kauffman conclude this? Why the universal imperative to "change your life"? Is it not because we are all haunted by a pervasive anxiety and dread of judgment, an undeniable shame before the Other(1), betraying the disavowed knowledge that, despite our best rationalizations, the way we're living stands condemned? The Scriptures univocally pronounce us guilty before God, and above the choir of voices declaring that “you must change your life," cries out in earnest: "Repent!" Change indeed. But in the teachings of Christ, how great is the change demanded!

Nicodemus, the Jewish official and Pharisee, comes to Jesus under the cover of night and asks the mysterious rabbi one question: "Rabbi, we know you are from God, for no one can do these signs unless God is with him." Where's the question? He's saving face, of course. By stating the obvious fact that Jesus is his religious/spiritual superior, he's ingratiating himself to Jesus, gesturing a kind of submission to the Galilean's instruction. What have you to teach me, Rabboni? What is your secret wisdom and knowledge? Jesus' response is famous:

Truly, truly I say to you, unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God.

Nicodemus went to Jesus no doubt expecting a new insight into the prophets, or an ingenious integration of biblical law. What he got instead had to be surprising, even disorienting. A radical change of behavior, belief and allegiance is what John the Baptist demanded on the Jordan. Jesus demands more. It is not enough that we change. We must be entirely reconstituted. We, who are flesh, must be born of water and the Spirit. This is, of course, absurd, humanly speaking. What Jesus requires is quite impossible for us to perform. He might as well ask the leopard to change its spots. Be that as it may, it is not therefore impossible or ridiculous.

The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.

Nicodemus is understandably perplexed by this, and likely incredulous. But Jesus rebukes the expert of the law for his confusion: "Are you the teacher of Israel and yet you do not understand these things?" This very thing was anticipated in the Torah as the eschatological fulfillment of the covenants (e.g., Dt.4:29-31; 30:1-10; Ez.36:22-36; 37:1-14). Is this not what Moses and the Prophets had pointed to as the hope of the nation?

James also speaks of this new birth:

Of his own will [God] brought us forth by the word of truth, that we should be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures (1:18).

New birth by the Spirit of God through the Word of God (cf. 1Pe.1:23-25) is not the termination point, but rather the beginning of this radical religion. In specifying this birth as 'spiritual', it should be noted, we must not think along the typical Western, dichotomist lines - abstracting the world of the spirit from the body on earth. The effect, and thus surest evidence, of such rebirth is a practical (that is, embodied) morality (cf. 1Jn.3:9). For life in the Spirit is nothing other than submission to “the perfect law of liberty,” according to the power and grace which the Spirit provides (cf. Gal.5:13-6:10). It is only this Spirit-filled life, lived in obedience to God that properly constitutes "religion God our Father accepts as pure and undefiled." Anything else is self-deception.

The worth of our religion, then, is measured by our morality. That is to say, our religion, in terms of our belief and practice, is only as good as it makes us. (James will not allow us to hide our moral culpability in the freedom of God).

Having begun in the Spirit, we must, to paraphrase Paul, continue in the Spirit. And what does this mean but, having been changed in rebirth, we must yet change! And change again, and again, and again... For to the very ones whom James affirms as being born of God, he addresses these warnings against religious self-deception. It is those who have received "the implanted word" who must put away all filth and rampant wickedness (1:21) in ardent repentance:

Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.

As Martin Luther declared in the first of his famous 95 theses: “When our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, said "Repent", He called for the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” For James, then, it would appear that there are two kinds of religious people: the self-critical, who repent, and the self-deceived.

Self-critical because, as James admits, “we all stumble in many ways,” (3:2). As a result, not only does the broader, dominant culture need searching critique, but, as we stated above, so does the faithful community itself. But if all stumble, such that all are equally under the obligation to change, always (this side of heaven), doesn't the unrelenting call to repent become overwhelming and, so, unsustainable? Or does this jarring din in the religious machinery, by its sheer constancy, inevitably fade into the background noise of "business as usual"? And doesn’t the prophetic function always tend toward institutionalization, either narrowing to the domain of certain rituals and forms of ‘orthopraxy’ (as in traditional religion), or broadening indiscriminately into insipid, hollow platitudes ("you just gotta have faith")?

Indeed, it does. And provoking us, who slumber in the dangerous sleep of our religion, is the living Word of God - of which James' critique is a vital part.

There is one statement in particular that I find especially striking. James writes,

If anyone thinks himself to be religious, and yet does not bridle his tongue but deceives his own heart, this man's religion is worthless.

Why, of all things, does James choose to highlight the control of our tongues? Why this particular issue? Why not rather, in context, address social action (“care for widows and orphans in distress,” 1:27) or anger (which “does not work the righteousness of God,” 1:20)?

The answer, I think, is to be drawn from the context, more widely considered. In 3:2, James writes, “For we all stumble in many ways. And if anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle his whole body.” In other words, James considers the tongue as the most difficult of all our members to properly ‘rein in’. Only a flawless person could achieve it. Hence, the uncontrolled tongue (a "world of evil," 3:6) typifies our total depravity. But more than that, the reference to our diabolical member here functions not only literally and synecdochically, epitomizing our whole condition as those who “stumble in many ways,” but as presenting the most sensitive criterion in convicting us of our need to change. If there is any way in which we will stumble, it will be evident in our speech (cf. Mt.12:33-35). And, as Jesus warned: “men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken.” What an unyielding standard! What awful consequences for such an apparently small thing: a single, careless word, inadvertently falling from the lips…

James, in citing here our careless speech as the criterion for determining the authenticity and value of our religion exposes all our empty religious talk on the one hand (as a 'deceived heart'), and our flippant cursing of our neighbors (3:9-10; 4:11-12), on the other. This is both piercing in its precision, and pervasive in its scope. James levels all with the accuracy of a sharpshooter. What then is there left for us to do - we whose language constantly betrays us - but use our tongues rightly, and confess to God the humbling truth.

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and He will lift you up.

(1) Perhaps this shame, which, being undeniably experienced in the presence of another, was used brilliantly by Sartre to argue for the self-evident existence of other persons, could also be employed to argue for the self-evidence of God's presence. For who hasn't known in their shame, whether experienced in the exposing gaze of the other, or the intolerable silence of solitude, the watching eye of Omniscience? Moreover, this shame (and guilt) is irreducibly moral in character, over against amoral theories of a socially constructed superego, on the one hand, and Heideggerian ontological guilt, on the other.

Ruminations on the Gospel of John

2010-09-26T20:03:00.001-07:00

Elemental to the Christian faith is the belief that we enter into fellowship with God through the Son. The Son is God. The Son is the Word of God. He is the divine Self-Expression. We know God only because He first expresses Himself to us. That is, He reveals Himself. He makes Himself known. How? He speaks and He acts. It's often said, actions speak louder than words. Speech is a kind of action. God speaks to us in both actions and words. God speaks to us through speech-acts. Just as we encounter and know one another through our own speech-acts, so through the divine speech-acts in creation and redemption we encounter the “I AM who I AM.”

What do we learn from the Son about the mysterious 'I AM'? We learn first (John 1:1-14) that God’s Self-Expression is no accident - no slip of the tongue. Nor is it contingent. It is not an ad hoc communiqué conceived and expressed under the exigency of a creation gone wild. God is essentially, necessarily, eternally, a God of Self-Expression. He is a God whose nature it is to express His inexpressible nature. He is NOT the God of everlasting silence and repose. He is NOT the Hidden One. He is the Expressive One. He is the Active One. He is the One Who Speaks. And if to us He is the Hidden God (Isa.45:15) – Deus Absconditus – it is due to our finitude darkened by rebellion, which under wrath, renders us not only rebels but exiles. Now natives of the dark (cf. Jn.8:44), we flee from the light (3:19-20).

Yet the Light has shone in our darkness. “In the fullness of time,” this Word, the co-eternal Self-Expression of God, took on flesh and blood, and "moved into the neighborhood," (to use Eugene Peterson's paraphrase). The Word “who was with God from the beginning” goes public in an historical, social, communicative event: the incarnation, life, death, and resurrection of Christ.

Of course, God’s revelation is given to us in real space and in real time. Moses on Sinai gave us the Law (and the Prophets of Israel unfolded it further). In Jesus of Nazareth, the full disclosure of grace and truth has now come. We get the whole story. No one has seen God at any time. But the Word made flesh embodies the fullness of God. He has explained the Incomprehensible to us in comprehensible ways. He predicates the I AM. How? Through Himself, expressed in His word to us – that is, His speech-acts.

I AM the good Shepherd. I AM the Door. I AM the Bread of Life. I AM the Light of the World. I AM the One who testifies concerning Myself.

Jesus makes the Father known in what He says and what He does. To receive His word (whether his speech or his actions, Jn.10:25, 38; 14:11) is to receive Jesus as the Son, and so, to receive the Father (5:23; 12:44). It is to receive the Father and the Son on their own terms. It is to take God at His Word. Through the word, we engage in a personal and social encounter with the Deity. Rather, He engages us through His word. To receive, believe and keep this word, is to enter into, trust and love the One Who Speaks. It is to enter dialogue with and - as Lord - to ultimately obey Him. Through the speech-acts of the Son, we enter into communion with the Godhead. By way of Jesus’ particular words and particular acts, we are brought into the eternal dialectic between the Self-Revealing God and God-Revealed. We share in the fellowship of the Father and the Son (14:23; 17:26; 1Jn.1:3).

As the One Who Speaks, God speaks most exhaustively, most transparently, in Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus now speaks to us. Through His disciples, He speaks to the whole world (17:20; 1Jn.1:1-2).

To receive the word of Jesus is essential (see 2:22; 4:41; 5:24, 38; 6:60; 8:31, 37, 43, 51, 55; 14:23, 24; 15:3, 20; 17:6, 14, 17, [20]; 18:9). This word of Jesus to us, however, is scandalous (6:22-71). It trips us up. And central to the scandal is Jesus’ self-emptying work on the cross, which is all of a piece of His ‘humiliation’ as the Son sent into the world for the sake of “His own” (Jn.10; 17; cf. Phil.2:6-11). “When I am lifted up, you will know that I AM,” (Jn.8:28; cf. 3:14-15).

It is scandalous that the Son would be so humbled. That, in the words of Isaiah, He would be “crushed” for His people (cf. 10:14-18). It is scandalous that such a brutal death would be required for our life. That in such violent injustice comes the justice of God. The innocent for the wicked! The Son of God abandoned for the sake of the enemies! It is a profligate love. By it our shame is exposed, and our pride radically threatened. To reject this word - the speech-act of His outrageous service (13:1-17) - is to hide in our shame and cling to our pride (13:7-8). To receive it is to humble ourselves, embrace the humiliation of the cross, and be embraced by the Father. To receive it is to hear and believe the message of the cross and the empty tomb (for what could an entombed Jesus be but a shrine of the God-damned? The Word silenced once and for all by God Himself).

But through the same scandal over which many stumble, many are drawn: "And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself," (12:32).

We enter into fellowship with God only through the gospel-word of the crucified and risen Son. Through the word of the gospel we’ve received, we not only commune with God Himself, but we express the divine speech-act in the world. Through our gospel speech-acts (the spoken word and the lived word), we display the unveiled "mystery of Christ" for all to hear and see. We echo the divine speech further into the corners and clefts of the world, making known the unknown God, and opening the door of fellowship with "I AM who I AM".

Grudem vs. Ferguson: The Gift of Prophecy (Pt IV)

2010-09-17T08:02:00.000-07:00

Fourthly, and finally, we come to what is perhaps the most remarkable case cited by Dr. Grudem from the book of Acts. In chapter 21, verses 10-11, the prophet Agabus predicts that the Jews will bind the apostle Paul and hand him over to the Romans. What makes this so remarkable, according to Grudem, is that the prophecy is inaccurate at two significant points. First, it is the Romans, not the Jews, who bind Paul (21:33; 22:29). Secondly, rather than the Jews delivering the apostle over to them, it is the Romans have to rescue Paul from the Jews (Ac.21:32-33, 35; 22:24)! What makes this all the more astonishing, according Ferguson, is that Agabus here “claims to speak as a mouthpiece of the Holy Spirit,” (p.219, The Holy Spirit, 1996).

So what happened? Did the prophet here grossly misspeak, claiming divine authority, while getting critical details of the prophecy wrong? Ferguson’s solution to this dilemma focuses on the content of the prophecy itself: did Agabus really get it so wrong? Grudem’s solution lies in his treatment of the introductory formula, “the Holy Spirit says…”

Regarding Grudem’s analysis of Agabus’ prophecy, Dr. Ferguson asks,

“whether such an interpretation is reading a general statement as though it were intended to give specific details. Grudem in fact holds that these ‘details’ are the essential elements in the particular prophecy. But the implications of this greatly reduce the credibility of Agabus. For if we are to assume that the early church shared Grudem’s view of two-level prophecy, Agabus either did not understand it, or he seriously over-reached himself,” (p.219).

There are two separate issues Ferguson raises here. The first is whether Grudem is basically splitting hairs in his interpretation and demanding more precision than the prophecy purports to give. The second concerns Agabus’ apparent understanding that his prophecy was inspired by the Holy Spirit.

On this first point, Richard Gaffin argues:

“Against this construction is the pedantic precision it demands from Agabus’ prediction. Predictive prophecy can of course be exact but is not necessarily so (pp.65, Perpsectives on Pentecost, 1979).

However, Grudem responds,

“…the point is that the prophecy of Agabus is exact and detailed when it is made. The only question is whether the two main details are fulfilled. Gaffin shows no examples elsewhere in Scripture where similar non-fulfillment of details is seen to occur with divinely authoritative Old Testament prophecy – indeed, there would seem to be some difficulty with holding to biblical inerrancy if there were such examples,” (p.366, The Gift of Prophecy, 2000).

Indeed, Gaffin’s critique might be more persuasive if he produced similar instances of ‘imprecision’ in correspondence between prophetic word and fulfillment among the OT prophets. But what about the subsequent narrative of Acts? Does it suggest an accurate, if imprecise, fulfillment of Agabus’ prophecy? Gaffin thinks so, and appeals to Paul’s recounting of events to the Jewish leaders in Rome:

"Moreover, after the fact, Paul echoes the language of Agabus by telling the Jews at Rome, ‘I was arrested in Jerusalem and handed over to the Romans’ (Acts 28:17, NIV),” (pp.65-66).

In reference to the same text, Ferguson argues along the same lines:

“the repetition of Agabus’ language in Paul’s statement [Acts 28:17] suggests that the apostle himself saw the (more general?) statements of Agabus fulfilled in the actual events. In addition, it is significant that the language of both passages echoes Paul’s own words in Acts 20:20-23 (where the passive of deo and the noun desmos are also used). It might equally be complained that the NIV translates desmios as ‘arrested’ rather than ‘bound’, thus obscuring the possibility that Paul is referring to what the Jews did when they seized him and dragged him from the temple. It is quite possible that the Jews themselves bound him in order to do this (perhaps with Paul’s own belt!)” (p.220).

However, this last suggestion is a weak one. First, in the New Testament, the noun desmios is always rendered “prisoner” - as in one officially “under arrest”. This was clearly not the case in Paul’s being seized in the temple courts by the hostile mob (Ac.21:30), from whose hands the Roman commander had his soldiers forcibly retrieve the apostle (v.33). Secondly, the verb paradidomi in 28:17 (also used in 21:11) always means “to deliver, hand over.” “Essential to the sense of this word,” Grudem points out, “is the idea of actively, consciously, willingly ‘delivering, giving over, handing over’ something or someone to someone (or something) else – this is the case in all of the other 119 instances of its use in the New Testament,” p.78. Hence, it is very unlikely that Paul is here referring to his ordeal in the temple.

Moreover, it is doubtful whether the passive form of deo in 20:22, which refers to the compulsion of the Spirit in Paul’s experience, is intended by Luke to correspond to the language of Agabus in chp.21 regarding being bound by the Jews. Rather, in response to Edmond Clowney’s similar appeals to Acts 28:17 as a general fulfillment, Grudem writes,

“It seems clear to me that Acts 28:17, where Paul says, ‘I was delivered prisoner from Jerusalem into the hands of the Romans,” refers to his transfer out of Jerusalem (Greek ex hierosolumon) in Acts 23:23-35 as a prisoner (Greek desmios) and into the hands of the Romans, that is, into the jurisdiction and process of the Roman judicial system, into which he was placed by the letter of the Roman tribune to the governor Felix as recorded in Acts 23:26-30,” (p.310).

But against this, Gaffin states,

“To argue from the particulars of the Greek text that Paul focuses here on the one detail of his transfer from (Roman imprisonment in) Jerusalem to the Roman authorities in Caesarea (23:23ff.) is to miss the plainly summary nature of his remark in the immediate context and to be guilty of the same overly pedantic demand placed on Agabus,” (p.66).

Of course it is true that Paul’s recounting here is “plainly summary.” However, we must understand Paul’s summary in the terms he employs. And in his summarization it is evident that he speaks of his transfer from Jerusalem as a prisoner into the Roman judicial system.

Certainly we don’t want to read more into the text than is there. But we want to at least read what is there. One wonders here if, in Gaffin’s rhetoric, “pedantic” is being confused for “careful.” Generally speaking, of course Agabus’ prophecy isn’t far off the mark. But in the actual details of his language, he was simply not accurate. We might note that to read Paul’s words here in chp.28 as referring to his experience in the temple, as Ferguson suggests, is to similarly expect a more precise fulfillment of the prophecy. But such an interpretation, as I argued, is in tension with the details of the text.

In contrast to the proposal that 28:17 indicates a fulfillment of Agabus’ prophecy, Grudem argues that, whereas Luke elsewhere acknowledges prophetic fulfillment (e.g., the prediction in 11:28),

“Luke’s silence about the “fulfillment” [of 21:10-11] is telling. Not only do we have an unfilled prophecy but a prophecy whose two elements – “binding” and “giving over” by the Jews – are explicitly falsified by the subsequent narrative.”

As D.A. Carson concludes,

“I can think of no reported Old Testament prophet whose prophecies are so wrong on the details. The rebuttal of Gaffin, in my judgment, does not pay close enough attention to the text,” (p.98).

All things considered, it appears to me that Grudem has the more compelling exegetical case, at this point.

But what about Agabus’ solemn preface: “The Holy Spirit says,” (21:11)? What does that mean? What it DOESN’T mean, according to Grudem’s ‘best guess’ (see p.83), is “that the very words of the prophecy were from the Holy Spirit but only that the content generally had been revealed by the Spirit,” (p.82).

Grudem then appeals to early church writings to substantiate this thesis:

“A similar example of a ‘prophecy’ which is then summarized with markedly altered content - as something “the Holy Spirit” was “saying” is found in Ignatius’ Epistle to the Philadelphians 7:1-2 (about 108 AD). The prophecy itself, given by Ignatius, said, “Give heed to the bishops, and to the presbytery and deacons.” But the summary of it that Ignatius gave, after affirming that he had “no knowledge” of divisions in the church “from any human being,” was this: “The Spirit was preaching, and saying this, ‘Do nothing without the bishop, keep your flesh as the temple of God, love unity, flee from divisions, be imitators of Jesus Christ, as was he also of his Father.’” In this section, the phrase translated “saying this” is legon tade, the same two words used by Agabus in Acts 21:11 (tade legei, “thus says…”). Yet the phrase hardly introduces a direct quotation – it was a greatly expanded interpretation,” (p.82).

He also cites The Epistle of Barnabas 6:8; 9:2 and 9:5, where the same phrase tade legei introduces statements “from the Lord” that are “extremely free paraphrases with interpretation of the Old Testament, except in 9:5, where no Old Testament quotation at all seems to be in view.” In short, Grudem is arguing that the introductory phrase Agabus used may have been understood to mean “this is generally (or approximately) what the Holy Spirit is saying.”

In response, Dr. Ferguson writes,

“Agabus does not seem to have understood that equation [‘this is generally what the Holy Spirit is saying’], nor, judging by the manner of his reporting did Luke. Furthermore, the passages in Ignatius and Barnabas…provide no foundation for such an argument,” (p.219).

With respect to the first point, it isn’t clear to me that such an equation was not understood by either Agabus or Luke. If Grudem’s analysis of Acts 21:10-11 and the subsequent narrative is valid, than it seems evident that such an equation was in fact understood. Regarding his second assertion, Ferguson explains in a footnote:

“The passages to which Grudem appeals reflect the test of Scripture; it is not possible, on any natural reading of them, to align them with the idea of second-level authority or only relative accuracy,” (p.269).

It is true that, at least in The Epistle of Barnabas (6:8; 9:2), the appeal is to the authority of Scripture, which is neither ‘second-level’ nor possessing mere “relative accuracy.” However, what is at issue here is not the source (whether a direct revelation of the Spirit within the speaker’s own experience, or to Scripture itself), but the reporting of such prophecy in “thus says…” terms. And in these cases, what is reported is not a verbatim quotation of the words of Scripture, but a free paraphrasing, and even, in some instances, an interpretative glossing.

Ferguson's critique of Grudem’s appeal to these extra-biblical texts seems to miss the mark. But that doesn’t mean Grudem’s suggestions are free of difficulties. They raise a whole host of important questions, which we cannot here address. In summary, I think Grudem’s thesis is not only intriguing and coherent, but seems to provide us with the best explanation of the NT evidence regarding this controversial gift of prophecy.

What do you think?

Grudem vs. Ferguson: The Gift of Prophecy (Pt III)

2010-08-27T22:05:00.000-07:00

The second case Ferguson cites is Grudem’s appeal to the prophesying of the disciples in Acts 19:1-7. Regarding this, Ferguson writes,

“[Grudem concludes] their prophecy is ‘certainly different from the divinely authoritative speech of Paul and the other apostles.’ But this confuses significance with inspiration. What these Ephesian believers ‘prophesied’ must, in Grudem’s view, have been relatively incidental by comparison with the weighty statements of the apostles. True, but irrelevant. For the relatively incidental and insignificant is not by definition less accurate or less divinely inspired than the weightier and more significant,” (p.217, The Holy Spirit).

Ferguson then notes Romans 3:23-25 and 16:11, contrasting their relative significance while underlining the inspiration of both. However, though it is true that inspiration is not determined by relative significance, significance is determined by inspiration. Because we believe Paul’s letter to the Romans is “God-breathed” in its entirety, we find that even the seemingly incidental personal greetings and instructions of the epistle are “profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness,” 2Tim.3:16. Every word of Holy Writ is rightly regarded as weighty, even if some passages are more so than others.

In contrast to this, Luke shows no concern to record or relay to his reader the content of the supposedly inspired speech of the disciples. Now, it is hardly clear that every inspired utterance in the history of redemption has been recorded in Scripture. But when prophetic speech-acts do occur in biblical narrative, typically their basic content is conveyed, if not quoted verbatim. Three exceptions to this come to mind, and they’re remarkably similar to the phenomenon recorded in Acts 19. Namely, the peculiar experiences of the elders at the Tent of Meeting in Numbers 11:25-26, and Saul among the “band of prophets” in 1 Samuel 10:10-11 and again in 19:20-24. In these four cases, we are given no clue as to the content of their prophesying. By itself, this simple observation confirms Grudem’s conclusion that there is little resemblance here to either the apostolic addresses preserved for us in the New Testament (whether originally written or spoken), or to “the messenger speeches in the Old Testament,” (p.74).

But does this imply that their actual speech was uninspired, or rather that it was inspired but relatively inconsequential in the scope of the narrative? It would seem safe to say that the concern in these stories is more about the signification of the prophetic activity itself – signifying the Spirit’s presence and operative power - than the particular content of what was spoken. And perhaps like the praises miraculously spoken in unlearned languages at Pentecost (Acts 2:4-13), the precise content of these prophetic utterances was incidental to author’s account. But then again, maybe their relatively inconsequential content, which would render them incidental to the narrative, is due to their less-than-fully-authoritative status (1)?

Was the content of the glossolalia (or xenolalia) divinely inspired, such that the disciples in Acts 2:1ff. and the Gentile converts in 10:46 (and the disciples in 19:6) were essentially prophesying, as Dr. Ferguson would define this activity, but just in another language? If so, then they provide another parallel where inspired speech is described by the biblical author, but remarkably left unreported. If not, then perhaps Luke’s silence as to the content of these instances of Spirit-empowered speech suggests a phenomenon distinct from the inspired communications of the Old Testament prophets and New Testament apostles?

On this note, Grudem also observes in 1Corinthians 14:30 that, like Luke, "Paul seems unconcerned that some of the prophet’s words could be lost forever," and even more remarkable, "never be heard by the church" at all (The Gift of the Spirit, p.69)!

Thirdly, Ferguson addresses Grudem's interpration of Acts 21:4. Here, the disciples in Tyre urge Paul "through the Spirit" (dia tou pneumatos) not to go to Jerusalem. Paul goes anyway. Dr. Ferguson concurs with Grudem that, though “prophecy” is not mentioned here, the language of speaking dia tou pneumatos, paralleling Luke’s account of Agabus’ prophecy in 11:28, indicates prophetic speech. So Paul appears to disobey prophecy. Grudem explains this perplexing situation in this way:

“Suppose that some of the Christians at Tyre had some kind of ‘revelation’ or indication from God about the suffering which Paul would face at Jerusalem. Then it would have been very natural for them to couple their subsequent prophecy (their report of this revelation) with their own (erroneous) interpretation, and thus warn Paul not to go.
In short, this passage indicates a type of prophecy which was not thought to possess absolute divine authority in its actual words: the prophets of Tyre were not speaking ‘words of the Lord,’” (The Gift of Prophecy, p.75).

In response, Ferguson states:

“The explanation given in the first paragraph here is adequate in itself. It does not require the conclusion drawn in the second paragraph. Paul recognized the difference between the revelation given in the Spirit and the interpretation placed on it by these Christians (a distinction recognized in Grudem’s terms ‘prophecy’ and ‘interpretation’),” (p.218).

Thus Ferguson suggests that Grudem's first paragraph undermines his own position. However, this would not seem to be an accurate representation. Dr. Grudem is not separating the prophecy from the prophet's interpretation. The crucial distinction is not between 'prophecy' and 'interpretation', but between the revelation itself and 'prophecy' as the subsequent articulation of that revelation. Dr. Grudem states earlier in his book that, in the New Testament, “while [prophecy] may have been prompted by a ‘revelation’ from God, had only the authority of the merely human (i.e., uninspired) words in which it was spoken,” (p.69). Hence, when Grudem speaks of prophecy as the reported revelation being coupled with the prophet’s interpretation, he is arguing that the report and interpretation of the divinely-given revelation are inextricably intertwined. In Grudem's analysis, then, the prophecy itself entails the prophet's erroneous interpretation/application.

Ferguson goes on to say,“What is in view is a distinction between a divinely-revealed prophecy and an erroneous conclusion drawn from it,” (p.218). This is close to Grudem’s argument, in fact; however, again, the key distinction is between the divine revelation itself and the subsequent reporting of that revelation as ‘prophecy’.

Grudem observes the same similarity in another critic, Richard Gaffin, who writes,

“Luke’s point is not the impaired validity and unreliability of their speech, in which nevertheless the Spirit is somewhat instrumental, but their recoil against which the Spirit had revealed to them of Paul’s future. That revelation and their response to it must not be confused or merged in the speech-act,” (R.B. Gaffin, Perspectives on Pentecost [Phillipsburg, N.J.; Presbyterian and Reformed, 1979], 66).

Grudem responds:

“Here Gaffin seems to understand the event in a way similar to what I expressed above. There is a revelation from the Holy Spirit to the disciples at Tyre, and in response to that revelation they tell Paul not to go to Jerusalem. The difference in our viewpoints is that I would call the response or report of that revelation a ‘prophecy’, and Gaffin would not. But whatever term is used, it is significant that we would both say that there can be a ‘revelation’ from the Holy Spirit to a person or persons, and also a spoken response to that revelation which can have ‘impaired validity’ and ‘unreliability’. That is really the essence of what I am arguing for..., and what – it seems to me – the New Testament usually calls ‘prophecy’,” (p.76).

In light of the fact that the actual content of the Spirit-empowered speech – speech Dr. Ferguson agrees is prophetic - in Acts 21:4 is the (errant) plea that Paul not go to Jerusalem, Grudem’s account seems the most compelling.

(1) Grudem's focus, however, in considering Acts 19:6 is not the fact that Luke appears uninterested in the content of their prophecy, but the apparent lack of authority the disciples are wielding, both in terms of revelation and exercising leadership, in contrast to the prophets in Eph.2:20.

Grudem vs. Ferguson: The Gift of Prophecy (Pt II)

2010-08-16T20:53:00.000-07:00

Ferguson’s contention with Grudem’s view on prophecy primarily concerns the proposal that there are (essentially) two levels of authority in New Testament prophecy, namely:

“(1) that associated with the apostles and characterized by an implicit claim to infallibility, and (2) a second level of prophecy which lays claim to divinely-given insight, but not necessarily to infallibility of utterance” (p.214).

As far as I can tell, Grudem does not actually use the language of “two levels” of authority in prophecy(1), but he does summarize his own view in this way:

“…ordinary congregational prophecy in New Testament churches did not have the authority of Scripture. It was not spoken in words that were the very words of God, but rather in merely human words. And because it has this lesser authority, there is no reason to think that it will not continue in the church until Christ returns,” (Systematic Theology, Inter-Varsity Press, 1994, p.1039).

I make the above point not to be pedantic, but to caution against an oversimplification of Grudem’s view of prophecy, which I think is a bit more nuanced (see The Gift of Prophecy in the New Testament and Today, pp.271-291). At issue here isn’t whether prophecy existed as a binary (two-level) phenomenon, but whether fallible utterances can biblically be considered as genuine prophecy at all.

Dr. Ferguson begins by addressing the purported evidence Grudem advances in demonstrating the existence of fallible prophetic speech. He considers four cases in particular, which, as Ferguson views, are Grudem’s “most important arguments,” (p.215).(2)

First, he considers the prophecy of Agabus in Acts 11:28, in which the prophet’s predictive statement is made “through the Spirit” (dia tou pneumatos). According to Grudem, this phrase indicates a “rather loose relationship between the Holy Spirit and the prophet, since it allows room for a large degree of personal influence by the human person himself.”

Ferguson comments,

“This, however, is an unhelpful argument. Grudem’s own doctrine of Scripture requires that the ministry of the Spirit which effects the inerrancy of the prophetic Scriptures also ordinary leaves room for the full expression of the personal characteristics and activity of the human author. But, as he recognizes, this does not reduce its authority to a lower level or weaken its infallible character.”

