“If Thou Mayest Be Free”
Dabney, like other southern divines, were confident that a mere adducing of the biblical evidence would justify the central southern claim that the Bible did not condemn slavery as a social and economic relation. Yet, even using a similar “Reformed, literal hermeneutic” as Dabney, his defense of slavery was plagued by several problems.
First, Dabney conveniently ignored or explained away several scriptures that militated against slavery. For example, Deuteronomy 23:15 commands Israelites not to return slaves who run away from oppressive foreign masters; instead, these former slaves should be allowed to live among the Israelites in one of their towns as freedmen under their protection. Dabney approved of Andover Seminary Old Testament scholar Moses Stuart’s interpretation, holding that this text had nothing to do with Hebrew slaves, but only foreign slaves, and that the reasons for this law were obvious: “the bondage from which he escaped was inordinately cruel, including the power of murder for any caprice; and that to force him back was to remand him to the darkness of heathenism, and to rob him of the light of true religion, which shone in the land of the Hebrews alone.” Because this text dealt with “foreign” slaves, Dabney held that it apparently did not apply to the American South.
But, to read this text in a different way would lead one to a much different conclusion, one that was in line with northern opponents of the Fugitive Slave Law. For slaves that escaped north were escaping a bondage that was “inordinately cruel, including the power of murder for any caprice.” To return slaves to the South was to remand them to oppression and potential death. Further, it is not entirely clear that the South was the land of true religion for black slaves. As historians Erskine Clarke and Eugene Genovese have demonstrated, it was not until the 1840s and 1850s that some slaveowners took responsibility for evangelizing slaves and that missions to African Americans still received wide spread opposition until the Civil War. Hence, northern opponents of slavery could easily read this text and conclude that they were commanded by God not to return fugitive slaves, but to grant them a place in northern society.
Yet even if one granted that slaves in the American South were not “foreign” but similar to Hebrew slaves, then African American slaves should have been subject to the biblical law of Jubilee. Leviticus 25 specifically commanded that every fiftieth year should be consecrated in order to “proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants.” Hebrew slaves would be freed, fields lay fallow, property returned to its original owners. Freedom was the ultimate goal of the year. And the reason for the Jubilee year was to remind God’s people that “it is to me that the people of Israel are servants. They are my servants whom I brought out of the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” Likewise, those slaves who converted to the Hebrew faith were to be set free after seven years service. Yet when Dabney discussed the issue of the Jubilee, he focused on the fact that foreign slaves were not liberated. But Dabney contradicted himself here—either African American slaves were “foreign” or they were akin to “Hebrew” slaves, but they could not be both. Slaves either had the biblical right to escape from bondage, or they were to be set free from bondage every fifty years. God’s ultimate design was not slavery, but freedom.
Another text that Dabney performed hermeneutical gymnastics on was 1 Corinthians 7:20-21. There the Apostle Paul clearly stated that if the opportunity arose for the slave to gain his freedom, such was the preferable condition. Dabney initially admitted the force of the language in the text. He then mitigated the text’s import by claiming that “we must remember the circumstances of the age, in order to do justice to his meaning.” First, Dabney said that slavery was harsher in the first century. Second, first century masters “were accustomed to require of their slaves offices vile, and even guilty.” Third, first century society offered a way of social mobility for a “freedman” and his family. Fourth, the master and his slave were of the same color; after a few generations, no one could remember that the ancestor was a slave. These four conditions of first century slavery were markedly different from nineteenth-century Virginia, Dabney claimed. He held that slavery in his day was comparatively mild; slaves were overseen by Christian masters; there was no possibility for social mobility once the slave was “deprived from his master’s patronage”; and the slave, being black, would be “debarred as much as ever from social equality by his color and caste.” Thus, Dabney’s appraisal was that “freedom to the Christian slave here, may prove a loss.” This line of reasoning, however, failed to overturn the Apostle’s claim that freedom was preferable to slavery for the Christian slave. Even more, it signaled the difficulties to which Dabney’s argument for mastery led. When a theologian who upheld the clarity and sufficiency of Scripture is forced to evade the thrust of a biblical text, it signals a major failing.
In addition, one of the hermeneutic insights of the Reformed tradition has been its focus upon the redemptive-historical movement of Scripture. Unlike the “progressive revelation” theories of nineteenth century progressive biblical theologians, who argued that the movement in Scripture was from primitive to more mature forms of monotheism, Reformed theologians back to Calvin have recognized the movement from the old covenant’s tutorship under the law, which the Apostle Paul equates to slavery, to the new covenant’s freedom under grace, which he equates to sonship (Galatians 3:15-4:11). This movement radicalizes social and economic relations within the church as well as in broader society. Within the church, the New Testament appears to argue for an egalitarian and multiracial society, a body where there was “neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). Ephesians 2 argues that the dividing wall of hostility between races—Jews and Gentiles—has been torn down by the power of the resurrected and exalted Christ. And Revelation 4-5 presents a powerful picture of the “ransomed people of God” who come “from every tribe and language and people and nation,” a glorious mosaic of every race under heaven worshipping God as God’s “kingdom and priests.” This movement from the Old Testament exclusivity of the chosen Hebrew people to the New Testament expansive vision of the people of God including every tribe, language, class, and social relation is part of the Reformed understanding of God’s covenant story. Dabney did not deal with this line of argument at all in Defence of Virginia, although he would deny it strenuously in the postbellum period as African Americans sought ordination within the southern Presbyterian church.
A major part of the failure of Dabney’s proslavery polemics, then, was an inability to be self-critical about his own commitment to mastery. As he lay on his sick bed in Southside Virginia in 1863, furiously writing his “little book,” Dabney’s vision was blurred by his captivity to what he wanted the Bible to say, how he wanted society to remain, and what he feared above all. For, like most southerners, Dabney was not hateful in his dealings with individual African Americans: one finds the typical notes of kindness to those who served him, particularly his trusted valet “Uncle Warner” Lipscomb. Yet he was deeply afraid about what the new social order would mean for him personally, for his family, and for his accustomed way of life; he could not bear to relinquish the power and authority that came with being a member of the master class. His fear enabled him to see clearly the follies and foolishness of the rising capitalistic order of the postbellum North, but it also inured him to huge blind spots and even to the misanthropic use of biblical texts to support his vision of the South. His failure should make us all mindful of the risks that we take when we try to claim God for our side.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Defending Virginia, the South, and Mastery, part three
The Rhetoric of Mastery
Most of these biblical arguments were actually old saws in the proslavery toolbox. However, what made Dabney’s approach distinctive was the way he married his straight biblical defense for slavery with rhetoric of mastery that put forward a white patriarchal vision for social relations. Hence, what made northern social relations “anti-biblical” was the growing egalitarian sentiment evidenced in abolitionist and women’s rights rhetoric. It was in contrast to this that Dabney set forward “Bible Republicanism” as a way of ordering social and economic relations.
Dabney argued that “the integers of which the commonwealth aggregate is made up, are not single human beings, but single families, authoritatively represented in the father and master.” While the father served as master over the household and the mother served in her sphere, children and slaves were minors under the master’s tutelage. In many ways, the household operated as a little commonwealth, for slaves, like women and children, were under the master’s control: “The family is his State. The master is his magistrate and legislator…He is a member of municipal society only through his master, who represents him. The commonwealth knows him only as a life-long minor under the master’s tutelage.”
As a result, hierarchy, patriarchy and inequality were necessary for a properly functioning society. While all human beings had a moral equality before God—although Dabney would later challenge even that proposition when he sought to deny ordination to free Presbyterian blacks after the war—there is a natural inequality between sexes, races, classes, and ages. “Equity, yea, a true equality itself,” Dabney argued, “demands a varied distribution of social privilege among the members, according to their different characters and relations.”
Because a “just” society would restrain social privilege when it contained “a class of adult members, so deficient in virtue and intelligence that they would only abuse the fuller privileges of other citizens to their own and others’ detriment,” it was imperative for southern society that white male masters maintain hegemony due to the “degradation” of their African slaves. According to Dabney, black slaves “were what God’s word declares human depravity to be under the degrading effects of paganism.” In Africa, blacks were “barbarians,” who lived “but one remove above the apes around them.” Even though some have been brought to America and placed under the influence of the Gospel, blacks still were prone to particular vices, such as “lying, theft, drunkenness, laziness, waste” due to the fact they had “the reason and morals of children, constitutionally prone to improvidence.” In short, African Americans were “morally inferior.”
In addition, while he was careful to affirm the biblical truth of monogenesis, the claim that all humankind sprang from one set of original parents, Dabney concluded that blacks had become “a different, fixed species” of the human race, “separated from the white man by traits bodily, mental and moral, almost as rigid and permanent as those of genus.” By separating the races, subordinating blacks, and keeping power in the hands of the master class, there would be no fear of a “hybrid race, stamped with all the feebleness of the hybrid, and incapable of the career of civilization and glory as an independent race.”
As a result, for Dabney and other southern white elites, white mastery and black slavery was necessary for the proper functioning of society. He actually claimed that slavery was necessary in order to restrain blacks from damaging themselves with freedom: “We certainly are not required by a benevolent God to ruin him in order to do him justice!” Dabney exclaimed. In fact, “Africans among us had a right to the protection of bondage.” If they were granted equality with white masters, including the rights to vote and to gain an education, they would become “a nuisance to society and early victims to their own degradation.” White mastery was necessary for the order of a society ordained by God.
Most of these biblical arguments were actually old saws in the proslavery toolbox. However, what made Dabney’s approach distinctive was the way he married his straight biblical defense for slavery with rhetoric of mastery that put forward a white patriarchal vision for social relations. Hence, what made northern social relations “anti-biblical” was the growing egalitarian sentiment evidenced in abolitionist and women’s rights rhetoric. It was in contrast to this that Dabney set forward “Bible Republicanism” as a way of ordering social and economic relations.
Dabney argued that “the integers of which the commonwealth aggregate is made up, are not single human beings, but single families, authoritatively represented in the father and master.” While the father served as master over the household and the mother served in her sphere, children and slaves were minors under the master’s tutelage. In many ways, the household operated as a little commonwealth, for slaves, like women and children, were under the master’s control: “The family is his State. The master is his magistrate and legislator…He is a member of municipal society only through his master, who represents him. The commonwealth knows him only as a life-long minor under the master’s tutelage.”
As a result, hierarchy, patriarchy and inequality were necessary for a properly functioning society. While all human beings had a moral equality before God—although Dabney would later challenge even that proposition when he sought to deny ordination to free Presbyterian blacks after the war—there is a natural inequality between sexes, races, classes, and ages. “Equity, yea, a true equality itself,” Dabney argued, “demands a varied distribution of social privilege among the members, according to their different characters and relations.”
Because a “just” society would restrain social privilege when it contained “a class of adult members, so deficient in virtue and intelligence that they would only abuse the fuller privileges of other citizens to their own and others’ detriment,” it was imperative for southern society that white male masters maintain hegemony due to the “degradation” of their African slaves. According to Dabney, black slaves “were what God’s word declares human depravity to be under the degrading effects of paganism.” In Africa, blacks were “barbarians,” who lived “but one remove above the apes around them.” Even though some have been brought to America and placed under the influence of the Gospel, blacks still were prone to particular vices, such as “lying, theft, drunkenness, laziness, waste” due to the fact they had “the reason and morals of children, constitutionally prone to improvidence.” In short, African Americans were “morally inferior.”
In addition, while he was careful to affirm the biblical truth of monogenesis, the claim that all humankind sprang from one set of original parents, Dabney concluded that blacks had become “a different, fixed species” of the human race, “separated from the white man by traits bodily, mental and moral, almost as rigid and permanent as those of genus.” By separating the races, subordinating blacks, and keeping power in the hands of the master class, there would be no fear of a “hybrid race, stamped with all the feebleness of the hybrid, and incapable of the career of civilization and glory as an independent race.”
As a result, for Dabney and other southern white elites, white mastery and black slavery was necessary for the proper functioning of society. He actually claimed that slavery was necessary in order to restrain blacks from damaging themselves with freedom: “We certainly are not required by a benevolent God to ruin him in order to do him justice!” Dabney exclaimed. In fact, “Africans among us had a right to the protection of bondage.” If they were granted equality with white masters, including the rights to vote and to gain an education, they would become “a nuisance to society and early victims to their own degradation.” White mastery was necessary for the order of a society ordained by God.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Defending Virginia, the South, and Mastery, part two
Defending Virginia’s Slavery
Dabney had long been convinced that the strongest argument on behalf of southern slavery would be one drawn from Holy Scripture. As early as 1851, he had held that southern response to the 1850 Wilmont Proviso, which sought to provide a solution to the balance of slave and free states, should focus on the “fundamental ethical question of the justifiableness of slavery.” Recognizing that the nineteenth century American mind still bowed to biblical authority, he believed that in order to affect “the general current of national opinion on this subject, ‘Is slaveholding intrinsically immoral or unjust?’ we must go before the nation with the bible as the test, and the ‘thus saith the Lord,’ as the answer.” This strategy was the only wise one, Dabney held, because “on the bible argument, we are, logically, impregnable.”
It is for this reason that the central part of Dabney’s Defence of Virginia sought to “push the Bible argument continually.” Dabney’s thesis was that “the Bible teaches that the relation of master and slave is perfectly lawful and right, provided only its duties be lawfully fulfilled.” In order to demonstrate this, he ranged widely over Old and New Testament texts. Dabney began with Genesis 9, a key text in the apologetics for American slavery. There he observed that while the curse of Ham and his son, Canaan, did not justify African slavery, it did provide “the origin of domestic slavery.” God provided slavery, according to Dabney, to remedy “the peculiar moral degradation of a part of the race.” Because God sanctioned slavery for Ham and his posterity, slavery could not be sinful, he concluded. Dabney also considered Abraham and Isaac as a slaveholders. God clearly did not disapprove of Abraham’s slaveholding, Dabney argued, because God extended the sacrament of circumcision to include Abraham’s entire household—male sons and male slaves. Also, God told the runaway slave Hagar, who belonged to Abraham, to return to her master and submit herself to him when she had run away.
Another series of Old Testament texts that Dabney examined were the Mosaic laws. He tried to demonstrate that because God “expressly authorized” slavery in the Old Testament, it was “innocent” to hold slaves “unless it has been subsequently forbidden by God.” Finally, Dabney pointed out that slavery was mentioned twice in the Ten Commandments, “in modes which are a recognition of its lawfulness.” Both the Fourth and the Tenth Commandments explicitly mentioned slavery: the Fourth commanding masters to allow slaves to rest and worship on the Sabbath, the Tenth forbidding covetous attitudes toward another’s slaves.
The most incredible Old Testament argument that Dabney made, however, was that God himself was a slaveholder—in both Numbers 31:25-30 and Joshua 9:20-27, it appeared that God claimed a “tithe” of slaves akin to a tithe of grain or cattle. Hence, Dabney concluded, God could not have taught that slavery per se was sinful because God himself was a slaveholder.
While Dabney claimed that the inspired arguments of the Old Testament should be enough for Christians, still he believed that the New Testament also sanctified the master-slave relation. Though he held that the “mere absence of a condemnation of slaveholding in the New Testament is proof that it is not unlawful,” Dabney did not rest his case there. He pointed out that Christ applauded the faith of the slaveholding centurion in Matthew 8:5-13. Further, the Apostles failed to act against slaveholding as a moral evil. In fact, slaveholders were prominent members of the early church and the apostolic writers wrote specific instruction to them about how they were to treat their slaves (e.g. Ephesians 6:9, Colossians 4:1). Finally, Dabney pointed to the Apostle Paul’s letter to Philemon, claiming that not only did Paul not rebuke Philemon for slaveholding, but Paul also returned Philemon’s runaway slave Onesimus to him, apparently recognizing Philemon’s property rights in his slave. In defending slavery, Dabney believed that a common sense reading of Scripture’s apparent sanction of slavery should be enough.
Dabney had long been convinced that the strongest argument on behalf of southern slavery would be one drawn from Holy Scripture. As early as 1851, he had held that southern response to the 1850 Wilmont Proviso, which sought to provide a solution to the balance of slave and free states, should focus on the “fundamental ethical question of the justifiableness of slavery.” Recognizing that the nineteenth century American mind still bowed to biblical authority, he believed that in order to affect “the general current of national opinion on this subject, ‘Is slaveholding intrinsically immoral or unjust?’ we must go before the nation with the bible as the test, and the ‘thus saith the Lord,’ as the answer.” This strategy was the only wise one, Dabney held, because “on the bible argument, we are, logically, impregnable.”
