Kevin DeYoung Articles

4 Questions for Obeying the First Commandment

Tue, 20 Sep 2016 00:00:00 GMT

“You shall have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3).

Nine commandments proscribe (or prescribe) certain actions for God’s people. The first commandment, however, is unique in that it regulates a certain relationship between God and his people. Biblical morality is predicated upon the reality that there is only one God, and he must be worshiped to the exclusion of all others.

So what does that look like?

In the Institutes of the Christian Religion, Calvin insists that obedience to the first commandment means we owe God four things (II.viii.16).

Adoration. We render God worship and pay homage to his majesty. Trust. We rest happy and secure in God’s power and perfections. Invocation. We seek out God’s promised aid in our time of need. Thanksgiving. We recognize God as the fount of every blessing.

That’s a helpful checklist, not only for obeying the first commandment, but also for a number of expressions of devotion to God. What should we do in prayer? Try adoration, trust, invocation, and thanksgiving. What should we find in our corporate worship services? Plan for adoration, trust, invocation, and thanksgiving. What can we talk about with our friends in the car, our family at the dinner table, or our kids at bedtime? How about adoration, trust, invocation, and thanksgiving?

I’ve also found it useful to turn Calvin’s first commandment obligation into four questions for personal reflection.

1. Whom do I praise?

Obviously, it’s not wrong to encourage others or enjoy their gifts. But where do I place my marvel? What do I find truly amazing? What ultimately excites me most? What am I most likely to sing about, shout about, and celebrate?

2. Whom do I count on?

We sing the song “I Need Thee Every Hour,” but functionally who or what is the Thee in our heart of hearts? Are we counting on football or ice cream or alcohol or a boyfriend or a child or a new job to meet our needs?

3. Whom do I call for?

To be sure, God normally works through means, which means we call the plumber when our drain is clogged and call the doctor when an artery might be clogged. Yet when it comes to daily petition and constant prayer—in our mundane disappoints to our most desperate moments—where do we really think our help comes from?

4. Whom do I thank?

No matter what difficult season we may be in, there are far more blessings than we realize. How do we say thank you for sunny days and needed rain and sleeping babies and holding hands and mile-high nachos? The object of our gratitude reveals the focus of our faith.

The questions are not meant to make you (or me) despair of ever obeying the first commandment, but if they can point us in the direction of true devotion, then Calvin would be pleased. More importantly, so would God.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Did the Jews Kill Jesus?

Tue, 07 May 2024 09:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/did-the-jews-kill-jesus/id1700530766?i=1000747330027

Who was responsible for the death of Christ? There is more than one true thing we can (and should) say in response to that question.

We can think about the cross as the place of substitution and affirm that Christ “was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities” (Isa. 53:5).

We can think about the cross as a propitiatory sacrifice and affirm that “It was the will of the Lord to crush him” (Isa. 53:10).

We can also think about the cross as the place of the Son’s obedience and affirm that Christ freely laid down his life (John 10:18) and endured the cross for the joy set before him (Heb. 12:2).

All three of these are true. Behind the death on the cross is the Father, the Son, and you and me.

We should be careful, however, in how we talk about these realities.

The Bible never speaks of the Father killing the Son, let alone of the Son killing himself. We must be careful not to describe the cross in ways that imply the Father or the Son were guilty of sin.

We must also be careful not to make human sin the decisive factor in Christ’s death (which is why I always add a footnote in my brain when we sing “it was my sin that held him there.”).

So long as we are careful, and put the necessary caveats and qualifications in place, we can say that the Father’s will, the Son’s obedience, and our sins all played a part in making the crucifixion happen.

Sharpening the Question

But who killed Jesus?

The questioner wants to know, not just in a theological sense or in an ultimate sense, but in an immediate earthly sense, who killed Israel’s Messiah?

We know that Roman soldiers did the literal work of nailing Jesus to the cross (Mark 15:24).

Moreover, the book of Acts records that under the sovereignty of God “both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel” were responsible for Jesus’s death (Acts 4:27–28).

Even in a strictly earthly sense, then, there were many people who could be blamed for killing Jesus.

But what about the Jews? Isn’t it the case that the Bible repeatedly affirms that the Jews as a people were responsible—perhaps uniquely responsible—for killing Jesus? After all, the crowd in Jerusalem, in clamoring for Jesus to be crucified and for Barabbas to go free, exclaimed, “His blood be on us, and on our children” (Matt. 27:25). Even if the statement is unpopular, aren’t we obliged to say with the Bible that the Jews killed Jesus?

The short answer is: It depends.

The longer answer is: As a generic statement without any other context, we should not say “the Jews killed Jesus.”

Let’s start with the limited sense in which someone might accurately say the Jews killed Jesus.

The Gospel of John speaks of “the Jews” crying out against Jesus (John 18:38–40) and “the Jews” calling on Pilate to crucify Jesus (John 19:14–16). If you were preaching through John, you might say something at some point about the Jews rejecting and crucifying their Messiah (John 1:11). But John’s language is surely not meant to be an indictment against every Jewish person, for John himself was Jewish and, of course, Jesus was Jewish too. One can hardly make the Gospel of John into an antisemitic text when the whole point of the book is to believe in and worship the King of the Jews (John 20:24–31). The footnote in the ESV at John 9:18 is correct when it explains that the Greek Ioudaioi (the Jews) “refers here to religious leaders and others under their influence, in that time.”

The Jews and Corporate Responsibility

While it is true that some biblical texts speak of specific Jews, in a specific context, bearing responsibility for Jesus’s death, the Bible does not teach that the Jews as a people killed Jesus. I’ve covered some of this ground before in sketching a theology of corporate responsibility, but it is necessary to look at some of the same arguments again as they relate specifically to the Jews.

A quick overview of the book of Acts proves that while many of the Jews in Jerusalem during the Passion Week bore special responsibility for the death of Jesus, the Jews as a people were not held responsible for Jesus’s death in any unique way.

In Acts 2, Peter charged the “men of Judea and all who dwell in Jerusalem” (Acts 2:14) with crucifying Jesus (Acts 2:23, 36). Remember, Peter is speaking in Jerusalem to those who live in Jerusalem. As those present in Jerusalem during Passion Week, these Jews bore some responsibility for Jesus’s death.

Likewise, Peter charged the men of Israel gathered at Solomon’s Portico with delivering Jesus over and denying him in the presence of Pilate (Acts 3:11–16). While we don’t know if every single person in the Acts 3 crowd had chosen Barabbas over Christ, Peter did not hesitate to lay the blame for the crucifixion at their feet. Most, if not all of them, had played an active role in the events leading up to Jesus’s death. This was a sin in need of repentance (Acts 3:19–20).

We see the same approach in Acts 4:10 and Acts 5:30 where Peter and John charge the council (i.e., the Sanhedrin) with killing Jesus.

From these texts we can see that the Apostles held the Jewish leaders and the Jews in Jerusalem at that time responsible—along with other lawless men (Acts 2:23; 4:27)—for killing Jesus.

It’s passages like these that lead some people to insist in a general way that “the Jews killed Jesus.” But unless we mean “the Jews in Jerusalem who stood before Pilate,” the statement is misleading at best and pejorative at worst. Surely, Peter and John did not mean to indict an entire ethnic group (either at that time or for all time), for they were also Jews. It is striking that they did not say we killed Jesus, as if all Jews were responsible for hanging Jesus on a tree, but instead they spoke of the one whom “you crucified and killed” (Acts 2:23, emphasis added). Clearly, Peter and John did not think they killed Jesus (even if they would affirm in a theological sense that Christ died for the sins of the ungodly).

There is no evidence that the Apostles thought all the Jews, everywhere and into the future, had a hand in killing Jesus. Look at what happens in Acts once the action leaves Jerusalem.

In speaking to Cornelius (a Gentile), Peter relays that “they” put Jesus to death by hanging him on a tree (Acts 10:39). Given that the nearest antecedent refers to what Jesus did “in Jerusalem,” it seems likely that the “they” Peter has in mind are the Jews who rejected Jesus in Judea and the ruling class in Jerusalem. This interpretation finds confirmation in a similar statement from Paul a few chapters later.

In Acts 13:27, Paul tells the crowd in Pisidian Antioch that “those who live in Jerusalem and their rulers” condemned Jesus. This speech is especially important because Paul is talking mainly to Jews (Acts 13:16, 26). Note that Paul does not blame the Jews in Pisidian Antioch for the actions of the Jews in Jerusalem. There is no language of “whom you crucified” when addressing Jews in another part of the Roman Empire.

What we see from Paul in Acts 13 is a consistent pattern in the rest of the book.

Paul does not charge the Jews in Thessalonica or Berea with killing Jesus (Acts 17), nor the Jews in Corinth (Acts 18) or in Ephesus (Acts 19). In fact, when Paul returns to Jerusalem years after the crucifixion, he does not accuse the Jews there of killing Jesus either. He does not even charge the council with that crime (see Acts 23). The rest of the Jews in the book of Acts still had to repent of their sins, but outside of Jerusalem, and after the specific time of the crucifixion, the Jews were not charged with killing the Messiah.

Conclusion

So did the Jews kill Jesus?

In a limited sense, we can say with Scripture that the Jewish leaders and the crowd before Pilate delivered up Jesus to be crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men.

At the same time, we should not derive from this specific context a blanket statement about the Jews as a people. When someone today says “the Jews killed Jesus” or is eager to defend that statement—without any other context or any caveats—we are right to wonder what is behind the desire to speak this way. It is certainly not the way the Bible speaks about the Jews in general. While the Apostles considered the Jews in Jerusalem at the time of the crucifixion uniquely responsible for Jesus’s death, this culpability did not extend to every Jew alive at that time or to every Jew who would live in Jerusalem thereafter.

Corporate responsibility does not automatically track along the lines of race, religion, or ethnicity. The Jews as a people group are not responsible for the specific sins committed by specific Jews at a specific time and place in history. The message we ought to be eager to declare as Christians is not who killed Jesus, but that through Jesus—the son of Abraham, the son of David, the son of Mary—all people, Jews and Gentiles, can be saved from their sins and have life in his name (John 20:31).

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Saved People Love to Sing

Tue, 06 Sep 2016 00:00:00 GMT

If you’ve been in church your whole life you may not realize how strange it is that when Christians get together they spend a good chunk of time just singing.

Where in our culture do you find ordinary, untrained people gathering to sing? Maybe the National Anthem or your school’s fight song. Happy Birthday, I suppose. In the car on a road trip, I guess. But really, when do adults in large numbers belt out the same song? A concert may be the closest thing, but even here the primary point is to be entertained as someone else sings. I’m not sure where you would go this week for more than three minutes of organized singing except to church.

There are many ways Christians are a peculiar people. One of them is that we almost always sing when we’re together.

There is a familiar pattern in the Bible: God saves, and his people sing. “The ransomed of the Lord will return. They will enter Zion with singing” (Isa. 51:11). And so we have songs by Moses, Miriam, Deborah, Barak, David, and Hannah. In the New Testament there are hymns to Christ in John’s Gospel, in Romans, Philippians, Colossians, 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, and in Hebrews. There are doxologies scattered throughout the Bible and songs in Revelation 1, 4, 5, 7, 11, 14, and 15. And did I mention the Psalms?

The Bible has a lot of different people singing different things, but in another sense the Bible only has one song. The song of Moses is the song of the Lamb (Rev. 15:3). They are one and the same. They both praise God for his great acts of judgment, for his fearful holiness, for his righteousness revealed, and for the salvation he works on behalf of the redeemed. The song Moses sang on the shores of the Red Sea we will sing one day by the sea of glass (Rev. 15:2). Eternal praise for the God who is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

There was singing at creation. The Lord says to Job that when he laid the foundation of the earth “the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy” (Job 38:7). All the angels sang for joy at the birth of Jesus (as did Mary, Zechariah, and Simeon). Now we sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to each other (Col. 3:16). The drama of redemptive history is actually a musical. Will you join the chorus?

Is the Lord your strength? Is he your song? What is your personal anthem? What do you sing about when you are free to sing about whatever you want to sing about? Sing about the Red Sea. Sing about God’s justice. Sing about his power and might. Sing about his salvation. Sing about the cross and the empty tomb. Sing now, sing later, and never stop singing. “Great and amazing are your deeds, O Lord God the Almighty!”

Saved people love to sing.

The Church of Shrinking Definition

Sat, 09 May 2009 04:00:00 GMT

Yesterday, in quoting from Why We Love the Church, I highlighted four major objections to church as we know it. Today I want to briefly address on part of one of these objections. One of the theological arguments “revolutionaries” and church-leavers make is that we don’t have to go to church to be the church. The Church, it is assumed, is simply plural for Christian. So wherever two or more Christians are gathered to discuss about and live in the way of Jesus, that’s church.

What follows is a small part of my response to this argument from Why We Love the Church.

*****

The problem with this minimalist ecclesiology is that it confuses definition and function. I have no problem with defining the church as elect people of God, or as the gathered Christian community, or as all those who have put their faith in Jesus. These are pretty standard definitions. But to say the church is the people of God is not the same as saying that wherever the people of God are there you have a church. The problem with the previous sentence is that “church” is used in two different ways. At the beginning of the sentence, “the church” refers to the universal, organic fellowship of Christians. So, of course, the church is the people of God. The two are almost synonymous. But in the second half of the sentence, “a church” suggests a local, concrete expression of the universal, organic fellowship. The church manifests itself in churches. And churches do certain things and are marked by certain characteristics. So as a definition the church may be the people of God, but for God’s people gathered to be a church they must function in certain way. When Paul wrote his letters to local churches, he wasn’t addressing three Christian guys who shared an apartment and talked about the spirituality of Euripides. He was writing to a group of Christians who embraced a certain structure, participated in a certain kind of worship service, and shared a certain kind of doctrinal and ethical standard. This made their gathering a church and not just an exercise in hanging out.

The Revolutionary understanding of the church is right in what it affirms—namely, that ekklesia refers to the people of God—but wrong in all that it leaves out. Specifically, this new ecclesiology argues that a church can be (1) free from structure, (2) free from regular worship services, and (3) free from religion. I’m not suggesting that everyone criticizing the church agree with all three of these statements. “Revolutionary” theology does not tend to be that well-established, or frankly, that well thought out. The new ecclesiology does not spend much time explicitly formulating a doctrine of the church. Rather, the new ecclesiology carries with it a host of assumptions that allow church leavers to redefine the church to their minimalist liking.

When Churches Can’t Do Everything

Fri, 16 Jan 2026 16:18:21 GMT

I’ve never met a pastor who enjoys telling people no. I suppose such ministerial creatures exist, but all the pastors I know (myself included) find it much easier to say “Yes, that’s a great idea!” or “Yes, we can do that!” as opposed to “Sorry, that’s not going to work.”

I’m not talking about general requests for counseling or prayer or a dinner invitation. Those can be difficult requests to navigate as well, but in this post I’m thinking specifically about ministry asks. I’m thinking about well-meaning church members who are passionate about clean water, or foster-care ministry, or a new church-planting network in Turkey, or a thousand other good things.

It would be one thing if church members asked their pastors to get behind bad ideas. “Hey pastor, I really think the church should be involved with this awesome evangelistic pantomime ministry.” Um, no. That’s an easy call. What’s hard is when the requests are from good people for good things.

The simple—yet disappointing—fact is that no local church can do everything there is to be done. Or to put it more pointedly: Your thing may not be your church’s thing. This is usually tough for pastors to communicate and even tougher for church members to hear. And yet, the church and pastor that try to be all things to all people normally end up doing much less than they could be doing for God.

Saying No

Why can’t pastors and staff leaders say yes to every ministry request? Here are a few legitimate reasons.

Not right now.

In a world of finite people and resources, sometimes the answer is, “That’s a great idea, but we can’t start another fundraiser at the moment. We’ll have to wait until this capital campaign is over.” Or, “Let’s wait until we finish the search committee.” Or, “We are in a hard season right now and our pastors are attending to a number of crises; we can’t make this a priority right now.”

Not the mission of the church.

If the priority of the church is the Great Commission, then there are all sorts of good things the local church will not pursue, everything from reducing unemployment to planting trees in a local park to spearheading specific political efforts.

Not our strategy.

In many instances, people in the church want the same things, but they are passionate about different strategies. Everyone may agree that fellowship is biblically essential, but for one member that means an investment in family camp, and for another it means Saturday brunch outings, and for another it means lots of adult mission trips. All of these things can be good, but that doesn’t mean a church has to do all of them. We need to distinguish between the biblical goals and the various means we want to employ to meet these goals. Saying no to the means is not saying no to the end.

Not enough time.

Well-meaning parishioners may not realize that their staff and pastors are already feeling maxed out. So an invitation to attend one more event, or champion one more cause, or add one more prayer meeting can feel like a lot when it is added to an already overwhelmed schedule. “Surely you can make time for one lunch in the next month.” Or, “All I’m asking is for a few hours one Saturday in the next few months.” These may sound like small asks, but even if one lunch could be added or one Saturday morning could be given up, these “little” additions add up quickly, especially if they are coming from multiple people in the congregation.

Not interested.

This may be the hardest no to give, but sometimes it’s the most honest. “Pastor, I’m really hoping you can get behind my walk-a-dog ministry. It’s a great way to serve our neighbors and open doors for the gospel.” The most candid response is likely, “God bless you. I sincerely hope that goes really well, but it’s not something I’m interested in.”

Thinking It Through

Does all of this mean that ordinary church members are at the mercy of their pastors and leaders to call the shots for every ministry that takes place in and through the church? Is there nothing for church members to do but hope and pray that the pastor will take an interest in their particular passion? Is this post basically a long way of saying “deal with it”?

I hope not.

But here are a few things church members can keep in mind to temper their disappointment and to channel their energies in the most helpful ways.

Lots of amazing ministry takes place that is never an official ministry of the church, or on the church budget, or announced in the church service. This is absolutely key. A “no” to someone’s ministry ask is not necessarily a no to that ministry happening. If you want to get together and watch Manifest and discuss spiritual themes and use it as an outreach for your neighbors, go for it (I think; I haven’t really seen the show). We mustn’t think that “real ministry” is ministry that shows up on the church website and makes its way onto the elders’ agenda Be clear about your “ask.” Before approaching your pastor or staff member with a ministry idea, think: Am I asking for permission? My pastor’s blessing? Financial support? Oversight? An investment of time and people? A new ministry or department? I had a member in my last church who needed the pastor’s formal support each year before he went on a trip to Africa to dig wells. I was more than happy to provide permission and blessing for this good work. We even prayed for him from the pulpit while he was gone. But if he wanted the pastoral staff to start a new well-digging ministry, that would have been a different matter entirely Don’t expect informal requests to get formal consideration. “Hey pastor, I’d really like to see us get a bookstore in the lobby. It would be such a great way to resource our people and get good books into the hands of visitors.” That’s a wonderful idea, but don’t expect it to get much traction as a quick email or as a friendly exhortation in the greeting line. That’s putting the onus on the pastor to take your idea, develop it, steer it through the approval process, implement it, and maintain it. If you really want a bookstore in the lobby, write up a proposal, explain who will run it, how it will be funded, how it will be maintained, and then ask the pastor whom you should talk to in order to see if this might be an idea the leadership wants to pursue. Manners matter. I can tell you after more than 15 years in pastoral ministry that squeaky wheels don’t get the grease. Patient, humble, kind wheels get the grease. When people come with demands and act as if their passion is the only thing that matters, it scares most people off. When you come with gentleness and an understanding that there is a lot going on already, most people are open to hearing what you have to say. Remember that you have to say hard no’s in your life and career too. Parents can’t do everything their kids ask of them. Employers can’t follow up on every request their employees make. Business owners can’t respond to every good suggestion their customers offer. It’s not personal. If you feel strongly about a program or initiative that is missing in your church, offer your suggestion humbly and in a way that shows you have already done a lot of work to develop your plan, and then communicate your willingness to do the hard work to get the plan off the ground and keep it going. Pressing and Pressured

This is not about a specific pressing issue in the church today as much as it is about the pressure pastors and churches feel from day to day. There is a dynamic present in too many churches where pastors get grumpy and church members get their feelings hurt unnecessarily.

I hope that with a little common sense, some realistic expectations, and some grace-filled forbearance, we can develop the habits and dispositions that will make us less frustrated ourselves and less frustrating to others. The church may not be able to do your thing, but that doesn’t mean your thing can’t be a blessing to the church.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

8 Key Differences Between Catholics and Protestants

Mon, 12 May 2025 08:11:21 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/8-key-differences-between-catholics-and-protestants/id1700530766?i=1000745116681

Ask a serious Protestant today what is the biggest threat to orthodox Christianity today, and he might mention cultural hostilities, the sexual revolution, or nominalism in our churches. But if you would have asked a Protestant the same question a hundred years ago, he would have almost certainly mentioned the Roman Catholic Church. Until fairly recently, Protestants and Catholics in this country were, if not enemies, then certainly players on opposing teams.

Today, much of that animosity has melted away. And to a large extent, the thaw between Protestants and Catholics has been a good thing. Sincere Protestants and Catholics often find themselves to be co-belligerents, defending the unborn, upholding traditional marriage, and standing up for religious liberty. And in an age that discounts doctrine, evangelical Protestants often share more in common theologically with a devout Roman Catholic steeped in historic orthodoxy than they do with liberal members of their own denominations. I personally have benefited over the years from Catholic authors like G. K. Chesterton, Richard John Neuhaus, and Robert George.

And yet, theological differences between Protestants and Catholics are still wide and in places very deep. It’s important to be conversant with some of the main issues that legitimately divide us, lest we think all the theological hills have been laid low and all the dogmatic valleys made into a plain.

Below are a few of the main points that still separate Catholics and Protestants. Of course, many Roman Catholics may not believe (or even know) what their formal theology states. But by seeking to understand official church documents we can get a good idea of what Catholics are supposed to believe and see how these differ from traditional Protestant beliefs (unless otherwise noted, quotations are from the Catechism of the Catholic Church).

The Church

Since Vatican II, the Catholic Church has softened its stance toward Protestants, calling them “estranged brothers.” Nevertheless, to be a part of the church in its fullness one must be immersed in the Roman Catholic system of sacraments, orders, and under the authority of the Pope. “Fully incorporated into the society of the Church are those who . . . are joined in the visible structure of the Church of Christ, who rules here through the Supreme Pontiff and the bishops.”

Further, the Pope is considered infallible when he speaks ex cathedra (from the chair); that is, when he makes official doctrinal pronouncements.

The Catholic Church also has seven sacraments instead of two—Eucharist (or Lord’s Supper) and baptism like Protestants, and then penance, holy orders, marriage, confirmation, and last rites.

Scripture

Catholics have a larger biblical canon. In addition to the 66 books in the Protestant Bible, Catholic Bibles include the Apocrypha, with books like Tobit, Judith, 1 and 2 Maccebees, Sirach, and Baruch. Catholic teaching also elevates tradition more than Protestants do. Granted, many evangelicals suffer from ignoring tradition and the wisdom of the past. But Catholic theology goes beyond just respecting the past; it sacralizes it. “Both Scripture and Tradition must be accepted and honored with equal sentiments of devotion and reverence,” the Catechism states.

Likewise, the Magisterium has the authority to make definitive interpretations. “The task of giving an authentic interpretation of the Word of God, whether in its written form or in the form of Tradition, has been entrusted to the living, teaching, office of the Church alone . . . to the bishops in communion with the successor of Peter, the Bishop of Rome.” The issue of authority continues to be the biggest practical divide between Protestants and Catholics.

Lord’s Supper

Central to the Catholic faith is the Mass (their worship service), and central to the Mass is the celebration of the Eucharist. Catholics believe that bread and wine are transubstantiated into the actual, physical body and blood of Jesus Christ.

The elements are offered as a sacrifice from the church and a sacrifice of Jesus Christ’s work on the cross. This is not simply a remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice, but the same atoning work: “The sacrifice of Christ and the sacrifice of the Eucharist are one single sacrifice . . . the sacrifice [of the Eucharist] is truly propitiatory.”

Baptism

Catholics teach that “justification is conferred in Baptism.” The waters of baptism wash away original sin and join us with Christ. Baptism is not merely a sign and seal of grace, but actually confers saving grace.

Mary

According to Catholic doctrine, Mary is not only the Mother of Christ, but the Mother of the church. She was conceived without original sin (the immaculate conception) and at the end of her earthly life “was taken up body and soul into heavenly glory, and exalted by the Lord as Queen over all things” (assumption). She intercedes for the church, “continues to bring us the gifts of eternal salvation,” and is “a mother to us in the order of grace.”