But this appears to miss the mark. Grudem’s point is not that the apparent “loose relationship between the Holy Spirit and the prophet” conveyed by Luke’s phrase, dia tou pneumatos, “leaves room for the full expression of [their] personal characteristics and activity.” Rather, Grudem speaks to the level of personal influence “by the prophet himself” upon the final product. Contrast this to what the apostle Peter says:

“…no prophecy of Scripture is a matter of one's own interpretation, for no prophecy was ever made by an act of human will, but men moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God.”

Men moved by the Spirit not only received divine revelation, but subsequently spoke (and wrote, 2Tim.3:16) “from God,” such that, these variously expressed words of men constituted the very Word of God. Though, typically, their prophetic output was fully consistent with and organically expressed through their own personality, the prophecies received and reported neither originated with nor were interpreted, expounded, or explained (epilusis) by the prophet in and of himself. That this is the case for the “prophecy of Scripture,” all agree. But Grudem’s contention is that some prophetic utterances are uninspired in their reporting, with the result that the prophet’s personality is not only an instrument of revelation, but an influencer upon it. In short, the matter here isn’t whether prophecy compromises the prophet’s personality and character, but rather, whether the prophet’s personality and character compromises his/her prophecy. And the ‘looseness’ of Luke’s expression in Ac.11:28 and 21:4, Grudem argues, gives room for this sort of human influence upon the reported prophecy.

However, Ferguson goes on to make the following observation:

“The inadequacy of Grudem’s thesis at this point is seen by the fact that it places him in the paradoxical situation of implying that, when Agabus spoke under the general influence of the Spirit (‘through the Spirit’, Acts 11:28), he more accurately prophesied the future than when he spoke (less accurately, in Grudem’s view) of Paul’s destiny as what ‘the Holy Spirit says’ (Acts 21:11)! … [But] instead of saying ‘The Holy Spirit says’, he should have said something like: ‘It looks to me as though the Spirit is perhaps indicating that something like this may well happen to Paul if he goes to Jerusalem; but I could be wrong, especially on the details,’” p. 216.

Here, Dr. Ferguson points out what is perhaps the most obvious weakness in Grudem’s explanation of Acts 21:10-14. If prophecy is as Grudem argues, why does Agabus speak in terms of “the Holy Spirit says,” and then go on to give a fallible prophecy - one which erred, by Grudem’s count, in at least two important ways? We will consider this question in more detail in our fourth post, when we interact with Ferguson’s more involved investigation of the passage vis-a-vis Grudem's interpretation. For now, it is enough to note the problematic language Agabus employs in v.11 - language, we should note, that Grudem himself would discourage anyone from ever using in reporting prophecy.

Lastly, one final observation: to be fair to Grudem, he would not view “the general influence of the Spirit” in Acts 11:28 as anything substantially different from the solemnly prefaced, "this is what the Holy Spirit says...," speech-act in 21:11 (as we’ll see, when we consider his explanation for this authoritative-sounding language). Hence, he would not find the suppossed quandary Ferguson outlines above to be quite as paradoxical as suggested. But we still await to see how Dr. Grudem will account for Agabus' strong introductory formula here.

In our follow-up posts, we'll consider Ferguson's remaining objections, and in doing so, dig a little deeper into Acts 21. Stay tuned...

(1) In his revised edition, Grudem has a section entitled “Are there then two kinds of prophecy?” in which he concludes: “So in this book I have not used the terminology ‘two kinds of prophecy.’ I have simply spoken about prophecy as it was carried out by the apostles, and then ‘ordinary congregational prophecy’ as it occurred in many local Christian congregations,” (p.48, The Gift of Prophecy, 2000).

(2) I must admit I am surprised that, of all Grudem’s arguments, Ferguson considers the four he here notes as the most important ones. Again, it is curious to me that he does not mention the congregational ‘weighing’ of prophetic utterances in 1Cor.14:29 and 1Thess.5:19-21.

Grudem vs. Ferguson: The Gift of Prophecy (Pt I)

2010-08-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

Sinclair Ferguson penned the volume on pneumatology in the InterVarsity Press Contours of Christian Theology series, published in 1996. This wise and excellent work, simply entitled, The Holy Spirit, explores the doctrine of the Person and Work of the Third Person of the Trinity through a Christocentric lens, within a redemptive-historical frame, while relevantly engaging recent questions that have arisen in the wake of the Pentecostal and Charismatic movements of the last century. For example, in chapters 3, 4 and 5, “The Gift of the Spirit,” “Pentecost Today?” and “The Spirit of Order,” respectively, Ferguson addresses questions surrounding the fulfillment of Joel 2:28-32, the meaning of “Spirit-baptism,” (en pneumati) and its relation to the unique inauguration of the new covenant at Pentecost, individual salvation, and seasons of “revival” throughout church history.

Ferguson focuses in on the question of speaking in tongues and prophecy – which has become the storm center of the Charismatic/Non-Charismatic controversy - in his penultimate chapter, “Gifts for Ministry.” In fact, of the 32 pages that constitute this chapter, 27 are dedicated to the debate over the continuation of these particular “word gifts” – more pages than any other one chapter in the entire book (with the exception of chapter 7, “The Spirit of Holiness”). Within the course of his argumentation against continuationism, the only author to receive any sustained and substantial critique is Wayne Grudem, and his book The Gift of Prophecy in the New Testament and Today. This relatively large proportion suggests that Ferguson not only considers Grudem’s arguments significant, but also that the whole question of continuation is of great consequence.

Before diving into Dr. Ferguson’s critique, it is worth noting that, in addressing the import of Peter’s citation of Joel’s prophecy to explain the events of Pentecost in Acts 2, he concludes:

“…the central concerns here are not the specific issues which so fascinate the contemporary church (e.g., whether women may preach or prophesy, or whether prophecy is a continuing gift to the church in every age). Here ‘prophesy’ is a metonymy for sharing the messianic Spirit and experiencing the knowledge of the Lord which only the Spirit of the Lord could give (cf. 1Jn.2:20, 27),” (p.63).

Of course these questions were not Peter’s “central concerns” in announcing the ‘this-is-that’ fulfillment of Joel 2. But we cannot conclude that the text, therefore, does not speak to these questions. Certainly, prophecy is a metonymy for the privileged knowledge of God, previously limited to the select 'anointed ones' in the OT(1). As Ferguson concludes, we are not only now all priests in Christ, but prophets as well. However, as a metonymy, obviously “prophecy” does not exclude itself from the various dimensions and manifestations of “immediate, personal knowledge of God” that it here signifies (as Ferguson recognizes on p.62). And it would seem odd if this gift of prophecy, which not only marked the inauguration of the new covenant era, but typified the intimate relationship enjoyed by the Spirit-baptized people of God, were to be entirely absent for the remainder of that redemptive-historical epoch.

But turning to Ferguson’s interactions with Grudem’s arguments, the first observation made relates to the latter’s proposed interpretation of “apostles and prophets” in Eph.2:20 as an hendiadys: “the apostles who are prophets.” Ferguson fairly concludes that “it is doubtful whether this is the most natural reading of the text,” (p.210). But, as Grudem himself has noted in numerous places, this interpretation is relatively inconsequential to his overall case. What is of consequence, however, is Ferguson’s assumption that, in light of this verse, all prophets of the New Testament “exercised a foundational ministry…as a kind of apostolic plenipotentiary,” (p.210; cf. Grudem, pp.307-309). If this were the case, then clearly the role of NT prophets necessarily ended near the close of the apostolic era(2), and the formation of the canon. In an end note, Ferguson writes:

“The view of that Ephesians 2:20 should be taken as a controlling factor in this discussion has been criticized by Grudem and his colleague D.A. Carson. Carson’s criticism of this view as represented by Richard B. Gaffin Jr., is particularly sharp, not to say acerbic. He argues: ‘It is as illegitimate for Gaffin to use this verse as the controlling factor in his understanding of the New Testament gift of prophecy as it would be to conclude from Titus 1:12 (“Even one of their own prophets has said, ‘Cretan are always liars, evil brutes, lazy gluttons’”) that New Testament prophets were pagan poets from Crete (Showing the Spirit: A Theological Exposition of 1Corinthinas 12-14, [Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1987], p.97). This is an infelicitous criticism. To regard Titus 1:12 as a controlling statement would be prima facie ludicrous,” (p.268).

Of course, this is Carson’s whole point. He has spent the last few pages (pp.91-96) building a case that prophecy covers a range of phenomena (typically with an authority that is sub-apostolic), and so to limit all prophecy to the apparently foundational function indicated in Ephesians 2:20 seems rather arbitrary. However, Dr. Ferguson continues:

“But if, as many commentators have held, Ephesians 2:20 refers to two offices, it inevitably and necessarily exercises a controlling function because it explicitly states that these offices are foundational.”

But this begs the complicated question of the relation between office, function and gift. It assumes that one is a prophet in the official sense of Ephesians 2:20 if and only if one possesses the gift of prophecy. But is the correspondence between gift and office so clearly one-to-one? For example, do all who possess gifts of teaching in the church necessarily occupy the office of teacher?

Moreover, were all the prophets really foundational in the New Testament church? Is there any evidence that, say, Philip’s daughters, or the other female prophets mentioned in 1Corinthians 11 and, presumably, 14 exercised the critical role of establishing the Church’s revelatory foundation? If so, this would be especially problematic for complimentarians. According to Ferguson, there is “consistent precedence given to prophecy over the fundamental but non-foundational ministry of pastors and teachers,” (p.268). However, it is very difficult to see how this could be the case, especially given the subjection of prophets to apostolic authority (e.g., 1Co.14:37-38) and, more remarkably, the continual evaluation by the congregations (or their local leadership) of the prophets’ utterances (1Co.14:29; cf. 1Th.5:19-21).

Curiously, Dr. Ferguson does not address this matter of “weighing” NT prophecies within the congregation. Perhaps he thought the matter sufficiently covered in Edmond Clowney’s chapter, “The Gift of Prophecy in the Church,” in The Church – his ecclesiological contribution to the Contours of Christian Theology series. However, I would note, Grudem clarified some of the confusions on Clowney’s part regarding his actual position and argument for the continuation of prophecy, and responded to some of his former professor’s critiques in Appendix Four of The Gift of Prophecy in the New Testament and Today (pp.307-311).

In our next post, we'll look at Dr. Ferguson's more involved critiques of Grudem's arguments from Acts 21.

(1) Grudem would appear to heartily agree. With respect to Moses’ wish expressed in Nu.11:25, he writes: “Moses longs not just for the prophetic gift but even more for the widespread personal relationship to God that the gift would indicate, for he knows by experience that prophets walk close to God,” p. 273, The Gift of Prophecy, 2000.

(2) On this note, Carson makes a fascinating point regarding the scriptural silence on the role of prophets succeeding the apostles: “The New Testament does not see prophets as the solution to the problem of apostolic succession…If the gift of prophecy was regarded as the equivalent in authority to that of Old Testament prophecy, and if it persisted throughout the New Testament era right into the midpatristic period, why, once the apostles had died, were the prophets not presented as the church’s bastion against false teaching, its source of light and information in the face of uncertainty?”

Anne Rice's Graceless Exit

2010-08-11T20:57:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine asked me what I thought of Anne Rice's recent announcement to walk away from the church. Here was my response:

I certainly understand having frustrations with the church. Who doesn't? But her harsh and wildly overstated condemnations not only betray a profound hostility toward her (former) religious community, but a remarkable failure to comprehend the nature of our corporate identity in Christ. As though we can follow Jesus apart from the community of God's people. As though we are to expect "this side of heaven" that the one holy, catholic, and apostolic church were not also wholly sinful, deeply fractured and, at many points, sub-apostolic. Corporately and individually we are simul iustus et peccator. I suppose Mrs. Rice is hoping that Jesus will show her more grace than she has to the church.

Secondly, her (holier-than-thou) comment, "In the name of Christ, I refuse to be anti-gay. I refuse to be anti-feminist. I refuse to be anti-artificial birth control. I refuse to be anti-Democrat. I refuse to be anti-secular humanism. I refuse to be anti-science. I refuse to be anti-life,” suggests that the rest of us in the church are mere moral and intellectual pygmies, who’ve never wrestled with any these matters, nor have come to our positions with any theological or ethical integrity.

But how slanderous and unfair is this statement? Nevermind the fact that she paints the church as anti-gay (and to illustrate, she cites Westboro Baptist - you know, your typical American church), anti-feminist (though the first feminists were ardent Christians), and anti-Democrat (you’d think she lives in Buford, Georgia, and not the Democratic bastion of Los Angeles). But Christianity as anti-science? Really? And just in case that wasn't a sweeping enough generalization, she climaxes in her renunciation of the church as anti-life (which is even worse than being anti-undead)!

It would appear that Mrs. Rice has entirely bought into the mythology of “secular humanism” (which, as she obviously fails to understand in protesting the Church's "anti-secular humanism," is diametrically opposed to the teachings of Christ), in which the big bad Church plays the role of the Enemy of All that is Good and True. At any rate, Mrs. Rice is clearly engaged in a little straw-man building - all the easier to knock it over, my dear.

Thirdly, having self-righteously rejected her grotesque caricature of the church (which is as dark and twisted as any of her previous blood-sucking characters) - "in the name of Christ," no less (the power of Christ compels her?) - where does she choose to announce her momentous decision? On Facebook, of course - the social networking site on which millions announce what they ate for breakfast that morning. It’s the religious equivalent to breaking up with your fiances on twitter.

Surely there was a better way to address whatever substantial or legitimate concerns she may have had with her own Catholicism. Maybe her alleged 'original version' would have been better? Certainly it was more accurate...

Does the World Need the Church?

2010-07-15T17:50:00.000-07:00

The Atlantic recently put out their top "14 3/4 Ideas of the Year." Interestingly, ranking in at number one is a fascinating article entitled "The End of Men." But that's another topic altogether. At number nine is the not so subtly titled "The Catholic Church is Finished." The most striking observation in an otherwise jejune article was the concluding statement:

And so it is in this case: for millions in Europe and America, Catholicism is probably permanently associated with sexual scandal, rather than the gospel of Jesus Christ. And as in many previous dark chapters in the Church’s history, the leaders entrusted with that gospel have nobody to blame but themselves.

This, it seems to me, is spot on. Is it actually the case that the Catholic Church is dead? That remains to be seen. But what concerns me is whether the Christian church at large, and the evangelical church in particular, is truly associated with the gospel of Jesus Christ. Have we proven faithful as "leaders entrusted with that gospel"?

Recent studies from the last few decades demonstrate what we all sense: the church in America is steadily losing credibility and ground. One study in particular is especially insightful, I think, in categorizing the actual beliefs of teenagers in the U.S. (“Summary Interpretation: Moralistic Therapeutic Deism,” from Soul Searching: The Religious and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers by Christian Smith with Melinda Lundquist Denton, copyright 2005 by Oxford University Press, Inc.). To quote Scott Thomas from his Acts 29 blog entry on the study:

After hundreds of discussions about religion, God, faith, prayer, and other spiritual practices, they summarily refer to their beliefs as "Moralistic Therapeutic Deism" (MTD). They describe MTD in the following way:

1.A God exists who created and ordered the world and watches over human life on earth.
2.God wants people to be good, nice, and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions.
3.The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.
4.God does not need to be particularly involved in one's life except when God is needed to resolve a problem
5.Good people go to heaven when they die.

I think many would agree that this not only describes the religious beliefs of many American teenagers, but adults as well (even Barna's misnomered "born again Christians"). Smith states that this new 'MTD' is "colonizing many established religious traditions and congregations in the United States." But we could go further. Moralistic, therapeutic deism isn't merely invading the congregations of our churches, it is what many in America actually think Christianity is! But the gospel is neither moralistic, therapeutic, nor deistic. That this is the case, I think, betrays the church's failure to faithfully proclaim the gospel "once and for all entrusted to the saints."

So the church has it's work cut out for it. It must now, more than ever, make the gospel known with boldness and clarity. A gospel of grace, not bootstrap moralism. A gospel of repentance, brokenness and joy, not therapeutic self-improvement. A gospel of the sovereign and imminent God, who took on human flesh and stood in our place; not the passive, absentee landlord of deism.

When the church actually preaches this gospel (the only gospel), it offers the world something new - for it has had enough of moralism, therapeutic self-helpism and benign deism. We need something else entirely. We need to be told that we're not good enough. And we never will be. But God has so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, that we could be reconciled to him. We'll never earn love. But we are loved richly and freely nevertheless with a divine affection of infinite depth. As Tim Keller has famously put it, "We are more flawed and sinful than we ever dared believe, yet we are more loved and accepted than we ever dared hope."

The world hardly needs to be told that the 'therapeutics of the self' aren't working - or so you'd think. (Let's be honest, who could finally buy our purely positive self-talk? We don't even believe it ourselves, really.) But we must be reminded that we need much more than to merely feel better about ourselves. We need to be told that our profound fears of inadequacy, rejection and failure are not solved through self-affirmation or self-actualization, but by Jesus' actual rejection and condemnation in our place on a Roman cross. And in exchange for our guilt and shame, we are given a joy and peace that transcends all our circumstances. Peace with God.

The world needs to be told that God is not "watching us from a distance," as Bette sang. He is near us, always. And in Jesus, he is "God with us." As the One who lived, died, and rose again on our behalf, he was God for us. More than that, the gospel promises all who receive it that God will come and live within us through his Spirit. Through Christ, God is near us, with us, for us, and in us.

In a word, we offer the world Jesus. How desperately we need to be reacquainted with him, and the grace he gives!

If the church preaches "Christ and him crucified," it will always be 'relevant'. But if it refuses, the answer to the question posed in the title is decisively negative. The world does not need any such 'church'. In fact, all expressions of a gospel-less religion are finished. May they, by the grace of God, disappear quickly.

Paul's Use of Eschatology in 1Corinthians Pt I

2010-07-14T18:35:00.000-07:00

Eschatology [es-kuh-tol-uh-jee]: unrelated to scatology. From the Greek word eschatos, "last," meaning the study of last things. The end of everything. In answer to the question, "How will things end up?"

Jesus preached the imminent coming of the Kingdom of God: when God's rule would be established "on earth as it in heaven," bringing to fulfillment all the promised blessings to Israel, and the final, devastating judgments against her enemies. But contrary to popular expectations of a sudden and dramatic reversal of the present age, Jesus taught a more subtle coming of this apocalyptic order (see Mt.13). It would be in two phases, in between which there was an unfolding historical process - a period which called for much diligence, faithfulness, and wisdom (cf. Lk.19:11-27).

The first coming was in the One who sows the word of the kingdom - a word which many will receive, even as many will reject it. This same One compared himself also to a seed, which must die, in order for other seeds to germinate, grow, and bear fruit (Jn.12:24). This death was critical in the kingdom's triumph over sin and the devil (12:31-33). The second phase, however, will be the Farmer's return, when he harvests the fruits of his labor, and, to slightly switch metaphors, separates his sheep from the goats (cf. Mt.25). In the meantime, the sons of the kingdom and the sons of this present evil age will grow up together, co-existing side by side.

Moreover, the sons of this kingdom will consist not merely of the elect within ethnic Israel, presently a small remnant (Ro.9:27; 11:1-10). For the nation will be rejected, by and large, as they stumble over "the stumbling stone" God has set in Zion (Mt.21:42; cf. Is.8:14; 28:16; Ps.118:22). In turn, the kingdom will be given over to the nations (Mt.21:43-44; cf. Ro.9:29-10:3; 11:11), at least for a season (cf. Lk.21:24; Rom.11:12-32). The kingdom will welcome Gentiles! The blessings promised to Abraham and his descendants, all confirmed in the Mosaic and Davidic covenants, will overflow to the nations of the earth, as originally promised (Gen.12:2-3; 18:18; 22:18; 26:4; etc.). They will come through Abraham's seed, Jesus the Christ (Gal.3:16). In him, the kingdom has come (already), bringing the 'first fruits' of these eschatological blessings to Israel and the nations (e.g., justification by faith, Gal.3:8, 14, the adoption as sons of God, Gal.3:26-29, and both of these through the great "latter day" outpouring of the Holy Spirit, Acts 2:14-36; 1Co.12:13). But the fulfillment or consummation of these blessings - the fullness of His glorious kingdom - is yet to come. As the author of Hebrews puts it, we have merely "tasted...the powers of the age to come," (He.6:5). 'Merely tasted', we see, but, man, are they amazing!

This tension between the 'already' and 'not yet' is central to the gospel. For at the heart of the gospel is the message of the 'already' crucified and risen Christ, in whom God's apocalyptic judgment against sinners has already been enacted at the cross (who can read the Gospel narratives of Christ's death and not feel as though the world were ending?), and their justification declared in the vindication of an empty tomb. But equally central is the call to repent, in light of God's coming judgment; to find refuge through faith in Christ, "who rescues us from the wrath to come," (1Th.1:10). It is critical that we understand this 'already/not yet' tension as the church.

And it's a tension that the Corinthians apparently didn't handle well. They thought of themselves as having already arrived. Having received the eschatological Spirit, as evidenced in displays of power and various gifts (1:5-7; 2:4), they were perfect, spiritual, wise, already ruling as kings, judging all things, but apparently above the judgment of everyone else (even God, one is tempted to think) - all terms and concepts Paul borrows to great rhetorical effect against them.

I have broken down how Paul brings the eschatological gospel (and an 'evangelical eschatology') to bear on the Corinthian confusions, presumptions and arrogance:

Chpp.1-3: Evaluating Others in Light of God's Judgment on the Cross
Chp.4: Judgmentalism, Triumphalism and the Judgment Yet to Come
Chp.5-6a: The Church's Judgment in Light of God's
Chp.6b: The Body's Resurrection, Spirituality and Sanctity
Chp.7: Marriage, Singleness, Station and the Apocalypse
Chpp.8-10: Idol Feasts, Jesus' Jealousy, and Persevering to the End
Chpp.11: God's Judgment Against His People Now
Chp.12: One Eschatological Spirit and the Body's Diverse Members
Chpp.13-14: The Subeschatological Gifts and the Supremacy of Love
Chpp.15: The End of Everything and Bodily Resurrection of the Dead

We will spend the next few months looking more closely at each one of these.

A Sickness Not Unto Death

2010-07-13T10:08:00.000-07:00

Sunday I developed a gnarly case of conjunctivitis ("pink eye"). The first time I can remember ever getting it. I wasn't surprised though. My boys had been passing back and forth to each other for what seems years. Yesterday, however, it got worse (depsite the drops I was using). Painfully irritated. When open, tears poured out. I literally 'cried' out of my left eye all day yesterday. When closed, well, I couldn't keep it closed because of the intense level of irritation. Nasty stuff.

I was on a quarterly "prayer retreat" on Lake Murray, but the pain was so distracting (and disconcernting), that I called my doctor, made an appointment ASAP, packed up my things and drove back into Columbia. I got a stronger prescription from the doctor, which seems to be helping (we're four drops in). But with the pain in my eye no longer demanding all my attention, I realized today just how bad the cold that hit me yesterday is. I'm a wreck.

Why all this "woe is me"? Every time I get this sick, I am reminded how feeble, how powerless, how utterly dependent upon factors outside of my control I am. For the Christian, of course, this points us directly to the sovereign Creator, Sustainer and Governor of the universe. I am utterly at the mercy of God. And though my planned time of intenstive reading and focused prayer has been irredeemably foiled, I have spent a good amount of time in prayer. Begging, pleading, thanking, resting. Such "sickness...not unto death," to quote the King James - whether truly life-threatening or just inconvenient - is a powerful reminder of who we really are, the frightening reality of our desperate condition, and our complete and total dependence upon God. The good news is this: our God is love. In Jesus, God has suffered a "sickness unto death" for our complete and final healing. "I am the resurrection and the life," Jesus declared, "whoever believes in me will live, even though he dies." And in our moments of pain and weakness, we find renewed hope and intimacy with the God who gives us our every breath, even as we lie curled up on our coach of tears (Ps.6:6).

Church Planting Lessons I'm Learning from 1Corinthians 1-4

2009-12-17T18:28:00.000-08:00

Church planting is apostolic. That is an ambiguous statement. What do we mean by "church-planting" and "apostolic"? Church-planting refers to the work of establishing a new community upon the foundation of the gospel (cf. 1Co.3:10). This involves the arduous work of gospel-planting (1Co.3:5-8). This is essentially an evangelistic work, in which the gospel is proclaimed (1Co.2:1-5) and embodied (1Co.4:9-13) in a particular place or region.

This brings us to the "apostolic" term. What does it mean? It refers to the 'sentness' of the church into the world ("apostle" means "one who is sent on a mission.") Jesus clearly sends his disciples into the world (Jn.20:21); the church then is "on mission."

The Nicene Creed affirms "the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church." Here "apostolic" refers to the church's organic and organizational roots in the ministry of the Apostles of Christ - those eyewitnesses originally sent out by Jesus Himself. But, to read the creed in an admittedly anachronistic way, the church is also "apostolic" in the sense noted above. Namely, it carries on the Apostles' mission of evangelizing, discipling and church-building among the nations. So the church is apostolic in the two-fold sense that it has been established through the Apostles (1Co.3:10; cf. Eph.2:20), and that it now extends their mission to the ends of the earth - and the end of the age - with the same gospel upon which it was founded (cf. 1Ti.3:15).

We might note a third aspect of "apostolic" - a more controversial one. Some argue on the basis of Ephesians 4:11 that the Lord provides 'apostles' (note the little "a") throughout church history, whose task it is to spearhead the contemporary church into the mission field by modeling and equipping the body in evangelism and church-planting/multiplication. It is 'apostles', then, who drive the apostolic dimension of the church in a particular place. But is this an accurate interpretation of Ephesians 4:11? Perhaps...but I have my reserverations. If there are any apostles today, it is apparent from the example of the original Apostles that they must accomplish their trailblazing task (primarily) through gospel-preaching (1Co.1:17a; 2:2; cf. 9:16).

Should we speak then of the church-planter as an apostle? The answer depends entirely on how you define this term. And there's the rub. But this much is clear: the church-planter - and the believing community he serves alongside with - is to be 'apostolic' in the remarkable sense Paul lays out before the Corinthians in 1Co.4:9-17. "Christ and him crucified" not only summarizes the message of the apostolic church (1Co.2:2), then, but its whole manner and method as well. Our ministry is to be cross-centered in content, and cross-shaped in form: self-humbling and self-emptying. Indeed, having been built upon the foundation of "Christ Crucified," it shouldn't surprise us that the church's superstructure is cruciform. Or at least, it ought to be. Only when we so build upon the one foundation will our work endure into eternity (1Co.3:12-15).

But to go back to beginnings - to the foundation - we've stated that church-planting is first and foremost gospel-planting. It is the inevitable result of fulfilling our commission to evangelize and make disciples of the nations (Mt.28:18-20).

In our own national context this has too often eluded us. No doubt we do a lot of talking about evangelism - a lot of thinking and theologizing, a lot of strategizing and planning. We know its biblical, of course; we know it's what we should be doing. But most often the execution is lacking. There are two factors that contribute to this, as I see it. The first is our particular cultural situation. The second is the more personal, human condition.

Living in a Christianized culture, we tend to assume that the gospel is already known. It may be good news; but, we fear, it is also old news. Nearly everyone is familiar with the term "born again Christian," - thanks in part to George Barna - and many (particularly in the South) presume they not only know what it means, but that it describes them. But if Barna's polls are even remotely accurate, it appears this presumption is, by and large, unwarranted. So we have before us the difficult task of re-evangelizing a culture broadly, if superficially, familiar with the 'evangel'. In fact, in what some have 'de-Christened' a "post-Christian culture," many not only assume a familiarity with the Christian gospel, but a dismissive "been there, done that" posture.

This requires a creative and deliberate sort of evangelism. We must be discerning. We should be charitable in our assumptions concerning self-avowed believers, but must not ignore chronic contradictions between confession and conviction, between creed and deed. As one pastor once put it to me, "Christian is as Christian does." We must somehow communicate this "old news" - which for many has also been misconstrued as bad news - as "good news" again. We must announce the gospel as clearly, winsomely and creatively as we can in an information-overloaded, world-weary culture.

But we struggle to do this well. The reason being - the second factor - our fear of man. If you're like me, you are overly concerned about the Christian stereotype that pervades our jaded world: mindless devotees preaching a canned message, stopping only to take a few breaths before continuing their predictable monologue. We're paralyzed by the fear of looking foolish in the eyes of the world (cf. 1Co.1:18, 21, 23; 2:1-4a; 3:18; 4:10). After all, hasn't the church done a great job looking foolish already without the help of the gospel?

I think I should add here another dimension of our personal failure. We have become, with our world, cynical about the gospel - if not of it's truth, then of it's power. Because our experience of its power has become limited, we cease to believe it as "the power of God for salvation" (cf. 1Co.1:18b; Rom.1:16). In what we conceive as our "Christian life," we often fail to avail ourselves of the gospel promises, and so often fail to experience its power in our battle with sin, our walk by faith, and our life of servce. Moreover, because we have been unfaithful in our evangelism, we have not seen its power unleashed in the lives of non-believers. But Paul was gripped by his own experience in Corinth: preaching a "foolish" gospel (1Co.1:18-24; 2:14) in unimpressive ways (2:1-4a) to a very worldly crowd of pagans, and they, through the power of the Holy Spirit, coming to faith (2:4b-5). It was amazing!

We, however, having lost faith in the wisdom and power of the cross, have forfeited the gospel for modern technique and pragmatic strategies (cf. 1Co.1:17b; 2:4-5). As a result, the churches we build look more like the world, and less like the cross (1Co.4:9-13).

The solution? I'm still learning; but I am fairly certain it has to be the gospel of Christ and Him crucified. The same gospel which can shake us from our spiritual torpor can awaken the jaded, culturally (post)Christian world around us. We must begin where the gospel begins: repent of our persistent unbelief, of our fear of appearing foolish before men (1Co.3:18), of our pride and arrogance as American Christians (cf. 1Co.4:6), of our failure to make the gospel known to our friends, family and neighbors - of our indifference towards those who are perishing (cf. 1Co.9:22), and the cold heart therein revealed. And as we bring the gospel to bear in our own lives, we will more naturally, more adeptly and more effectively bring it to bear in the lives of those with whom we are in relationship. We must repent and believe ourselves, as we ask others to do likewise! In this we must believe that God's gospel - the Person and Work of Jesus Christ - is powerful enough to change us, to defeat sin, to raise us from death to live before God with clear consciences, and to change even the hardest heart of stone.

At the Foot of the Cross: Humility and Authentic Christian Leadership (1Corinthians 1:10-4:17)

2009-12-12T07:18:00.000-08:00

In 1Corinthians 1:10-4:21, Paul addresses the factions and rivaling cliques that were developing within the church around particular leaders with a long, convoluted, but brilliant argument. The development of these 'cults of personality' was driven, ultimately, by simple pride - not of the leaders themselves, who were apparently innocent in the matter (1:12; 3:5-9), but of their followers, who were "conceited in behalf one against the other," (4:6).

