What are the sacraments? No. 3

The Lord’s Supper: Strength for the Journey

Presbyterians, unlike Roman Catholics and other Christians, believe that there are only two sacraments of the New Testament: baptism and the Lord’s Supper (WCF 27:4). Having looked at baptism, let’s think about the Lord’s Supper. Most people who go to church know what this sacrament is, even when they call it something different like “the breaking of the bread,” “communion,” or “the Eucharist.” The name “Lord’s Supper” to name this sacrament comes from 1 Corinthians 11:20 and the heart of the ritual is common among all Christians: “the Lord’s Supper is a sacrament, wherein, by giving and receiving bread and wine, according to Christ’s appointment, his death is showed forth” (SC 96).

Typically, the mechanics of the Supper involves ordained ministers who “set apart the bread and win from common use, by the word of institution, thanksgiving and prayer; to take and break the bread, and to give both the bread and the wine to the communications; who are, by the same appointment, to take and eat the bread, and to drink the wine, in thankful remembrance that the body of Christ was broken and given, and his blood shed, for them” (LC 169).

While the validity of the sacrament is fairly easy to establish from Scripture, the sacrament’s efficacy is much more difficult to understand. In fact, at one point the Westminster Confession describes this Supper as a holy mystery (WCF 29:8). And because how the Supper “works” is a mystery, it has led to a number of disagreements about what happens in the Supper. Presbyterian confessional documents attempts to deal with a number of these “mistaken” views while setting forth our understanding of what happens in this meal. Sometimes the qualifications and caveats in the Standards are so confusing that it is hard to understand what is at stake or even what Presbyterians are trying to say. But if we are patient, I think we can get at a basic understanding of what happens in this holy mystery called the Lord’s Supper. What is important to understand is that Reformation debates over the Supper had everything to do with where Christ’s ascended body is and how believers feed upon that ascended body. We’ll see this as we go along.

Notice first that the confessional documents are very careful to tell us what does not happen in the Supper. One thing that doesn’t happen is that the bread and the wine do not actually, really, truly become Christ’s body and blood. This doctrine, called transubstantiation, is held by Roman Catholics. They believe that in the act of consecration by the priest (when he says in Latin, “this is my body”) that the bread, which is lifted up in the sight of the congregation for their adoration, actually and really becomes the substance of Christ’s body. The Westminster Confession spares no language in rejecting this position: this doctrine “is repugnant, not to Scripture alone, but even to common sense, and reason; [and it] overthrowth the nature of the sacrament, and hath been and is the cause of manifold superstitions; yea, of gross idolatries” (WCF 29:6). Presbyterians believe that when the bread and wine are consecrated by God through a minister’s prayer, “they till remain truly and only bread and wine, as they were before” (WCF 29:5). We also don’t believe that the Lord’s Supper provides an opportunity for Christ to be offered up to his Father once again in a real propitiation for sins. This “popish sacrifice of the mass (as they call it) is most abominably injurious to Christ’s one, only sacrifice, the alone propitiation for all the sins of His elect” (WCF 29:2).

Presbyterians also don’t believe that Christ’s body is somehow “in, with, or under the bread and wine” (WCF 29:7). This describes the Lutheran view, which is based on a belief that Christ’s resurrected and ascended body is “ubiquitous” (that is, everywhere at the same time). The result of the Lutheran view is that when an individual partakes of the bread in the Supper, the bread itself is not Christ’s body, but is accompanied by Christ’s body which surrounds it. Presbyterians don’t believe that Christ’s ascended body works like that. We believe that Christ’s resurrected body has ascended to heaven and sits at the right hand of God the Father. As a result, his body is not everywhere present at the same time to surround the bread and wine at the Supper.

So, what do Presbyterians believe happens in the Supper? How do we feed upon the body and blood of Christ? The Confession takes great pains to stress that we do not feed on Christ “corporally or carnally,” but “spiritually” and yet “really and indeed” (WCF 29:7). Perhaps you’ve read the somewhat tortured section of the Confession in 29:7:

Worthy receivers, outwardly partaking of the visible elements, in this sacrament, do then also, inwardly by faith, really and indeed, yet not carnally and corporally but spiritually, receive, and feed upon, Christ crucified, and all benefits of His death: the body and blood of Christ being then, not corporally or carnally, in, with, or under the bread and wine; yet, as really, but spiritually, present to the faith of believers in that ordinance, as the elements themselves are to their outward senses.

Did you catch what the Confession is trying to say here? It says two important things: first, worthy receivers of the Supper receive and feed upon Christ crucified and all benefits of his death; and second, the body and blood of Christ are as surely present to the faith of believers in the Supper as the elements themselves are to their outward senses.

How do these two things happen? Not corporally or carnally, but spiritually. In way perhaps we don’t always grasp intellectually, when we outwardly eat and drink the visible elements, we are inwardly feeding on Christ’s body and blood by faith. There is no change, no transformation, no surrounding of the bread and wine with Christ’s body. And yet, really and indeed, we feed on Christ’s body and blood spiritually.

John Calvin, the great sixteenth century Reformed pastor and theologian, believed that in the Supper the Holy Spirit worked to lift our hearts and minds to heaven, where Christ is seated at God the Father’s right hand, so that we might feed spiritually on his presence (Inst., 4.17.18). Yet Calvin was also careful to point out that our feeding upon Christ was a mystery that was felt, more than explained, because words themselves were inadequate to describe what is transacted in the Lord’s Supper (Inst., 4.17.7).

The upshot of all this is that in the Supper, we “receive and apply unto ourselves Christ crucified and all the benefits of his death” by faith (LC 170). The benefits that we receive are consequential to our living the Christian life well. We believe that in this meal we gain what is vital for “our spiritual nourishment and growth in grace,” including having our union and communion with Christ confirmed, our thankfulness to God and engagement to belong to him renewed, and our mutual love and fellowship with one another engaged (LC 168).

In order to receive these spiritual benefits, however, we must prepare ourselves before we come to the Lord’s Supper in at least two ways. First, we must examine ourselves. Drawing upon Paul’s injunction in 1 Corinthians 11:28, Presbyterians have long urged one another to examine themselves before they came to the Lord’s Table, seeking to ascertain “their being in Christ; their sins and wants; the truth and measure of their knowledge, faith, repentance, love to God and the brethren, charity to all men, forgiving those that have done them wrong; their desires after Christ; and their new obedience” (LC 171).

Second, we must seek to renew the exercise of all of our spiritual graces. As we consider and examine ourselves, we should meditate on the truths of God’s Word and on his great grace and forgiveness for those who fail in their spiritual duties. We also need to pray fervently, seeking God’s mercy and grace for our sins and failures and asking that he meet us in the Lord’s Supper to grant us his strengthening and nourishing grace in the meal.

During the Supper, we are called to wait upon God in the sacrament, observing diligently what is going on: the minister’s explanation of the sacrament, the words of institution, the invitation to the Supper, the prayer of consecration for the Supper, the breaking of bread and pouring out of wine, and the distribution of the elements. In the midst of these actions, we should seek to discern Christ’s body, believing that, in the bread and in the wine, Christ’s crucified body and blood are spiritually present to their faith and in these elements Christ and all his benefits are given to their faith. In thus discerning Christ’s body, we are stirred up to judge ourselves and sorrow for sin, to hunger and thirst after Christ, to feed upon him and receive of his fullness, trusting in his merits, rejoicing in his love, giving thanks for his grace, and to renew their covenant with God and with the other church members (LC 174). In many ways, the Lord’s Supper is the renewal of a solemn covenant between God and ourselves—we are forsaking our sin, resting on Christ and his merits for acceptance with God, and renewing new obedience to God and his Word in gratitude for his mercy. In response, God grants us all of Christ’s benefits, but more importantly he grants us Christ himself.