Mary was more than just the faith-filled mother of Jesus: “The Blessed Virgin is invoked in the Church under the titles of Advocate, Helper, Benefactress, and Mediatrix.”

Purgatory

Catholics also teach that those who die in God’s grace, but still imperfectly purified, are assured of eternal life, but must first undergo purification in purgatory. Because of the presence of this intermediate state, the Catholic Church has developed the practice of prayer for the dead. “The Church also commends almsgiving, indulgences, and works of penance undertaken on behalf of the dead.”

Concerning the salvation of those who do not hear the gospel, the Catholic Catechism is committed to inclusivism: “Those who, through no fault of their own, do not know the Gospel of Christ or his Church, but who nevertheless seek God with a sincere heart, and, moved by grace, try in their actions to do his will as they know it through the dictates of their conscience—those too may achieve eternal salvation.”

Merit

It is not really fair to say “Catholics teach that you can earn your salvation.” That may be what many Catholics believe, but the official teaching of Rome is more nuanced, though still a long way off from the Reformation understanding sola gratia. The Catechism summarizes: “Since the initiative belongs to God in the order of grace, no one can merit the initial grace of forgiveness and justification, at the beginning of conversion. Moved by the Holy Spirit and by charity, we can then merit for ourselves and for others the graces needed for our sanctification, for the increase of grace and charity, and for the attainment of eternal life.”

Justification

Catholic teaching rejects the Protestant doctrine of imputed righteousness. The question is this: is the righteousness whereby we are forgiven and made right with God a righteousness working in us or a righteousness reckoned to our account? Catholics say the former, Protestants the latter. According to Catholic teaching, justification is more than God’s declaration of our righteousness based on Christ’s work, it is also a renewal of the inner man and reconciliation with God. Of course, these are good things too, but Catholics make them present in and through justification, rather than by faith alone.

The Council of Trent, from the 16th century Catholic counter-reformation, declares: “If anyone says, that men are justified, either by the sole imputation of the justice of Christ, or by the sole remission of sins, to the exclusion of grace and charity that is poured forth in their hearts by the Holy Ghost, and is inherent in them; or even that the grace, whereby we are justified, is only the favor of God: let him be anathema.” While individual Protestants and Catholics may work to find common ground on justification, the official teaching of the Roman Church is still opposed to any notion of an imputed righteousness through faith alone.

Conclusion

Should Catholics and Protestants treat each other decently and with respect? Of course. Will we labor side by side on important moral and social matters? Quite often. Can we find born-again Christians worshiping in Catholic churches? I’m sure. But are the disagreements between Protestants and Catholics, therefore, negligible? Hardly. The differences still exist, and they still matter.

Sanctify us by your truth, O Lord; your word is truth.

This article was originally published in 2017 and was updated in 2025.

A Double Danger

Thu, 07 Apr 2011 04:00:00 GMT

I don’t really cherish the promise of 2 Timothy 3:12. On the one hand, I don’t want it to happen. That seems bad. On the other hand, if it doesn’t happen, I wonder if I’m bad. The verse is sobering: “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” This is one of those Bible promises that doesn’t make it into the flower-covered book for graduates.

Granted, there is a danger that some Christians do all they can to invite “persecution.” They refuse to accommodate–ever. They live to find hills to die on. They lead with their chins. They wear every bit of opposition as a badge of honor. The world hates them and they love it.

But for most Christians, there is another danger, the danger of thinking that if we clean up our image, smooth out the edges of our faith, change a few songs, do a few good deeds, then we can get people to think well of us. Sometimes we act like God has promised that if we do the right thing, with the right heart, and say things with the right attitude, then the world will stop choking on the church.

But God makes no such promise.

What he does promise is that if our singular aim is to live a godly life in Christ Jesus, if our goal every morning is to follow Jesus, if our first priority is to walk in God’s way and believe his word, we will be persecuted. We act like persecution is the one thing God would never require of the sincere Christian, when actually it’s one of the sure things he promises.

Our fear of persecution–and it’s my fear too–our refusal to even consider it an option, can prevent us from being obedient in a whole host of areas. Maybe it’s going overseas, or letting your kids go to some war-torn country. Maybe its sharing your faith or letting on at work that you’re a Christian. Maybe you are hesitating to become a Christian for fear of family and friends. Maybe you are worried you’ll disappoint your home country if you join a church. Maybe you are hesitant about homosexuality or caving on creation because you don’t want to be ridiculed. Maybe living a godly life in Christ Jesus will mean a lower GPA for you or getting passed over for a promotion. Maybe it means being overlooked, under-appreciated, and misunderstood. Or maybe, persecution means you lose your life, or worse, the lives of those you love.

2 Timothy 3:12 is a scary verse because it is a divine guarantee. It will happen. And considering whom the guarantee is for, the second half of the verse is even scarier if it doesn’t happen.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

A New Goal for the New Year

Mon, 02 Jan 2023 10:00:00 GMT

I understand the criticism of new goals for the new year: “They never stick. They are legalistic. They rely on will power.” I get it, there are dangers with new year’s resolutions (like there are dangers with everything). But I like the fresh start of the new year. I like the opportunity to establish better habits. And I like that resolutions concentrate my head and heart on the one person I have most control over in my life and on the one person who causes me the most problems: me.

Like most people, I spend a fair amount of time reading things online, and what I see there can be ugly. People are often mean, nasty, proud, braggadocious, petty, spiteful, defensive, sarcastic, and angry. The internet has lots of people like that, simply because the world has lots of people like that. And if we’re honest, sometimes we are like that.

It is easy to get fired up by grand plans to change the world, or to take back the country from the libs, or to overthrow the patriarchy, or to denounce the misdeeds of famous Christians, or to tear down the evil cabal known as white evangelicalism. We can labor long to exercise dominion in the world, while at the same time doing little to exercise mastery over ourselves, our sins, and our worst impulses.

Several weeks ago, I stumbled upon an old video of John Piper warning what seemed to be a group of pastors or students about our culture’s addiction to television. The clip looked to be 20 years old or more. Some Christians might roll their eyes and mutter “typical fundamentalist,” or they might wax eloquent about all the artistically beautiful and culturally significant new shows we need to see. But I found the clip refreshing, not only because Piper is right about our entertainment addiction (and if he was right two decades ago, his admonition is even more needed today), but because his exhortation was, in a manner of speaking, a call to personal greatness.

Many of us—especially when we are young, and especially men—are looking for a great evil to overcome and noble cause to be a part of. That’s good, and we don’t have to choose only one evil to battle or only one noble cause to pursue. But here’s what I don’t hear nearly as much of as I did ten or 15 years ago: Go hard after the sin in your life and run hard after God.

To be sure, we do not have to choose between public and personal transformation, but the Bible seems much more concerned about the latter. After all, “what will it a profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?” (Matthew 16:26). People can justifiably have multiple passions and many loves. But I worry for the person who strives to put everything in place in our world and strives to put everyone in their place online and never seems to strive for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord (Hebrews 12:14).

Over the past month I’ve been reading through Aquinas’s little book (excerpted from the Summa Theologica) on the cardinal virtues. How many modern Christians, let alone modern people in general, are pursuing and praying for prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance in their lives? Prudence: the ability to deliberate and reason well. Justice: a right relationship to others. Fortitude: controlling fear and moderating anger in acts of bravery. Temperance: restraining inordinate desires and unlawful pleasures of the senses.

Are the people we listen to and follow marked by these virtues—and not just one, but each of them in cooperation with the others? Are the books and blogs we are reading pushing us toward these virtues? Are we interested in acquiring these virtues as much as we are interested in social, cultural, and national change?

Even better than the cardinal virtues, read through the Ten Commandments, or the Sermon on the Mount, or the definition of love in 1 Corinthians 13, or the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5. There are many worthwhile battles to fight in life. The most important, most necessary, and most dangerous is the war we must wage against sin, flesh, and the devil.

I don’t know God’s plans for America or for Western Civilization. I do know his plans for the Christian and for the church. He who began a good work in us will carry it to completion until the day of Christ Jesus (Philippians 1:6). Of all the goals you may have for the new year, at least make some of them about the things that God has promised to work in us, through his word, by his Spirit, with our faith-filled effort.

In other words, let’s go hard after the sin in our lives and run hard after God.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Top Ten Resources of 2025

Wed, 31 Dec 2025 05:00:00 GMT

I am blessed to work with a small but talented and committed team of men and women at Clearly Reformed. They deserve credit for the ministry as much as anyone. The team wanted to put together a year-end list of our most popular resources. Here’s what they came up with. Enjoy—and Happy New Year!

– Kevin

We like lists, and year-end lists in particular are always fun. So here’s a list of our top ten most-viewed resources from the past year. Actually, several of the top resources in the past year were produced in previous years. We’ll pull those out and include them at the end.

Is This the Way? A Review of Practicing the Way by John Mark Comer “An important rule of thumb for me in determining when to write something of a more critical nature—which is not something I enjoy doing—is whether or not the people around me, and especially the people in my church, might need clarity on a particular issue, author, or book. The existence of this review (not to mention its length) is a testament to how many people—from a variety of theological backgrounds—are captivated by what John Mark Comer has to offer.” 6 Questions for Christian Nationalists “I am not a Christian Nationalist, but I almost could be… In short, I don’t believe the term Christian Nationalism is necessary, helpful, or wise. There are better ways—more precise and more accurate—to describe what serious Christian political thought might espouse and what robust Christian engagement in the political sphere might look like.” Should My Newborn Be Baptized? | John Piper and Kevin DeYoung | Coram Deo 2025During the fifth session of the Coram Deo Pastors Workshop 2025, Kevin and John Piper answered a range of questions presented to them by attendees. This video is focused on John and Kevin’s response to a specific question about baptism: “My wife and I are struggling with how we should approach baptism for our newborn. Do you have any guidance?” Preaching and Pastoral Ministry with John PiperIn this wide-ranging interview, recorded live at Christ Covenant Church in conjunction with the Coram Deo Pastors Workshop, Kevin asks John about everything from preaching style, to the influence of his parents, to growing up in the South, to his strengths and weaknesses as a pastor. You’ll hear lots of stories, pastoral wisdom, and personal transparency. This is one episode you won’t want to miss. Brothers, We Are Not Political Pundits When I started out in ministry 23 years ago, I was greatly helped by John Piper’s book Brothers, We Are Not Professionals. Everything within me resonated with Piper’s call for pastors to be serious students of the Bible and to eschew ministry models based on gimmicks, entertainment, and a desperate attempt to seem relevant to the world. If there are any young men in the same place I was two decades ago—earnest, eager, and ignorant of all sorts of things you don’t know you are ignorant of—let me implore you as a now middle-aged pastor: “Brothers, we are not professionals, and neither are we pundits.” 8 Key Differences Between Catholics and Protestants Ask a serious Protestant today what is the biggest threat to orthodox Christianity today, and he might mention cultural hostilities, the sexual revolution, or nominalism in our churches. But if you would have asked a Protestant the same question a hundred years ago, he would have almost certainly mentioned the Roman Catholic Church. Until fairly recently, Protestants and Catholics in this country were, if not enemies, then certainly players on opposing teams. A Reformed Approach to Spiritual Formation with Matthew BinghamIt is often believed, by friends and critics alike, that the Reformed tradition, though perhaps good on formal doctrine, is impoverished when it comes to spiritual formation. The charge is that the Reformed approach to piety is all about head knowledge, about learning things as brains on sticks. Other Christians may be less critical but simply assume that there is no right or wrong way to do spiritual formation. This often leads evangelical to adopt an eclectic approach to personal growth in Christ. Many Christians in conservative Protestant churches end up adopting Catholic and Orthodox approaches as being more fulsome and effective. But what if there is a Reformed approach to spiritual formation that is rich, deep, historic, and more biblical than the alternatives? That’s what Kevin explores with Matthew Bingham (associate professor of church history at Phoenix Seminary) as they dig into Matthew’s fantastic new book A Heart Aflame for God: A Reformed Approach to Spiritual Formation (Crossway). A Life of Hope and Hurdles with Andre Levrone and Sydney McLaughlin LevroneWhat does it feel like to do something better and faster than any other woman in human history? How can you shine as a Christian in the world of professional sports—when sometimes your dreams come true and often they don’t? What does it take to be an elite athlete (and why is it a great profession for sleep enthusiasts)? You’ll want to listen to this special episode of LBE as Kevin asks Andre, a former NFL player, and Sydney—an Olympic champion, world champion, and world record holder—about the pressure of being the best and the freedom of being in Christ. And don’t miss the bonus questions from a couple DeYoung children. Protestants and Catholics: What’s the Difference? With Chad Van Dixhoorn, Blair Smith, and Mark McDowellHow should Protestants think about the Catholic Mass? About the Eucharist? About the history and development of the papacy? In this panel discussion, at the conclusion of Christ Covenant’s Faithful Conference, Kevin talks to three of his colleagues from Reformed Theological Seminary about what it means to be Protestant. They also explore potential weaknesses in their own tradition and how Eastern Orthodoxy differs from both Catholicism and Protestantism. The Man on the Middle Cross with Alistair BeggIf you haven’t seen the viral clip, go see it right now. In this episode, Kevin talks to Alistair about the preaching clip he didn’t intend to give, he never put online himself, and he never expected to be one of the most well known moments of his ministry. The content from that clip has been combined with two other Jesus encounters in the Gospels and turned into a short book. Listen to Kevin and Alistair talk about that book as well as the Ryder Cup, “retirement,” and reflections on growing older (though Alistair doesn’t look it).

The five resources below were among the most viewed in the last year, but they were not posted in 2025.

7 Reasons Why Mormonism and Christianity Are Not the Same (2023)

Is It Wrong to Have Sex Before Marriage? (2023)

Did the Jews Kill Jesus? (2024)

Who Are the 144,000? (2023)

4 Reasons Why the Bible Does Not Support Transgenderism (2024)

Perhaps the fact that each of these resources is explicitly theological in nature says something important about what kinds of posts can outlive their cultural moment.

Did the Son of God Leave Heaven When He Came to Earth?

Thu, 19 Dec 2024 11:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/did-the-son-of-god-leave-heaven-when-he-came-to-earth/id1700530766?i=1000741815345

When we think about the incarnation—about advent, about Christmas, about Jesus being born in a manger—we sometimes talk about the Son of God leaving one place to go to another. “Thou didst leave Thy throne and Thy kingly crown, when Thou camest to earth for me” is how E. S. Elliott put it in her 1864 hymn. In fact, it is often some form of “leaving behind the glories of heaven” that preachers and poets and parents stress as an indication of how much Christ loves us. If the incarnate Son of God was born of Mary in the earthly city of Bethlehem, then surely he must have left behind whatever heavenly dwelling he called home up to that point.

Despite the popular appeal of such notions of God’s Son leaving heaven to come to earth at Christmas, we would do well not to think or speak of the incarnation in these terms. We can speak of Christ descending to earth (John 3:13; Eph. 4:10). We can, as the Nicene Creed puts it, say that the Son of God “came down” (cf. John 6:50–51). We will certainly want to make much of Christ’s humiliation whereby he emptied himself, took the form of a servant, and condescended to be born in the likeness of men (Phil. 2:7). The problem is not with the language of coming down or exchanging the glory of heaven for the humiliation of earth (though, strictly speaking, the Son’s glory was not abandoned but veiled or hidden for a time; he did not divest himself of divine properties). The problem is with conceiving of the incarnation as spatial movement, of leaving one place for another.

The key is to understand that the Son of God descended from heaven in such a way as to still be in heaven. Christ’s incarnational descent did not involve a change to the divine nature or a change of location. If the Son of God had to leave heaven in order to come to earth, not only would that suggest a rift in Trinitarian communion, it would also imply that the Son no longer possessed the attributes of immensity and omnipresence, which means that the Son would be something other than the fully divine Son. In the hypostatic union, the two natures—human and divine—are joined in one person, yet “without confusion” and “without change” (Chalcedonian Definition). That is, when the Son assumed a human nature, he became as we are, without ceasing to be what he was.

Extra, Extra!

So how do we make both the Nicene “he came down” and the Chalcedonian “without change” fit together? We need the doctrine of the extra Calvinisticum. This is the idea that the divine Logos, even in the hypostatic union, exists beyond the flesh of the human nature.

In their debates with Lutheran scholastics, Reformed theologians opposed the doctrine of the ubiquity of Christ’s body. Whereas the Lutherans said that Christ’s body could be everywhere (and consequently, Christ could be locally present in the Lord’s supper), Reformed theologians argued that no human body can possess the property of ubiquity and still be genuinely human.

But how, then, can Christ be with his people always and everywhere, to the end of the age? The answer is that the divine nature, even when joined to a human nature, is not circumscribed by that human nature but exists outside (extra) of it. As the Heidelberg Catechism teaches, “Since divinity is not limited and is present everywhere, it is evident that Christ’s divinity is surely beyond the bounds of the humanity he has taken on, but at the same time his divinity is in and remains personally united to his humanity” (Q/A 48). Or to quote from K. J. Drake’s excellent work on the extra: “Christ exists both wholly in the flesh and yet still transcends it.”[1]

This was plainly the teaching of Calvin:

In this way he was also Son of man in heaven, for the very same Christ, who, according to the flesh, dwelt as Son of man on earth, was God in heaven. In this manner, he is said to have descended to that place according to his divinity, not because divinity left heaven to hide itself in the prison house of the body, but because even though it filled all things, still in Christ’s very humanity it dwelt bodily, that is, by nature, and in a certain ineffable way.[2]

Calvin goes on to employ the scholastic totus/totum distinction, whereby the masculine noun totus refers to a whole person and the neuter noun totum refers to an entire nature. This was a common way of explaining how Christ the person can be entirely present with us, even though his human nature is bound by spatial constraints. He wrote: “although the whole Christ is everywhere, still the whole of that which is in him is not everywhere.”[3]

Lutherans derisively called this way of thinking the extra Calvinisticum (i.e., the Calvinistic teaching of the beyond or outside), but the idea was not original to Calvin. We might better call it the extra carnem (i.e., Christ’s presence is beyond the flesh of his human nature) or even the extra Catholicum (i.e., the universal teaching about the beyond or outside) because the doctrine was widespread among early church and medieval theologians. In his impressive book on the extra, Andrew McGinnis points out that the doctrine was taught by a host of theological luminaries, including Origin, Athanasius, Eusebius of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, Augustine, Theodore of Mopsuestia, John of Damascus, Peter Lombard, Thomas Aquinas, and Gabriel Biel.

In particular, McGinnis traces the extra back to the architect of Christological orthodoxy, Cyril of Alexandria. Arguing from texts like John 3:31 (“He who comes from above is above all”), John 8:23 (“I am from above . . . I am not of this world”), and John 3:13 (where some manuscripts says that the Son of Man who descended from heaven “is in heaven”), Cyril maintained that the Son’s descent did not entail divesting himself of divine attributes nor departing one place for another.[4] Even when a baby at the bosom of the Virgin Mary, the divine Logos, according to Cyril, “still filled the whole creation as God and was co-regent with the one who begot him.”[5]

Something Marvelous

So did the Son of God come down at Christmas?

Yes.

Was the Son sent by the Father?

Yes.

Did the incarnation entail the humiliation of the divine Word and the temporary veiling of his glory?

Yes.

Did the Son of God leave his heavenly throne and his kingly crown in coming to earth for us?

No.

While writing this article I pulled out the Trinity Hymnal, with some fear and trepidation, to see if it retained Elliott’s hymn. It does, but with a significant change. The first line now reads “Thou dost reign on high with a kingly crown, yet thou camest to earth for me.” I’m not sure what Elliott would think of such a drastic change (though she’s in heaven, so she’s probably fine with it), but the revision is a welcome theological improvement.

We don’t need the Son of God leaving heaven for earth in order for the incarnation to be worth singing about. Instead, we can exclaim with Calvin:

“Here is something marvelous: the Son of God descended from heaven in such a way that, without leaving heaven, he willed to be borne in the virgin’s womb, to go about the earth, and to hang upon the cross; yet he continuously filled the world even as he had done from the beginning!”[6]

[1] K.J. Drake, The Flesh of the Word: The extra Calvinisticum from Zwingli to Early Orthodoxy (Oxford: OUP, 2021), 273.

[2] John Calvin, Institutes, 4.18.30.

[3] Calvin, Institutes, 4.18.30.

[4] See Andrew M. McGinnis, The Son of God Beyond the Flesh: A Historical and Theological Study of the extra Calvinisticum (London: Bloomsbury, 2014), 31–32.

[5] Quoted in McGinnis, The Son of God Beyond the Flesh, 26.

[6] Calvin, Institutes, 2.13.4.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Darkness Does Not Win

Fri, 02 Dec 2022 16:38:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-darkness-does-not-win/id1526483896?i=1000588402288

The title of this article is hard to believe, isn’t it?

Doesn’t it seem like every week we hear about wars and rumors of wars, about terrorism or mass shootings, about Christian persecution and cultural degradation? We can look back on this past year and think of loved ones who’ve died, or friends who’ve been diagnosed with cancer. And others who are gripped by addiction or saddled with chronic pain or mired in a depression that will not lift.

In our own lives, there are too many tears, too many unknowns, too many closed doors. It’s not hard to be discouraged, maybe even despair.

And yet, the spoiler is true: the darkness does not win.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:1-5).

The symbolism of “light” in John’s Gospel has many layers. Light can refer to Christ (as in John 8:12, “I am the light of the world”), or to obeying the will of God (as in John 3:20, “everyone who does wicked things hates the light”), or to eternal life and the abundant life that can be found only in Christ (which is what verse 4 means by “In him was life, and the life was the light of men”). I think John is being deliberately ambiguous in verse 5. What he is saying is that the entire Light Side is victorious over the entire Dark Side.

Christians will not be overcome by the darkness—either amid our lifetime struggle with sin or in the life of eternal bliss to come—because we belong to the One who is the Light of the World. Darkness, which is John’s way of talking about the fallen world of sin and Satan, will not prove victorious in its long, persistent fight against the light.

Light is more powerful, even when darkness is more pervasive. Have your kids ever shone a flashlight in your face in the middle of the night? Have you ever been kept awake by an overly bright night light in the corner of the room? Have you ever been drawn with curiosity to some grand sale in town because the establishment blasted a spotlight into the sky? No matter how much darkness, light pierces that darkness. And the darker the night, the brighter the light shines.

This is not a pie-in-the-sky inspirational pep talk. There are all sorts of generic, vaguely spiritual messages that sound forth during December. Yes, Christmas is about the Good News that the bad guys will not ultimately defeat the good guys. Yes, Christmas is about peace on earth and good will toward men. Yes, Christmas is about the hope of better days to come and a better life after this life. Christmas is supposed to be happy and cheerful and inspiring. But if that’s all we say, or all we believe, we haven’t gotten the beating heart of the Christmas story.

Why can we be confident that the darkness will not win? It’s not because of grandma’s cooking or a familiar Christmas movie. It’s not because dreams come true when we believe, no matter what we actually believe. Our confidence is rooted in history; our faith is based on fact. What we celebrate in this season is not the triumph of the human spirit or the importance of family or the power of positive thinking. We worship a baby boy born in a bloody mess in a manger in Bethlehem.

That baby was really born, to a real virgin, just as the prophets foretold. He lived. He died. He rose from the dead on the third day. He is coming again. We know that the darkness will not be victorious over the world, because it was not victorious over the One through whom the world was made.

If God can summon light into existence when there was only darkness, surely he can send his light into the world with assurance of complete success, no matter how impossible the odds. For this is the miracle and the wonder of Christmas: The Light of the world was born in the darkness of night, as the Word of God lay in the manger unable to speak a syllable.

The story is true, all of it—the baby, the virgin, the shepherds, the angel, the manger, the star, the wise men, even the hard-to-pronounce words like Quirinius and Ephrathah. All true.

So now what?

Repent. Believe. Trust. Obey. Worship and rejoice. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:11). The True Light, which gives light to everyone, has come into the world.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Redeemed Man Serving in His Church

Thu, 11 Dec 2025 05:00:00 GMT

This article includes Kevin’s chapter from The Redeemed Man, a book that aims to help men answer Christ’s call to become a man in His image—the kind of man the world needs.

My wife and I are blessed with nine children, five of whom are boys. As I write this chapter, my oldest son just turned twenty-one, and my next oldest son is heading off to college. So, when I think about this book, and my chapter in particular, I can’t help but think of the young men in my own household. The thought in my mind is not just “What do I want men to know about serving in the church,” but “What do I want my sons to know about serving in the church?”