This radical pride had various manifestations. But the primary expression of their conceit was to be found in their concern for status. The Corinthians were acutely 'class conscious', and, in light of their, by and large, unremarkable social standing within the Corinthian culture (cf. 1Co.1:26), seemed to suffer from a kind of collective inferiority complex. Their attachment to various "celebrity leaders" within the Church (e.g., Paul, Peter and Apollos) was, in great part, an attempt to remedy this by gaining and enhancing their status within their new social networks. Nearly everything concerning their new found faith - from their past conversion and baptism, to their present participation in the Spirit's power and promise of the age to come - was construed as a basis for boasting! Perhaps one of the reasons Paul's bi-vocational ministry offended so many in Corinth wasn't merely due to a Greek contempt for manual labor, but also because it denied them the boast of patronage (cf. 1Co.9:15; 2Co.11:7-11; 12:13) - another potential jewel in their (earthly) crown.

But to which celebrity teacher should the Corinthians attach themselves? Who was the best? Who would bring the greatest glory and provide the greatest boast? It depends on who you asked...

The Corinthians attached themselves to those leaders whom, in their various assessments, best embodied those values in which they boasted (e.g., rhetorical eloquence, or spectacular manifestations of spiritual power), and affirmed their status and rank within the hierarchies of their respective social circles. So their concern for status led them to an evaluation of each leader according to these shared values. In this way they "went beyond what was written" (1Co.4:6a) in assessing their leadership, not only by judging these men and their ministries with the wrong criteria (cf. 4:2), but also by judging them prematurely (4:4-5), drawing definite conclusions about the final value and significance of their leadership. And Paul, it would seem, was not faring well in eyes of many at Corinth.

And so their pride led to their judgmentalism, and to a confusion about the nature of leadership in the church in general, resulting in the factions and cliques fracturing the church, and an undermining of the apostolic authority, with which Paul sought to address these problems.

So what is Paul's strategy here? How will he deal with the destructive, Corinthian pride and obsessive status-seeking? Basically, the gospel. The message of the cross, if nothing else, leads us to a profound humility (as it expresses the unfathomable humility of the Lord of glory) - if we rightly understand and appropriate it.

Paul begins his argument in 1:10ff. with a little sarcasm (1:13-15), redirecting their attention from various leaders to Jesus. Jesus, after all, is the One who died for us, and in Whose Name we are baptized (1:13). This same 'Christocentric' emphasis is evident in 1:1-9, where in the space of nine, short verses, Christ is named ten times. Paul's point? It's not about you. It's about Jesus.

Having redirected our focus on Christ, as the only Lord and Savior in Corinth, we can properly understand the role and function of leadership as servants under His authority and direction. This seems to be where Paul is going in v.17. There is an apologetic bent to his argument, in which the apostle is explaining and defending, against Corinthian critique, his (limited) ministry as a pioneering missionary. Namely, he was sent primarily to preach the gospel, to evangelize (1:17a). However, having just begun his argument, Paul suddenly seems to take another turn, leaving aside his explanation of the various tasks assigned by the Lord to different leaders for the time being (cf. 3:6ff.). For apparently even Paul's gospel-preaching left something to be desired among some in Corinth. So here, in 1:17b-2:5, he takes the opportunity to address their criticisms - no doubt concerning his lack of rhetorical polish (1:17b; 2:1-4; cf. 2Co.10:10; 11:6) - and launches into what will be the theological crux (no pun intended) of his whole argument (1:18-31). Namely, the folly and weakness of the message of the cross.

This passage (1:17b-2:5) could be summarized as two arguments defending Paul's deliberate and measured "plain style" of preaching. The first point is theological (1:18-31), and the second is a practical corollary (2:1-5). If the Corinthians were offended by the apparent lack of rhetorical and philosophical sophistication in Paul's preaching, they should take note that the world's response to the gospel of the crucified Messiah is much the same! Paul's preaching was intended to be commensurate with the message itself, the message of "Christ and Him crucified" (2:2). Therefore it is no surprise that the world rejects his preaching as foolish and unimpressive. What was distressing was that so many in Corinth we're responding similarly!

Of course, Paul's rhetoric was NOT intentionally simple-minded, offensive, or obscurantist. Rather, the apostle's preaching was designed to further the purposes and effects of 'Christ crucified' in his evangelistic ministry - to be faithful in method to the message itself (for the message was "the power of God for salvation," Ro.1:16; cf. 1:18a). This required then integrity in speech, clarity, and earnestness (cf. 2Co.1:18; 2:17; 3:12; 4:1-2; 5:11 6:3-10) - to clear the path for the gospel to do its work without hindrance. But to preach Christ with "with words of eloquent wisdom" and "with lofty speech...in plausible words of wisdom" would serve instead to frustrate or nullify the power and design of Christ crucified (cf. 1:17b). Why? What was the design of the cross?

In a word, the cross was appointed by God to humble a man by removing all his boasts. This is really the heart of the matter.

First, God humbles men by bringing salvation to light through revelation (and, subsequently, through preaching), rather than the discovery of human reason (corrupt as it is, 1:21a). This removes the boast of the clever and discerning (1:20), since their intellectual endowments prove ultimately ineffectual. Moreover, God humbles men specifically by saving through "the foolishness of what is preached," (1:21b). In a wonderful twist of divine irony, that which the world (both Jew and Gentile) rejects as folly and weakness, on the basis of its own wisdom (a crucified hero and god?), is the very means by which God most wisely and most powerfully reveals Himself in redemption (1:22-25)! God goes even further, however, adding insult to injury, by effectually calling to His Son (1:2, 9) those who were themselves "weak" and "foolish" according to the world's ruthless standards (1:26-28). Amazing! The God who became marginalized, ostracized, and victimized in Christ now receives the neglected, rejected, and powerless into His kingdom.

The result of all this is that no man can boast before God (1:29). Not even those who are in Christ may boast - either of their status in this world, or in the world to come! For all that they are and have in Him is due entirely to God the Father (1:30). But the conclusion from all this is NOT that man is now left boast-less - humiliated and dejected - but that he boasts all the more in the Lord (1:31)!

Hence, for Paul to 'wow' the crowds in an expert display of subtlety and rhetoric would be totally contrary to the meaning and effect of Christ's cross. The cross is designed to dismantle man's hubris in his pretense of wisdom (including, most pointedly, the Corinthians'), not bolster it by appealing to it! Paul cannot coopt the world's wisdom for the purpose of the gospel - whether in order to manipulate his audience 'into' faith, or to impress them for his own glory.

This leads us to the second, more practical reason he refused to play to the Corinthians' expectations. He wanted them to recall that, despite his lack of impressive eloquence and rhetorical power (2:1-3), they believed! Their own experience undeniably confirmed that their conversion rested not in plausible words of human cleverness, but in the power of the Holy Spirit (2:4-5). Again, Paul points them back to God as the cause and ground of their salvation, rather than themselves and their own cleverness (in discerning the truth and obeying it). On the flip side, this serves to greatly glorify God, to whom alone salvation belongs, and underlines the strength of the cross, "as the power of God" (1:18)!

Sometimes high self-esteem is not a good thing - in fact, it usually isn't. And in 2:6-3:4, Paul challenges the Corinthians' elevated view of themselves as "spiritual men" and "complete," or "perfect," by pointing again to the standard of the cross as the divine mystery which the wise and powerful of this world misunderstood (2:6-9), and recalling their infantile rivalries and factions as irrefutable evidence of their decidedly unspiritual state (3:1-4). Ouch! In between these two sections, Paul develops more fully what was broached in 2:4 regarding the Spirit's role in the revelation and illumination of the gospel (2:10-14), particularly in his own ministry (2:13). Paul here accomplishes two things. One, he reminds the Corinthians that wisdom comes from God's Spirit, which in turn comes to us from God (vv.10 12). Contrary to their use and display of 'wisdom' as a sort of status symbol, then, true wisdom removes all boasting in men, and leads us to humbly boast in God alone (cf. 3:18-21). Two, he indirectly shows that those who reject his s/Spiritual teachings only demonstrate their own lack of spiritual wisdom and insight (vv.12-16; cf. 14:37). In short, that they are behaving like "mere men" is evident not only in their "jealousy and strife," (3:3), but also in their despising of the apostle's ministry. To reject the Spirit-wrought words and doctrines of the apostles, at any point, is, in more ways than one, to place oneself outside the sphere of biblical spirituality.

Now, in 3:6-4:5, Paul returns to the thread he initiated in 1:17a regarding the various roles given to different leaders by the one Lord and Master, Jesus Christ. On the heels of rehearsing their divisions over leadership, specifically highlighting himself and Apollos, he raises the question as to how these leaders in particular should be viewed (3:6; cf. 4:1). Namely, they are mere servants, assigned and called to their respective tasks, according to the Lord's will (3:7-9). Second to God, the Owner and Master (3:9), it is the field and building itself, not the attendant farmhands or construction-workers, who are so important within the divine economy. Moreover, it is God who works through the agencies of these servants, as His instruments, to yield the growth and progress of the church. "So," Paul concludes, "neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow." There can be no boasting in men! This in and of itself ought to be decisive against any celebrity culture developing around leadership in the church. But, sadly, it isn't heeded - even by those who ought to know better.

More precisely, leaders are to be understood as stewards, entrusted with the mysteries of God (4:1) for the benefit of God's household. In this capacity, they are above all to prove faithful (4:2; cf. Lk.12:42). For in executing their respective tasks, according to their appointment and gifting, they must be ever mindful that the same Master who has given them their charge will also judge them "according to their labor" (3:10b-17; 4:3-5). From this fact, Paul draws two implications.

First, the Corinthian leaders who are subsequently building upon the apostolic foundation are to be careful as to how they build (3:10-15), and more generally, all are to be cautious as to how their actions affect the unity and integrity of the church as God's holy Temple (3:16-17; cf. 4:6). The construction (or destruction) of the Church is a matter very close to God's heart.

Secondly, as noted above, Paul explicitly commands the Corinthians to refrain from "pronouncing judgment" until the Lord returns (4:4), which they were doing, and thus dismissing various leaders according to their (post-biblical) criteria (4:1-6). We are likewise prone to dismiss Christian leaders left and right (no pun intended) for reasons that "go beyond what is written" - judging them not according to a pure and simple faithfulness to God's word and to His people (4:2), but as lacking a certain charisma, or entrepreneurial savvy, or as merely 'decent' speakers, or uneducated, or in some other way unsophisticated.

At any rate, Paul offers these as clear warnings against his own detractors and opponents, given in the strongest possible terms. And what is the essence of this opposition? Again, a self-deceiving hubris (3:18), imagining itself wise, spiritual, and superior. But in response to this arrogance, Paul asks the searching questions: "Who sees anything different in you? What do you have that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if you did not receive it?"

Paul then launches into what is perhaps the most remarkable section of the argument (4:8-13). After sarcastically (over)stating their triumphalistic and bloated sense of spiritual 'arrived-ness' (4:8), Paul gives a 'catalogue of boasts', which lists the very aspects of his ministry that they would have found so embarrassing. Here Paul models what true spiritual leadership looks like. It looks like Jesus. It looks like the same gospel which we're called to preach (cf. 2Co.4:7-18). The cross is not only the centerpiece of our preaching (2:2), but the standard of all our ministries, shaping both how we preach (1:17; 2:1, 3-5) and how we live (4:8-13). To this same cruciform standard of self-humbling and self-emptying, Paul calls all the Corinthians to conformity (4:14-17). This isn't just for apostles. This is the normal Christian life.

Conclusion (finally!)

The cross then calls us consistently and profoundly to humility, not merely as a conversion event, but as a way of life and ministry. We are saved by God's grace alone through the folly and weakness of Christ crucified! Our boast - as (fools made) wise (2:10-16), as (sinners made) righteous, as the (enslaved) redeemed - is entirely in God (1:30-31). Likewise, in our ministries we acknowledge that whatever wisdom or skills we possess come from God (3:10), that our particular tasks are also assigned by God (3:6-9) in His wisdom and grace - and not according to our own deeds or deserts (cf. 2Ti.1:9). Furthermore, whatever results or fruits our labors yield can only be attributed to God's dynamic power and grace. We cannot boast, or quietly nurse our egos with fantasies of our own, special competence or superiority. And where our ministries seem to yield little, and the harvest feels sparse, we can remain steadfast and faithful, knowing that God has assigned the task and sent the servant, in His wisdom, to produce precisely what He wishes (whether we ever see it, finally, or not). Moreover, we are not naive as to the sufferings and sacrifices this charge will entail. After all, we follow the Suffering Servant! Like Christ, we lead in our humility, and our humility will be most clearly seen in how we suffer. There we will be most Christ-like, being more deeply conformed to the Crucified One (cf. Phil.3:10). Finally, we are humbled by the reality that our labor will ultimately be evaluated by the Lord Himself, and its true value will be proved on the last day. And so we serve with diligence, with integrity, and with the hope of hearing it said, "Well done, good and faithful servant," as we bow (once more) at our Master's feet.

Stott's Nail

2009-11-27T19:23:00.000-08:00

Commenting on 1Cor.1:18-2:5, John Stott writes:

There are plenty of popular preachers, but not many powerful ones, who preach in the power of the Spirit. Is it because the cost of such preaching is too great? It seems that the only preaching God honors, through which His wisdom and power are expressed, is the preaching of a man who is willing in himself to be both a weakling and a fool. God not only chooses weak and foolish people to save, but weak and foolish preachers through whom to save them, or at least preachers who are content to be weak and seem foolish in the eyes of the world. We are not always willing to pay this price. We are constantly tempted to covet a reputation as men of learning or men of influence; to seek honor in academic circles and compromise our old-fashioned message in order to do so; and to cultivate personal charm and forcefulness so as to sway the people committed to our care."

(J.R.W. Stott, The Preacher's Portrait, p.122, italics added).

Ouch! that really smarts... God help us repent!

The World's Wisdom and God's Folly

2009-10-19T19:56:00.000-07:00

This is a relief of a piece of ancient Roman graffiti mocking the Christian's devotion to a crucified God. It reads, "Alexamenos worships his god." The god is here depicted as a jackass. "We preach Christ crucified...foolishness to Gentiles."

In 1Corinthians 1:18-2:5, Paul makes the case against his critics in Corinth (as well as his “fans,” who have too closely attached themselves to his ministry, 1:12-16) for preaching an ‘elementary’ gospel, stripped of any of the intellectual trappings of philosophical sophistication, rhetorical deftness, and polished speech (1Co.2:1-4; cf. 2Co.10:10; 11:16) - all designed to impress…all designed to persuade by appealing to, and thereby affriming, the world’s pretense of knowledge and power. Paul states that such preaching would in fact make the message of the cross “void,” emptied of its power.

Why?

He gives two reasons, essentially. First, God has exposed the wisdom and power of the world as folly and, therefore, as weakness. God's wisdom and power, unveiled in the cross, has undermined the world's. To appeal to it, therefore, would be backward and, ultimately, at odds with the divine power of the cross.

Sir Francis Bacon famously wrote that knowledge is power. But Frederich Nietzsche profoundly altered the innocent connection between the two by asserting that all “knowledge” is in fact the construct of power. Truth claims, he argued, are power-plays, promoting those who advance these claims, while marginalizing those who oppose them, or otherwise fall outside the scope of their interest. Thus “knowledge is power” takes on a new, darker nuance. Michel Foucault, following Nietzsche’s geneaology of morals, etc., not only sought to betray the social construction of Western ‘normativity’ in various arenas, but ‘deconstructed’ them as arbitrary, and ultimately, as strategies of power, self-serving (‘self’ here refers, by and large, to the bourgeois middle class). Of course, his own agenda, as the “archaelogist of knowledge,” was equally self-serving - what else could it be?

God is the utlimate deconstructor of human wisdom, knowledge and power. And his agenda, unlike ours, is both self-serving and just. It is just, as John Piper has well argued in numerous places, precisely because it is God-serving - serving the purposes and ends of omnibenevolence in righteousness and truth. But this ‘truism’ hits home when we understand, through the message of the cross, that at the center of God’s self-serving agenda against and for the world stands the divine self-giving of Christ crucified.

What do we mean when we say that God has deconstructed the world in its wisdom and power? We mean that He has exposed it’s failure, in judgment, and condemned it, all at once in the 'apocalyptic' revelation of the mystery of God (cf. 2:1,7). Namely, God was well-pleased to show up its pretention through the foolishness and weakness of the gospel. “For since in God’s wisdom the world through its wisdom did not come to know God, it pleased God through the folly of what was preached to save those who believe.” It is God’s wisdom that the world, in its wisdom, should fail to come to a true knowledge of God. Why? Simply this: so that no man might boast (1:29, 31).

Not only is the incomprehensible and invisible God known only through His sovereign self-disclosure, but, even given this, sinful man cannot come to know God through the lens of his loaded, epistemic constructs - driven, as they are, by his own “will to power.” God will not be found by the self-seeking. More than that, fallen man’s wisdom is grounded in a godless hubris; in his pretentious wisdom and power, he exalts himself! If a sinner found God through his own wisdom, we might never hear the end of it. Hence, God is not only inscrutible to the proud, by the very nature of His holiness, but, morally, volitionally, as ruler and judge, refuses them this boast.

That’s why. But how?

Specifically, God exposes the world’s failure in publically presenting a crucified Messiah to the world, only to to be rejected. The Jew rejects it as the “anti-miracle,” to borrow from Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase, and the Greek rejects it as utter non-sense. So the world, as represented by the ‘wise’ and ‘powerful’, has rejected the very wisdom and power of God, and thereby shown itself entirely foolish and (morally) incompetent. God's folly deconstructs the world's wisdom. (In other words, God clearly presented the truth in a way which did NOT appeal to the world’s values - for its values were morally corrupt and self-absorbed - and thus, through their condemnation of the Truth, damned the world’s system of evaluation.)

Surely the wisdom of the Jewish scribes was exposed in their rejection of the long-awaited Messiah, to whom all the Scriptures had pointed. So much for their biblical expertise and wisdom! Surely the power the Saduccees, Herodians and Romans wielded in arresting, condemning and executing the Lord of glory was unveiled as not only child’s play, but as britches far too big for their slender frame, by the resurrection of the sovereign Christ. So much for the imposing power of the rulers of this age! Even as we speak, their authority evaporates (2:6).

And this continues, of course, in Paul’s ministry, as both Jew and Gentile reject Paul’s gospel as foolish, as weakness - as the detestable stench of death (2Co.2:14-16 1Co.1:18). It continues to this day, whenever the world rejects Jesus, while standing on the ground of its own wisdom and power. God has already pulled the rug out - and in rejecting the gospel, they come crashing down upon the same, hard ground. As it was written, they have stumbled over the stumbling block, the stone of offense, which God has placed in Israel. How the mighty have fallen!

“Where is the sage? Where is the scribe? Where’s the critic of this age?” God has made them obselete through the cross. He has nullified them once and for all; and that in which they gloried is now shown to be their shame. God has shot through the world’s show of wisdom and power with its own gun - or in this case, its own gibbet, and put it on display for all to see: Here hangs the wisdom and power of this age!

To apply this to our ‘postmodern’ context, we might add, “Where is the tolerant inclusivist of our age?” Has not God shown up our pretense of tolerance and inclusion? For the world, in all of its talk of inclusivity, still excludes Jesus (on His own terms)! The world excludes its maker, its sustainer and redeemer! In its violent intolerance of God’s Word, the very light of the world - marginalizing God's truth in Christ, and seeking (in vain) to extinguish His brilliance (Jn.1:5) - God has uncovered the hypocrisy, bankruptcy and tragic failure of its inclusive rhetoric. And, as men, women, and children from every tribe, language, people-group and religion come to Christ, God’s exclusivity is proved daily more inclusive than all the world’s inclusivity!

As Christians we shouldn’t be postmodern, but post-‘flesh’, post-history, post-everything this side of heaven. We ought rather to be sages, scribes and scholars of the age to come.

To then preach in such a way as to appeal to the world’s pretense of knowledge and power is to employ a strategy deconstructed by the gospel itself. More than that, it is to frame the cross, which signifies the world’s judgment, as though it were its reward. The medium violently contradicts the message.

The world, with its rhetoric, manipulates with selfish or political intent. The preacher of the gospel, however, rather than impress and manipulate according to his own agenda, ought to align himself with God's agenda (requiring repentance), with the self-emptying gospel he proclaims (requiring love) - speaking plainly, sincerely, even pouring out his life for his hearers, and so, like the apostle, embodying the self-giving of Christ crucified (cf. 1Co.4:9-13; 2Co.4:7-16).

The second reason Paul articulates is that, if we do persuade our audience through appeal to the world’s values, rather than to the cross alone, than the confidence in the power of Christ crucified is eroded. We feel our conversion might rest on man’s wisdom, rather than God’s (2:5).

Human arrogance is so pernicious and pervasive, that even the newly born Christian is tempted to boast that their new-found faith - their newly acquired spiritual understanding and power - is somehow to their credit. As though we who believe do so because we had a superior knowledge or strength! But Paul makes plain that it is the power of the cross, at work as God Himself calls us into fellowship with His Son (1:30-31; 1:9), which is the source of our new life. Paul here reminds the very status-conscious Corinthians of their unimpressive past - their not-so-glorious former ‘group identities’ (1:26-29) - in underlining God’s sovereignty and goodness in calling them, as part of the divine undermining of the world’s values (transvaluation). Their salvation rests neither on the brilliance of the preacher, nor upon their own brilliance in discerning it (if anything, quite despite it), but upon the cross of a crucified Messiah - the foolishness and weakness of God!

And this basis is infinitely more superior than grounding our confidence in our own wisdom or power. As Paul states, God’s foolishness is greater than any man’s wisdom, and His weakness is stronger than any man’s power. It is this dumb and servile Christ who establishes our confidence of faith, and our new status in Him (1:30b); it is in this Jesus that we boast! And all the world shall never hear the end of it!

Corporate Worshp and Being 'Missional'

2009-07-16T21:31:00.001-07:00

Many of the pundits on the so-called "missional church" belittle corporate worship on Sunday as a cultural relic of ancient Christendom (a dirty word not only among the anabaptist heirs of the "radical reformation," but now among all the new, self-styled 'radicals'). It is a tradition, we are told, that now serves as a distraction and even a hindrance to the mission. It ought to be bypassed for alternative gatherings and communal expressions, if for no other reason than to deconstruct the Christendom "congregational model" that so dominates our thinking, and break the old mold to create space for "new possibilities."

Of course, there is a great (if obvious) point in their criticisms about the contemporary church, which has in most cases become entirely consumed with the show business of Sunday morning. The church is indeed neiher a building, nor an event which takes place on Sunday mornings. The church is people, who gather together and scatter for the sake of God's mission in the world, as those who corporately and individually both receive and extend His reconciling grace. Having said that, the rejection or marginalization of public worship as a crucial element to the life and mission of the people of God is both short-sighted and all too American in its reductionism and thoroughgoing pragmatism. On this point, Eugene Peterson writes (quoting Spurgeon),

We live in a pragmatic age and are reluctant to do anything if its practical usefulness cannot be demonstrated. It is inevitable that we ask regarding worship, it is worth it? Can you justify the time and energy and expense involved in gathering Christians togheter in worship? Well, "Look at the mower in the summer's day, with so much to down before the sun sets. He pauses in his labor - is he a sluggard? He looks for his stone, and begins to draw it up and down his scythe, with rink-atink, rink-atink, rink-atink. Is that idle music - is he wasting prescious moments? How much he might have mowed while he has been riging out those notes on his scythe! But he is sharpening his tool, and he will do far more when once again he gives his strength to those long sweeps which lay the grass prostrate in rows before him."

Yes, But What About Psalm 137?

2009-07-16T21:13:00.001-07:00

In addressing C.S. Lewis' comments about the imprecatory psalms, we dealt primarily with generalizations. But the comment about bashing in the heads of Babylonian infants in Psalm 137:9 demands our attention.

First of all, we should note again that the psalmist's maledictions are never merely personal. The psalmist in 137 is bemoaning the injustices committed against Israel by Edom and Babylon. The historical context is most likely the fall of Jerusalem at the hands of the Babylonians in the early 6th century BC, during which time the Edomites availed themselves of Judah's weakened condition and further violated its citizens - their distant cousins. The prophecy of Obadiah is directed against Edom for this particularly heinous atrocity and callous aggression (cf. Jer.49:7-22; Isa.34:5-17). You'll note the similarlity between these prophetic declarations and the psalmist's prayer. Obadiah, for instance, declares, "As you have done, it will be done to you; your deeds will return upon your own head." The Psalmist in 137, now in reference to Babylon (cf. Hab.2:4-20; Jer.50-51; Isa.13; 21:1-10; 47), writes, "happy is he who repays you for what you have done to us," v.8. If in this the psalmist is accussed of sin, let it be acknowledged that it is because he celebrates the justice of God in His righteous judgment against the cruel destroyer. And v.9, of course, must be read in its immediate context. It is applying and particularizing the principle articulated v.8. As they have dashed our children to the ground, so let the avenger (who, as it turns out, will be the Medo-Persians) dash their infants!

It was a common, grisly practice in ancient warfare (see 2Ki.8:12; Hos.10:14; 13:16; Nah.3:10; Lk.19:44). Sadly, it is not unknown in modern times either; during WWII at Bromberg, it was observed that the S.S. would "take the Jewish children by their feet and break their heads by striking them against the wall..."

In fact, it is prophesied by Isaiah that such fate would fall upon the Babylonians themselves, who committed such violence:

Their infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes; their houses will be looted and their wives ravished. See, I will stir up against them the Medes, who do not care for silver and have no delight in gold. Their bows will strike down the young men; they will have no mercy on infants nor will they look with compassion on children. Babylon, the jewel of kingdoms, the glory of the Babylonians' pride, will be overthrown by God like Sodom and Gomorrah.

As they have done to others, so it will be done to them. And again, it would appear that the psalmist in 137 is celebrating or anticipating God's coming justice against the Babylonians - gruesome as it is! This makes us uncomfortable. Can we really celebrate such brutal justice? But here we might recall (again) that heaven itself calls the church to similarly celebrate the terrible retribution that falls against "Babylon the Great," the violent oppressor of the saints, in Revelation 18:1-19:3. Justice will have been thereby established on the earth.

Justice here does not necessarily pertain to the question of the relative guilt or innocence of the infants. In Scripture it is assumed that infants are not morally culpable agents (e.g., Isa.7:16). Rather, this judgment is conceived as coming against the Babylonian aggressors. We might note that God has destroyed the life of infants elsewhere in judgment directed against the parents, most famously in the case of David (2Sam.12:13-15). We might also note the death of the firstborn in Egypt by God's mysterious agent, "the Destroyer," as judgment against Pharaoh's obstinance.

Of course, as Scripture makes clear, the sons are not imputed with their father's guilt, nor vice versa (Ez.18:20). So the children are not considered guilty for their father's atrocities. However, the scriptures also say: "[God] does not leave the guilty unpunished; he punishes the children and their children for the sin of the fathers to the third and fourth generation." In other words, there are divinely instituted consequences for sins which affect generations (though God here sets limits on their impact, by His mercy, whereas His grace abounds to thousands of generations). My sin and its detrimental impact cannot be neatly confined to my own life. So, the infant in David's case is not held as culpable for his father's sins, but he is to some extent punished for them. More directly, David is punished through his child's illness and death.

Even so, it is asked, how is this fair? Here we must go back to the biblical framework for human history: creation and fall. The wages of sin is death, and so all die because, in Adam, "all sinned," even those who did not sin by actually breaking the commandment (Rom.5:12-14). Throughout the course of our lives, our actual transgressions bear witness against us concerning our damnable condition. But we are under curse from the moment we're conceived. As David wrote, "Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me," Ps.51:5. It is the tragic reality of "Adam's helpless race." And as a result, "in Adam, all die," (1Co.15:22). The judgment that befell us in our forefather was death - a death graciously prolonged in the case of many, allowing some of us an entire life-time in God's patience and grace. Nevertheless the whole human race is on death row. No one gets out of here alive. Moreover, none of us can demand that we are given first breath upon birth - not to mention God's continual care for us within the womb (e.g., Ps.139:13-14). We live by mercy alone, and we will die by justice.

All this to say that it is not unjust for God to bring the infant's life to an end, according to his purposes in judgment and providence, any more so than bringing the octogenarian's life to an end in a tragic car accident.

Lastly, we must be careful to maintain the distinctions Scripture maintains. If it is in fact just that the evil that I have perpetrated against others be exacted against me (in one form or another), it is not necessarily just for someone to enact it. When the Medes came against Babylon, and dashed their infants' heads against the ground, though they unwittingly carried out God's judgment against the Babylonians, they themselves acted wickedly - just as the Babylonian's and Assyrian's violence against the infants of Israel and Judah were, in and of themselves, unjust, and yet the vehicle of God's just judgment against His own people (e.g., Hos.13:16). Once again, the cross stands as the ultimate illustration of this principle. Jesus' unjust condemnation and crucifixion - for which those agents who were responsible are held culpable by God - was in fact the foreordained means (e.g, Ac.2:23; 4:27-28) of God's righteous accomplishment of His saving purposes (Ro.3:25-26).

Moreover, even if the retributive principle can be justly applied by the hands of men, it obviously does not follow that I am the one to enact it. Lex talionis was established not to justify revenge or excerbate violence through endless retaliation, but rather to delimit retribution in Israel's courts, and to undercut personal vengenence. God alone is the avenger in Scripture, and we look ultimately to him to establish justice for us.

In summary, we cannot read Psalm 137:9 as a justification for infanticide. But we would do well, in response to this psalm and others like it, to remember that it is a terrible thing to fall into the hands of the living God. It is always wrong to take human life without justifiable cause. But God has justifiable cause against us! And as the Judge, He sovereignly determines how justice will be executed. This ought to humble us, and yield repentance. Rather than assigning blame, or seeking (in vain) to unravel God's myterious providence, Jesus tells us in light of similar tragedies, "unless you repent, you too will all perish," (Lk.13:1-5).

C.S. Lewis on the Imprecatory Psalms, Pt III

2009-06-25T22:39:00.000-07:00

Before I proceed to the third and final 'installment' on this question, addressing (ever so briefly) the messianic character of the Psalter and the New Testament's usage of the imprecatory psalms in particular, I feel I should make one more comment about retribution and love.

There's a saying so axiomatic among Christian circles that you might mistake it for a Bible verse: "God hates the sin, but loves the sinner." Lewis argues along these lines in pp.32-33, stating that God has the same "implacable hostility which these poets express," yet, His hostility is "not to the sinner but to the sin." While the psalmists erroneously conflated their hatred of evil with the evildoer, Lewis argues, God does not.