After the Supper, we should use some time to consider how we participated in the Supper. If we found spiritual comfort and renewal, then we should bless God for his mercy in the Supper, beg God for the continuance of this gracious renewal, watch against relapses into sin, and fulfill our spiritual duties. If we didn’t find that comfort and renewal, then we should think back to how we prepared ourselves beforehand for the Supper and how we carried ourselves during the Supper. If we were prepared for the Supper and sought God’s presence in the meal, then we wait for the spiritual benefit in God’s good time. But if we didn’t prepare well or if we didn’t carry ourselves well, then we should be humbled and seek God’s presence more fervently and diligently next time we have the opportunity to participate in the Lord’s Supper (LC 175).

Obviously, Presbyterians historically have taken the Lord’s Supper very seriously, perhaps more seriously than other evangelicals. That seriousness is reflected in the Presbyterian practice of “fencing the table.” In the eighteenth century, Scots and American Presbyterians were examineed by their ruling elders for their faith in Jesus Christ and current spiritual condition; if they were deemed to be “worthy professors,” these hardy souls were given “communion tokens” that would admit them to a place at the Lord’s table. In contemporary practice, Presbyterian ministers invite to come to the Supper those have made a profession of faith in a particular congregation and have been admitted to the table by either the local church session or some other authorized church leadership. We also warn those who have not made a profession of faith or who are living in unrepentant sin not to come to the table, so that they will not “eat and drink judgment to themselves” (SC 97; 1 Corinthians 11:27-32). In this way, Presbyterians have tried to preserve the purity of the Lord ’s Table.

Another way this seriousness is demonstrated is in the way in which we deal with our children in approaching the table. Perhaps the best way of getting at this point is to think through the similarities and differences between baptism and the Lord’s Supper. The similarities between the two are somewhat obvious (LC 176). We believe that God is the author of both baptism and the Lord’s Supper; they are both God’s idea and have his warrant. The focus of both is Christ and his benefits. Both are seals of the same covenant, the same promises. Each is to be done by ordained ministers of the gospel and by none other. And each is to be continued in the church until the end of the age. Some of the differences between the two are obvious as well, or at least, should be (LC 177). Baptism happens, or should happen, only once in a person’s life; the Lord’s Supper is to be administered often. Baptism uses water; the Supper uses bread and wine.

But other differences are more important. The Catechism says that baptism is a “sign and seal of our regeneration and ingrafting into Christ,” a grace that is conferred in God’s appointed time and that evidences itself in a full-hearted turn to Christ as Savior and Lord. The Lord’s Supper, on the other hand, is received those who have already begun the journey of faith, “to confirm our continuance and growth” in Jesus Christ. Or it could put it like this: baptism initiates our children into the visible people of God, into the church people, and into the care of the church and all the benefits that brings. Yet the Lord’s Supper has a different focus; it serves to confirm our faith and assure our hearts that as surely as we partake of bread and wine, so surely did Christ die for our sins.

As a result, Presbyterians believe that baptism is rightly administered “even to infants,” as we have just seen. Because our children belong to our households of faith, they should belong in a visible way to THE household of faith; and baptism initiates them into God’s visible people. However, we believe that the Supper is to be administered “only to such as are of years and ability to examine themselves.” The emphasis here is not upon adult-only communion but on professing believers-only communion. Our catechism presumes that infants or toddlers cannot examine themselves of “their being in Christ” (LC 172), that is, to recognize their sinfulness and turn to faith to Jesus Christ. When they come “of years and ability to examine themselves,” if they make a credible profession of faith in Jesus, then the local church’s session has the opportunity to admit them to the Lord’s table. As a result, the Presbyterians typically do not admit to the table children who have not made a profession of faith; not because they are children, but because faith in Jesus Christ is necessary for a worthy reception of the Supper.

Heroes

Driving in to work today, the sports radio guys on 1380 ESPN were debating whether Albert Pujols is starting to become "over-hyped." This week, for example, Albert is on the covers of both the Sporting News and Sports Illustrated; and Bernie Miklasz, the radio host and columnist for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, related that the newspaper will be preparing a special Pujols section for a Sunday edition in June.

In the midst of the conversation, one of the talking heads observed that this is always what the media does--seize on a single individual and hype them to gigantic proportions. The local media did that with Mark McGwire in the late 1990s and they are doing it again with Pujols. And the reason they are doing it is that this sort of thing sells papers.

But why does it sell papers? Or for that matter, why do legions of Cardinals fans show up to the ballgames with Pujols jerseys (or Rolen, Edmonds, and Carpenter jerseys--I have a Rolen one myself)? No one asked or answered the question, but I think it gets down to the most basic matter of the heart. Human beings are wired to look for heroes.

And yet, all our heroes disappoint in the end. One clear example of that was McGwire himself, who has a section of local highway named after him because he broke Roger Maris' home run record. When he sat at the congressional hearing on steriods in March 2005 and let down his fans and supports with a lawyer-fed answer to the questions posted him, many people turned on him with a viciousness that speaks to broken hearts and shattered hopes. Even Miklasz, this morning, declared his vow passionately never to be taken in by an athlete in the same way as McGwire. It was less the objective voice of a journalist and more the bruised and violated voice of a erstwhile believer.

It all made me think of my favorite Steve Taylor song, "Hero":

When the house fell asleep
there was always a light
and it fell from the page to
the eyes of an American boy.

In a storybook land
I could dream what I read when
it went to my head I'd see
I wanna be a hero

chorus:
Hero it's a nice-boy notion
that the real world's gonna destroy
you know it's a Marvel comicbook Saturday matinee fairytale, boy

Growing older you'll find
that illusions are brought
and the idol you thought you'd be
was just another zero
I wanna be a hero

Heroes died when the squealers bought 'em off
died when the dealers got 'em off
welcome to the "in it for the money as an idol" show
when they ain't as big as life
when they ditch their second wife
where's the boy to go? gotta be a hero

When our heroes break our hearts, our response should not merely be the anger of betrayal. Nor is the answer to swear off looking for heroes; that is an impossibility, because we are wired to "look up" to others, to search for models and patterns, to cherish dreams and aspirations inculcated by others. Rather, we must come to the realization that all our human heroes, as flawed as they are, even biblical heroes or historical heroes, are meant to point us to the only one who is truly heroic, the only one who does not, cannot disappoint us, the only one who has truly done things that have never been seen before, Jesus himself.

When the house fell asleep
from a book I was led
to a light that I never knew
I wanna be your hero
and he spoke to my heart
from the moment I prayed
here's a pattern I made for you
I wanna be your hero

What are the sacraments? No. 2

Baptism: Entrance into God’s Visible People

Though some may believe that Presbyterians’ understanding of baptism is somewhat complex, it actually is rooted in the larger story of what God is doing in this world through his people. The sign of baptism is rooted in God’s larger unchanging purpose in human history. From the very beginning, God has been redeeming a people for his own possession for his own glory. While God certainly calls individuals, from the very beginning, he has especially emphasized the relationship of federal heads and their households and their place within his larger and unchanging purpose of redemption. Thus, human history began with Adam and his household; with Abel and Cain and their households; and particularly, with Abraham and his household.