It is for this reason that the central part of Dabney’s Defence of Virginia sought to “push the Bible argument continually.” Dabney’s thesis was that “the Bible teaches that the relation of master and slave is perfectly lawful and right, provided only its duties be lawfully fulfilled.” In order to demonstrate this, he ranged widely over Old and New Testament texts. Dabney began with Genesis 9, a key text in the apologetics for American slavery. There he observed that while the curse of Ham and his son, Canaan, did not justify African slavery, it did provide “the origin of domestic slavery.” God provided slavery, according to Dabney, to remedy “the peculiar moral degradation of a part of the race.” Because God sanctioned slavery for Ham and his posterity, slavery could not be sinful, he concluded. Dabney also considered Abraham and Isaac as a slaveholders. God clearly did not disapprove of Abraham’s slaveholding, Dabney argued, because God extended the sacrament of circumcision to include Abraham’s entire household—male sons and male slaves. Also, God told the runaway slave Hagar, who belonged to Abraham, to return to her master and submit herself to him when she had run away.
Another series of Old Testament texts that Dabney examined were the Mosaic laws. He tried to demonstrate that because God “expressly authorized” slavery in the Old Testament, it was “innocent” to hold slaves “unless it has been subsequently forbidden by God.” Finally, Dabney pointed out that slavery was mentioned twice in the Ten Commandments, “in modes which are a recognition of its lawfulness.” Both the Fourth and the Tenth Commandments explicitly mentioned slavery: the Fourth commanding masters to allow slaves to rest and worship on the Sabbath, the Tenth forbidding covetous attitudes toward another’s slaves.
The most incredible Old Testament argument that Dabney made, however, was that God himself was a slaveholder—in both Numbers 31:25-30 and Joshua 9:20-27, it appeared that God claimed a “tithe” of slaves akin to a tithe of grain or cattle. Hence, Dabney concluded, God could not have taught that slavery per se was sinful because God himself was a slaveholder.
While Dabney claimed that the inspired arguments of the Old Testament should be enough for Christians, still he believed that the New Testament also sanctified the master-slave relation. Though he held that the “mere absence of a condemnation of slaveholding in the New Testament is proof that it is not unlawful,” Dabney did not rest his case there. He pointed out that Christ applauded the faith of the slaveholding centurion in Matthew 8:5-13. Further, the Apostles failed to act against slaveholding as a moral evil. In fact, slaveholders were prominent members of the early church and the apostolic writers wrote specific instruction to them about how they were to treat their slaves (e.g. Ephesians 6:9, Colossians 4:1). Finally, Dabney pointed to the Apostle Paul’s letter to Philemon, claiming that not only did Paul not rebuke Philemon for slaveholding, but Paul also returned Philemon’s runaway slave Onesimus to him, apparently recognizing Philemon’s property rights in his slave. In defending slavery, Dabney believed that a common sense reading of Scripture’s apparent sanction of slavery should be enough.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
"Split Ps": Lessons from Micro-Presbyterianism
It is striking how many Presbyterian micro-denominations there are. I noticed in the new Banner of Truth magazine that a new one formed in January 2006: the Westminster Presbyterian Church in the United States. But there are a number of others as well, for example:
Because on the surface, Presbyterianism should be against this sort of division. At the heart of Presbyterianism is the connectional principle--that the body of Christ is represented not just locally but regionally and nationally in connected, graduated church courts. To break that connection is a serious matter, because it militates against the larger unity of Christ's church that Presbyterianism seeks to represent.
Perhaps part of the answer here is in one of the ordination vows that PCA ministers are required to affirm: "Do you promise to be zealous and faithful in maintaining the truths of the Gospel and the purity and peace and unity of the Church, whatever persecution or opposition may arise unto you on that account?" (BCO 21-5). Part of the great challenge is to balance the purity and the unity of the church, while seeking its short-term and ultimate peace.
Reading some of the websites of these micro-denominations, it seems clear that they are seeking to be zealous and faithful in maintaining the purity of the Church as they see it. And for that, all Christians, regardless of denominational affiliation, should be grateful. We need watchmen on the walls of Zion to warn us of doctrinal error and to hold us all accountable to biblical truth. And if these brothers and sisters' consciences are bound to separate, then I wish them God's speed.
Yet in preserving pure truth, it strikes me that perhaps some of these brothers might have forgotten about the unity of the church. After all, Jesus wasn't kidding when he prayed, "I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me" (John 17:20-21). We must take the unity of Christ's church seriously, as seriously as the "truth" that we are trying to preserve. If we are required to separate, as Francis Schaeffer once observed, it is not with bands playing or flags flying, but with tears and weeping.
Likewise, the peace of the church must be maintained. Now, granted, some people hide under the church's peace as a means of advancing their own agenda. In a similar way, when Elijah confronted Ahab, the latter said, "Is it you, you troubler of Israel?" (1 Kings 18:17). We may need "Israel" to be "troubled" if there is doctrinal aberration in our midst. Still, the way we seek to address these matters is through the courts of the church and by submitting to the vows we made before God, as either church members or officers--we will submit to the government and discipline of the church.
That being said, the members and ministers of the church have the right to investigate issues, to raise questions about theological concerns, and to bring discipline to the church. That's why I would disagree somewhat with this outsider's perspective on the situation in the PCA. While no one wants a church that is constantly battling itself on side issues, I think some of the issues that are being discussed are worth thinking about. It is a good thing for presbyteries to study these issues, to affirm our common consensus around the Westminster Standards, and to discipline with those who have moved outside that consensus. That is not problematic or disasterous; rather, that is healthy church life.
However, what is problematic is when Presbyterians forget one of our most basic biblical insights--that each of our local churches are connected to other local churches in regional and national groupings and that this connectionalism pictures the unity of Christ's Body for all the world to see. It is only in this way that the purity and unity and peace of Christ's Church will be preserved until he returns.
- Confederation of Reformed Evangelical Churches;
- Reformed Presbyterian Church in the United States;
- Reformed Presbyterian Church, General Assembly;
- Reformed Presbyterian Church, Hanover Presbytery;
- Covenant Reformed Presbyterian Church;
- American Reformation Presbyterian Church;
- Presbyterian Reformed Church;
- American Presbyterian Church;
- Free Presbyterian Church;
- Evangelical Reformed Presbyterian Church.
Because on the surface, Presbyterianism should be against this sort of division. At the heart of Presbyterianism is the connectional principle--that the body of Christ is represented not just locally but regionally and nationally in connected, graduated church courts. To break that connection is a serious matter, because it militates against the larger unity of Christ's church that Presbyterianism seeks to represent.
Perhaps part of the answer here is in one of the ordination vows that PCA ministers are required to affirm: "Do you promise to be zealous and faithful in maintaining the truths of the Gospel and the purity and peace and unity of the Church, whatever persecution or opposition may arise unto you on that account?" (BCO 21-5). Part of the great challenge is to balance the purity and the unity of the church, while seeking its short-term and ultimate peace.
Reading some of the websites of these micro-denominations, it seems clear that they are seeking to be zealous and faithful in maintaining the purity of the Church as they see it. And for that, all Christians, regardless of denominational affiliation, should be grateful. We need watchmen on the walls of Zion to warn us of doctrinal error and to hold us all accountable to biblical truth. And if these brothers and sisters' consciences are bound to separate, then I wish them God's speed.
Yet in preserving pure truth, it strikes me that perhaps some of these brothers might have forgotten about the unity of the church. After all, Jesus wasn't kidding when he prayed, "I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me" (John 17:20-21). We must take the unity of Christ's church seriously, as seriously as the "truth" that we are trying to preserve. If we are required to separate, as Francis Schaeffer once observed, it is not with bands playing or flags flying, but with tears and weeping.
Likewise, the peace of the church must be maintained. Now, granted, some people hide under the church's peace as a means of advancing their own agenda. In a similar way, when Elijah confronted Ahab, the latter said, "Is it you, you troubler of Israel?" (1 Kings 18:17). We may need "Israel" to be "troubled" if there is doctrinal aberration in our midst. Still, the way we seek to address these matters is through the courts of the church and by submitting to the vows we made before God, as either church members or officers--we will submit to the government and discipline of the church.
That being said, the members and ministers of the church have the right to investigate issues, to raise questions about theological concerns, and to bring discipline to the church. That's why I would disagree somewhat with this outsider's perspective on the situation in the PCA. While no one wants a church that is constantly battling itself on side issues, I think some of the issues that are being discussed are worth thinking about. It is a good thing for presbyteries to study these issues, to affirm our common consensus around the Westminster Standards, and to discipline with those who have moved outside that consensus. That is not problematic or disasterous; rather, that is healthy church life.
However, what is problematic is when Presbyterians forget one of our most basic biblical insights--that each of our local churches are connected to other local churches in regional and national groupings and that this connectionalism pictures the unity of Christ's Body for all the world to see. It is only in this way that the purity and unity and peace of Christ's Church will be preserved until he returns.
Defending Virginia, the South, and Mastery, part one
Note: The earlier post on southern Presbyterianism brought this essay to mind. I presented it at the Pruitt Symposium hosted at Baylor University in October 2004. While it doesn't say anything that isn't in my Dabney book, it puts things more pointedly.
In the essay, I was trying to engage historian Gene Genovese on the one hand, by arguing that Dabney's presentation of proslavery was not a lead-pipe lock case, and historian Mark Noll on the other, by suggesting that a Reformed hermenuetic could have and should have led Dabney and other southern Presbyterians in different directions.
As Robert Lewis Dabney (1820-1898) lay in his recovery bed in the waning days of 1862, he despaired for the Confederate cause. To be sure, the Army of Northern Virginia had won a tremendous victory during the Seven Days Battles, forcing McClellan’s troops to retreat from Harrison’s Landing and defending Richmond successfully. Yet Dabney, whose bout with “camp fever” forced his resignation as Stonewall Jackson’s chief of staff in order to return to his civilian life as a professor of theology at the southern Presbyterian’s Union Theological Seminary in Virginia, worried that his fellow southerners were losing their grip on the reasons for the War.
Though Dabney opposed secession before the war because he was profoundly concerned that southerners were not adequately prepared militarily or politically for the resultant conflict, he generally agreed with fellow Presbyterians James Henley Thornwell and B. M. Palmer that southerners needed to defend their homeland, their liberties, and their institution of slavery. But now, in his own southern Presbyterian church, there were rumors abroad that James Lyon’s pastoral letter on slavery, to be presented to the following year’s General Assembly, was going to attack slavery and urge a number of reforms of the “peculiar institution.” In addition, northern newspapers continually hammered southern slavery, trying to shift the public purpose of the war from preserving the union to liberating the slaves. And even within southern circles, there were prominent border state leaders who questioned whether a war for southern liberties and southern slavery was worth it. For a southern Presbyterian “patriot,” there was plenty of cause for concern.
Even more, Dabney was extremely frustrated by his perceived failure as a staff officer in Jackson’s corps. Though Jackson had written a note of regret and thanks in accepting his resignation, his short-lived service and his lack of fitness for his military duties, as well as his peacetime calling as a Presbyterian minister, made him defensive about his manly honor. In order to meet this personal crisis of masculine confidence as well as to shore up possible southern retreat from a full-throat defense of slavery, Dabney took up his pen as he recovered from the illness that forced him from Lee’s army. Working over articles that he had first published in the Richmond Enqurier in 1851, Dabney crafted perhaps the last important defense of southern slavery based on political, economic, legal, and especially religious grounds. He defended the little book to Jackson, to whom he wished to dedicate the book, boasting that the “labors of the scholar, while more humble, are no less necessary to the welfare of our country, than those of the solider.”
Dabney’s book, A Defence of Virginia (and Through Her, of the South), was originally intended to serve as a piece of Confederate propaganda to convince potential British and French allies to aid the southern cause. He sent the manuscript to his friend, Moses Hoge, who was in London. Hoge apparently forwarded the manuscript to the Confederate authorities in England, but they did not publish his manuscript. Dabney was convinced that this publication failure was due to the influence of A. T. Bledsoe, whom he believed was jealous for the success of his own book on slavery. He did not give up on publishing the book; he even prepared an “Advertisement to the Reader” in 1864, explaining the circumstances of its creation and delay. However, Defence of Virginia did not appear until after the war through agency of the New York publisher, E. J. Hale, with the blessings of Robert E. Lee. While the book did not sell well, it was viewed as an able defense of southern slavery; the United Confederate Veterans eventually placed it among the first ten books that served as constitutional defenses of southern rights.
On the surface, Dabney’s proslavery polemics appears to be simply another racist and intransigent attempt to defend the indefensible system of race-based human bondage. And to be sure, one can find plenty of racism and intransigence within the pages of Defence of Virginia. But I would argue that Dabney’s work also represented one of the last gasps of a southern master class anxious to maintain their manhood and honor, their mastery, through the rhetorical assertion of patriarchal superiority. As such it not only charted the ideology of an elite group attempting to maintain hegemony, but it also served as a preview of the trajectory that at least some southern conservatives, such as Dabney, would take in the Reconstruction period in their intransigence against northern “usurpation” and eventually in their embrace of Jim Crow.
What makes Dabney’s defense of southern mastery particularly important for our purposes is the way he uses both the biblical materials and the realities of the southern slave system selectively in order to create the impression that he has successfully demonstrated that the Bible does not militate against slavery. On the contrary, I would suggest that even using the “Reformed literal” hermeneutic employed by Dabney himself, it can be demonstrated that his reading of the biblical material fails to reckon both with the entirety of the biblical materials as well as with the trajectory of redemptive history toward freedom, renewal, and multi-ethnic community. I would suggest that Dabney’s failure to recognize his own blindness signals the deep problems that arise when theologians seek to interpret texts for public order.
In the essay, I was trying to engage historian Gene Genovese on the one hand, by arguing that Dabney's presentation of proslavery was not a lead-pipe lock case, and historian Mark Noll on the other, by suggesting that a Reformed hermenuetic could have and should have led Dabney and other southern Presbyterians in different directions.
As Robert Lewis Dabney (1820-1898) lay in his recovery bed in the waning days of 1862, he despaired for the Confederate cause. To be sure, the Army of Northern Virginia had won a tremendous victory during the Seven Days Battles, forcing McClellan’s troops to retreat from Harrison’s Landing and defending Richmond successfully. Yet Dabney, whose bout with “camp fever” forced his resignation as Stonewall Jackson’s chief of staff in order to return to his civilian life as a professor of theology at the southern Presbyterian’s Union Theological Seminary in Virginia, worried that his fellow southerners were losing their grip on the reasons for the War.
Though Dabney opposed secession before the war because he was profoundly concerned that southerners were not adequately prepared militarily or politically for the resultant conflict, he generally agreed with fellow Presbyterians James Henley Thornwell and B. M. Palmer that southerners needed to defend their homeland, their liberties, and their institution of slavery. But now, in his own southern Presbyterian church, there were rumors abroad that James Lyon’s pastoral letter on slavery, to be presented to the following year’s General Assembly, was going to attack slavery and urge a number of reforms of the “peculiar institution.” In addition, northern newspapers continually hammered southern slavery, trying to shift the public purpose of the war from preserving the union to liberating the slaves. And even within southern circles, there were prominent border state leaders who questioned whether a war for southern liberties and southern slavery was worth it. For a southern Presbyterian “patriot,” there was plenty of cause for concern.
Even more, Dabney was extremely frustrated by his perceived failure as a staff officer in Jackson’s corps. Though Jackson had written a note of regret and thanks in accepting his resignation, his short-lived service and his lack of fitness for his military duties, as well as his peacetime calling as a Presbyterian minister, made him defensive about his manly honor. In order to meet this personal crisis of masculine confidence as well as to shore up possible southern retreat from a full-throat defense of slavery, Dabney took up his pen as he recovered from the illness that forced him from Lee’s army. Working over articles that he had first published in the Richmond Enqurier in 1851, Dabney crafted perhaps the last important defense of southern slavery based on political, economic, legal, and especially religious grounds. He defended the little book to Jackson, to whom he wished to dedicate the book, boasting that the “labors of the scholar, while more humble, are no less necessary to the welfare of our country, than those of the solider.”
Dabney’s book, A Defence of Virginia (and Through Her, of the South), was originally intended to serve as a piece of Confederate propaganda to convince potential British and French allies to aid the southern cause. He sent the manuscript to his friend, Moses Hoge, who was in London. Hoge apparently forwarded the manuscript to the Confederate authorities in England, but they did not publish his manuscript. Dabney was convinced that this publication failure was due to the influence of A. T. Bledsoe, whom he believed was jealous for the success of his own book on slavery. He did not give up on publishing the book; he even prepared an “Advertisement to the Reader” in 1864, explaining the circumstances of its creation and delay. However, Defence of Virginia did not appear until after the war through agency of the New York publisher, E. J. Hale, with the blessings of Robert E. Lee. While the book did not sell well, it was viewed as an able defense of southern slavery; the United Confederate Veterans eventually placed it among the first ten books that served as constitutional defenses of southern rights.
On the surface, Dabney’s proslavery polemics appears to be simply another racist and intransigent attempt to defend the indefensible system of race-based human bondage. And to be sure, one can find plenty of racism and intransigence within the pages of Defence of Virginia. But I would argue that Dabney’s work also represented one of the last gasps of a southern master class anxious to maintain their manhood and honor, their mastery, through the rhetorical assertion of patriarchal superiority. As such it not only charted the ideology of an elite group attempting to maintain hegemony, but it also served as a preview of the trajectory that at least some southern conservatives, such as Dabney, would take in the Reconstruction period in their intransigence against northern “usurpation” and eventually in their embrace of Jim Crow.