Or doesn't He? According to Psalm 5:4-6,

"For you are not a God who delights in wickedness; evil may not dwell with you. The boastful will not stand before your eyes; you hate all evildoers. You destroy those who speak lies; the Lord abhors the bloodthirsty and deceitful man." Cf. Ps.11:5

It is even said that God "hates" Israel, his own covenant people, in their obstinate disobedience (Jer.12:8; Hos.9:15).

For the sake of time and space, I don't want to get into the question of what exactly Scripture means by "hate" (cf. Mal.1:3; Lk.14:26; Mt.6:24), and what it could mean that God "hates" those whom he also, in some real sense, loves (Mt.5:43-48). It is unquestionably the case that God has a holy hostility, not merely towards sin per se - as though it existed in isolation from culpable, moral agents - but against the sinner. It is, after all, extremely difficult to extricate "the lying tongue," or "hands that shed innocent blood," or "haughty eyes," or "a heart that devises evil," etc., from the owners (Prov.6:16-18, 19). Nevertheless, it is also clear that God loves the objects of His wrath(e.g., Jn.3:16, 18, 36; Eph.2:3-4; 2Co.5:18-20; Rom.5:10)! It is enough now to simply observe that God both hates and loves sinners in ways that are not mutually exclusive.

As a result, one has a difficult time answering the question, "Is it wrong for the saints to share God's holy hostility toward the wicked?" - even if that participation is incomplete - in the affirmative. The psalmists clearly presented such 'shared hostility' not only as a commendation to God in their consciences regarding their own righteousness, (e.g., Ps.26:4-5), but as a participation in the righteous character of God Himself (e.g., Ps.139:29; 119:113). It was God-like.

And on this note, the messianic import of the Psalter is especially relevant. For the Psalms represent not merely the idealized piety of Israel's "everyman," but specifically that of the Davidic King. Not only is David the speaker in many cases, but the promised royal "Son of David" is often the focus. As Tremper Longman III writes, it is "significant that so much of the Psalter is connected with the institution of kingship in Israel and more specifically with David and his dynasty." The covenant with David (and, subsequently, the Temple complex and worship designed by him and implemented by his son, Solomon) provides the determinative theological and historical context of the whole Psalter (2Sam.7; cf. Ps.2; 45; 72; 89; 110; 132). In fact, the psalms could be summarized as instructions for life under God's reign - the kingdom of God - as experienced in and administered through the Davidic king.

In this covenant, God promises to establish David and "his son" as the anointed king (messiah) in Israel, the royal "son of God," through whom all the divine promises to the patriarchs would be fully and finally realized (e.g., cf. Ge.12:2-3; Ps.72:17; and Ge.15:13-21; 2Sam.7:10-11). David's earthly rule would not only represent God's heavenly kingdom in the world, but would anticipate (and partially realize) its fulfillment, "on earth as it is in heaven." Therefore, because of this close identification between the throne in Jerusalem and the throne above, David's enemies would become the enemies of God (see 2Sam.22:41; Ps.18:40; 89:23; cf. 2Sam.7:9), and vice versa. In other words, to become an enemy of the Davidic king was "nothing personal," merely, but rather an official stance against the whole elect nation of Israel, and more than that, against heaven itself (see Ps.2:1-12)!

This goes a long way in explaining the supposed naivety of the psalmists in so closely identifying their enemies with God's (pp.31-32, Reflections on the Psalms). Beyond simply the individual experience of the royal Davidide, due the corporate solidarity of the people with their King, and our solidarity with Christ by faith in particular, the enemies of the saints become the enemies of our King and of our God, and vice versa. It is very telling that when the sovereign, resurrected Christ confronts Saul on his path of persecuting the young church, His first words are, "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?" Our naivety, perhaps, is more to be found in our loose and cavalier identification of who are enemies are.

When we turn to the New Testament, we find this messianic reading of the Psalter confirmed in the teachings of Jesus himself (Lk.24:44, 25-27; Mt.22:41-46), and in the apostles' subsequent preaching (e.g., Ac.2:25-31; 13:22-39). Note especially in these interpretations the prophetic role David, as author, plays with respect to his coming, "Greater Son." In fact, of the passages Lewis cites in his essay (Ps.109, 69:23; 143:12; 137:8-9; 139:19; and 23:5), two of them are explicitly used in the New Testament in reference to Christ, the messianic king. It is enlightening to observe how they are applied.

One of the remarkable things about the davidic psalms is the reality of suffering and persecution. The great and powerful king of Israel can write, "I am poor and needy," "my enemies surround me," "those who hate me without cause outnumber the hairs of my head," "my throat is parched from calling out to you," "deep waters have engulfed me," and most famously, "my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" The messianic king is also the suffering servant of the Lord. It is typically in these "lamentations" that David cries out for vengenance against his enemies (though, note also Ps.2:7-12 and 110:1-6; cf., Ac.2:34-35; Eph.1:22; 1Cor.15:25-27; Heb.1:5-13; 10:13; Rev.12:5; 19:15). And the early church understood these prophetic descriptions of the individual and corporate enemies of David and his kingdom as anticipating and even precisely predicting the world's rejection and persecution of the Christ (e.g., see Acts 4:25-30).

Psalm 109:8 is cited by Peter in reference to Judas' betrayal in Acts 1:20. Jesus also cites Psalm 69:4 (cf. 109:3) in reference to his enemies in John 15:25. Similarly, Paul cites specifically Ps.69:22-23 in Romans 11:7-9, in describing those within Israel that have been 'hardened' in their response to Christ, having stumbled over God's chosen "cornerstone" (Rom.9:32-33; cf. 1Pe.2:6-8; Isa.28:16; Ps.118:22). Lastly, though Ps.137 is not directly referenced in the NT, we do read of the eschatological judgment of "Babylon" - the archetypal picture of 'civilized' evil - in which the Great City is finally repaid in full for all that it has done (Rev.18:6-7; cf. Ps.137:8-9). And what is the response of heaven to this terrifying judgment? "Rejoice over her, O heaven, and you saints and apostles and prophets, because God has pronounced judgment for you against her," Rev.18:20.

By looking at how the NT employs these verses, we see that these were understood by the early church as not only appropriate "Christian" texts, but as deeply Christological texts - functioning as messianic prophecy in disclosing both the coming reality of Christ's humiliation, in His rejection and sufferings, and, in his glorification, the destiny of all who oppose Him (e.g., Lk.19:27). Christ will rule in the midst of enemies (Rev.11:15-18; 19-22). And we, like the psalmists, cry out to God against the enemies of His people and of His Christ, praying for the grace and power to overcome, in order that we might rule with Him (Rev.2:27; 5:10; 20:6; 22:3-5; cf. 1Co.6:3).

C.S. Lewis on the Imprecatory Psalms, Pt II

2009-06-25T20:25:00.001-07:00

In his chapter, "The Cursings," C.S. Lewis dismisses the maledictions of the Psalter as crude and spiteful expressions of a subchristian manner. Moreover, he asserts this without any argument. This, it seems to me, is the weak link in his thesis. His silence on the matter is both frustrating and revealing. It is frustrating because he actually skips the most crucial step in wrestling with these harsh words of holy writ. But it is also revealing, I think, of his misunderstanding of the biblical (canonical) context of the Psalms themselves, and the existential context of the individual psalmists.

There are a number of items to sort through in grasping the significance of the psalmists' curses. First, we must discuss the appropriateness of the saints desiring retribution against the wicked in divine judgment. Secondly, we must discuss the messianic or royal significance of the Psalter. And thirdly, we must explore the usage of these ancient psalms by the New Testament church (something Lewis surprisingly neglects altogether).

First, is it wrong for Christians to desire divine retribution against their enemies? Some point to Jesus' teachings in the Sermon on the Mount concerning the lex talionis principle articulated in the Pentateuch as evidence that it is. However, we should note two important caveats before drawing a definite conclusion. The first caveat is Jesus' own, given at the beginning of the sermon:

Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. I tell you the truth, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Anyone who breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.

In other words, Jesus is saying that we should not misunderstand his bold refutations of the received traditions and doctrines propounded in the synagogues ("you have heard it said..., but I say to you...") as tantamount to rejecting the Law or the Prophets themselves. Jesus is not overturning Moses. He is fulfilling Moses! In fact, to reject even "the least stork of a pen" in the Law is spiritually detrimental to both ourselves and our hearers.

The second caveat is to understand just how this principle was being abused in popular practice, and so how Jesus' teachings address his immediate audience. For example, in the paragraph before the one in question, after quoting Leviticus 19:12, Jesus tells his disciples, "But I say to you, do not swear at all..." Of course, if Jesus is making an absolute statement here against oath-taking, then He has indicted not only himself (when he later testifies under oath), the apostles (who similarly testified under oath), but God Himself who swore by an oath his promises to the patriarchs (e.g., Deut.4:31; 6:18; 7:8; 8:1; 13:17; etc.). However, when we read passages such as Matthew 23:16-22, we better understand the sophistry and abuse which Jesus is here addressing. As it has been said, usum non tollit abusus (abuse does not exclude use).

Likewise, regarding the retributive principle of lex talionis, we know that Jesus isn't hereby repealing the law as somehow unjust or unrighteous. It is consistently reflected in the punitive justice of God in both the Old and New Testament (e.g., Oba.1:15; Lam.3:64; 2Th.1:6; Rev.18:6). In fact, Jesus appears to employ it himself in regard to divine judgment (e.g., Lk.6:36-38; cf. Jas.2:13). Lewis also clearly understood the normative character of retribution in all just punishments, as he so persuasively argued in his excellent essay, "The Humanitarian Theory of Punishment."

Furthermore, it is evident that Jesus isn't here denying any use whatsoever of the retributive principle among his disciples. After all, if it is lawful, why should it be unlawful for his followers? And what is the appropriate usage of lex talionis among men? According to the Pentateuch, it was to be applied in the official courts of the community to establish justice and equity (e.g., Dt.19:15-21). It is not necessarily wrong, in other words, for the Christian to seek justice in the courts. However, as Lewis himself points out (but only to thereby implicate the inspired authors' words as contradicting God's Law), practicing mercy and forgiveness with personal enemies was the biblical norm for daily interactions and relationships within Israel (e.g., Ex.23:4-5; Lev.19:18; cf. Prov.25:21-22). According to the Law, the individual should not take justice into their own hands, but give grace instead, pursuing reconciliation and, if necesssary, the lawful means of restitution (cf., Mt.5:23-26). Jesus isn't really teaching us something new, then, but applying the Law itself against its perversion and misapplication by his contemporaries (e.g., see Mt.15:3-9).

Granted that lex talionis is appropriate for the judge, both human and divine, is it appropriate for the individual Christian to desire it against his enemies? To even pray for it? Again, the New Testament seems to affirm that it is. In fact, even the souls of "righteous men made perfect" pray to God for vengeance in heaven:

They called out in a loud voice, "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?" (Rev.6:10)

And according to the apostle Paul, it is precisely our hope that God will avenge us against our enemies which allows us to show them true grace, and so fulfill Jesus' teachings in the Sermon on the Mount:

Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay," says the Lord. On the contrary: "If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

Of course, the Christian is not to seek personal revenge themselves, paying back evil for evil (Ro.12:17). But then the psalmists are not acting as vigilantes, taking revenge for themselves. Rather, they rightly place the matter into God's hands, and pray for justice. Are their words harsh? Yes. But appropriately so. And this will be even clearer as we explore the messianic character of the psalms in our next post.

C.S. Lewis on the Imprecatory Psalms, Pt I

2009-06-18T11:26:00.000-07:00

It is said that actions speak louder than words. But no doubt we'll find that our words speak loud enough. Jesus once said, "I say to you that, every careless word that men shall speak, they shall render account for it in the day of judgment." This is enough to make the best among us shudder. Our words are in fact a kind of action (Jas.3:2-13), a deed, either good or bad. And these verbal 'actions' impact our hearers profoundly (e.g., 1Tim.4:16). There is, therefore, a certain, awful weightiness to our words, even where they are spoken lightly. And so Peter instructs, "If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God." And James tells us, "Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers." Our judgment will be more strict.

For we all stumble in many ways. If anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to bridle the whole body as well.

If we all stumble, then we all stumble in our speech: "no one can tame the tongue, it is a restless evil and full of deadly poison!"

All of us then will undoubtedly regret some of the words we've spoken or written during our short sojourn on this earth. And almost certainly, there will be more than we now realize. Praise God that, to quote James again, "mercy triumphs over judgment"!

Some men of course speak better than others. C.S. Lewis is a man who, in more ways than one, has spoken better than most in our age. Martin Luther once charged Erasmus of using his golden-tongue in an unworthy endeavor: shoveling, um..."scheisse," I believe is the technical term in the German. Dr. Lewis, however, used his admirably, shoring up the biblical and rational foundations of the Christian West with great wit and wisdom. But I wonder which words he now regrets?

I recently re-read Lewis' remarks on the imprecatory psalms in a chapter from his insightful little book, Reflections on the Psalms, entitled "The Cursings." In it, he writes:

In some of the Psalms the spirit of hatred which strikes us in the face is like the heat from a furnace mouth. In others the same spirit ceases to be frightful only be becoming (to a modern mind) almost comic in its naivety... One way of dealing with these terrible or (dare we say?) contemptible Psalms is simply to leave them alone. But unfortunately the bad parts will not "come away clean"; they may, as we have noticed, be intertwined with the most exquisite things...At the outset I felt sure, and I feel sure still, that we must not either try to explain them away or to yield for one moment to the idea that, because it comes in the Bible, all this vindictive hatred must somehow be good and pious. We must face both facts squarely. The hatred is there - festering, gloating, undisguised-and also we should be wicked if we in any way condoned or approved it, or (worse still) used it to justify similar passions in ourselves.

Lewis goes on to offer what he feels is profitable in these otherwise contemptible psalms of Israel. He offers the following suggestions as to their potential usefulness for the Christian:

1) They reveal, and thereby expose in our own hearts, the natural if dangerous reaction of man to injustice. Beyong giving us insight into ourselves, however, they illustrate the depth of impact our sin has on the other, our victims, in tempting them through our injustice to such raw resentment and bitterness. Their vehemence and vindictiveness, in other words, both highlight our own hidden violence, and reveal the dark fruits born within those we violate. In this sense, then, their bad example serves us as a warning.

2)The very depths of their depravity speaks to the great heights of their spirituality. As he writes, "It seems that there is a general rule in the moral universe which may be formulated 'The higher the more in danger'... If the Jews cursed more bitterly than the Pagans this was, I think, at least in part because they took right and wrong more seriously... The Jew sinned in this matter worse than the Pagans not because they were further from God but because they were nearer to Him." In other words, if the Jewish psalmist vented his rage at wicked men, it was because he appropriately grasped that there is such a thing as evil, which was supremely hateful to God (even if he hated the evil-doer whom God Himself loved).

However, I think here, in his attempt to salvage such "devilish" poetry, "hideously distorted by the human instrument," as nevertheless God's Word, Lewis is at his least compelling. Certainly there are very many great insights along the way (e.g., "If the divine call does not make us better, it will make us worse"); but in the end, his rationalizations for redeeming these 'hateful' little songs appears rather thin and contrived. It is, to be sure, a hodgepodge of impressions, as Lewis honestly wrestles with what to do with these controversial words of Holy Scripture. However, perhaps he would have been wiser to do as the psalmist did in 73, and kept it to himself: "If I had said, 'I will speak thus,' I would have betrayed your children," (v.15). Or, at least kept it to himself until he understood fully the "final destiny" of the wicked in light of God's majesty and holiness (v.17).

In particular, I wonder if C.S. Lewis' assessment of these psalms (he cites Ps.109, 69:23; 143:12; 139:19; 137:9; and 23:5) is accurate from the outset? Are these in fact the embarrassing expressions of crass hatred and vindictive appeals for personal revenge, that he claims? Have the psalmists of Israel mispoke? Are their maledictions a slip of an otherwise pious tongue? This is what I'd like to explore in the next post...

Another Great Quote

2009-06-05T20:30:00.001-07:00

"Between heaven and hell is only this life, which is the most fragile thing in the world."

Blaise Pascal

Hocus Pocus?

2009-05-15T05:32:00.000-07:00

St. Augustine, it would seem, charted the course for the Western Church in its long and often convoluted circuit through sacramental theology with the statement: "The Word comes to the element; and so there is a sacrament, that is, a sort of visible word." The sacrament, then, has two aspects: the physical object(s) - the sign (signum) - and the invisible reality (res) that is thereby signified and proclaimed. However, these two aspects of the sacrament, and the nature of their relationship, would become the source of much confusion and contention. The Reformers, on the one hand, would later appeal to this definition, emphasizing the centrality of the Word in the church's worship, with the celebration of the sacraments functioning as the visible proclamation of the gospel (cf. 1Co.11:26). The medieval Catholic church, on the other hand, emphasized the elevation, and transformation of the element itself through the Word (i.e., the priest's prayer and words of institution).

In an attempt to clarify Augustine, and to alleviate apparent tensions in some of the church fathers, the medieval scholastics introduced what Lutheran scholar Robert Jensen has termed "the middle reality." A tertium quid. Namely, the sacrament is at once both the sign and the thing signified. And it is this ontological identification of signum et res, we are told, that constitutes the symbol(s) as sacramentum.

The ambiguity evident in many of the early fathers (see J.N.D. Kelly, Early Christian Doctrines, 2006, pp.440-449) is that they appear in places to affirm a symbolic/spiritual view of the sacrament (or were they merely speaking phenomenologically of the elements, and distancing themselves from the charge of cannabilism?), and then, on other occasions, to advance a realistic/mystical view (or were they speaking merely figuratively, and pressing such language into service against the docetic denials of the Word made flesh?). Often times it isn't clear what precisely is being attributed to the elements. For instance, consider when Justin Martyr spoke of "the transmutation" (metabolayn) with respect to the Eucharist. Was he referring to the elements themselves - either mystically, as a conversion of their substance, or materialistically, as their metabolization and incorporation into our bodies? Or was he referencing rather our flesh and blood, which through participation in the Eucharist are prepared for the life to come (cf. Irenaeus, Against Heresies [Lib. 5,2, 2-3: SC 153, 30-38])? In context, the latter makes more sense; whatever the case, it appears that Justin continues to think of the elments as bread and wine (mixed with water) even after the "prayer of His word" is uttered (see his First Apology, chp.62).

In response to this ambiguity, it's argued, the medieval scholastics come along and finally resolve the question by absolutely identifying the sacramental sign with the reality it symbolizes. However, the question linguists might ask us is whether this solution brings true clarity to the church's self-understanding and exegesis of Scripture, or is simply the ecclesiastical sanctioning of further confusion. In other words, is this conflation of the signifier and the signified a reification of our language - a simple case of mistaking the finger for the moon? Lunatic transdigitation through linguistic prestidigitation?

Whatever the case, that the signum et res synthesis represents a new development from Augustine's thought seems evident from his meditations on hermeneutics. In his classic "On Christian Doctrine," Augustine writes:

Just as I began, when I was writing about things, by warning that no one should consider them except as they are, without reference to what they signify beyond themselves, now when I am discussing signs I wish it understood that no one should consider them for what they are but rather for their value as signs which signify something else. A sign is a thing which causes us to think of something beyond the impression the thing itself makes upon the senses." (Book II, 1)

In other words, to confuse the sign with what is signified by it is a category mistake of language. He goes on to identify the elements of the Lord's Supper as signs, which make an impression upon our sense of taste (Book II, 3), among other things.

That Augustine took Jesus' language about his own flesh and blood figuratively is apparent later on in Book III:

‘Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man,’ says Christ, ‘and drink His blood, ye have no life in you.’ This seems to enjoin a crime or a vice; it is therefore a figure [of speech], enjoining that we should have a share in the sufferings of our Lord, and that we should retain a sweet and profitable memory of the fact that His flesh was wounded and crucified for us." (Book III, 16).

But what about the so-called words of institution, when Jesus says, "This is my body" (in Latin, hoc est corpus meum)? Is this figurative language or literal? With the bread and cup in hand (a hand, we might note, which was neither yet "broken" nor glorified), it seems self-evident that Jesus' language was intended to be understood figuratively (cf. 2Sam.23:16-17). It was not uncommon for our Lord to speak this way. That some might read this literally, however, would not surprise us; such confusion over Jesus' 'bready metaphors' had happened before (e.g., Mt.16:6-11; Jn.6:27ff.). Martin Luther's vehement protests notwithstanding ("Hoc est corpus meum! Est! Est! Est!"), I think Zwingli, after pointing out that there were innumerable passages of Scripture in which "is" means "signifies," had the most sensible interpretation of Scripture,

In the words "This is my body" the word "this" means the bread, and the word "body" means the body which was put to death for us. Therefore the word "is" cannot be taken literally, for the bread is not the body.

Whatever the meaning of "is" is here, it is apparent that we have all become obsessed with the elements themselves, rather than what they (by all accounts) signify: the body and blood of Jesus. As the Reformers recognized, to make the elements themselves the res of the sacrament ("literally"), and so the object of faith, is tantamount to idolatry. Jesus' whole point in John 6 is that we don't need literal bread, whether from the bread basket at the common table, or the wafer at the Lord's Table. What we need is spirit and life - eternal life, secured by the broken flesh and spilled blood of Christ in his crucifixion, and communicated to us through the spiritual subsistence of His resurrected embodiment (1Co.15:45). This is the bread of life which leaves us eternally satisfied: Christ Himself, in the fullness of His glorious Person and work!

As Athanasius wrote:

For here also He has used both terms of Himself, flesh and spirit; and He distinguished the spirit from what is of the flesh in order that they might believe not only in what was visible in Him, but in what was invisible, and so understand that what He says is not fleshy, but spiritual. For how many would the body suffice as food, for it to become meat even for the whole world? But this is why He mentioned the ascending of the Son of Man into heaven; namely, to draw them off from their corporeal idea, and that from thenceforth they might understand that the aforesaid flesh was heavenly from above, and spiritual meat, to be given at His hands. For ‘what I have said unto you,’ says He, ‘is spirit and life;’ as much as to say, ‘what is manifested, and to be given for the salvation of the world, is the flesh which I wear. But this, and the blood from it, shall be given to you spiritually at my hands as meat, so as to be imparted spiritually in each one, and to become for all a preservative to resurrection of life eternal.”

How do we receive this bread of life? Jesus answered, "He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty." Or, as Augustine famously put it, "Why preparest thou the teeth and the belly? Believe, and thou hast eaten!"

Do we receive this grace at the Lord's Table? I would hope so! There's an old joke about us baptists. It is said that we affirm Christ's presence everywhere except the Lord's Supper! As with most jokes, it's funny because it's true. But certainly Jesus communicates His presence to us - He gives Himself to us - as we celebrate communion together. But not because grace, like some mystical substance inhering in the elements, is transferred through ceremonial food and drink (see Heb.9:10; 13:9). What is grace but the life and power of Christ communicated to us through our union with Him by faith? The Reformers rightly (if perhaps inconsistently) insisted that faith was necessary for the efficacy of the sacrament, contra Rome's sacerdotal doctrine of ex opero operato. Faith is the critical instrument of grace. The sacraments, as I understand them, are the liturgical enactment of faith, and are significant precisely in their symbolic function of visibly representing (and dramatically reenacting) what is the essentially invisible effect of faith: our union with Christ in his death and resurrection. Union with Christ through faith is the essence of sacramental worship, with Christ himself as the res of the signum, the transcendent, yet ever-present reality, to which the simple bread and cup point, and which we receive through faith.

This Sunday we will be celebrating communion at our church. And my prayer is that the sign will do its work efficaciously: namely, point us unambiguously to Jesus Christ - in all of the glorious fullness of His Person and perfection of His saving work - to hear and see the gospel preached afresh, and so feed our faith, our hope and our joy in Him!

Church Planting in the Christ-Haunted South

2009-05-12T19:49:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, I am excited to be here, in Columbia. I love the University, the Capital, the growing arts scene, the mix of business and academia, of local politics and open-mic poetry, the lush landscape and red clay, the influx of northerners and mid-westerners, and the new South that is emerging. I love the new age, eco-hippie left-wingers, and I love the Limbaugh-listening, seer-sucker suit, bow-tie wearing Republicans – young and old. I love it.

I am not a Southerner, by birth or upbringing, but I really enjoy the South. I love the landscape - the varied forests (sand scrub, spruce, and loblolly pines; mountain holly, pond cypress, river birch, and swamp laurel; shumard, spanish red and white oak; southern sugar maples and carolina hemlock), the blue ridge mountains, the green foothills, the muddy rivers, and lazy lakes, the eastern beaches, the rolling hills and valleys, the humid floodplains and steaming marshes, the endless pastures and veins of dirt road. I love the weather (strangely, perversely, even the sweltering, sultry heat of Columbia in July). I love the oasis of fall, the shy winters, and vengance of spring and summer. I love the food. Greasy, home-cooked, and plenty of portions.

I love the culture, its obvious flaws and inconsistencies notwithstanding. There is a distinct decency and dignity about the South, despite the occasional accuracy of the “ign’ant redneck” stereotypes. There is something gracious and humane, which, like ancient bedrock, is primal and pervasive - southern hospitality in an historic, but delapitating house of faith, and grave piety. Beyond that, there is a fervent, at times violent, ferocity, a fiery, religious zeal - often apart from, or even against "that old time religion" - that betrays a vital and vigorous spirituality (and what other kind can there be?) - or, rather, the memory of a such a spirit. It is indeed a Christ-haunted landscape. And I love it. We live in a place that is now, to be sure, over-churched, but under gospel-ed. I am eager and thankful to have the opportunity to be a part of reconnecting the gospel to the new South.

Theology of Satan, Pt III

2009-03-11T06:48:00.000-07:00

Satan's Wiles and God's Means

Though Satan's authority to pronounce condemnation against the people of God has been stripped through the "abolishing of the law of commandments expressed in ordinances," in Christ, he still has power. Power to seduce, entice, entrap; power to oppress, torment and afflict - both physically and spiritually. He employs all such techniques to "devour" his enemies (cf. 1Pe.5:8) - God's people specifically, but mankind in general. For these reasons, we are to be "on the alert," and "not ignorant of his schemes."

However, we shouldn't be overly impressed with his wiles or ways. As illustrated by the book of Job, Satan's power is entirely delimited by God's sovereignty, and not only in his ability to afflict, but apparently even in his abilities to tempt (e.g., 1Co.10:13). Satan's power, then, is severely limited in the life of the believer. As James promised us, "resist the devil and he will flee," (4:7; cf. 1Pe.5:9).

Both affliction and temptation are summarized in the NT by the word trial or test (peirasmos/peirozow). Suffering is testing (1Pe.1:6). Temptation is testing (Jas.1:11-12). Thus Jesus is driven into the wilderness by the Spirit of God to be tested/tempted by the devil (e.g., Mt.4:1). Thus the apostle Paul is given a "thorn in the flesh," a messenger of Satan (2Co.12:7). Here we see Satan fulfilling (unwittingly perhaps) a divinely ordained role in the perfection of the saints - and that beginning with the Pioneer and Perfecter of our faith, Jesus Christ Himself (Heb.2:10; 5:8-9; 12:2). As believers face the various trials of affliction and temptation in this world their faith is matured, and they grow in holiness. Their faith deepens as they continue to trust in God "under pressure," rather than give in to the fear of pain or the loss of pleasure. They grow in perseverence, in other words, which perfects character (Ro.5:3-4; Jas.1:2-5; 1Pe.1:7).

Satan exploits our natural weaknesses and inherent wickedness, that is, our flesh. He appeals to both our perverted desires for power and pleasure in direct temptation, and to our vulnerability and frailities through an indirect appeal to legitimate desires, and our natural fear of loss of control and security. The latter case is vividly illustrated in Jesus' three-fold temptation/testing in the wilderness (Mt.4:2-10). And his primary weapon is falsehood. He lies, insisting that God is either (or both) unwilling and/or unable to care for us. In a word, God is not trustworthy; we need to find another way, any other way, than faith in God.

But as the believer, by grace, trusts in God, rather than falters in that trust, he/she grows in faith and righteousness. In this sense, we again see that Satan is an agent of the redemption of God's people, though his motives are malicious (see Rev.2:10). God uses it for good, Satan for destruction.

Perhaps this concept of Satan's divine 'usefulness' is behind Paul's cryptic statement of handing lapsed Christians "over to Satan" (1Co.5:5; 1Ti.1:20). In the act of 'church discipline', men and women who persist in disobedience are consigned to the afflictions (spiritual and physical) of Satan, and the divinely-ordered (we might call them 'natural') consequences of disobedience. In these buffets from Satan, the believer is eventually broken (perhaps even to the point of death? - 1Co.5:5), and thereby brought back to God in repentance. To hand someone over to Satan is to give them over to their sin, letting sin have its way with us, and all of its accompanying effects, until, by God's grace, we come to our senses (2Ti.2:25-26).

Moreover, the believer has the indwelling and empowering Holy Spirit, waging war against his flesh (Gal.5:17), and empowering the believer in his warfare against the powers of this dark world and heavenly forces of evil (Eph.6:12-17). The Spirit's power and presence ensures the believer's 'survival' in satanic affliction, ultimately for the purposes of sanctification. The Spirit's primary weapon in this war is the truth - God's Word. As we are sanctified in the truth, we are strengthened and made battle-ready. As we face the "fiery darts" of the devil, we are battle-proven. Whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Even what does kill us makes us stronger. Every power and principality - even death itself - which stands against us must fall. More than that, it must become to us means of our salvation. This is no doubt what Paul means in Romans 8:37-39 when he says that, in the face of these 'cosmic' threats we are MORE than conquerers. We not only defeat them through faith (cf. Ro.16:20), but they turn out to be the very means through which our victory is established, to the praise of the glory of God's grace and power!

And so the Christian can sing these (otherwise) perplexing words:

Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!
In Thy service, pain is pleasure;
With Thy favor, loss is gain.
I have called Thee Abba, Father!
I have stayed my heart on Thee.
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,
All must work for good to me.

A Theology of Satan Pt II

2009-02-23T19:28:00.000-08:00

The Satan

"Satan" is the Greek and English transliteration for the Hebrew root stn, meaning, "to be an adversary, to resist." In the books of Job and Zechariah, the adversary is addressed with the definite article, hasatan. He is THE adversary. And he is THE adversary throughout the Scriptures, standing in oppossition to God's people, whether that be the nation of Israel (1Ch.21:1), their priestly representatives (e.g., Zech.3:1-2), or the single, righteous man within Israel (e.g., Job 1-2).