God made a covenant with Abraham, promising “to be God to you and to your offspring after you” (Genesis 17:7). And in order to seal that promise, God gave Abraham a sign—circumcision, which was to be administered to Abraham and to all the males in his household. This sign was a promise, a reminder, and a community marker that always went with Jewish males that God had promised to be God to them. Circumcision also served as the initiatory rite into the body of those who profess to be God’s people. The content of the promise that God made to Abraham—"to be God to you and your offspring after you"—remained the same throughout the Old Testament. Each father was charged with instructing his household in the meaning of circumcision—the need to have one’s heart circumcised by God, the need to claim the covenant promises by faith in the coming Redeemer of God’s elect and to repent of sins.

In the New Testament, the Apostle Peter makes plain that the content of God’s promise has not changed—God promises to be a God to us and our households (Acts 2:38-39). What changed was the form and subjects: whereas in the Old Testament, circumcision was applied to males in the household, in the New Testament baptism was applied to all who profess faith in the Redeemer of God’s people as well as their households. For example, in Acts 16, household heads Lydia and the Philippian jailer believe and their entire households are baptized. The reason such household baptisms were appropriate was this household logic that was operative in the Old Testament is still in operation in the New. Our children are set apart (“holy”) in God’s sight because we as household heads profess faith in God (1 Corinthians 7:14); as a result, it is right to extend to them the sign that they belong to God’s visible people. This sign seals God’s promise to our children, reminds our children of God’s promise, and marks them off from the world as belonging to God.

In this New Testament era, as household heads, we are called to instruct our children in the meaning of their baptism, to urge them to embrace God’s promise in Jesus Christ by repenting of their sins and professing faith in him, and to improve their baptism at every opportunity. And God’s work of redemption is extended when God’s purpose in our households is fulfilled—when the children of the household leave their father’s house and establish their own households, professing repentance and faith, embracing Jesus Christ to whom the signs pointed, dedicated to raising godly offspring for God’s glory.

This understanding of baptism is rooted in a particular understanding of the church as a visible people. Presbyterians believe that the visible church is made up of professing believers and their children. In other words, the ideal of a “regenerate church membership” is an unbiblical ideal because it makes too direct a connection between the visible people of God and the body of those God has chosen from the beginning to the end of time. Those who are in charge of admitting people to the Lord’s Supper have no way of ascertaining who is regenerate and who is not. All we have are individuals’ professions of faith. Now, elders do their best to investigate those professions of faith, to insure that they are credible and sincere. And we do believe, in a judgment of charity, that these professions of faith are genuine and represent a true spirituality reality. Still, that is a long way from saying that the visible church’s membership is to be restricted to those only whom we deem to be truly elect and genuinely regenerate.

Once our view of who makes up the visible church shifts, our understanding of baptism as a sign of initiation into the visible church shifts as well. Suddenly, baptism moves from being our act of testifying that we are following Jesus in obedience to God’s act of initiating us into the visible people of God. As a result, it is properly administered to those who are making professions of faith as well as their children, because God’s promise is offered to both us and our children (Acts 2:39).

What are the sacraments? No. 1

[Note: although On Being Presbyterian is supposed to be shipped this week, I've had my students reading a page proof copy--they had two essay questions on their final exam that required them to reflect on issues in the book. One of the pleasing comments that has come up has centered on the helpfulness of the sacraments chapter. I hope that it is helpful and represents a "vanilla Presbyterian" position that has an eye toward the mainstream Reformed and Westminster tradition.]

Perhaps the greatest intellectual hurdle for many people who have backgrounds in broader evangelicalism to overcome are Presbyterian beliefs about the sacraments of baptism and the Lord’s Supper. For these sisters and brothers, when you say the word “sacrament,” their minds immediately think about the Roman Catholic Church, which builds its entire religious life structure around seven sacraments, providing “grace” for individuals from birth to death.

Or perhaps these friends have come to Christ from more formal church backgrounds, joined evangelical churches, and have been convinced that they needed to be “re-baptized” because they were told that their infant baptisms weren’t legitimate since they weren’t preceded by a profession of faith. Due to the influence of common sense readings of Scripture and a general reticence against believing that sacraments can serve as means of grace in any sense, many struggle with the Presbyterian understanding of how baptism and the Lord’s Supper operate as means of grace in the Christian life.

What is a Sacrament?

Presbyterians, along with many other believers who think sacramentally, would say that a sacrament is a “holy sign and seal of the covenant of grace” (WCF 27:1). In other words, a sacrament pictures or signs God’s promises. In biblical usage a “sign” is like a big road sign with an arrow pointing you to Jesus Christ. This is how, for example, the word is used in John’s Gospel: “This, the first of his signs, Jesus did at Cana in Galilee, and manifested his glory” (John 2:11). The sign was meant to point the disciples (and John’s readers) to Jesus as God’s promised Messiah. It is the same way with a sacrament—baptism and the Lord’s Supper are like big road signs that point you to Jesus.

A sacrament also seals God’s promise. In older times, documents would bear a mark from the author of the letter or treaty that sealed the material contained in it. In our day, we talk about the “Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval”; when you see that seal, you know that Good Housekeeping has tested the product and approved it. A seal gives you confidence that the product or the letter is what it purports to be. In the same way, a sacrament seals God’s promises and gives you confidence that God’s promises can be trusted. It is a type of guarantee—if you trust God and claim his promises signed for you in the sacraments, you can be assured that God will keep his sealed promise to you. As the Westminster Confession puts it, sacraments “confirm our interest in him” (WCF 27:1). They give us assurance or confidence as they confirm our interest in God and his promises.

Sacraments also do something else. They “put a visible difference between those that belong unto the Church and the rest of the world” (WCF 27:1). They mark us as different from the world, as being on a different team, if you will. That’s why I like to say that baptism is like a jersey that marks us as part of the baptized team. It identifies us and our children as members of the visible church, those who have been baptized and who profess faith in the triune God. In a similar fashion, the Lord’s Supper marks off those who have made a good profession in Jesus Christ from the rest of the world that has not. It serves as a picture of those who will participate in the final “marriage supper of the Lamb” (Revelation 19:6-11), those who will be part of the new heavens and new earth.

How do sacraments do these things? Well, there is no power in the sacrament itself that causes God’s grace to come to an individual in order to confirm our interest in him or “to engage him to the service of God in Christ” (WCF 27:1, 3). Instead, the sacraments serve as signs for a spiritual reality, namely Christ and his benefits. And there is a “sacramental union,” or a “spiritual relation” between the sign and the spiritual reality. That’s why when we distribute the Lord’s Supper, the minister will often say, “This is the body of Christ. Take and eat.” Presbyterians don’t believe that the bread in the Lord’s Supper is actually transformed into Christ’s body, nor that the bread has Christ’s body “in, with, or under” the bread. Rather, we believe that there is a spiritual relationship between Christ’s ascended and glorified body and the bread by which we are enabled by God’s grace and his Spirit to feed upon Christ’s presence and receive his benefits. It is because of this sacramental union between the sign and the thing signified that “the names and effects of the one are attributed to the other” (WCF 27:2).