What makes Dabney’s defense of southern mastery particularly important for our purposes is the way he uses both the biblical materials and the realities of the southern slave system selectively in order to create the impression that he has successfully demonstrated that the Bible does not militate against slavery. On the contrary, I would suggest that even using the “Reformed literal” hermeneutic employed by Dabney himself, it can be demonstrated that his reading of the biblical material fails to reckon both with the entirety of the biblical materials as well as with the trajectory of redemptive history toward freedom, renewal, and multi-ethnic community. I would suggest that Dabney’s failure to recognize his own blindness signals the deep problems that arise when theologians seek to interpret texts for public order.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Out of Pocket
I'm out of pocket right now--sitting here at my in-laws house in Connersville, Indiana. I should be back to my regularly scheduled blogging next week.
One word, though, on Kelvin Sampson's hiring at IU--actually more than one word. 1) Oklahoma's men's basketball team is under investigation for recruiting voliations; why would you hire someone who may end up to be Jim O'Brien?
2) Oklahoma plays an ugly brand of basketball. If IU fans were frustrated with Mike Davis' offense, wait till they see what Sampson brings.
3) Does Greenspan really believe that Sampson is going to be able to recruit the state? That if Kelvin were our coach that Greg Oden would have come to IU? That he is somehow better than Alford, Wittman, or Keith Smart?
4) How many Final Fours did Sampson take Oklahoma to? One. Who did they lose to? That's right, Indiana in 2002.
This, in my opinion, was a bad hire. Even Calipari would have been better because at least he would have brought good talent with him. Greenspan will not survive the negative fall-out when the program goes south. Another prediction (since I'm on a roll)--Davis will have a better 3-year record at UAB (if he is hired there as rumored) than Sampson will have at IU.
See you next week!
One word, though, on Kelvin Sampson's hiring at IU--actually more than one word. 1) Oklahoma's men's basketball team is under investigation for recruiting voliations; why would you hire someone who may end up to be Jim O'Brien?
2) Oklahoma plays an ugly brand of basketball. If IU fans were frustrated with Mike Davis' offense, wait till they see what Sampson brings.
3) Does Greenspan really believe that Sampson is going to be able to recruit the state? That if Kelvin were our coach that Greg Oden would have come to IU? That he is somehow better than Alford, Wittman, or Keith Smart?
4) How many Final Fours did Sampson take Oklahoma to? One. Who did they lose to? That's right, Indiana in 2002.
This, in my opinion, was a bad hire. Even Calipari would have been better because at least he would have brought good talent with him. Greenspan will not survive the negative fall-out when the program goes south. Another prediction (since I'm on a roll)--Davis will have a better 3-year record at UAB (if he is hired there as rumored) than Sampson will have at IU.
See you next week!
Friday, March 24, 2006
Spirit and Flesh
[Note: I just received in the mail the March/April 2006 issue of Modern Reformation, where this review is published. I thought I would post it here to share with those who might not read MR]
In Spirit and Flesh, a brilliant and enlightening book, James M. Ault, Jr., initiates his readers into the world of a fundamentalist church. Ault, an independent Harvard-trained sociologist, spent three years immersed as a participant-observant with the Shawmut River Baptist Church (he changed the name to protect identities) in Massachusetts in an effort to understand New Right politics and the churches behind it. He first chronicled the congregation’s life in the public television documentary Born Again (1987); Spirit and Flesh serves as his “field notes,” filled with analysis and a narrative that often surprises and always engages.
Against typical secular assessments of fundamentalist Protestantism, which emphasize power and hierarchical gender relationships, Ault argued that churches like Shawmut River were built upon kin relationships that often empowered women even while engaging in “patriarchal” rhetoric; served to bring family members to faith, sustain them in that faith, and exercise discipline when they faltered; and provided for a type of ethical flexibility and adaptability even in the face of “absolutist” ethical claims.
In addition, by viewing fundamentalism as embedded in familial relationships, Ault enabled the reader understand why fundamentalists became politically involved in the 1970s and 1980s over the issues of abortion and public education and why they are heavily invested today in the fight over homosexuality: these political issues each strike at the essence of fundamentalist religion, namely, the tight family relationships that sustain churches like Shawmut River.
In addition, Ault claimed that fundamentalist “traditionalism” is rooted in a collective, oral discourse that “has a contingent, dynamic quality involving change, growth, adaptation, and invention” (208). The communicative event for this oral discourse is the Sunday sermon in which the community’s ideals, its traditions, are defended and reinforced. Not only doctrinal traditions, but especially cultural and social mores—such as teenage chastity, cultural separation, and abstinence from alcohol—are communicated to the younger generation through the community’s oral discourse.
In the book, one of the central and most disruptive events is the pastor’s daughter out-of-wedlock pregnancy. When the pastor, as keeper and transmitter of fundamentalist traditions, “fails” to pass them on adequately to the next generation, the church becomes a political battleground that eventually leads the larger church “family” to choose sides in order to preserve its peace and traditions.
In the end, Ault’s book is useful for helping those of us who minister in the Presbyterian and Reformed world to take stock. After all, to a secular world, conservative Presbyterians look very much like the fundamentalist Baptists whom Ault describes. And as we minister, it is useful to reckon with the reality that our congregations are often built upon kin relationships; what might be the effects of seeing the church as a collection of families shaped by traditions communicated orally? Above all, in a surprising twist at the end of the book, we can learn the importance of a loving community to bring someone, like Ault himself, back to the Christian faith in which he was raised.
In Spirit and Flesh, a brilliant and enlightening book, James M. Ault, Jr., initiates his readers into the world of a fundamentalist church. Ault, an independent Harvard-trained sociologist, spent three years immersed as a participant-observant with the Shawmut River Baptist Church (he changed the name to protect identities) in Massachusetts in an effort to understand New Right politics and the churches behind it. He first chronicled the congregation’s life in the public television documentary Born Again (1987); Spirit and Flesh serves as his “field notes,” filled with analysis and a narrative that often surprises and always engages.
Against typical secular assessments of fundamentalist Protestantism, which emphasize power and hierarchical gender relationships, Ault argued that churches like Shawmut River were built upon kin relationships that often empowered women even while engaging in “patriarchal” rhetoric; served to bring family members to faith, sustain them in that faith, and exercise discipline when they faltered; and provided for a type of ethical flexibility and adaptability even in the face of “absolutist” ethical claims.
In addition, by viewing fundamentalism as embedded in familial relationships, Ault enabled the reader understand why fundamentalists became politically involved in the 1970s and 1980s over the issues of abortion and public education and why they are heavily invested today in the fight over homosexuality: these political issues each strike at the essence of fundamentalist religion, namely, the tight family relationships that sustain churches like Shawmut River.
In addition, Ault claimed that fundamentalist “traditionalism” is rooted in a collective, oral discourse that “has a contingent, dynamic quality involving change, growth, adaptation, and invention” (208). The communicative event for this oral discourse is the Sunday sermon in which the community’s ideals, its traditions, are defended and reinforced. Not only doctrinal traditions, but especially cultural and social mores—such as teenage chastity, cultural separation, and abstinence from alcohol—are communicated to the younger generation through the community’s oral discourse.
In the book, one of the central and most disruptive events is the pastor’s daughter out-of-wedlock pregnancy. When the pastor, as keeper and transmitter of fundamentalist traditions, “fails” to pass them on adequately to the next generation, the church becomes a political battleground that eventually leads the larger church “family” to choose sides in order to preserve its peace and traditions.
In the end, Ault’s book is useful for helping those of us who minister in the Presbyterian and Reformed world to take stock. After all, to a secular world, conservative Presbyterians look very much like the fundamentalist Baptists whom Ault describes. And as we minister, it is useful to reckon with the reality that our congregations are often built upon kin relationships; what might be the effects of seeing the church as a collection of families shaped by traditions communicated orally? Above all, in a surprising twist at the end of the book, we can learn the importance of a loving community to bring someone, like Ault himself, back to the Christian faith in which he was raised.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
The Colts will now win the Super Bowl...
...now that they've gotten rid of the "idiot kicker" and signed someone who can make clutch kicks.
[Note: sorry to all those who read this blog who aren't into Indiana-centric sports teams; a lot going on with the teams I follow. Now, back to your regularly scheduled blogging...]
[Note: sorry to all those who read this blog who aren't into Indiana-centric sports teams; a lot going on with the teams I follow. Now, back to your regularly scheduled blogging...]
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
The Next Indiana Coach
I can't believe that I am one of the few IU fans out there who desparately wants Steve Alford for our next coach.
I can't believe that the second best record in Iowa school history and Big Ten Tournament championship doesn't merit some sort of praise and interest.
I can't believe that I am one of the few IU fans who, when he hears Mark Few's name, thinks Dan Monson.
I can't believe that anyone thinks that John Calipari is a good coach.
I can't believe that Alford would coach Mizzou instead of IU.
I can't believe that Rick Greenspan will survive as AD if he picks a coach other than Alford who ends up being a failure.
I can't believe that, somewhere, Bob Knight isn't smiling...
Why Bother with Southern Presbyterianism? No. 1
This thoughtful post got me thinking once again about this question. After all, I've spent a good chunk of my academic writing time on Robert Lewis Dabney; and for the past several years, I've been working on a history of twentieth-century conservative dissent in the Presbyterian Church in the United States (the old southern Presbyterian church). Maybe I'm a little defensive, or feel the need to justify the time. But I ask the question: why bother with these southern Presbyterian stories?
Let me say to start that I don't write in order to repristinate the past or to write inspirational history. Anyone who has read my book on Dabney, for example, knows that I have deep ambivilances about him as a man, churchman, and theologian. I don't shy away from pointing out his sinful and tragic attitudes toward African Americans, his wrestling with his own masculinity and honor during the war, his ambitious manuevering to land his position at Union Seminary, or his tragic squandering of influence in the postbellum southern church. Anyone who has read my book should know that, in my mind, Dabney is not a hero and that I am not seeking to return to the "good ol' days."
Then again, that is not why I write history anyway. If we simply come to history for some sort of useable past that reifies the status quo or justifies deviation from that status quo, then we are doing historical work for lesser reasons. Hear me well: it is not wrong to make the past speak to the present; that is what the best historians do. Yet, as James Cobb put it well,
All too often, people approach history seeking what they want to hear. In my mind, however, historians need to do their work in such a way that the message people need to hear, pleasant or unpleasant, reifying or justifying, is heard.
To come back to the basic question then--why bother studying southern Presbyterians?--I think the answer has to look something like this: I study southern Presbyterians in order to gain wisdom and insight into the way I am today and the way my church is. In a denomination where nearly 60% of his membership still resides in the eleven states of the old Confederacy, and in a denomination that has many who still view it as the continuation of the old PCUS, we need all the wisdom and insight we can get about the way we are (good and bad), the beliefs we hold dear, and the practices that continue to shape us.
But I also study southern Presbyterians because they remind me that theology never operates outside of cultural systems--whether you want to put that into terms of "cultural captivity" or "contextualization." And that means, I must come to all ideas and beliefs and practices with sharp questioning--how does this operate within the current cultural moment? What strengths does this present? What weaknesses does this offer? How will my future be affected by this? How does this reflect the longer-standing tradition of the church?
And so, our call in thinking historically about these things is not to rail against "southern Presbyterianism" as though it were some aberrant form of the Christian tradition (though, no doubt, there are aberrations, especially on racial issues, as this demonstrates). Nor is our call to defend "southern Presbyterianism" as though it embodied perfected Christianity handed down to us on golden plates (though, no doubt, there are numerous strengths, especially in its general faithfulness to the Westminster tradition).
Rather, the historical task is to study the past in order to uncover the stories--to discover the wisdom and receive the judgment--that we need to hear in this moment. And the stories we need to hear above all point us forward to the only real hero in the Big Story, Jesus himself, who takes our evil and works it together for our salvation.
Let me say to start that I don't write in order to repristinate the past or to write inspirational history. Anyone who has read my book on Dabney, for example, knows that I have deep ambivilances about him as a man, churchman, and theologian. I don't shy away from pointing out his sinful and tragic attitudes toward African Americans, his wrestling with his own masculinity and honor during the war, his ambitious manuevering to land his position at Union Seminary, or his tragic squandering of influence in the postbellum southern church. Anyone who has read my book should know that, in my mind, Dabney is not a hero and that I am not seeking to return to the "good ol' days."
Then again, that is not why I write history anyway. If we simply come to history for some sort of useable past that reifies the status quo or justifies deviation from that status quo, then we are doing historical work for lesser reasons. Hear me well: it is not wrong to make the past speak to the present; that is what the best historians do. Yet, as James Cobb put it well,
"When historians are drawn into the politics of identity [which is what I am really talking about--sml], they may unwittingly cease to be scholars who simply try to make the past speak to the present and become ventrioloquists who are intent on making it say what they think their audience wants to hear. In doing so, they run the risk both of misrepresenting the past and of confusing what their readers want to hear with what they may actually need to hear" (Cobb, Away Down South, 316).
All too often, people approach history seeking what they want to hear. In my mind, however, historians need to do their work in such a way that the message people need to hear, pleasant or unpleasant, reifying or justifying, is heard.
To come back to the basic question then--why bother studying southern Presbyterians?--I think the answer has to look something like this: I study southern Presbyterians in order to gain wisdom and insight into the way I am today and the way my church is. In a denomination where nearly 60% of his membership still resides in the eleven states of the old Confederacy, and in a denomination that has many who still view it as the continuation of the old PCUS, we need all the wisdom and insight we can get about the way we are (good and bad), the beliefs we hold dear, and the practices that continue to shape us.
But I also study southern Presbyterians because they remind me that theology never operates outside of cultural systems--whether you want to put that into terms of "cultural captivity" or "contextualization." And that means, I must come to all ideas and beliefs and practices with sharp questioning--how does this operate within the current cultural moment? What strengths does this present? What weaknesses does this offer? How will my future be affected by this? How does this reflect the longer-standing tradition of the church?
And so, our call in thinking historically about these things is not to rail against "southern Presbyterianism" as though it were some aberrant form of the Christian tradition (though, no doubt, there are aberrations, especially on racial issues, as this demonstrates). Nor is our call to defend "southern Presbyterianism" as though it embodied perfected Christianity handed down to us on golden plates (though, no doubt, there are numerous strengths, especially in its general faithfulness to the Westminster tradition).
Rather, the historical task is to study the past in order to uncover the stories--to discover the wisdom and receive the judgment--that we need to hear in this moment. And the stories we need to hear above all point us forward to the only real hero in the Big Story, Jesus himself, who takes our evil and works it together for our salvation.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Dirty Little Secrets
The other day, I was surfing the TV and landed on VH1, where they were actually doing a video countdown (I hadn't seen VH1 or MTV do videos in forever). The video was by The All-American Rejects for their song, "Dirty Little Secrets." The video showed post-cards that people had created, which disclosed various kinds of secrets, some profoundly broken, others awfully superficial.
When I got to the seminary today, a colleague was telling me about an article that he read on his way back from California about this website, PostSecret.com. When I went to the website, I found the same type of thing--and apparently, the song was inspired by this website. The simple premise of the website is this: people share their deep secrets by creating postcards as a type of art, but also as a means of finding healing and hope. The website is tied in with the Hope Line, a 800 number that helps people struggling with suicidal feelings. According to the count meter, over 25 million people have vist the PostSecret website.
I had several reactions to all this. First, I was so thankful that somewhere, in God's common grace, people are feeling free to reveal some of their brokenness so that they can finding help, hope, and healing.
Another thought I had was this: if you were to allow church members to do this, creating postcards about their "dirty little secrets" and sending them to a place where they can maintain their anonymity, what kinds of issues would be revealed? I suspect that the brokenness displayed on the website would not be that radically different from what one would discover in the church.
Which raises another question--how in the world do ministers and counselors surface these issues so that the healing of God's grace in the Gospel might come to bear on people's secrets? For all our talk about authenicity, I wonder if we could really handle some of these issues; it would simply be overwhelming for human beings. And yet, it would not be overwhelming for God--so how do we get people together with God in such a way that they might know God's grace?
This leads to another thought: why do most of our churches preach and minister in such a way that these issues are never surfaced? Why does most preaching fail to address our dark emotions, our dirty secrets? Why do our illustrations of "sin" and "brokenness" always seem so lame and unreal (cheating on income taxes; driving faster than speed limit; etc. Please. These are peccadillos, not the sins with which most people really wrestle). Why do most of our people feel utterly unsafe to bring these secrets to the light? How does that change?
Finally, how in the world has the church utterly missed this phenomenon? I read a number of blogs and websites, as well as regular news outlets, and I had never heard of this, until I saw the AAR video. What other major cultural phenomenons are we missing where people are expressing their deepest heart issues and the church is simply ignorant?