Before talking about anything else, I want my sons (and every other man for that matter) to notice four words in the title of this chapter.

The first word is “redeemed.” As Christian parents, I trust that we pray for more than morally decent, responsible, respectful, hard-working adult children. We must pray that our children would be genuine, born-again, blood-bought Christians. Every man reading this book must endeavor to know his own soul and be sure that he is, first and foremost, a redeemed man.

The second word is “church.” It isn’t enough for the Christian man to read his Bible and pray, or to be a part of a Bible study during the week, or to get involved in a campus ministry while in college, or to read good theology books, or to listen to good Christian podcasts, or to listen to good sermons while he’s driving in the car. The redeemed man must be involved in a church. In one of the last books that he wrote before he died, John Stott said this about the importance of the church: “I trust that none of my readers is that grotesque anomaly, an unchurched Christian. The New Testament knows nothing of such a person. For the church lies at the very centre of the eternal purpose of God.”1 Stott was right. An unchurched Christian is a contradiction in terms.

The third word is “his.” I understand that some people don’t like putting a possessive pronoun before the word “church.” The argument is that we shouldn’t speak of “my” church, “their” church, or “pastor so-and-so’s church” because the church belongs to Christ and not to us. While I appreciate the caution, it seems to me there is something healthy about referring to “my” church or speaking about the Christian man and “his” church. The possessive pronoun reminds us that the Christian isn’t merely a member of the universal church; he must belong to a specific local church—a body of believers that meets in a specific place, at a specific time, under the leadership of specific men. The word “his” also underscores that we don’t need more church hoppers. The mature man doesn’t float from church to church, flitting in and out of different congregations as his mood (and his weekend schedule) dictates. God calls men to belong to a local church and to be in that church every Sunday unless providentially hindered (such as by illness, death, emergency) or unless necessary travel (such as family vacation or essential work commitments) means he will worship in a different church.

The fourth word is “serving.” I almost missed this word myself. I started to write about the three words that I want my sons to notice, and then I came back and realized I had skipped what may be the most important word in the title. The goal is not simply to have redeemed men who join a good church and sit in the pew Sunday after Sunday. All of that is foundational and indispensable. But the call of God is more than signing up and showing up. The call of God is to serve in the church. This call may mean serving in church office as an elder or deacon. This may mean, for an even smaller subset of men, serving as a pastor or staff member in the church. But those are just the most obvious ways to serve. Whether a man ever holds ecclesiastical office or not, he is still called to be a serving member of the church. He must be more than a consumer of fine preaching, quality programs, or excellent music. Certainly, his church involvement must consist of more than making good business connections, making himself look good in the eyes of others, or simply making his wife happy. The redeemed man is in his church in order to serve his church, because in serving the body of Christ he serves Christ Himself.

Set Apart to Serve

When I think about redeemed men serving in the church, my mind goes immediately to the many fine elders I have served with. I know too many pastors have horror stories of the immature, untaught, sometimes even unconverted men they have had to serve with on the session (the governing elder board). By God’s grace, I don’t have those stories. With very few exceptions, the men I’ve served with have been sincere, hard-working, and eager to do God’s work in His ways.

I could talk about many such men, but I’ll just mention one. I’ll call him Tom, so as not to embarrass him if he ever reads this book. Tom was one of those pillars in the church, the kind of unflashy, but stalwart individuals that every church needs. For decades, he worked a blue-collar job—a tough, monotonous, on-your-feet-all-day kind of job that, in my opinion, sounded harder than being a pastor. Although he was often tired, I didn’t hear him complain. He worked his normal job, and then gave hours and hours after that to the church. I’m pretty sure he didn’t make a lot of money, but I know he gave consistently and generously. He showed up every Sunday morning and evening. He and his godly wife raised four children, all of whom are walking with the Lord. He liked to read history especially. He took seriously his responsibility to care for the members in his elder district. He volunteered for committees. He discipled younger men. He and his wife welcomed people in their home. He read his Bible every morning. And often, when he shook my hand after church, he’d look me in the eye and say, “I want you to know I pray for you every day.”

Tom would be the first (and last) to tell you that he wasn’t perfect. He’d list the gifts he didn’t have in abundance. He’d tell you what he wasn’t good at. He’d demur, without any false humility, that he wasn’t sure he was qualified to be an elder. But he was a great elder. Better yet, he was (and is) a great Christian. And that’s crucial, because there is no being a truly great elder or a great pastor or a great man in the church without first being a great Christian. “Be thou an example of the believers,” Paul exhorted Timothy, “in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity” (1 Tim. 4:12). That’s a lot of ground to cover, but that’s what my friend Tom was like, and that’s what godly manhood looks like—to be exemplary in what we say with our mouths, where we go with our feet, what we do with our hands, what we believe in our heads, and what we do with our sexual thoughts and sexual parts. After more than twenty years in ministry, I still find 1 Timothy 4:12 challenging, convicting, and inspiring.

When the church in Jerusalem was struggling to minister to the widows in Acts 6, the answer was to find godly men to address the problem. The situation was volatile. Some women were being overlooked in the daily distribution, and the oversight looked like ethnic prejudice to boot (v. 1). The apostles knew they couldn’t ignore the problem, but they also knew they were not the ones to directly fix the problem. Their God-given priorities were prayer and the ministry of the word (v. 4). The God-given solution was to find “seven men of honest report, full of the Holy Ghost and wisdom, whom we may appoint over this business” (v. 3). Not just any old warm bodies, but men they could trust, men who were good with people, men who were spiritual in the deepest sense of the word.

We know that women also served in the early church (Rom. 16:1), no doubt in integral and invaluable ways (see, for example, all the women mentioned in the rest of Romans 16). But the spiritual temperature of the church will always have a hard time rising higher than the spiritual temperature of the men in the church. That’s not a statement of comparative worth between the sexes. It’s a statement about reality—the way God made human beings and the way He made the church. Godly women flourish when they have godly men in the church to serve and to lead. It was a judgment upon ancient Israel when they had women to rule over them (Isa. 3:12), not because every man is apt to be a better ruler than every woman, but because it is a sign of spiritual declension when strong, wise, just, compassionate men—to govern and to rule—are nowhere to be found.

Older Men

The New Testament says more about what men should be like in the church than what men specifically should be doing in the church (other than possibly serving as officers). That makes sense because no amount of competence can make up for a lack of character. If we don’t want to be “barren” or “unfruitful” in our knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ, we must be growing in godliness (2 Peter 1:5–8). One of the few character texts addressed specifically to men is found in Titus 2. There Paul tells Titus what particularly he ought to tell the older men, the older women, the younger women, and the younger men. Let’s look at the first and last of those categories.

In Titus 2:2, Paul admonishes “the aged men” to be marked by six qualities: sober, grave, temperate, sound in faith, in charity, in peace.”

(1) Sober may have reference to alcohol, but the term means more than that. To be sober is to be balanced. The problem with alcohol isn’t alcohol per se; the problem is with imbalanced intake of alcohol. God is telling older men to be measured, even-keeled, and balanced. After walking with the Lord for many years, older men should be less inclined to get tipped over to one side or the other. They don’t fly off the handle with anger. They hear both sides. They are consistent. Godly men are calm, clear-headed, not governed by the mob, not willing to give in to negative peer pressure. Older Christian men should be anchors.

(2) Older men should also be grave. This doesn’t mean dour, grim, and joyless. Think of the word gravitas. It suggests someone who is dignified, serious about the right things, and worthy of respect. We live in a society where people are famous for being famous. The digital age promises instant notoriety, instant influence, and insta-everything. The church, on the other hand, needs men who know how to love and care for their wives for decade after decade, men who know how to raise godly children, men who prioritize substance over sizzle.

(3) Older men must also be temperate. We sometimes laugh at cranky old men, but irritability and rage are not fruits of the Spirit. To be temperate is to be self-controlled. Older men ought to have a measure of discipline in their lives—in prayer, in the word, in conversation, in what they eat, in what they watch, in how they spend their time.

(4) Older men are to be sound in faith. This does not mean that the older man has every question answered or never has a single doubt. But it does mean that his life is marked by a profound trust in God. The older man has been through the highs and lows of life. He should be able to look back and say,

Hitherto Thy love has blest me;Thou hast brought me to this place; And I know Thy hand will bring meSafely home by Thy good grace.2

(5) Older men should also be sound in charity. I remember from a previous church an older man I sat next to in the choir. He was smart, well-educated, funny, and happy. He also had a number of quirks and not a few, um, senior moments. He was a godly man too. I knew that his wife had health problems because she never came to church. When I heard that she was in the hospital again, I asked what it was like to care for her as her health deteriorated. Without a word of complaint, he rattled off all he had to do for her, where he had to take her, and how he had to give her pills, change her clothes, and keep her washed. “Oh,” I said, “It must be hard having to do that for. . . .” I didn’t finish the sentence, because I didn’t know how long he had been caring for his invalid wife. Then he filled in the blank: “Twenty-seven years.” Here was a man sound in charity.

(6) Finally, older men are to be sound in patience. Oh, how the church needs saints who finish well. Anybody can be impressive at twenty five, but what about sixty five, seventy five, or eighty five? Too many Christians fizzle out. They press on at first but end up coasting. The Christian race takes endurance. If you are a seasoned saint reading this, don’t put the controls on autopilot. Don’t waste twenty years of your life in trivialities. Of course, we are bound to slow down. Spending time with grandkids is good. Hobbies can be pleasing to the Lord. If we live long enough, we will retire from a job, but we don’t retire from the kingdom. Winston Churchill lived an amazingly full life, and then he became Prime Minister. The church needs Christian men who run the race all the way through the tape. After winning the gold medal in the 1924 Olympics, Eric Liddel was asked the secret of his success in the 400 meters. Liddel replied, “I run the first 200 meters as hard as I can. Then, for the second 200 meters, with God’s help, I run harder.”3

Younger Men

After beginning his exhortations by singling out the older men, Paul finishes his instructions to Titus by mentioning the younger men. Somewhat surprisingly, Paul only has one command for the younger men: “be sober minded” (sōphronein, Titus 2:6). Verses 7 and 8 apply to the younger men too, but they are strictly speaking Paul’s instructions for Titus as an example to younger men. There is only one direct command for the younger men, and it’s not at all original. Closely related Greek words are used in verse 2 (sōphrōn, translated “temperate”), verse 5 (sōphrōn, “discreet”), and again in verse 12 (sōphronōs, “soberly”). So, is Paul going soft on the young men with this one meager command?

Not at all. Paul issued instructions that were not, by and large, exclusive to any one group, but addressed that group’s particular challenge. Take the older men. They are into the second half of their lives, so God is concerned that they be dignified, worthy of respect, and finish well with patience and endurance. Older women, without kids in tow, might wander from house to house, talking more than they should. God is concerned that they not be slanderers, but examples and teachers for the younger women. On the other hand, the younger women, for their season of life, need exhortations regarding the family and the home. In each case, there is some overlap, but the commands are chosen to fit what that specific group needs to hear.

It seems likely, then, that Paul hits on this characteristic of godliness because it is the one that young men struggle with most, and perhaps the type of virtue that young men aspire to least.

Being sensible and disciplined is not what teenage boys and college-aged men are known for. Harnessed by the Spirit, young men can be bold, fearless, courageous, and accomplish great things. Ruled by their hormones and their not-yet-fully-formed brains, young men can push each other to be wild, foolish, and careless. The ungodly man will not just stumble into a less than sober minded life; he will look for it. Self-control, for young men, is often an area of vice not a virtue.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. We mustn’t think that the only kind of masculinity is toxic masculinity. God made men to be strong, aggressive, risk-taking, protective, and self-sacrificing. If young men are to serve well in the church, they must show themselves to be sober minded sexually (channeling the sex drive into marriage), sober minded emotionally (putting to death fits of rage), sober minded socially (proving to be responsible, dependable, and reliable) and sober minded spiritually (pursuing Christian service and Christian maturity with the same passion that they pursue sports, career, hobbies, and adventure). Throughout church history, young men have been catalysts for missionary movements, for reforming the church, for bettering their homes, and for reaching their neighbors with the gospel. A zealous young Christian man with wisdom, discernment, and self-control is a holy weapon in the hand of God.

The Manly Virtue of Magnanimity

We learn another character quality crucial for serving the church from John Witherspoon, who was the president of Princeton (then called the College of New Jersey) from 1768, when he arrived from his native Scotland after a career in pastoral ministry, until he died in 1794. Twice during his presidency—in 1775 and again in 1787—Witherspoon preached a message before commencement on a theme we don’t hear a lot about today. “My single purpose from these words at this time,” he told his all-male students, “is to explain and recommend magnanimity as a Christian virtue.”4

The heading above calls magnanimity a “manly virtue.” By that, I don’t mean that magnanimity is unique to men or that women are not also called to this trait. But I do think magnanimity is a virtue particularly befitting to manhood, and that manhood bereft of magnanimity is especially lamentable. When the apostle Paul enjoined the Corinthians to be strong, to stand firm in the faith, and to “quit you like men” (1 Cor. 16:13), he was calling men and women to courage, but he was also embracing the notion that fortitude in the face of opposition is what we associate with manliness.

According to Witherspoon, magnanimity entails five commitments: (1) “to attempt great and difficult things,” (2) “to aspire after great and valuable possessions,” (3) to face “dangers with resolution,” (4) “to struggle against difficulties with perseverance,” and (5) “to bear sufferings with fortitude and patience.”5 In short, the magnanimous Christian is eager to attempt great things and willing to endure great hardships.

Witherspoon took for granted that the world approves of magnanimity. His concern was that some might conclude that calling men (like his Princeton graduates) to strength and valor and ambition does not fit with the tenor of the gospel. Christians have often struggled to know how godliness and manliness mesh. But virtues, Witherspoon insisted, can never be inconsistent with each other. He noted that while the gospel would have us mourn for our sin and cultivate a humility of spirit, we are also “called to live and act for the glory of God and the good of others.”6

Likewise, manliness does not mean we must be larger-than-life gunslingers and gladiators who swagger into town ready to kill or be killed. There is more than one way to be brave and many ways to be strong. Not everyone will be gifted with brains or brawn. Not everyone will have the opportunity for world-altering heroism. “But,” Witherspoon noted, “that magnanimity which is the fruit of true religion, being indeed the product of divine grace, is a virtue of the heart and may be attained by persons of mean talents and narrow possessions and in the very lowest stations of human life.”8

If magnanimity calls us to attempt great things, it also compels us to endure great suffering. Merriam-Webster defines magnanimity as “loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity.” Would that our leading Christian voices, and Christian men in particular, were models of this kind of magnanimity! While we all should disdain pettiness, there is something particularly discomfiting when a man feels the need to advertise the offenses against him and swing at every offender. The magnanimous person does not bear grudges, does not wallow in self-pity, does not demand penance, and does not stoop to settle every score.

In the end, the two parts of magnanimity are inseparable, for the great man is measured not only by what he does but by what he does not do. We would do well to be more like David pardoning Shimei than the sons of Zeruiah looking for the next enemy to execute. Bearing burdens, eschewing meanness, and setting an example of noble generosity is not just a saner and more effective way to live; it is the way of the cross. For the manly virtue of magnanimity is the way of the One who accomplished great things by defeating His foes, even while crying out, “Father forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).

The redeemed man who would serve in his church—no matter what specific tasks, offices, or responsibilities he signs up for—must be a man we can look up to. He may be ordinary in gifting, in resources, in abilities, and ordinary in a dozen other things, but he must be exemplary in virtue. The men in our churches need not make any apologies for being men, but they do need to keep their eyes on Jesus in order to see what true manhood looks like. We must press hard after the manly virtue of magnanimity, for such is the Savior we serve.

John Stott, The Living Church (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 2007), 19. ↩︎Robert Robinson, “Come, Thou fount of every blessing,” adapted by E. Margaret Clarkson (1986). ↩︎Russell W. Ramsey, God’s Joyful Runner (Bridge, 1987), 68. ↩︎John Witherspoon, “Christian Magnanimity” in The Selected Writings of John Witherspoon, ed. Thomas Miller (Carbondale, Ill.: Southern Illinois University Press, 1990), 117. The last section of this chapter is based on my article “The Manly Virtue of Magnanimity” which first appeared on February 22, 2022, in World Opinions, https://wng.org/opinions/the-manly-virtue-of-magnanimity-1645529342. Used with permission. ↩︎Witherspoon, “Christian Magnanimity,” in Selected Writings, 118. With respect to aspiring after possessions, Witherspoon commented, “His desires after present enjoyments are subjected to the will of God…. But the glorious object of the Christian’s ambition is the inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away” (122). ↩︎Witherspoon, “Christian Magnanimity,” in Selected Writings, 121. ↩︎Witherspoon, “Christian Magnanimity,” in Selected Writings, 124. ↩︎Witherspoon, “Christian Magnanimity,” in Selected Writings, 124. ↩︎

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

6 Questions for Christian Nationalists

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 10:36:53 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/6-questions-for-christian-nationalists/id1700530766?i=1000739906291

I am not a Christian Nationalist, but I almost could be.

In my 2021 article, “What to Do With Christian Nationalism,” I argued that there were two problems with Christian Nationalism.

First, no one agrees on what Christian Nationalism is. I cited Andrew Whitehead and Samuel Perry, who summarized Christian Nationalist beliefs in six statements: The federal government should (1) declare the United States a Christian nation, (2) advocate Christian values, (3) not enforce the strict separation of church and state, (4) allow religious symbols in public spaces, and (5) allow prayer in public schools. (6) The success of the United States is part of God’s plan. By that definition, a majority of Americans believe one or more tenets of Christian Nationalism. I could almost support all six of those statements, depending on what is meant by words like “declare,” “advocate,” “success,” and “strict separation.” The Whitehead-Perry definition never stuck. There is still a wide range of views on what people mean by Christian Nationalism.

The second problem I identified was that no one was actually arguing for something called Christian Nationalism. If that was generally true in 2021 (and, in hindsight, I’m sure I missed some early voices embracing the term), it is no longer the case. In the last four years, there have been many people—in books, in blogs, on podcasts, in speeches, on X, and in personal conversation—eager to own the label Christian Nationalist and, in many places, argue strenuously for it.

For my part, while I never liked the term, I was (and still am) in favor of certain principles that some people may call Christian Nationalism. In April 2022, I wrote another article on Christian Nationalism, this time commending what Presbyterian pastor and Princeton Seminary professor Samuel Miller (1769–1850) called “enlightened patriotism.” Miller had no patience for newer voices of “infidel fanaticism” that wanted to reject the religion of Christ and throw off the restraints of a religious and moral code. Miller insisted that without sound doctrine, Americans could not truly be moral, and without morality they would be miserable. The duty of Christians, therefore, was “to labor unceasingly to impart sound doctrine to all classes of people for the sake of our beloved country.”

These two paragraphs go to the heart of what I was arguing in 2022 and what I still believe today:

Importantly, Miller’s “enlightened patriotism” did not entail a state church (like Anglicanism in Virginia) or a Presbyterian establishment (like the Scottish Kirk). Every “species of alliance between church and state is forbidden and can never fail to become a curse to both.” Miller did not want an officially Christian nation, but he did hope for a nation that was demonstrably Christian. In fact, he believed sound doctrine was the best medicine for the health of the republic: “You cannot take a more direct and certain course to render the insidious demagogue despised, and to deprive the profligate votary of ambition of all his influence; to inspire a love of liberty, and to promote the prevalence of the purest patriotism.”

Miller’s prescription for America would not have been controversial in Albany [where he preached this message], in the Presbyterian church, or in almost anywhere in early 19th-century America. Miller’s evangelical audience was not hoping for a reunion of church and state. At the same time, neither was his audience nervous about a full-throated appreciation for the inestimable blessings of American self-government and constitutional liberties. Miller’s “Christian nationalism”—to use the contested term—was not a political platform as much as it was the widely shared assumption that (1) Christians had good reason to be thankful for America, (2) Christianity has been instrumental in the founding of America, and (3) Christianity had a key role to play in preserving and passing on the privileges that belonged to free Americans.

Many people, when they hear “Christian Nationalism” they think of the sorts of things Samuel Miller took for granted:

Many of our founders were sincere Christians, America was founded on many Christian principles, and The health of America depends upon the virtue that comes from Christianity.

I say Amen to all of this. America should not be a secular nation with religion hidden away in the privacy of people’s homes and churches.

I hope Christianity continues to have a prominent place in the public square, even a privileged place (as it has for most of the last 250 years). As Christians, we should not approach cultural engagement as an effort to negotiate favorable terms for our own surrender. We ought to argue for prudential policies and good laws that flow out of the best of Christian political thought.

Celebrating our Christian heritage, promoting Christian ideas in the public square, and having elected officials who are committed to historic Christianity and eager to see Christian churches protected and flourish—if that’s Christian Nationalism, most evangelicals in this country would be for it. And so would I.

Why Not Christian Nationalism

And yet, I am not a Christian Nationalist. When asked why not, I usually rattle off four points.

(1) There is still no shared understanding of what the term means. Many proponents equate Christian Nationalism with support for some kind of church establishment and for the use of the state’s coercive power in matters of religion. I am opposed to both of these things.

(2) The most prominent book making the case for Christian Nationalism, though not without some merits, has many serious problems, including a blurring of nation and ethnicity, a decentering of the importance of the church, a call for a “Christian prince” to “suppress the enemies of God” and to install a “measured theocratic Caesarism,” and a final section that rails against everything from living under a gynocracy to the presence of overweight PCA pastors who (presumably) have low testosterone and chug vegetable oil.

(3) Nationalism refers to a set of political and ethical commitments that arose at the end of the eighteenth century and was then shaped throughout the nineteenth century by romanticism and the industrial revolution. Championing Christian Nationalism is not the same as recognizing that for most of American history many Americans would have thought of their country as a Christian nation. Paul Marshall helpfully distinguishes between religious nationalism and religion-infused politics. Religious nationalism refers to a movement or ideology “promoting the interests of a particular nation, a group of people who believe they have a shared historical, cultural, lingual, or religious heritage, and commonly wish to have a state that expresses that heritage.” This is not the same as asserting that religion has been a significant shaping force in a country’s history, nor is it the same as arguing for key political principles on religious grounds. Religious nationalism, by contrast, usually calls for the state to protect the religious interests of one group, while marginalizing or suppressing other groups. “In so doing,” Marshall explains, “it treats the members of the dominant religion and/or language, ethnicity, and culture as the core citizens and others as second class.”

(4) Increasingly, the loudest voices arguing for Christian Nationalism are marked by juvenile insults steeped in online jargon from the dissident right. What’s more, some of these proponents traffic openly in racist ideology, antisemitism, and Neo-Nazi sympathies. The most strident Christian Nationalism proponents on social media are often a potent combination of oafery and demagoguery.

In short, I don’t believe the term Christian Nationalism is necessary, helpful, or wise. There are better ways—more precise and more accurate—to describe what serious Christian political thought might espouse and what robust Christian engagement in the political sphere might look like.

Six Questions

Having explained why I agree with some of the convictions that could be labeled “Christian Nationalism,” and yet why I don’t embrace the term, let me lay out several pertinent questions. These questions can be read as implicit statements, since it will be clear in explaining each question what I believe, but I also hope they will be read as genuine questions. There are varieties of Christian Nationalism, and it is not always clear whether the various proponents agree on the particularities of their theology or their political prescriptions. I do not believe that everyone associated with the label Christian Nationalism or who appreciates some of its emphases holds to everything I will speak against in these six questions. If I discover that some self-styled Christian Nationalists believe close to the same things I believe, I’ll be grateful for that clarity. It may also be the case that many people in the pews think they like Christian Nationalism but haven’t really thought through the ramifications of the most popular rhetoric.

Here, then, are six questions for Christian Nationalists and for those who are drawn to their vision of a more aggressively Christian magistrate and a vision for church-state relations that moves beyond the classic liberalism of the last 250 years.

Do you unequivocally renounce antisemitism, racism, and Nazism? When and how does the nation act as a corporate moral person? What is the purpose of civil government? What does it mean for the civil magistrate to promote true religion? Was the First Amendment a mistake? What is the historical example of the political order you would like to see in America?

(Note: the reader will detect, if he hasn’t already, that I am writing specifically for an American context, assuming our history and tradition. I hope that some of my arguments can be useful in other contexts as well.)

Question #1: Do you unequivocally renounce antisemitism, racism, and Nazism?

