I've been wrestling with insanity for a little while now. Frustrated by my lifestyle--long hours at the office leaving no time for exercise or play; lunch appointments that often featured hamburgers and french fries--I had been toying with the idea of buying a bike and taking up cycling.
Last night, in a moment of true insanity, I broke down and went in whole hog (as it were): a Trek FX 7.5. I told the guy that was helping me that I felt like I had been dating the idea of doing this and now I was marrying it--might as well spend a ridiculous amount of money to make the commitment stick!
In order to follow through with my commitment (and knowing that my wife was watching me closely), I got up this morning and was out the door at 6:30a, riding my new bike over toward the Katy Trail IN THE RAIN! My plan was to ratchet up my riding, similar to begin to train for a marathon--three days a week (Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday); the weekdays, starting with 30 minutes of hard riding and Saturday, 60 minutes of more leisurely, distance riding.
The problem is that right near my house, on the way to the trail, is a wicked big hill. It wasn't too bad going to the trail; I had enough energy to conquer it. But on the way back, after riding 6-7 miles in 30 minutes, trying to make it back up the hill about killed me. I had to get off the bike and walk it the last part; and when I got off the bike, my legs wobbled. I collapsed on our family room floor and sucked down three glasses of water.
But I'm committed; I've spent too much money to be otherwise. And so, on Saturday morning, at 7am, you can find me riding my bike toward the City of St. Charles. It just goes to prove that a little learning can make one quite mad.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Back in the saddle
Sorry that I've not posted in two weeks. It has been a bit busy--presbytery, trip to Savannah and Augusta, Georgia (with some time on Tybee Island and our friend, Brannon Bowman and a wonderful tour of Independent Presbyterian Church from our new friend, Ron Parrish), board meeting, and a trip to Kansas City (enjoying time with a new friend, Jim Baxter). But the semester is winding down and so hopefully I'll be able to post more frequently in the days ahead.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Meredith Kline dies
From Christian Observer:
It is with great sadness and heavy heart that we say goodbye to Dr. Meredith G. Kline, who passed away on Friday night, April 13, 2007. Dr. Kline greatly influenced me personally through his writings, which constantly led me back to our precious Savior, Jesus Christ. Yet, even in the midst of the sadness at our loss, there is also rejoicing that Meredith has now been joined with the crucified and risen Lamb of God in Heaven. Heaven was one of the major themes in Meredith's writings and it is a great comfort to us all that what was once his by faith is now his by sight. May our dear brother now rest from his labors in his sabbath rest in Christ as he has already entered glory through the first resurrection and as he awaits with anticipation the even more glorious second resurrection to come. For over half a century, Dr. Meredith G. Kline, an ordained minister in the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, served as a professor of Old Testament at Westminster Theological Seminary (in Philadelphia), Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, and Westminster Seminary California. He received his B.D. and Th.M. degrees from Westminster Theological Seminary (Philadelphia) and his Ph.D. degree in Assyriology and Egyptology from Dropsie College.
It is with great sadness and heavy heart that we say goodbye to Dr. Meredith G. Kline, who passed away on Friday night, April 13, 2007. Dr. Kline greatly influenced me personally through his writings, which constantly led me back to our precious Savior, Jesus Christ. Yet, even in the midst of the sadness at our loss, there is also rejoicing that Meredith has now been joined with the crucified and risen Lamb of God in Heaven. Heaven was one of the major themes in Meredith's writings and it is a great comfort to us all that what was once his by faith is now his by sight. May our dear brother now rest from his labors in his sabbath rest in Christ as he has already entered glory through the first resurrection and as he awaits with anticipation the even more glorious second resurrection to come. For over half a century, Dr. Meredith G. Kline, an ordained minister in the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, served as a professor of Old Testament at Westminster Theological Seminary (in Philadelphia), Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, and Westminster Seminary California. He received his B.D. and Th.M. degrees from Westminster Theological Seminary (Philadelphia) and his Ph.D. degree in Assyriology and Egyptology from Dropsie College.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
A New Troelstchian Typology?
Ernest Troelstch, in his classic book The Social Teaching of Christian Churches (1912), suggested a basic typology that has framed the way many religion scholars view the development of Christian churches. Troelstch argued that at their most radical, Christians tend to group themselves together in sects. These serve as antithetical groupings that stand against established churches, challenging these churches in order to bring about reform. Over time, however, these sects become more regularized, loose some of their radical nature, become institutionalzied, and finally end up as established churches themselves.
The most obvious example of this process in American religious history is the Methodists. Starting as a sect within the Anglican Church, Methodism had a radical edge to it, trying to bring about a holiness reform within the structures of Anglicanism. When that was no longer possible, they set up their own structures and eventually became the largest Protestant denomination during the 19th century. Another, late 19th century example is the Christian and Missionary Alliance, which banded together in a loose network around A. B. Simpson's "four-fold" Gospel.
I wonder, though, if a new typology is "emerging"--instead of sects, I wonder if the new grouping is one called "network." At the beginning, these networks feel free and somewhat radical, people who gather across denominational (or non-denominational) boundaries in order to form like-minded partnerships for mission. However, over time as these networks formalized beliefs, practices, and stories, they take on identities that foster denomination-like existences.
One example of this might be the Willow Creek Association. Shaped by the ministry philosophy of Bill Hybels, the Willow Creek Association serves as a network of churches that share denomination-like beliefs, practices, and stories, all of which cohere around Hybels own successful ministry. Another example might be the Calvary Chapel network (which according to the March 2007 Christianity Today is experiencing a great deal of difficulty). These networks are denomination-like, but they experience a great deal of difficulty when the original charismatic figure leaves. They tend to lose purpose, fail to transition generationally, and ultimately do not sustain themselves.
Some of our current generation of seminarians seem to prefer to think about joining "networks" instead of "denominations." The line of conversation often goes something like, "Well, all denominations do is fight over doctrine; I'm about mission. The way to foster mission is to bring like-minded people together; but in my denomination, there are extreme ____ [fill in the blank] who prevent mission from happening. Hence, I should join a 'network' out of a position of independency in order to pursue mission."
The problem comes from the fact that the networks do not inculcate an identity that shapes the group, its purpose, or its dynamics. For example, there are often no real accountability structures in networks, no doctrinal standards that have stood the test of time (or have been developed by and subscribed to by the group itself), no stories of long faithful pastors, missionaries, or church planters. Instead, what ties these networks together are common practices (contemporary worship music, aggressive evangelism and discipleship, small group ministries) and some common doctrines (often doctrines of grace). But there doesn't appear to be a binding identity for the network itself, other than it stands against "the denomination" or some other structure.