When I got to the seminary today, a colleague was telling me about an article that he read on his way back from California about this website, PostSecret.com. When I went to the website, I found the same type of thing--and apparently, the song was inspired by this website. The simple premise of the website is this: people share their deep secrets by creating postcards as a type of art, but also as a means of finding healing and hope. The website is tied in with the Hope Line, a 800 number that helps people struggling with suicidal feelings. According to the count meter, over 25 million people have vist the PostSecret website.
I had several reactions to all this. First, I was so thankful that somewhere, in God's common grace, people are feeling free to reveal some of their brokenness so that they can finding help, hope, and healing.
Another thought I had was this: if you were to allow church members to do this, creating postcards about their "dirty little secrets" and sending them to a place where they can maintain their anonymity, what kinds of issues would be revealed? I suspect that the brokenness displayed on the website would not be that radically different from what one would discover in the church.
Which raises another question--how in the world do ministers and counselors surface these issues so that the healing of God's grace in the Gospel might come to bear on people's secrets? For all our talk about authenicity, I wonder if we could really handle some of these issues; it would simply be overwhelming for human beings. And yet, it would not be overwhelming for God--so how do we get people together with God in such a way that they might know God's grace?
This leads to another thought: why do most of our churches preach and minister in such a way that these issues are never surfaced? Why does most preaching fail to address our dark emotions, our dirty secrets? Why do our illustrations of "sin" and "brokenness" always seem so lame and unreal (cheating on income taxes; driving faster than speed limit; etc. Please. These are peccadillos, not the sins with which most people really wrestle). Why do most of our people feel utterly unsafe to bring these secrets to the light? How does that change?
Finally, how in the world has the church utterly missed this phenomenon? I read a number of blogs and websites, as well as regular news outlets, and I had never heard of this, until I saw the AAR video. What other major cultural phenomenons are we missing where people are expressing their deepest heart issues and the church is simply ignorant?
Friday, March 17, 2006
Death of Presbyterian Denominational History
I recently was invited to contribute to a collection of historiographical essays on denominational history, a book that will be published by the University of Alabama Press. Our assigned task was to survey the field in our respective denomination's historiography since the publication of William Warren Sweet's classic series on Religion in America (c. 1940). And as you would expect, my assignment was Presbyterian historiography.
In doing the very initial spade-work for this essay, one thing that is very striking is the paucity of those who could be considered "historians of Presbyterianism," since 1940. I'm sure that I am missing someone, but thus far my list includes: Leonard Trinterud, Lefferts Loetscher, E. T. Thompson, James Smylie, Louis Weeks, Thomas Currie, James Currie, James Moorhead, Beau Weston, Brad Longfield, Erskine Clarke, Robert Brackenridge, D. G. Hart, Mark Noll, David Calhoun, and me. Gonna be tough to pull 25-30 pages out of that group.
Of course, I know that the major source for Presbyterian historiography is the Journal of Presbyterian History (JPH) and I will mine that very well in my essay. But the fact that there are so few legitimate names (and a few of these are suspect: for example, Currie, Weston, Longfield and Lucas have only published one significant book; Noll has only published one book that is directly "Presbyterian") suggests a more disturbing trend.
That trend is the death of denominational history generally and especially the death of Presbyterian denominational history. There have been several books over the past 15 years that have highlighted the need to recover denominational stories: the best of these was Reimagining Denominationalism: Interpretive Essays, ed. R. B. Mullin and R. Richey. But with the slow death of mainline Protestantism--coupled together with the now-dominant model of "religious pluralism" in religious studies departments and "evangelicalism" within history departments that do religious history--has meant that doing histories about Episcopalians, Presbyterians, or other oldline denominations is simply not sexy.
There are two exceptions to this trend: Methodism and Baptists. For whatever reason, scholars have recently discovered Methodists in a huge way, producing several major books by Wigger, Andrews, and Hempton. Methdoists are now being explored for the way that they have shaped the egalitarian and enthusaistic world of the early American Republic as well as set the stage for Victorian moralism on both sides of the Atlantic. And Baptists have made a comeback for two reasons: first, as a result of the conservative take-back of the Southern Baptist Convention and second, as the result of the explosion of studies of the religion of the American South.
And yet, Presbyterians, who for so long were central to the WASP-elite story of America and its Christianity, have generally been shunted to the sidelines. Surely it is somewhat ironic that the most prolific Presbyterian historian (Hart) belongs to the 30,000-member Orthodox Presbyterian Church, which left the mainline PCUSA in 1936? And that JPH is publishing more and more articles from professors at the three conservative Presbyterian seminaries, presumably because mainline professors simply aren't doing this kind of historical work anymore?
The real question is how we got into this current state of affairs. And I think part of the answer is that historical writing can't help but fall into some sort of advocacy. And for mainline Presbyterians, historical writing served to buttress and justify larger themes--theological breadth in the 1950s and 60s, racial and gender inclusion in the 1960s and 70s, and denominational renewal and rescue in the 1980s and 90s. But by moving historical writing so fully into advocacy mode for a perspective on how the church should be, historians failed in their task of telling truth-full stories--stories that charted pitfalls and failures as well as progressive hopes and dreams. Mainline Presbyterian historical writing has often read like one long parade interrupted by boring speeches on the glories of the past and the programs for the future. Think Democratic National Convention in religious guise--that is what passed for mainline Presbyterian historical writing.
The historians who have chronciled the "offshoots"--the denominations that formed out of the mainline--haven't done much better. Too often our writing has felt like justifications and excuses and special pleading. It is fearful and temporizing, afraid of goring oxen and sacred cows. We haven't seemed to figure out a way to tell a truth-full story that helps readers (and Presbyterians) understand the larger sweep of what God is up to and what being Presbyterian in America has done both to Presbyterianism and America, for both good and ill.
And so, the next question is this: can Presbyterian denominational history be resurrected? I sure hope so, if for no other reason that the Presbyterian stories are so important for placing us in the grander narrative of what God is up to in this world, for shaping our sense of identity. If Presbyterianism is going to survive in America, then the next 50 years must be dedicated to reclaiming truth-filled (with the good, bad, ugly, and indifferent) Presbyterian stories.
Only then will we see the grandness of our faith and the glories of our God, who uses even flawed, crooked tools as instruments in his hand.
In doing the very initial spade-work for this essay, one thing that is very striking is the paucity of those who could be considered "historians of Presbyterianism," since 1940. I'm sure that I am missing someone, but thus far my list includes: Leonard Trinterud, Lefferts Loetscher, E. T. Thompson, James Smylie, Louis Weeks, Thomas Currie, James Currie, James Moorhead, Beau Weston, Brad Longfield, Erskine Clarke, Robert Brackenridge, D. G. Hart, Mark Noll, David Calhoun, and me. Gonna be tough to pull 25-30 pages out of that group.
Of course, I know that the major source for Presbyterian historiography is the Journal of Presbyterian History (JPH) and I will mine that very well in my essay. But the fact that there are so few legitimate names (and a few of these are suspect: for example, Currie, Weston, Longfield and Lucas have only published one significant book; Noll has only published one book that is directly "Presbyterian") suggests a more disturbing trend.
That trend is the death of denominational history generally and especially the death of Presbyterian denominational history. There have been several books over the past 15 years that have highlighted the need to recover denominational stories: the best of these was Reimagining Denominationalism: Interpretive Essays, ed. R. B. Mullin and R. Richey. But with the slow death of mainline Protestantism--coupled together with the now-dominant model of "religious pluralism" in religious studies departments and "evangelicalism" within history departments that do religious history--has meant that doing histories about Episcopalians, Presbyterians, or other oldline denominations is simply not sexy.
There are two exceptions to this trend: Methodism and Baptists. For whatever reason, scholars have recently discovered Methodists in a huge way, producing several major books by Wigger, Andrews, and Hempton. Methdoists are now being explored for the way that they have shaped the egalitarian and enthusaistic world of the early American Republic as well as set the stage for Victorian moralism on both sides of the Atlantic. And Baptists have made a comeback for two reasons: first, as a result of the conservative take-back of the Southern Baptist Convention and second, as the result of the explosion of studies of the religion of the American South.
And yet, Presbyterians, who for so long were central to the WASP-elite story of America and its Christianity, have generally been shunted to the sidelines. Surely it is somewhat ironic that the most prolific Presbyterian historian (Hart) belongs to the 30,000-member Orthodox Presbyterian Church, which left the mainline PCUSA in 1936? And that JPH is publishing more and more articles from professors at the three conservative Presbyterian seminaries, presumably because mainline professors simply aren't doing this kind of historical work anymore?
The real question is how we got into this current state of affairs. And I think part of the answer is that historical writing can't help but fall into some sort of advocacy. And for mainline Presbyterians, historical writing served to buttress and justify larger themes--theological breadth in the 1950s and 60s, racial and gender inclusion in the 1960s and 70s, and denominational renewal and rescue in the 1980s and 90s. But by moving historical writing so fully into advocacy mode for a perspective on how the church should be, historians failed in their task of telling truth-full stories--stories that charted pitfalls and failures as well as progressive hopes and dreams. Mainline Presbyterian historical writing has often read like one long parade interrupted by boring speeches on the glories of the past and the programs for the future. Think Democratic National Convention in religious guise--that is what passed for mainline Presbyterian historical writing.
The historians who have chronciled the "offshoots"--the denominations that formed out of the mainline--haven't done much better. Too often our writing has felt like justifications and excuses and special pleading. It is fearful and temporizing, afraid of goring oxen and sacred cows. We haven't seemed to figure out a way to tell a truth-full story that helps readers (and Presbyterians) understand the larger sweep of what God is up to and what being Presbyterian in America has done both to Presbyterianism and America, for both good and ill.
And so, the next question is this: can Presbyterian denominational history be resurrected? I sure hope so, if for no other reason that the Presbyterian stories are so important for placing us in the grander narrative of what God is up to in this world, for shaping our sense of identity. If Presbyterianism is going to survive in America, then the next 50 years must be dedicated to reclaiming truth-filled (with the good, bad, ugly, and indifferent) Presbyterian stories.
Only then will we see the grandness of our faith and the glories of our God, who uses even flawed, crooked tools as instruments in his hand.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Jeopardy, No. 3
Answer:
James C. Cobb's Away Down South: A History of Southern Identity
Cobb's Redefining Southern Identity: Mind and Identity in the Modern South
Samuel Hill, ed., The New Encyclopedia of Southern Culture, Vol. 1: Religion
Question:
What came in my box yesterday from amazon.com?
btw--I intend to post something in the next several days about the NEofSC volume on Religion, which is surprisingly poor.
James C. Cobb's Away Down South: A History of Southern Identity
Cobb's Redefining Southern Identity: Mind and Identity in the Modern South
Samuel Hill, ed., The New Encyclopedia of Southern Culture, Vol. 1: Religion
Question:
What came in my box yesterday from amazon.com?
btw--I intend to post something in the next several days about the NEofSC volume on Religion, which is surprisingly poor.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Picking the Final Four
I filled out my first bracket for this year's tournament and some how came up with Duke, UConn, Kansas, and Boston College--two #1s and two #4s. I think I need to go back and try again...who do you have in your Final Four?
[btw, for those who know my rooting interests--right now, I have Indiana making the 16 before losing to UCLA. I'm not sure that's right either.]
[btw, for those who know my rooting interests--right now, I have Indiana making the 16 before losing to UCLA. I'm not sure that's right either.]
Friday, March 10, 2006
D. G. Hart in Colorado
This website, from Calvary United Reformed Church in Loveland, Colo., is announcing a conference, "Deep Roots: Seeking Our Protestant Heritage." The main speaker is D. G. Hart, who was my main professor at Westminster Theological Seminary, Philadelphia, Pa., and one of the most thoughtful and provocative historians working today. What makes this website particularly useful is this page of links of online Hart essays.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Mainline Presbyterians and Same-Sex Marriage
This acquittal for Jane Spahr, PC(USA) minister and long-time activitist for gay causes in the church, is a sad day for the church as is this striking report about a long-distant relative of Jonathan Edwards who performs same-sex marriages.
Yet what is striking is how little most observers understand the way the mainline Presbyterian church has dealt with this issue. For example, as the official church report on Spahr indicates, since 2000 mainline Presbyterian ministers have been able to "bless" same-sex unions. Likewise, though a great deal of effort has been spent toward ordaining practicing homosexuals, the PC(USA) has long allowed the ordination of homosexuals who are non-practicing.
In the light of this, these recent reports are not surprising. However, these reports do represent a warning of sorts and raise other questions. What steps within mainline Presbyterian were necessary to make homosexuality acceptable as a lifestyle both for parishioners and for ministers? And how do conservative Presbyterians reach out in love, grace, and concern for those in homosexual lifestyles without affirming their practice?
Ministries such as First Light and Harvest USA are certainly helpful in enabling us to reach out in love and care. But surely the church can do more--what can we do? One thing we must do is tone down our rhetoric and demonstrate the kindness of God, which leads people to repentance (Romans 2:4). For far too long, conservative evangelicals have responded in fear and loathing rather than in the mercy of Christ, who saves all kinds of people. Only as we lower our voices and respond in concern will there be an avenue for Gospel word and deed in these lives.
Yet what is striking is how little most observers understand the way the mainline Presbyterian church has dealt with this issue. For example, as the official church report on Spahr indicates, since 2000 mainline Presbyterian ministers have been able to "bless" same-sex unions. Likewise, though a great deal of effort has been spent toward ordaining practicing homosexuals, the PC(USA) has long allowed the ordination of homosexuals who are non-practicing.
In the light of this, these recent reports are not surprising. However, these reports do represent a warning of sorts and raise other questions. What steps within mainline Presbyterian were necessary to make homosexuality acceptable as a lifestyle both for parishioners and for ministers? And how do conservative Presbyterians reach out in love, grace, and concern for those in homosexual lifestyles without affirming their practice?
Ministries such as First Light and Harvest USA are certainly helpful in enabling us to reach out in love and care. But surely the church can do more--what can we do? One thing we must do is tone down our rhetoric and demonstrate the kindness of God, which leads people to repentance (Romans 2:4). For far too long, conservative evangelicals have responded in fear and loathing rather than in the mercy of Christ, who saves all kinds of people. Only as we lower our voices and respond in concern will there be an avenue for Gospel word and deed in these lives.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Dabney Review: Measuring Days
This was a very thoughtful review of my Robert Lewis Dabney. Jared raises some good questions out of his reflection on Dabney's life and ministry. I'm thankful for such sympathetic and thoughtful readers!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Martyn Lloyd-Jones' Legacy
Carl Trueman, a friend and professor of church history and historical theology at Westminster Theological Seminary, has posted some trenchent remarks on Martyn Lloyd-Jones' legacy. Whether you agree with Carl or not--and his criticisms of MLJ seem directed as much toward his admirers as Lloyd-Jones himself, save for the final point--they are worth considering.
In that context, I've continued to wrestle historically with how a place like Westminster Chapel could go from MLJ to R. T. Kendall to Greg Haslam (a leader among the Word and Spirit movement, a UK charismatic group). The received, conventional wisdom has generally seen Kendall as the one wearing the "black hat" in the story, corrupting the MLJ legacy and opening the door to the charismatic movement. But I wonder if there was some trajectory in MLJ's own ministry--whether explicit or implicit--that set the stage for this transition.
I guess you can say that historically it is all a question of Lloyd-Jones and the Lloyd-Jonesists!
In that context, I've continued to wrestle historically with how a place like Westminster Chapel could go from MLJ to R. T. Kendall to Greg Haslam (a leader among the Word and Spirit movement, a UK charismatic group). The received, conventional wisdom has generally seen Kendall as the one wearing the "black hat" in the story, corrupting the MLJ legacy and opening the door to the charismatic movement. But I wonder if there was some trajectory in MLJ's own ministry--whether explicit or implicit--that set the stage for this transition.
I guess you can say that historically it is all a question of Lloyd-Jones and the Lloyd-Jonesists!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Lucas (Oil) Stadium
I'm glad the good citizens of Indianapolis and my beloved Colts decided to honor me (and my kindred) by naming their new stadium after the Lucas clan.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Lucaspotting, No. 2
Some other places I will be over the next several months:
- March 2, pastor's fellowship, First Baptist Church, Roxanna, Ill.
- March 3-4, RUF Men's Retreat, University of Missouri, New Haven, Mo.
- July 19, RUF Training, Atlanta, Ga.
Generous Orthodoxy, part three
Identity
By the end McLaren’s book, I could not help but to think that fundamentally he wrote about identity—what is the nature of Christian identity? Who am I as a Christian? Who are we as the church? And what are we to be and to do in this world? In some ways, this was not a stretch to see—after all, every chapter in the second part started with “why I am…” Yet I wonder if McLaren, or emergent church folks, have genuinely wrestled with issues related to religious identity. If not, doing so would raise important questions for the entire project.