In the New Testament, he is the enemy of the church, attacking God's people (e.g., 1 Pe.5:8; Jas.4:7) and opposing the redemptive work of God in and through them (e.g., Mt.13:19, 39). In his adversarial role, however, Satan seems to have a frightening power and some sort of authority over men (e.g., Lk.10:19; cf. Eph.6:12; He.2:14). What is that power, and what is the nature of this authority? In what sense, for example, did he hold the power of death? And did he really possess all the nations, such that he could deliver them over to Jesus, if the Christ would only bow down worship him? Or was he simply speaking in his native tongue when he offered this?

Before we answer these questions, consider again the first two chapters of Job. There he seems to have a place at the 'round table', so to speak, of "the Sons of God" (1:6; 2:1). Is this a legitimate seat in the heavenly council? Or is this calling toether of the "powerful ones" merely an accounting, in which God is asking the angelic powers to give answer for themselves? Either way, hasatan answers by making accusations (true to form), and thereby impugning God's glory and wisdom in creation. Namely, to paraphrase his answer, "I've been all around this world of yours. Yep, around and around." What's he getting at? "There ain't nothing there. No one noteworthy, no one righteous, no one upright or remarkable. It is a spiritual wasteland, a graveyard in the dark." To which God gives this (ominious) answer: "What about my servant, Job?" And, well, you know the rest of the story.

What's going on here? Is this official business of the 'celestial courts', or a bizarre wager in heaven's backroom? Is Satan's role as "the Accuser" to be understood as official prosecutor or plaintiff against mankind? Or his role more unofficial - subversive or 'illegal'? In a word, what is the nature of his authority in accusation and denouncement?

Two things can be stated with absolute certainty from the Job account. One, Satan answers when called by the Almighty. But then, who doesn't? Two, Satan is entirely limited in his powers against the human race by the explicit will of God. Like all power, Satan's is delimited by divine sovereignty.

There is a third element which emerges fairly quickly in this account. It is apparent that Satan's motives are malicious, while God's, though mystifying to us, are ultimately beneficent toward Job. To borrow from Genesis 50:20, what Satan intended for evil, God intended for good. If, in this process of Job's refinement, so to speak, Satan is a key player, he is so unwittingly and unwillingly. His purpose is destruction. And yet, it is precisely in his willingness to destroy Job (and so remove God's 'boast') that he fulfills God's good purposes in Job's misery and final vindication. Of course, this is the mystery and irony of all evil: ultimately, it is worked out, together with all things, for the good of God's people (Rom.8:28). Nowhere is this more pointedly and dramatically seen than at the cross of Christ. Satan's greatest triumph at Golgotha turns out to be the greatest source of good for mankind, and the beginning of his own undoing. This doesn't mean that evil isn't real, or really bad. It is; and God will justly and decisively deal with it, once and for all. What it does mean is that even the greatest rebel plays entirely into God's hands. Resistence to omnipotence is, by definition, futile.

But we still haven't answered the question as to the nature or official/unofficial capacity of Satan's role. He seems to be given entrance into the heavenly courts, and speaks as a member of the council (e.g., 1Ki.22:20-23?). Is he the enemy of God's purposes and people, or his employee? The answer seems to be both.

But he isn't like some double agent from hell, flying under the divine radar. Obviously, God is aware of Satan's schemes. And no doubt, Satan is aware that God is aware of his schemes. So what's the deal? What's he trying to accomplish?

I would suggest that he is seeking to finish what he - by all appearances, triumphantly - started in Eden (where again he was given entrance onto holy ground): bringing God's image-bearers under God's judgment by breaking God's commandments. He is both the tempter, and the accuser. He's like a mean cousin, egging you on to bad behavior, and then tattletaling. So far in the storyline of the Old Testament Satan seems to be quite successful in his plot. All men and women, originally blessed in Genesis 1, have been placed beneath the malediction of Genesis 3, cursed by God, together with the whole of terrestrial creation (cf. Ge.3:16-19; Ro.8:19-23). Now doomed to die under guilt and the righteous, inexorable condemnation of God's law, humanity appears eternally lost. What keeps them alive, keeps them going from generation to generation? God's strange patience and common grace. For there is hope in the midst of judgment in chapter 3 - the promise of a son, who will crush the serpent's head, even while he strikes man's heel. Satan's doom is announced from the onset. So God upholds a dying world, graciously, faithfully, patiently - until the Son of Man comes.

But however long the world continues to turn on the rusting pivot of divine mercy, the devil, like Stephen King's "walking dude," roams the face of it - around and around, searching (Job 1:7; 2:2). Until the work is done. Until every last one of them is gone.

Why? We have to speculate here. Satan no doubt despises God's image-bearers because he despises their glory. Almost certainly he resents the majesty and authority with which mankind was crowned (Ge.1:26-28; Ps.8:3-8), while he himself is humbled in the dust - the bruised pride of a fallen king (cf. Ez.28:13-19; Isa.14:21-14). But this is somewhat speculative. Finally, I think, evil is not to be rationalized. It is, by definition, irrational and absurd. A kind of insanity. Satan is perhaps the first and greatest psychopath.

However, God had promised to bless Abraham, and through him, all the nations of the earth. Through Abraham's seed, God would restore man's fallen crown, and renew his ruined empire. Through Israel. Through David. Through the Christ. Through Eve's promised Son. Satan fought this tooth and nail. He still fights it, after his decisive defeat at Calvary. And all the more viciously and vigorously; for, as John put it in his Apocalypse, "he knows his time is short." Satan knows he's lost. But he will take every last one he can down with him. Or at least, this seems to be his tactic.

So we know Satan's murderous intent and scheme. But he can accomplish this only by working for God, that is, as an agent of God's condmenation, cooperating (perversely, to be sure) with God's law to bring sinners under judgment. The sting of death, we are told, is sin. That is, sin is the instrumentation of death. And the power of sin is the law (1Cor.15:56)! It is God's law, in otherwords, which makes sin deadly. "The wages of sin is death." And Satan uses this divine principle of justice against us, enticing us into sin (and, willingly, we follow), and then once ensnared, seals us under guilt for the day of judgment. In this sense, and in this sense only, does Satan hold the power of death.

However, that power has been broken by the death and resurrection of Christ (He.2:14; 1Cor.15:51-57). Satan's accusations against us, as those made against Joshua (Zech.3:1-2), are roundly rebuked on account of our cleansing in Christ through grace. His indictments are nullified. His power, which lay in the Law of God as it stood against us, has been removed, once and for all (Col.2:14-15). In so far as he acted as the accuser of God's people, he has been fired - kicked out of the heavenly courts (Rev.12:19; Luke 10:18). "There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." And, to quote from Romans again,

"Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died - more than that, who was raised - who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? ...I am convinced that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

In part III, we'll consider how Satan tempts and entices us to sin using our flesh and fear.

A Theology of Satan Pt I

2009-02-22T17:23:00.000-08:00

I suppose it's a good thing that I don't spend a whole lot of time thinking about the devil. If, to quote Verbal Kint, "the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist," then there are many equally convinced that he not only exists, but is infinitely fascinating. As usual, C.S. Lewis put it best,

There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors and hail a materialist or a magician with the same delight.

Not unlike his fellow angels, however, Satan's appearance in the pages of Scripture is relatively rare. He makes his ominous debut in Genesis 3, along with sin and death, and then slithers away under the curtain of history. He doesn't appear again until out of seemingly nowhere he incites King David to take a census in Israel (1Ch.21:1), thus bringing God's judgment against the nation. Next we read of him in the opening chapters of Job, perhaps surprisingly, standing among the heavenly council of "the sons of God." And, not so suprisingly, we find him there attempting to arouse the judgment of God against his man. In Zechariah's brief vision we see the Accuser a second time in the presence of the Lord, justifying his biblical epithet, in denouncing Joshua, Israel's chief representative and mediator before God.

Of course there is the famous showdown in the Synoptic Gospels between the devil and Jesus, after which the tempter defeated leaves "until an opportune time." That would appear to have been the trying events of Christ's betrayal, (mis)trial and execution (Jn.13:2) - if not, perhaps, in the earlier manifestation of Peter's opposition to Jesus on his way to the cross (Mt.16:23). In any case, the unholy spirit continues his wiles in the early church, filling the heart of Ananias to lie to the Holy Spirit and to the church(Acts 5:3). After that, we don't see or hear from him until the Apocalypse of John, where the ancient serpant is described vividly as a great dragon, "who deceives the whole world." Finally, after much sound and fury, the old snake goes up in smoke - eternal, smoldering torment (Rev.20:10; cf. 14:11).

All told, in a book spanning thousands of years, hundreds of pages, and dozens of major characters, the Devil makes his appearance only 10 or so times. And in only a couple of these 'cameos' does he have more than a few lines. On the face it, his looks less like a lead role and more like a bit part. But of course his significance is major. Consider, for example, his many titles in Scripture: Belial, the Slanderer (i.e., the Devil), the Accuser (Heb. hasatan) and Adversary (Gk. satanas), the prince of the power of the air, the god of this age, the father of lies, the murderer, etc. In addition to his personal appearances there are of course numerous other references to him and his diabolical activity in Christ's teachings and the apostles', which we'll consider later.

To anticipate a bit where we're heading, we can briefly conclude with this summary:

Satan is man's ancient and terrible foe. And though he rarely shows himself, he is always at work, ensnaring men and women through deception and doubt, appealing to our fraility and flesh in order to lead us to our own ruin, incurring God's just condemnation against us - and all by our own hands! But in Jesus, man has won the war, even if, for now, the battle rages on...

Next we'll consider just how Satan's schemes work, what power and authority he has, and how Jesus liberates us from them.

Rick Warren's Prayer of Invocation

2009-01-21T17:36:00.000-08:00

What did you think of Warren's prayer?

Before I say anything else, let me preface my remarks by confessing that I have grown tired of all these self-appointed, miserable critics of the Christian blogosphere. I'm thinking in particular of the 'truly reformed' curmudgeons, who apparently have nothing better to do on a Friday night than compose bloated jeremiads inspired by Moscow, Idaho against every heresy in American Christendom. In addition to the two seminary extension classes they took online, they've read all of David Well's books. So, clearly, they're experts. For them, all things big are bad - unless it's a Berkhof textbook. Aside from small churches and high liturgy, these critics seem to delight most in the missteps and obvious shortcomings of evangelicalism's popular leaders. They are ever watching - even hoping - for error, and ever anxious to document and exchange every gruesome detail on their incestuous blogs. With "friends" like these in cyberspace, evangelicalism hardly needs enemies. But, be that as it may, I seriously doubt that Bill Hybels trembles to think that hundreds of pasty white twenty-or, God help us, even older-somethings rage against his Willow Creek Machine from their mother's basements.

Having said all that, I am about to critique a popular evangelical leader on my blog. Specifically, to answer the above question, my take on Warren's inaugural invocation (which, in some ways, was very impressive) is that it was, ultimately, well, lame.

Reverend Warren's prayer illustrates the perils of that delicate and treacherous balance we evangelical Christians are constantly tempted to strike: namely, how to be distinctly Christian, while appearing generally tolerant and broadminded.

We're not always sure when we've found common ground in our inclusiveness, and when we've lost it. Was, for example, Warren's clever inclusion of the Jewish Shema, the Quran's address of Allah as the "compassionate and merciful" one, and the Lord's Prayer an instance of Gospel contextualization - appealing to our common confessions for the purpose of pointing to the uniqueness of Christ? If it was, was it effective?

That Warren's carefully constructed expressions of tolerance rang hollow, while the subtle affirmation of Christian distinctiveness in his praying "in the name of...Jesus," was effectually muted, is ably pointed out in this article by Lisa Miller, the decidedly non-Christian, religion editor of Newsweek magazine. The end result was that the prayer was neither satisfying nor provocative.

What Warren forfeited, as I see it, in his opportunity to address God before the nation, and on its behalf, was the prophetic voice of the Church. Though Rev. Warren rightly appealed to the general grace and providential goodness of God in our nation's history, he said little to nothing of God's righteousness, his holiness, his judgment, his wrath and vengeance against sin. What was lacking, I thought, was the humble acknowledgment of and repentance for "our national perverseness and disobedience," to which President Lincoln called the nation in his 1863 Proclamation of Thanksgiving (in which the President not only expressed thanksgiving to God for his great mercy, but also frankly acknowledged his "dealing with us in anger for our sins"). To be fair, Rev. Warren did pray for forgiveness. But, as Lisa Miller asks, for what, exactly? For whom? And why? "Warren is savvy; he was not specific."

When the great prophets and leaders of Israel prayed for the nation, both publicly (Ezra 9:1-15; cf. Nehemiah 9:1-37) and privately (Daniel 9:1-20; Nehemiah 1:4-11), they cried out for mercy, confessing the nation's many sins (speaking not self-righteously, but as one standing in need of forgiveness as well), and pleaded for the grace of repentance and restoration to be given from heaven. From Moses to Malachi, this truth had been emblazoned on nearly every page of the Jewish Bible: only with radical repentance, yielding moral and spiritual reformation within Israel, could there ever be hope for national restoration. Their prayers were meaty, specific, heartfelt, passionate, eloquent, faithful and relevant!

Of course America is not Israel, and, rather than a theocracy, is a pluralistic democracy. However, when a Christian minister of the gospel is asked to pray on behalf of the nation, should the content of his prayer be informed by the politics of tolerance, or the politics of God's kingdom (which is the theocracy)? What better opportunity to plead on behalf of the nation for God's grace: To confess our national sins of blind greed, gluttonous consumerism, gross sexual immorality, the slaughter of innocents, hating one another (racially, socially, politically), and neglecting the "least of these" in the pursuit of the American dream; And to offer, in view of our oppressive and hopeless sin, the glorious liberation and hope of God's rich grace in Jesus Christ.

But, it will be insisted, he might lose his platform if he does that. But if all we offer on that platform is predictable platitudes and vague appeals to the Christian gospel, what good is it really?

The Defining Social Issue of Our Time

2009-01-11T18:06:00.000-08:00

Once again all I have is a link to another blog. Check it out:

A Chilling Account

Fascinating, and frightening.

Church and Para-Church Pt. III: A Modest Proposal

2008-12-01T18:42:00.000-08:00

Here's a beginning of a sketch...

One of the complications of most para-church organizations on campus partnering with local churches is that it is difficult to maintain an exclusive relationship with a single congregation. The students they serve are too diverse in their backgrounds and culture. Likewise, it is difficult for churches to remain exclusively connected with any one para-church group for similar reasons. But if there is a significant relationship – say, the leadership by and large attends a particular church, or the students in the organization have a large representation there – then it makes sense to pursue a functional partnership of some kind.

At the very least, the local church should support that ministry with its prayers and encouragement, and if possible, its resources. Likewise, the para-church group should encourage the students who attend to participate wherever possible in the life of that church (and/or the other churches of which they’re a part). All of this is assuming, of course, that both groups are theologically and biblically sound in their teachings and ministry.

One practical example of this coordination might be the leadership of the two groups sitting down together and discussing calendars, agendas and goals for the semester. Then, after discussing these and praying together, come up with a coordinated plan. This could then open doors for deeper involvement between the two organizations for the sake of the campus and particularly for the students they’ve both been called to disciple and develop.

This is no doubt a hassle, and adds to our plates. But if we are to transverse the unfortunate impasse that has all too often characterized the relationship between the church and para-church, I think that such efforts, carried out within the biblical framework of authority and for the sake of Christ’s mandate, are well worth our sweat and tears, if not our blood...

Any other ideas or models out there you've seen implemented well?

The Church and Para-Church Ministries: Pt II

2008-11-26T17:56:00.000-08:00

The Relationship of the Church to Para-Church Organizations

But the church has not always ‘stepped up to the plate’. Many para-church organizations were formed in response to a perceived need to fill the gaps. This is commendable. We rightly thank God for the initiative and vision of leaders who sought to address these gaps. But if according to the NT the local church is the normal and true expression of the Body of Christ, what are we to make of para-church groups?

As the name suggests, para-churches exist to serve alongside and in partnership with the church in fulfilling God’s purposes. As I understand it, this was the original logic behind the formation of many para-church groups today. A number of significant missionary agencies, for example, began among networks and denominational affiliations of local churches looking to pull resources and work together.

I like the metaphor of the para-church functioning as “an arm of the church.” It has a unique and specific focus and function, which is strategic and practical. But it is also necessary that it remains connected to the broader church. We can never legitimize the dismemberment of Christ’s body, or narrowing its constituency and mission. This connection to the body is more than an invisible, spiritual relationship. It must be grounded in actual, concrete expressions of the Church, i.e., the local assembly. Ultimately, of course, the para-church serves the broader church. And in practice this means serving local churches to which they are connected and, in some meaningful sense, accountable.

If, for instance, a disciple-making endeavor is to follow the apostolic example, it must not only make individual disciples, but, in so doing, make every effort to incorporate them fully into the life of a local congregation. This requires, of course, that para-church leaders themselves model a biblical commitment to the local church in their own lives and ministries.

A Question of Authority

According to Ephesians 4:11ff., Jesus has given his church a range of leaders, all critical to its health and growth. Though there is much debate in identifying these “apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers,” (or is it “pastor-teachers”?), and whether these roles all continue today, everyone agrees that the church continues to be apostolic, prophetic, evangelistic and pastoral in character and action (even if they disagree as to what all this means). This apparently demands a diversity of leaders who will “take point” in different arenas, equipping the body to fulfill its destiny in the world. Perhaps now more than ever, it is apparent that we in the Western church, for example, need evangelists, who will not only evangelize, but also disciple other believers to share the gospel.

What is the relationship of such gifted leaders to the local congregations? I think it is obvious that they are there to serve those congregations. But it isn’t necessary that they are exclusively limited to a single congregation. Many of these ministries in the first century were itinerant in nature.

On the one hand, these itinerant ministers are recognized, appointed and sent by local congregations (e.g., Ac.13:1-3). On the other hand, their domain of operation lies among multiple churches, and sometimes beyond (e.g., in “pioneering missions”). Their ministries are, in a real sense, para-church. Yet they are also ministries of the churches – both of the sending church (or churches) and the churches of which the itinerant leaders are currently ‘active members’.

Authority in the body is not located merely in its ‘officers’. It is diffused throughout the body, in mutual accountability and instruction (cf. Mt.18:15-16; Col.3:16) – two basic components of discipleship. Every believer exercises spiritual authority when acting and speaking in accordance with the Word of God (cf. Col.3:15; Eph.5:18; Gal.6:1; etc.). However, the ministry of all the members is subject to the oversight of the men God has appointed within that congregation as shepherds (Heb.13:17), laboring under the Chief Shepherd himself (1Pe.5:3). None of us is beyond the obligation to submit ourselves to the oversight of these elders of the church – not even the individual elders themselves (1Tim.5:19-20).

But rather than being a detriment to para-church ministries, by following the biblical pattern, those whose gifts and calling are recognized and embraced by the local congregation (and its leadership) exercise a ministry endorsed, encouraged, and supported by their church fellowship – even if their ministry is well beyond the bounds of that fellowship. Rather than undermining our authority, then, this bolsters and grounds it in the real, flesh and blood community of God’s people. If, however, the people of God do not acknowledge or affirm our calling and ministry, then…that is a real dilemma. Who’s right and who’s wrong? Of course, if we have good reason to doubt the doctrinal, ethical and/or spiritual fitness of the elders of our church, we are morally bound before God to address this within the community, and, if necessary, find another congregation to which we can submit ourselves in good conscience.

The Church and Para-Church Ministries: Pt I

2008-11-26T17:52:00.000-08:00

The Community of Jesus’ Disciples:

In Matthew 16:18, Jesus announced his intention to ‘church plant’. Why build another church (cf. “synagogue”) in Israel? Though Jesus never rejected the structure (note Lk.4:16) or authority of the Jewish religious establishment (see Mt.23:1-3a), he was sharply critical of its radical corruption and abuse (23:3b-36). And it is hardly coincidental that Jesus’ declaration here follows on the heels of his solemn warning to the disciples about “the powers that be” in Jerusalem (16:5-12; see also 16:1-4 and 15:1-14).

In dramatic contrast to institutional Judaism, which would ‘officially’ reject the one whom Peter has just identified as “the Son of the Living God,” at the center of this renewed assembly of Israel stands the Person and work of the remarkable Galilean rabbi. It would be his church; as he would later promise his disciples, “where two or more are gathered in my name, there am I with them,” (18:20). Isn’t that an amazing, audacious claim? But it gets better. As the congregation of God’s anointed nothing in this world or the next could overthrow it - not even death itself (16:18)! It would appear that this church of Jesus’ would have a unique relationship to and participation in the coming kingdom he announced. For, in addition to defeating the grave (and with it, him who held its power, cf. Heb.2:14; Rom.16:20), it would exercise heavenly authority to “bind” and “loose” on earth (Mt.16:19; 18:18-19).

This language of ‘loosing’ and ‘binding’ was used by the rabbis to describe their legislative and judicial pronouncements regarding what was forbidden and what was permitted. These binding decisions (presumably based on God’s revealed will in the Law and Prophets) defined one’s obligations towards both God and neighbor. In vv.15-17 we see this authority exercised in the disciplinary process executed within the church. As one commentator summarized, “the new community would exercise divinely given authority both in regulating its internal affairs and in deciding who would be admitted to and who excluded from its membership.”

It would also appear that the church’s implementation of this ‘kingdom authority’ was integral to God’s implementation of his saving purposes in the world: seeking out and protecting “these little ones” in righteousness and grace (see 18:10-14, 21-35). This is incredible, if you stop and think about it.

Similar to the promise made in 18:20 (in the context of church discipline), at the end of Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus promises: “And surely I am with you always, even to the very end of the age.” Here the context is the so-called “Great Commission,” which Jesus issued to the young “church” of the original twelve (minus one). Jesus is with his people as they go into the world to make new disciples – from Jerusalem to the very ends of the earth, from now until the end of time. Wherever (and whenever) the church is, in other words, there is the Lord in power and in Person.

The apostles likewise understood this deep and even mysterious (Eph.3:4-6; 5:32; Col.1:27) relationship of Christ with his people. Paul, for example, taught that all believers were spiritually united to Christ as the “head,” and, consequently, to one another within the corporate “body of Christ” (e.g., 1Co.12:13; Eph.5:23; Ro.12:4-5).

The apostles again corroborate Jesus’ teachings in affirming that the church, though not to be confused with the kingdom of God, is its principal representative and agent in the world. Paul, as usual, is particularly helpful, explaining how God’s eternal purposes in salvation (e.g., Eph.1:9-10; 3:11) are fulfilled in and through “his body, which is the church” (Col.1:24; Eph.1:22-23; see 2:11-3:10; 4:1-16).

The Church and the Mission of God:

But what is the relationship of the Church and its mission to the local assembly? And just what constitutes a local assembly or church? To answer the second question first, according to the NT, a local church is a group of believers in a particular area meeting regularly together for worship (including celebrating baptism and the Lord’s Supper), instruction, and fellowship (see Acts 2:41-42), as organized within a biblical structure of authority (e.g., Acts 15:6ff.). More on that below…

As we read the Book of Acts, and glean insights from the epistles of Paul, Peter, John and others, we find that the process of discipleship was primarily accomplished through local assemblies, working in concert with other congregations and their representatives (e.g., Phil.2:25) in the formation and development of new churches. In Acts 13-14, for example, this approach is paradigmatically depicted in Luke’s narration of Paul’s ministry (see especially 13:1, 42-52, 14:21-28). For the early Christians, the Great Commission was understood as a call to plant and develop churches on the one foundation of the gospel (1Co.3:5-11; Eph.2:20-22). And of course this makes sense. In Mt.28:18-20, Jesus describes the disciple-making process in terms of baptism, marking entrance into the church, and teaching the whole council of God’s will, which is one of the primary tasks of the church as “the pillar and foundation of the truth,” (1Tim.3:15). The Christian mission and the Christian church, then, went hand in hand.

Jesus has gifted his church with leadership to guide it in fulfilling its purpose (Eph.4:11ff.) by providing general oversight and instruction (1Th.5:12-13). As evidenced in Acts 14:23 and Titus 1:5, it was the apostle’s practice to appoint mature leaders in the congregations he established. Specifically, these leaders were collectively commissioned as a “body of elders” (presbyters or overseers), no doubt patterned after the Jewish synagogue. Their individual appointment followed prayerful recognition of their gifts and calling, as those raised up by the Holy Spirit (Ac.20:28), and, almost certainly, approved by the congregation at large (cf. Ac.6:3). Later, it would seem a body of deacons assisting the elders in administrative oversight and care emerged among the churches. But whatever the details of organization were exactly, we clearly see a consistent pattern of ecclesiastical authority exemplified throughout the NT (e.g., Phil.1:1; 1Tim.3:1-13; Jas.5:14; 1Pe.5:1-4; etc.).

According to Paul a local assembly was a particular but true manifestation of the one “Church of God” (e.g., 1Co.1:2; cf. 1Tim.3:15). It is this organ, as small and imperfect as it is, that was to be God’s primary instrument in making disciples of the nations. And in the course of the last 2,000 years, this seemingly weak organ has proved remarkably effective.

Spurgeon on Fashion

2008-11-22T05:15:00.000-08:00

Just had to share this quote from C.H. Spurgeon:

The great guide of the world is fashion and it’s god is respectability–two phantoms at which brave men laugh! How many of you look around on society to know what to do? You watch the general current and then float upon it! You study the popular breeze and shift your sails to suit it. True men do not so! You ask, “Is it fashionable? If it is fashionable, it must be done.” Fashion is the law of multitudes, but it is nothing more than the common consent of fools.

On Language and Gospel Preaching

2008-11-14T20:43:00.000-08:00

The first and foremost task of any preacher, pastor, teacher, etc. ("etc." here blurs over all the exegetical questions of Eph.4:11, and other such texts), is to proclaim Christ in all of his glory - centered on the most (paradoxically) glorious aspect of Christ's work: the crucifixion of the God-man (Phil.2:6-8; cf. 1Co.2:2; Gal.6:14). Our pride and joy is, to use Luther's famous phrase, the "theology of the cross." This is what we're all about.

Unfortunately, unlike the apostle to the heathen (1Co.2:1, 4; cf. 2Co.10:10; 11:6), we do not always make it plain and clear. Perhaps in an effort to impress or, in defensiveness, evade the crass starkness of "the ole' rugged cross," we obscure this message with pseudo-academic language, or pop-psychological jargon, or any other form of high-falutin' nonsense. In using this sort of language, we often empty the cross of its power. And I am constantly guilty of this.

As it is a message for all people (and for the sake of clarity), we should aim to communicate the message of "Christ crucified" plainly and well.

Today, I read George Orwell's excellent essay, "Politics and the English Language." What he addresses to writers aptly applies to preachers. He offers the following questions every good writer (and/or preacher) should ask himself:

What am I trying to say?
What words will express it?
What image or idiom will make it clearer?
Is this image fresh enough to have an effect?
Can I make it shorter?
Have I said anything that is avoidably ugly (think: convoluted and unnecessarily complex)?

He then offers the following rules:

Never use a metaphor, simile or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print. (I.e., avoid well-worn and 'automatic' turns of phrase, which are often thoughtlessly used out of convenience and sloth. Unwittingly, Orwell argues, we often allow such hackneyed language to dictate the direction of our argumentation, rather than the other way around.)

Never use a long word where a short word will do.

If it is possible to cut out a word it, always cut it out.

Never use the passive where you can use the active.

Never us foreign phrases (e.g., Latin or Greek terms), a scientific word or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

Good, common sense advice for those who are called to "persuade men" (2Co.5:11) by an open and clear proclamation of truth (2Co.4:2b). It is often harder to write or preach this way - though it seems simpler, and maybe even embarrasingly so. But this is the hard and humble work we're called to do.

Church 101

2008-10-19T19:04:00.000-07:00

What defines the church? It is a question that has been long discussed for nearly the entire course of its existence. But the answer, though not always clear in implications, is the simplest of Sunday school answers: Jesus.

Jesus established the church as the community of disciples who followed him. The apostles whom he sent elaborated the church's identity in the language of "in him".

Paul refered to the church as the body of Christ, and the temple of God "in him." Peter similarly refered to the community of saints as a building, with Christ as the chief corner stone. John refered to it in terms of communion with the Father and the Son.

According to the book of Acts, the church is demarcated by a profession of faith in Christ as Lord, entailing repentance of sins, and undergoing the waters of baptism.

The Greek word rendered "church" is ecclesia, and means a gathering, congregation or assembly.

As an assembly, the church has some characteristics in Acts that establish a pattern, which is confirmed in the epistles. For example, in Acts 2:42, it is written: "And they were continually devoting themselves to the apostles' teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer."

The church, we read, is a learning community - devoted to the Scriptures, both in study and in practice. We see in the so-called "great commission" how central teaching was in the life of the church.

In assembling together, the church is a social community, engaged in fellowship - sharing in each other's lives at a profoundly spiritual and practical level. This means, among other things, that they met together regularly. This what constituted them as an ecclesia, and not merely a collection of individual disciples.

They broke bread. This probably refers to the practice of celebrating the Lord's supper together, in the midst of something like a church potluck.

They prayed together. Prayer was a vital part of their study of the Word and their fellowship.

This is what they did when they gathered together.

We also find in Acts that they evangelized. This is something they appear to do individually, or as they 'scatter'.

Where's worship? Of course, worship is all of these things: fellowship, bible study, the Lord's supper, and prayer. All of these are acts of worship. What about singing? This is so central to the weekly gatherings of evangelical churches all over the world. And certainly we read of Paul and Silas singing hymns in a Philippian jail cell. We see Paul instructing the Ephesians and Colossians to sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs to one another. Singing is an act of worship and devotion in the Scriptures which God's people engage in for encouragement, mutual edification, and instruction. The church is the assembly of worshipers ("true worshipers," John might add), who sing God's praises together.

When did they gather? Sometimes daily, according to the book of Acts. However, it would appear that Sunday, commemorating the day of the Lord's resurrection, took on special significance as a day of gathering in the early church.

The church also engaged in sending missionaries: apostles, preachers and teachers. These they sent to unreached areas, as well as to reached areas for the up-building of other churches.

It engaged in discipline and exhortation, for the sake of the church's integrity - that of both the community and the individual under discipline. The church was accountable to its members, its leadership, to other churches, and ultimately to Jesus Christ himself, who instituted the disciplinary process as basic to discipleship, and gave the church authority to carry it out in his name (Mt.18).

Really, it isn't all that different from what we find happening in countless local churches throughout the world today. Not much has changed in 2,000 years. And, when you look at it, it is really quite simple.

Get Ready for the Future... It is Murder (Part II)

2008-09-17T17:54:00.000-07:00

Canadian Doctors Worried Palin's Example Will Negatively Affect their Bottom Line...