In this way, perhaps these networks play the role of Troelstch's "sects" in his typology. If so, then they will either become new denominations themselves or dissolve after the original founders/visionaries pass from the scene. And if that is the case, perhaps it might be better to find a "denomination" of which to be a part, with all of its flaws and infighting and imperfections, but also with all of its common stories, practices, and beliefs. In this way, one might find an identity not only for oneself and the emerging culture, but for one's children, grandchildren, and generations afterward.
The most obvious example of this process in American religious history is the Methodists. Starting as a sect within the Anglican Church, Methodism had a radical edge to it, trying to bring about a holiness reform within the structures of Anglicanism. When that was no longer possible, they set up their own structures and eventually became the largest Protestant denomination during the 19th century. Another, late 19th century example is the Christian and Missionary Alliance, which banded together in a loose network around A. B. Simpson's "four-fold" Gospel.
I wonder, though, if a new typology is "emerging"--instead of sects, I wonder if the new grouping is one called "network." At the beginning, these networks feel free and somewhat radical, people who gather across denominational (or non-denominational) boundaries in order to form like-minded partnerships for mission. However, over time as these networks formalized beliefs, practices, and stories, they take on identities that foster denomination-like existences.
One example of this might be the Willow Creek Association. Shaped by the ministry philosophy of Bill Hybels, the Willow Creek Association serves as a network of churches that share denomination-like beliefs, practices, and stories, all of which cohere around Hybels own successful ministry. Another example might be the Calvary Chapel network (which according to the March 2007 Christianity Today is experiencing a great deal of difficulty). These networks are denomination-like, but they experience a great deal of difficulty when the original charismatic figure leaves. They tend to lose purpose, fail to transition generationally, and ultimately do not sustain themselves.
Some of our current generation of seminarians seem to prefer to think about joining "networks" instead of "denominations." The line of conversation often goes something like, "Well, all denominations do is fight over doctrine; I'm about mission. The way to foster mission is to bring like-minded people together; but in my denomination, there are extreme ____ [fill in the blank] who prevent mission from happening. Hence, I should join a 'network' out of a position of independency in order to pursue mission."
The problem comes from the fact that the networks do not inculcate an identity that shapes the group, its purpose, or its dynamics. For example, there are often no real accountability structures in networks, no doctrinal standards that have stood the test of time (or have been developed by and subscribed to by the group itself), no stories of long faithful pastors, missionaries, or church planters. Instead, what ties these networks together are common practices (contemporary worship music, aggressive evangelism and discipleship, small group ministries) and some common doctrines (often doctrines of grace). But there doesn't appear to be a binding identity for the network itself, other than it stands against "the denomination" or some other structure.
In this way, perhaps these networks play the role of Troelstch's "sects" in his typology. If so, then they will either become new denominations themselves or dissolve after the original founders/visionaries pass from the scene. And if that is the case, perhaps it might be better to find a "denomination" of which to be a part, with all of its flaws and infighting and imperfections, but also with all of its common stories, practices, and beliefs. In this way, one might find an identity not only for oneself and the emerging culture, but for one's children, grandchildren, and generations afterward.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Monday, April 02, 2007
Missouri Baptists, Culture War, and the Gospel
There was a very interesting article on the front page of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch this morning, titled omniously, "Missouri's most powerful Baptist takes on the 'emerging church'." In some ways, it was a follow-up to an earlier article that the P-D had run on The Journey, a very successful Acts 29 network church in our city that was (unfortunately) titled "The Bible and Beer" (that article had highlighted the church's "Theology on Tap" conversation held at Schafly's Brewery).
The article this morning focused on Roger Moran, one of the leaders of SBC conservatives here in this state. And admist some of the silliness, there were some very interesting quotes that moved beyond the "issue" to the real issues.
First, it appears that Moran lumps together "emerging" churches such as The Journey with the SBC moderates that he defeated earlier. But the reason for doing this was that these emerging churches are places "where you can drink beer in the bar, you can talk about rock 'n' roll, you can watch R-rated movies on film night." In Moran's mind, these were the moral excesses of the SBC progressives in the 1980s (and when I was in Louisville, stories of SBTS keggers were legendary and probably a little overblown); these cultural and moral markers that characterized the progressives are the same as the emerging church; hence, the Acts 29 network must be moderate.
But this line of reasoning is an uneasy fit, even for Moran. Though he doesn't acknowledge it in the P-D article, there are major theological differences between SBC progressives and the Acts 29 folks like the leaders of The Journey. Chief among them is that the Acts 29 network actually believes the Gospel (in its classic and Calvinistic formulations), holds to the inerrancy of Scripture, and is passionate about evangelism and discipleship. As a result, the identification of the emerging church leaders and SBC "moderates" is an uneasy one at best.
Even more striking, Moran identifies the nature of the church (and its Christianity) based on external practices--drinking, rock music, and movies--that were the bellweather issues for Baptist conservatives of the 1970s and 1980s. And yet, those issues don't seem to resonate as much as they used to do. In fact, many younger evangelical Christians view those issues as matters of indifference compared to the "weighter" matters of love, justice, and mercy to the poor or the need for sustainable care for the creation. While Moran's issues may have "worked" during the early days of the SBC conservative resurgence, they may not work as well now--because they seem to be culturally as opposed to biblically derived.
Second, I thought it was interesting how Bill Leonard, a Baptist scholar, characterized the state of the current SBC: "The Southern Baptist Convention is growing increasingly terrified that they've spent all this time recreating the denomination in this (conservative) image, and now nobody cares. Young seminarians are challenging them on issues and saying, 'Your vision of reality is not ours.'" It does seem that the Gen X generation that is moving into pastoral leadership--both in the SBC and in my own denomination--struggles with viewing the church in the same terms as some leaders might.
For example, if the church (or a particular denomination) is meant to stand for "conservative evangelicalism" and that means standing for certain political or cultural positions, or standing for those positions in a harsh or insensitive manner, then the "emerging" generation will have none of it. As Darrin Patrick, the pastor of The Journey, put it in the article, "When you're stricter than God about what he commands and permits, younger pastors are not going to play ball. They're not going to take one for the denomination" (emphasis mine). I actually think this stance of "not taking one for the denomination" could be a good thing--if it forces church leaders to reorient themselves to Gospel priorities and attitudes.