I would suggest that religious identity is forged through a matrix of beliefs, practices, and stories. Beliefs and practices are mutually reinforcing components of our identity—what we believe leads to certain practices; and our practices tend to reinforce our beliefs. These beliefs and practices gain legitimacy from the stories that we tell about ourselves or that others tell about us. While it might be possible to believe, practice, and story-tell as an isolated individual, it is much more likely that beliefs, practices, and stories will happen within a community and particularly within a community that has a long history or tradition. As a result, our traditioned communities both inculcate, form, and reform a particular religious identity that helps us to make sense of the world and to engage the world in our various callings. Or to state it in the opposite direction, our identities are embedded in particular communities; we take on the community’s beliefs, practices, and stories as our own and only forsake them with great mental, psychic, and physical energy.
With this understanding of religious identity as the background, I would like to raise questions about the entire emergent strategy of seeking “to find a way to embrace the good in many traditions and historic streams of Christian faith, and to integrate them, yielding a new, generous, emergent approach that is greater than the sum of its parts” (18). One question is whether such a strategy is even possible. After all, the beliefs or practices of certain religious traditions are part of a matrix (or cultural system, to use Clifford Geertz’s phrase) that are not easily transmuted or transformed without changing their meaning. In part, because our beliefs and practices are storied—there are reasons and stories behind why we do and believe the way we do. And so, is it actually possible to take a little bit from Anabaptists, merge it together with some things from the Anglicans, shake on top a little Catholicism and Presbyterianism, and emerge with something new, stronger, better?
As a matter of fact, it was at this very point that the criticisms raised by Michael Horton come home. While I think Horton failed to grapple fairly with the emergent movement on their own terms, his point that this presented a modernist form of consumerism was exactly right. For who gets to determine one’s religious identity? Does the community (or religious tradition) have the “right” to catechize or inculcate their beliefs, practices, and stories into their adherents? Or does the individual have the “right” to determine, shape, transmute, or transform that identity into something “new” and “postmodern”? Ultimately, at the point of who is the authority, McLaren’s propose shows itself to be “most-modernist” in terms of the self-made Christian and her smorgasbord identity.
And so, I would suggest that the hope for an emerging generation is not the same attempt, made by non-denominational churches for the past thirty years, to be a lowest common denominator collage for religious identity. Rather, it is “re-tribalization,” if you will; it is the self-conscious attempt by religious traditions to be most faithful to their own identities.
For Presbyterians, then, this means nothing less than thoroughly training our adherents—that is, our non-communicant and communicant church members—in the beliefs, practices, and stories that form and reform our identity. This Presbyterian identity will, of course, place us within the larger family of evangelical Protestants with whom we have so much in common; but it will also recognize that we approach the great Gospel truths that we have in common with other Protestant traditions with a particular accent or dialect.
In doing this, I think we will have a better opportunity to engage in meaningful dialogue with other religious traditions—Christian and non-Christian—because we will be speaking out of our deep understanding of who we are, what we believe, what we do, and where we have been. It may not be the newest thing to emerge from within evangelicalism, but it might actually be the best way to preserve and promote that once and the same time ancient-future faith.
By the end McLaren’s book, I could not help but to think that fundamentally he wrote about identity—what is the nature of Christian identity? Who am I as a Christian? Who are we as the church? And what are we to be and to do in this world? In some ways, this was not a stretch to see—after all, every chapter in the second part started with “why I am…” Yet I wonder if McLaren, or emergent church folks, have genuinely wrestled with issues related to religious identity. If not, doing so would raise important questions for the entire project.
I would suggest that religious identity is forged through a matrix of beliefs, practices, and stories. Beliefs and practices are mutually reinforcing components of our identity—what we believe leads to certain practices; and our practices tend to reinforce our beliefs. These beliefs and practices gain legitimacy from the stories that we tell about ourselves or that others tell about us. While it might be possible to believe, practice, and story-tell as an isolated individual, it is much more likely that beliefs, practices, and stories will happen within a community and particularly within a community that has a long history or tradition. As a result, our traditioned communities both inculcate, form, and reform a particular religious identity that helps us to make sense of the world and to engage the world in our various callings. Or to state it in the opposite direction, our identities are embedded in particular communities; we take on the community’s beliefs, practices, and stories as our own and only forsake them with great mental, psychic, and physical energy.
With this understanding of religious identity as the background, I would like to raise questions about the entire emergent strategy of seeking “to find a way to embrace the good in many traditions and historic streams of Christian faith, and to integrate them, yielding a new, generous, emergent approach that is greater than the sum of its parts” (18). One question is whether such a strategy is even possible. After all, the beliefs or practices of certain religious traditions are part of a matrix (or cultural system, to use Clifford Geertz’s phrase) that are not easily transmuted or transformed without changing their meaning. In part, because our beliefs and practices are storied—there are reasons and stories behind why we do and believe the way we do. And so, is it actually possible to take a little bit from Anabaptists, merge it together with some things from the Anglicans, shake on top a little Catholicism and Presbyterianism, and emerge with something new, stronger, better?
As a matter of fact, it was at this very point that the criticisms raised by Michael Horton come home. While I think Horton failed to grapple fairly with the emergent movement on their own terms, his point that this presented a modernist form of consumerism was exactly right. For who gets to determine one’s religious identity? Does the community (or religious tradition) have the “right” to catechize or inculcate their beliefs, practices, and stories into their adherents? Or does the individual have the “right” to determine, shape, transmute, or transform that identity into something “new” and “postmodern”? Ultimately, at the point of who is the authority, McLaren’s propose shows itself to be “most-modernist” in terms of the self-made Christian and her smorgasbord identity.
And so, I would suggest that the hope for an emerging generation is not the same attempt, made by non-denominational churches for the past thirty years, to be a lowest common denominator collage for religious identity. Rather, it is “re-tribalization,” if you will; it is the self-conscious attempt by religious traditions to be most faithful to their own identities.
For Presbyterians, then, this means nothing less than thoroughly training our adherents—that is, our non-communicant and communicant church members—in the beliefs, practices, and stories that form and reform our identity. This Presbyterian identity will, of course, place us within the larger family of evangelical Protestants with whom we have so much in common; but it will also recognize that we approach the great Gospel truths that we have in common with other Protestant traditions with a particular accent or dialect.
In doing this, I think we will have a better opportunity to engage in meaningful dialogue with other religious traditions—Christian and non-Christian—because we will be speaking out of our deep understanding of who we are, what we believe, what we do, and where we have been. It may not be the newest thing to emerge from within evangelicalism, but it might actually be the best way to preserve and promote that once and the same time ancient-future faith.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Generous Orthodoxy, part two
Orthodoxy
All of this being said, one of the immediate questions that might confront the reader of this book was this: why is a book dedicated to promoting “generous orthodoxy” so ungenerous about those who are orthodox? Perhaps McLaren or his editors noted the oddity, because he recognized that he was “far harder on conservative Protestant Christians who share that heritage than I am on anyone else” (35). Perhaps this was simply the function of the kind of book he was writing; or perhaps he is defensive because he makes several unusual theological moves in several areas that appear to challenge the “traditional” faith of conservative Protestants.
One such move was his discussion of the intention of Jesus to save the “whole world” (100). McLaren suggested that “Jesus did not come to create another exclusive religion.” Rather, he believed that Jesus came to proclaim news that was good for adherents and non-adherents alike. Indeed, the gospel is “universally efficacious for the whole earth before death in history” (108-114). Exactly what this means is unclear (does he mean to affirm universalism?); but it appeared that he suggested that exclusivist positions on the fate of the unevangelized should be significantly revised.
For McLaren, this connected to his thoughts on the biblical propriety of hell. He raised this very question on p. 112, but immediately dodged the issue; essentially, he believed that questions about whether people were going to heaven or hell were the wrong questions to ask. Still, I wondered whether he could have been more forthcoming on how his views on hell relate to the fate of those who never have heard the Gospel.
Also tied together with his commitment to Jesus’ cosmic and loving intentions toward the world are his beliefs about religious pluralism. While I could agree with him that Christ’s incarnation means that we were called to go out toward the world in Christ’s name in word and deed, McLaren was unclear when he claimed: “Ultimately, I hope that Jesus will save Buddhism, Islam, and every other religion, including the Christian religion, which often seems to need saving about as much as any other religion does” (264). What exactly does this mean? That Jesus will cause Buddhists or Muslims follow him (to save them) but remain Buddhists or Muslims and so “save” the world religions (as it appears on 264 and 282n141)? Does this veer close to syncretism? If not, how so? In addition, such language seemed to betray McLaren’s insights on the importance of community and common liturgy for the formation of Jesus’ followers. Do those in Muslim countries not need Christian community or Christian worship? All of these issues raised profound questions about the “orthodoxy” in A Generous Orthodoxy.
In addition, McLaren took a number of shots at Presbyterian theological shibboleths. For example, he expressed difficulty with issues related to divine sovereignty (81) and predestination (186-7). In particular, he provided some questionable historical observations on how (allegedly) Calvin’s thought merged with “mechanical determinism” and “rationalistic philosophy” to produce an intellectual commitment to an universe that is like “a movie that’s already ‘in the can,’ having been ‘produced and shot’ already in God’s mind, leaving us with the illusion that it’s all read and actually happening.” He then observed that “I find it hard to imagine worshiping or loving a deterministic, machine-operator God”; in this, most conservative Presbyterians would concur.
However, I had to wonder whether he actually has ever taken the time to read Reformed theology or history. Not only does he trot out the tired “Calvin versus the Calvinists” argument, but he repeated the old canard about “Calvin himself [overseeing] the execution of fellow Christians for disagreeing with his system, playing the same brutal power and coercion games that Protestants protested (and still protest) among Catholics” (194). He also chimed in with the shopworn shots at “Protestant scholasticism” (205) and the five solas of the Reformation (198). It caused me to wonder if he really was trying to be “generous” to those who are brothers and sisters in Christ.
He also provocatively questioned “the fall” and “original sin” (235) and characterized total depravity as a “depressing topic” with which conservative Protestants seem preoccupied (177). Not content to deal only with total depravity, McLaren also suggested a thorough revision of TULIP: his version was Triune love; Unselfish Election; Limitless Reconciliation; Inspiring Grace; Passionate, Persistent Saints (195-7).
In addition, many Presbyterians will wince as McLaren is repeatedly critical of “systematic theology,” which he characterizes as “conceptual cathedrals of proposition and argument” (151). Particularly guilty here, of course, were conservative (“modernist”) Presbyterians who stubbornly hold on to their “post-medieval formulations” (read here, the Westminster Standards; 189). While unclear on how he would replace current forms of systematic theology—he promoted the work of John Franke and the late Stan Grenz as the best current possibilities—he suggested that emerging theology will be coherent, contextual, conversational, and comprehensive (152-53).
Above all, McLaren believed that “a generous orthodoxy, in contrast to the tense, narrow, controlling, or critical orthodoxies of so much of Christian history, doesn’t take itself too seriously” (155). Indeed, the central principle for theology is semper reformanda, always reforming (189-194). How this principle related to the ancient creeds and the “tradition” that he claimed to be eager to champion was unclear (32); if theology is always reforming, will the future creeds for the postmodern age look anything like ancient or premodern creeds? If they are substantially the same, then why write new creeds? If they are substantially different, then how can one be sure that she is orthodox? Who or what group/authority adjudicates the differences?
All of these things raised profound questions in my mind, at least, about the direction of McLaren’s project. This is not to paint the entire emergent church movement with a broad brush, save as A Generous Orthodoxy is held up as one of the key books for the movement. Still, there are real questions here that McLaren and other emergent leaders need to answer if they will truly unite Christians together in a generous, orthodox movement of God’s Spirit (18).
All of this being said, one of the immediate questions that might confront the reader of this book was this: why is a book dedicated to promoting “generous orthodoxy” so ungenerous about those who are orthodox? Perhaps McLaren or his editors noted the oddity, because he recognized that he was “far harder on conservative Protestant Christians who share that heritage than I am on anyone else” (35). Perhaps this was simply the function of the kind of book he was writing; or perhaps he is defensive because he makes several unusual theological moves in several areas that appear to challenge the “traditional” faith of conservative Protestants.
One such move was his discussion of the intention of Jesus to save the “whole world” (100). McLaren suggested that “Jesus did not come to create another exclusive religion.” Rather, he believed that Jesus came to proclaim news that was good for adherents and non-adherents alike. Indeed, the gospel is “universally efficacious for the whole earth before death in history” (108-114). Exactly what this means is unclear (does he mean to affirm universalism?); but it appeared that he suggested that exclusivist positions on the fate of the unevangelized should be significantly revised.
For McLaren, this connected to his thoughts on the biblical propriety of hell. He raised this very question on p. 112, but immediately dodged the issue; essentially, he believed that questions about whether people were going to heaven or hell were the wrong questions to ask. Still, I wondered whether he could have been more forthcoming on how his views on hell relate to the fate of those who never have heard the Gospel.
Also tied together with his commitment to Jesus’ cosmic and loving intentions toward the world are his beliefs about religious pluralism. While I could agree with him that Christ’s incarnation means that we were called to go out toward the world in Christ’s name in word and deed, McLaren was unclear when he claimed: “Ultimately, I hope that Jesus will save Buddhism, Islam, and every other religion, including the Christian religion, which often seems to need saving about as much as any other religion does” (264). What exactly does this mean? That Jesus will cause Buddhists or Muslims follow him (to save them) but remain Buddhists or Muslims and so “save” the world religions (as it appears on 264 and 282n141)? Does this veer close to syncretism? If not, how so? In addition, such language seemed to betray McLaren’s insights on the importance of community and common liturgy for the formation of Jesus’ followers. Do those in Muslim countries not need Christian community or Christian worship? All of these issues raised profound questions about the “orthodoxy” in A Generous Orthodoxy.
In addition, McLaren took a number of shots at Presbyterian theological shibboleths. For example, he expressed difficulty with issues related to divine sovereignty (81) and predestination (186-7). In particular, he provided some questionable historical observations on how (allegedly) Calvin’s thought merged with “mechanical determinism” and “rationalistic philosophy” to produce an intellectual commitment to an universe that is like “a movie that’s already ‘in the can,’ having been ‘produced and shot’ already in God’s mind, leaving us with the illusion that it’s all read and actually happening.” He then observed that “I find it hard to imagine worshiping or loving a deterministic, machine-operator God”; in this, most conservative Presbyterians would concur.
However, I had to wonder whether he actually has ever taken the time to read Reformed theology or history. Not only does he trot out the tired “Calvin versus the Calvinists” argument, but he repeated the old canard about “Calvin himself [overseeing] the execution of fellow Christians for disagreeing with his system, playing the same brutal power and coercion games that Protestants protested (and still protest) among Catholics” (194). He also chimed in with the shopworn shots at “Protestant scholasticism” (205) and the five solas of the Reformation (198). It caused me to wonder if he really was trying to be “generous” to those who are brothers and sisters in Christ.
He also provocatively questioned “the fall” and “original sin” (235) and characterized total depravity as a “depressing topic” with which conservative Protestants seem preoccupied (177). Not content to deal only with total depravity, McLaren also suggested a thorough revision of TULIP: his version was Triune love; Unselfish Election; Limitless Reconciliation; Inspiring Grace; Passionate, Persistent Saints (195-7).
In addition, many Presbyterians will wince as McLaren is repeatedly critical of “systematic theology,” which he characterizes as “conceptual cathedrals of proposition and argument” (151). Particularly guilty here, of course, were conservative (“modernist”) Presbyterians who stubbornly hold on to their “post-medieval formulations” (read here, the Westminster Standards; 189). While unclear on how he would replace current forms of systematic theology—he promoted the work of John Franke and the late Stan Grenz as the best current possibilities—he suggested that emerging theology will be coherent, contextual, conversational, and comprehensive (152-53).
Above all, McLaren believed that “a generous orthodoxy, in contrast to the tense, narrow, controlling, or critical orthodoxies of so much of Christian history, doesn’t take itself too seriously” (155). Indeed, the central principle for theology is semper reformanda, always reforming (189-194). How this principle related to the ancient creeds and the “tradition” that he claimed to be eager to champion was unclear (32); if theology is always reforming, will the future creeds for the postmodern age look anything like ancient or premodern creeds? If they are substantially the same, then why write new creeds? If they are substantially different, then how can one be sure that she is orthodox? Who or what group/authority adjudicates the differences?
All of these things raised profound questions in my mind, at least, about the direction of McLaren’s project. This is not to paint the entire emergent church movement with a broad brush, save as A Generous Orthodoxy is held up as one of the key books for the movement. Still, there are real questions here that McLaren and other emergent leaders need to answer if they will truly unite Christians together in a generous, orthodox movement of God’s Spirit (18).
Monday, February 27, 2006
Generous Orthodoxy, part one
Note: I am hoping that this review essay of Brian McLaren's A Generous Orthodoxy will show up soon in print. Until then, I thought it might be good to post it here. The first two parts will probably say little that hasn't already been said--they are overviews of strong and weak points in the book. For me, the pay-off is the third part, where I raise questions about what embracing the Emerging/Emergent Church Movement will do for/to Presbyterian identity.
