Proponents of confessionalism often turn to John Williamson Nevin (1803-86) for support. And with good reason. Nevin introduced the so-called Mercerburg theology, a kind of high church Calvinism which stressed the churchly, liturgical, sacramental, and clerical elements of the faith.
In his most famous work, The Anxious Bench (1844), Nevin attacked the revivalistic system that made surprising conversions the norm and weakened the role of the institutional church. He maintained that Finney’s New Measures could not be reconciled with the older method of lifelong catechesis: “The spirit of the Anxious Bench is at war with the spirit of the Catechism” (62). On one hand, you have the system of the Bench which “makes conversion, in its own sense, to be the all in all of the gospel economy and the development of the Christian life subsequently a mere secondary interest” (70). On the other hand, you have the system of the Catechism which believes in sermons, systematic instruction, pastoral visitation, catechetical training, attention to order and discipline, and patient perseverance (61). These two systems are altogether different. You must choose one or the other. And according to Nevin, “It must be ever a wretched choice, when the Bench is preferred to the Catechism” (63).
Nevin was concerned that the New Measures were putting all the attention on bending the will to make a decision for Christ in a moment of great existential angst. By contrast, the better method of ministry is the slow, deliberate, ordinary work of preaching, worship, sacraments, discipline, instruction, and catechism. Nevin is right: the best ministries are “constant, regular, earnest; not marked with noise and parade; but like the common processes of nature, silent rather, deep, and full of invisible power” (76).
Old School, New Side
But it would be a mistake to read The Anxious Bench as a blanket attack on revival, religious fervor, or experiential Christianity. According to Darryl Hart, Nevin later moved away from his Princetonian pro-revival training (John Williamson Nevin, 101-103). But in 1844 at least—in his work that is usually seen as a devastating polemic against evangelical pietism—Nevin was decidedly not against the Great Awakening. Nevin opposed the New Measures, but in The Anxious Bench he puts his lot squarely with the New Side Presbyterians.
Nevin was not anti-conversion. He believed in “sudden conversions in later life, attended with experience more or less violent.” Conversions like this “under the proper circumstances are entitled to entire confidence and may be expected to occur frequently under faithful ministrations on the part of the Church.” The error “is in making this the exclusive conception of the process” (68).
Likewise, Nevin was not anti-revival. Because of the abuses of revival, some maintained strong prejudice “against everything of the sort.” But in truth, true revivals “belong constitutionally to the system of the Catechism” (74). Although the system of the Catechism “makes more account of the regular, the ordinary, and the general than it does the occasional and the special” it does not “by any means preclude the presence of what is out of the usual way” (72). Indeed, “For such special showers of grace, it is the privilege of the Church to hope, and her duty to pray, at all times. To call in question either the reality or the desirableness of them, is a monstrous skepticism, that may be said to border on the sin of infidelity itself. They are the natural product of the proper life of the church” (72-73).
Less Bathwater, More Baby
Nevin was careful to say what the system of the Bench did and did not entail. He didn’t want to lift up the Catechism by pulling down every good thing that might be associated with revivalism and the Bench.
At times, Nevin could sound downright pietistic:
If nothing else, I’ve written these posts on confessionalism to get to that paragraph. I love the Catechism (I wrote a book on one!). I love the church (and wrote a book on that too). I don’t believe I’ve been shy to criticize the shallowness of evangelical theology and the general adoctrinal nature of contemporary evangelicalism. I like much of what I read from the proponents of confessionalism. I’ve always thought of myself as a confessional Christian, ministering in a confessional church. But I’ve learned over the years that confessionalism is not, by itself, Christlikeness. I’m not suggesting anyone is saying exactly that. I just don’t want young Presbyterian pastors and young, restless, Reformed Christians to think that a passion for evangelism, or small group Bible study, or doing good in the world, or a concern for piety, or an insistence on private prayer and inner experience is somehow antithetical to being good Calvinist churchmen. Most of the time I’m after the evangelical pietists to be more confessional. But I also believe those in the confessional tradition can easily lose the vibrancy, sincerity, warmth, and personal piety that have marked experiential Christianity at its best, from the Dutch Reformation to the Puritans to the Great Awakening to neo-evangelicalism. Provided we define our terms thoughtfully, confessionalism and pietism can be friends. In fact, we would all do well to introduce one to the other.