And yet, to forsake denominations for "networks" doesn't necessarily solve the problem. Because there will be times when the "network" will prove to move in directions that feel denomination-like and could illegitimately bind the conscience as well. Thus, the goal is not necessarily to cop the attitude that "if you don't play ball the way I want you to, I'm taking my ball and going home" or to independency or whatever. The goal is biblical reformation of church mission and structures so that the church to which we belong evidences to a greater degree the reign of God.
And so, the article provide a great deal of food for thought--about the Gospel, the nature of the church, and the future of evangelical Christianity.
The article this morning focused on Roger Moran, one of the leaders of SBC conservatives here in this state. And admist some of the silliness, there were some very interesting quotes that moved beyond the "issue" to the real issues.
First, it appears that Moran lumps together "emerging" churches such as The Journey with the SBC moderates that he defeated earlier. But the reason for doing this was that these emerging churches are places "where you can drink beer in the bar, you can talk about rock 'n' roll, you can watch R-rated movies on film night." In Moran's mind, these were the moral excesses of the SBC progressives in the 1980s (and when I was in Louisville, stories of SBTS keggers were legendary and probably a little overblown); these cultural and moral markers that characterized the progressives are the same as the emerging church; hence, the Acts 29 network must be moderate.
But this line of reasoning is an uneasy fit, even for Moran. Though he doesn't acknowledge it in the P-D article, there are major theological differences between SBC progressives and the Acts 29 folks like the leaders of The Journey. Chief among them is that the Acts 29 network actually believes the Gospel (in its classic and Calvinistic formulations), holds to the inerrancy of Scripture, and is passionate about evangelism and discipleship. As a result, the identification of the emerging church leaders and SBC "moderates" is an uneasy one at best.
Even more striking, Moran identifies the nature of the church (and its Christianity) based on external practices--drinking, rock music, and movies--that were the bellweather issues for Baptist conservatives of the 1970s and 1980s. And yet, those issues don't seem to resonate as much as they used to do. In fact, many younger evangelical Christians view those issues as matters of indifference compared to the "weighter" matters of love, justice, and mercy to the poor or the need for sustainable care for the creation. While Moran's issues may have "worked" during the early days of the SBC conservative resurgence, they may not work as well now--because they seem to be culturally as opposed to biblically derived.
Second, I thought it was interesting how Bill Leonard, a Baptist scholar, characterized the state of the current SBC: "The Southern Baptist Convention is growing increasingly terrified that they've spent all this time recreating the denomination in this (conservative) image, and now nobody cares. Young seminarians are challenging them on issues and saying, 'Your vision of reality is not ours.'" It does seem that the Gen X generation that is moving into pastoral leadership--both in the SBC and in my own denomination--struggles with viewing the church in the same terms as some leaders might.
For example, if the church (or a particular denomination) is meant to stand for "conservative evangelicalism" and that means standing for certain political or cultural positions, or standing for those positions in a harsh or insensitive manner, then the "emerging" generation will have none of it. As Darrin Patrick, the pastor of The Journey, put it in the article, "When you're stricter than God about what he commands and permits, younger pastors are not going to play ball. They're not going to take one for the denomination" (emphasis mine). I actually think this stance of "not taking one for the denomination" could be a good thing--if it forces church leaders to reorient themselves to Gospel priorities and attitudes.
And yet, to forsake denominations for "networks" doesn't necessarily solve the problem. Because there will be times when the "network" will prove to move in directions that feel denomination-like and could illegitimately bind the conscience as well. Thus, the goal is not necessarily to cop the attitude that "if you don't play ball the way I want you to, I'm taking my ball and going home" or to independency or whatever. The goal is biblical reformation of church mission and structures so that the church to which we belong evidences to a greater degree the reign of God.
And so, the article provide a great deal of food for thought--about the Gospel, the nature of the church, and the future of evangelical Christianity.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Indicatives, Imperatives, and Grace
I'm passionately committed to what we often call the "grace distinctives." I think what we most often mean when we talk about the "grace distinctive" is best summed up in the phrase (was it from Ridderbos? Vos?) that the "indicatives come before imperatives and the order cannot be reversed."
The phrase sums up a lot of biblical truth. The "indicative" is what is true about us by virtue of what Jesus has done for us. Just like an indicative statement often has the word "is" in it ("Sean is a guy"; "Sean is married to Sara"; etc.), so an indicative statement theologically stress what Sean is by virute of God's unmerited, undeserved favor: Sean is united to Christ; Sean is justified, sanctified, adopted, glorified; Sean is hid with God in Christ, etc. These things are true no matter what--not because of my performance, but because of what Jesus has done in my place in God's sight; and they are received by faith alone.
So, indicatives come first--if you will, they are identity statements. But that doesn't mean that there are no imperatives. If indiciatives tell me who I am in Jesus, imperatives tell me what I must do: put to do death my sin; season your conversation with gracious words; flee immorality; keep my body under. The Bible and especially the NT is full of imperatives--I don't do these things in order to be saved or to please God per se (God is already pleased with me because he sees me in Jesus), but I do these things in the same way that a child does things their parents say: because I am God's child through Jesus, because of who I am, I live in certain ways.
If you put the imperatives first, what happens? Mainline Protestant moralism. The fancy historical category that Nancy Ammerman once used was "Golden Rule Christians." Christianity devolves done to "do unto others what you'd have them to do you" and this is the way to heaven. It is the obey part of "trust and obey."
Yet if you put the indicative first and forget the imperatives, what happens? Licentiousness or antinomianism, no doubt. But even worse, a loose, lifeless spirituality--a loss of repentance, a failure to recognize my own continuing sinfulness, and a concomitant tendency to become bored with the Gospel; a loss of holiness, or even a longing for it, a failure to put sin to death and the practices of the "old man."
Biblical Christianity, the gracious Christianity to which I aspire and to which I witness, stresses both the indicative and the imperative, in the proper order. Because God in Jesus by the Spirit pursued me, wooed me, and captured my heart and granted all the benefits of the Gospel to me, I am called now to love him, live for him, pray to him, fear him, speak for him, put my beloved sins to death for him, and even need be die for him.
Only such a Christianity truly gracious, because only such a Christian recognizes and lives out the costly nature of that grace.
The phrase sums up a lot of biblical truth. The "indicative" is what is true about us by virtue of what Jesus has done for us. Just like an indicative statement often has the word "is" in it ("Sean is a guy"; "Sean is married to Sara"; etc.), so an indicative statement theologically stress what Sean is by virute of God's unmerited, undeserved favor: Sean is united to Christ; Sean is justified, sanctified, adopted, glorified; Sean is hid with God in Christ, etc. These things are true no matter what--not because of my performance, but because of what Jesus has done in my place in God's sight; and they are received by faith alone.