Observers of the American religion scene know that the hottest trend for the past five years has been the growing “emergent church” movement. Promoted through books, conferences, and especially websites, it has begun to draw the attention of mainstream theological educators as well as denominational officials in the Southern Baptist Convention. Younger pastors and leaders increasingly have identified themselves as “emergent,” by which they may refer to a number of intellectual and practical commitments: non-foundational epistemology; narrative theology; communion/communal ecclesiology; sacramentalism; and/or renewed respect for tradition. Even local media outlets have recognized this “new way of being Christian” and thought it newsworthy. And though there are several key pastors and intellectual leaders for this movement, probably none was as prolific or important as Brian McLaren, founding pastor of Cedar Ridge Community Church, Spencerville, Maryland.
Raised Plymouth Brethren, McLaren wandered away from the faith during his teen years. He was eventually caught up by the fervor of the Jesus Movement in the 1970s and recommitted himself to Christ. From there, he made his way through college at the University of Maryland, equipping himself to teach English literature by studying Walker Percy. After teaching for several years at a University of Maryland branch campus, he felt called to plant a church, which after fits and a restart, eventually became Cedar Ridge in 1988. Since he published his first book in 1998, he has written ten books, several of which have drawn wide recognition. Recently, McLaren stepped down as senior pastor and assumed a place on the pastoral staff in order to focus more on writing and speaking at conferences around the country. In recognition of his importance, in 2005 Time magazine recognized him as one of the 25 most influential evangelicals in America.
The reactions from the Presbyterian and Reformed community to McLaren and the emergent movement have ranged from curt dismissal to intense concern. Mark Dever, member of the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals council, sounded alarmed when he observed that McLaren’s work is “less helpful than I would have hoped and more dangerous than I would have thought.” Others, such as Westminster Seminary California’s Michael Horton dismissed the emergent church’s postmodern paradigm as nothing more than “most-modernism,” the latest fad come down the pike for twenty-first century American consumers. However, concern or dismissal has not stopped a number of younger Presbyterian and Reformed ministers from identifying themselves with the style, ethos, and methods of the emergent movement.
Perhaps the closest thing that the emergent church movement has to a “confession of faith” is McLaren’s 2004 book, A Generous Orthodoxy. Part evangelistic tract and part identity statement, the book touched on most of the emergent movement’s concerns and answered a number of the criticisms that have been raised about McLaren’s own theological perspective as well as the intellectual, social, and cultural underpinnings of the movement itself. I would suggest that a careful examination of this book reveals a number of common places where Presbyterian pastors can rejoice in and be generous toward the ministry of the emergent church. At the same time, there are several questions that rightly can be raised about the theological commitments of emergent church leaders. Through a careful engagement of one of their key leaders, I believe that the emergent church movement offered several important answers to the problem of religious identity, ones that may not be the best that Presbyterian church leaders can find for the problems of religious pluralism and meaningful dialogue with others.
Generous
On the surface, there were a number of areas where I found profound agreement with McLaren.
First, I thought his emphasis upon the church as a community journeying into the joy of God was a helpful corrective to the individualism of American evangelicalism (208). Many of us have profited from thinking about the Anabaptist contribution to issues related to community, particularly as mediated by John Yoder and Stanley Hauerwas. Although I wondered about how this emphasis upon community related to the need for individual commitment to Jesus (204), and I have concerns that many of the emergent leaders fail to reckon thoroughly with the costs of community, still I applaud the emphasis.
Also, McLaren rightly stressed that “orthopraxy [is] the point of orthodoxy” (31). On the surface this was nothing more than James’ wise instruction not to be merely hearers of the Word, but doers of it as well (James 1:22-25). Far too many of our people fail to translate the theological truths taught Sunday by Sunday into action; his stress once again the importance of Christian living as the fruit of the Gospel cohered nicely biblical imperatives.
McLaren further was deeply concerned to point women and men toward a relationship with Jesus. Indeed, he claimed to “cherish an evangelical identity,” by which he means “an attitude—an attitude toward God and our neighbor and our mission that is passionate” (117-8). Particularly in the first section, in which he was writing directly to those who were seeking truth about Jesus, McLaren was genuinely winsome in his presentation of the Gospel. And though he raised a number of theological questions, his concern to point people to Jesus was admirable.
In addition, I could affirm McLaren’s desire to reclaim Scripture as narrative (166) and his desire to read Scripture redemptive-historically. Again, this related well to the recent emphasis in Presbyterian circles, taught by Geerhardus Vos, John Murray, and Edmund Clowney, on seeing Scripture as the “unfolding mystery,” presenting God’s ultimate revelation of God, Jesus, and his fulfillment of all God’s promises and purposes in his living, dying, and rising again.
While I would not want to affirm this in his context he suggested (namely, the positive contributions of Roman Catholicism), I do believe that his emphasis upon the sacramental nature of life was salutary (225-6). There has been a renewed focus in Presbyterian and Reformed circles particularly on the sacraments and their importance for the Christian life. Part of this appeared to be motivated by the mysterious nature of the sacraments’ efficacy, which was seen as a rebellion against the rationalized, over-determined nature of contemporary life; part of this the way the sacraments help to overcome the body-soul dualism to which human beings are prone. In the tangible and physical means of water, bread, and wine, Jesus promises to confirm and assure our faith in his Gospel promises of full and final redemption.
This emphasis upon human bodily existence—on our humanness—also came through in his stand for creation care. Sounding most like Wendell Berry, McLaren helpfully pointed his readers to recognize their place within God’s good creation and their responsibility to tend this cosmic garden for God’s glory (231-44). Certainly this is a wonderful reminder of the responsibilities Christians have to serve God by doing good work in a good world.
In all of these ways, I believe, Presbyterian and Reformed readers can be generous towards McLaren and the emergent church movement. We have a number of shared interests and hopes; and certainly, we can look at those participating in this movement, stressing these themes, and find in them sisters and brothers in Christ. We can also affirm their heart-felt commitment to Jesus, even when we may have to raise questions or even to dissent from their perspectives.
Observers of the American religion scene know that the hottest trend for the past five years has been the growing “emergent church” movement. Promoted through books, conferences, and especially websites, it has begun to draw the attention of mainstream theological educators as well as denominational officials in the Southern Baptist Convention. Younger pastors and leaders increasingly have identified themselves as “emergent,” by which they may refer to a number of intellectual and practical commitments: non-foundational epistemology; narrative theology; communion/communal ecclesiology; sacramentalism; and/or renewed respect for tradition. Even local media outlets have recognized this “new way of being Christian” and thought it newsworthy. And though there are several key pastors and intellectual leaders for this movement, probably none was as prolific or important as Brian McLaren, founding pastor of Cedar Ridge Community Church, Spencerville, Maryland.
Raised Plymouth Brethren, McLaren wandered away from the faith during his teen years. He was eventually caught up by the fervor of the Jesus Movement in the 1970s and recommitted himself to Christ. From there, he made his way through college at the University of Maryland, equipping himself to teach English literature by studying Walker Percy. After teaching for several years at a University of Maryland branch campus, he felt called to plant a church, which after fits and a restart, eventually became Cedar Ridge in 1988. Since he published his first book in 1998, he has written ten books, several of which have drawn wide recognition. Recently, McLaren stepped down as senior pastor and assumed a place on the pastoral staff in order to focus more on writing and speaking at conferences around the country. In recognition of his importance, in 2005 Time magazine recognized him as one of the 25 most influential evangelicals in America.
The reactions from the Presbyterian and Reformed community to McLaren and the emergent movement have ranged from curt dismissal to intense concern. Mark Dever, member of the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals council, sounded alarmed when he observed that McLaren’s work is “less helpful than I would have hoped and more dangerous than I would have thought.” Others, such as Westminster Seminary California’s Michael Horton dismissed the emergent church’s postmodern paradigm as nothing more than “most-modernism,” the latest fad come down the pike for twenty-first century American consumers. However, concern or dismissal has not stopped a number of younger Presbyterian and Reformed ministers from identifying themselves with the style, ethos, and methods of the emergent movement.
Perhaps the closest thing that the emergent church movement has to a “confession of faith” is McLaren’s 2004 book, A Generous Orthodoxy. Part evangelistic tract and part identity statement, the book touched on most of the emergent movement’s concerns and answered a number of the criticisms that have been raised about McLaren’s own theological perspective as well as the intellectual, social, and cultural underpinnings of the movement itself. I would suggest that a careful examination of this book reveals a number of common places where Presbyterian pastors can rejoice in and be generous toward the ministry of the emergent church. At the same time, there are several questions that rightly can be raised about the theological commitments of emergent church leaders. Through a careful engagement of one of their key leaders, I believe that the emergent church movement offered several important answers to the problem of religious identity, ones that may not be the best that Presbyterian church leaders can find for the problems of religious pluralism and meaningful dialogue with others.
Generous
On the surface, there were a number of areas where I found profound agreement with McLaren.
First, I thought his emphasis upon the church as a community journeying into the joy of God was a helpful corrective to the individualism of American evangelicalism (208). Many of us have profited from thinking about the Anabaptist contribution to issues related to community, particularly as mediated by John Yoder and Stanley Hauerwas. Although I wondered about how this emphasis upon community related to the need for individual commitment to Jesus (204), and I have concerns that many of the emergent leaders fail to reckon thoroughly with the costs of community, still I applaud the emphasis.
Also, McLaren rightly stressed that “orthopraxy [is] the point of orthodoxy” (31). On the surface this was nothing more than James’ wise instruction not to be merely hearers of the Word, but doers of it as well (James 1:22-25). Far too many of our people fail to translate the theological truths taught Sunday by Sunday into action; his stress once again the importance of Christian living as the fruit of the Gospel cohered nicely biblical imperatives.
McLaren further was deeply concerned to point women and men toward a relationship with Jesus. Indeed, he claimed to “cherish an evangelical identity,” by which he means “an attitude—an attitude toward God and our neighbor and our mission that is passionate” (117-8). Particularly in the first section, in which he was writing directly to those who were seeking truth about Jesus, McLaren was genuinely winsome in his presentation of the Gospel. And though he raised a number of theological questions, his concern to point people to Jesus was admirable.
In addition, I could affirm McLaren’s desire to reclaim Scripture as narrative (166) and his desire to read Scripture redemptive-historically. Again, this related well to the recent emphasis in Presbyterian circles, taught by Geerhardus Vos, John Murray, and Edmund Clowney, on seeing Scripture as the “unfolding mystery,” presenting God’s ultimate revelation of God, Jesus, and his fulfillment of all God’s promises and purposes in his living, dying, and rising again.
While I would not want to affirm this in his context he suggested (namely, the positive contributions of Roman Catholicism), I do believe that his emphasis upon the sacramental nature of life was salutary (225-6). There has been a renewed focus in Presbyterian and Reformed circles particularly on the sacraments and their importance for the Christian life. Part of this appeared to be motivated by the mysterious nature of the sacraments’ efficacy, which was seen as a rebellion against the rationalized, over-determined nature of contemporary life; part of this the way the sacraments help to overcome the body-soul dualism to which human beings are prone. In the tangible and physical means of water, bread, and wine, Jesus promises to confirm and assure our faith in his Gospel promises of full and final redemption.
This emphasis upon human bodily existence—on our humanness—also came through in his stand for creation care. Sounding most like Wendell Berry, McLaren helpfully pointed his readers to recognize their place within God’s good creation and their responsibility to tend this cosmic garden for God’s glory (231-44). Certainly this is a wonderful reminder of the responsibilities Christians have to serve God by doing good work in a good world.
In all of these ways, I believe, Presbyterian and Reformed readers can be generous towards McLaren and the emergent church movement. We have a number of shared interests and hopes; and certainly, we can look at those participating in this movement, stressing these themes, and find in them sisters and brothers in Christ. We can also affirm their heart-felt commitment to Jesus, even when we may have to raise questions or even to dissent from their perspectives.
History News Network
As I was trolling today, I found this blog mentioned here on the blog of the History News Network at George Mason University. To whomever did so, thanks for linking to me!
Tim Keller
This is an amazing article in the New York Times on Tim Keller, pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church, NYC.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Ecumencial Adventures
Yesterday, I represented the seminary at the Day for Theological Conversation, which was hosted by Kenrick-Glennon Seminary, a Roman Catholic seminary here in town. My understanding of the event was that there would be three speakers--a Rabbi, a Muslim, and a Arab Christian (discussing "The Semitic Experience in America)--and then all the faculy members present were to give two minutes or less in reflection or question of the presentations.
When our host outlined the sequence at the events, though, he said that after the three speakers would be two respondants. I thought to myself, "Hmm, that's good. They lined up two respondants before the event." So, I contented myself with passing the time and listening to the speakers, two of whom were engaging and the other overbearing. But then, after the speakers spoke (for over an hour and half), the host said, "Let's take a break. After that, we will hear from our two respondants, Dr. X [I didn't catch his name] and Dr. Sean Lucas, from Covenant Seminary." Yikes! I had 10 minutes to prepare a 5-10 minute response in which I would sound reflective, knowledgeable, and winsome without saying anything which I would regret or which would be untrue!
Fortunately, the Lord had brought to mind a classic book in American religious history, R. Laurence Moore's Religious Outsiders and the Making of Americans. Moore considers various "outsiders" (Mormons, Fundamentalists, Catholics, Jews) and observers the dialectic tension that is created by "Americanization"--in the interplay between religion and America, how does the meaning of America shift? How does the faith system itself transform?
After outlining Moore's basic framework, and using it to summarize each of the presentations (on the pressures of America and particularity of faiths), I also admitted that these questions applied just as well to the conservative Protestantism that I represented at the gathering. How does the American situation cause conservative religionists to identify more with the nation-state instead of God's own City? What should the proper (i.e. Christian) response be?
My thoughts turned to Hebrews 11 and the image of Abraham wandering as a stranger and alien in the Promised Land. He lived in tents that had no foundations because he was looking for a city whose builder and maker was God. And so must we. We are strangers and aliens in this place--and when conservative Protestants identify with America or a particular part of America (region, race, or political platform) instead of the City of God--our own faith is transformed in ways that are unrecognizable when compared to Holy Scripture. I asked in conclusion, what would this recognition that we are all strangers in America mean for our particular faiths? And what would this mean for America itself?
When our host outlined the sequence at the events, though, he said that after the three speakers would be two respondants. I thought to myself, "Hmm, that's good. They lined up two respondants before the event." So, I contented myself with passing the time and listening to the speakers, two of whom were engaging and the other overbearing. But then, after the speakers spoke (for over an hour and half), the host said, "Let's take a break. After that, we will hear from our two respondants, Dr. X [I didn't catch his name] and Dr. Sean Lucas, from Covenant Seminary." Yikes! I had 10 minutes to prepare a 5-10 minute response in which I would sound reflective, knowledgeable, and winsome without saying anything which I would regret or which would be untrue!
Fortunately, the Lord had brought to mind a classic book in American religious history, R. Laurence Moore's Religious Outsiders and the Making of Americans. Moore considers various "outsiders" (Mormons, Fundamentalists, Catholics, Jews) and observers the dialectic tension that is created by "Americanization"--in the interplay between religion and America, how does the meaning of America shift? How does the faith system itself transform?
After outlining Moore's basic framework, and using it to summarize each of the presentations (on the pressures of America and particularity of faiths), I also admitted that these questions applied just as well to the conservative Protestantism that I represented at the gathering. How does the American situation cause conservative religionists to identify more with the nation-state instead of God's own City? What should the proper (i.e. Christian) response be?
My thoughts turned to Hebrews 11 and the image of Abraham wandering as a stranger and alien in the Promised Land. He lived in tents that had no foundations because he was looking for a city whose builder and maker was God. And so must we. We are strangers and aliens in this place--and when conservative Protestants identify with America or a particular part of America (region, race, or political platform) instead of the City of God--our own faith is transformed in ways that are unrecognizable when compared to Holy Scripture. I asked in conclusion, what would this recognition that we are all strangers in America mean for our particular faiths? And what would this mean for America itself?
Thursday, February 23, 2006
The Conventicle
I was going through my "favorites" reading weblogs, trying to catch up before a 1:30pm meeting, and found a very nice mention of my Robert Lewis Dabney at The Conventicle in their entry for January 24, 2006. This is wonderful blog where students in Edinburgh, Scotland, discuss Reformation and Post-Reformation history and theology; I'd recommend it very highly!
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
The Dying PC(USA)
The PC(USA) is projecting massive losses in membership in 2005 and 2006. According to this article in the Presbyterian Layman, in those two years, the church is projecting a loss of 150,000 members. To put that number in prospective, in 2004, the PCA claimed a total membership of 330,182. So, the number of lost members from the oldine church is almost equal to half the total membership of the next largest Presbyterian denomination.