In thinking about how sacraments “work,” I think it is very important to distinguish the validity of a sacrament from its efficacy. A sacrament is valid, that is we have warrant for these sacraments, because it is based on God’s command and promise, contained in the word of institution. But a sacrament is efficacious, it “works” if you will, because the Spirit applies Christ and his benefits to the individual who responses in faith to the promise.

And so with baptism, we could say that the validity of the sacrament of baptism—for professing adults as well as their children—is rooted in God’s promise. In baptism, God promises certain benefits—“his ingrafting into Christ, of his regeneration, of remission of sins”—that obligates the individual “to walk in newness of life” (WCF 28:1). The promise is valid because God promises it, not because the individual testifies to some new spiritual reality in themselves. However, the efficacy of baptism is tied to the choosing purposes of God, the work of the Holy Spirit, and the response of faith by the individual. The grace that baptism signs and seals—that baptism exhibits and confers (WCF 28:6)—is not tied to the moment of administration nor is it given to everyone to whom baptism is administered (WCF 28:5). Instead, grace is given by the Holy Spirit to those whom God the King has chosen in his appointed time (WCF 28:6).

This distinction between the validity and efficacy of a sacrament is important because other evangelicals fail to recognize this distinction and so misunderstand what happens in baptism and the Lord’s Supper. For example, those who reject infant baptism do so because they presume that baptism is only valid when it is efficacious. That is, they believe that the only “biblical” baptism is one in which the individual by her own profession of faith at the moment of administration receives the grace offered in baptism. Others who have a very high view of infant baptism ironically make the same mistake—they believe that something must “happen” at the moment of baptism and so they argue that a child’s faith is awakened at baptism so that they grasp the promise of God’s Word and so receive grace. Or they presume that the child is regenerate and so baptize based on the presumption that God’s grace has already been at work.

But both of these approaches confuse the sacrament’s validity with its efficacy. A baptism is valid when it proclaims the promise of God by an ordained minister using the Trinitarian and biblical formula. It is efficacious, it confers grace, when God’s Spirit creates faith in the individual so that they grasp God’s promise by faith and so fill full the meaning of the sign whenever that may be.

One other thing to consider when we think about sacraments is that there was Old Testament as well as New Testament sacraments. The Old Testament sacraments were circumcision and Passover while the New Testament sacraments are baptism and the Lord’s Supper. Presbyterians believe that “in regard of the spiritual things thereby signified and exhibited” the Old and New Testament sacraments signified for substance the same things (WCF 27:5). That is, circumcision and the Passover both pointed to God’s promise of Christ and his benefits; baptism and the Supper do as well.

This continuity in terms of the substance of the things signified is very important—it means that there are not two stories, two religions, in the Bible, but one story and one “religion” in which God demands the worship of his people and they respond to him in faith. But the discontinuity is important as well—the forms were changed, the terms of admittance were changed, the rules and regulations were changed. That means we can’t simply draw a straight line between circumcision and baptism or Passover and Supper; rather, we must be sensitive to the way the risen Christ transforms these signs and seals. There are connections between the Old and New Testament sacraments (Colossians 2:11-12; 1 Corinthians 5:7, 10:1-4, 11:23-28), but there are differences as well. It is important to bear these similarities and differences in mind.

Da Vinci Decoded

I have a confession to make: my contrarian nature causes me to boycott popular cultural phenomenon. When I was a kid, I refused to see both "Top Gun" and "Dirty Dancing" (still haven't seen 'em either). I still haven't sat through "Titantic." Even when "The Passion of the Christ" was the hot movie, I missed that as well (though I had more biblical, than contrarian reasons for missing that).

Which is all too say, I'll probably miss out on "The Da Vinci Code" movie, although I am tempted to read the novel. It appears that the entire evangelical world is trying to captilize on the movie, either for evangelism or apologetics. I won't miss not reading those books.

But one of the simplest and free explanations, as well as one of the best, about the errors of Dan Brown's novel is Phil Ryken's. I recommend it very highly as a thoughtful, Christian response.

Presbyterians Together, No. 4

Okay, this isn't a real post. I simply want to direct you to Phil Ryken's excellent post on the Presbyterians Together document.

Presbyterians Together, No. 3

One more point on this whole matter. There has been some sort of confusion by friends of the Presbyterians Together document on why some have been claiming that the place to settle doctrinal issues is in the courts of the church. On more than blog I have read the claim that the church's courts are a last resort for those who can't resolve their issues peaceably.

But this claim betrays a lack of understanding of the basic principles of Presbyterian polity. One of the key principles of that polity is this: I, as an individual minister, have no authority to declare doctrine on my own. Rather, it is only as the church is gathered in its "courts" is there any authority to exercise "judgment," which includes not only discipline, but also the duty of declaring doctrine.

This is what the PCA Book of Church Order covers in chapter 3, "The nature and extent of church power (or authority)." The BCO makes the point that ecclesiastical authority is exercised in two ways: there is the power of order, which is exercised "severally" (or individually) under a grant from presbytery; the power of order covers things such as preaching the Gospel, administering the sacraments, and exercising pastoral care. And there is the power of juridiction, which is only exercised jointly as church courts (BCO 3-2) and covers matters such as doctrine and discipline (BCO 13-9, 14-6). In both instances, I only have authority as a minister as it is granted or exercised with other presbyters who exercise oversight over a larger part of Christ's church.

This is why when candidates for ministry apply for membership in our presbyteries, they appeal to the presbytery allow their scruples of conscience in reference to the Westminster Standards. Presbyteries have the authority to determine whether such scruples conflict with the Standards (BCO 21-4). As a private individual or as a single minister, I have no authority to determine that on my own for my brothers. We must hear the presbytery's voice on the matter as they rule "jointly" as a church court.

And so, far from being a "last resort," the church's courts should be the first place we go when we begin to raise biblical or theological issues that appear to raise questions about a church's consensus on certain doctrinal matters. This is the case for two reasons: we can't trust our own understandings on these matters for we may be self-deceived; and we must hear the voice of the church on matters of doctrine and discipline.

After hearing the church's voice, it may be that our consciences are convinced that the Word of God teaches a contrary position to the declared doctrinal position of the church; and if so, then we have to determine one of three actions: whether we will seek to change the church's consensus by working to see the church amend its doctrinal standard; whether we will submit to the brothers; or whether we will follow our consciences into a different church communion.

Whatever may be the case, we must begin to deal with these issues in a Presbyterian fashion. And that means we must demonstrate our commitment to love for our brothers by bringing these issues to the notice of the larger church in ways appropriate to our polity. And it also means that we need to forsake our understanding of the church's courts that appears to be drawn from American jurisprudence (i.e., as litigious bodies of punishment) and view them instead as the place where God's Spirit dwells to guide the entire church in matters of "judgment," which include the weighty doctrinal matters under discussion today.

[BTW--the best single source for understanding Presbyterian polity remains James Bannerman's The Church of Christ. While you may find the two-volume Banner of Truth version on the used book market, it is currently only available in a paperback version published by Westminster Discount Books and you can buy it at Westminster Seminary Bookstore.]

Presbyterian Handbook

The other day, I bought a little book called The Presbyterian Handbook (2006). Produced by the Christian education wing of the PC(USA), Geneva Press, the little book is patterned after those Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbooks. Behind its tongue-in-cheek humor, though, is quite a bit of useful information and thoughtful reflection.