That is to say, do you hold to any of the following: (1) a disdain for Jewish people and a belief that a secret cabal of Jews are responsible for a litany of evils in our world, (2) a disdain for non-Whites and a belief in the mental and spiritual inferiority of Blacks, and (3) an appreciation for Adolf Hitler and a belief that Nazis were the misunderstood good guys in World War II? I know I haven’t provided technical definitions for these isms or sought to substantiate my insinuation that all three are sinful and abhorrent. But that’s the point. Most people don’t need a lot of nuance to condemn antisemitism, racism, and Nazism. I commend Christian Nationalists like Doug Wilson who have called out these destructive sympathies on the right. It should be a simple thing to reject these ideologies and make clear that they have no place in conservatism, in Christianity, or in Christian Nationalism.

Question #2: When and how does the nation act as a corporate moral person?

Recently, Doug Wilson offered a defense and explanation of Christian Nationalism. The occasion for the post was the podcast conversation (mainly about Calvinism, but a little about Christian Nationalism) that I had with Hillsdale’s president Larry Arnn. I thought Wilson’s explanation was a friendly, good-faith effort to bring light (instead of heat) to a contested topic.

In the post, Wilson details two ideas, noting that “almost all believing Christians accept both premises.” First, Wilson says all Christians agree that “true morality is grounded in the nature and character of the living God.” Non-believers can still behave decently, Wilson argues, but they are unable to give a coherent account of why they are obligated to behave in such ways. Absolute moral claims must have a transcendental grounding. I agree.

The second point we supposedly all agree on is where things get more complicated: “All nations, states, or tribes are moral agents. They make decisions and take actions that are either righteous or they are not.” You can see where this logic is heading. Every nation is going to have some religion. And if a nation is going to have a religion, it must have the true religion, and that means biblical Christianity. Every nation, like every individual, is going to be pleasing to God or displeasing to God, so Christians must insist that their nation be a Christian nation.

This sounds plausible, but the theological assumptions and political implications in this argument get murky very quickly. Let’s start with theology. While the Bible teaches that nations can be judged for their wickedness, this is not the same as saying that the nation as a nation is a corporate moral person. Robert Dabney (1820–1898), for example, argued that although a nation is bound to obey and worship the true God, this “obligation is nothing else but the individual obligation of all the members, and nothing more is needed to defend or sanction it than their individual morality and religiousness” (ST, 881). In other words, an association of persons fulfills its religious and moral obligations through the individual members of that association, not as a corporate moral person. By Dabney’s logic, the way to make a Christian nation is to make the people in the nation Christians.

The political implications of the “moral agent” argument are even more dicey. Consider these lines from Wilson’s article:

So my version of Christian nationalism is simply this. America needs to stop making God mad. Abortion makes Him angry. Sodomy makes Him angry. Mammon-worship makes Him angry. Pornography makes Him angry. And the only way to avert the judgments of His anger is by repenting of our sin and turning back to Christ.

I agree with all that Wilson is stating here. But I am not sure I agree with the unstated implication about what this means for the legitimacy of Christian Nationalism. I too want America to stop making God mad. (It’s worth pointing out, as an aside, that the moral agency argument tends to only highlight ways that nations are wicked, rather than ever concluding, say, that America has more evangelical Christians than any other country and this makes God happy.) I love what Wilson says about repenting of our sin and turning back to Christ. But this seems to equate “moral agency” with Dabney’s insistence that individuals fulfill the nation’s obligations, not nations as such. While nations can outlaw abortion, sodomy, and pornography, no nation can effectively outlaw mammon-worship. I’m quite sure Wilson would say it’s beyond the scope of government to criminalize the love of money. But if that is so, then we have established that nations do not have to—and, indeed, should not try to—outlaw everything that makes God angry. It seems to me, then (but I’m not sure Wilson would agree), that nations can be called to account before God without insisting that the government of those nations make declaratory statements about Christian doctrine or suppress non-Christian forms of religious expression.

Question #3: What is the purpose of civil government?

Many advocates of Christian Nationalism are champions of limited government. At the same time, they speak of government having authority to direct man to his highest and heavenly good. These two sets of convictions seem to be at odds. Is the purpose of government to protect God-given rights (e.g., life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness)? Or is government to be concerned with the whole perfection of man? One does not have to be a hardcore libertarian to appreciate that the United States Constitution is amazingly brief and quite constrained in what it is trying to accomplish. According to the Preamble, the people of the United States have come together as a political body with five goals in mind: establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty. America’s constitutional order is not oriented to man’s heavenly good. It is designed to keep people safe, peaceable, prosperous, and free. That’s why I appreciate the candor of the Christian Nationalists who admit that their program requires a near total scrapping of our Constitutional framework.

Last year I wrote an article detailing Robert Dabney’s argument against church establishments. These two paragraphs about limited government summarize the point I’m trying to make.

Dabney disagrees with [William] Gladstone’s contention that the proper end of human government is to foster the welfare of human beings in all things. Dabney calls this the to pan (Greek for “everything”) view of civil government, and he rejects it for three reasons: Romans 13:4 teaches otherwise; it is utterly impractical; and it renders every association of human beings an extension of the state.

Dabney is especially exercised by this last point. If the proper object of the state is the whole welfare of man, including his highest and ultimate good, then there is no family and no church that exists originally and independently of the state. “The parent is but the delegate of the government” as the government concerns itself with man’s summum bonum in all things, including the family. Likewise, “ecclesiastical persons and assemblies are but magistrates engaged in one part of their functions” (ST, 882). The state that is, by its very nature and object, designed to be concerned with the whole welfare of man, is a state that can, and must, interfere in everything.

I know that many of my friends with an appreciation for Christian Nationalism also appreciate Thomas Sowell (b. 1930). I would urge them to recall Sowell’s distinction between the unconstrained vision of human nature and the constrained vision. Progressives tend to have an unconstrained view of human nature, believing in the great things government can achieve when human beings work together, freed from the ills of poverty, prejudice, and ignorance. Conservatives, on the other hand, usually hold to a constrained view of the human person, believing that human beings are inherently flawed, prone to abuse authority and mistreat others. I fail to see how the vision of Christian Nationalism, with its insistence that government ought to be concerned with the whole perfection of man, fits with a constrained view of human nature and accounts for the inherent corruption in every human heart (including, and maybe especially, in the hearts of those who exercise power over others).

Along these lines, I’ve said before that there are two ways we can conceive of civil government.

One way is to think of the best that government can (and should) accomplish if the right people are in charge—and then to design a government toward that grand end.

The other way is to think of all the worst that government can (and often does) pursue because human beings are selfish and corrupt—and then to design a government that will frustrate these inclinations.

The American founding—with its emphasis on liberty, equality, and freedom—was oriented more toward the latter than the former. This is why James Madison wrote in Federalist No. 51 about the need for ambition to counteract ambition and for a realistic recognition that government will not be run by angels. The French Revolution may have believed in the perfectibility of man, but the American founders designed a government with imperfect human beings in mind.

I do not want government to direct its citizens to the highest, heavenly good, or to order society around true religion, because I do not trust the government to determine true religion from false religion, and because I do not trust human beings to wield this kind of authority well or wisely. I hold these convictions not in avoidance of Calvinist theology, but precisely because I am a Calvinist. A Reformed understanding of human nature should lead one to grant the civil magistrate less power in matters of religion, not more.

Question #4: What does it mean for the civil magistrate to promote the true religion?

Some recent proposals, instead of using the language of Christian Nationalism, have called more generally for the civil magistrate to promote true religion. I grant that one can argue for the “promotion” position without being a Christian Nationalist. The circles are overlapping but not identical. Nevertheless, I think the question is important in trying to determine what “promote” means and whether it is, in the end, much different from various Christian Nationalism proposals.

The argument, specifically as it relates to Presbyterians, is that even if American Presbyterians at the end of the eighteenth century rejected church establishments like the ones that existed in England or Scotland, they were still in favor of a “soft establishment.” That is, they were in favor of a pan-Protestant establishment whereby no Protestant denomination would receive government patronage above another, but Protestant Christianity as a whole would be upheld and promoted.

There is certainly some truth to this historical claim. The Presbyterians who revised the Westminster Confession of Faith in 1788 still assumed that the civil magistrate would be Christian and that Protestant Christianity would have a privileged place in the new American republic. They were not secularists or mere proceduralists. But I wouldn’t call their view a “soft establishment” because these Presbyterians equated the establishment principle with the specter of Anglican hegemony they were trying to prevent. In explaining the revisions to the Confession in 1788, and how the delegates approved a new understanding of the civil magistrate, Ashbel Green observed that governmental patronage for the church would be “a calamity and a curse.” Likewise, Samuel Miller celebrated God’s blessings to America in giving them “a land where the people, under God, are supreme” and “where we have no ecclesiastical establishments.” Protestant Christianity may have been a public truth and a privileged truth, but Presbyterians did not want an established church of any kind.

But that still leaves the question of whether the civil magistrate ought to promote true religion. That depends, of course, on what is meant by “promote.” Does “promote” mean that the magistrate must have a sincere devotion to Christ? Be a regular churchgoer? Have a credible profession of faith? Adorn the gospel by his behavior? Speak of Christ and the Christian faith publicly and warmly? I am in favor of all these things, as God has called all Christians to these things. I want the civil magistrate to be a Christian, and to be an exemplary one at that.

And yet, I suspect that “promote” is meant to entail more than this. But what? Calling for days of prayer and fasting? Giving fireside chats at Christmas that speak about the good news of Christ’s birth? Defending the rights of conscience and religious liberty? Establishing a military chaplain corps? Tax breaks for churches and clergy? I like all that.

Or does “promote” mean supporting churches and ministers from tax revenue? Making religious tests of office? Reforming the church so that its worship, discipline, and doctrine are in line with God’s word? Shutting down churches and religious assemblies that are false and idolatrous? These are bad ideas in my estimation. I might agree with “promote,” but the devil is in the details.

I’ve written twice about the American revisions to the Westminster Confession of Faith to reflect a new understanding of the civil magistrate. I know that some people see more continuity between the 1646 Confession and the 1788 Confession. Others have argued that just because the American revision removed something from the original Confession does not mean that what is removed is now forbidden. I think the two versions of the confession, as they relate to the civil magistrate, are mutually exclusive at points, but even if those arguing for more continuity are correct, we still must face the question squarely: What is the civil magistrate supposed to do?

I know I’m speaking specifically to Presbyterians at this point, but these are important questions to ask ourselves and the officers in our churches.

Do you believe that the civil magistrate must take order that unity and peace be preserved in the church? Do you believe that the civil magistrate must take order so that the truth of God be kept pure and blameless? Do you believe that the civil magistrate must take order so that all blasphemies and heresies are suppressed? Do you believe that the civil magistrate must take order so that all corruptions and abuses in worship and discipline are prevented or reformed? Do you believe that the civil magistrate must take order so that the ordinances of God are duly settled, administered, and observed? Do you believe that the civil magistrate has power to call ecclesiastical synods? Do you believe that the civil magistrate has power to ensure that whatever is transacted at an ecclesiastical synod is according to the mind of God? Do you believe that those who make public such opinions—or maintain such practices—that are contrary to the light of nature or the known principles of Christianity as they relate to faith, worship, and conversation may be prosecuted by the power of the civil magistrate?

The original version of the Westminster Confession (1646) called for all of these things, and the American revision of the Confession (1788) removed all of these lines. If the word “promote” entails any of the above—and these were the means by which the Westminster divines believed the magistrate was to promote the Reformed faith—then I am against the civil magistrate “promoting” true religion.

Every political leader must give an account to Christ of his beliefs and behaviors. That is true for all human beings. But once we insist that the government should be in the business of promoting true religion—as the Westminster divines understood that task—we are left with the question of who determines what is the true religion. We can say that we know what the true religion is, and that, of course, is what the civil magistrate must promote. But the clear record of history demonstrates that human beings will not agree on how ultimate spiritual and metaphysical questions should be answered. To require human government to promote the true religion is to expect that government is competent to answer these questions. The result will be something closer to “might makes right” than to the enlightened rule of godly magistrates directing each of us to our heavenly good. A better approach, which most Christians and most Westerners came to discover, is to take government out of the business of discerning (and then promoting) the answers to life’s most important questions.

I believe the magistrate ought to maintain piety, justice, and peace (WCF 23.2). And I believe he accomplishes these ends by protecting the church without giving preference to any denomination, by ensuring that ecclesiastical persons shall enjoy the unquestioned liberty of discharging every part of their sacred functions, by protecting the person and good name of all people (even unbelievers), and by taking order so that all religious assembles can do their work without disturbance (WCF 23.3). Likewise, I believe that the civil magistrate must not enact any laws that interfere with the due exercise of the church’s government, discipline, and worship (WCF 23.3). In short, I believe the civil magistrate may not “in the least, interfere in matters of faith” (WCF 23.3).

Question #5: Was the First Amendment a mistake?

If I had only one question to ask a proponent of Christian Nationalism, this would be my first: What do you believe about the First Amendment? Granted, many of my Christian heroes from the past would not have agreed with the principle of religious freedom enshrined in the First Amendment. The Bible does not mandate the First Amendment (though I think it can be supported from, and arises out of, Christian principles). The reason I would start here is that increasingly, I think the issue of the First Amendment is the quickest way to determine what kind of Christian Nationalism we are talking about.

By the First Amendment, I don’t mean the abuses of the First Amendment. The original intent of the establishment clause was not to remove Christian symbols from the public square, or to install a secular government untainted by religion, or to erect—in the words of the infamous Everson (1947) decision—a “high and impregnable” wall between church and state. Virtually no one at the founding conceived of a political and social order devoid of religion. The purpose of the establishment clause was not to create a strict separation between church and state, nor even to enforce a studied neutrality, but to ensure that religious minorities were accommodated and that religious pluralism was protected in a large commercial republic.

My interest in asking the First Amendment question is not about the establishment clause but about the free exercise clause. The two clauses should not be confused. I am entirely in agreement with those who want to recover an originalist understanding of the establishment clause and push back on the mistaken notion that the Constitution meant to excise religion from public and political life. But in making this correction, we must not forget that the First Amendment protects more than private belief. It ensures the free exercise of religion. What I want to know is whether Christian Nationalists think this First Amendment protection extends to all citizens of whatever religion.

I want to go back one more time to the aforementioned article from Doug Wilson about Christian Nationalism. Wilson defends freedom of religion, but only to a point. He writes:

The doctrine of religious liberty is elastic, and can be stretched to accommodate a number of options within a broad Christian consensus. But religious liberty cannot accommodate jihadists flying planes into skyscrapers, or Aztec priests slaughtering prisoners on ziggurats, or child prostitution in Hindu temples, or Islamic honor killings. Human religiosity has at many times been beyond grotesque, and we cannot hide that fact with the thin whitewash of secular liberal bromides about the blessings of “religious liberty”—if you want to pretend that the differences between the Muslim Brotherhood and Presbyterians is comparable to the differences between Baptists and Presbyterians, then you deserve everything that is coming your way, good and hard.

Look at the four examples Wilson cites:

Jihadists flying planes into skyscrapers, Aztec priests slaughtering prisoners, child prostitution in Hindu temples, and Islamic honor killings.

The rhetorical force of these examples leads the reader to conclude, “I guess religious liberty must have serious limitations.” But all four examples cite activity that is already, and has always been, illegal. No one thinks religious liberty is a blank check to do anything you want because you claim it is a part of your religion. When the federal Constitution was written, most of the state constitutions had already spelled out that the rights of conscience were not to interfere with the peace and safety of others.

Following these examples, Wilson chides anyone who thinks that the differences between the Muslim Brotherhood and Presbyterians are comparable to the differences between Baptists and Presbyterians. Again, I don’t know anyone who thinks those are comparable differences. Note also that Wilson cites the Muslim Brotherhood, an organization of militant revolutionaries, instead of Muslims in general. If Wilson’s point is that religious liberty does not protect murderers, terrorists, and sex traffickers, then of course he is right.

But those examples distract from the more pressing question: What about non-terrorist Muslims and not-in-the-practice-of-child-prostitution Hindus—are they protected by the First Amendment? I am not sure what Wilson would say, but I’m pretty sure many Christian Nationalists believe that peaceable Muslims are not protected. Someone may argue at this point, “Yeah, but the First Amendment didn’t envision over 2,700 mosques in America.” True, and the Second Amendment didn’t envision the AK-47 and 400 million guns in the country. But conservatives believe the principle of the Second Amendment still applies in a different cultural reality. Conservatives ought to believe that the principle of the First Amendment still applies too.

This doesn’t mean that every religion can function in this country as it might in another country. Muslim worship and practice, for example, if it is to be protected in America, must in some measure be an Americanized Islam, not an Islam transplanted wholesale from Saudi Arabia. Nations are right to want to preserve a sense of national identity and to insist that newcomers embrace something of their new nation’s story and tradition. Nations also have the right to secure their borders and to establish immigration restrictions. These are commitments that many countries in the West have ignored to their peril.

These commitments, however, do not have to be at odds with continuing support for the First Amendment. It is hard to conceive of America as America without the aspirations articulated in the Declaration and the freedoms protected in the Constitution. The political genius of the founders was their conclusion that rather than entrusting government with the responsibility to separate true religion from false religion, we ought to make sure that government does not interfere with the free exercise of everyone’s religion. As Michael McConnell puts it:

The free exercise clause guarantees the widest possible scope for religious activity, consistent with peace and safety, and the establishment clause ensures that religious activity is purely voluntary. The result is a religiously pluralistic society, with a religious tradition stronger than that of virtually any other Western nation. (The Bill of Rights: Original Meaning and Current Context, 67)

Of course, the American Constitution is not a divinely inspired document (although Alexander McWhorter, one of the Presbyterian pastors who helped draft the revisions to the Westminster Confession, called it “our glorious Civil Constitution,” a “wonder-working Constitution,” and a “transcendently excellent Constitution”). But raising the issue of the First Amendment helps put possible differences into starker contrast. Christians who, despite America’s many failures, want to preserve our constitutional order deserve to be called conservatives, in the spirit of Edmund Burke who recognized that those who inherit a civilizational tradition tear it down at great risk to themselves and to others. Those who want to move past the Constitution and make America’s state-church dynamic look like sixteenth-century Geneva or Medieval Catholic Europe, are more properly labeled revolutionaries. They are pining for an arrangement that has never existed in our political order and are envisioning a new sort of nation that would no longer be discernibly American.

If all sides acknowledge that America is less Christian and less religious than it used to be, that doesn’t answer the question of what Christians should (and should not) do about this new reality. Consider this observation from Timon Cline:

[John] Adams feared that the American people lacked the requisite civic virtue (morality and religion) appropriate to the chosen constitutional order. It is Adams’ worries that have never been directly approached in earnest. Instead, the morality and religion of the people have been permitted to continually degenerate. The NCR [new Christian right] is acutely aware of this oversight and is interested in its rectification.

I agree with the founders (and with Cline) that virtue is necessary for our constitutional order and that true virtue comes from the Christian faith. My question is what Cline means when he says that American morality and religion have been “permitted” to degenerate. Is he speaking of “permission” in a general sense, merely indicating what has transpired over the years? Or is he thinking of permission more specifically as something that government has wrongly allowed and, therefore, ought to be remedied by legislative means? I believe rectification happens by strong churches, by strong families, by strong institutions, by adorning the gospel with good deeds, and by defending our constitutionally protected freedoms. What I don’t think it entails is calling upon the government to make irreligion and non-Christian religions impermissible.

Once again, Dabney’s voice from the nineteenth century is instructive. Dabney acknowledged that “the doctrine of religious liberty was not evolved at the Reformation” and that “Protestants held it a right and duty to persecute heretics” (ST, 879). For Dabney, this admission was not a reason to reject the American understanding of religious liberty but to celebrate it. “The separation and independence of Church and State was not only not the doctrine of the Reformation. No Christian nation holds it to this day, except ours” (ST, 880). If America’s experiment in church-state relations was novel, so be it. In Dabney’s mind, America was right, while others had not sufficiently evolved in their thinking.

Someone may still argue, “But the First Amendment was about not picking and choosing among various Protestant denominations.” True, that’s part of what the First Amendment was about, but we can’t reduce the First Amendment to a Protestant protection clause. There were Catholics in America at the time of the Constitution (one of them signed the Declaration of Independence). There were also Jews, to whom George Washington wrote in 1790, assuring the Hebrew congregation in Newport, Rhode Island that they too possessed “liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship.” For the government of the United States, Washington wrote, “gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance [but] requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens, in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.”

Religious freedom was the evolution of a Protestant idea that, even at the time of the founding, was not limited to Protestants. And this is to say nothing of the presence today of millions of Mormons, Oneness Pentecostals, and Jehovah’s Witnesses, all of whom are not Christians by any historic standard. If Christian Nationalists believe the First Amendment only protects orthodox Protestants (and maybe, begrudgingly, Catholics and Jews), then surely these newer heretical groups—none of which were envisioned by the founders—should be suppressed. I suggest, however, as an American and as a Christian, that the better way is to pray, preach, and proselytize for the conversion of these religious groups, while also defending their right to exercise their false religion during this temporal order.

Question #6: What is the historical example of the political order you would like to see in America?

For my part, I think the political order established at the American founding—with its threefold cord of Lockean liberalism, classic republicanism, and Protestant Christianity—is worth preserving and celebrating. I also like Miles Smith’s argument for “Christian institutionalism” and his contention that religion in the early American republic was disestablished but not disentangled. I would also add to these ideas something like Russell Kirk’s ten characteristics of conservative thought and Robert George’s nine point summary of conservatism.

I ask this sixth and final question because I find that Christian Nationalists do not at all agree on what model they actually want to implement. I hear them talk positively about medieval Christendom, and the view of the magisterial Reformers, and the American founding, and Kupyerianism as if these were all basically saying the same thing. But Christian political thought has been far from static. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Protestants envisioned a strong and reform-minded civil magistrate, in part, because they needed a magistrate to do what the papacy and the Catholic Church said they were not allowed to do. As various Protestant groups grew wary of jockeying among themselves (and with Catholics) for political power, notions of tolerance and liberty began to look more attractive. Even specifically Reformed thought splintered and evolved. As Miles Smith has observed, “Differences among British Reformed Protestants—the Scots and the English approached political theology differently—and between Britons and their French, German, Hungarian, and Swiss Reformed brethren meant significantly different conceptions of the state marked international Calvinism. Those differences increased during the Glorious Revolution, American Revolution, and the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars.”

Over and over, during the Reformation and in the decades that followed, attempts to implement widespread religious uniformity ran into a brick wall. After Protestants were defeated by Catholics in the Second War of Kappel (1531), during which Zwingli was killed, both sides agreed to let individual Cantons determine their religion rather than fighting for a religiously unified Swiss Confederacy. In 1555, the Holy Roman Empire came to the same conclusion with the Peace of Augsburg’s “Cuius regio, eius religio” principle which enabled each prince to determine the religion of his realm. I mention these 500-year-old examples to show that even if the Magisterial Reformers had the correct view of church and state, it proved to be one that had to be applied to smaller and smaller locales. If the Reformers’ view of the civil magistrate could barely work in a small city of people with the same language, history, and ethnicity, what makes us think their views could ever work in a modern nation-state with tens of millions of people?

Consider Abraham Kuyper (1837–1920), for example, and his Neo-Calvinist vision for the Netherlands at the turn of the twentieth century. In 1900, the Netherlands had a population of around 5 million people. The Dutch were ethnically and culturally homogenous by today’s standards and occupied a slice of land about the size of Maryland and Delaware. And yet, even then, in a small country with a shared language and history, Kuyper advocated a principled pluralism, which meant that competing worldviews had the right to compete in the public square, even though they were not all equally true. To be sure, Kuyper did not want a naked public square. Believing there was “no neutrality” in worldviews, he understood that secularism was its own kind of religion. But his response to the conditions of modernity was to insist on “sphere sovereignty,” the contention that society has multiple spheres of activity, and each one exists independently with its own set of rules and ideas, and each one is connected to God. This was not a godless vision for a secular state. But it was a vision for “a free church in a free state” where government did not trespass into the spheres of family, religion, and the marketplace. Government’s responsibility was to ensure that good order was kept, rights were protected, and all were treated fairly.

I’m not suggesting that Kuyper provides the best model for America. There are things we can learn from him and other parts of his project that don’t transfer well to another time and place. I bring up Kuyper because those in favor of Christian Nationalism sometimes laud Kuyperianism without really understanding what Kuyper was (and wasn’t) trying to accomplish. One of the things Kuyper admitted freely was that Reformed theologians wrongly assumed, as most Christians had since Constantine, that the duty of government was to stamp out false religion and idolatry. In laying out his political program in 1879, Kuyper stressed that he did not want to recover from the past anything “that has proved unusable, nothing that we have outgrown or that no longer fits our circumstances.” He steadfastly opposed re-establishing a Reformed state church. “On the contrary,” he wrote, “we demand the strictest application of the principle that the state shall not itself promote ‘the saving faith’” (Our Program, Section 11).