So, indicatives come first--if you will, they are identity statements. But that doesn't mean that there are no imperatives. If indiciatives tell me who I am in Jesus, imperatives tell me what I must do: put to do death my sin; season your conversation with gracious words; flee immorality; keep my body under. The Bible and especially the NT is full of imperatives--I don't do these things in order to be saved or to please God per se (God is already pleased with me because he sees me in Jesus), but I do these things in the same way that a child does things their parents say: because I am God's child through Jesus, because of who I am, I live in certain ways.
If you put the imperatives first, what happens? Mainline Protestant moralism. The fancy historical category that Nancy Ammerman once used was "Golden Rule Christians." Christianity devolves done to "do unto others what you'd have them to do you" and this is the way to heaven. It is the obey part of "trust and obey."
Yet if you put the indicative first and forget the imperatives, what happens? Licentiousness or antinomianism, no doubt. But even worse, a loose, lifeless spirituality--a loss of repentance, a failure to recognize my own continuing sinfulness, and a concomitant tendency to become bored with the Gospel; a loss of holiness, or even a longing for it, a failure to put sin to death and the practices of the "old man."
Biblical Christianity, the gracious Christianity to which I aspire and to which I witness, stresses both the indicative and the imperative, in the proper order. Because God in Jesus by the Spirit pursued me, wooed me, and captured my heart and granted all the benefits of the Gospel to me, I am called now to love him, live for him, pray to him, fear him, speak for him, put my beloved sins to death for him, and even need be die for him.
Only such a Christianity truly gracious, because only such a Christian recognizes and lives out the costly nature of that grace.
Dungy and La Russa
Followers of this blog know that I cheer for the Indianapolis Colts and the St. Louis Cardinals, world champions in their respective sports. But I have different takes on their leaders, Tony Dungy and Tony La Russa. While Dungy is a Christian man who realizes that winning a championship doesn't make him a better person, La Russa is incredibly driven and not notably religious.
This past week, both were in the news for distinctly different reasons. Dungy garnered headlines (and time on my favorite ESPN show, PTI) for "embracing" a proposed ban on same-sex marriage in the state of Indiana. In using his celebrity to support biblically-consistent positions in the public sphere, Dungy continues to make good his claim that it was far more important to him to demonstrate that one could be a Christian and a coach at the same time.
La Russa, on the other hand, received headlines for his DUI pick-up in Jupiter, Flordia, sleeping at stop light (actually midway through an intersection) on the way home from a night out. Whether this indicates a deeper problem for the Cardinals skipper is not clear, although it certainly doesn't help his image.
While the character of the players (and managers) of various sports teams doesn't affect my support for them, still it is a good thing to be able to point my sons to a man like Dungy, to show them that life itself doesn't require one to be a hard-driver, to sacrifice family and faith, in order to be successful. And, frankly, it is a good thing to be able to point to La Russa, for an example of a man who probably drives too hard, who by his own admission doesn't have his wife live with him in St. Louis during the season because it is too hard on their marriage, and who doesn't seem to have any faith perspective.
At the end of the day, all of these public figures (and even ministers themselves) are role models. The question is whether the roles they play are for good or ill. We can be thankful for men like Tony Dungy, who plays his role for the good of the Kingdom.
This past week, both were in the news for distinctly different reasons. Dungy garnered headlines (and time on my favorite ESPN show, PTI) for "embracing" a proposed ban on same-sex marriage in the state of Indiana. In using his celebrity to support biblically-consistent positions in the public sphere, Dungy continues to make good his claim that it was far more important to him to demonstrate that one could be a Christian and a coach at the same time.
La Russa, on the other hand, received headlines for his DUI pick-up in Jupiter, Flordia, sleeping at stop light (actually midway through an intersection) on the way home from a night out. Whether this indicates a deeper problem for the Cardinals skipper is not clear, although it certainly doesn't help his image.
While the character of the players (and managers) of various sports teams doesn't affect my support for them, still it is a good thing to be able to point my sons to a man like Dungy, to show them that life itself doesn't require one to be a hard-driver, to sacrifice family and faith, in order to be successful. And, frankly, it is a good thing to be able to point to La Russa, for an example of a man who probably drives too hard, who by his own admission doesn't have his wife live with him in St. Louis during the season because it is too hard on their marriage, and who doesn't seem to have any faith perspective.
At the end of the day, all of these public figures (and even ministers themselves) are role models. The question is whether the roles they play are for good or ill. We can be thankful for men like Tony Dungy, who plays his role for the good of the Kingdom.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Big Country, Big Church
It has been an interesting week for me. I started out Monday at 6am, driving to the St. Louis airport. I flew to Chicago, waited for my connection for three plus hours, flew to Colubmia, SC, and drove to Clemson, SC. Got up Tuesday morning first thing, drove to Augusta, GA, drove back to Columbia, flew to Washington-Dulles, and then home. Got up this morning, worked for a few hours, drove back to the airport, flew to Denver (where I am writing this), waiting to fly to Vancouver, British Columbia. On Saturday, I'll make the return trip via Denver to home.
I couldn't help but think about how big our country is. Especially flying into Denver, looking at the Rockies, realizing that just 36 hours ago I was driving through the pine forests of McCormick, South Carolina. It makes you wonder how we can speak in any meaningful way about what "Americans" think, believe, feel. Even if you could get the opinions of 300 million people, still the land itself, the geography, is so big, expansive, and different. How do you get your mind around all this?
As I was thinking about this, I couldn't help but think about the church along similar lines. Perhaps the thoughts were spurred on by reading Richard Mouw's Calvinism in the Las Vegas Airport. I love reading Mouw, not only because he is brilliant, but also because he is so irenic. I aspire for that; often fall short. And while one particular chapter in the book made me nervous (those who have read it can probably guess which chapter that was), still it was a good two hour read (the length of the flight from STL to Denver).
Anyway, if you apply the imagery of America's geographical immensity to the church, I think some helpful thoughts could result. For example, it would make us much more humble about our little corner of it. When I'm in St. Louis, the Arch seems so big; the new Busch Stadium so large; Forest Park so expansive. But then you see the Rockies or the Big Sky country of the Plains--and you realize, you know, maybe St. Louis isn't so big after all. Maybe the differences between the Plains, Kentucky, the southern shores, and other locales actually pictures a larger diversity in God's own mind. And maybe, just maybe, the Church is big enough for a diversity of opinion.