Get Ready for the Future... It is Murder (Part I)

2008-09-03T05:12:00.000-07:00

Another revealing quote from the British "Sun", regarding Sarah Palin:

"She is fiercely anti-abortion and went ahead with her pregnancy with son Trig, now five months, after learning at an early stage that he would have Down’s syndrome."

Sarah Palin and the Defining Moral Issue of Our Time

2008-09-01T05:48:00.000-07:00

Whatever one makes of McCain's choice of a running mate, or rather, his political motives in choosing the female, 'rogue' republican from Alaska, the choice may prove, providentially, to be beneficial to our nation. I am speaking specifically of Gov. Palin's fifth child and second son, Trig, who was born with an extra chromosome - trisomy 21. As Al Mohler points out in his excellent blog, Trig's very presence, both in the world and on the political stage in particular, is hope for us all. God-willing, his presence will force the most critical human rights issue facing our nation to the public square for renewed scrutiny and discussion: eugenic abortion and infanticide. As weighty as the issue is, it is one our leaders (both political and religious), in what I can only deem moral cowardice, are wont to avoid in any serious, thoughtful engagment (see Erik Braun's recent post). As a nation, we have made a pact with the culture of death, and we've stuck our heads in the sand - all the while sinking deeper into the pit (see Kill and Destroy).

God will most certainly judge us.

Contrast this horrific picture of heartless cruelty to "the least of these," with the Palin family's love and warm embrace of their newest member.

God save us!

The debate has already begun (e.g., Patricia Bauer's blog). What can we do? We can challenge the murderous attitudes which Trig's presence will expose in our culture. For example, Jackie Calmes of the New York Times recently wrote of "Palin's opposition to abortion, which she put into practice dramatically by choosing not to abort her last baby after tests shwoed he had Down syndrome." This is a dramatic display of pro-life convictions? I thought it was simple parenting. As numerous articles, editorials and entries in the blogosphere are being published, implicitly or explicitly questioning the governor's 'choice' to not abort a "defective fetus," we can speak up and challenge these grossly inhumane, brutish assumptions about the value of these little ones.

Proverbs 31:8 states, "Speak out for the one who cannot speak, for the rights of those who are doomed." Let's roll!

Theology, the Church and Mission

2008-08-15T21:08:00.000-07:00

I tend to think of the Christian life from three different perspectives: our relationship to God, our relationship to the church, as the community of God's people, and our relationship to the world, as the object of God's creative, righteous and redemptive rule. Our fundamental task as the church in the world is worship - our repsonse to God. In that, we respond in particular ways to both the church and to the world. We can never isolate worship, for example, from fellowship (as we are all too prone to do in our individualistic and privatized culture), or from the mission we've been given to make disciples in the world (and here we are always struggling, flipping back and forth between worldliness - losing our 'saltiness' - and Christian isolationism - which, ironically, is another form of worldliness).

In other words, the task of the church must be theologically (--> doxalogically), ecclesiologically, and missiologically comprehended. Paul, in my mind, is the preeminent model of this balance. Who can dispute Paul's obvious theological depth? Certainly the apostle was a theologian of the first order. Moreover, he did not think his theology too rarified or sophisticated for the average church member. He expected every student of Christ to follow his profound argumentation as proponded in his many epistles. The epistle of Romans, for example, is an incredible piece of sustained, rigorous and sophisticated theological reasoning. And he expected his readers to 'get it' (Ro.15:14-15) - not easily or without serious work, but to understand it nevertheless. This is a very different methodology of 'doing church' then is common in evangelical circles today, where we assume the lowest common denominator and are told to "put the cookies on the bottom shelf." The fact is, the 'cookies' worth having, which God has embedded in his self-revelation of Scripture, cannot be found on the bottom shelf. Such gems, to switch metaphors, have to be worked at to be unearthed and thoroughly polished to be fully appreciated.

Yet, as a theologian, Paul was eminently practical. His theology was always a working theology - an applied theology. Paul was not an arm chair theologian. Arm chair theology is idle chit chat compared to the profound theology which motivated the apostle, and filled his heart and mind with awe and worship (e.g., Ro.11:33-36). Paul's theology drove him to obedience, to carry out the commission given him as an apostle to the Gentiles. And he expected that such theologizing would similarly drive his disciples into greater obedience to their high calling in Christ.

Paul was also a 'churchman'. He was deeply concerned with the health of the churches he planted (e.g., 2Co.11:28-29). He loved the church, both globally as the glorious object of God's redeeming love, and locally, in the particular churches he served. He loved and served these chruches with a passion and intensity that sets the highest pastoral standard for leaders who would follow his example (e.g., 2Co.7:2ff.).

Yet, Paul clearly was driven to preach the gospel beyond the geographic circles of where Christ was known (Ro.15:19-20). Why? Because he wanted to be obedient to the God who called him, serving him faithfully in his priestly task of sanctifying the Gentiles in Christ through the gospel (Ro.15:16). He was so driven to preach because he loved the church of God, and wanted to see it fully formed in grace (e.g., Col.1:28).

Contrast this with the false dichotomies that abound in evangelicalism today. Detailed, doctrinal concern, for example, is often juxtaposed unfavorably with the 'missional' endeavor. Theological questions and concerns are often dismissed as 'getting in the way' of the mission - an unnecessary and fruitless aside. Rather, our working motto tends to be, 'get 'er done!'- as though the mission isn't fraught with theological questions of the deepest sort, that must be thought (re-thought) through carefully and faithfully.

Pastoral ministry likewise is often set at odds with evangelism and missions. "Quit being inward focused," we're told, "and focus on the lost" (as though it were ever either/or). And theology is seen, by many, as practically irrelevant to pastoral care and church development, or even worse, as a stumbling block to church growth. Or consider 'professional' theology, in which an 'academically free' theologizing in ivory towers is removed from the everyday, mundane concerns of pastoral ministry. One has only to survey the fruit of such 'unchurched' theology to see the outcome of disconnecting theology from the practical realities of the local church. It is neither good for the theologians, their theology, nor their students. Or consider the outcome of removing theology and church practice from the demands and pressures the Great Commission places upon us. At best we are left with a 'dead orthodoxy,' in which theological truths are merely parroted, or only assumed, and, at worst, a thriving heresy. What one generation assumes, without rigorous teaching and defending, the next generation dismisses.

Theocentric, ecclesiocentric and missiocentric. Paul's example doesn't let us get away with our easy outs, predicated on such false tensions. Let us follow his example of preaching a theologically-conscious gospel for the sake of the church and God's glory.

The Disabled Life: Moses, William and Me

2008-08-10T20:22:00.000-07:00

I remember sitting around Wil’s plexiglass bassinette in the pastel, faux-warmth of Shand’s NICU II nursery, explaining to my mother that our blond-headed, blue-eyed premie would soon need open heart surgery to repair a large VSD, an ASD and PDA (grim acronyms I had learned only a week before). Of course, I also had to explain the diagnosis of Down Syndrome. Wil would be developmentally delayed – mentally retarded. He would suffer from low muscle-tone, making it more difficult to raise his head, to lift his body, to crawl, to walk and to speak. In addition to his cardiovascular issues, he would be liable to a whole host of health problems, such as hypothyroidism, gastrointestinal complications, spinal malformations and childhood leukemia. Chances are that William Hayne Walden, named after my father, would be sterile. No children of his own.

As I enumerated the implications of Wil’s extra chromosome (some only possible, others likely) I was stung again by my own prognostic pessimism. I watched Wil lay there, with my mother stroking his peach-fuzzed head, small and helpless. And I loved him. Was it pity? At the risk of indulging in existential cliché, I paused and said, “We are all disabled, aren’t we?”

Why did I just say that out loud?

Wil’s enfeebling condition and diagnosis was an indictment against us all, I thought. Perhaps I felt self-pity. And then I realized that what I had sensed was more akin to the fear of God. Wil was a picture to me, all of a sudden, of the human condition. Love and pity and fear.

In the Book of Psalms there is one entry by the man named Moses. In Psalm 90, the hoary Jewish patriarch reflects on our frail and fallen form.

Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. You turn men back to dust, saying, "Return to dust, O sons of men." For a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night. You sweep men away in the sleep of death; they are like the new grass of the morning-- though in the morning it springs up new, by evening it is dry and withered.
We are consumed by your anger and terrified by your indignation. You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence. All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan. The length of our days is seventy years-- or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.

Men can be favorably compared to other men, but never to God. Moses spent his entire life reflecting on the power and righteousness of the Almighty as revealed to him and his people in Egypt and the vast stretches of the Sinai wilderness – a power and righteousness set in sharp relief against the patent weakness and wickedness of men. All men. Even the great patriarch himself was refused entrance into the land of Canaan - the promised rest and goal of their forty year pilgrimage - because of his own moral failure at the waters of Meribah. At the end of his life he was granted a panoramic view of “the land flowing with milk and honey” from the great heights of Pisgah; but that was as close as he got. Moses breathed his last in the Moab valley below, and was buried in an unmarked grave on the wrong side of the Jordan.

He knew well his own frailty. When first confronted with the deity named “I Am Who I Am” in the burning bush, Moses cowered before the glory of his forefathers’ god.

Do not come near here; remove your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.

Moses hid his face in fear, and the Lord spoke. He cowered again at the command issued: “So now, go! I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.” “Who am I,” asked Moses, “that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” Yet, even after the great “I Am,” had repeatedly reassured him, Moses protested:

O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.
The Lord’s patience was growing thin. “Who gave man his mouth,” He interrogated, “Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the Lord?”

I thought about that as I looked at my son. Who made him? Who formed him with his frailties and weaknesses? It was an awesome thought: frightening and hopeful.

I thought about that again a week later when a pastor and friend of mine called me from New Jersey. I remember only his last remark: “Wil will be an incredible blessing to you and to God’s people.” I wept. And though I didn’t know how exactly, I believed his words would prove true. I hoped.

Moses hoped. Even while languishing in the desert those forty years, without a homeland, and with hope deferred, he was yet at home with his God. “Lord,” he confesses at the start of his psalm, “you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.”

The Lord was Wil’s maker; skillful hands had formed our son, tenderly and intimately in the secret place (Ps.139:15). And into those hands his life would be repeatedly entrusted in the years to come - whether standing in dreary, antiseptic rooms of hospitals agonizing, or sitting on the edge of our queen-sized bed with anxious hands folded. The God of Moses and Wil has been our home, our rest and our hope.

Even to the bittersweet end of his life, Moses’ stubborn hope and vigor were strong. In the words of the Letter to the Hebrews, “he was looking ahead to his reward” - even as his eyes surveyed the promise land for the last time.

Indeed, when all was said and done, God would establish the work of his servant’s feeble hands (Ps.90:17), and prove the utterances of his stammering tongue.

Wil’s infirmities boldly underline my own before a sovereign and holy God. They remind me that I am on the wrong side of the Jordan: profoundly disabled and utterly helpless. Ironically, however, in his weakness Wil has great power. He has the power to frighten us, reminding us that we are, after all, merely men. He shows us plainly our own brokenness.

But he also has the power to delight us, charming us with his easy smiles and irresistible laughter, winning us with undeniable loveliness and grace. And in this - in Wil’s power to bless me and those around him (whether then, as he lay silent in a NICU isolette, or now, as he waddles cackling down the grocery store aisle), in sharp relief to his obvious frailty - the graceful power and goodness of God is clearly demonstrated for all who care to see.

He is wonderful.

The Ethnocentrism of Paul

2008-06-29T19:59:00.000-07:00

Was Paul a dispensationalist or a covenantalist? Probably neither, strictly speaking. But one thing is clear: his eschatology was Israel-centered. Now, I know that that is a controversial claim, and indeed, in many evangelical circles, fighting words! Of course, his eschatology was theocentric, christocentric and kingdom-centered, but that does not mean that it was not also Israel-centered. In fact, the very language of "kingdom" and "Christ" and even "God" is really incomprehensible apart from Israel - her history, her scriptures, and her destiny.

By "Israel" I mean straightfowardly the nation that descended from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In a word, Paul's "kinsmen according to the flesh" (Ro.9:3). This is clearly what the apostle means in using the term "Israel" in his writings (Gal.6:16, with its noteworthy qualifier "of God," is a disputed exception, which in any case proves the rule). This is particularly clear in Ro.9-11, where Paul's whole discussion is predicated on the distinction between Israel and the Gentiles, who have been ("contrary to nature") included into the "olive tree" of the Abrahamic covenant. The whole subject of his discussion in these chapters is the remarkable fact that Gentiles (who were "excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world") were receiving the good news, while Israel (the historic people of God) rejected it.

What then shall we say? That the Gentiles, who did not pursue righteousness, have obtained it, a righteousness that is by faith; but Israel, who pursued a law of righteousness, has not attained it.

Even when we consider the fact that Paul calls Gentiles who believe "sons of Abraham," we also note that he maintains a distinction for those who, in addition to being "of the faith of Abraham," are also "of the Law" (Ro.4:16). For, in addition to the uncircumcised who believe, Abraham "is also the father of the circumcised who not only are circumcised but who also walk in the footsteps of the faith that our father Abraham had before he was circumcised" (4:12). Rather than obliterating the distinction between Jew and Gentile, it would seem that our inclusion as Gentiles into the blessing of Abraham (Gal.3:6-14) with believing Israel (is this the meaning of Gal.6:16?) confirms it, as the fulfillment of the covenant. For in Christ, God has made good on his promise to bless not only Abraham and his physical descendents (confirming the promises to "the circumcision", Ro.15:8), but also, thereby, all the nations! And so, Abraham is not only the father of blessed Israel, but of "many nations" as well (Ro.4:17).

Israel and the nations, then, are distinguished, though no longer divided in Christ (Eph.2:11ff.). There are, after all, both wild olive shoots and the natural branches connected to the nourishing root (Ro.11:17). To obfuscate the distinction is to obviate God's glory and grace in fulfilling his ancient promises through Jesus Christ - the son of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Judah, the Root of Jesse and the Son of David.

This distinction between Israel and the Gentiles, of course, is also maintained in the apostolic mission of preaching the gospel "to the Jew first, and also to the Greek," (Ro.1:16; cf. Ac.3:26; 13:46; etc.). Why? Because, as Paul writes:

Theirs is the adoption as sons; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises. Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of Christ, who is God
over all, forever praised! Amen.

Even in his ministry to the Gentiles, Paul had a certain Israel-centered motive:

Inasmuch as I am the apostle to the Gentiles, I make much of my ministry in the hope that I may somehow arouse my own people to envy and save some of them.

And even though the elect nation, by and large, has rejected the gospel, yet, as Paul is at pains to show in the epistle to the Romans, the covenant made with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob regarding the people of Israel is not thereby nullified:

As far as the gospel is concerned, they are enemies on your account; but as far as election is concerned, they are loved on account of the patriarchs

But how is this divine love for ethnic Israel consummated? Is it? Is it like "a hope deferred" - indefinitely? Or is that hope realized? Is this love fulfilled? Paul seemed to think that it would be.

But if their transgression means riches for the world, and their loss means riches for the Gentiles, how much greater riches will their fullness bring! ...For if their rejection is the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance be but life from the dead?

In the corpus of Paul's writings, and within the context of the whole New Testament, what can "life from the dead" possibly mean but resurrection? Likewise, Paul expected that this "fullness" of Israel would be accomplished when "the deliverer will come from Zion; he will turn godlessness away from Jacob," and "take away their sins," (Ro.11:26, 27). Clearly, in the context of Paul's whole discussion, this has not happened yet. Israel/Jacob was still plainly in her sin - enemies with respect to the gospel! Paul's hope for Israel then was eschatological. Like Peter and the other apostles (Ac.1:6; 3:19-21), Paul saw the full restoration of Israel to God as the climax of history, in which Christ would return in glory, and renew all things - in fulfillment of all that the prophets had spoken. And to this great end he labored.

Sex in Advertising

2008-06-29T19:38:00.000-07:00

It's as old as your grandma...though, perhaps, not always equally effective...

You've come a long way, baby!

(Btw, my grandma sent me this picture...)

God, Rationality and Revelation

2008-05-27T19:34:00.000-07:00

Recently, a letter written by Albert Einstein to a philosopher named Eric Gutkind, penned just before his death, was auctioned at Bloomsbury Auctions in London, demonstrating his dismissal of belief in God. In it he writes,

The word God is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weaknesses, the Bible a collection of honourable, but still primitive legends which are nevertheless pretty childish. No interpretation no matter how subtle can (for me) change this. These subtilised interpretations are highly manifold according to their nature and have almost nothing to do with the original text. For me the Jewish religion like all other religions is an incarnation of the most childish superstitions. And the Jewish people to whom I gladly belong and with whose mentality I have a deep affinity have no different quality for me than all other people. As far as my experience goes, they are also no better than other human groups, although they are protected from the worst cancers by a lack of power. Otherwise I cannot see anything 'chosen' about them.

Einstein’s words here perhaps represent what most intellectuals in modern society think about God. On the one hand, many are thoughtful enough to acknowledge the utility and even necessity of the idea of God. Yet, on the other hand, they are too sophisticated (and, perhaps, a bit too cynical) to embrace the ‘religious trappings’ of theism. Historically, the progression since the Enlightenment has tended from biblical theism (as contemplated in Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, etc.) toward a certain philosophical theism (e.g., Rene Descartes and Immanuel Kant), which became disconnected from the revealed God of Scriptures. God, they insisted, had to be established on purely ‘rational’ grounds, i.e., what was accessible through reason and sense perception alone. The progression (or digression) continued on toward Deism (e.g., Voltaire and Thomas Jefferson), in which God was reduced to the cosmic “First Cause” of Newton’s clockwork universe, becoming effectually removed from the stage of history (cosmic or human). Finally, we see a trend toward an impersonal force or intelligence, ontologically integrated with the universe itself, as witnessed in Spinoza, Hegel, and later in Einstein and other recent physicists. Often such modern, Westernized pantheism borders on the mystical, even among scientists (e.g., quantum theorist, David Bohm).

So Einstein was not an atheist in the sense that he wanted to deny any force beyond what science could explain. As he wrote in his letter to Gutkind,

Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible laws and connections, there remains something subtle, intangible, and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in fact, religious.

On the other hand, he clearly rejected theism and belief in any personal God. As in Kant’s conception, Einstein’s deity was a metaphysically necessary “ground” for rationality (and, in Kant’s case at any rate, morality), but ultimately beyond the scope of human reason and observation. The deity is shrouded in impenetrable mystery. He is the ultimate, philosophical God of the gaps - and in those dark caverns of human ignorance he is confined forever. He is the ding an sich, and therefore unknown to us. The assumption here, of course, is that human reason and observation is all we have…

The idea of God is necessary in order to ground the scientific endeavor (e.g., giving warrant to the presuppositions of comprehensibility, uniformity, the validity of empirical study and inductive reasoning, etc.). However, we are also told that we are limited by those same presuppositions as to what we can and cannot assert about God. Take miracles for example. Many have argued that miracles are impossible by definition, as they would presumably interrupt the uniformity of natural law. Hence, the Creator who grounds the natural world apparently cannot in turn act to interfere with it. For Deists, such a god is thus self-limiting. For pantheists, however, he cannot do otherwise; for he is the embodiment of the universe’s intrinsic and integrated rationality. Either way, the deity’s hands are tied by his own, physical laws.

However, as philosophers have pointed out, it seems more consistent, not to confidently reject the possibility of the miraculous, as did the rationalists, but to simply confess (as we do wherever we approach such limits in science, e.g., on the edge of the singularity of the Big Bang): at this point, we simply do not, and within the strictures of science, cannot know. Science cannot speak assertively to the reality of the miraculous per se – by definition. To argue for or against it is to go beyond the scope of the defining, scientific method. Rather, to make such assertions, one way or the other, is to lean, by faith, on our presuppositions.

I tend to agree with Kant and others that God cannot be absolutely proved positively. Though there is warrant to the traditional arguments for God, I find, there is an even more compeling case to be made for God as a necessary hypothesis. This is the essence of the so-called “transcendental argument,” so powerfully used by Kant in epistemology and, to a lesser extent, in ethics.

However, the Christian worldview goes beyond the transcendental arguments from necessity, to speak of a God who is known ‘unnecessarily’ – and thereby, more clearly, intelligibly, and even intimately. That is to say, this unknowable God has freely chosen to make himself known to his creatures in a personal act of Self-disclosure: a gracious unveiling of his eternal, hidden, holy Person and purposes. This is something God did not have to do. The invisible and unapproachable God is, in principle, beyond our feeble grasp (this is the ancient doctrine of “divine incomprehensibility”). Nevertheless, he has lovingly stooped to speak to us, in terms which are both accurate and accessible to us. As John Calvin put it, “God lisps to his children” – baby talk! He has accommodated himself in order that we ‘mere mortals’ might know him truly, fully, and personally.

The divine revelation to mankind is freely mediated through creation (and science is one such expression of our knowledge of divine revelation, as given through “what has been made,” Romans 1:20), through providence (e.g., Acts 14:17) and through redemption. These are typically categorized in terms of general and special revelation. Special revelation is the act wherein the Supreme Being has revealed himself in redemption specifically.

What do I mean by that?

God has made himself known, not only in the intrinsic order, beauty and majesty of the universe (revealing his immeasurable intelligence, power and creativity) and human conscience (revealing his righteous standards and the inescapable sense of judgment), but also in initiating personal and covenantal relationships with men. God speaks to us – directly.

How?

Through the supernatural ‘irruption’ of the divine Self-revelation in history! We have a word from beyond. Specifically, God spoke to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob. He revealed himself to Moses at the burning bush, and to Israel - the descendents of the patriarchs - at Sinai in fire and thundercloud, in written laws and recorded history. Why? He had entered into a covenant relationship with Abraham and his children, promising to bring blessing and restoration to the whole race of mankind. He had determined to do this through Israel, his chosen people. God would work with real people, in real space and real time to bring about his ends.

Why did mankind need blessing and restoration? This is the significance of Genesis 3. Man is not only finite, but fallen. We are not only limited by our fallible reasoning and incomplete perceptions, but also by a corrupt nature. We are sinners.

But God is in the business of recovering sinners. Though the world had gone astray, as John famously put it, “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes on him will not perish, but have everlasting life.”

Contrary to the empty, “circle of life” platitudes, in which death is conceived as ‘only natural’, men were not created to die. They were created to be in an everlasting and joyous communion with the Maker. When men fell, they were justly placed beneath the curse, entailing death, frustration, and futility. The Book of Ecclesiastes is a prolonged meditation on this morbid reality. But even in the midst of the curse, God is at work for good, teaching men, that they might turn to him and be saved. So the author of Ecclesiastes writes,

He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

In other words, God’s ways haunt us, and are forever beyond our grasp. He has placed man’s salvation – a true knowledge of God – beyond the pale of his finite and fallen resources. Stubborn and prideful man must learn to bow the knee to the Almighty, and confess His glory. No man shall be saved by his own wisdom or efforts. It is the gift of God, so that no man may boast, and all men give thanks to God. Thus the apostle Paul writes,

Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength. Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things-- and the things that are not-- to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God-- that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord."

And so God makes a mockery of human reason. For God will not bless the corrupt efforts of man, in his hubris, to discover the truth of God. Man will not find the one true God by reason and observation (nor even religious speculation) alone. Why? Because his reasoning is rebellious against the Truth, and, for that reason, blind. God must intervene. God must speak into the chaos of this broken world, and enlighten our darkened hearts. And he has done so.

This process of speaking order into the void began at creation, but continued in the ordinary life of a nomad named Abram (whose name was later changed to “Abraham,” meaning “father of many nations”). The promise of blessing and restoration given to father Abraham was confirmed to Isaac, to Jacob, and to the nation of Israel by Moses and all the prophets. But this promise was to be mediated through a man, not a nation en masse. God chose David as his man, to establish a royal dynasty in Israel forever. It would be through David’s line that God’s gracious purposes for Israel and the world would be accomplished. This is known as the Davidic covenant (2Samuel 7). God would place David’s son on the throne, and he would be called the Son of God, the Anointed One – the Messiah (see Psalm 2).

Yet, mysteriously, this son of David is also David’s Lord (Matthew 22:41-45) – the one who will not only bless David and his people, but rule and judge the whole world (Psalm 110; Isaiah 9:6-7). The New Testament affirms that Jesus is the Son of David who fulfills the promises of the covenant with Abraham – the Christ of God. In Jesus, all the promises of the patriarchs are confirmed and granted by faith. Christ now sits enthroned, at the right hand of Majesty, administering those blessings through his people, the church. And today God continues to speak light into the darkness of the human heart through the gospel (which has been entrusted to the church in the form of holy writ). As Paul wrote, “For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.”

The New Atheism Debate: What's at Stake?

2008-05-19T07:21:00.001-07:00

If you haven't already seen it, check out the Dawkins-Lennox debate: http://www.dawkinslennoxdebate.com/

I thought Lennox did a good job hitting the major issues with Dawkins' atheism in general, and some of his more outrageous claims in his ('I'm just trying to be rational here...') provocatively titled book, "The God Delusion." Though, I do admit I was hoping he would be a bit more aggressive. Chalk it up to British diplomacy, I suppose.

As I watched the debate, I was struck by Dawkins' fascinatingly stubborn and narrow grasp of reality and history. He is also arrogant, and amusingly, apparently totally oblivious to the fact.

Did you note his frustratingly confused conception of (Christian) faith, on which Lennox rightly calls him to task?

Also note his remarkable statement: "I cannot see how one can logically derive evil from atheism"? Such a comment defies all reason and credibility, and I think, betrays the depth of his historical and philosophical naivete.

Of course, neither atheism nor theism, as abstract concepts, necessarily entail or logically require any particular behavior - good or bad. Dawkins' argument runs both ways! After all, as such, they're ill-defined. Belief in what kind of god(s)? And disbelief in what sort of divinity? Remember, the early Christians were called "atheists" because they rejected the local Greek and Roman deities!

Nevertheless, such 'naked concepts' as "atheism" and "theism" do not exist by themselves. Atheism and theism are always embodied within a particular set of beliefs, values, and practices. Theism, even when divorced from any historic religious tradition (a more and more common form of 'faith' today), by whomever and wherever it is held, is always embedded and contextualized within a complex ideological and cultural web - a worldview. Not all theists (nor theisms) are alike.

Dawkins' point of course is that religious incarnations of theism, entailing the authority of sacred books and/or traditions, with their various ethical instructions and ceremonial observances, are more liable to be used by religious fanatics to justify and even guide them in their violence. Atheism, on the other hand, he argues, is purely negative. As such, it has no such body of traditions, religious authorities, or ceremonies. But here is where his naivete is so apparent: he fails to see that atheism too, historically, has its own 'religious' garb! Atheism always exists, everywhere and at all times, within a network of social, political and even religious traditions, authorities and ceremonies. Behold Stalin's Marxism! Behold Pol Pot! Atheism was hardly incidental to their atrocities. It was, as Lennox rightly points out, fundamental in their 'cultural revolution' as Marxists. A stronger case might be made for social Darwinism, modern eugenics and the cold logic with which the Nazi's carried out "the final solution."

Atheism, in one form or another, may not require violence (though here Dawkin's brutish, Darwinian naturalism stares us in the face, "red in tooth and claw"); but, neither does atheism forbid violence. How can it? It is absolutely amoral, and for that reason, utterly unworthy as the foundation for our comprehension of the world. Even Dawkins confesses that his naturalistic atheism cannot guide us at all in moral decisions - a fairly large swath of the human experience, wouldn't you say?

And here is where I see Dawkins as not only an amusingly confused and arrogant man, but dangerous. Just as he sees Christianity as a delusion, and hardly harmless - containing within it the seeds of irrational evil, following blindly "by faith" a morally horrific book - so I see his brand of atheism (refreshingly committed to belief in the truth as universal and absolute, I admit with Lennox) as not only deluded, but fundamentally depraved. Just as he fears the religious fanatic, absolutely committed to his faith (quite apart from reason and evidence, as Dawkins' frames these), so I fear the likes of Dawkins: a 'religious' zealot, absolutely convinced in his faith (his conception of 'rationality'). What's scary is that, unlike Christianity, his is fundamentally amoral. And amorality isn't amoral; as Augustine pointed out, a lack of good is nothing other than evil itself.

What is this brave, new ideological amorality Dawkins thrusts upon us - in the guise of the objective scientist ("....just following the facts," we are told)? Does he himself understand that it signifies the deconstruction of all moral values - do we see that it represents the unhinging of the world as we know it? What "rough beast" has been unleashed in our civilized and modern age? What sort of delusion is this (2Th.2:11)?

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Staying Awake...

2008-05-11T05:56:00.000-07:00

In a recent post I asked, in the American context (padded by comfort, safety and security) "how can we stay awake?" We need to stay alert, even though (or rather, especially because) the Lord tarries (for millennia) and the world goes on as it always has... (2Pe.3:1-15a).

I came across 1Th.5:6 this morning: "So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be alert and self-controlled." The context is the coming Day of the Lord (5:1-11), in which "sudden destruction" will come upon the world (5:3), though we will escape God's wrath and "obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ," (5:9). With this hope we are to encourage each other and build one another up (5:11).

The call to sobriety and alertness is familiar in the New Testament (e.g., 1Pe.5:8; 2Ti.4:5; Eph.6:18; Col.4:2; 1Co.16:13; cf. 15:34; Ro.13:11; Eph.5:6-18). And this call is most typically found within an eschatological or apocalyptic context (see, for example, Mt.24:42-43; Mk.13:33-37; Lk.21:36), as we see in 1Th.5:1ff.

This is also the case in Peter's first epistle (e.g., 4:7, note also the close connection between alertness and prayer). In 1:13, Peter writes, "Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be self-controlled; set your hope fully on the grace to be given you when Jesus Christ is revealed."

Here is the challenge: setting our hope fully on the revelation of Jesus Christ in glory, when we too will be glorified with him (1:3-7).

In what are we putting our hope? Do we believe in his coming, or have we become effectively cynics with the world (2Pe.3:4)? Do we long for his return, or have we become content with a kingdom without God? Do we hasten the day of the Lord, or have we exchanged that hope for another tomorrow?

To stay awake, then, we must, at least, positively, be "looking for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Christ Jesus." (Something I frankly do not regularly do).

How do we do this? How do we "long for his appearing"? Are our affections set fully on Jesus Christ, his glory, and its full manifestation in the last day? Where are our hearts? This, then, is issue. Staying awake is really a call to find our joy and our hope in the only truly satisfying source there is: the grace and glory of Jesus Christ. It is a call to be "filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy," 1Pe.1:8. Odd how we turn this into a burdensome duty and source of guilt, isn't it?

Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be sober-minded; set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ!