Kuyper argued that we ought to look at what was unique about Calvinism—its emphasis on the rights of conscience—not at the errors that it had in common with every other system. “I am forced to admit,” Kuyper said in his famous Stone Lectures (1898) at Princeton, “that our fathers, in theory, had not the courage of the conclusions which follow from this liberty of conscience, for the liberty of speech and the liberty of worship must also be protected.” This is an important concession, and it’s why Kuyper and Bavinck led the way in revising Article 36 of the Belgic Confession on the civil magistrate. Kuyper argued that the civil magistrate should not (as Article 36 insisted) uphold the sacred ministry, “with a view to removing and destroying all idolatry and false worship of the Antichrist” and to “promoting the kingdom of Jesus Christ.” Because this is the very issue that perplexes many Reformed Christians today, it is worth reading the six points Kuyper made, quite strenuously, in opposition to his own Confession:

We oppose this Confession out of complete conviction, prepared to bear the consequences of our convictions, even when we will be denounced and mocked on that account as unReformed.

We would rather be considered not Reformed and insist that men ought not to kill heretics, than that we are left with the Reformed name as the prize for assisting in the shedding of the blood of heretics.

It is our conviction:

1) that the examples which are found in the Old Testament are of no force for us because the infallible indication of what was or was not heretical which was present at that time is now lacking.

2) That the Lord and the Apostles never called upon the help of the magistrate to kill with the sword the one who deviated from the truth. Even in connection with such horrible heretics as defiled the congregation in Corinth, Paul mentions nothing of this idea. And it cannot be concluded from any particular word in the New Testament, that in the days when particular revelation should cease, that the rooting out of heretics with the sword is the obligation of magistrates.

3) That our fathers have not developed this monstrous proposition out of principle, but have taken it over from Romish practice.

4) That the acceptance and carrying out of this principle almost always has returned upon the heads of non-heretics and not the truth but heresy has been honored by the magistrate.

5) That this proposition opposes the Spirit and the Christian faith.

6) That this proposition supposed that the magistrate is in a position to judge the difference between truth and heresy, an office of grace which, as appears from the history of eighteen centuries, is not granted by the Holy Spirit, but is withheld.

We do not at all hide the fact that we disagree with Calvin, our Confessions, and our Reformed theologians.

The same arguments are made by Herman Bavinck (1854–1921) in his Social Ethics, where he insists that good and evil will grow up side-by-side in this world and that the civil authority is not given the divine guidance necessary to separate the wheat from the chaff (137). If Reformed Christians today wish to do theological retrieval, we should do it as Kuyper and Bavinck did and admit when our forefathers got something wrong, or at least when they did not have the courage of the conclusions that followed from their better principles.

Conclusion: The Politics of Possibility

This brings me to a concluding practical point. Political theology is not like the doctrine of the Trinity or the two natures of Christ. It has not been codified for almost two millennia, it does not sit at the heart of the gospel, and it does not demand the same application and expression in every century. To maintain that Calvin’s Geneva is neither doable nor desirable as a political model for our day does not make one a progressive. It makes one a realist—about our times and about human nature. Much of what is triumphantly bandied about under the banner of Christian Nationalism is the product of a digital echo-chamber that bears little resemblance to what regular churchgoers talk about, let alone what the rest of the non-Christian population in a democratic nation would ever countenance. Part of believing in God’s providence is dealing with the history and development of the nation God has given us, not wishing for a political order that existed somewhere else long ago (and wasn’t nearly as successful as some people would like to remember it).

Moreover, those with the most outlandish proposals are the ones farthest from any levers of power and most distant from any established institution or in-person constituency. Hosting a podcast does not a political prophet make. We are not getting rid of the First Amendment. We are not overturning the Nineteenth Amendment either. America is not going to become a general equity theonomic republic. Presbyterians are not going to rule America as if we were in seventeenth-century Scotland (and that project had a lot of ups and downs). Likewise, there is no political will beyond the outer reaches of social media for shutting down every mosque and every Hindu temple, let alone every Catholic congregation, every Jewish synagogue, and every Mormon house of worship. And if the above views were widely known, they would be roundly and resolutely condemned. There’s a reason liberal news organizations like to highlight Christian Nationalists: they know that most of their views are repugnant to most Americans.

To be sure, there are serious theological conversations taking place that should continue, but there are also conversations about political prescriptions that have zero chance of being enacted. I hear some Christian voices expressing outrage that idolatrous worship is tolerated in our nation, but no one is ever pressed on the details of what it would look like to no longer grant legal toleration to false religions. Do we bulldoze the Buddhist temple immediately? Do we arrest the worshipers on the spot or merely fine them? And should we only suppress foreign religions and target those who don’t look like real Americans? Or are Catholics, Jews, and liberal Christians fair game too? I don’t want to minimize that the rhetoric can be disturbing, but a lot of the Christian Nationalism cacophony is sound and fury signifying nothing. It is easy to seem visionary and fearless when your ideas have the intellectual luxury of impossibility.

To be sure, some postmillennialists may say we are only playing the long game and laying the groundwork for a glorious future to come centuries from now. Even if postmillennialism were true (and there are good reasons to question whether it is biblical), that doesn’t change the fact that politics is about the art of the possible. When some Christians wax eloquent about the need for a Protestant Franco or about why we should take the vote away from women or about why the civil magistrate should crush idolatrous worship, they aren’t laying down a constructive alternative to progressivism. They are alienating normal people and stirring up division in the church.

In the process, too many ministers have equated cultural engagement with non-stop online punditry and have mistaken the mission of the church for whatever everyone is talking about right now. Fifteen years ago, that meant redeeming the city, with a host of concerns coded for the left. Today that means ruling over the nation, with a host of concerns coded for the right. When I talked about the mission of the church a decade ago, it was a message that voices on the right appreciated. Now that there seems to be momentum to support political concerns on the right (and I share most of these concerns), the accusation is that those who refuse to mobilize the ministry for partisan politics don’t know what time it is. I still believe what I have always believed about the mission of the church, and I still believe amidst a new round of cries—this time from the right instead of the left, that we all must “Do something!” and “Say something!”—that it’s okay for pastors to still be pastors.

If the appeal at the present moment were simply for strong Christian institutions, for good churches, for new and better schools, or for Christians to get involved in politics, then we might be on to something. But the talk is about Christian Nationalism. The reality is that if a nation the size of a continent, with over 330 million people, tried to eradicate religious freedom and moved to a sixteenth-century model of the civil magistrate, the “cure” for religious pluralism would kill the patient more than the disease. The alternative to the First Amendment is not the glorious sunlit uplands of enlightened national Presbyterianism; the alternative is Soviet Russia or Communist China—a statist system that spies on its people, violently oppresses dissent, and interposes the reach of government coercion into every area of life. Remember that every attempt in the history of the world to realize heaven on earth has produced absolutely hellish results.

Until we come to the end of the age and the kingdom of the world becomes the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, we will have to be content with the church as our kingdom outpost and with a government (in the best of cases) that punishes evil, protects the innocent, upholds the dignity and equality of all persons, defends the rights of conscience and the freedom of religious expression, and allows men and women to pursue the good as they understand it.

If you are blessed to live in a nation with this sort of political tradition, you are likely in a nation that has been indelibly shaped by Christianity. I pray that this Christian influence continues and grows in America. I want more Christian institutions, more Christian ideas in the public square, and more sincere and wise Christians in positions of power. I am for all of that in spades. What I am not for is asking the civil magistrate to adjudicate questions it is not competent to answer, to wield power it cannot be trusted to exercise, and to fulfill duties that infringe upon the liberty of a free people.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

In Search of Chivalry

Thu, 30 Oct 2025 04:47:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/in-search-of-chivalry/id1700530766?i=1000740624338

It is a universal feature of human nature that we long to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. We want a goal, a purpose, a noble cause to which we can give our lives. Men, in particular, are often stirred by this longing. It’s why we are drawn to sports, to competition, to professional ladder-climbing, to risk-taking, and to the glories of war. It’s why that meme went around about how often men think about the Roman Empire.

It’s also why an increasing number of Christians are drawn to the ideas and ideals of Christendom, that period of history dating from late antiquity through the Middle Ages, when European society and culture were closely tied to the church and bore deep imprints of being shaped by Christianity. Not only does the re-creation of Christendom provide an audacious goal for the future, it also provides a nostalgic remembrance of the (romanticized) past. When the Holy Land is overrun, so to speak, there is no choice but to launch a Crusade. Thus, brave Christians—the manly ones—will gird up their loins, pick up their swords, and ride out into battle against the enemy.

The romantic appeal of Christendom is that it still believes in knights.

The Knight’s High Calling

That need not be a bad thing. We need heroes from the past, as well as inspiration for the present. And the knight has proved to be an enduring symbol of valor for almost a thousand years. But if Christian men are going to aspire to be these heroic defenders of Christendom, we ought to know what these knights were supposed to be like.

Medieval knights were men, often from the nobility, who received training and instruction so that they might be of special service to God and to the Church. At the heart of their multi-year apprenticeship was comprehensive instruction in chivalry. Although the origins of chivalry were secular, the concept became closely aligned with Christianity. As medieval historian Maurice Keen explains in his book, Chivalry, the knight had three basic duties. The first duty was to defend the faith of Christ against unbelievers (note: not to wield the sword against other Christians). His next duty was to defend his earthly lord. His third responsibility was to protect the weak. In pursuit of these duties, the knight might be sent on a crusade far away, or he might be asked to exercise his responsibilities closer to home.

As important as these obligations were, the manner in which the knight carried them out was as important as the duties themselves. The most significant legacy of chivalry, Keen maintains, is that it established norms of service and self-restraint that became synonymous with heroism throughout Christian history and in the Western tradition more generally. The chivalric ideal identified and codified which acts and which attitudes were considered honorable. Chivalry prized bravery, fortitude, and physical prowess—but also humility, gentlemanly behavior, and courtliness toward women. The two sets of virtues were never to be separated. At all times, the knight was to be noble and courteous.

One of the best descriptions of the medieval idea of chivalry comes from the Lancelot-Grail Cycle, the famous thirteenth-century collection of stories about King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. When Lancelot first expresses his desire to be a knight, the Lady of the Lake instructs him in all that knighthood requires. Her speech is a paradigmatic description of chivalry as it was understood in medieval Europe:

This task of defense was conferred upon those men whom people commonly deemed the most worthy: men who were tall and strong and handsome and lithe, loyal and brave and bold, men who had all the virtues of heart and body. But knighthood was not given to them lightly or without a price; no, a heavy burden was placed on their shoulders. Do you know what it was? In the beginning, when the order of knighthood began, it was required of anyone who wanted to be a knight and was legitimately chosen that he be courteous and not base, gracious and not a scoundrel, compassionate toward the afflicted, generous and helpful to the needy, ready and able to foil thieves and murderers, an upright judge unswayed by love or hatred—love that might weigh against the right or hatred that might plead in favor of the wrong. A knight must not, out of fear of death, do anything that might bring him dishonor or even a hint of it, but must fear a shameful act more than death.

A Different Kind of Warrior

What is missing from the present version of manly bravery is the insistence that charging into battle requires the “heavy burden” of virtue—and not just one virtue (fortitude), but all of them (prudence, justice, and temperance). If today’s would-be knights are serious about exercising Christ’s dominion on the earth, they must first be serious about exercising dominion over themselves—over their speech, over their anger, over their petty vindictiveness. It is not enough that we are ready to fight. We must also be courteous and not base, fair and not ruled by our passions, gracious and not a scoundrel.

If men cannot be persuaded of this from the New Testament—say, from the fruit of the Spirit or from the Beatitudes—perhaps the medieval knight can land a glancing blow. Young boys slap and kick and call each other names. Grown men learn that real fortitude is harder than mere bravado and often takes longer and looks more ordinary. If we are going to call men to do manly things—as well we should—let’s call them to be Christian men, like the heroic knights of old. As Ramon Llull’s thirteenth-century manual, The Book of the Order of Chivalry, put it: “Courtesy and Chivalry belong together, for baseness and uncouth words are contrary to Chivalry.” The knight was to be, at all times, a man of “loyalty, truth, valor, true largesse, honesty, humility, piety and other things similar to these.” According to Llull (who, in addition to being a philosopher and former knight, was also martyred as a missionary to Muslims), the worst thing that could befall a knight was to be robbed of his honor—by the treachery of others or, even worse, by his own actions and deportment.

The genius of knighthood was the genius of Western Christendom itself: at its best, it took the heroic spirit of a warrior people and infused it with the Christian spirit of charity toward others and denial of self. The man who was ready to fight—however noble the cause—was not yet ready to be a knight. The code of chivalry allowed the warrior to fight because it first ensured he knew how to fight.

There is nothing noble in fighting for its own sake. The devil knows how to prowl and devour and fight as well as anyone. Every culture celebrates warriors of one kind or another. Often, they are bloodthirsty and cruel. What the best of Christendom called knights to be was a different kind of warrior—humble, honest, fair, dignified in speech and gracious in character. That’s the chivalrous hero we ought to emulate, not the brawler who thinks self-restraint is for sissies and courtesy is for cowards.

If we are to be knights and chieftains and warrior-kings, let us get a good look at what the idealized chivalry of Christendom calls us to be—not a brutish and barbarous people, but something unique to those who serve under the sign of the cross. Those who are eager to fight for the preservation of our Western and Christian civilization would do well to know what it means to be Western and what it means to be Christian.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Top 10 Books of 2025

Mon, 08 Dec 2025 10:05:04 GMT

First off, my usual disclaimer and explanation.

This list is not meant to assess the thousands of good books published in the past year. This is simply a list of the books—Christian and non-Christian, but all non-fiction—that I thought were the best in the past year. “Best” doesn’t mean I agreed with everything in them; it means I found these books—all published in 2025—a strong combination of thoughtful, useful, helpful, insightful, and challenging. Undoubtedly, the list each year reflects my own interests and tends to be heavy on history and theology.

Instead of trying to rank the books 1-10, I’ll simply list them in alphabetical order by the author’s last name.

John U. Bacon, The Gales of November: The Untold Story of the Edmund Fitzgerald (Liveright)

As a Michigander, I grew up hearing about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. And, of course, I’ve listened to the Gordon Lightfoot song about a thousand times. This book, by a veteran Michigan journalist, is briskly written and full of information—about shipping taconite and the Soo Locks and the life of a sailor (among other things)—that you didn’t know would be so interesting. It’s an ode to the Great Lakes as much as anything. Catnip for Midwesterners.

Matthew C. Bingham, A Heart Aflame for God: A Reformed Approach to Spiritual Formation (Crossway)

This is the book we have needed for a long time. Bingham mines the riches of the Puritans to make the point that there is a Reformed approach to spiritual formation and that this word-centered piety can serve as a necessary correction to other popular hodgepodge approaches.

R. Scott Clark, The Heidelberg Catechism: A Historical, Theological and Pastoral Commentary (Lexham Academic)

A big book about one of the best Christian works ever written. This is now the go-to resource for students, pastors, and serious Christians who want to understand the history and theology of the Heidelberg Catechism. We are going to preach through the Heidelberg during our evening service in 2026. I made sure to give all of our pastors a copy of Clark’s massive and insightful tome.

Allen C. Guelzo and James Hankins, The Golden Thread: A History of the Western Tradition, Volume 1: The Ancient World and Christendom (Encounter Books)

Why would anyone want to read a Western Civilization textbook? Well, once you thumb through the pages of The Golden Thread, you’ll wonder why anyone wouldn’t want to read such a book. The prose is lucid, and the design of the book is beautiful. We need more resources like this that pass along the history of the Western tradition with critical appreciation. A truly impressive feat. I’m eager for Volume 2.

Clair Hoffman, Sister, Sinner: The Miraculous Life and Mysterious Disappearance of Aimee Semple McPherson (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)

I don’t agree with charismatic, prosperity-lite theology or with women preaching, but Aimee Semple McPherson is one of the most fascinating women in American history. You wouldn’t believe Aimee Semple McPherson was a real person, except that she was, or that she had the biggest church in America, except that she did. The author knows nothing about theology and too often looks at Sister Aimee through the lens of twenty-first-century feminist concerns, but it is terrifically well-written, like a true crime story you can’t put down.

Robert Letham, The Eternal Son (P&R)

I’ve read many of Letham’s books over the years, and they all demonstrate a historical and theological mastery of the subject. Comprehensive and opinionated, Letham always teaches, guides, and provokes. I expect that I will consult this book for years to come.

Ignat Solzhenitsyn (ed.), We Have Ceased to see the Purpose: Essential Speeches of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (University of Notre Dame Press)

This is a brief and accessible on-ramp to the twentieth century’s most consequential political and cultural writer. It’s amazing—but I suppose shouldn’t be surprising—that these speeches still feel relevant decades later.

John Thomson, An Explication of the Shorter Catechism (Westminster Seminary Press)

S.A. Fix has done the church a great service by not only bringing Thomson’s neglected work into the light of day, but by providing such a learned and illuminating introduction to Thomson himself. Thomson’s Explication of the Shorter Catechism is a masterful example of orderliness, comprehensiveness, and eighteenth-century Old School piety. Both Fix’s introduction and Thomson’s commentary deserve careful reading and re-reading.

John G. Turner, Joseph Smith: The Rise and Fall of an American Prophet (Yale University Press)

A well-written and fair-minded biography of one of America’s most significant religious figures—the man who claimed to be a seer, translator, prophet, and revelator, but was also a banker, prisoner, Master Mason, mayor, real estate speculator, indicted perjurer, and serial polygamist. The author mostly stays away from evaluating Smith, though it’s hard to think good thoughts about the Mormon prophet when he commits adultery with a young servant girl and later goes on to acquire nearly 30 wives, citing angelic visitations and divine revelation to convince young teenage girls that he has no choice but to marry them and consummate their eternally-sealed relationship—which Joseph did, on one occasion, with a 19-year-old nanny who lived in their home, while Emma was alone in her room, fully (and unhappily) aware of what her husband was doing.

Guy Prentiss Waters, One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church: The Biblical Doctrine of the Church (Lexham Academic)

This is a great entry into a great series. Half biblical exposition and half dogmatic exploration, Waters provides an orderly, conservative Presbyterian perspective (the right perspective!) on the major points of ecclesiology. Just the right depth and length.

Other Books

Since I love books, I can’t limit myself to only talking about books from 2025. Here are some other books I’ve enjoyed reading this past year.

As you can tell, my reading interests gravitate toward history and theology. Still, I try to always be working through a fiction book. This year, I read through The Space Trilogy and Till We Have Faces, both by C.S. Lewis. I had read the latter twice before, many years ago, but I liked it (and understood it) exponentially more the third time around. We read the book as a senior staff (the first time we’ve ever used a fiction book). I think everyone was surprised by how much they grew to love it. Discussing the book as a group helped a lot. I read The Space Trilogy as a kid, but didn’t get much out of it. The books are much more ponderous, slow-moving, and philosophical than The Chronicles of Narnia. Still, they are well worth reading (or re-reading) as an adult. The last two books—Perelandra and That Hideous Strength—contain deep insights into sex, gender, beauty, the importance of ordinary courage, and the importance of having children. For my next fiction book, I’m currently reading Watership Down by Richard Adams.

I’m excited for 2026 and the 250th anniversary of American independence. I thoroughly enjoyed Charlotte and the American Revolution (History Press, 2014) by Richard P. Plumer. What a terrific book, especially if you live and work in Mecklenburg County (like I do). I just started Matthew Spalding’s new book The Making of the American Mind: The Story of Our Declaration of Independence (Encounter Books, 2025). Spalding does a nice job walking through the history and meaning of America’s most famous text.

If you are looking for a complete commentary series that you can trust, I highly recommend The ESV Expository Commentary series put out by Crossway. All twelve volumes are now available. The content is scholarly-conversant but aimed at pastors and students. The layout is intuitive, straightforward, and easy on the eyes (something that is not the case with many commentary series).

Speaking of commentaries, the longer I’m a pastor—and really, the older I get as a Christian—the more I appreciate commentaries that are unapologetically theological and doxological. In that vein, I have benefited from Thomas Weinandy’s three volumes on Jesus Becoming Jesus (The Catholic University of America Press). As a Catholic, Weinandy offers some interpretations I don’t agree with, but overall, the series is rich and rewarding—a unique approach to commenting on the Gospels that includes no academic footnotes, no verse-by-verse exposition, but plenty of theological meat to chew on. Finally, I want to mention Christopher Ash’s wonderful four-volume work, The Psalms: A Christ-Centered Commentary (Crossway, 2024). There aren’t many commentaries that can be read for their exegetical work, their theological insights, and their devotional edification, but Ash’s penetrating work is one of them—and one of the best commentaries you’ll find on any book of the Bible.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Is This the Way? A Review of Practicing the Way by John Mark Comer

Wed, 21 May 2025 05:00:00 GMT

An important rule of thumb for me in determining when to write something of a more critical nature—which is not something I enjoy doing—is whether or not the people around me, and especially the people in my church, might need clarity on a particular issue, author, or book. The existence of this review (not to mention its length) is a testament to how many people—from a variety of theological backgrounds—are captivated by what John Mark Comer has to offer.

I read Practicing the Way as soon as it came out (January 2024) and slowly re-read the book for this review. Since the book’s release, I’ve seen Comer pop up everywhere. Christianity Today published an excerpt from the book, and then a laudatory article about why everyone is reading John Mark Comer, and then a friendly interview with Comer. I’ve talked to PCA pastors reading (and appreciating) Comer’s emphasis on spiritual formation. I know church members and seminary students who are reading Comer. The book is a New York Times bestseller and was recently named the ECPA 2025 Christian Book of the Year. Although he is not without some thoughtful critics, it is obvious that many people are reading John Mark Comer and resonating with his message. As popular author and ministry leader Jennie Allen gushes in her blurb: “[This is] one of the most important books I have read in a decade. If we would all follow in this Way, our lives would change and the world would change.”

In A Nutshell

The message of Practicing the Way is outlined in the book’s subtitle: “Be with Jesus. Become like him. Do as he did.” Comer laments that in the West, we have a culture where you can be a Christian without being an apprentice of Jesus (16). Too many people are stuck in the same routine of going to church, studying their Bibles, and listening to sermons. These are essential practices, but largely ineffective for most people. What is missing is “practicing the Way,” which means being formed into people of love in Christ (73).

Central to Comer’s prescription for this process of spiritual formation is the adoption of “a Rule of Life”—a set of rhythms, relationships, and commitments. Comer’s “Rule” includes nine elements: Sabbath, solitude, prayer, community, Scripture, fasting, generosity, service, and witness. These nine practices are just one way of living in the Way of Jesus. Your personal “Rule” might look different. The important part in developing a rule is to find out what pathways work for you. Wherever you are in your spiritual journey, Comer encourages you to slow down, fix your eyes on Jesus, take one step forward, and if you fall, get back up again and keep going.

For almost twenty years Comer (b. 1980) was the pastor at Bridgetown Church in Portland, Oregon, a role he stepped away from in 2021 in order “to create simple, beautiful formation resources for church communities around the world.” You can see his heart for this kind of ministry throughout the book. Comer speaks directly to the person who feels stuck, the person who has reached a plateau, the person who keeps doing the same Christian things year after year but instead of growing spiritually just keeps growing older. Comer wants to see us “grow and mature into the kind of person who can say and do all the things Jesus said and did” (122).

Strengths

Practicing the Way is first and foremost about spiritual transformation. Comer is to be commended for unequivocally calling people to change. This is not an “I’m okay, you’re okay” kind of book. Just the opposite. Comer admits that he often fails as a follower of Jesus. He talks about sin and the need for grace. He frequently warns the reader not to be conformed to the world. Comer reminds us that we are all apprentices to someone or something, we all follow some kind of rule, we all practice some kind of Way. Comer wants us to find the best way to live—the way of love, the way of the kingdom, and the way of abundant life in Jesus.

The book is relentlessly focused on spending time with Jesus and living like Jesus. These are laudable goals. Comer draws people to a picture of Jesus that has “deep inner resonance” and is marked by “staggering beauty” (xiv). One can sense throughout the book, and especially at the end, that Comer has a heart to introduce people to Jesus and a burden for everyone to experience the freedom of the life that Jesus has to offer.