Even the very first section, "How to Get to Know Your Pastor," was thoughtful: 1) connect with your pastor after worship; 2) pray daily for your pastor; 3) as your pastor while he/she entered ordained ministry; 4) make an appointment to spend time with your pastor. Perhaps some wouldn't like or "get" this, but I thought there was some good wisdom here; for example, if people did those four things, they would certainly have a better understanding of their ministers.

To be sure, this book reflects the theological perspective of the PC(USA). For example, since the PC(USA) opened communion to all baptized individuals, including children, in the early 1970s, the sections on baptism and Lord's Supper reflect their "paedocommunion" position. In a similar fashion, since the church holds a "Book of Confessions," these documents are seen less as "standards" against which beliefs are measured and more as theological wisdom that may (or may not) carry weight today.

Still, I thought this little handbook was a useful and winsome introduction to Presbyterianism. I couldn't help but wish that conservative Presbyterians had similar materials to explain to their members and to non-Presbyterians who they were and what they believed.

The Rare Jewel

I continue to preach a series through 1 Timothy at Covenant Presbyterian Church; I've finally come to the next-to-last sermon, on 1 Timothy 6:3-10. As you'd expect, I'll be talking quite a bit about godliness, contentment, and how these things equate to great "gain." I've been thinking about all of this in light of a re-reading of Jeremiah Burroughs' classic book, The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment.

While Burroughs' has the Puritan emphasis upon "duty," there are a number of striking passages in the book. One of the best, that gets at the heart of what I'll be saying on Sunday, is this:

"In the house of the righteous is much treasure; his house--what house? It may be a poor cottage, and perhaps he has scarcely a stool to sit on. Perhaps he is forced to sit on a stump of wood or part of a block instead of a stool, or perhaps he has scarcely a bed to lie on, or a dish to eat in. Yet the Holy Ghost says, 'In the house of the righteous is much treasure.' Let the righteous man be the poorest man in the world--it may be that someone has come and taken all the goods from out of his house for debt. Perhaps his house is plundered and all is gone; yet still, 'In the house of the righteous is much treasure.' The righteous man can never be made so poor, to have his house so rifled and spoiled, but there will remain much treasure within. If he has but a dish or a spoon or anything in the world in his house, there will be treasure so long as he is there. There is the presence of God and the blessing of God upon him, and therein is much treasure" (pp. 34-5).

Presbyterians Together, No. 2

This document, to which I referred a couple of days ago, is now published. You can find a copy of it here. Also, I think the best comments that I've read on all of this are Phil Ryken's on the Ref21 weblog.

In the light of interactions that I've had since my earlier post, as well as points made on the Presbyterians Together website, I'm glad to take proponents of this document at face value in their claim that they do not desire to preempt doctrinal discussion in the courts of the church. And so, I'd like to publically affirm this: I, for one, am glad to be charitable and patient in dealing with these matters. Having served on the Missouri Presbytery committee that studied Federal Vision, and having discussed these matters in other venues, I think patience, graciousness, and fair-dealing are important evidences of the reality of God's grace in our lives.

But then again, those were things that I promised in my own ordination vows: "Do you promise subjection to your brethren in the Lord?" and "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?" And so, I do hope that if I will take others at face value and good faith, that others will treat me with the same generous spirit.

Because at the end of the day, like those who signed this document, I simply want Presbyterianism to flourish. Granted that my understanding of Presbyterianism is "vanilla," (as I suggest in my forthcoming book, On Being Presbyterian), my heart is for what I believe to be the most biblical form of beliefs and practices. Now, to be sure, my own desires are for a more "traditional" (or "confessional") version of that identity; still, I also recognize the need for liberty on non-essential issues (such as creation days and eschatology).

The real question is on issues under discussion that appear to me to nearer the core of historic Presbyterian beliefs--covenant, election, justification, union with Christ, sacraments. And while we can esteem others as brothers who may disagree on these issues, the church should raise questions about how much diversity a tradition can tolerate before it becomes a different tradition all together. And in the midst of this, we should raise questions whether we can truly remain united in mission if we experience doctrinal diversity on "essential" doctrines.

And so, as the church struggles to work through these issues, I do hope we proceed with charity, desiring to demonstrate the grace of God at work in our lives and remaining loyal to our ordination vows. But I also hope that we think very carefully about the unity of our church, which can only truly be had as we center our faith on a common understanding and affirmation of biblical and confessional beliefs, all done in good faith before God and others.

Narnia on the Big Screen

Many of you probably know this, but Christianity Today Online has reported that Prince Caspian has been delayed until December 08 and that Walden Media plans on producing Dawn Treader and Silver Chair as well. The only thing surprising here is that Disney so underestimated the response to Narnia not to have Caspian ready to go for 2007; Lion, Witch and Wardrobe recently entered the top 20 highest grossing movies of all-time.

Presbyterians Together, No. 1

[Note: in the light of comments I have received, I've edited one of the paragraphs to express more accurately and fairly what I was trying to say. So, some of the comments made before I edited may not make sense.]

There has been a statement circulating for several weeks now entitled, "Presbyterians and Presbyterians Together," which now has several signatures and which you can read here. There has also been at least one fairly frustrated response to this paper on the Ref21 blog, which you can read here.

I must say that I tend to agree with the substance of the response on the Ref21 blog--it does strike me that, for the peace, purity, and unity of the church, these issues should be settled in the courts of the church. After all, the resurrected Christ has granted his church authority to declare its doctrine. In the PCA, we have done that by claiming the Westminster Standards as our confession of faith and then by requiring our ministers and elders to subscribe to those standards in good faith. In addition, we require men to owe up to where they differ from the Standards and presbyteries are required to rule on whether those "scruples" strike at the essentials of the system of doctrine contained in the Standards. And, when we have challenges to our understanding of those Standards, as a church we have shown ourselves willing to examine those issues by way of a study committee and deliver the church's wisdom on those matters.

While this document doesn't appear to conflict with the idea that doctrinal issues should be dealt with in the courts of the church, it does feel as though there is an attempt to influence that future discussion through the invocation of a call to "charity." In times past, such appeals were very influential (note, for example, the 1923-4 Auburn Affirmation in the PCUSA). However, such extra-ecclesiastical appeals aren't the best or "Presbyterian" way of dealing with doctrinal issues--that way is to hear the voice of the whole church, guided by Word and Spirit, speaking to these issues.

At the same time, we must recognize that the issues at stake are important. Some of the issues under discussion concerning the nature of the covenant, election, justification, union with Christ, the nature of the church, and the sacraments. That is a pretty comprehensive list of "essential" doctrines and helps to explain why so many people are so worked up over these matters. There are two different "visions" (at least) at stake in these matters; we shouldn't pretend that the differences, at times, aren't substantial. And while I believe that the Missouri Presbytery committee report did a good job dealing with these matters, and should be received by the General Assembly as a definitive word on these issues, I also believe that it is the privilege of the church in its collective voice at the General Assembly to call for a committee to study these matters.

At the end of the day, what we really need are people who are committed to Presbyterianism--which means working issues through the church courts and its processes and expressing a deep commitment to remaining together in visible unity as we wrestle with difficult theological issues. Too many people these days jump ship to other churches, rather than listening to and heeding the church's voice (which they had promised to do in their ordination or membership vows). Only by honoring our own rhetoric about the centrality of the church in God's purposes will we truly be those who are Presbyterians together.