Sound Doctrine and Prayer

2008-05-01T05:47:00.001-07:00

As one studies the NT, a consistent and comperehensive pattern of "sound doctrine" emerges (e.g., 1Ti.1:10b-11; 2Ti.4:3; Titus 2:1), entailing both "sound words" (e.g., 2Ti.1:13-14; 2:2; Titus 1:9; Ro.6:17) and "sound practices" (see 1Ti.4:6-12; cf. 1Co.4:16-17; 10:31-11:1; Phil.3:17), constantly commended to the "household of faith" for our observance. This pattern (tupos) stands on the pages of scripture as the embodiment of the apostolic traditions (e.g., 2Th.2:15; 3:6-9; 1Co.11:2) - the body and rule of our faith - as passed on to the churches (Jude 3; e.g., 1Co.11:23; 15:3ff.), and rooted in the pattern of life and ministry of Jesus Christ himself (e.g., 1Ti.6:3; 1Co.11:1; cf. 4:16; 2Co.4:7-18; 1Pe.2:21; etc.).

What are some of the practices, in particular, that the apostles of Jesus Christ commend to us? One clear and consistent practice is prayer. It is easy for us to leave this practice indefinite, haphazard, and untethered from daily life. But Christ and his apostles were quite specific in their teachings and example.There is established for us a normative pattern of both the content and habit of our prayer life. First, the Lord himself passed on to us a model of how to pray (Lk.11:2-4; Mt.6:9-13). And the apostles also teach us from the example of their prayers in many of the epistles (e.g., Eph.1:15-23; Col.1:9-14; Phil.1:3-9). Secondly, we also see in the NT, both modeled for us and commanded of us, a regular (daily, continual) life of prayer (e.g., Lk.5:16; 6:12; 9:18, 28; 18:1ff.; Ro.1:10; Eph.1:16; 6:18-19; Col.1:9; 4:12; 1Th.5:17; 2Th.1:2, 11; 3:1; 1Ti.2:1; 2Ti.1:3).

We must face the question, then: does this pattern characterize our practice of prayer? If not, can we have any confidence that the results of the apostolic ministry in the early church will be approximated in our own lives? Apart from the very 'means of grace' employed regularly by the early church, do we expect to see the same effects of grace in our churches?

Just as the apostolic doctrine of Christ's deity is vital for the maintenance and integrity of our Christianity, so too is a habitual, biblical life of prayer. Yet we have so often reduced the orthodoxy of our faith to mere profession (intellectual assent), while effectually ignoring the particular practices of orthodoxy (orthopraxis). Prayer (as modeled in the scriptures) is the natural, and indeed inevitable, expression of a living faith.

Mission and Comfort...Or Why Its Hard to Be an American

2008-04-27T10:16:00.000-07:00

All of this recent evangelical talk of 'missional churches,' 'missional living,' 'missional spirituality,' etc., etc., ad nauseum, if it has any biblical significance at all as far as I can tell, is simply good ole fashioned, evangelical Christianity, awakening from the semi-delusional torpor of the 20th century that "mission" is something that happens "over there" (and is done by trained professionals and/or other fanatics). A significant part of this is the rude awakening of recent cultural trends; we Christians in America are coming to see more and more that "we aren't in Kansas anymore." With churches dropping like flies, according to the most recent statistics, and an undeniably escalating ignorance and downright hostility toward the Christian traditions in North American culture, we're now looking across our streets, rather than across the ocean, at a formidable mission field. Is it ripe for harvest? That's hard to tell...

What is good in all of this is the recollection of our purpose as the church. We exist not simply as a gathering center for a largely Christianized population. We must see ourselves more and more as mission agencies - outposts of God's kingdom on the edge of hell (as C.H. Spurgeon and other evangelical preachers and evangelists so clearly saw and taught us over a century ago). Each generation is only one step away from total apostasy (Jdg.2:10). And it seems we just might be crossing that threshold now. Are we simply coasting on a bygone, enculturated Christianity, which is quickly crumbling away all around us? Is the spiritual death of Eurpoe our doom afterall?

Whatever lingo we use, it is clear that the church must remember its identity and purpose. We are the people of God - holy, set apart - a royal priesthood, called to proclaim his praises in the world. But, man, it's hard. The American experiment has just been so stinking successful - the dream has more or less come true for the vast majority of us. Life in America is comfortable, safe, and functionally independent (i.e., self-sufficient, self-perpetuating, self-directing). In popular parlance, "we're good, thanks." We have to a great extent realized the postmillennial visions of our colonial fathers, and established a heavenly kingdom on earth. It has become a sort of secularized paradise, in which cultivating a truly spiritual life is increasingly difficult (cf. Craig Gay, The Way of the (Modern) World). (The irony of all this is that I complain as I sit in an air-conditioned Starbucks, sipping expensive coffe, on a new laptop computer in a comfortable chair.) Of course, we know that it can't last forever. Yet, we are constantly being lulled into thinking that it will (e.g., "don't worry, gas prices will even out," "the stockmarket will eventually recover, and your Roth-IRA will be fine," "the economy will bounce back after a few rough cycles," etc.). This is the essential apostasy of the world (2Pe.3:3-17): everything will go on as it always has...forever and ever, world without end.

In the midst of such ease, and the seeming normativity of middle-class comfort and convenience, how do we remain realistically connected to the vital, pressing mission God has given us as his people? How can we stay awake (cf. Eph.5:6-17)?

Fleshing this Out...Continued

2008-01-31T19:23:00.000-08:00

Christ Over Us: An Example of Submission and Mission

In the context of a new Christendom (inaugurated with the Edict of Milan?), the identity of the church as a community of "exiles and strangers in the world" changed. With the so-called "Constantinian shift," the church took on a new social and political status, which, as many of the radical reformers argued, has since redefined the purpose and nature of the church.

In particular, in so far as the church and state were politically united, the function of the two became mutually commensurate. Namely, the church's purpose was reframed as a bureaucratic mission of increasing membership and overseeing the welfare of its members.

And it's easy to see how this would happen. In Christendom, where everyone is presumably "Christian" by virtue of their familial and national heritage, the identity of the church as "disciples of Jesus" was obscured; and its mission of making new disciples was therefore compromised. The confusion was only exacerbated by the paedobaptisic practice of the Catholic and Reformational churches, in, wittingly and unwittingly, christening the children of unbelievers en masse. This is, of course, the subject of Kierkegaard's insightful, if blistering, Attack on Christendom. But, even practiced evangelically with due caution, when baptizing infants becomes the primary means of discipleship, the Great Commission has been essentially lost.

Two things had deeply challenged the church in its "long and dangerous sleep": 1) the recovery of the gospel in the reformation, and, as a result 2) the realignment of the church along evangelical lines. Nevertheless, even with the evangelical demand for spiritual regeneration, as evidenced by faith and repentance, and an evangelical theology of the sacraments (predicated on sola fide), the ecclesiology of the magesterial reformers was, at best, quasi-evangelical. The church was still understood as a national body of adherents, comprehended within their sociological matrix. Blood and soil. Even in the Westminster Standards, where the "visible church" transcends the soil of the state, it is nevertheless delineated along blood lines (WLC 62). And so, strangely, baptism could be applied and received apart from faith - provided one had "Abraham for our father," Lk.3:8. As a result, an uneasy mixture of flesh and Spirit, of birth and rebirth persisted within the ecclesiology of the reformational churches.

Moreover, the instrumentality of the church as the divine agent of salvation in the world was effectively reduced to the traditionally sacerdotal functions of official teaching and preaching, administration of the sacraments, and the exercise of church discipline (see Calvin's Institutes, Book IV). But what of the multifarious gifts and ministries of the broader body? The priesthood of all believers, it would appear, was practically negated in the context of the church's task of making disciples. And so, from the beginning, a new priesthood was engendered within the Protestant clergy.

Perhaps if Calvin had expanded his explanation of 'the discipline of the church' beyond ecclesiastical censure, as Dallas Willard has suggested in The Spirit of the Disciplines (1988, pp.145-146), entailing all that the church does and is as a body of disciples (e.g., Mt.18:6-35; cf. Eph.4:2-5:21), then a more comprehensive understanding of the church's mission and function would have followed. As it was, however, the purpose of the church was effectively limited to the purview of its leadership, and that, primarily, with respect to its role of increasing church membership (typically, the old-fashioned way: making babies...not that there's anything wrong with that!) and overseeing the welfare of its members.

And thus it stands today. The response of many young and frustrated men of zeal has been to break away from the church altogether, in function if not in attendance, in order to pursue the Great Commission, as they understand it. On the one hand, this is understandable, as the lumbering, traditional churches became bogged down in the machinary of their own bureaucracies. On the other hand, however, such a departure represents a profound confusion of the mission itself. The mission cannot be accomplished apart from the church (not in part only, but in its entirety); for that is how God has designed it. The mission is for the church and by the church. FUBU, baby...

As American Christianity moved away from the state church, it also tended to marginalize the church per se in the life of faith. Church participation was expected by the pious, but, practically speaking, hardly necessary. Yet in failing to submit ourselves to the church (not necessarily any particular church, but some particular church!), we fail to submit ourselves to Christ in the accomplishment of his mission. Perhaps we should add to the list of reformational solas: sola ecclesia?

Fleshing this Out...

2008-01-27T19:15:00.000-08:00

Christ Over Us: An Example of Submission and Mission

It seems to me that the Western church has functioned with a radically flawed ecclesiology - a systemic error that has to yet to be thoroughly uprooted.

The Nicean and Post-Nicean fathers essentially established the doctrines of theology proper and Christology, over and agaist the heresies of Gnosticism, Arianism, and the various confusions regarding Christ's Person. Likewise, the reformers of the 16th century clearly articulated the doctrines of soteriology and the efficacy of Christ's mediation, over and against the semi-Pelagianism and sacerdotal hierarchy of Rome. In this, the reformers unearthed Augustine's doctrines of grace, as obscured in the scholastics. And in their radical, Christocentric iconoclasm, they cleared the cluttered halls of the church, and reset the evangelical trajectory, in which the word of God (and the gospel in particular) is properly located at the center of the church's life and mission.

Yet, the reformers never worked out a consistently evangelical ecclesiology. Despite their profound grasp of the fundamentals (e.g., the recovery of the priesthood of all believers, and the clarion call of sola Scriptura), there is still, it seems to me, a deep confusion evident in Luther, in the Anglican synthesis, and even in Calvin's "Geneva experiment". One example of such confusion, I would argue, is the reformers' continued practice of infant baptism. This is particularly clear in Zwingli's idealized nationalism, as articulated against the anabaptists' "insurrectionist" practices in Zurich: 're'-baptizing one another in their own homes! After all, the failure to 'register' one's children with the state through the baptismal rite of the Swiss Church was just unpatriotic. Calvin advanced Zwingli's paedo-baptistic arguments with a more developed, covenantal theology; yet the conflation of church and state persisted in his identifying 'familial solidarity' with "covenant community" - our corporate solidarity with Christ through faith. At root, there was a failture to disentangle the church, as a spiritual entity, from the geo-political entities of Europe. Perhaps this was just too inconceivable for the "magesterial reformers," who, unlike the poor anabaptists, found themselves on the right end of Christendom's sword (at least within their respective territories).

Yet, in the case of the "American experiment," an essentially anabaptist ecclesiology won the day, and the first amendment has enshrined this political and ecclesiological distinction ever since. Was the American church then on the right path?

It seems not. Or at least, the path has been less than straight. In its modern American forms, evangelicalism has tended to neglect the church altogether. Our reformational theology, it would seem, could not sustain us, apart from a state church. But then again, in perhaps different ways, neither could it sustain continental Europe or Great Britian, with a state church! Rather than placing the blame at the feet of our anabaptistic and puritancial heritage, then, I think that our profound neglect of the church betrays a deeper inadequacy in our Western ecclesiology, bequethed to us all, as children of the reformation. It would be easy to blame secularism in all of this. But I am afraid that the fault lies more squarely with us.

I do think Europe's strident secularism, though similiar, is a different beast than the American version. Nevertheless, the same problem, I believe, lies at the root of both: a failure on our part to understand the relationship between the church, the Christian, and the mission of Christ.

To be continued...

Spirituality and Mission Part IV

2007-11-05T18:42:00.000-08:00

Having briefly explored the integration of the Mission and Culture mandate, I would like to (again, briefly) turn to the integration of spirituality and mission.

As Colossians 1:15ff. makes clear, the whole cosmic enchilada is centered around Christ - the entirety of history (terrestrial and celestial) revolves around the Word, the self-revelation of God, embodied in the glorified Christ.

As humans, made in the image of God, we are patterned after the incarnate God, the express image of the invisible God, and the fullness of Deity in bodily form. As redeemed sinners, marred by the fall, but rescued in Jesus, we are being continually conformed and renewed in Christ, in whose face shines "the light of the knowledge of the glory of God." And one day - the last day - we will be made complete in Christ, and will be like him who is from heaven (1Co.15:48).

Our spirituality then is entirely centered on and around Christ, as the only mediator between man and God, the heavenly high priest who effectually intercedes for us, and in whom alone our destiny as human beings is restored, fulfilled - summed up (Eph.1:9-10). In light of this, I can think of our spirituality only in terms of our relationship to Jesus. Knowledge of God through Christ is the only pathway to (and for) true spiritual life (cf. Jn.17:3; 14:6).

In studying Colossians, I see three dynamics or aspects in our relationship to Christ, which in turn determine everything about us as the church. First, Christ, as the sovereign Lord of heaven and earth, is over us. He is the head over every principality and power, and, particularly, the head of the church, "the fullness of him who fills all things." To him we are compelled to bow the knee. He commands; we must obey. This is creation properly ordered, or more accurately, restored to its proper order. This is the basic significance of Christian submission: ordering our lives under divine authority, as unveiled in the revelation of Christ. And so, for example, we order our lives under the institutions he, through creation, providence and redemption has established, ordered, and blessed (e.g., government, marriage, and the church). A spiritual life, then, is submissive - a well-ordered life (cf. Eph.5:18-21ff.).

Without obedience to Christ and his commands there is no spirituality in any biblical sense of the term.

The second aspect is our spiritual union with Christ: We in Christ and Christ in us. Through faith, we have union with him in his death, burial, resurrection, and glorification (Col.2-3; cf. Ro.6:1ff.). We are spiritually and organically united to him as members of a body (1Co.6:15-17). We are one with him through the Holy Spirit, such that all the splendor, beauty and perfection of His person and work is ours. This is joy and hope of the Christian!

Likewise, we become wholly his - both in body and soul (cf. 1Co.6:19-20) - individually, and corporately (Eph.5:25-32).

Therefore, what he has, we have. In him, we have the righteousness of God (cf. Ro.5:16-18; Phil.3:8-9). In him, we have all the wealth of knowledge and wisdom (Col.2:3). In him, we are eternally blessed with all the spiritual riches in the heavenlies (Eph.1:3-14). Through him, even the fullness of the Godhead belongs to us (Col.2:9-10)! Such is the overwhelmingly lavish inheritance of the Christian (cf. Col.2:8-9ff.; Eph.1:18). And so Paul declares in 1Co.1:30,

By His doing you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification, and redemption.

As a result, we now walk with boldness in the presence of God, with joy and with hearts at rest (cf. Ro.5:1-5; He.10:22; 1Jn.3:19-21). And not only do we enjoy this new status before God (as "righteous,"and "holy," as "sons of God," etc.), but our whole lives are now revealed as wrapped up in this new destiny - his destiny. In Christ, we are not only justified and sanctified (cf. 1Co.6:11), but are progressively being conformed into his image; and ultimately we will be glorified in him and with him (Ro.8:29-39). In Christ, we are predestined for this glorious future (cf. Ro.8:23, 29; Eph.1:5). We are thus made to be coheirs with Christ of the divine kingdom - both in his sufferings and in his reward (Ro.8:17; cf. Phil.1:29)!

As our result, on the one hand, our lives here and now become increasingly 'cruciform' - that is, shaped by the cross of Christ (e.g., 2Co.4:7-11). According to the apostle, this is our great destiny on earth: to be conformed to the sufferings of Christ (Phil.3:10-15). And so, what He was, as the suffering servant, we are. As Peter wrote to the churches in Asia Minor, "Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps," 1Pe.2:21.

But, on the other hand, our lives are also exalted in him, both now (Col.3:1), through the gift of the Spirit, and then, when he appears in power to transform our "lowly bodies into conformity with the body of his glory" (Phil.3:21). This is our great destiny in the new heavens and new earth: to inherit the kingdom of God (cf. 1Co.15:50-53; 2Pe.3:13)! And so, what He is, we will be (Col.3:3-4). As John wrote, "Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is," 1Jn.3:2.

Obviously this language of being "in him" implies more than mere representational solidarity - as though the fullness of Christ's person and glory were merely some hologram projected from heaven to earth. Rather, our union with Christ lifts us up to where he is, seated at the right hand of majesty. It is a mystical reality that not only imputes divine righteousness to us, but imparts righteousness, through the transformative power of Christ at work within us. For in our spiritual union, the life of the immortal Christ invades our lives through the indwelling Holy Spirit (the Spirit of Christ), by whom we are continuosly being transformed "from glory to glory" into his likeness (2Co.3:18).

Mysteriously, the life of Christ, then, is lived out within us. He is alive, and at work in us, changing us, saving us. Hence, Paul writes,

I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

We are in Christ. Christ is in us. This mysterious, living union is the very 'stuff' of our spirituality - the vital center of our new life and obedience. Wasn't this knowledge of the mystery of "Christ in you" the substance of Paul's prayers for the churches (e.g., Eph.1:15-23; 3:14-19; Col.1:9-14; 2:2-3; cf. Phil.1:9-11)? Paul understood that such a knowledge of our spiritual riches in Christ would yield 'good works' and 'fruit' (Col.1:10); it would inexorably produce the end of our redemption, namely, perfection (cf. Phil.1:6; 1Th.5:23).

This knowledge of our union with Christ in his death and resurection, according to the apostle, is not merely theoretical. Properly grasped (by faith), it leads us to "reckon ourselves dead," and live anew to God through Christ (Ro.6:11), etc. This calls then for meditation, for reflection on our profound union with Christ, and, through him, with the Godhead. From this spiritual understanding and knowledge comes wisdom: a wisdom demonstrated by our obedience.

Christ is over us. Christ is in us. And as a result, Christ is at work through us. Here we see the 'missional' impact of our union with Christ. Not only are we drawn up into the life of the Godhead by virtue of this spiritual union, but we thereby become instruments of Christ in the world, impacting the realm of his kindgom (i.e., everything) through the activity of his Spirit. In this way, the living Christ continues to work in the world today, through his body, the church. And our union with him through faith, as grounded in the word of God and realized through the Holy Spirit, is the powerful means by which Christ accomplishes his redemptive purposes in history. As Christ dwells in us, and we abide in him (trusting and obeying him as Lord), our impact is deepened, and our obedience to his commission is enlivened with life, confidence and joy.

As Christ is over us, we are compelled to obey his mandate (Mt.28:18-20). As Christ is in us, and we in him, we have the liberating knowledge of his victorious reign on our behalf (if Christ has conquered sin and death, we have conquered sin and death) and the power of his transforming presence goes with us, and is active in us. And so, as Christ is at work through his church, we have the promise and confidence that the mission will be accomplished through us, as his body on earth.

Christ over us; Christ in us; Christ through us. We need all three: 1. authority/submission (giving us purpose and direction), 2. boldness and vitality (giving us life and energy), and 3. efficacy in the ministry of the gospel (giving us impact in the world).

Spirituality and Mission: Pt III

2007-10-21T18:54:00.000-07:00

In the last post, I spoke of our broad task of living within the fallen world as restored men and women. I want to explore further how the mission mandate of the New Testament is integrated within the cultural mandate of Genesis.

God had a purpose and design for mankind, which in part was interrupted and frustrated through sin. Of course, God was not ignorant of the fact that Adam would transgress the commandment and forfeit eternal life, thereby compromising his earhtly reign, as the pinnacle of terrestrial creation. Yet it was God's eternal purpose to restore the divine image in man through the humiliation, exaltation and heavenly reign of Jesus Christ. This is just to say that God had always purposed to glorify himself through the redemption accomplished by the eternal Son in history.

Man was created, then, in light of Christ. The imago Dei anticipates both the incarnation of the Son, and its restoration from corruption in the glorification of humanity through Christ. Anthropology is inextricably bound up with christology and eschatology. Cf. 1Co.6:13-20.

What we were created to be "in the beginning" then is not at odds with our discipleship. Rather, our discipleship is the fulfillment of our creational or cultural mandate, as redeemed men and women at work within a fallen world. In particular, our labor centers around God's: the work of redemption (Jn.5:17).

In light of what God is now doing in the world, our cultural mandate takes on a new emphasis. We are not merely laborers for food. We are laborers for the kingdom. Of course, this has always been the case. Just as Adam cultivated the land to the glory of God (within the divine kingdom, as represented in the Garden), so we also work for God's glory. But now this must contemplate the present divine administration in Christ: the irruptive, redemptive kingdom of God.

We so often think that this work draws us out of the world, as though we now labor on another plane. This isn't true. We labor in the world, fulfulling our cultural mandate to marry, have children, participate in society, and seek the common good, but with an eye to the redemption found in Christ.

In particular, we work, marry, have children, etc., with the goal of making disciples amidst a world of broken, wicked, and confused rebels. I think this is the significance of Jesus' command: "Go, make disciples..." As many have noted, the "go" is a participle, relative to the imperative "make disciples." As we "go", living a 'normal' life as men and women, husbands and wives, parents, employees, citizens, etc., we are to be at work making disciples. It's as though Jesus were saying: as you fulfill the cultural mandate, fulfill the redemptive mission!

But the mission mandate is not an addendum to our cultural mandate, as though the two are separate courses, run in parallel. Rather, they are integrated. They are integrated in Christ. And precisely becuase we called to be conformed to the image of God in Christ, they are integrated in us, as the church. As we conform to Christ, the full unveiling of God's image, so we rightly and more fully become what we ought to be as men and women within the present age.

As we fulfill the mission, so we fulfill the cultural mandate.

For as we are conformed to the image of Christ, we become more human. We work with honesty, integrity, joy, and in good order: under the hand of God. We relate to our fellow man in love, peace, and kindess, with patience, self-control and charity. We relate to our world with understanding, self-discipline and wisdom. Etc., etc.

But also, as we conform to Christ, we conform inevitably to his work, to his redemptive mission. For him, the command to labor is specifically the Father's command to accomplish the work of redemption (cf. Jn.5:17; 17:4). Our restoration cannot then but comprehend the redemptive work of making disciples of the nations. For as we are confomed to divine love, as revealed in Christ, so we must become more and more concerned with mankind's redemption. To be truly human, in the context of a fallen world and the redemptive reign of God, means to become disciple-makers.

Our mandate then is an integration of culture and redemption.

This 'integrated mandate' accomplishes two things. In restoring the imago Dei within us, it vindicates the righteousness and wisdom of God in creation (particularly in creating humanity as reflective of God's benevolent and wise reign). In redeeming the fallen order (as well as judging it) through us, it vindicates the righteousness and wisdom of God in "Christ and him crucified."

Our broad task then can be understood in terms of theodicy: glorifying God by vindicating the divine wisdom, benevolence and righteousness in a fallen world.

Spirituality and Mission: Pt II

2007-10-18T18:01:00.001-07:00

In the last entry, I briefly summarized the mission of the church as the salvation of God's elect. This was essentially the apostolic mission as articulated by Paul in Col.1:24-29:

Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I do my share on behalf of His body (which is the church) in filling up that which is lacking in Christ's afflictions. Of this church I was made a minister according to the stewardship from God bestowed on me for your benefit, that I might fully carry out the preaching of the word of God, that is, the mystery which has been hidden from the past ages and generations; but has now been manifested to His saints, to whom God willed to make known what is the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. And we proclaim Him, admonishing every man and teaching every man with all wisdom, that we may present every man complete in Christ. And for this purpose also I labor, striving according to His power, which mightily works within me.
Paul here speaks (stunningly) of what "is lacking in Christ's afflictions." Of course, he does not mean that Christ's work of redemption accomplished in his incarnation, death, and exaltation was incomplete in itself. Paul clearly understood the entire efficacy of redemption (including the Spirit's regenerative work, and the individual appropriation by faith) as flowing from the perfections of Christ's cross and resurrection. The atonement of Christ was not then lacking in any way. But there was work left to be done - there was suffering yet to be endured, and especially by his apostles (cf. 1Co.4:9-13) for the fulfillment of God's redemptive purposes in the world.

In particular, Paul saw his task as consisting fundamentally in the proclamation of Christ and Him crucified - the mystery of God (cf. 1Co.2:1-13). And for this gospel he suffered, in order that the riches of God's mystery might be made known among the Gentiles (cf. 2:1-3). And to what end? That he might fulfill his priestly duty (Ro.15:16) to present every man perfect in Christ before God.

And the work of God's unfolding redemption in Christ continues. There is work for us to accomplish. There is suffering yet to be endured. And for us who are united to Christ, this is good news (cf. Phil.1:29; Rom.8:17).

We too must work and suffer to make the gospel known. This is our glory as the church in the world!

At the center of the church's mission then is nothing less than the complete salvation of all the elect of God (cf. Titus 1:1; 2Tim.2:10). But this can only be accomplished within the broader task of the church to proclaim and embody the gospel in the world.

In this sense, the church's task encompasses not only the elect but the whole world. It is only as the church faithfully communicates the mystery of Christ in and before the world that the elect will be saved. In terms of Christ's commission(s) as recorded in Matthew and Mark, we can only "make disciples of the nations" as we "preach the gospel to all creation" (cf. Col.1:23).

Moreover, the preaching of the gospel to all not only yields repentance and faith among the elect (cf. 1Th.1:4-5), but also rejection by the world (e.g., 2Co.4:3-4); and thus the unbelieving world's condemnation is established (e.g., 2Th.2:9-12). This too is God's purpose. Jesus declared that "the gospel must first be preached to all the world," as a testimony (Mt.24:14; Mk.13:10) - both as a testimony to the mercy, wisdom and righteousness of God in Christ (for the salvation of those who believe), and as a testimony against the world in its rejection of Christ (cf. 1Co.2:6). For this dual purpose Christ was appointed (cf. Lk.2:34; 1Pe.2:6-8).

And yet, as awesome as this is (see 2Co.2:14-16), this too fails to capture the entire, wholistic mission of the church.

In embodying the gospel in the world, the church acts to recover (in part, at least) the original purposes of creation in the midst of our 'falleness'. In particular, in our redemption, the image of God is restored in us through Christ (Col.3:10; Eph.4:24), to be what God had intended us to be "from the beginning" (cf. Mt.19:4, 8; Ge.1:27). Thus we Christians work, marry, have children, submit to governing authorities, buy, sell, etc. - in a word, live normal and good lives, in accordance to our original design and purpose (Ge.1:28). In Christ, the glorious purpose for humanity, forfeited in the fall, is now restored (He.2:6-9). And by virtue of our present participation in Christ's exalted humanity, we recover that original purpose, to the glory of God. In particular, we act to vindicate God's original designs for humanity and the world in the present order.

I think of these three overarching tasks as concentric circles or spheres, with each circle becoming more focused and precise. The first and most comprehensive circle is our purpose of vindicating God's ways with and in the world, paritcularly with regard to humanity. Within that (cosmic) circle lies our task of proclaiming and embodying the (particular, historically manifested) mystery of Christ on earth, as the image of God in a broken world, and the full disclosure of mankind's redemption and destiny. And at the center of that circle is our purpose to make mature disciples of all the nations, to the end that the whole church might be wholly perfected (cf. Eph.4:11-16). We thereby function to vindicate the righteousness of God in redemption, as revealed in the gospel.

No small task!

And yet this is not a call to an 'extraordinary' spirituality - to some sort of modern monasticism. It is a call to live our lives in the world as we were called (1Co.7:17), as ordered by God in His providence, and according to His commandments (cf. 1Co.7:19-20). And here, where God has placed us, where he has redeemed us, we are to deliberately make disciples of Christ (Mt.28:19) who likewise worship and serve God according to our original design. As we pursue this specific mandate, we fulfill our broad task of embodying the gospel in the world, and the cultural mandate to represent God's righteous reign on earth!

It is an 'earthy' spirituality, then, calling us to reflect the image of God in Christ as mothers, fathers, children, housewives, engineers, plumbers, artists, doctors, missionaries, etc., to the end that God would be glorified in Jesus Christ - the true man, the true atonement, the true mediator, and the one true God - in the salvation of the elect, the vindication of the gospel, and the fulfillment of God's creational purposes.

Spirituality and Mission: Pt I

2007-10-11T18:48:00.000-07:00

Our spirituality is a deeply personal and intimate matter (Mt.6:1-6, 16-18); but it is not therefore private. Rather, according to Jesus, it is both fundamentally personal and necessarily public (Mt.5:13-16).

It is personal because we are individually saved: individually reconciled, individually forgiven, individually justified, and will one day be individually judged and glorified (in individual, resurrection bodies). We have both a corporate and individual relationship to God through Jesus Christ, the one mediator between man and God. We are united to Christ as individuals, and thereby, baptized into the body of Christ. If Christ redeems a people for himself, it is because he redeems individual people.

If Western Christian spirituality has overemphasized the personal and individual aspect of salvation, then our recent attempts to 'correct' this have often been to overemphasize the corporate, covenantal aspect of salvation. (Frankly, I am finding the constant usage of 'covenant' less and less meaningful as a theological category - but that's another post).

There is something profound about the Western emphasis on the individual salvation experience, and particularly in the (sometimes mystical) concern for the individual practice of spiritual disciplines.

The New Testament is clear that our personal knowledge of Christ, as individuals united to him, is elemental to our spirituality.

But the retreat into the self, as it were, or what we might call spiritual 'navel gazing', can quickly become distorted and unbalanced. Our spirituality, according to Scrirpture, should lead us not only inward, but outward, into the world. Our spirituality is public - it is seen, heard, and felt. In a word, it has an impact in the world.

Likewise, the evangelical fervor for 'mission' and evangelism can easily overlook the necessity of spiritual maturity and, consequently, undercut the wholistic, pastoral ministry of the church.

I see this tension between the inward journey and the outward venture of faith as a dynamic, and constructive tension - a feedback loop. As we draw near to God, and he to us, we are thrust out into the world. This is not to say with J.A.T. Robinson, or Harvey Cox, or, as some of his Prison Letters would imply, the later Bonhoeffer, that God is somehow to be identified with the secular world. The venture of faith into the life of the world (let alone the social 'cash value' of faith), is not identical to the journey of faith into the life of God. The transcendence of the Triune God cannot be reduced to the mysterious immanence of God in the world (as the late "Death of God" fad would have it). This is just to say that our relationship to God is irreducibly 'vertical'.