Most helpful for me was Comer’s insistence that spiritual formation requires intentionality. I can see enthusiastic readers adopting Comer’s nine practices, joining a group of friends to practice the Rule together, and being healthier and happier as a result. Comer is particularly good when he exposes the ways that digital technology has formed us, leading us to expect a life that is easy, fast, and controllable (115). Many people who think they are free, Comer argues, are actually controlled by their phones, by their appetites, and by the algorithms of Silicon Valley (167). With these dangers all around us, Comer’s gospel of slowness, subtraction, and Sabbath is a message many of us need to hear.

It’s not hard to see why this book resonates with many Christians. The writing is simple and conversational, with a clear outline and many short (often one-sentence) paragraphs. Comer meets people where they are and speaks to people in a way they can understand. Because the book has few theological edges (more on that later), almost any Christian (or non-Christian) can read the book and find something useful. For many people the takeaway may be as simple as: “I need to be more intentional about following Jesus. I’m going to put together a Rule for my life and see if my friends will do it with me.” If you come to the book with a solid theological framework, Practicing the Way can be an instrument for good in people’s lives.

Everyone Has a Tradition

Before I get to my concerns, it is important to understand from the outset that Comer inhabits a specific theological tradition. This might not be obvious, because he doesn’t fly any denominational flag or plant himself in a historic church tradition (e.g., Lutheran or Reformed or Roman Catholic). Nevertheless, Comer’s instincts, assumptions, and prescriptions are rooted in a familiar constellation of authors and sources.

If I had to describe Comer’s theological tribe in a sentence I’d say that he is deeply indebted to the Renovaré tradition of spiritual formation. Founded in 1988 by Richard Foster (b. 1942), Renovaré’s mission is to “imagine a world in which people’s lives flourish as they increasingly become like Jesus.” Foster may not be Comer’s main influence, but if you look at the terms and aims and people involved in Renovaré, you will get a pretty good idea of what Comer’s project is about. Practicing the Way is about finding your spiritual pathway. It’s about adopting spiritual practices. It’s about living the kingdom life in Jesus now and growing into the people we were meant to be. It’s about looking into the face of Christ and having him look back at you in love.

As one might expect from the Renovaré tradition, Comer’s conversation partners are not theologians, pastors, or exegetes, but spiritual directors, retreat leaders, therapists, and contemporary mystics. By my count, the two people cited most are Dallas Willard (1935–2013) and Henri Nouwen (1932–1996). Other authors frequently mentioned include: Ann Spangler and Lois Tverberg, Marjorie Thompson, John Ortberg, Eugene Peterson, A.W. Tozer, Brother Lawrence, Frank Laubach, Rich Villodas, Dan Allender, Pete Scazzero, Thomas Kelly, Francis Spufford, Thomas Keating, Mother Teresa, and Kallistos Ware. Comer draws deeply from Protestant, Catholic, and Eastern Orthodox authors, all of whom are familiar names in the spiritual formation tradition of the past 40 or 50 years.

In addition to the Renovaré label (and to be fair, Comer doesn’t use the label), two other terms help explain where Comer’s ideas come from.

Comer’s project is self-consciously a part of the mystical tradition. At one point, Comer lays all his “cards on the table” and agrees with Catholic theologian Karl Rahner that “The Christian of the future will be a mystic or he will not exist at all” (51). For Comer, this means that he begins his days sitting cross-legged on the floor, praying the Psalms and meditating on a passage of Scripture. Comer says, I “talk to God about my life, listen for his voice, and attempt to just let go. But most of the time, I just sit there. I breathe. And I look at what my eyes can’t see” (53).

Comer’s project is also self-consciously a part of the charismatic tradition. He teaches a version of Spirit Christology whereby Jesus performed his miracles, not by “flexing” his God muscles, but solely by the power of the Holy Spirit. We, then, can do what Jesus did by the same Spirit (124–27). Comer suggests that preaching the gospel may mean “gently offering a prophetic word to a friend” (137) and demonstrating the gospel looks like healing, deliverance, prophecy, and justice (145–50). He highly recommends the books on healing by Francis MacNutt and John Wimber (248). Comer encourages churches to “do the stuff,” which he explains is a charismatic euphemism from Wimber for “prophecy, words of wisdom and knowledge, healings, miracles, and more” (140).

Of course, noting Comer’s sources and situating his theological instincts do not make those sources or instincts wrong, but it should give pause to readers from different traditions who might assume that Comer’s assumptions and prescriptions are simply biblical truths and ancient wisdom that we’ve forgotten. To the contrary, the central problem with Practicing the Way is that almost every significant part of the project depends on poorly interpreted biblical texts and superficial connections with (supposed) ancient precedents.

Let me mention four significant problems along these lines.

Which Way?

The first problem is Comer’s use of “the Way” as the organizing principle for spiritual formation. Citing Acts 9:2, 19:23, and 24:14, Comer argues that “the original name for the community of Jesus’s apprentices was ‘the Way’ or ‘followers of the Way” (24–25). He suggests that Jesus used “way” as a metaphor for apprenticeship to him. When Jesus says, “follow me,” he means, “Adopt my overall way of life to experience the life I have on offer” (25 [throughout this review, italics in quotations are always carried over from the original]). Jesus’s followers were called “the Way” because they followed Jesus’s way of life.

The entire book is premised on the idea that Jesus did not come to convert people to Christianity; he came to call people to a way of life (xvi). To be a disciple is fundamentally about walking with Jesus in the same way he walked. The point about Jesus’s apprentices originally being called “followers of the Way” is essential to Comer’s overall thesis.

There are, however, several problems with Comer’s argument.

For starters, there is no reason to give pride of place to the designation “the Way.” No New Testament epistle addresses God’s people as “followers of the Way.” Instead, they are more often addressed as saints, brothers, or the church. When the exalted Christ addresses God’s people in Asia Minor, he writes to them as “the church” (Revelation 2–3). Likewise, even though Paul says he persecuted “the Way” (Acts 9:2), he never uses the term as his own self-designation, preferring instead to call himself “a preacher and apostle and teacher” (2 Tim. 2:11). We should be cautious about turning Christian discipleship into “the Way” when the rest of the New Testament does not speak this language.

Moreover, even within the book of Acts, God’s people are called by many different terms. The earliest followers of Jesus were called brothers (Acts 1:16; 6:3), believers (Acts 2:44; 4:32; 5:14), the assembly or congregation (Acts 15:12, 30), the church (Acts 5:11), the disciples (Acts 6:1, 2, 7), and the saints (Acts 9:13, 32, 41). None of this means we can’t speak of “the Way.” This too was a term for God’s people in the book of Acts. But it was only one term among many, and by itself does not capture everything we need to say about following Jesus.

Most importantly, there is good reason to think “the Way” did not refer to a “way of life” and certainly not to a life of apprenticeship to Rabbi Jesus. At most, “way of life” is a secondary implication of the label. Most scholars believe “the Way” became a designation for early Christians because it was shorthand for phrases like “the way of salvation” (Acts 16:17), “the way of the Lord” (Acts 18:25), and “the way of God” (Acts 18:26). The language is an allusion to Isaiah 40:3 and the Messianic “way of the Lord” later announced by John the Baptist. In short, the early Christians were called followers of the Way, not first of all because they were apprentices to Jesus trying to do what he did, but because they believed Jesus was the long-awaited Christ and that in his name, and in his name alone, men might be saved (Acts 4:12). This is why we read that after Apollos was instructed in “the way of God more accurately” (Acts 18:26), he went on to show “by the Scriptures that the Christ was Jesus” (Acts 18:28).

This is also why the apostolic preaching in Acts never sounds like Peter or Paul inviting their hearers to become apprentices of Jesus to learn to do what he did. Instead, the preaching everywhere in Acts is about proving that Jesus is the Christ, that he fulfilled Old Testament prophecy, that he was crucified and rose again on the third day, and that the proper response to this message is faith and repentance. Of course, growth in Christlikeness is essential to being a genuine follower of Jesus, but Comer’s version of “the Way” leaves out what is primary and makes primary what is secondary.

I know Comer believes that Jesus is the Messiah, that he is God, that he died for our sins, and that he rose again from the dead. Comer acknowledges all this in the book, but these essential truths have almost no bearing on the overall project Comer is putting forward. What’s important is that the way of life in Jesus is beautiful and healing and what is best for us and for the world. Throughout the book, it is hard to see what difference it makes who exactly Jesus is and what he objectively accomplished for sinners. There is certainly no sense that “the Way” is about the way of salvation that saves us from coming judgment and from the wrath of God.

For example, Comer argues that John 14:6 is not about who is in or out, or who is going to hell. “It is far more likely” he insists, that Jesus “was saying that the marriage of his truth (his teaching) and his way (his lifestyle) is how to get to the with-God life he offers” (26). This novel interpretation fails to take into account the context of John 14, which is about believing in Jesus (14:1), and about how to go to the “place” that Jesus prepares for the disciples (14:2–4), and about how they come to know the Father (14:6), and about how they see the Father (14:9), and about how they too can go to the Father (14:12). Comer’s interpretation ignores all this and makes Jesus’s statement about his lifestyle. Whereas Comer makes John 14 about imitating the life of Jesus, Jesus wants to talk about intra-Trinitarian communion and eschatology and faith.

We see something similar in Comer’s interpretation of the Sermon on the Mount. He takes the language of the “narrow gate” to be about finding the best way to live. “One interpretation of this teaching [about the narrow gate] is that only a few people are ‘going to heaven when they die’ and that everyone else is on the train to the eternal torture chamber” (26). Notice Comer’s use of language. He puts “going to heaven when they die” in scare quotes, and then he uses words like “train” and “eternal torture chamber” to make divine wrath sound absurd.

Instead of embracing the traditional understanding of Jesus’s words, Comer finds a different interpretation “more compelling,” namely that if you walk in the broad way of the majority culture, your life will fall to pieces, “never reaching your promise or potential” (27). I’d say “never reaching your promise or potential” is a pretty soft sell on the word “destruction,” especially when the context is clearly eschatological. Jesus is not simply talking about a dysfunctional life falling to pieces because of our poor choices. He is talking about “workers of lawlessness” who will be condemned by him on the day of judgment (Matt. 7:23). I don’t know what Comer believes about judgment and hell, but he often goes out of his way to explain away notions of divine wrath and punishment.

Let me give one final example of Comer reading foreign ideas into a familiar text. At the end of the chapter on being with Jesus, Comer cites Jesus’s invitation to “Come and see” (John 1:39). For Comer, this was Jesus’s way of telling his would-be disciples: “Come and live the Way with me for a while, and see whether life together in the kingdom of love is not far better than any other kingdom, whether this path is not better than any other path” (63). Even a cursory reading of John 1 demonstrates this is assuredly not what Jesus means by “Come and see.” John 1 begins with the astounding declaration that the Word was with God, the Word was God (1:1), and that this Word became flesh and dwelt among us (1:14). The chapter is about seeing the invisible God through the only begotten Son who makes the Father known (1:18). The chapter is about John’s announcement that Jesus is the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world (1:29). The chapter is about Jesus as the stairway between heaven and earth (1:33) and Jesus as the Son of God (1:34).

The invitation to “come and see” is not about test-driving the way of kingdom love; it’s about discovering Jesus’s divine and messianic identity. That’s why Andrew says, “We have found the Messiah” (1:41) and why Nathaniel exclaims, “You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” (1:49). It’s also why the chapter ends with Jesus referring to himself as the divine Son of Man from Daniel’s prophecy (1:51). Comer has taken a passage explicitly about the revelation of Jesus’s identity as the Christ, the Word made flesh, the Son of God, the Son of Man, the revelation of the Father’s glory, and the king of Israel, and turned it into a rather mundane message about discovering the best way to live. This is not a small interpretive misstep.

Go and Make Apprentices?

The second problem is Comer’s use of apprentice language. For starters, it is worth noting that no major English translation uses the word “apprentice” in Matthew 28:19 (or elsewhere). They all use the word “disciple.” I imagine Comer likes “apprentice” because the word sounds fresh and less familiar. The word makes our ears perk up a bit because it’s not in our normal Christian vocabulary.

Disciples and apprentices may both be learners, but the two terms are not identical and do not land on people the same way. Merriam-Webster defines “disciple” as “one who accepts and assists in spreading the doctrines of another.” Synonyms include follower, adherent, and convert. By contrast, Merriam-Webster defines “apprentice” as one who serves another for a period of time “with a view to learning an art or trade.” This is the depiction of following Jesus that Comer prefers. Comer wants to emphasize doing over believing, and he certainly doesn’t want to talk about conversion. Once we conceive of spiritual formation as apprenticeship—instead of, say, discipleship, or striving after godliness, or pursuing holiness, or bearing the fruit of the Spirit, or putting to death the deeds of the flesh, or obeying the law of God—we are well on our way to seeing the Christian life as fundamentally about learning how to do what Master Jesus does.

Notice also how the language of “apprenticeship” stresses Jesus as someone to imitate rather than someone to obey. In explaining the Great Commission, Comer says we must “Go and make apprentices of all kinds of people,” and that like a good rabbi, Jesus was raising up disciples (Comer uses the words “disciples” here) to carry on his teaching and his way of life (120). The casual reader may think, “Yeah, that’s basically the Great Commission in fresh language.” But missing from this description is anything about being incorporated into the church by baptism or anything about teaching the nations to obey everything Jesus has commanded. Inviting people into the Jesus way of life is not the same as teaching people to obey all that Jesus commanded.

In Matthew’s rich and textured account, Jesus is the divine lawgiver, clothed with all authority, standing on a mountain in Galilee with a commission to be obeyed, just as earlier his moral precepts were revealed in the Sermon on the Mount and his glory was revealed on the Mount of Transfiguration. In Comer’s telling, Matthew 28 is the culmination of Jesus’s plan of apprenticeship whereby he sends us out to do what Jesus would do if he were me (123).

Comer clearly believes that Jesus is more than a rabbi (xiv). And yet, it’s hard to see why Jesus would have to be more than an enlightened teacher for Comer’s project to hold together. At one point, Comer cites one of Jesus’s “critics” who chided Jesus for claiming to be God (7), but beyond this there is nothing about the deity of Christ. Comer quickly falls back to praising Jesus as “a brilliant, provocative, wise, spiritual master of how to live and thrive in our Father’s world” (7). As Comer says in the introduction, “apprenticing Jesus is the solution to the problem of the so-called human condition” (xv). Whether it is malaise, climate change, global war, epidemic, addiction, Christian nationalism, hypocrisy, or the inability to be kind, “There is no problem in human life that apprenticeship to Jesus cannot solve” (xv).

In Comer’s approach to spiritual formation, the (real) point of the Gospels—identifying who Jesus is, putting faith in him, and worshiping him—is put in the background, while living like Jesus is put in the foreground. This may seem like a small matter of emphasis, but there is no way to read any of the four Gospels and think that the central point is: solve the world’s problems by learning to live like Jesus. How effective can an approach to spiritual formation be when it almost completely misses the point of Jesus’s life and ministry? Matthew’s Gospel begins by showing that Jesus is the long-expected Son of Abraham and Son of David (Matt. 1:1), that he is Immanuel, God with us (Matt. 1:23), and that he came to save his people from their sins (Matt. 1:21). Mark’s Gospel starts with the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mark 1:1), and it climaxes with the centurion’s confession “Truly, this man was the Son of God” at the foot of the cross (Mark 15:39). The Gospel of Luke ends with the disciples worshiping Jesus (Luke 24:52). And the Gospel of John is explicitly about believing that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing we may have life in his name (John 20:31). Jesus came into the world to seek and to save the lost (Luke 19:10) and to give his life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45). That’s the big idea.

The glorious, exciting, scandalous, wonderful news of the gospel—Jesus as the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, Jesus as our once and coming king, Jesus as the incarnate Son of God, Jesus as new Israel, Jesus as the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world—becomes in Comer’s telling of the story a mere invitation to imitation. Comer argues that one way to determine the veracity of your gospel is to consider whether someone hearing your gospel would conclude “that apprenticeship to Jesus is the only fitting response” (23). While the gospel certainly entails a commitment to following Jesus, surely it is significant that when Jesus “came into Galilee, proclaiming the gospel of God,” his message was not “become my apprentice,” but “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:14-15).

It is telling that Comer’s plan for spiritual formation has no discernible doctrine of regeneration. To be fair, he talks about the power of the Spirit enabling us to do what Jesus did. But there is no sense that essential to apprenticeship is Jesus’s command that we must be born again (John 3:3). By contrast, any biblical plan for spiritual formation must begin with the awareness that we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven, we cannot be like Jesus, and we cannot live in the way of love, unless we who were dead in trespasses and were by nature children of wrath are made alive together with Christ (Eph. 2:1–5).

It would be unfair to say Comer’s book has no place for grace, but it is empowering, assisting grace, not sovereign, unilateral, monergistic grace. In a revealing section, Comer quotes from the Eastern Orthodox theologian Kallistos Ware, who explains that original sin means “we are born into an environment where it is easy to do evil and hard to do good.” He goes on to say that we are “conditioned by the solidarity of the human race in its accumulated wrong-doing and wrong-thinking, and hence wrong-being” (92). This is an accounting of original sin that has more in common with Pelagius than with Augustine. There is no language here of inherited guilt and depravity, only a warped environment that makes it hard to do good. Given this understanding of original sin, practicing the way may not require a new nature at all.

Perhaps this accounts for Comer’s frequent insistence that Jesus was not trying to convert people to Christianity.

“Contrary to what many assume, Jesus did not invite people to convert to Christianity. He didn’t even call people to become Christians (keep reading. . . ); he invited people to apprentice under him into a whole new way of living to be transformed” (xvi). “Jesus is not looking for converts to Christianity; he’s looking for apprentices in the kingdom of God” (17). “Jesus’s invitation—as I have repeated ad nauseam—was not to convert to a new religion called Christianity but to apprentice under him into life in the kingdom of God.” (208)

To say that Jesus wasn’t trying to convert people to Christianity is one of those lines that is one-quarter true and three-quarters misleading. On the one hand, it would be anachronistic to suppose that Jesus came to sign people up to a religious label that didn’t exist yet. He was not trying to get people to check a different box on a sociological survey. And yet, the rhetorical force of Comer’s dichotomy pushes people in the wrong direction. Most people will read the lines above and conclude that Jesus wants us to be spiritual but not religious, and that identifying as a Christian is not important. Never mind that Paul did try to persuade King Agrippa to be a Christian (Acts 26:28) or that the language of repentance and new birth sounds a lot like conversion. What should we call it when Jesus summons his followers to believe in him (John 14:1), and believe certain truths about him (John 8:24), and believe certain things about the Bible (Matt. 5:17–18), and practice signs like baptism (Matt. 28:19) and the Lord’s Supper (1 Cor. 11:23–26), and to gather into communities called churches with designated leaders and methods for discipline (Matt. 18:15–20)—what should we call this invitation to a new way of thinking, believing, behaving, doing, and being if we do not call it Christianity?

Some people may be drawn to Comer’s project because they feel like “imitation of Christ” is a missing element in their Christian discipleship. I want to take this possible deficiency seriously. Looking to Jesus as our master example is appropriate, but only if we put imitation in the right place. That means we need a robust doctrine of the person of Christ (his eternality, his two natures, his three offices), and a robust doctrine of the work of Christ (his two states, his atoning sacrifice as substition and propitiation), and a robust doctrine of salvation (regeneration, faith and repentance, justification, adoption, and union with Christ). I understand that Comer did not set out to write a systematic theology. Fair enough. But he talks about almost none of this, and when he does it is either fuzzy or dismissive—like chiding Western Christians for thinking of Jesus as “a delivery mechanism for a particular theory of atonement” (5).

The stubborn fact is that the preaching of the apostles was not first of all an invitation into a way of life. It was the announcement of what Jesus had accomplished—in history, for sinners, by his death and resurrection. And apart from all that Jesus objectively accomplished for us, there is no plan of imitation that can save us from our sins or even produce the life change we all so desperately need. The irony is that for all of Comer’s emphasis on transformation, he is not nearly radical enough. A Christian is someone who has already been transferred from darkness to light, resurrected from death to life, and moved from the kingdom of Satan to the kingdom of God. In Comer’s telling of the Christian story, “Christ in you, the hope of glory” becomes “Christ in front of you, the example to follow.” By focusing almost exclusively on apprenticeship, and without placing this emphasis in a larger doctrinal context, Comer misses the change that has already happened in the Christian, and the change that must happen if we are to make any progress in imitating Christ.

Ancient or Very Modern?

A third problem is that Comer’s “Rule,” despite the appearance of being ancient, has very little connection to the practice of the early church. By itself, this criticism might qualify as a quibble, except that it highlights how Comer’s project is tailored to twenty-first-century, secular-leaning sensibilities. So when Comer talks about “preaching the gospel,” he is quick to admit that he has a “minor allergic reaction” to this language (134). He later clarifies that “preaching” might mean cooking a meal for your neighbor, or undertaking an act of quiet service in your city, or simply meeting people in their place of pain (137–38). When all of this qualifies as preaching, it’s hard to know what the word means anymore.

One could also mention the way the church fathers are quoted when they say something of a mystical nature without taking into account the explicitly (and intricately) theological nature of their thought. The likes of Ignatius, Gregory of Nyssa, Augustine, and Maximus the Confessor (all cited by Comer) were instrumental in combating false teaching and carefully defending orthodox theology, especially related to the person of Christ. If one wants to retrieve the monkish sensibilities of many of our greatest theologians from the early church, we should also retrieve their zeal (and hard intellectual work) for presenting an exalted picture of Christ and for protecting the boundaries of doctrinal fidelity.

Nowhere are modern sensibilities more in view than in Comer’s description of the Rule. According to Comer, the earliest apprentices of Jesus were asking the same question we are asking today: how do we go about following Jesus in a way that we are transformed? And the answer they came up with is still the best answer. They developed a Rule, or a Rule of Life, which is “ancient language” for “a schedule and set of practices and relational rhythms that create space for us to be with Jesus, become like him, and do as he did, as we live in alignment with our deepest desires.” (160-61). The words “rule” and “way,” Comer argues, can be used interchangeably. Paul talked of his “way of life” in Christ Jesus, and a few centuries later, Saint Benedict developed a “rule.” These are different words meaning the same thing: “a plan to follow Jesus” (161).

The problem with Comer’s historical reconstruction—besides the fact that Paul’s use of “way” in 1 Corinthians 4:17 is about his example of fatherly maturity not about a set of practices and rhythms—is that the vibe of Comer’s rule is nothing like the vibe of Benedict’s Rule. On one level, of course, this is not a problem. Benedict doesn’t have a trademark on the word “Rule.” Comer can call his set of spiritual practices whatever he wants. But readers should not think they are adopting something ancient, when actually they are adopting something new.

Comer emphasizes that the Rule doesn’t mean “rules for life” (160). Quoting Rich Villodas, Comer insists that the Rule is “a set of practices, relationships, and commitments,” not “a list of rules” (161). Later, he stresses that the Rule is not a law. The difference: “A law is handed down from an external source, and it has very little flexibility.” By contrast, a rule “is self-generated from your internal desires, it has a ton of flexibility, it’s relationally based (not morally based), and it’s designed to index you toward your vision of the good life” (172). I applaud Comer for encouraging us to be intentional in our spiritual formation and to come up with a plan for following Jesus. But a self-generated, flexible, not morally based, vision of the good life that enables us to fulfill our deepest desires is not quite what Benedict had in mind. Here, for example, is the opening paragraph from The Rule of Saint Benedict:

Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart. This is advice from a father who loves you; welcome it, and faithfully put it into practice. The labor of obedience will bring you back to him from whom you had drifted through the sloth of disobedience. This message of mine is for you, then, if you are ready to give up your own will, once and for all, and armed with the strong and noble weapons of obedience to do battle for the true King, Christ the Lord. (Prologue)

Notice the stress on obedience. Central to Benedict’s Rule was the importance of the abbot. Wielding great authority as the vicar of Christ in the monastery, the abbot had to maintain strict discipline, sometimes correcting the disobedient “by blows or some other physical punishment” (2.28). Life in the monastery meant “unhesitating obedience” (5.1). The monks were steadfastly forbidden to do their own will (7.19). “In the monastery no one is to follow his own heart’s desire, nor shall anyone presume to contend with his abbot defiantly, or outside the monastery” (3.8–9). Life under Benedict’s rule was all about external authority and obeying laws, and not much about following your own self-generated plan.