God's Gentle Patience

From Samuel McPheeters Glasgow, Daily Communion, 126:

"If we are actually so small and frail; if we are so impotent and helpless in the great eternalities, shall we not be humble in heart? Why do we ever strut about and vautn ourselves? Only in God's gentle patience can we ever come into any abiding greatness. All the strength we so painfully lack, he possesses. Yes, all this and infinitely more. And he is our Friend and our Father. He has wrought all the glories that we his children might enjoy them with him. Come up close to the great heart of God and rest on him every care and burden. Share with him every joy and blessing he so freely gives, and you shall walk in the light and not stumble."

"Pastoral" ministry

D. G. Hart has a wonderful set of observations here about pastoral ministry. His point, drawing from Wendell Berry, is that, biblically speaking, pastoral ministry owes more to agricultural imagery than to mechanical ones. Such an understanding shifts our approach to our care of souls--a longer term vision of nurture, cultivation, and care as opposed to a short-term, hit-and-run, impersonal approach.

What is so helpful here is the reminder that to be "pastoral" means we are related to shepherds, herders, and rural life. The rhythms are slower, the progress is measured differently, the need for long-term investment is greater, the work is physically harder, and the grace is more real because more directly experienced. The miracle of new birth, growth, and fruit is the miracle of God's grace--a miracle we are more prone to see when we think in agrarian, as opposed to mechnical, terms.

Post 100: Wendell Berry

It is fitting that the 100th post on my blog is about the Kentucky poet, author, and farmer, Wendell Berry.

I first starting reading Wendell while I was at Westminster Theological Seminary; and I became so convinced of his importance for Christians--both for how he challenges pietistic Christianity and for how theological his vision is--that I wrote an essay on him for Christian Scholars Review. That essay served as an introduction to Wendell and Tanya Berry and it was my great privilege to meet and spend time with them. The Lord even allowed me to preach a couple of times at Port Royal Baptist Church, Port Royal, Kentucky, where they worship.

The other day, I ran across this tremendous collection of links for Berry material on the internet. Sometimes people who are interested in reading Wendell feel intimated by his large and varied corpus of writings. I usually suggest a couple of starting places.

In order to orient to the Port William membership--the central characters in most of Wendell's fiction--I think the best starting point is his novel, Jayber Crow. Jayber is the town barber, and like most barbers, he learns the secrets and heartbreaks of the community as he tells its story from the 1930s to the 1960s. The other good starting point is Wendell's collection of short stories, That Distant Land, which places his short stories in chronological order.

In order to focus on Berry's non-fiction, and explore the key ideas that animate his fictive imagination, I think the best place to begin is Art of the Commonplace, which are a collection of essay by Berry edited by Norman Wrizba, who teaches at Georgetown College. There one would find essays on Wendell's diagnosis of our cultural crisis and how agrarianism can meet many of these issues.

Finally, the classic Berry manifesto is still his The Unsettling of America. Written in 1977, it remains a pentrating critique of America's industrial and post-industrial economic and political culture. He also traces the deep connections between culture and agriculture, suggesting that a society that fails to care for the land is a society that will fail to care for human beings and life itsself.

Augusta Conference

I got back last night from the first annual Augusta Conference, hosted by First Presbyterian Church, Augusta, Ga. It was an excellent time, with over 150 in attendance and with wonderful preaching and teaching by George Robertson, Harry Reeder, Bryan Chapell, Randy Pope and Ray Cortese. FPC will eventually be posting MP3s of the main speakers on their website. The fellowship was encouraging as well--a wonderful time of refreshment in God's grace.

El Hombre

We were at the St. Louis Cardnials game today, where Albert Puljos set the MLB mark for home runs in April with 14 (which also happened to be a game-winner, as the Cards beat the Nats, 2-1). When I moved to St. Louis, not having the opportunity to see Albert play every day, I frankly thought he was a little over-rated; my favorite players were the hard-working Scott Rolen and the star-crossed Ken Griffey, Jr.

But having the opportunity to watch or listen to the games nearly every day for two years now, I really do believe that we are getting a taste of what it was like to follow Stan Musial or Willie Mays, one of the truly special players of our generation. And though it is hard to know how sincere he truly is, the fact that Puljos has represented himself as a Christian, who walks to the plate with Christian music blaring and who thanked his faithful Lord and Savior, Jesus, today--all that makes him a truly special individual.

He truly is "El Hombre..."

Karl Barth, Evangelicals, and Dealing with Others

Last night, in my Reformation and Modern Church History class, I spent a good chunk of time on Karl Barth. In particular, I focused in on his doctrine of revelation (from Church Dogmatics 1/2), trying to help my students get beyond the cliched understandings of Barth's view (e.g. "The Bible contains the Word of God"; "The Bible is a record of revelation") and to engage him thoughtfully.

To be sure, there are some real areas of criticism to be made--for example, recourse to "the miracle of faith" to explain how God uses fallible and erroneous Scripture to bring people to encounter God's revelation in Jesus Christ seems just as "supernatural" as believing that God in his freedom could superintend the writing of Scripture so that it is written without errors in the first place. For me, the biblical witness supports this latter view (cf. 2 Tim. 3:16; 2 Pet 1:21, etc.), whereas one would be hard pressed to find biblical support for the former. And there are other criticisms to be made as well (and I made those criticisms for my class).

But as I reflected on all of this, I also made mention of Cornelius Van Til's criticisms of Barth, published in three separate books over almost twenty years. And while Van Til was gifted and brilliant as a thinker, I've always felt that he never really engaged Barth--he kept looking for the "transcendental starting point" in Barth's theology (which he saw to be similiar to Protestant liberalism) and then constructing the logical conclusions from that starting point. Again, this is not to say that Van Til wasn't right in some respects: I, for one, don't think that Barth gets too far away epistemologically from Protestant liberalism (or from the challenges of "modernity" or from the basic correlative strategy of Schleiermacher; but then again, what mainstream "progressive" theologian did?). Yet by not engaging Barth within his own framework of thought, it strikes me that Van Til did Barth and himself a disservice.

Not only this, but Van Til's approach has been typical for most evangelicals in engaging the other. Rather than engaging in a thoughtful and critical dialogue, we all too often default to broadside claims of "heresy." Certainly, there may be errors (e.g. with Barth, his implicit univeralism in his doctrine of election, in CD 2/2, is a major biblical and theological error); but without the patient and graceful engagement of the other, our criticisms and disagreements will only be heard as clanging noise and banging cymbals.

In other words, even critical scholarship--times when we must say, "No, that is an error and I disagree with you"--must have as its goal "love which comes from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith" (1 Timothy 1:5).

Why Christians should listen to the Boss

Not surprisingly, I once again find myself agreeing with Carl Trueman about the common ground between the Christian worldview and the music of Bruce Springsteen. Especially in the light of the Boss' new album, The Seeger Sessions (that's Pete, not Bob), and his stated desire for his verses to be the "blues" and his chorus to be "Gospel," we'd do well to listen to and learn from Springsteen.

Why bother with southern Presbyterianism? No. 3

I think another reason why "southern" Presbyterianism is worth time and study is because it focuses attention on regional difference and the power of nationalism, and so complicates our understanding of change over time. To focus on the American South and to note the differences in religious development in that particular region provides a wonderful laboratory for understanding these issues.