Rather, the personal nature of our union with Christ and the public mission he has enjoined on us are two poles, within which our spirituality thrives. As we grow in our personal knowledge of Christ, in our holiness and obedience, our impact is deepened - we become salt and light.

We need to grow in depth if we are to multiply in our depth of impact. Likewise, if we are not deliberately impacting the world through love of neighbor and the distinctives of our discipleship, we cannot grow in our love of God and knowledge of Christ. How can we grow in the knowledge of Christ and not grow in our obedience to his commands?

Therefore, we need a Christian spirituality that emphasizes both the inward journey of faith (the mystical union with Christ, and, thereby, communion with the Trinity) and the outward venture of faith's obedience. Our spirituality is the unfolding realization of our mission; our mission is our spirituality practiced.

And just what is the mission of the church? It is not merely the multiplication of disciples, nor is it merely the spiritual growth of individual Christians. It is nothing less than the full salvation of all God's elect. In fact, it is even more than this...

The Body of Christ

2007-10-07T19:50:00.000-07:00

What a rich metaphor Paul chose to describe the church: the body of Christ! It speaks to at least two profound truths regarding the church. One, we are intimately bound up with Christ. His destiny as the Ruler of All Nations and Heir of the World, becomes ours (Ro.4:13; 8:17; 1Co.3:21-22; Rev.2:27). His mission, as the righteous, suffering servant, becomes ours (1Pe.2:20-21; Mt.16:24). His death to sin once and for all on the cross becomes our past (Ro.6:3-11; Gal.6:14). His righteousness, ours (2Co.5:21; Ro.5:15-19)! This isn't merely a foresnic righteousness either, as though God declared us righteous as sinners, and leaves it at that. As His members, vitally connected to Him by faith (1Co.6:15-17), we, through the Spirit, bear the fruit of righteousness - His righteousness, the righteousness of God! This righteousness is both ours in Christ already (Ro.4:5; 5:1), and our destiny through Christ (Phil.3:8-11; Gal.5:5). Thus we become identified with Christ (Col.3:1-4) through faith, and, through the Spirit, the very instruments of Christ (Ro.6:12-13), by which His purposes in the world are acccomplished.

Secondly, we are organically related to and united with one another in a body. We are not pictured as mere individuals, but as interdependent members of a unit. We are bound together (Ro.12:5), both in our present salvation and in our destiny as the one people of God. It is this fundamental unity that grounds and necessitates love for one another - the defining hallmark of Christian discipleship (Jn.13:35). This love, rooted in Christ's love for His people (Jn.15:12-13), dictates how we live our lives together and administer our gifting and calling in Christ (1Co.12-14). This is no mere abstraction. We are called to love in the flesh and blood realities of the local church, as the household of the living God (1Ti.3:15).

Let us then submit ourselves to the body, love the brotherhood, and fear God! Let us commit ourselves to the body of believers God in His sovereignty has placed us, and serve with joy, thankfulness, and sincere love. In so doing, we both prove our discipleship, and fulfill our calling as members of His Body, united to Christ by faith and the instruments of His righteousnes through the Spirit.

The Spirit and Righteousness

2007-08-06T11:51:00.000-07:00

Paul writes, "I do not nullify the grace of God; for if righteousness comes through the Law, then Christ died needlessly," Gal.2:21. And again, "if a law had been given which was able to impart life, then righteousness would indeed have been based on law," 3:21; cf. Ro.8:3-4.

The apostle clearly distinguishes two 'means' (or even kinds) of righteousness in Galatians and Romans: 1) that by the Law, and 2) that by faith (Ro.10:5-6). Or, as he more specifically phrases it in Galatians 3:2, 5, with reference to the gift of the Spirit: "by the works of the law, or by hearing with faith." And apparently, the former, DOES NOT bring righteousness.

Regarding the latter, he writes, "Even so Abraham BELIEVED GOD, AND IT WAS RECKONED TO HIM AS RIGHTEOUSNESS." Likewise, we "who are of faith are blessed with Abraham, the believer," with the result that "the blessing of Abraham might come to the Gentiles," so that "we would receive the promise of the Spirit through faith," 3:9, 14.

For Scripture declares, "THE RIGHTEOUS MAN SHALL LIVE BY FAITH," 3:11b. For this reason, Paul argues, "that no one is justifed by the Law before God is evident," 3:11a. In other words, if the righteous man lives by faith, he evidently does not live by the Law. These two means to "life" and "righteousness" are contradictory. For "the Law is not of faith; on the contrary, 'HE WHO PRACTICES THEM SHALL LIVE BY THEM'," 3:12.

To be "of the works of the Law," then, is to presume to approach righteousness (and life) by means of works (cf. 3:10a; Ro.9:30-10:3), which is necessarily at odds with the approach of faith.

Rather than being blessed with Abraham, those who are "of the works of the Law" are cursed. As the Law itself declares: "CURSED IS EVERYONE WHO DOES NOT ABIDE BY ALL THE THINGS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OF THE LAW, TO PERFORM THEM," 3:10. The assumption here is that no man abides "by all the things written in the book of the Law" - a charge made explicit in Romans 3:9-20 (cf. Gal.2:15-16; Ps.143:2). In other words, no man shall indeed "live by" the commandments of the Law! Rather, by them we are condemned to death.

And here we should note that "righteousness" and "life" (cf. 3:21), to "be justified" and to "live" (cf. 3:11; 2:15-20), are tightly connected in Paul's thought: namely, life presupposes righteousness, and righteousness results in life (just as death presupposes condemnation, and unrighteousness results in death, cf. Ro.6:23).

Since this is the case, the gift of the Spirit of life presupposes and so demonstrates the righteousness or justification of the recipient. Is this not the logic of the apostle Peter in Acts 10:44-48; 11:15-18 and 15:7-11? Does this not explain Pauls' question regarding the Galatians' receiving the Spirit in 3:1-5? Is this not explicitly drawn in his argument regarding the blessing of Abraham being conferred on the Gentiles through faith in 3:6-14, which is "the promise of the Spirit"? Since, Paul later argues, we are "sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus," 3:27, "God has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying 'Abba! Father!'," 4:6.

Therefore, the apostle argues, since we have the Spirit of God within us through faith, we are no longer "under the Law" (cf. 3:23-25; 4:1-11; 5:18; Ro. 7-8). It is therefore confused to demand law-observance among Gentiles (i.e., those who are "without law"), let alone the pursuit of righteousness and life, i.e., salvation, thereby (for we live not "by the Law" but "by the Spirit," 5:25a). And why else would we Gentiles take upon ourselves the "yoke of Moses," if not to be saved (cf. Ac.15:1)? But Paul's point (and Peter's in Acts) is that the Gentiles are already saved (i.e., sanctified) by faith, and this is demonstrated in the baptism of the Holy Spirit (cf. Gal.3:27-28; 1Co.12:13).

But how is the Spirit of God manifested? We cannot deny that, with respect to the Galatians at any rate, it entailed miracles (3:5), as with Cornelius and his household (Ac.10:46). But the Spirit is also manifested in "fruit" (5:22-23), and, negatively speaking, with the mortification of the flesh (5:24; cf. Ro.8:12-13). It is the life described autobiographically by Paul in 2:19-21 - the life of faith. To "live by faith" is to "live by the Spirit." As Paul writes in Galatians 5:5-6, For we through the Spirit, by faith, are waiting for the hope of righteousness. For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision means anything, but faith working through love.

This is essentially the thesis of 5:7-6:10. It is interesting to note that it is those who live by faith, through the Spirit, who wait for the "hope of righteousness," rather than those who are "of the works of the Law," and would (pretend) to live by the Law (whom Paul paints as disobedient and self-absorbed, cf. 4:17; 6:12-13). The life of faith is looking for a righteousness not our own -as Luther put it, an alien righteousness (cf. Phil.3:7-9). It is looking to the justification/righteousness found in Christ (e.g., Gal.2:17), conferred by God as "gift" (Ro.3:24; 5:15-17) or "reckoned" to the sinner through faith (Gal.3:6; Ro.4:3-8). It is also looking forward to a vindication (not so much our vindication, as God's in declaring us righteous by faith in Christ) in the eschatological judgment (Ro.2:2-16), which amounts to salvation from the wrath to come (cf. Ro.5:9-10): the hope of righteousness.

Not only is the hope of righteousness, negatively speaking, salvation from wrath and condmenation, but, positively, the inheritance of blessing and reward. Hence, Paul writes:

Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap. For the one who sows to his own flesh shall from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit shall from the Spirit reap eternal life. And let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we shall
reap if we do not grow weary. (Gal.6:7-9; cf. Ro.8:12-13; 6:19-23)

The concept of "reaping" in due time reminds us of the hope of righteousness. With this hope, Paul commends us to "love and good deeds": So then, while we have opportunity, let us do good to all men, and especially to those who are of the household of the faith (6:10).

Thus the life of faith is not dormant, as faith is not only passive in receiving "the gift of righteousness," but also active in obedience (an obedience beginning with repentance). It is at work, "through love," serving others (Gal.5:13-14) and living in righteous relationships (5:22-23). For "the fruit [singular] of the Spirit is love..." As many have argued, perhaps this should be understood as one 'fruit' -love- in multifold form: joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (cf. 1Co.13:4-7). However we understand the verse precisely, it is clear that love is to characterize Christians. Moreover, as the fruit of the Spirit, who so powerfully strives within us (Gal.5:17), this new "life of love" is our destiny, and the sure manifestation of the Spirit within us. And is this not what Jesus meant when He said: "By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another"?

Therefore, the gift/baptism of the Spirit seals the righteousness that is ours in Christ through faith, and so, in giving (spiritual and moral) evidence of our justification/sanctification in Him (e.g., through the righteous love wrought by the Spirit of holiness), guarantees and grounds our "hope of righteousness" (i.e., the final vindication and inheritance of the saints in the age to come, cf. Ro.8:18-39). In between our justification and glorification, our new birth and resurrection, the Spirit is at work to produce within us the righteousness which the Law demanded but could not effect, thus manifesting tangible and concrete proofs of our salvation in Christ (e.g., 2Pe.1:5-11).

Hence, "...in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision means anything [!], but faith working through love." Faith indeed is a "sign" of our justification in Christ (cf. Ro.4:11-16), but more specifically, it is "faith working through love!" It is a living faith. Is this not precisely James' point in Jas.2:14-26? Justification is by faith, not by works, to be sure, but (to plagiarize Calvin) such faith is not without its "works" (not if the omnipotent Spirit who inspires faith within our dark hearts dwells in us). In a word, the life of faith is always attended by spiritual fruit, and the service of love, as the 'proving' of our justification, and the demonstration of a righteousness not our own!

Justification, Good Works, and a Social Gospel

2007-06-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

"Was not the central message of the Apostle Paul his rejection of any objective dimension to the work of God which could be focused in piety, religious practices, or ethical behavior in such a way as to turn man's attention toward the human works instead of toward the gift of God? Does not the insistence that justification is by faith alone and through grace alone, apart from any correlation with works of any kind, undercut any radical ethical and social concern by implication, even if Paul himself may not have been rigorous enough to push that implication all the way? If we truly join with classic Protestantism in considering the proclamation of justification by grace through faith to be the point at which the gospel stands or falls, must we not then interpret the ethical tradition which Paul took over from Jewish Christianity and share with his Gentile churches as a vestige of antoher system, destined to fade away?"

From John H. Yoder's, "The Politics of Jesus," 1972, pp.216-17.

This is representative of the sort of broad brush critique of historic Protestantism that seems prevalent among New Perspective proponents and sympathizers. When I first read this I had to assume that Yoder was being facetious or ironic. Perhaps he's mocking a radical existentialist reading of justification by faith alone (a la Bultmann or Tillich)? But in fact, he goes on to attempt to prop up this 'strawman' by appealing to Krister Stendahl's now famous essay, "The Apostle Paul and the Introspective Conscience of the West." Following Stendahl's logic, Yoder argues that Paul's fundamental concerns were not our modern preoccupation with personal acceptance and amnesty, or the existentialist anguish over authenticity, which have so shaped post-Enlightenment Pauline scholarship. For Saul was not looking to alleviate a guilty conscience or his anxiety over the law (e.g., Nietzsche's caricature in "The First Christian"), nor, as Luther had, to find a smiling God of grace behind the frown of God's law (cf., E. P. Sanders, "Paul and Palestinian Judaism"). Rather, he argues (anticipating J. G. Dunn and N. T. Wright), the former Pharisee's question centered on the identity of Christ as Messiah, and the consequent formation of a new (eschatological) people. And so Yoder writes regarding the apostle's polemics against the Judaizers,

"The basic heresy he exposed was the failure of those Jewish Christians to recognize that since the Messiah had come the covenant of God had been broken uopn to include the Genitles. In sum: the fundamental issue was that of the social form of the church."

Thus the Pauline doctrine of justification is basically social in nature.

For example, considering Galatians 2:14ff., he asks, "What does 'justified' mean here? Can it really mean, as Protestant tradition assumes (Lutheranism most sweepingly, but the Anglican and Reformed liturgies give the same testimony), that it refers only to the quasi-judicial status of man's guilt before God, which is annulled or amnestied by a declaration of the judge in response to the act of faith?" After citing Markus Barth's essay on the "social character" of justification (in which Barth argues that "Justification in Christ is thus not an individual miracle happening to this person or that person, which each may seek or possess for himself. Rather, justification by grace is a joining together of this person to that person, of the near and far;...it is a social event"), he on goes to write,

"To be justified is to be set right in and for that relationship. 'Justification' is, in other words, in the language of Galatians the same as "making peace" or "breaking down the wall" in the language of Ephesians."

Really? Does the Pauline term of "justification" entail a 'horizontal' reconciliation between men? Or is that a separate though related doctrine of the apostle?

Of course, the traditional Protestant understanding of justification has distinguished the legal and declarative nature of the divine work from the social dimension of its theological consequences (i.e., ecclesial unity). Since we have been first reconciled to God through Christ, it was understood, we are now, subsequently, reconciled to one another in Him (Eph.2:12-20). But Yoder rejects this, asserting instead that "the relationship between divine justification and the reconciliation of men to one another is not a sequential relationship..." Like Wright, Yoder seems to redefine "justification" in terms of the social reconstitution of the people of God. And so the answer to the question he poses above is resoundly negative: justification is fundamentally not a "legal fiction," as he styles it, by which the sinner is declared righteous (simul justus et peccator).

Not only does Yoder's critique of historic Protestantism often seem misdirected - as it appears he is reading much of Protestant scholarship through the lens of late 19th century Ritschlism and, especially, 20th century existentialism - but (like a lot of "New Perspective" literature I've read), false dichotomies abound. He is particularly uncareful in setting the positive functions of the Law over against its negative aspects, as articulated by the Reformers (e.g., pp.219, 230). And, I would argue, pitting Paul's eschatological and messianic reorientation at his conversion against the traditional notion of a radically new doctrinal and experiential knowledge of divine grace revealed in Jesus Christ is not only unnecessary but misleading. Saul not only experienced Christ's terrific Lordship on the road to Damascus, but also His profound mercy and grace (such as was unknown in the Law, cf. Ac.13:39). Moreover, surely Saul's "robust conscience" suffered some pangs from the Law of God (e.g., Ro.7:5-11; cf. 3:20b). Certainly his broad sinfulness and root depravity were seen clearly in retrospect, if not before (Ro.7:12-24; cf. Yoder, p.221).

In particular, and I think most importantly, Yoder dichotomizes the historic doctine of justification by faith alone and the Reformed doctrine of good works.

Ironically, in light of his echoing Stendahl's charge that we modern exegetes have read our dilemmas into Paul's, it would seem that Yoder's modern sensibilities have gotten the better of him here. Note this strange (or at least strange to premoderns) comment regarding the epistle to the Romans:

"The foreground meaning of the issue of the place of the law was not systematic theological speculation about how men are to be made acceptable to God, but rather the very concrete Roman situation in which Jew and Greek, legalistic Christian and pagan Christian needed to accept one another."

In other words, the social dimensions of the faith are "concrete," i.e., real, whereas the spiritual dimension of reconciliation to God is "systematic theological" and 'speculative', i.e., abstract. Yet such a peculiar framing of the issues could only find traction in what sociologist P.A. Sorokin refered to as the "sensate culture" of modernity. For us moderns, the social aspect takes on weightier significance as the tangible and imminent 'embodiment' of religion. Our relationship to one another is apparently more substantial than a relationship with the invisible God, and frankly, more consequential. Whereas, in the ideational culture of the medieval world, one's relationship to God was very "concrete," and extremely 'real', as it had been for Luther and his contemporaries. Moreover, implicit in this argument is his persistent dichotomy between the introspective or psychological and the social or historical aspect (e.g., p. 228).

Interestingly, Yoder finds it necessary to end his chapter on "Justification by Grace through Faith," by reaffirming his qualification:

"The element of debate in the presentation may make it seem that the 'other' or 'traditional' element in each case...is being rejected. It should therefore be restated that...such a disjunction is not intended. We are rather defending the New Testament against the exclusion of the "messianic" element. The disjunction must be laid to the account of the traditional view, not of ours. It is those other views that say that because Jesus is seen as sacrifice he may not be seen as King, or because he is seen as Word made flesh he cannot be seen as normative man."

And so, he asserts, his arguments are not 'either/or' with regard to the traditional view (i.e., historic evangelicalism), but 'both/and.' But in fact it does seem, despite his qualifiers, that such disjunction is precisely what his arguments suggest. At the very least, his arguments imply that the "traditional view" must be rejected for its allegedly undue narrowness and the "disjunction" of biblical doctrines. But, honestly, I don't see how this conclusion can be fairly drawn regarding the historic Protestant paradigm of justification by faith. Is such a charge just or honest with the history of theology? In particular, the question that must be addressed is this:

Does the legal aspect of justification by faith alone (as understood within the Reformational tradition) effectively nullify the essential role of good works, and/or the social dimension of Christian spirituality? Does justification by faith render ethics theologically superfluous?

To quote the apostle Paul, "May it never be!" (Ro.3:31)

The Church and Mission Pt IV: The Apostolic Church (3)

2007-06-16T20:03:00.000-07:00

In the previous post we considered the apostolicity of the church in terms of the doctrinal foundation comprised in the apostolic traditions, as witnessed in the New Testament documents. However, apostolicity consists in more than the historic ecclesiastical recognition of these documents’ canonicity (or their current collection of dust on our coffee tables). The authoritative traditions contained therein involve not merely a pattern of sound words to be confessed, as we saw, but also an apostolic pattern of life to be imitated (e.g., Phil.3:17). Apostolicity is not merely according to a professed faith, then, but an embodied faithfulness. It is a living orthodoxy. And in particular, such orthodoxy finds expression in the corporate life of the body of Christ, the Church of the living God.

In writing to Timothy about ecclesiastical matters, Paul declares: “the household of God…is the church of the living God, the pillar and support of the truth.”

In referring to the “household of God” as the “pillar and support of the truth,” Paul likens the church to a temple. In the ancient world, temples physically represented the glory of deity, epitomizing the celestial power and prestige of the gods on earth. They were designed to awe us with their ornate beauty and architectural grandeur, and thus (sensationally) convey the august splendor and holy presence of deity. In a word, they were man’s attempt to symbolize the divine, and so make the ineffable effable, the invisible visible, and the ethereal tangible.

As the visible temple of the invisible God, the church bears witness to the glory, majesty, wisdom, and righteousness of God in the world.

Regarding the divine wisdom, Paul writes to the Ephesians, “the manifold wisdom of God might now be made known through the church,” (3:10). Hence, the church is the instrument through which God’s truth (hidden in ages past, but now unveiled in the revelation of Christ, 3:2-9) is presently manifested to the entire cosmic order (even the heavenly rulers). As the pillar of truth, the church upholds the gospel before a watching world. And so John Stott writes in his commentary on First Timothy:

“The purpose of pillars is not only to hold the roof firm, but to thrust it high so that is can be clearly seen even from a distance. The inhabitants of Ephesus had a vivid illustration of this in their temple of Diana or Artemis. Regarded as one of the seven wonders of the world, it boasted 100 Ionic columns [or pillars], each over 18 meters high, which together lifted its massive, shining, marble roof. Just so, the church holds the truth aloft, so that it is seen and admired by the world. Indeed, as pillars lift a building high while remaining themselves unseen, so the church’s function is not to advertise itself but to advertise and display the truth.”

And it not only broadcasts the truth in proclamation, but also exemplifies the truth (visibly, as it were), following the apostolic pattern of not merely preaching Christ crucified, but living Christ crucified (cf. 2Co.4:1-12; Phil.3:7-17). For, as the apostles did preeminently, the church serves as a spectacle to the world - to men and to angels (1Co.4:6-17), who long to look into such things (cf. 1Pe.1:12). We are a people on display, then, to the glory of God (cf. Mt.5:14-16; Phil.2:15).

As a temple embodies heavenly glory on earth, so the church embodies the divine truth, giving an audible voice and corporeal ‘body’ to the gospel of Jesus Christ, in whose face shines the glory of God (2Co.4:4). Indeed, we are not only the earthy 'hands' and 'feet' of Christ in the world, but the very aroma of Christ (2Co.2:14-16)! The dazzling basilicas and grandiose cathedrals of the medieval church, now functioning primarily as museums in Western Europe, are symbolically illustrative of this glorious purpose of the church. (If only the church had spent more of its resources on building men rather than edifices, her legacy to Europe would perhaps have been more than merely emblematic of her glory. Jerome keenly observed centuries before, "Many build churches nowadays; their walls and pillars of glowing marble, their celiings glittering with gold, their altars studded with jewels. Yet to the choice of Christ's ministers no heed is paid.")

But Paul also calls the church the “support” or “foundation” of the truth. At first this seems to reverse the apostle’s earlier statement in Eph.2:20, to the effect that the church is founded upon the truth, as the mystery of Christ revealed through the apostles and prophets (cf. Eph.3:2-9). Yet here we see the church is the foundation of the truth, which, again, appears to be the revelation of the mystery concerning Christ (1Ti.3:16). So which is it? Is the church founded on truth (and hence Chrysostom’s gloss, “for the truth is the pillar and ground of the church”), or is the truth founded on the church?

The answer, of course, is both.

The church’s foundation has been established once and for all in the apostolic ministry of the word. There is no other foundation (cf. 1Co.3:10-11). And, yet, having been thus established, the church now stands as the concrete expression of this word in history. As the organic result of the gospel in the world, it is a living demonstration of the mystery of God revealed in the present age.

Paul didn't merely proclaim the gospel; he planted churches. He could not do otherwise; for the church is the efficacious result of God’s Word proclaimed to sinners (cf. 1Pe.1:23; Jas.1:18), the divine power for salvation to all who believe (Ro.1:16). When the gospel is faithfully preached, the church is born, washed, and renewed (cf. Ro.10:17; 1Th.1:4-5; 2Th.2:13-14). Moreover, the apostles saw the formation (and perfection) of the church, not as the accidental result of their preaching, but the very purpose of it (e.g., Col.1:28-29; cf. Eph.4:11-16)!

And so the church is both founded upon the truth, being utterly dependent upon the doctrines of Christ and the apostles for spiritual life and growth – for her very existence – and yet this truth necessarily finds expression through the church as the body of believers united under Christ’s headship, and particularly in the formation of local churches (in real space and in real time).

Thus the church both announces the glorious truth to the world, and grounds it in the world. And it is precisely as the concrete embodiment of truth that the church serves as the foundation of it.

In all of this, then, the church functions to publish, demonstrate, defend, vindicate, and so establish the mystery of Christ on earth, and thereby glorify our Father in heaven (cf. 1Pe.2:9-3:16)!

But as a temple to the living God, the church is no mere monument, silently memorializing the work of Christ in the world. In referring to the “household (oikos) of God,” Paul sees the church not only as a landmark of the kingdom (as it were, the terrestrial crater to Christ's cosmic impact), but as the 'flesh and blood' manifestation of the divine administration (oikonomia, 1Ti.1:4; Eph.1:10; 3:9). In this ecclesia, the truth of God, His eternal plan, is realized in history (e.g., Eph.2:11-3:12) - unfolding within and through the church as the divine institution among human society. And thus the church is both the result and instrument of God's active redemption in the world through Christ. In this way, the church not only substantiates but enacts the gospel of Christ in history (as rooted in the incarnation, passion, and resurrection of Jesus Christ)!

As a result, the true church cannot be divorced from the apostolic mission (nor the mission from the church). In other words, apostolicity is determined not only by the church's doctrinal foundation but also by her mission in the world. It isn't merely our confession of faith that renders us "orthodox," but our obedience prompted by faith, and specifically our obedience to the divine mission. In a word, the church is apostolic in so far as the true gospel is preached to the nations! Dead orthodoxy is no orthodoxy. And a church that is not 'on mission' is no church at all.

To briefly summarize the conclusions of the last few entries, the apostolic mission, originally committed to the apostles of Jesus Christ, permeates the entire church, built upon their foundational ministries (both doctrinally and practically). As a result, the whole Christian community is shaped by this Great Commission. Therefore, all that we do and say as the church is contextualized by the Lord's command to make disciples among the nations.

The church, then, is both grounded (in sound doctrine) and fluid (in 'incarnational' forms); both established (as divine institution) and decentralized (as scattered saints); both organized (as a structured household) and organic (as a living, growing body), etc. But this is a topic for another post...

The Church and Mission Pt IV: The Apostolic Church (2)

2007-05-29T12:23:00.001-07:00

Part 2 (The Apostolic Gospel)

In answer to the question posed at the end of the previous post, the uniqueness of the apostolate consisted in this: the apostles not only spearheaded the gospel’s penetration into the world (as pioneers), but they also established it (as master-builders, cf. 1Co.3:10) in the foundation of the church.

In this capacity, they served as eye-witnesses to the resurrection, giving authoritative testimony to the “appearing of Christ Jesus” in the world, and also as prophets of God, through whom the eternal mystery in Christ was revealed and illumined (Eph.1:9; 3:1-5, 8-9). As divinely appointed witnesses, they testified to the historical events of Christ’s coming – particularly His death and resurrection. As divinely inspired instruments of revelation (e.g., 1Co.2:13), they announced and interpreted these events (redemptive-historically) as the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets: the manifestation of the divine righteousness!

Through this apostolic preaching of “Christ and Him crucified,” then, the mystery that had long been hidden was now disclosed to the saints (Col.1:26; 1Co.2:6-10; cf. Ro.16:25-26; Eph.6:19; Col.4:3; Titus 1:2-3); for the Christ whom the apostles preached was the divine mystery unveiled (Col.2:2)! As Paul writes to Timothy in 1Ti.3:15,

“…by common confession great is the mystery of godliness: He appeared in the flesh, was vindicated in the Spirit, was beheld by angels, proclaimed among the nations, believed on in the world, and taken up in glory.”

This mystery of Christ, as revealed and proclaimed in the (foundational) ministry of the apostles, is the Chief Cornerstone. On this ‘rock' Christ has established his church (Eph.2:20)!

What is the nature of this apostolic foundation?

In refuting the Gnostic heresies of the second century, Irenaeus first articulated the doctrine of apostolic succession. According to this doctrine the authoritative teaching and interpretation of the gospel was safeguarded in the ecclesial succession of bishops, being traced back, it was asserted, to the apostles themselves.

What was right about Irenaeus’ instinctive appeal to the established church was the understanding that the gospel of Jesus Christ was not merely a ‘naked text’ to be interpreted by anyone as they saw fit (as in the Gnostic re-appropriation and manipulation of the Christian faith). Rather, the gospel was couched within an apostolic tradition, and committed to the historic church (as represented in the body of bishops).

In the New Testament, we find that, beyond a rudimentary narration of gospel events or a simple proposition regarding their meaning, a normative “pattern” emerges - a comprehensive “tradition” of teachings and practices set forth by the apostles (see Ro.6:17; 1Co.11:2; 2Th.2:15; 3:6-9; cf. 1Co.11:23; 15:1). Not only was the apostolic pattern of words to be remembered, but the apostles’ way of life was to be imitated (1Co.4:16-17; 11:1; Phil.3:17). Moreover, we see this pattern or standard entrusted to the apostolic assistants and successors, such that Timothy, for example, is commanded to “Retain the standard of sound words which you have heard from me," and to "guard" this "good deposit" (2Ti.1:13-14). And they in turn were to entrust this pattern of orthodoxy to other, "faithful men" (2Ti.2:2), who would then articulate and exemplify "the trustworthy message as it has been taught,” (Titus 1:9).

In this way, the gospel that had first been entrusted to the apostles (1Th.2:4) has now been committed to the church once and for all (Jude 1:3).

Of course, as many have pointed out, the weakness of Irenaeus’ argument was in (apparently) identifying the historical succession of bishops with the faithful transmission of the apostles' traditions. The obvious problem with this is the fact that many of the church’s bishops have apostatized from the faith themselves. Ordination to the bishopric, then, is evidently no guarantee of orthodoxy’s maintenance. Even if it could be demonstrated that an ecclesiastical line, from the apostolic age to the present, continued uninterrupted in the procession of bishops, the faith bequeathed to us clearly has not.

The Reformers, therefore, argued that the essential truth in Irenaeus’ appeal to apostolic succession was to be understood not in terms of a hierarchical 'lineage', but in terms of faithfulness to the 'authorized corpus' of apostolic teachings and traditions. This is, of course, the definition of the New Testament canon, as reflected in the deliberations of the 3rd, 4th and 5th century church (with canonicity being determined essentially according to apostolicity). Hence, in championing sola scriptura, the Reformers taught that the "rule of faith," by which the Scriptures were rightly read, was to be found in the Scriptures themselves - particularly the New Testament. For in these documents the "good deposit" had been inscripturated through the superintendence of the Spirit, and perserved for the church according to divine providence.

It is not then the pedigree of our bishopric that constitutes fidelity to and continuity with the ancient traditions of the apostles, but our faithfulness to the "sound teaching that conforms to the glorious gospel of the blessed God, with which I have been entrusted," (1Ti.1:10-11). It is this evangelic 'foundation', then, that comprises the true "apostolicity" of the church.

Many today are looking for a Christian community with historic roots and a sense of connectedness to longstanding traditions. Apostolic succession is an appealing idea, then, on purely aesthetic grounds. But if we wish to find a community rooted in the ancient church, let us look first and foremost for conformity to the most primitive of ecclesiastical traditions - that of the apostles! Let us look for the faithful preaching of the gospel. For it is the evangel alone that connects us to the apostles; moreover, it is the evangel alone that binds us to the risen Christ through faith!

The apostolic church is radically evangelical. But how does this then relate to the apostolic commission, to the evangelistic mission?