If Christians today want to develop a strategy, in cooperation and accountability with other Christians, for taking a sabbath, cutting back on sugar, reducing screen time, and setting aside time for prayer and Scripture reading, that’s all to the good. And writing up a plan might help. But a flexible rule drawn from our internal desires will only be as good as our internal desires, and implementing a rule will only be a means of spiritual formation to the degree that our practices put us in the way of God’s established means of grace.

De-centering of the Word

This brings us to a final problem: Comer’s approach to spiritual formation undermines the uniqueness of God’s word by making Scripture just one of many pathways to God. This last point is the most practical of my four concerns, and it is also the most subtle. Comer believes in the importance of Scripture and studying the Bible. But like so much of the spiritual formation literature, there is a tendency to minimize what Scripture can do and a tendency to maximize the number of other things we can do to encounter God. Going to church, doing Bible studies, listening to sermons are all essential, Comer acknowledges, but by themselves they have a very poor track record of producing transformation (87). Yes, we need the Bible, but we need so much more.

According to Comer, “Anything can become a spiritual discipline if we offer it to God as a channel of grace” (179). Notice, he does not say that we can offer anything to God as an act of worship, or that we ought to do all things to the glory of God (1 Cor. 10:31). Comer argues that anything can be offered to God as a channel of grace. Think about that. Does God really minister his grace through everything? Comer gives several examples: walking your dog, taking a spin class, visiting an elderly neighbor, driving in the slow lane, reading philosophy, writing a proof for physics. He says, “you can offer any of these activities to God in hope that he will fill those spaces with his transforming presence” (180). Later he argues that any habit you see in the life of Jesus—from walking in nature to climbing a mountain—can be used for spiritual formation (181).

This is where we need to understand what theologians mean by the ordinary means of grace. Yes, God can use driving in the slow lane to shape our character. But a life lesson about being more patient is not by itself a channel of grace, just as walking the dog is not by itself filled with the transforming presence of Jesus. Many believers will rightly testify to God’s grace in holding a newborn infant, or in laughing with friends, or in watching a sunset. But these experiences—no matter how enjoyable or beneficial—are not means of grace in themselves. Certain experiences may be used by God, but they only communicate grace insofar as they are interpreted in light of God’s word or bring to mind what we know from God’s word.

Comer encourages us to take into account our spiritual temperaments. To that end, he cites approvingly the nine spiritual temperaments from Gary Thomas. Each temperament is said to provide “its own unique pathway to God,” so that naturalists love God by being outdoors, sensates love God with candles and incense, activists love God by fighting injustice, enthusiasts love God with music and dance, and so on. Comer emphasizes that no one approach is better than another, and that we should not moralize our preferences. In fact, Comer calls us to expand our horizons and “explore new pathways to God” (184–85).

This gets very muddy. Do we all have different personalities? For sure. Do some of us like to be outside, and some of us like to read books, and some of us like to care for others? Yes. Can we demonstrate our love for God by offering all of these things before him as an act of worship?

Absolutely. But do we really want to say these are all “pathways to God”? If so, what is a “pathway” except different things people enjoy and different ways in which people feel spiritual? The Canaanites believed in many pathways to encountering the divine. So did pagan Romans in the first century. The Judeo-Christian tradition, on the other hand, has always insisted that God cannot be worshiped in any way we please, and that God does not want us to seek him out except in the ways he has told us he can be found.

Comer teaches that the way to be with Jesus is to abide in Jesus. He notes that “abide” translates the Greek word meno, which is used ten times in John 15. According to Comer, when Jesus says “abide in me” he is saying, “Make your home in my presence by the Spirit, and never leave” (37). Being an apprentice of Jesus is about letting your body become God’s home. Jesus calls this abiding (39). Paul calls it praying without ceasing. Others from the mystical tradition refer to the same thing as “silent love,” or “continuous inner act of abiding,” or “centering down,” or “the sacrament of the present moment.” Comer’s favorite description of abiding is from Brother Lawrence: “the practice of the presence of God” (40).

And how do we abide in Jesus? We direct the inner gaze of our hearts onto his love (46). We look at God, and he looks at us, in love (47). Or in the words of Marjorie Thompson: “I look at him, He looks at me, and we are happy” (46, 50). Notice the road we have traveled. Comer has gone from the biblical language of abiding, to practicing the presence of God, to you and God looking at each other in love. On this reading, John 15 is a discourse on the mystical contemplation of the divine being.

But that’s not what Jesus means by abiding in him. In John 15:7, Jesus uses two concepts interchangeably: abiding in him and his words abiding in us. Jesus is with us when his word is with us, and we are in him when his words are in us. There is an intimate connection between the person of the Word of God and the words of God in speech and in Scripture. God created by means of the eternal Logos—his wisdom, his speech, his voice, his word. The eternal Logos is the mediating agent in creation, in redemption, and in revelation, whether by means of the word spoken (and later written down) or by means of the Word made flesh. This means that if we drink deeply and often from the Scriptures—not for mere head knowledge, but in heartfelt worship and in thoughtful contemplation—then Jesus will abide in us.

Conclusion

I know that most people reading John Mark Comer are likely not Reformed, so many of them will not care whether that label applies to his project (in fact, they may be glad if it doesn’t!). But most people who read Kevin DeYoung probably are Reformed. And to those people I want to underline—gently, but clearly—that Practicing the Way is not a Reformed approach to spiritual formation. If the genius of the book is that it can be laid on top of almost any broadly Christian tradition, that is also the book’s biggest danger. Because the theology lacks definition (and is generally kept in the background), and because the ethics aren’t more developed than a general call to love, and because the Rule is self-generated and focused on personal goals, the reader is free to fill in the gaps with whatever doctrinal, ecclesiastical, and moral commitments he sees fit. Some ideas may fit with Reformed theology, but the overall approach is unlike what we find in our best Reformed, devotional writers.

I get why people may find Practicing the Way refreshing. The book is engaging, relatable, and accessible. Comer is likeable, genuine, and I believe he sincerely wants to help people do what Jesus would do.

On top of that, Reformed Christians may be drawn to the book because they are in a church without “experimental” Calvinism or without any emphasis on the affections. Maybe the preaching is dry and overly intellectual. Maybe the preacher has been so afraid of moralism that he does not dare hold up Paul or the apostles or Old Testament saints—or Jesus!—as examples to follow and imitate. Maybe no one has taken the time to demonstrate that right doctrine is the foundation for life-changing, long-lasting, spiritual transformation. I suspect some Calvinists think Reformed Christianity is good for getting your theological house in order, but not so good for living a vibrant life within that house.

If that’s what you are feeling, I want to assure you that there is a Reformed approach to spiritual formation. It focuses on the Bible, on prayer, and on Scriptural contemplation. Read Matthew Bingham’s new book, A Heart Aflame, if you want an explanation. Then go back and read the Puritans and the Reformers on the Christian life. Read Precious Remedies against Satan’s Devices by Thomas Brooks. Read Archibald Alexander on religious experience. Read J.C. Ryle on holiness. Pick up one of Jonathan Gibson’s books as a daily liturgy. Pray along with The Valley of Vision. Get an old edition of the Book of Common Prayer and incorporate it into your spiritual life.

If you want to try the ancient paths, devote yourself to the Apostles’ Creed, the Ten Commandments, and the Lord’s Prayer, for these three elements have been the backbone of the church’s catechesis for more than 1,500 years. There are lots of resources—focused on the word and prayer—to help refresh what may have grown stale.

And above all, remember Jesus’s inspired plan for spiritual formation: “Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth” (John 17:17).

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

4 Reasons Why the Bible Does Not Support Transgenderism

Wed, 10 Apr 2024 09:05:00 GMT

A lecture based on this article is also available.

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/4-reasons-why-the-bible-does-not-support-transgenderism/id1700530766?i=1000651997886

According to the American Psychological Association, “Transgender is an umbrella term for persons whose identity, gender expression or behavior does not conform to that typically associated with the sex to which they were assigned at birth.” At the heart of the APA’s definition—and at the heart of the transgender movement itself—is a sharp distinction between sex and gender.

As many use the word today, sex has to do with biology, with chromosomes, with hormones, with internal and external anatomy. Sex, they tell us, is “assigned at birth” based on these biological realities.

By contrast, gender identity, we are told, has to do with how a person feels, with someone’s internal sense of identity, and with how a person chooses to express this identity through clothing, hairstyle, voice, appearance, behavior, names, and pronouns. Gender, on this account, is socially constructed and need not correspond to sex as biologically defined. On this understanding, not only are sex and gender separated, but people need not be constrained by two gender choices (non-binary) or by any fixed gender at all (gender fluid).

The purpose of this article is to explore what the Bible says about this constellation of beliefs. We will see that the Bible does not support transgenderism. Instead, God has created each of us as either male or female, and he desires that we live our lives—in appearance, in attitude, and in behavior—according to our biological sex.

In support of this conclusion, let me highlight four essential biblical truths about being male and female.

Truth #1: Our Bodies Matter

The only life we have to live here on earth is the life of the whole person, body and soul. All our hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, adventures and failures are experienced as embodied persons. Everything we do to love God and love our neighbors, or to rebel against God and mistreat our neighbors, we do as embodied persons. As John Kleinig puts it in his excellent book Wonderfully Made, “All human life on earth shares the same common condition: it is lived life in the body.”[1]

Many people have an ambivalent relationship to their bodies. While it may seem that our culture thinks too much about the body—being obsessed with looking good, losing weight, and preventing the natural effects of aging—the opposite is also true: we think too little of our bodies. Even with all our scientific knowledge, we do not marvel at the complexity, beauty, and intricate design of the human body. Truth be told, many of us hate our bodies. We deem them too dark or too pale, too skinny or too fat, too gray, too slow, too weak, too wrinkled, too unattractive. Many of us would rather be free from the shame and the burdens we associate with our bodies.

And yet, God’s word tells us a different story. God formed our inward parts; God knitted us together in our mother’s womb (Ps. 139:13). Even though we feel the effects of the Fall in our bodies, still each one of us is fearfully and wonderfully made (v. 14). The fact that the perfect Son of God took on human flesh means that embodiment is not inherently dirty or evil. The fact that Christ was resurrected and now reigns in heaven as the perpetual God-man means that the human body is not antithetical to the deepest union and communion with God. The fact that our final hope is the resurrection of the dead means that embodiment is good and desirable, and that without our bodies our redemption would be incomplete (Rom. 8:23).

Before we can address the claims of transgenderism directly, we must think about our bodies in the right way. God isn’t just concerned with the inner world of our thoughts, desires, beliefs, and feelings. The Bible commands us: “Glorify God in your body” (1 Cor. 6:20). Our arms and legs, our eyes and ears, our hands and feet, our sexual organs are agents for honoring God or dishonoring him. The human person is not like a puppet whose mouth and limbs are moved by an external agent separate from the puppet itself. Neither is the human person like a machine whose external functions are controlled by an internal processor that can be pulled from that machine and placed in another machine. Think of how often Jesus physically touched someone’s body or was touched by someone else (Mark 1:41; 5:27, 41; 6:56; 7:33; 8:23; 9:27). Jesus understood what our world can implicitly deny—namely, that our bodies are not incidental to who we are. Our bodies matter to God, and they should matter to us.

Truth #2: Our Bodies Are Given to Us as a Gift

It is an obvious biblical truth—stated clearly already in the very first chapter of the Bible—that we are created beings (Gen. 1:26–27). This is not just true of Adam and Eve, but of every human being descended from them (Gen. 5:1–2). Our lives, our souls, our bodies, our whole selves are a gift from God.

This simple truth—that God created each one of us—means that we did not create ourselves (Ps. 100:3). We did not cause ourselves to be born. We did not put our skin and bones and organs and muscles together. We did not decide whether to be male or female, or what color eyes to be born with, or whether we would come out of the womb hairy as a chimney sweeper or bald as a cue ball. Our bodies were given to us.

To put the same truth in a different way, the Bible insists that there is a given-ness to the body. If there is one fundamental error in transgender ideology, it is the lie that says our material bodies are malleable, while our immaterial feelings and sense of identity are sacrosanct. Transgenderism only “works” if we assume that when our bodies tell us one thing, and our internal feelings and perceptions tell us another thing, that our bodies must be mistaken. This is not the way the Bible understands the body. The truth is that I am more than just my thoughts and desires and beliefs and feelings; I am body and soul. Our bodies were created for us, and they are us. As Kleinig puts it, “We cannot appreciate the complexity, beauty, and mystery of the human body unless we realize that it is given to us. We do not make our bodies; they are made for us. They are provided for us with all their main characteristics.”[2]

One of the ironies of our age is that outside of transgenderism, most people are adamant that the objective realities of the body must not be supplanted by what we think and feel. If someone has white skin, they should not identify as black. If someone is European by descent, they should not identify as Asian. If a healthy teenage girl thinks she is drastically overweight, her parents will tell her that the negative assessment of her body is wrong. If a man smokes a pack of cigarettes a day, his doctor will warn him about the objective harm he is doing to his body whether he thinks he is in danger or not. Men and women are told to get early screenings so we can detect breast cancer, prostate cancer, colon cancer, or other maladies because we know that if the body tells us something—even something we don’t want to hear—we need to listen to our bodies.

One of the reasons that transgenderism makes sense in our day is because we do not want to think of our bodies as imposing limits and constraints. We like to think that we are free to become whoever and whatever we want. But such “freedom” is neither good for us nor, in the end, possible. By definition, human bodies must deal with limits and constraints. As embodied creatures, we cannot be physically in two places at the same time, we cannot live without food and water, we cannot survive without sleep, we cannot experience any of the joys and sorrows and hopes and dreams of earthly life apart from the body and the finitude it imposes upon us all.

The full flowering of transgender ideology is part and parcel of a spiritual rebellion that rejects every kind of external and limiting authority. If God cannot tell me who I am, and the Bible cannot tell me who I am, and civilizational tradition cannot tell me who I am, and my family cannot tell me who I am, and the norms of my community cannot tell me who I am, then it is only a short step to conclude that not even my own body can tell me who I am. The lie of transgenderism is that there is no given-ness to our bodies and no ought-ness imposed by our biology. Transgenderism enthrones us as Creators with a self to express and a body to shape, while the Bible honors us as creatures with a divine image to reflect and a divine design to embrace.

Truth #3: God Created Each of Us as Male or Female

The Bible says more than that God created us. The Bible says God created the human race as a sexual binary. “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them” (Gen. 1:27). Sexual differentiation was God’s idea. God didn’t create a race of males or a race of females or a race with fifteen different sexual kinds. By design, God chose to show forth his image by making men and by making women—neither independent from the other, and neither identical to the other (1 Cor. 11:8–12). When God declared that it was not good for the man to be alone (Gen. 2:18), he did not remedy the situation by creating another man to be his friend or a pack of golden retrievers to keep him company. He fashioned a woman out of his side because only a woman would be “fit for him” as a sexual complement capable of creating new life through a one-flesh union with the man (Gen. 2:24).

Transgenderism suffers from an utter disdain for teleology. In theology and philosophy, teleology has to do with design and purpose in the material world. This includes our bodies. Male and female bodies are designed for each other in a way that is reciprocal (they are made each for the other), complementary (they uniquely fit together in order to fulfill an organic biological function), and purposeful (they are oriented toward reproduction). Biblical sexuality reflects the teleology of sexual differentiation and the natural design of the body.

In transgender ideology, there are no “ends” for which the body was created (other than the circular ends of self-fulfillment and self-expression). Transgenderism insists that a person is right to pursue hormonal and surgical procedures—which often amount to irreversible mutilation and a lifetime of genital pain and ongoing treatments—in an attempt to bring the body in alignment with one’s sense of identity. But these procedures are tragic examples of neglecting the different ends for which our bodies were created. A man is someone with the inherent procreative potential (whether realized or not) to deposit the seed which can become new life. A woman is someone with the inherent procreative potential (whether realized or not) to receive and incubate new life. “Male and female, therefore, refer to the differing ways that human bodies are organized for sexual reproduction.”[3] Because our bodies were created with a God-given purpose and design, we are not free to destroy or refashion our bodies according to our own desires.

The Bible doesn’t just teach the reality of a sexual binary, the Bible also believes in the organic unity of biological sex and gender identity. This is why male and female are (uniquely) the type of pair that can reproduce (Gen. 1:28; 2:20). It’s why homosexuality—a man lying with a man as with a woman (or vice-versa)—is wrong (Lev. 18:22). It’s why the apostle Paul can speak of homosexual partnerships as deviating from the natural relations or natural function of male-female sexual intercourse (Rom. 1:26-27). It’s why there are distinct responsibilities within the church and within the home based on biological sex (Eph. 5:22-33; 1 Tim. 2:11-14). In each instance, the argument works because there is an equivalence between the biology of sexual difference and the corresponding identities of male and female.

Some have argued that the presence of intersex individuals calls into question the reality of a sexual binary and, therefore, implies that gender is fluid and malleable. Because this has become a common argument, it behooves us to understand something of the science of sexual determination. In an article for the Wall Street Journal, evolutionary biologist Colin Wright explains that “[a]n organism’s sex is defined by the type of gamete (sperm or ova) it has the function of producing. Males have the function of producing sperm, or small gametes; females, ova, or large ones. Because there is no third gamete type, there are only two sexes. Sex is binary.”[4] Wright further explains that intersex and transgender “mean entirely different things.” Intersex refers to a variety of rare conditions where genitalia appear ambiguous or mixed due to a congenital disorder of sexual development. It is important to note that an intersex diagnosis is made based on an objective, observable medical condition. Transgender, on the other hand, has to do with subjective feelings, thoughts, and an internal sense of identity. “Most transgender people aren’t sexually ambiguous,” says Wright, “but merely ‘identify’ as something other than their biological sex.”

The Bible recognizes that people can be born with damaged, malformed, or non-functioning sexual organs. This is what Jesus meant when he said, “There are eunuchs who have been so from birth” (Matt. 19:12). And yet, these tragic realities (a sad aspect of living in a fallen world) do not undermine the sexual binary. In their article “Genetic Mechanisms of Sex Determination,” Laura Hake and Clare O’Connor, biologists from Boston College, explain that “in placental mammals, the presence of a Y chromosome determines sex.”[5] Normally females contain two X chromosomes, and males contain an X and a Y chromosome. On rare occasions, however, someone can be born with more than two chromosomes or with only one chromosome, resulting in hormonal and sexual development that is ambiguous or mixed. But even in these instances, sex is still determined by the presence or absence of a Y chromosome. “Thus, individuals with 47,XXY and 47,XYY karyotypes are males, while individuals with 45,X and 47,XXX karyotypes are females.” In other words, even when genitalia appear ambiguous, a person is, by virtue of their chromosomes, either male or female.

Truth #4: God Is Opposed to the Confusion of the Sexes

God created human beings in his image as male and female (Gen. 1:26–27). Our bodies are good gifts given to us by God that we are to use for his glory (1 Cor. 6:12–20). As a God of order and design, God opposes the confusion of man as woman and woman as man.[6]

This point about confusion is the extended argument Paul makes in 1 Corinthians 11:2–16. The passage is complicated and full of interpretive questions about the nature of women’s hairstyles and head coverings in the first century Roman world. But thankfully the overarching point is simple and clear: it is disgraceful for a man to take on the appearance of a woman, and it is disgraceful for a woman to take on the appearance of a man (1 Cor. 11:14–15). However we apply 1 Corinthians 11 in our culture, we can assert, without equivocation, that God wants men to look like men and women to look like women. This is one reason the Old Testament law forbade cross-dressing (Deut. 22:5). From the opening chapters of Genesis to the coming together of the mystical Church-Bride and Christ-Groom in Revelation, the Bible affirms the essential importance of the sexual differentiation between male and female.

Ironically, the transgender movement often reinforces the assumption that men should look a certain way and women should look a different way. When Bruce Jenner declared himself to be Caitlyn Jenner, now supposedly as a woman, what did this new person look like? Bruce (now Caitlyn) re-emerged on the cover of Vanity Fair with makeup, long stylish hair, manicured eyelashes, and manufactured curves and cleavage. If Caitlyn had appeared on the magazine cover still looking like Bruce—with a beard, short hair, and a flat, muscular chest—that would have been consistent with transgender ideology because the interior sense of self is what really matters. But that’s not the way transitions work. The transitioned male or female does not look like their old gender. However unnatural (and airbrushed) Jenner’s transformation was, the new photograph was supposed to be worth a thousand words. We were all supposed to know intuitively that Bruce had become Caitlyn because this is what a woman looks like.

In the end, most transgender transitions, though contrary to God’s word, demonstrate that God’s design for sexual differentiation cannot be so easily subverted. Kleinig’s summary is apt: “Both the account of human creation in Genesis 1:27 and its reaffirmation by Jesus in Matthew 19:4 and Mark 10:6 teach that God created humanity in his image as male and female. In Hebrew, the terms ‘male’ and ‘female’ describe both their biological sexuality (Lev. 12:2, 5, 7; 15:33), which they share with all the animals (Gen. 6:19; 7:3, 9, 16), and their corresponding gender, their sexual identity (Lev. 27:3, 4, 5, 7; Num. 5:3).”[7] If we are going to live according to biblical truth, or simply in step with the natural order, we must not accept the contemporary notion that sex and gender are entirely different concepts. What God has joined together, let no man separate.

Conclusion

Until the last few decades of human history, it was understood by virtually everyone everywhere that each of us is born wholly and irrevocably as a “he” or as a “she.” Maleness and femaleness are identities that we do not choose and cannot change. Read, for example, these remarkably relevant words (first published in 1522) from Martin Luther, commenting on Genesis 1:27:

From this passage we may be assured that God divided mankind into two classes, namely, male and female, or a he and a she. This was so pleasing to him that he himself called it a good creation [Gen. 1:31]. Therefore, each one of us must have the kind of body God has created for us. I cannot make myself a woman, nor can you make yourself a man; we do not have that power. But we are exactly as he created us: I a man and you a woman. Moreover, he wills to have his excellent handiwork honored as his divine creation, and not despised. The man is not to despise or scoff at the woman or her body, nor the woman the man. But each should honor the other’s image and body as a divine and good creation that is well-pleasing unto God himself.[8]

Notice that Luther believes that our bodies are given to us and that they impose limitations on us. And yet, he does not consider the given-ness of our bodies as male or female to be bad news. On the contrary, the fact the you and I were created as either a man or as a woman reflects God’s “excellent handiwork” and should not be despised.

To be born male or female, and to live a life of Christian discipleship according to those given identities, is the way of blessing, not to mention reality. Later in the same treatise, Luther insists that we are born men and women, and that these identities can never change. “[Y]ou cannot solemnly promise that you will not be a man or a woman,” Luther writes, “and if you should make such a promise it would be foolishness and of no avail since you cannot make yourself something other than what you are.”[9]

What Luther knew to be true five hundred years ago is just as true and just as biblical today. To accept this reality, even in the midst of personal pain and confusion, is to embrace God’s wisdom and God’s ways—a divine design that God himself declared to be “very good” (Gen. 1:31).

[1] John W. Kleinig, Wonderfully Made: A Protestant Theology of the Body (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2021), 216.

[2] Kleinig, Wonderfully Made, 22.

[3] Denny Burk, David Closson, and Colin Smothers, Male and Female He Created Them: A Study on Gender, Sexuality, and Marriage (Ross-Shire, UK: Christian Focus, 2023), 70.

[4] Colin Wright, “A Biologist Explains Why Sex Is Binary,” Wall Street Journal (April 9, 2023).

[5] Laura Hake and Clare O’Connor, “Genetic Mechanisms of Sex Determination,” Nature Education 1(1):25.

[6] This language is taken from the “Twelve Statements” section in the Presbyterian Church in America’s Report of the Ad Interim Committee on Human Sexuality (https://pcaga.org/aicreport/).

[7] Kleinig, Wonderfully Made, 198.

[8] Martin Luther, The Estate of Marriage, Trans. Walther I. Brandt, in Luther’s Works, Volume 45, Ed. Walther I. Brand (Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press, 1962), 17-18.

[9] Luther, Estate of Marriage, 19.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Who Was St. Nicholas?

Wed, 06 Dec 2023 10:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/who-was-st-nicholas/id1700530766?i=1000637667648

The unsatisfying answer to the title of this post is that we don’t know as much as we would like. We know that a bishop named Nicholas existed, that he had a great influence on his homeland, and that he probably died on December 6. While we should be careful to separate fact from fiction, there are elements of the Nicholas story we can know—and what can be known is worth retelling.

According to the best estimates, Nicholas was born around AD 280 in Patara, in Asia Minor. He later became bishop of Myra in modern-day Turkey. Nicholas, it seems, died about 343 on or near December 6.