While evangelicals in the PC(USA) (and outside observers) want to pin this two-year loss solely on theological and social liberalism, and no doubt some of that is in play here, I can't help but wonder if there are other sociological phenomenon here as well. For example, from my own engagement with that church, it strikes me that the PC(USA) is a graying denomination--visiting their seminaries or Montreat, for example, reveals the fact that there are few 20- and 30-somethings. And so, I wonder if this is, in part, a generational phenomenon. Still, as their own scholars have argued, theological and social progressivism has also played an important part in the demise the oldline church (e.g. Dean Hoge's Vanishing Boundaries and Robert Wuthnow's The Restructuring of American Religion).
The temptation for conservative evangelicals is to gloat and point fingers--"see what happens when theological liberalism is tolerated in a denomination." But I can't help but think the entire situation is incredibly sad for this reason: this historic church with its wonderful resources and history is dying. It's like having a wealthy relative who has lived an amazing life, but at the end of his life somehow contracted a disease from his own actions (perhaps lung cancer?) and is now dying. It is simply sad and no amount of finger-pointing and chiding makes it better.
There is a scene from C. S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew in which Digory and Polly show up at Charn just as that world is dying. The darkness and death of that world coming to an end was incredibly melancholy. To view the PC(USA)'s death is equally sad. Now is not a time for gloating, but a time for tears.
HT: Al Mohler
While evangelicals in the PC(USA) (and outside observers) want to pin this two-year loss solely on theological and social liberalism, and no doubt some of that is in play here, I can't help but wonder if there are other sociological phenomenon here as well. For example, from my own engagement with that church, it strikes me that the PC(USA) is a graying denomination--visiting their seminaries or Montreat, for example, reveals the fact that there are few 20- and 30-somethings. And so, I wonder if this is, in part, a generational phenomenon. Still, as their own scholars have argued, theological and social progressivism has also played an important part in the demise the oldline church (e.g. Dean Hoge's Vanishing Boundaries and Robert Wuthnow's The Restructuring of American Religion).
The temptation for conservative evangelicals is to gloat and point fingers--"see what happens when theological liberalism is tolerated in a denomination." But I can't help but think the entire situation is incredibly sad for this reason: this historic church with its wonderful resources and history is dying. It's like having a wealthy relative who has lived an amazing life, but at the end of his life somehow contracted a disease from his own actions (perhaps lung cancer?) and is now dying. It is simply sad and no amount of finger-pointing and chiding makes it better.
There is a scene from C. S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew in which Digory and Polly show up at Charn just as that world is dying. The darkness and death of that world coming to an end was incredibly melancholy. To view the PC(USA)'s death is equally sad. Now is not a time for gloating, but a time for tears.
HT: Al Mohler
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Sharper Iron
One of the weblogs that I read with regularity is Sharper Iron. I was surprised, and gratified, to find that they linked to my entry on Mike Davis, entitled, "The Challenge of Following the Leader." In thankfulness, I am tipping my "virtual" hat back to them! Thanks, guys, for reading me and sending readers my way!
"Word and Deed" v. "Spirituality of the Church"?
The more I have reflected on D. G. Hart and John Muether's observations on the PCA's history, the more I have wanted to comment on one small point.
In their final paragraph, Hart and Muether appear to set "word and deed ministry" and the "spirituality of the church" in opposition when they write, "The Presbyterian Journal evolved into World magazine, and 'word and deed ministry' has begun to eclipse the 'spirituality of the church' in the vocabulary of the PCA. These are signs that the denomination may be more eager to locate itself on the cutting edge of culture reformation than to foster a coherently Reformed and Presbyterian identity." The question I wanted to raise was this: does "word and deed ministry" necessarily violate the "spirituality of the church"?
I think the clear answer to this is "no"--having a strong interest as a local church, presbytery, or even a denomination in serving the poor, working for justice, developing communities does not necessarily violate the spiritual nature of the church. If so, then our churches as churches should not have sent teams of workers to assist with relief efforts after Hurricane Katrina; people should have gone as private individuals to work in relief efforts run by the state. But this logic seems to be mistaken, if for no other reason than Matthew 25:40.
Further, southern Presbyterians such as John L. Girardeau--who held strongly to the spirituality of the church--developed thorough biblical rationales for diaconates whose task would be to care for the poor and suffering. In this, southern Presbyterians were simply following after Calvin, who observed that deacons' responsibilities were "to distribute alms and take care of the poor, and serve as stewards of the common chest of the poor" (Institutes, 4.3.9). [For more on this, see Elsie McKee, Diakonia in the Classical Reformed Tradition and Today (Eerdmans, 1989).] If Girardeau (and Calvin for that matter) could urge a strong word and deed ministry through the structures and officers of the church, then it seems unlikely that such could be a violation of the spirituality of the church.
Finally, the question comes about what is "spiritual." Is caring for someone's body as well as their soul spiritual activity? I would suggest that, in fact, it is--when deed ministry facilitates the proclamation of Gospel word, then such is spiritual activity that is worthy of the church's notice and support. Such ministry furthers the spiritual mission of the church by bringing Gospel transformation to people who are struggling with real life problems that are spiritual at root.
Indeed, I would suggest that such a spiritual mission--this word and deed ministry--is part of the best of the Reformed tradition, all the way back to Calvin himself.
In their final paragraph, Hart and Muether appear to set "word and deed ministry" and the "spirituality of the church" in opposition when they write, "The Presbyterian Journal evolved into World magazine, and 'word and deed ministry' has begun to eclipse the 'spirituality of the church' in the vocabulary of the PCA. These are signs that the denomination may be more eager to locate itself on the cutting edge of culture reformation than to foster a coherently Reformed and Presbyterian identity." The question I wanted to raise was this: does "word and deed ministry" necessarily violate the "spirituality of the church"?
I think the clear answer to this is "no"--having a strong interest as a local church, presbytery, or even a denomination in serving the poor, working for justice, developing communities does not necessarily violate the spiritual nature of the church. If so, then our churches as churches should not have sent teams of workers to assist with relief efforts after Hurricane Katrina; people should have gone as private individuals to work in relief efforts run by the state. But this logic seems to be mistaken, if for no other reason than Matthew 25:40.
Further, southern Presbyterians such as John L. Girardeau--who held strongly to the spirituality of the church--developed thorough biblical rationales for diaconates whose task would be to care for the poor and suffering. In this, southern Presbyterians were simply following after Calvin, who observed that deacons' responsibilities were "to distribute alms and take care of the poor, and serve as stewards of the common chest of the poor" (Institutes, 4.3.9). [For more on this, see Elsie McKee, Diakonia in the Classical Reformed Tradition and Today (Eerdmans, 1989).] If Girardeau (and Calvin for that matter) could urge a strong word and deed ministry through the structures and officers of the church, then it seems unlikely that such could be a violation of the spirituality of the church.
Finally, the question comes about what is "spiritual." Is caring for someone's body as well as their soul spiritual activity? I would suggest that, in fact, it is--when deed ministry facilitates the proclamation of Gospel word, then such is spiritual activity that is worthy of the church's notice and support. Such ministry furthers the spiritual mission of the church by bringing Gospel transformation to people who are struggling with real life problems that are spiritual at root.
Indeed, I would suggest that such a spiritual mission--this word and deed ministry--is part of the best of the Reformed tradition, all the way back to Calvin himself.
Monday, February 20, 2006
NASCAR inspired road rage
Jeff Foxworthy: "I believe that if you let someone into traffic and they don't give you that little wave, then it should be perfectly legal to get up under them, get them loose, and still them into the wall."
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Associate Pastors
This is a very good article on the struggles that a number of associate pastors face in their calling to serve their church and support their senior pastors. Though most of the examples are taken from oldline Protestantism, the problems transcend theological lines or ecclesial settings: how do sinful people transformed and being transformed work with others in such a way that the Gospel shines more clearly? And how do we do this while still recognizing our desire for security and significance, desires rooted in our very created humanity?
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Infant baptism and presumptive regeneration
Letter, Geerhardus Vos to B. B. Warfield, 12 February 1891, in Letters, 147:
...Is Dr. Kuyper correct in representing his theory as the proper Calvinistic view of infant baptism? Did the older theologians really mean that that baptism in each case presupposes regeneration as an accomplished fact? I have never been able to make up my mind on this point, and still feel the necessity of having a more or less decided opinion in my teaching. There are many among us who hold to a much laxer theory and make baptism little more than a symbolic offer of the covenant on God's side, a presentation of the gospel isntead of a seal of the gospel promise. It seems to me that Dr. Kuyper approaches more or less to the Lutheran view of baptismal grace, though of course with the necessary restrictions.
...Is Dr. Kuyper correct in representing his theory as the proper Calvinistic view of infant baptism? Did the older theologians really mean that that baptism in each case presupposes regeneration as an accomplished fact? I have never been able to make up my mind on this point, and still feel the necessity of having a more or less decided opinion in my teaching. There are many among us who hold to a much laxer theory and make baptism little more than a symbolic offer of the covenant on God's side, a presentation of the gospel isntead of a seal of the gospel promise. It seems to me that Dr. Kuyper approaches more or less to the Lutheran view of baptismal grace, though of course with the necessary restrictions.
Jeopardy No. 2
Question: The Letters of Geerdhardus Vos, ed. James T. Dennison, Jr.
Answer: What did Sean just now carry back from the Covenant Seminary bookstore to his office?
[btw--one of the books contracted for the American Reformed Biographies series is a biography on Vos by George Harinck, a professor at the Free University, Amsterdam. Hopefully, we will see that some time in 2008.]
Answer: What did Sean just now carry back from the Covenant Seminary bookstore to his office?
[btw--one of the books contracted for the American Reformed Biographies series is a biography on Vos by George Harinck, a professor at the Free University, Amsterdam. Hopefully, we will see that some time in 2008.]
The Challenge of Following the Leader
UPDATE: As you may know, ESPN is reporting that Mike Davis has resigned as head coach of the IU basketball team, effective at the end of the season. Which, after losing to Penn State, can't come soon enough.
I like Mike Davis, the head coach for Indiana University's men's basketball team. He is a good Christian man who is honest and hardworking. I think he has done as well with a bad situation as can be expected (following Bob Knight as head coach). However, after his comments yesterday, I can't see how he will be back for next season. He has all but said that he should no longer be the coach.
It is intriguing that Davis observed that IU should hire "one of their own." That had to be a reference to Steve Alford, IU basketball legend and current head coach at Iowa (which currently is in first place in the Big Ten). What is especially interesting is to see the polarizing opinions on blogs that discuss IU basketball on whether Alford should or should not be the next head coach.
[In the interest of full disclosure, even before Knight left, I felt that Alford should be the next head coach. He was the reason I started following IU basketball in 1984 when, as a freshman, he led IU over the Michael Jordan-led UNC in the Sweet Sixteen.]
To take this a little further, and into a different realm, it is interesting to me the parallels here between following a long-time, successful (and polarizing) head coach and following a long-time, successful pastor. There is no question in my mind that Davis has been a "sacrifical lamb"--ever since he got the job, he has been compared, scruntized, criticized, denigrated, praised, or upheld compared to the ghost of Bob Knight. In how many of our churches does it happen the same way? A long-time pastor leaves and the new pastor is held to the standard, not of biblical faithfulness or pastoral care or passionate vision, but of the previous pastor and that man's quirks, abilities, or liabilities. The previous leader lingers like a ghost in every conversation and in every decision that a church makes.
While we can try to find reasons for this phenomenon (remaining corruption, law-based standards, unrealistic expectations), I think it is easier simply to observe this as part of the natural human reaction to transitions in leadership (whatever the area) and the instability and anxiety that accompanies it. While Davis (or a new pastor) can do certain things to minimize the anxiety within the "system" through calm and calculated leadership, people will still judge leaders by the ghosts who still remain in the community's memory.
Suffice it to say, that one of the great challenges of leadership is to follow "the leader."
I like Mike Davis, the head coach for Indiana University's men's basketball team. He is a good Christian man who is honest and hardworking. I think he has done as well with a bad situation as can be expected (following Bob Knight as head coach). However, after his comments yesterday, I can't see how he will be back for next season. He has all but said that he should no longer be the coach.
It is intriguing that Davis observed that IU should hire "one of their own." That had to be a reference to Steve Alford, IU basketball legend and current head coach at Iowa (which currently is in first place in the Big Ten). What is especially interesting is to see the polarizing opinions on blogs that discuss IU basketball on whether Alford should or should not be the next head coach.
[In the interest of full disclosure, even before Knight left, I felt that Alford should be the next head coach. He was the reason I started following IU basketball in 1984 when, as a freshman, he led IU over the Michael Jordan-led UNC in the Sweet Sixteen.]
To take this a little further, and into a different realm, it is interesting to me the parallels here between following a long-time, successful (and polarizing) head coach and following a long-time, successful pastor. There is no question in my mind that Davis has been a "sacrifical lamb"--ever since he got the job, he has been compared, scruntized, criticized, denigrated, praised, or upheld compared to the ghost of Bob Knight. In how many of our churches does it happen the same way? A long-time pastor leaves and the new pastor is held to the standard, not of biblical faithfulness or pastoral care or passionate vision, but of the previous pastor and that man's quirks, abilities, or liabilities. The previous leader lingers like a ghost in every conversation and in every decision that a church makes.
While we can try to find reasons for this phenomenon (remaining corruption, law-based standards, unrealistic expectations), I think it is easier simply to observe this as part of the natural human reaction to transitions in leadership (whatever the area) and the instability and anxiety that accompanies it. While Davis (or a new pastor) can do certain things to minimize the anxiety within the "system" through calm and calculated leadership, people will still judge leaders by the ghosts who still remain in the community's memory.
Suffice it to say, that one of the great challenges of leadership is to follow "the leader."
Monday, February 13, 2006
The Calvary Contender
When I was a pastoral studies major at Bob Jones University, I used to live in mortal fear that someday I would be exposed in "The Calvary Contender" as a "neo-evangelical." In that light, it was striking to see 1) that this publication has continued to this present day and 2) that, according to this article, it is finally shutting down.
It is also striking how the new media (i.e. the internet) has simply transformed the sort of thing "The Calvary Contender" used to do. While Mr. Huffman was limited by his finances and subscription list to get the word out about "compromising" ministries, now all one needs to do is to start a blog! Now, the kind of "truth-telling" that the "Contender" used to do can be done far more efficently. A number of theological firefights in various denominations are now conducted on the internet where they were once conducted through mimeographed scandal sheets.
But I wonder if we are better Christians with this model of ministry? Does the kind of "contending" helpfully model the virtues of Christ? Or to put it differently, does pugnaciousness, even if the name of "Truth," live out Paul's instructions in 2 Timothy 2:24-25: "And the Lord's servant must not be quarrelsome but kind to everyone, able to teach, patiently enduring evil, correcting his opponents with gentleness"? This type of ministry may attract quite a bit of attention, land you on Larry King Live, and sell books--but I don't think it helps God's people live out the character of Christ well.
I think a better model is the loving and long-suffering pastoral approach offered by the Apostle Paul (even in a book like Galatians in which he pleads with his people in 4:12-20). As we earnestly contend for the faith, we need to make sure that our people know that we will love them anyways and always, that our care for them is rooted in a prior relationship, a common "union," rooted in our common union with Christ. We may tell them the truth and expose error, but it is always motivated by love for Christ, his church, and his people.
Otherwise, we will simply be clanging gongs, crashing symbols, making loud noises but accomplishing nothing, even as we contend for the faith once delivered to the saints. For without love, we are nothing and our ministries are nothing.
It is also striking how the new media (i.e. the internet) has simply transformed the sort of thing "The Calvary Contender" used to do. While Mr. Huffman was limited by his finances and subscription list to get the word out about "compromising" ministries, now all one needs to do is to start a blog! Now, the kind of "truth-telling" that the "Contender" used to do can be done far more efficently. A number of theological firefights in various denominations are now conducted on the internet where they were once conducted through mimeographed scandal sheets.
But I wonder if we are better Christians with this model of ministry? Does the kind of "contending" helpfully model the virtues of Christ? Or to put it differently, does pugnaciousness, even if the name of "Truth," live out Paul's instructions in 2 Timothy 2:24-25: "And the Lord's servant must not be quarrelsome but kind to everyone, able to teach, patiently enduring evil, correcting his opponents with gentleness"? This type of ministry may attract quite a bit of attention, land you on Larry King Live, and sell books--but I don't think it helps God's people live out the character of Christ well.
I think a better model is the loving and long-suffering pastoral approach offered by the Apostle Paul (even in a book like Galatians in which he pleads with his people in 4:12-20). As we earnestly contend for the faith, we need to make sure that our people know that we will love them anyways and always, that our care for them is rooted in a prior relationship, a common "union," rooted in our common union with Christ. We may tell them the truth and expose error, but it is always motivated by love for Christ, his church, and his people.