The real question, of course, is how far to push diversity, how much change occurs before meaningful fellowship around a common creed, worship, and polity ceases. Too much diversity within a given tradition and it ceases to represent that particular tradition and becomes, in fact, something new. Yet, while we may not want too much diversity within particular denominational groups (and perhaps those who desire diversity may actually desire a different denomination where their views are actually the majority), that doesn't mean that everyone must walk in lockstep with us.
Mouw has a great picture of this drawn from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451; those who have read the book probably remember it. He pictures the various religious communities as "book readers" who preserve certain "books" or perspectives (or identities). He imagines himself saying, "Hi, I'm the Canons of Dordt." I guess I would like to be known as the one who says, "Hi, I'm What is Presbyterianism (a little pamphlet by Charles Hodge, for those who don't know)." But that doesn't mean that the library (to change the image) isn't big enough for a range of different books; nor does it mean that every book has to be the same.
Don't know if these ramblings make sense...but they occurred to me sitting here in Denver.
I couldn't help but think about how big our country is. Especially flying into Denver, looking at the Rockies, realizing that just 36 hours ago I was driving through the pine forests of McCormick, South Carolina. It makes you wonder how we can speak in any meaningful way about what "Americans" think, believe, feel. Even if you could get the opinions of 300 million people, still the land itself, the geography, is so big, expansive, and different. How do you get your mind around all this?
As I was thinking about this, I couldn't help but think about the church along similar lines. Perhaps the thoughts were spurred on by reading Richard Mouw's Calvinism in the Las Vegas Airport. I love reading Mouw, not only because he is brilliant, but also because he is so irenic. I aspire for that; often fall short. And while one particular chapter in the book made me nervous (those who have read it can probably guess which chapter that was), still it was a good two hour read (the length of the flight from STL to Denver).
Anyway, if you apply the imagery of America's geographical immensity to the church, I think some helpful thoughts could result. For example, it would make us much more humble about our little corner of it. When I'm in St. Louis, the Arch seems so big; the new Busch Stadium so large; Forest Park so expansive. But then you see the Rockies or the Big Sky country of the Plains--and you realize, you know, maybe St. Louis isn't so big after all. Maybe the differences between the Plains, Kentucky, the southern shores, and other locales actually pictures a larger diversity in God's own mind. And maybe, just maybe, the Church is big enough for a diversity of opinion.
The real question, of course, is how far to push diversity, how much change occurs before meaningful fellowship around a common creed, worship, and polity ceases. Too much diversity within a given tradition and it ceases to represent that particular tradition and becomes, in fact, something new. Yet, while we may not want too much diversity within particular denominational groups (and perhaps those who desire diversity may actually desire a different denomination where their views are actually the majority), that doesn't mean that everyone must walk in lockstep with us.
Mouw has a great picture of this drawn from Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451; those who have read the book probably remember it. He pictures the various religious communities as "book readers" who preserve certain "books" or perspectives (or identities). He imagines himself saying, "Hi, I'm the Canons of Dordt." I guess I would like to be known as the one who says, "Hi, I'm What is Presbyterianism (a little pamphlet by Charles Hodge, for those who don't know)." But that doesn't mean that the library (to change the image) isn't big enough for a range of different books; nor does it mean that every book has to be the same.
Don't know if these ramblings make sense...but they occurred to me sitting here in Denver.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Ridderbos dies
Rev. Dr. Herman Ridderbos, one of the foremost developers of the redemptive-historical approach to Biblical theology, a hallmark of Westminster Theological Seminary, died 8 March, having celebrated his 98th birthday on 13 March. Among his more widely distributed writings were “Redemptive History and the New Testament Scriptures,” “Paul and Jesus,” and “Paul: An Outline of His Theology.” Reportedly Ned Stonehouse once said this of Ridderbos: “Wherever the Dutch language is read Professor Herman Ridderbos is recognized as an outstanding New Testament scholar and theologian . . .”
[HT: Jack Collins]
[HT: Jack Collins]
Monday, March 12, 2007
Conferences and the Church
Last year, Carl Trueman published a very funny and yet very serious post on the Reformation21 blog, raising questions about the role of conferences in the lives of Christians. While it may have been a little "dangerous" raising these questions on the blog for the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals, around the time of their sponsored PCRT, still the points Trueman raised are valid and need to be considered more thoughtfully and thoroughly.
One of the realities of evangelical Protestant life has been the multiplication of conferences; these conferences tend to represent particular market niches within the Reformed and evangelical world--the Gospel Coalition; Augusta Conference; Twin Lakes; Ligonier; Shepherds Conference; Resurgence; Together for the Gospel; PCRT; Desiring God; Banner of Truth (those are the ones that I came up with from the top of my head). As such, these conferences bring together the like-minded to hear solid preaching that ultimately encourages and reinforces particular aspirations, beliefs, practices, and stories--in other words, these conferences serve an important purpose in identity formation.
I think we've seen this most clearly in the recent debates over the Federal Vision--regardless of where one falls on those issues, it cannot be denied that the Biblical Horizon and Auburn Avenue conferences played a large role in forging a particular way of looking at the world for those who participated and adhere to their proposals--and this, I believe, speaks to issues of identity. It is the same way for frustrated boomers in the PCA, who have met in an invitation-only group for years, and now for frustrated Gen X-ers, who are doing the same. Bringing together like-minded individuals to conference on issues of concern is a long-standing way of forging identity.
On the surface, there is nothing "wrong" with conferences; I attend them as well. And yet, ultimately, these conferences are not "the Church"; and because this is the case, conferences may actually be fostering the division in the church that so many X-ers decry and yet may be unwittingly perpetuating. This is the case for the very reason that these conferences bring together the like-minded, the already-convinced, the insiders. They set the like-minded against the others--whether it is a "Reformed" doctrine conference against all the loosy-goosy Arminians or a non-denominational pastors conference that sets people against all the amillennialists.
And yet the Church is bigger than that--in the church, you have to learn how to work together with those with whom you agree and with those with whom you disagree. In the church, you serve on committees with those who trust the Church and the work of the Spirit through her and with those who distrust the Church and believe that it tends to abuse of authority. In the church, you worship with the high-church, the blended, the contemporary, the traditional, the low-church, the charismatic (and this is just the PCA) and somehow you have to see them all as brothers and sisters in Christ. In the church, you have to work to protect and negotiate the interests of builders, boomers, X-ers, Millennials, Y-ers; it's not possible simply to serve one group. In the church, you must be patient, you must believe all things, you must bear all things, even the thorns of ministry--because in the church, you truly learn to love as you love those with whom you have so little in common.