The American South's continued regional persistance has been a major theme of US historiography. As James Cobb's recent Away Down South demonstrates, the American South has typically defined itself against "the North" (or against "damn Yankees"), while northerners have viewed themselves as "Americans" and southerners as recalcitrant against assimilating into the triumph American (read "northern") story.

This process of identification was especially pointed in the two great attempts to "reconstruct" the South--the period from 1865-77 and from 1945-65. Ironically, these attempts to force southerners to a more just society ultimately reinforced the abiding alienation that southerners felt toward "Americans" and perpetuated issues related to continued regional identity.

The one sociologist who has spent the most time explaining the South's regional persistance is John Shelton Reed. He has argued that there are aspects of southern regionalism that have rightly died--especially, issues related to social justice for southern African Americans. But there are continued aspects of regional particularly that mark the American South as a different place--foodways, sports and hobbies, ideals of honor and masculinity, music.

And religion. That is where the entire conversation comes back around to southern Presbyterianism. This is the case because Presbyterianism does develop somewhat different in the American South than it does in other parts of the country--for one thing, it is smaller; it is restricted to the 11 original states of the Confederacy; it wrestles with issues related to one-party politics and Jim Crow; (ironically) it demonstrates great denominational loyalty than northern Presbyterianism; and it experiences greater interaction with religious "others" (esp. Pentecostalism and Disciples of Christ). I'm sure there are other things that will occur to me on this point; and I may come back to revise this list.

Viewing Presbyterianism within a self-contained region should assist in understanding the relationship among religion and other factors within a cultural system. In the end, it should assist believers in thinking through religious truth claims with greater self-criticsm and humility for the good of the Kingdom and the church.

Awakening

Over this past weekend, I read David Robertson's brief but winsome introduction to the life of Robert Murray McCheyne, Awakening. In the compass of twenty brief chapters, which run about 160 pages, Robertson does a wonderful job of setting the context for McCheyne's ministry, overviewing the key points in his thought and life, and communicating McCheyne's strengths and weaknesses. In addition, in the penultimate chapter, he offers trenchant observations on the decline of the Church of Scotland and shares hopes for the renewal of biblical Christianity in that land.

This book would be very useful for church reading groups--each chapter begins with a McCheyne epigram that sets the theme for what follows and ends with discussion questions and a prayer of meditation and reflection. As a result, my own piety was strengthened and encouraged in reading this book.

But the most attractive feature of the book was Robertson's stated desire to view McCheyne as a man--a man whom God used, to be sure, but ultimately a man who had flaws and sins, who made mistakes, and who was far less a Protestant saint and far more one who points us to his faithful savior, Jesus Christ. As such, the book is a model of biographical writing for the way it situates the individual's story in the larger redemptive story of Jesus Christ--in which our Lord takes flawed human beings and uses them in such a way that the glory is all his own.

Perhaps no higher praise can be offered a short introduction that to say that it has encouraged me both in the Gospel and in the desire to find out more--to return to Bonar's unwieldy Memior and Remains of M'Cheyne as well as read other background material to understand that time and place. As a result, Awakening is a highly successful and useful gift to the church of Christ.

No condemnation, no separation

In doing research for my summer writing projects, I ran across a devotional by Samuel McPheeters Glasgow, a PCUS (Presbyterian Church in the US, the old southern Presbyterian Church) minister who served churches in Knoxville, Tennessee, and Savannah, Georgia, in the 1930s and 1940s. His meditation for today on Romans 8: 1-2 was wonderful and appropriate for my soul:

"The resurrection of Christ says in the ear of every trusting child of God: 'There is therefore now no condemnation,' to them that are in this risen Christ. Since condemnation is lifted by his cross and empty tomb there is nothing left to separate us from Christ Jesus our Lord--'no condemnation,' therefore 'no separation.' All that would or could separate us has been nailed to the cross. What glorious peace is ours in the Beloved! What assurance and finality compass us about! In Christ, though foes may multiply and array themselves for our undoing and defeat, we are always 'more than conquerors'" (Glasgow, Daily Communion, 112).

Why Bother with Southern Presbyterianism? No. 2

Recently, I re-read a friend's overview of southern Presbyterianism in which he attempted to rehabilitate this tradition around three key ideas:

• The spirituality of the church
• The missionary enterprise
• The Old School doctrinal message

And while I would quibble with some of the details of how he fleshed out these three ideas, one can't help but believe that a church committed to these ideas would be greatly strengthened for ministry in the 21st century. A church that proclaims the spiritual nature and mission of the Church will not allow itself to be coopted by the cultural, political, or social principles of either the right- or left-wings of the contemporary generation. Instead, it seeks the spiritual good of all those whom it comes across, declaring to them the Gospel of Jesus, whether in the United States or around the world. And this Gospel which it declares is summarized in the grand truths of the Reformed faith as found in the Westminster Standards.

Further, studying southern Presbyterianism can give one a renewed appreciation for how some believers articulated these commitments in a rapidly changing world. Whether in its earliest days in the South, in the golden age of Presbyterian theology in the 19th century, or in the battle for the Reformed faith in the 20th century, we can gain great profit from studying Presbyterianism in the South.

It is important to say that this profit comes not by way of inspiration from "heroes" of the past. Rather, profit comes as one understands how theology operates within cultural systems, as prophetic words on the cultural captivity of the left or right. We learn, as we study this story, how difficult it is to hold on to the spiritual nature of the church when politics seems a better way; how challenging it is to continue to move forward in mission; and how easy it is to forsake Old School doctrinal commitments in order to be broad-minded or relevant.

But in thinking about these things, two things occured to me. First, these three commitments are not unique to southern Presbyterianism. For example, 19th century northern Presbyterians also represented these three commitments. In the vision of Charles Hodge, one can find these three principles well-articulated for nothern Presbyterians. Likewise, one could make the argument that these ideas were found in 16th century Geneva. Far from requiring some mythical "southern Zion," I'd suggest that these three commitments are at the heart of biblical Presbyterianism, regardless of generation or region.

Furthermore, I want to make the claim that the Presbyterian Church in America exemplifies these commitments to a high degree. Typically, these three principles are trotted out in order to judge how far Presbyterianism has fallen from a perceived golden age; usually there is a political claim being made (i.e., we [whoever we are] are the true exemplars of Presbyterianism). And while I recognize that a good part of the history of the PCA can be viewed as the struggle to understand what it means to be Presbyterian in a postmodern age, still it is the case, IMO, that the PCA stands well for the spiritual nature of the church, the missionary enterprise and Old School doctrinal integrity. In fact, compared with the 19th century "golden age," the PCA is the largest Presbyterian denomination in history holding to those three distinctives.

In fact, the way forward for the PCA is for us to continue to be reminded of these things as we seek to be "faithful to the Scriptures, true to the Reformed faith, and obedient to the Great Commission." By stressing our Presbyterian distinctives--in common with the best of Presbyterianism throughout space and time--we not only pay homage to southern Presbyterians of an age gone by; we also demonstrate biblical faithfulness in our generation and for generations yet unborn.

Civility

Maybe I'm too old-fashioned. Maybe it is because I enjoy Miss Manners' column. Maybe it is my Bob Jones University education (where guys held doors for ladies; there were often times where I'd be stuck holding the door for two minutes while dozens of girls came into Alumni Hall right before class). But it is startling the lack of basic civility that characterizes our public life and daily interactions.