Otherwise, we will simply be clanging gongs, crashing symbols, making loud noises but accomplishing nothing, even as we contend for the faith once delivered to the saints. For without love, we are nothing and our ministries are nothing.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Alan Jackson's new CD
I can't wait for this. Alan Jackson's hymns CD comes out February 28! [You sophisticated types who don't like country music can skip this entry!]
Friday, February 10, 2006
Wise Leadership and Prudent Consolidation
From David Steinmetz, Reformers in the Wings, p. 99:
When [Heinrich] Bullinger died in 1575, he could look back on a long career, marked not so much by brilliant innovation as by prudent consolidation. He conserved the gains made by Zwingli and built on them...
Bullinger is less important for his originality than for his wisdom. He was the humane and compassionate pastor pastorum, whose learning and gifts were modestly put at the service of others. Precisely because he was less innovative than either Zwingli or Calvin, he was better able than either to state in a way that transcended factional differences the hard lines of the faith of the Reformed church. Without Zwingli there would have been no Reformation in Zurich; without Bullinger it would not have lasted.
When [Heinrich] Bullinger died in 1575, he could look back on a long career, marked not so much by brilliant innovation as by prudent consolidation. He conserved the gains made by Zwingli and built on them...
Bullinger is less important for his originality than for his wisdom. He was the humane and compassionate pastor pastorum, whose learning and gifts were modestly put at the service of others. Precisely because he was less innovative than either Zwingli or Calvin, he was better able than either to state in a way that transcended factional differences the hard lines of the faith of the Reformed church. Without Zwingli there would have been no Reformation in Zurich; without Bullinger it would not have lasted.
Mark Noll to Notre Dame
Read it here. I wonder if Wheaton will get a junior scholar and a player to be named later.
HT: Justin Taylor
HT: Justin Taylor
Hart and Muether on the PCA
Historians D. G. Hart and John Muether have been writing a series of articles on "turning points" in American Presbyterian history for the OPC magazine, New Horizons. In the February 2006 issue, they profile the founding of the PCA. I found the article generally accurate and their concluding observation fair.
The only real historical "mistake" was their linking Presbyterian Evangelistic Fellowship directly to foreign missions at its founding in 1964. The story is a little more complex: PEF was started by Bill Hill as a fellowship of Presbyterian evangelists who did itinerant ministry in the South; in 1971, the leadership decided to start the Executive Committee on Overseas Missions [ECOE], which would eventually morph into Mission to the World when the PCA started.
I think the article raises the important point--do church members in the PCA see themselves as Presbyterians? Or do they simply see themselves as evangelical Protestants who happen to go to a PCA church (but who could, just as easily, go to an Evangelical Free church)? These questions have a great deal to do with whether the PCA will represent a distinctively Presbyterian witness in the coming generation. And these questions motivated me to write my book, On Being Presbyterian, which will release (Lord willing) in April.
The only real historical "mistake" was their linking Presbyterian Evangelistic Fellowship directly to foreign missions at its founding in 1964. The story is a little more complex: PEF was started by Bill Hill as a fellowship of Presbyterian evangelists who did itinerant ministry in the South; in 1971, the leadership decided to start the Executive Committee on Overseas Missions [ECOE], which would eventually morph into Mission to the World when the PCA started.
I think the article raises the important point--do church members in the PCA see themselves as Presbyterians? Or do they simply see themselves as evangelical Protestants who happen to go to a PCA church (but who could, just as easily, go to an Evangelical Free church)? These questions have a great deal to do with whether the PCA will represent a distinctively Presbyterian witness in the coming generation. And these questions motivated me to write my book, On Being Presbyterian, which will release (Lord willing) in April.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Calvin on the sacraments
From Calvin, Institutes, 4.14.3:
"Now, from the definition that I have set forth we understand that a sacrament is never without a preceding promise but is joined to it as a sort of appendix, with the purpose of confirming and sealing the promise itself, and of making it more evident to us and in a sense ratifying it. By this means God provides first for our ignorance and dullness, then for our weakness.
"Yet, properly speaking, it is not so much needed to confirm his Sacred Word as to establish us in faith in it. For God's truth is of itself firm and sure enough, and it cannot receive better confirmation from any other source than from itself. But as our faith is slight and feeble unless it be propped on all sides and sustained by every means, it trembles, wavers, totters, and at last gives way.
"Here our merciful Lord, according to his infinite kindness, so tempers himself to our capacity that, since we are creatures who always creep on the ground, cleave to the flesh, and, do not think about or even conceive of anything spiritual, he condescends to lead us to himself even by these early elements, and to set before us in the flesh a mirror of spiritual blessings."
"Now, from the definition that I have set forth we understand that a sacrament is never without a preceding promise but is joined to it as a sort of appendix, with the purpose of confirming and sealing the promise itself, and of making it more evident to us and in a sense ratifying it. By this means God provides first for our ignorance and dullness, then for our weakness.
"Yet, properly speaking, it is not so much needed to confirm his Sacred Word as to establish us in faith in it. For God's truth is of itself firm and sure enough, and it cannot receive better confirmation from any other source than from itself. But as our faith is slight and feeble unless it be propped on all sides and sustained by every means, it trembles, wavers, totters, and at last gives way.
"Here our merciful Lord, according to his infinite kindness, so tempers himself to our capacity that, since we are creatures who always creep on the ground, cleave to the flesh, and, do not think about or even conceive of anything spiritual, he condescends to lead us to himself even by these early elements, and to set before us in the flesh a mirror of spiritual blessings."
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
The Greatest Rock Group in the World
I'm a Coldplay fan; I enjoy them and even liked their performance on Austin City Limits. But if there was really any doubt, the Grammy awards tonight dispelled them--that when it comes to the title "Greatest Rock Group in the World," it really is U2.
Their two song set--"Vertigo" and, especially, "One," with Bono dueting with Mary J. Blige--was amazing. Chris Martin, on the other hand, was consistently off-key and looks completely uncomfortable on stage. I don't know if U2 will win album of the year or best rock album of the year, but that performance was one of the best I've seen in watching the Grammys.
[UPDATE: as you may know, U2 did win best rock album AND album of the year. I hope they put the performance out on iTunes...]
Their two song set--"Vertigo" and, especially, "One," with Bono dueting with Mary J. Blige--was amazing. Chris Martin, on the other hand, was consistently off-key and looks completely uncomfortable on stage. I don't know if U2 will win album of the year or best rock album of the year, but that performance was one of the best I've seen in watching the Grammys.
[UPDATE: as you may know, U2 did win best rock album AND album of the year. I hope they put the performance out on iTunes...]
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Lucaspotting, No. 1
I'll be out and about at a couple of places this spring and summer, aside from my regular teaching ministry at Covenant Theological Seminary and pulpit supply at Covenant Presbyterian Church:
- May 2-3: I'll be giving a seminar on "Dealing with Yourself by Grace" at the Augusta Conference, hosted by First Presbyterian Church, Augusta, Georgia [they don't have information on their website yet; when they do, I'll make a link].
- June 20-23: I'll be giving a seminar on "Making Disciples: Thinking Through Presbyterian Identity in our Postmodern World" at the 2006 PCA General Assembly in Atlanta, Georgia.
- July 24-28: Donald Guthrie and I will be teaching at Ridge Haven in North Carolina for the Covenant Family Conference 2006.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Time
From Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, p. 65:
The understanding and honoring of time is fundamental to the realization of who we are and how we live. Violations of sacred time become desecrations of our most intimate relations with God and one another. hours and days, weeks and months and years, are the very stuff of holiness.
Among the many desecrations visited upon the creation, the profanation of time ranks near the top, at least among North Americans. Time is the medium in which we do all our living. When time is desecrated, life is desecrated. The most conspicuous evidences of this desecration are hurry and procastination: hurry turns away from the gift of time in a compulsive grasping for abstractions that it can possess and control. Procrastination is distracted from the gift of time in a lazy inattenativeness to the life of obedience and adoration by which we enter the "fullness of time." Whether by a hurried grasping or by a procrastinating inattention, time is violated.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Leadership for God's People
Note: This is the concluding section of a sermon for this Sunday, 5 February 2006, on 1 Timothy 3:1-7. If you would like to hear the sermon in its entirety, click here.
Having served on presbytery candidate committees as well as interviewing faculty candidates for the seminary, one of the questions that inevitably gets asked is this: “Is there any matter that would concern us if we knew about it, even if we have failed to ask you about it specifically?”
One man answered this well—he said, “If you were to know all that is in my heart, and the numerous ways that I sin against the Lord, against my family, then perhaps you would be concerned. But God is greater than my heart.”
And this is our only hope, our only place to stand as leaders in Christ’s church—that the God who knows me inside and out no longer sees me against a checklist of laws, a standard of perfection—he no longer condemns me. Rather, he sees me, the chief of sinners, saved by his overflowing grace, faith, and love in Jesus (cf. 1 Timothy 1:14).
The only way church leadership can be a noble task is when we see ourselves as God sees us: united to Christ, righteous in him, holy in his sight, an adopted son, and glorious. Otherwise, we will be undone.
But the other temptation is this: to demand far more of our leaders than they can ever deliver. We all are tempted to compare our leaders to some other standard of perfection, some other esteemed pastor or elder. What we have to remember is that there is only one Bryan Chapell, one George Robertson, one Skip Ryan, one Tim Keller, (thankfully) one Sean Lucas. God created each of his leaders—each elder, each pastor—with specific gifts and strengths: but we are all men, not Supermen.
A song which I’ve had on heavy replay on my iPod this week is one by Five for Fighting. The song is called “Superman,” and it is written from his own perspective:
It is easy for us to look at our leaders and to think of them as “Supermen.” And it is easy for us to long for leaders who will be bullet-proof or omni-competent. But there are no Supermen, only men who can’t stand to fly, who bleed, who dream, and who feel awfully silly sometimes.
Rather, the leaders that God gives us, the leaders that God calls upon us to recognize, are men: men who are honest enough to make mistakes, to fail, to falter at times. Men who recognize themselves to be sinners, yea the chief of sinners. And yet these leaders are men in which Jesus Christ has displayed his perfect patience as a Gospel example to the whole world—that God can redeem sinners, can transform them inside out, can make them worthy of service, can make them “above reproach” and instruments “useful to the master of the house” (2 Timothy 2:21).
And the result is this: as God's leaders care and shepherd and teach and love God's people, we hear God’s Word, love God more deeply and thoroughly and passionately, and love each other with godly passion and intensity for God's glory and the world's good.
Having served on presbytery candidate committees as well as interviewing faculty candidates for the seminary, one of the questions that inevitably gets asked is this: “Is there any matter that would concern us if we knew about it, even if we have failed to ask you about it specifically?”
One man answered this well—he said, “If you were to know all that is in my heart, and the numerous ways that I sin against the Lord, against my family, then perhaps you would be concerned. But God is greater than my heart.”
And this is our only hope, our only place to stand as leaders in Christ’s church—that the God who knows me inside and out no longer sees me against a checklist of laws, a standard of perfection—he no longer condemns me. Rather, he sees me, the chief of sinners, saved by his overflowing grace, faith, and love in Jesus (cf. 1 Timothy 1:14).
The only way church leadership can be a noble task is when we see ourselves as God sees us: united to Christ, righteous in him, holy in his sight, an adopted son, and glorious. Otherwise, we will be undone.
But the other temptation is this: to demand far more of our leaders than they can ever deliver. We all are tempted to compare our leaders to some other standard of perfection, some other esteemed pastor or elder. What we have to remember is that there is only one Bryan Chapell, one George Robertson, one Skip Ryan, one Tim Keller, (thankfully) one Sean Lucas. God created each of his leaders—each elder, each pastor—with specific gifts and strengths: but we are all men, not Supermen.
A song which I’ve had on heavy replay on my iPod this week is one by Five for Fighting. The song is called “Superman,” and it is written from his own perspective:
I can’t stand to fly;
I’m not that naïve
I’m just out to find;
The better part of me
I’m more than a bird...i’m more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It’s not easy to be me
It may sound absurd...but don’t be naïve
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but won’t you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me
Up, up and away...away from me
It’s all right...you can all sleep sound tonight
I can’t stand to fly;
I’m not that naïve
Men weren’t meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
I’m only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
It is easy for us to look at our leaders and to think of them as “Supermen.” And it is easy for us to long for leaders who will be bullet-proof or omni-competent. But there are no Supermen, only men who can’t stand to fly, who bleed, who dream, and who feel awfully silly sometimes.
Rather, the leaders that God gives us, the leaders that God calls upon us to recognize, are men: men who are honest enough to make mistakes, to fail, to falter at times. Men who recognize themselves to be sinners, yea the chief of sinners. And yet these leaders are men in which Jesus Christ has displayed his perfect patience as a Gospel example to the whole world—that God can redeem sinners, can transform them inside out, can make them worthy of service, can make them “above reproach” and instruments “useful to the master of the house” (2 Timothy 2:21).
And the result is this: as God's leaders care and shepherd and teach and love God's people, we hear God’s Word, love God more deeply and thoroughly and passionately, and love each other with godly passion and intensity for God's glory and the world's good.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Lutherans and the Third Use of the Law
Last night, my lecture in Reformation and Modern Church History was on the process of German Lutheran Confessionalization in the 16th century. One of the things that I discovered in my reading and research for the lecture was that the common Reformed (and in many quarters, Lutheran) claim that Lutherans deny "the third use of the law" is completely wrong. In fact, it is the exact opposite.
[For those who don't know what the third use of the law is--Reformation thinkers have claimed that the moral law has three uses--it reveals and condemns sin, points to Christ, and provides a guide or norm for the Christian life. This last use is the "third use of the law."]
In the Formula of Concord, article 6 (1577), Lutherans confess, "We believe, teach, and confess that the proclamation of the law is to be diligently impressed not only upon unbelievers and the unrepentant but also upon those who believe in Christ and are truly converted, reborn, and justified by faith."
In that same article, they confess, "The fruits of the Spirit, however, are the works that the Spirit of God, who dwells in believers, effects through the reborn; they are done by believers (insofar as they are reborn) as if they knew of no command, threat, or reward. In this manner the children of God live in the law and walk according to the law."
This strikes me as exactly right and very much in line with the Westminster Confession of Faith, 19:6, 7. The law is "the unchangeable will of God"; and for believers, it represents a standard of perfection that they cannot meet because of remaining sin. And yet, God grants us his Spirit to enable them to walk in the law's way (indeed, to love God's law itself as a friend and not as a foe). This healthy emphasis upon the Spirit's enablement also represents Galatians 5:13-26 well, in which the works of love are motivated and enabled by the Holy Spirit.
It represents yet another area of common ground between Reformed and Lutherans, reminding us that historically speaking (i.e. in the 16th century) the dividing line was not election, predestination, bondage of the will, or the continuing use of the law (for this see Robert Kolb's brilliant Bound Choice, Election, and the Wittenberg Theological Method [2005]).
Rather, the dividing line was (what Lutherans called) "the sacrament of the altar"--how is Christ's body and blood present in the Lord's Supper? And while that was and is an important issue, it doesn't strike me to be the same kind of barrier to fellowship and cooperation that it was in the 16th century. With such a large amount of common ground, I think conservative Lutherans and Reformed would do well to be in closer conversation and cooperation.
[For those who don't know what the third use of the law is--Reformation thinkers have claimed that the moral law has three uses--it reveals and condemns sin, points to Christ, and provides a guide or norm for the Christian life. This last use is the "third use of the law."]
In the Formula of Concord, article 6 (1577), Lutherans confess, "We believe, teach, and confess that the proclamation of the law is to be diligently impressed not only upon unbelievers and the unrepentant but also upon those who believe in Christ and are truly converted, reborn, and justified by faith."
In that same article, they confess, "The fruits of the Spirit, however, are the works that the Spirit of God, who dwells in believers, effects through the reborn; they are done by believers (insofar as they are reborn) as if they knew of no command, threat, or reward. In this manner the children of God live in the law and walk according to the law."
This strikes me as exactly right and very much in line with the Westminster Confession of Faith, 19:6, 7. The law is "the unchangeable will of God"; and for believers, it represents a standard of perfection that they cannot meet because of remaining sin. And yet, God grants us his Spirit to enable them to walk in the law's way (indeed, to love God's law itself as a friend and not as a foe). This healthy emphasis upon the Spirit's enablement also represents Galatians 5:13-26 well, in which the works of love are motivated and enabled by the Holy Spirit.
It represents yet another area of common ground between Reformed and Lutherans, reminding us that historically speaking (i.e. in the 16th century) the dividing line was not election, predestination, bondage of the will, or the continuing use of the law (for this see Robert Kolb's brilliant Bound Choice, Election, and the Wittenberg Theological Method [2005]).
Rather, the dividing line was (what Lutherans called) "the sacrament of the altar"--how is Christ's body and blood present in the Lord's Supper? And while that was and is an important issue, it doesn't strike me to be the same kind of barrier to fellowship and cooperation that it was in the 16th century. With such a large amount of common ground, I think conservative Lutherans and Reformed would do well to be in closer conversation and cooperation.
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