As we have our identities formed by our lives together as the Church, as opposed to issue-identity conferences, we truly image forth Christ's own body--where heads, hands, feet, eyes, and everyone else are vitally necessary. We learn to value those remarkably different from us, who see issues different us, who value worship different from us. We learn to live through the polity of our church, which best expresses the unity and diversity of the church. And we learn to confess that the "one, holy, catholic, apostolic church," even as represented by this little Presbyterian denomination, is a little bit bigger and messier that we knew--and that's a good thing.
One of the realities of evangelical Protestant life has been the multiplication of conferences; these conferences tend to represent particular market niches within the Reformed and evangelical world--the Gospel Coalition; Augusta Conference; Twin Lakes; Ligonier; Shepherds Conference; Resurgence; Together for the Gospel; PCRT; Desiring God; Banner of Truth (those are the ones that I came up with from the top of my head). As such, these conferences bring together the like-minded to hear solid preaching that ultimately encourages and reinforces particular aspirations, beliefs, practices, and stories--in other words, these conferences serve an important purpose in identity formation.
I think we've seen this most clearly in the recent debates over the Federal Vision--regardless of where one falls on those issues, it cannot be denied that the Biblical Horizon and Auburn Avenue conferences played a large role in forging a particular way of looking at the world for those who participated and adhere to their proposals--and this, I believe, speaks to issues of identity. It is the same way for frustrated boomers in the PCA, who have met in an invitation-only group for years, and now for frustrated Gen X-ers, who are doing the same. Bringing together like-minded individuals to conference on issues of concern is a long-standing way of forging identity.
On the surface, there is nothing "wrong" with conferences; I attend them as well. And yet, ultimately, these conferences are not "the Church"; and because this is the case, conferences may actually be fostering the division in the church that so many X-ers decry and yet may be unwittingly perpetuating. This is the case for the very reason that these conferences bring together the like-minded, the already-convinced, the insiders. They set the like-minded against the others--whether it is a "Reformed" doctrine conference against all the loosy-goosy Arminians or a non-denominational pastors conference that sets people against all the amillennialists.
And yet the Church is bigger than that--in the church, you have to learn how to work together with those with whom you agree and with those with whom you disagree. In the church, you serve on committees with those who trust the Church and the work of the Spirit through her and with those who distrust the Church and believe that it tends to abuse of authority. In the church, you worship with the high-church, the blended, the contemporary, the traditional, the low-church, the charismatic (and this is just the PCA) and somehow you have to see them all as brothers and sisters in Christ. In the church, you have to work to protect and negotiate the interests of builders, boomers, X-ers, Millennials, Y-ers; it's not possible simply to serve one group. In the church, you must be patient, you must believe all things, you must bear all things, even the thorns of ministry--because in the church, you truly learn to love as you love those with whom you have so little in common.
As we have our identities formed by our lives together as the Church, as opposed to issue-identity conferences, we truly image forth Christ's own body--where heads, hands, feet, eyes, and everyone else are vitally necessary. We learn to value those remarkably different from us, who see issues different us, who value worship different from us. We learn to live through the polity of our church, which best expresses the unity and diversity of the church. And we learn to confess that the "one, holy, catholic, apostolic church," even as represented by this little Presbyterian denomination, is a little bit bigger and messier that we knew--and that's a good thing.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
King of Gunsmoke
My youngest son, who is 3, has a fixation on western shows and particularly, guns in western shows (actually, he likes guns in any form or fashion, which other parents tell me is normal; since we don't have any guns in the house and I have a semi-pacifist stance on the personal use of force anyway, his fixation is a little unusual). His current favorite show (aside from The Andy Griffith Show) is Gunsmoke. He likes it so much that it shows up in unusual ways. The other day, he was playing with his older brother; he used his lower, royal voice to declare, "Bow down, Andrew, and I'll make you the King of Gunsmoke!"
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
The Spirituality of the Church
One of the interesting conversations going on in blogosphere is over a issue that I've spent a great deal of time, pastorally and academicially--"the spirituality of the church." I think this is an important conversation, because it gets to all sorts of very important issues for Presbyterians: the "power" or "authority" of the church; the freedom of the conscience; the relationship between "church" and "state"; etc.
That being said, it does strike me that in some quarters, there is a tendency to a "spirituality" doctrine that is far beyond what is necessary to protect the church's spiritual nature as well as beyond what Presbyterian forefathers believed. This view seems to be (my summary) that the church, especially in its ministerial and declarative functions, has no authority or power granted to it by the resurrected and ascended Christ to teach on moral matters that may be issues under consideration in the broader public realm. This would be evidenced in comments that the church should not preach or teach on issues related to poverty, systemic injustice, or racism because those are "public" issues.
[The more telling comment is that we shouldn't preach or teach on these issues because these were the concerns of the "Social Gospel," Presbyterian progressives in the old PCUS, or political liberals of the 1950s and 1960s. Such reminds me of a comment by L. Nelson Bell, founder of the Southern Presbyterian Journal, who once observed, “We resent this further intrusion of Church leaders into the realm of international polices for three reasons. First, they are not competent in that particular field. Second, they have no right to use the prestige of the Church in this matter. Third, we think their advice is dead wrong.” For Bell, the point was really the issue: he simply believed that progressive leaders were “dead wrong." But instead of making the case, leaders like Bell would simply appeal to the "spirituality of the church."]
I think this position is far beyond what 19th century southern Presbyterian leaders, for example, would have recognized. Thornwell and Dabney, among others, commonly made the distinction between taking a particular policy position or advocating a particular political solution as "the church" on the one hand and instructing members on the moral duties required of them as individual Christian citizens on the other. That is why you can find sermons from Thornwell on the "duties of masters and slaves" or from Dabney on "temperance"; both were moral issues that were also political issues and as such required the pulpit to open God's Word on those topics.
The issues under consideration today--poverty, racial and social injustice, AIDS, peace, women's roles in church and society--are both difficult and challenging issues that individual Christians face. While the spiritual nature of the church would prohibit binding the consciences of God's people on particular policies or approaches to deal with these issues, it does not prohibit a ministry of God's Word to deal with the moral requirements involved with them. And while we would not want to have a ministry that demands that Christians support debt relief for Africa, we do want a ministry that raises the point of how God cares (and by extension, how God's people must care) for the poor and forsaken in every culture, American or African.
By overextending the logic of the spiritual nature of the church, perhaps our ministers might fail to declare "the whole counsel of God," which cares not only for the glorious doctrines of our faith but also cares for the grim and desititute of our world--both of which are Gospel concerns. These are things concerning which ministerial power should declare God's Word.