Saturday, I was driving up our street behind a mid-90s Explorer. The driver didn't know where he was going, apparently, and so he decides simply to stop in the middle of the road, with no warning. I had to slam on my brakes to avoid smashing into the back of him. After I gave him an annoyed honk, as he slid into the middle turn lane, he gave me a hand gesture, as though I was the rude individual.

Later that same day, coming out of a restaurant at the Missouri Botantical Garden, with a stroller and four children in tow, a gentleman coming the other way pushed his way through the entrance area (his way in on the right was blocked), cutting me off and forcing me to come to a complete stop, and didn't even bother registering an "Oh, excuse me."

These are small things and it may seem as though I am just venting. But what it really points up is the failure of a common civility that enables human interactions to proceed. Stephen Carter, the Yale Law School professor, wrote about this in his book, Civility. He observed that civility is the oil that causes the machine of our public life to continue to operate without grinding people, without dehumanizing them.

As I think about how civility operates within our public life, I can't help but think about how civility ought to operate within our ecclesiastical life. In the same way that there are socially accepted rules for life together in society (please and thank you and holding doors and honoring older people by letting them preceed you and the rest) so there are basic rules for living life together as the body of Christ (assume the best about another; look out for their best interests; watch what you say about and to someone else).

But at the heart of all those rules is love: "The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith" (1 Timothy 1:5). In a letter where Paul is telling the church "how one ought to behave in the household of God," he claims that one ought to behave in a way consonant with love, which springs from pure motives, clear consciences, and sincere faith. To be sure, civility doesn't mean that important doctrinal or moral concerns should go unheeded. But it does mean that, in our interactions with others, we are called to demonstrate to them; it means that the Golden Rule always applies, that grace should characterize all our dealings, that disagreements ought not to be characterized by our being disagreeable. It does little good to bemoan the lack of charity in someone's life when our own actions are frequently so uncharitable.

In short, civility represents the most basic attitudes and actions that come from loving others well. And civility should apply both in the church and in the world, for we as Christians are called to love even our enemies for Christ's sake.

New Busch Stadium

Last night, I went to the first night game at the new Busch Stadium. As you may know, the Cards beat the Brewers, 8-4. My seats were in section 134, which was up the first base line, about even with the foul pole. I was in row 28, which put me two rows from the suites, which were directly behind me. From there, I had an excellent view of downtown and the new scoreboard, though I couldn't see the Arch, because of the over-hanging upper deck.

The way the seats were turned (toward the outfield, not home plate) and the over-haning deck reminded me very much of a sultry July evening in 1997 that Sara and I spent at Turner Field. It was 92 degrees that night at game time and no breeze; the air just sat still. Plus, we both kinks in our necks from the angle of the seats.

My wife, as it so happened, was at the game with a friend, sitting in the bleachers (section 509). By the fifth inning, a seat freed up over there, so I moved to sit next to her. I actually preferred those bleacher seats to the more expensive seat I had purchased. The bleacher seats were fairly comfortable and had a great look at the whole field. Plus, you could actually feel the breeze that was coming out of the northwest.

On the whole, I thought the new stadium was very nice--compared to the newer ball parks of the past couple of years, I felt that it was much superior to Cincinnati's Great American Ball Park, slightly superior to the Phillies' Citizen's Bank Park, slightly below Pittsburgh's PNC Bank Park (why is it that Pittsburgh feels like it is right next to the stadium, even though a river separates the city from the ballpark, while St. Louis' skyline feels comparatively distant).

The Church of Scotland and the Need for Church Discipline

Evangelicals in the Church of Scotland are circulating this statement to protest their upcoming General Assembly's desire to allow ministers to bless same-sex unions. A number of prominent ministers, both within and outside of the Church, have added their names to this statement in order to give greater weight to the protest. [It should be noted that this will be a major issue at the oldine Presbyterian Church (USA)'s General Assembly in Birmingham, Alabama, this summer as well.]

It is striking, though, to read Carl Trueman's comments about the failed strategy of older evangelicals in the Church of Scotland that paved the way for these events. According to Trueman, evangelical ministers essentially bargined with the liberal denomination leaders--we won't protest your moves ecclesiastically, if you will leave us alone in our congregations to preach the Gospel. But now, there is too much ground given away--the failure of the church's courts to bring discipline against those with aberrant theology and the failure of evangelicals to bring those courts to task, all in the name of peace, has led to this current crisis.

The reason this catches my attention is that I have an essay coming in this spring's Journal of Presbyterian History, entitled, "'Our Church Will Be On Trial': W. M. McPheeters and the Beginnings of Conservative Dissent in the PCUS." It focuses on the efforts of McPheeters, an elderly OT professor at Columbia Theological Seminary, to bring two progressive leaders to bar in the old Southern Presbyterian Church in the late 1920s. The failure of the church to heed McPheeters and discipline those two leaders allowed progressives to feel safe in their theological positions. It also proved to be the beginning point of a conservative coalition in the PCUS that would lead to the founding of the Southern Presbyterian Journal and eventually, in 1973, the Presbyterian Church in America.

All to say, there are hills on which it is worth dying. A church that refuses to discipline itself theologically is a church that will ultimately find itself in similar places to the Church of Scotland or the PC(USA)--a church without a biblical witness to the world.

You are what you read, No. 1

Phil Ryken makes this interesting observation at Reformation21. He suggests that those who interested in the Emerging Church movement tend to be quite "presentist" when it comes to their theological reading. He also notes that while that reading has a place, he is more drawn to the great works of theology that have stood the test of time.

Ryken's thought provoked two of my own. The first is that this is why church history/historical theology is so important. Last night, I lectured on the development of 19th century theology and the point that I kept making over and over was that if you don't understand this story, you won't understand modern theology. For example, Bart Ehrman and Elaine Pagels aren't saying anything that Schleiermacher, Baur, or Strauss (or a number of other 19th century Protestant liberals) didn't say and say better. Hence, our theological students might be better served wrestling critically with Schleiermacher's Christian Life or Strauss' Life of Jesus than Ehrman and Pagels.

But the second thought was on what should be considered "the great works of theology." What ten books, say, should be considered the canon of great works of theology? Here is the list with which I came up:

• Augustine, On the Trinity
• Anselm, Why God Became Man
• Aquinas, Summa Theologica
• Luther, Bondage of the Will
• Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion
• Edwards, Religious Affections
• Schleiermacher, Christian Life
• Hodge, Systematic Theology
• Machen, Christianity and Liberalism
• Barth, Church Dogmatics

If I could somehow get students to understand the world-historical significance of these ten theologians and their best writings, then I think they would have a good sweep of the history of the Christian tradition. In addition, they would find things that would challenge their thinking, warm their hearts, or point them in new directions.

[Disclaimer: obviously I don't agree in every respect with these theologians. For example, I reject the sacredotalism of Aquinas, the liberalism of Schleiermacher, and the existential neo-orthodoxy of Barth. Still, they are worth Christian engagement, even when they move in erroneous directions, because they impact the Christian tradition in significant ways. In addition, reading Aquinas, Schleiermacher, and Barth would help us to understand what happens to Catholicism and mainstream Protestantism in various eras. Learning the tradition is as much discovering wisdom about the consequences of ideas as warming one's own heart.]

Defending Virginia, the South, and Mastery, part four

“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.

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.

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.

"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:

• 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.

And of course, there are a number of others. The real question here is why? Why are there so many Presbyterian denominations?

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.