That being said, it does strike me that in some quarters, there is a tendency to a "spirituality" doctrine that is far beyond what is necessary to protect the church's spiritual nature as well as beyond what Presbyterian forefathers believed. This view seems to be (my summary) that the church, especially in its ministerial and declarative functions, has no authority or power granted to it by the resurrected and ascended Christ to teach on moral matters that may be issues under consideration in the broader public realm. This would be evidenced in comments that the church should not preach or teach on issues related to poverty, systemic injustice, or racism because those are "public" issues.
[The more telling comment is that we shouldn't preach or teach on these issues because these were the concerns of the "Social Gospel," Presbyterian progressives in the old PCUS, or political liberals of the 1950s and 1960s. Such reminds me of a comment by L. Nelson Bell, founder of the Southern Presbyterian Journal, who once observed, “We resent this further intrusion of Church leaders into the realm of international polices for three reasons. First, they are not competent in that particular field. Second, they have no right to use the prestige of the Church in this matter. Third, we think their advice is dead wrong.” For Bell, the point was really the issue: he simply believed that progressive leaders were “dead wrong." But instead of making the case, leaders like Bell would simply appeal to the "spirituality of the church."]
I think this position is far beyond what 19th century southern Presbyterian leaders, for example, would have recognized. Thornwell and Dabney, among others, commonly made the distinction between taking a particular policy position or advocating a particular political solution as "the church" on the one hand and instructing members on the moral duties required of them as individual Christian citizens on the other. That is why you can find sermons from Thornwell on the "duties of masters and slaves" or from Dabney on "temperance"; both were moral issues that were also political issues and as such required the pulpit to open God's Word on those topics.
The issues under consideration today--poverty, racial and social injustice, AIDS, peace, women's roles in church and society--are both difficult and challenging issues that individual Christians face. While the spiritual nature of the church would prohibit binding the consciences of God's people on particular policies or approaches to deal with these issues, it does not prohibit a ministry of God's Word to deal with the moral requirements involved with them. And while we would not want to have a ministry that demands that Christians support debt relief for Africa, we do want a ministry that raises the point of how God cares (and by extension, how God's people must care) for the poor and forsaken in every culture, American or African.
By overextending the logic of the spiritual nature of the church, perhaps our ministers might fail to declare "the whole counsel of God," which cares not only for the glorious doctrines of our faith but also cares for the grim and desititute of our world--both of which are Gospel concerns. These are things concerning which ministerial power should declare God's Word.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monk and Mallet
My dear friend, Steve Nichols, whom I have known longer than anyone other than my wife and parents, has just written a wonderful introduction called, The Reformation: How a Monk and a Mallet Changed the World. You can find out more about this book on this very cool website.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Globalizing Theology, No. 1
A number of us at the seminary are reading a new book, edited by Craig Ott and Harold Netland, called Globalizing Theology. Meant as a festschrift for Paul Hiebert, the eminent missiologist who has taught for a generation at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, the book actually serves as a thought-provoking collection of essays, meant to prod theological educators into thinking about what it means to do theology in and for a "global" church.
After all, if God's mission is the transformation of his world by his people bringing his Gospel to all the nations, then that means we cannot allow our understanding of God to be boxed into our regional or national cultural systems. Through intentional ways, we must be in conversation with the church in other places and circumstances in order to discover our cultural blind spots and to gain wisdom and insight from other parts of Christ's church.
This represents a series of questions about which I've been thinking alot recently, both because we are in the midst of our self-study process and "globalization" is a major theme for our professional accreditors (the Association of Theological Schools) and because we are also beginning a new round of strategic planning. And so, these questions: What is God calling this little Presbyterian seminary to be and to do for the world's church? How can this be accomplish simply by paying attention to the internationals whom God has brought to St. Louis (which serves as a relocation center for internationals seeking asylum in the United States)? Even more, how would taking our "kingdom perspective" core value seriously lead to a transformation, or at least an augumentation, of the seminary's mission?
I don't know all the answers, although I think I sense some of the possible trajectories. But above all, it strikes me that if institutions like ours are going to be useful for the world-wide church, we need to take more seriously than we ever have that theological education must be for the whole church and must reflect the sense that God's mission in this world is for everyone from everywhere. What role a seminary like ours should play in this is open for question and dreaming.
After all, if God's mission is the transformation of his world by his people bringing his Gospel to all the nations, then that means we cannot allow our understanding of God to be boxed into our regional or national cultural systems. Through intentional ways, we must be in conversation with the church in other places and circumstances in order to discover our cultural blind spots and to gain wisdom and insight from other parts of Christ's church.
This represents a series of questions about which I've been thinking alot recently, both because we are in the midst of our self-study process and "globalization" is a major theme for our professional accreditors (the Association of Theological Schools) and because we are also beginning a new round of strategic planning. And so, these questions: What is God calling this little Presbyterian seminary to be and to do for the world's church? How can this be accomplish simply by paying attention to the internationals whom God has brought to St. Louis (which serves as a relocation center for internationals seeking asylum in the United States)? Even more, how would taking our "kingdom perspective" core value seriously lead to a transformation, or at least an augumentation, of the seminary's mission?
I don't know all the answers, although I think I sense some of the possible trajectories. But above all, it strikes me that if institutions like ours are going to be useful for the world-wide church, we need to take more seriously than we ever have that theological education must be for the whole church and must reflect the sense that God's mission in this world is for everyone from everywhere. What role a seminary like ours should play in this is open for question and dreaming.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Carl Trueman Strikes Again
As readers of this blog know, I greatly admire Carl Trueman's insight into things cultural and historical. This analysis of postmodernity is one of his best bits of work.
The Pistol
Since we had a snow day yesterday, I was able to finish Mark Kriegel's Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich. For someone who knew more about Pistol Pete by reputation than personal experience (I didn't start paying attention to the NBA until 1981 when the Houston Rockets made it to the NBA finals; Pete had retired the year before), I found the book to be a useful introduction to one of the most prolific college scorers in the history of basketball.
But Kriegel's story was much more--it was really about the difficult relationship between Pete and his father, Press. The father had groomed Pete to be the first million dollar basketball player; through the intense practice (Homework Basketball) to the intense criticism and perfectionism, Press shaped Pete's world. This shaping, however, was not positive--rather, it taught Pete that he could never measure up to Press's exacting standards and hence, was not worthwhile.
The result was a pattern of destructive behavior, centering mainly on fast women, fast cars, and booze. But it also resulted in Pete struggling to find something or someone outside of himself that would "take him" away (including UFOs--he actually wrote "take me" as a message to UFOs on the roof of his Atlanta condo). His behavior become increasingly destructive, extreme or bizarre and centered on crazy fads until he finally retired in 1980.
Then, in a life without basketball, Pete was left to review all his "failures," the games where he could have been "perfect," the destructive alcohol abuse, the relationship with his father. At the end a long, dark night, Pete prayed for God to save him--and God did. Everyone testified that Pete's life radically changed: for the first time in his life, he seemed happy and at peace. And though it seemed like Christianity might be just another extreme fad, Pete's faith commitment "stuck" and led to his father and wife both professing faith in Jesus. He poured himself into Bible study and other spiritual disciplines and shared his faith constantly.
That part of the story made me nearly cry several times--this insecure boy-man who was transformed by a security found in Christ. And because this story was written by a sports biography who had no real interest in "faith," but great interest in his subject, I believe this story was worth reading and sharing with others. It also led me to find other sites dedicated to Pete Maravich: two of the better ones include the official Pistol Pete site and a YouTube site that a very cool 6 minute video of Pete highlights.
But Kriegel's story was much more--it was really about the difficult relationship between Pete and his father, Press. The father had groomed Pete to be the first million dollar basketball player; through the intense practice (Homework Basketball) to the intense criticism and perfectionism, Press shaped Pete's world. This shaping, however, was not positive--rather, it taught Pete that he could never measure up to Press's exacting standards and hence, was not worthwhile.
The result was a pattern of destructive behavior, centering mainly on fast women, fast cars, and booze. But it also resulted in Pete struggling to find something or someone outside of himself that would "take him" away (including UFOs--he actually wrote "take me" as a message to UFOs on the roof of his Atlanta condo). His behavior become increasingly destructive, extreme or bizarre and centered on crazy fads until he finally retired in 1980.
Then, in a life without basketball, Pete was left to review all his "failures," the games where he could have been "perfect," the destructive alcohol abuse, the relationship with his father. At the end a long, dark night, Pete prayed for God to save him--and God did. Everyone testified that Pete's life radically changed: for the first time in his life, he seemed happy and at peace. And though it seemed like Christianity might be just another extreme fad, Pete's faith commitment "stuck" and led to his father and wife both professing faith in Jesus. He poured himself into Bible study and other spiritual disciplines and shared his faith constantly.
That part of the story made me nearly cry several times--this insecure boy-man who was transformed by a security found in Christ. And because this story was written by a sports biography who had no real interest in "faith," but great interest in his subject, I believe this story was worth reading and sharing with others. It also led me to find other sites dedicated to Pete Maravich: two of the better ones include the official Pistol Pete site and a YouTube site that a very cool 6 minute video of Pete highlights.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Further Odds and Ends
1. I find that I hardly have any time to write posts. I was actually prolific on Friday because I was sitting at a conference; I'm terribly fidgety at conferences and so it seemed a good time to write. Please don't give up on me; I'm still posting two or so times a week--it is just that the volume and velocity of my position makes it hard to breathe sometimes.
2. Of course, you who read this blog probably realize that the Big Game turned out like I hoped it would (for those of you who don't, I am a big Colts fan). For someone who predicted that Peyton would never win the Big Game and who whined that all his sports teams were cursed by his support, the past four months or so have been very, very good to my teams.
3. Two books that I recently bought, very different in character: Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich by Mark Kriegel and On Prayer: Conversation with God by John Calvin with introductory essay by I. John Hesselink. I'll probably read the book on Pistol Pete first.
4. In heavy rotation in my F-150's CD player, The Beatles' Love. I've been very pleased with the way Giles Martin has brought these tracks (which are older than I am! I was born after the Beatles broke up...) into the postmodern age. They sound like they were recorded yesterday (hmmm, that would make a good title for a song..."Yesterday"). My favorite Beatles' song is still "Revolution."
2. Of course, you who read this blog probably realize that the Big Game turned out like I hoped it would (for those of you who don't, I am a big Colts fan). For someone who predicted that Peyton would never win the Big Game and who whined that all his sports teams were cursed by his support, the past four months or so have been very, very good to my teams.
3. Two books that I recently bought, very different in character: Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich by Mark Kriegel and On Prayer: Conversation with God by John Calvin with introductory essay by I. John Hesselink. I'll probably read the book on Pistol Pete first.
4. In heavy rotation in my F-150's CD player, The Beatles' Love. I've been very pleased with the way Giles Martin has brought these tracks (which are older than I am! I was born after the Beatles broke up...) into the postmodern age. They sound like they were recorded yesterday (hmmm, that would make a good title for a song..."Yesterday"). My favorite Beatles' song is still "Revolution."
Thursday, February 01, 2007
The Banality of Mainline American Protestants
I am sitting right now at a meeting of Seminary administrators, listening to a very prominent evangelism professor who teaches at an East Coast mainline Protestant seminary. I was familiar with his work before, but listening to his "semiotic" analysis of American culture, I can say with some certainity that if this is what attracts mainstream Protestants, then that branch of Protestantism is hopelessly banal.
While he said nothing false, he also said nothing new. He told 35 academic deans that American culture is characterized by postmodernity, post-Christendom, and post-scale (under this point, he also listed posthuman, post-"cold," and post-"round"). Whew. You don't say. I had never heard about this before; you mean that I have to put my 8-tracks away??
Again, everything he said is amply declared in the literature (philosophical, theological, historical, sociological, and political literature). But that is just the point--he said everything in such a "Gee Whiz" tone of voice, it made me wonder whether and why most people who hear him talk find him "innovative." The only answer that I can come up with is that mainstream Protestantism is so far behind the curve that they seize onto this man's work as "cutting-edge."
And that can only mean that mainline Protestantism is hopelessly banal.
While he said nothing false, he also said nothing new. He told 35 academic deans that American culture is characterized by postmodernity, post-Christendom, and post-scale (under this point, he also listed posthuman, post-"cold," and post-"round"). Whew. You don't say. I had never heard about this before; you mean that I have to put my 8-tracks away??
Again, everything he said is amply declared in the literature (philosophical, theological, historical, sociological, and political literature). But that is just the point--he said everything in such a "Gee Whiz" tone of voice, it made me wonder whether and why most people who hear him talk find him "innovative." The only answer that I can come up with is that mainstream Protestantism is so far behind the curve that they seize onto this man's work as "cutting-edge."
And that can only mean that mainline Protestantism is hopelessly banal.
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