There is no record of his existence attested in any document until the 6th century. By that time Nicholas, whoever he had been, was already famous. The emperor Justinian dedicated a church to him in Constantinople. Initially, Nicholas was most well known in the East. But by 900, a Greek wrote, “The West as well as the East acclaims and glorifies him. Wherever there are people, his name is revered and churches are built in his honor. All Christians reverence his memory and call upon his protection.” In 1087, Italian sailors stole his supposed relics and took them from Myra to Bari, Italy. This move greatly increased his popularity in Europe and made Bari one of the most crowded pilgrimage sites. It is said that Nicholas was represented by medieval artists more than any other saint except Mary.

The Man and the Myth

Why was Nicholas so famous? It’s difficult to know the truth and nothing but the truth, but this is some of the legend of St. Nicholas:

He was reputed to be a wonder-worker who brought children back to life, destroyed pagan temples, saved sailors from death at sea, and as an infant nursed only two days a week and fasted the other five days.

Moving from probable legend to possible history, Nicholas was honored for enduring persecution. It is said that he was imprisoned during the Empire-wide persecution under Diocletian and Maximian. Upon his release and return, the people flocked around him. “Nicholas! Confessor! Saint Nicholas has come home!”

Nicholas was also hailed as a defender of orthodoxy. Later sources claim he was in attendance at the council of Nicaea. According to tradition, he was a staunch opponent of Arianism. Writing five centuries after his death, one biographer said, “Thanks to the teaching of St. Nicholas, the metropolis of Myra alone was untouched by the filth of the Arian heresy, which it firmly rejected as a death-dealing poison.” Stories of his courage abound, one claiming that Nicholas traveled to Nicaea and, upon arrival, promptly slapped Arius in the face. As the story goes, the rest of the council was shocked and appalled, so much so that they were going to remove Nicholas from his bishopric, until Jesus and Mary appeared to defend him. According to the same legend, this apparition changed the minds of the delegates, who quickly recanted their outrage.

As you might have guessed, Nicholas was also revered for being a generous gift giver. Born into a wealthy family, he inherited a fortune when his parents died. Apparently he gave his vast fortune away. The most famous story involved three girls who were so destitute that they were going to be forced into a life of prostitution. But Nicholas threw three bags of gold through the window as dowries for the young women.

Over time, Saint Nicholas became the patron saint of nations like Russia and Greece, cities like Fribourg and Moscow, and of children, sailors, unmarried girls, merchants, and pawnbrokers (the three gold balls hung outside pawn shops are symbolic of the three bags of gold).

Christmas and St. Nicholas

In honor of St. Nicholas the gift giver, Christians began to celebrate December 6 (his feast day) by giving presents. The tradition developed over time. For good boys and girls, St. Nicholas would come in his red bishop’s robe and fill boots with gifts on the night of December 5. For bad boys and girls, St. Nicholas was to be feared. In highly Catholic parts of Europe, St. Nicholas became a deterrent to erring young children. In Germany, he was often accompanied by Knecht Ruprecht (farmhand Rupert) who threatened to eat misbehaving children. In Switzerland, St. Nicholas threatened to put wicked children in a sack and bring them back to the Black Forest. In the Netherlands, St. Nicholas’s helper would tie them in a sack and bring them back to Spain. In parts of Austria, the priest, dressed up in Christmas garb, would visit the homes of naughty children and threaten them with rod-beatings. At least nowadays, he only checks his list!

Not surprisingly, the Reformers were less than friendly toward the traditions that had been built up around the saints. Luther rejected the saints’ days, believing they were built upon legends and superstitions (and a virulent strain of moralism we might add). In Germany, Luther replaced Saint Nicholas’ Day with a different holiday, Christ Child, or Christkindl. Ironically, Kriss Kringle, which derived from Luther’s Christ Child holiday, has become just another name for St. Nicholas.

From St. Nicholas to Santa Claus

The veneration of St. Nicholas virtually disappeared in Protestant Europe, with the exception of one country: the Netherlands. If you love Christmas with all the trappings of Santa Claus and stockings and presents, thank the Dutch. If you despise all that, try to ignore my last name for the time being. The Puritans had done away with St. Nicholas and banned Christmas altogether. But the Dutch held on to their tradition and brought it with them to the New World. In the Netherlands, the name Saint Nicolaas was contracted to Sinterklaas. According to Dutch tradition, Sinterklaas rides a horse and is accompanied by his helper Zwarte Piet, or Black Pete. Many consider Black Pete a racist stereotype derived from slavery, although others claim he is black because he goes down the chimney and gets a face full of soot.At any rate, it is easy to see how Sinterklaas evolved in America to Santa Claus. Santa Claus became the Santa we know in the United States only after the poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” was written in 1823. Possibly the best-known verses ever written by an American, the poem has greatly influenced the tradition of Santa in the English-speaking world and beyond.

Jolly Old St. Nick and Jesus

How should Christians relate to the traditions of Santa Claus? C. S. Lewis embraced them and so included Father Christmas in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Other Christians, fearing syncretism, stay clear of Santa, reindeer, and a tree full of presents. I’ll leave it to you and your family to form your opinions on observing the Christmas holiday so long as it is done in a Christ-honoring way from a good conscience (Rom. 14:1, 5–6, 23).

But if Santa Claus is everywhere already, why not use him to your benefit and talk about the real St. Nicholas? We don’t know a lot about him, but we know he was a real and much-revered person. According to legend—one of those stories that probably isn’t true, but should be—when Nicholas was a little boy, he would get up early to go to church and pray. One morning, the aging priest had a vision that the first one to enter the church the next day should be the new bishop of Myra. When Nicholas was the first to enter, the old priest, obeying the vision, made the young boy bishop right on the spot. But before he consecrated Nicholas, the priest asked him a question. “Who are you, my son?” According to tradition, the child whose legend would one day become Santa Claus replied, “Nicholas the sinner.” Not bad for a little boy.

With what little we know about St. Nicholas, it is safe to say he would not be pleased to know he had eclipsed Christ in the hearts of many as the central figure of Christmas. For the bishop of Myra no doubt knew the angel’s words to Joseph: “[Mary] will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (Matt. 1:21). So this Christmas, give gifts if you like. (We will in our family.) Receive them all with thanksgiving. But do not forget what we need most—salvation through substitution. This is one gift the real St. Nicholas would not have overlooked.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

On Culture War, Doug Wilson, and the Moscow Mood

Mon, 27 Nov 2023 10:00:00 GMT

“Each of the great world civilizations,” Christopher Dawson wrote in his classic work from the 1940s on Religion and the Rise of Western Culture, “has been faced with the problem of reconciling the aggressive ethos of the warrior with the moral ideals of a universal religion. But in none of them has the tension been so vital and intense as in medieval Christendom and nowhere have the results been more important for the history of culture.” At the heart of Dawson’s provocative thesis is the insistence that Western European culture was the coming together of two cultures, two social traditions, and two spiritual worlds. The cultural formation of Europe combined “the war society of the barbarian kingdom with its cult of heroism and aggression,” leavened by “the peace society of the Christian Church with its ideals of asceticism and renunciation and its high theological culture.”

Arguably, the Crusades expressed the best and the worst of this synthesis. There were times when the fusion of warrior-heroism and Christian virtue produced something noble and exemplary during the centuries-long effort to reclaim the Holy Land. And there were times when the fusion failed and produced something ugly and lamentable. But even the failures teach us about the aspirational ideals of Christendom. We cannot understand the rise of Western culture without the religious unity imposed by the Christian Church in the Middle Ages, and likewise, we cannot understand the flourishing of Christendom unless we understand that it grew up out of the soil of warrior kings and barbarian kingdoms.

Dawson’s thesis, though concerned with the rise of Western culture in the Middle Ages, is instructive for our own age. For many of us, it looks as if Western culture has been overrun—whether by Muslim immigration in Europe, critical theory in our universities, sexual degradation in our popular culture, violence in our streets, or plain old anti-Western vitriol in the hearts of many Westerners who have no idea how much more miserable the world would be if their deluded wishes came true. If this is the world we live in—or even something generally headed in this fearful direction—the question we in the Christian West are wrestling with (or should be wrestling with) is what to do now.

The Appeal of the Moscow Mood

Which brings me to the reason you are likely reading this article in the first place, and that is the name “Doug Wilson” in the title. “So, what do you think about Doug Wilson?” is a question I’ve been asked many times during my years in pastoral ministry. I’d say the questioners have been pretty evenly split between “I’m asking because I really like him,” “I’m asking because I hope you don’t like him,” and “I’m asking because I’m not sure what to think.” Even now, I’d rather not be writing this piece because (1) it takes a lot of time, (2) I’m not looking to get into a long, drawn-out debate with Wilson or his followers, and (3) I know a lot of good Christians who have been helped by Wilson and by the people and institutions in his orbit. I’m answering the question now in hopes that I might help those who appreciate some of what Wilson says but also feel like something isn’t quite right.

By any measure, one has to marvel at the literary, digital, and institutional output that has come out of Moscow, Idaho in the past several decades. While some internet cranks are wannabees trying to make a name for themselves by trying to tear down what others have built up, Wilson is to be commended for establishing an ecosystem of schools, churches, media offerings, and publishing ventures. For a scholarly and fair assessment of what Wilson has tried to do in Moscow, I recommend Crawford Gribben’s excellent book Survival and Resistance in Evangelical America: Christian Reconstruction in the Pacific Northwest (Oxford University Press, 2021).

Wilson also deserves credit for being unafraid to take unpopular positions. True, he often seems to enjoy stating his unpopular positions in the most unpopular ways (more on that later), but no one is going to accuse Wilson of being a spineless Evangellyfish. He offers the world and the church an angular, muscular, forthright Christianity in an age of compromise and defection. On top of that, Wilson has a family that loves him and loves Christ.

Moreover, Wilson understands that opposition to Christ—his word, his gospel, and his Lordship—is not to be taken lightly. Many Christians are witnessing the disintegration of our Western world, and the Christian consensus that used to hold sway, and they are thinking to themselves, “This is terrible. I can’t believe this is happening.” To the Christians with these concerns—and I count myself among them—Doug Wilson says, “Yes, it is really bad, and let’s do something about it.”

I’m convinced the appeal of Moscow is visceral more than intellectual. That’s not meant to be a knock on the smart people in Moscow or attracted to Moscow. It is to say, however, that people are not mainly moving to Idaho because they now understand Revelation 20 in a different way, or because they did a deep word study on ta ethne in the Great Commission, or even because of a well-thought-out political philosophy of Christian Nationalism. Those things matter to Wilson and his followers, but I believe postmillennialism and Christian Nationalism are lagging indicators, not leading indicators. That is, people come to those particular intellectual convictions because they were first attracted to the cultural aesthetic and the political posture that Wilson so skillfully embodies. In short, people are moving to Moscow—whether literally or spiritually—because of a mood. It’s a mood that says, “We are not giving up, and we are not giving in. We can do better than negotiate the terms of our surrender. The infidels have taken over our Christian laws, our Christian heritage, and our Christian lands, and we are coming to take them back.”

Where the Mood Misfires

And yet, for all that is understandable and sometimes commendable about the Moscow mood, there are also serious problems. In my criticisms that follow I’m not going to focus on historical or theological disagreements I may have with Wilson. I won’t be touching on Federal Vision, or paedocommunion, or his views on the antebellum South, or his arguments for Christian Nationalism, or his particular brand of postmillennialism. My concerns are not so much with one or two conclusions that Christians may reach if Wilson becomes their intellectual mentor. My bigger concern is with the long-term spiritual effects of admiring and imitating the Moscow mood. For the mood that attracts people to Moscow is too often incompatible with Christian virtue, inconsiderate of other Christians, and ultimately inconsistent with the stated aims of Wilson’s Christendom project.

Rather than expounding these claims in abstract terms, let’s look at a couple of concrete examples.

Five years ago, Doug Wilson and Canon Press started something they call No Quarter November (NQN). The idea is that during November, in addition to giving away free resources, Wilson and his crew will show no mercy (give no quarter) to their enemies. Each year, in advance of NQN, Wilson puts out a promotional video. They always involve a good deal of fire and more than a little sarcasm.

The 2023 NQN video ends with a Clint Eastwood-style closeup of Wilson puffing a massive cigar, strapping on a giant flamethrower, and setting ablaze an assortment of Disney characters and media logos. Here’s what Wilson says in the first half of the video:

Welcome back to No Quarter November.

For eleven months out of the year, I’m notoriously timid—as cautious and polite as a Southern Baptist raising funds for the ERLC. But the month of November is a time for taking no prisoners and for granting “no quarter.” If you think of my blog as a shotgun, this is the month when I saw off all my typical careful qualifications and blast away with a double-barreled shorty.

Everything we do this month will be focused on one singular goal. We want to help you apocalypse-proof your family.

But why should you listen to me about such things? Well, when it comes to culture war and culture building, we’ve been at this for half a century now—much longer than such things have been cool to talk about in the green room at G3.

Like my parents taught me: a strong family isn’t possible without quick, full, and honest confession of sin, without any wussy excuse making. And especially now, it’s just as important not to confess and repent of things that aren’t really sins, because lying is bad and so is being a wuss.

You really should watch the four-minute video if you haven’t already. Notice several things about the mood.

First, it strikes a tone that is deliberately sarcastic and just a little bit naughty. No one really thinks Wilson is timid and cautious the rest of the year. That’s the sarcasm. The naughty part is that Wilson uses the words “wussy” and “wuss”—adolescent slang for someone weak and effeminate. These are words most Christian parents don’t allow their kids to use, since the terms probably originated as a combination of “wimp” and another word I won’t mention.

Second, the video takes cheap shots at other Christians. Wilson’s sarcastic bite is not first directed toward the wicked, the hardhearted, or the forces of evil in our world. He takes a swipe at the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission and at the G3 Conference. Both are conservative Baptist groups—groups, we might add, that would be on the same side as Wilson in almost every important cultural battle. It’s fine if Wilson wants to disagree with these groups; they’ve disagreed with him at times. But Wilson doesn’t mention them in the video in order to make a serious argument. He uses them for a punchline. If you like Wilson you are supposed to think “Oh no, he didn’t?! That’s hilarious.” And if you like the ERLC or G3, you are supposed to be triggered, because if Moscow can watch their opponents get triggered, that is also funny. When serious criticism is leveled at Moscow, the response often includes a smattering of mockery and memes. This isn’t Wilson using his famous “serrated edge” to make a prophetic point against a godless culture. This is intentionally making fun of other Christians for a quick chuckle.

Third, the point of NQN is explicitly about culture warring and culture building. Rightly understood, it is good to do both these things. But it is instructive to see that Wilson’s stated aim is to “help you apocalypse-proof your home.” I think it’s safe to say this is what Wilson aims to do not just in November (in an intensified fashion), but during the other eleven months of the year, and in Wilson’s mind preparing for the apocalypse means doing battle against the forces of leftism in our world. Wilson’s public persona is largely about commenting on the culture, pushing back on the culture, lampooning the culture, and getting Christians ready for the coming cultural collapse.

Fourth, the video is squarely focused on Wilson himself. On one level, this is not surprising. Christian institutions and organizations often use their founder, president, or leading voice as the “face” of the ministry. But the focus here is not on Wilson as the conduit of biblical teaching and doctrinal truth, or even as the instrument of helpful cultural analysis. The focus is on Wilson himself—Wilson as rebel, Wilson as gunslinger, Wilson as taboo-breaking cigar smoker, Wilson as the courageous hero we need in a crazy world like ours. No Quarter November is selling a carefully cultivated personality and image—Wilson’s personality and Wilson’s image.

Like most well-produced pieces of entertainment, the NQN video is not trying to make a syllogistic argument. The video excels at putting off a vibe. And what is that vibe? It’s a vibe that communicates, “Join us if you want to get into a shootout with the culture, join us if you want to poke fun at all the limp-wristed Christians out there, join us if you want to be like Doug Wilson in trolling other people and setting things on fire.”

Wilson’s approach depends on a fundamentally oppositional framework. The Moscow mood provides a non-stop adversarial stance toward the world and toward other Christians who are deemed (or caricatured to be) too afraid to “tell it like it is.” Moscow cannot become the American Redoubt for conservative Christians if it is too similar to other places, with basically the same kinds of churches, schools, and institutions found in hundreds of other cities. Differentiation is key, and this can only be sustained by a mood of antagonism and sharp antithesis. In keeping with the spirit of the age, Wilson shares the rhetorical instinct that has come to dominate our politics and political punditry: a negative partisanship that builds a following by exposing the impurity of the other side, even if sometimes the other “side” shares almost all of your own positions. The strategy is not to link arms with other networks, but to punch hard and punch often, all the while forging an unbreakable loyalty to the one who is perceived as the Outsider-Disruptor. And that means always meme-ing his critics, always tweaking his opponents, and never (that I’ve seen) cultivating a broken-hearted and courageous contrition for the remaining sinfulness in our own hearts (Ps. 51:17).

Setting Things on Fire as the World Burns

We can look at the 2021 NQN video for a second example. Here’s what Wilson says:

Welcome to No Quarter November.

My name is Douglas Wilson. I’m glad you decided to join us. Now, some people want to know what is it about November that makes us want to burn things? What’s with that?

[Wilson takes a swig from a bottle of liquor] There’s a little libation for those evangelicals who think I ought not to be drinking stuff like that.

The reason, the reason we’re doing this is not that we think that there’s a moral obligation that we have to be incendiary, because we don’t have a moral obligation to be incendiary. What we’re saying is that the world has mysteriously, for some bizarre reason, become flammable.

So the world is flammable. Everything catches fire these days. All you have to do is say something like “white babies” or something like “men shouldn’t have sex with unstable women”—things that would have gone past without comment in a saner time. But we don’t live in a sane time.

We’re not incendiary people here at Canon Press. We are ordinary people, normal people in a flammable time. And that explains why things burn in November. . . . If it seems like everything’s gone nuts, if it seems like the world’s on fire, just keep doing what you’re supposed to be doing, just stay with whatever your plans were. Keep doing what you ought to be doing. Stay at your post. Ignore the world.

The video is vintage Wilson—excellent production value, savvy, clever, and playful, yet cutting, edgy, and provocative. This video from 2021 has the same vibe as the current video from 2023, so I won’t repeat the same points. But let me make one further observation.

Wilson says that at Canon Press they don’t try to set things on fire. The world is flammable, the video intones, and they are just trying to mind their own business. This is demonstrably not true. In most of the videos, Wilson gleefully and triumphantly sets things on fire. No Quarter November is about everything except minding their own business. Why else do we see Wilson conspicuously drinking hard liquor and smoking a cigar? Wilson knows what he’s doing. He’s picking a fight and tweaking other Christians just because he can. He telegraphs this intent with his comment about “a little libation” for those tee-totaling evangelicals.

The supposed point of the 2021 video is that we should ignore the world, tell the truth, and let the world explode if it wants to. But that’s not what the video communicates in effect, nor what NQN, or the focus of Wilson’s whole ministry, is trying to accomplish. No Quarter November does not give us a month of posts on the loveliness of Christ, or the power of prayer, or the finer points of Reformed soteriology, or the wonders of the cross, or the total trustworthiness of the Bible, or the holiness of God, or the glorious intricacies of trinitarian theology. The month is largely about speaking into a host of hot-button cultural issues. Yes, the world is extremely flammable these days. But Wilson also enjoys striking a match. When he makes references to “white babies” or not having sex “with unstable women,” he is not trying to douse the cultural fire around us. He is trying to fan the flames, and usually with a swagger and a self-parading gleefulness. Later he will come back with nuance and qualification once the conflagration—much to his delight—is already out of control. Wilson excels at the motte and bailey approach: make an outrageous statement that fires up the internet, and then when pressed, retreat to a milder version of the same statement, all without ever giving up the original statement.

Wilson instructs the viewer that “if it seems like the world is on fire, just keep doing what you’re doing.” But that’s not what Wilson’s brand is about. His videos are visually and thematically about setting things on fire. They are about poking people in the eye. I’m all for cultural engagement, even for some culture warring rightly understood. But Wilson’s online persona is not about introducing Reformed creeds and confessions, or about explaining the books of the Bible, or about global mission to the uttermost parts of the earth, or about liturgy, preaching, prayer, and the ordinary means of grace. I’m sure Wilson cares about all those things, but that’s not what No Quarter November and his self-promotional trailers are selling. By and large, it’s not what the other eleven months of videos and tweets and memes and blog posts are selling either. Wilson may be a happy warrior, but it is easier to spot his happiness in the war itself than in the things he claims to be fighting for. We could do with fewer witticisms front and center, and more conspicuous delighting in the sweetness of fellowship with Christ and exulting in the love of God our Savior. And if Wilson and Canon Press believe that their bread and butter really is about all the things I listed a few sentences ago—creeds, confessions, the Bible, missions, the ordinary means of grace—I’d love to see them devote an entire month (hey, why not a whole year) to just those things, without any snark, without any sarcasm, and without any trolling of other Christians.

We must never forget that no matter how important Western civilization may be, we are still sojourners and exiles in the world (1 Pet. 2:11). The most important fight is the fight for faith, not the fight for Christendom. The Christian life must be shaped by the theology of the cross, however much we might prefer an ever-present theology of glory. That means blessing through persecution, strength through weakness, and life through death. “For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come” (Heb. 13:14). If we want God to be unashamed to be called our God, our desire must be for a better country, that is, a heavenly one (Heb. 11:16).

The Mood Is the Message

I don’t doubt that many Christians are helped by the resources put out by Wilson and Canon Press. I have many friends who love Wilson’s stuff on the family, the church, and classical Christian education. I often agree with what Wilson says—especially in what he critiques about our present age. I may not agree with what Wilson means by Christendom or Christian Nationalism, but I too would like to see more Christian influence in our land and a return to many of the ideas and ideals that have made Western Civilization truly great. If you are a mature, grounded Christian in a good church, with a good sense of discernment, you can find a number of helpful things from the world of Moscow.

But there’s a difference between snacking on Moscow once you are already full of good Christian discipleship and feasting on Moscow for three square meals a day. I fear that much of the appeal of Moscow is an appeal to what is worldly in us. As we’ve seen, the mood is often irreverent, rebellious, and full of devil-may-care playground taunts. That doesn’t make us better Christians.

The well-worn critique of the seeker-sensitive movement is apt for the Moscow mood as well: What you win them with is what you win them to. And with so many of Wilson’s videos and blogs, what he’s winning an audience with is a spirit of derision, cavalier repartee, and the drinking down of liberal tears. Pugnacity and jocularity are not the occasional and unfortunate by-products of the brand; they are the brand.

Even more troubling is Wilson’s deliberate decision to use uncouth (at best) and sinful (at worst) language, especially language of a sexual nature. His own denomination has criticized his unnecessarily provocative language, including the use of phrases like “small breasted biddies” and “lumberjack dykes.” At other times he’s used (without the asterisks I’ve inserted) words like d*ck, c*ck, c*nt, a**, b**bs (also here, here, here, and here), t*ts, b*tch (also here and here), gaytards, fa**ot, fudgepackers [for male sex], and circle jerks [a term I had to look up, but I wish I hadn’t]. To my knowledge, Wilson has not expressed regret or repentance for this language; to the contrary, he has often defended its use.

Were I to use these words in public (or in private) I would be quickly confronted by my elders and likely brought before my presbytery for questioning. If I persisted, I would probably be deposed as a minister. And rightly so, for such language constitutes filthiness, foolish talk, and crude joking (Eph. 5:4). Which of the Puritans, or Southern Presbyterians for that matter, would have dared to speak this way? What candidate coming forward for ordination could get away with writing in this way? What parent would be thrilled if their daughter’s new boyfriend sprinkled his vocabulary with words like these? If such “prophetic” language is justified for the minister when he is attacking a godless culture, is the language therefore appropriate in the pulpit? According to Wilson’s logic, I don’t see why not. And should we hope to see more pastors employ these terms? Would that be a step toward the saving of Christendom, for Christian ministers to talk more frequently about b**bs and t*ts? In his influential thirteenth-century manual on the training of knights, Ramon Llull insisted that “Courtesy and Chivalry belong together, for baseness and uncouth words are contrary to Chivalry.”

Wilson has frequently compared PCA study committees to a “stacked. . . blonde in a tight dress” (also here and here). Once he wrote that a committee was “as stacked as Dolly Parton after her new implants.” There is no excuse for this language. To be sure, the prophet Ezekiel could use extreme language in extreme situations to show the ugliness of extreme wickedness. Likening a study committee of a confessionally Reformed denomination to Dolly Parton’s anatomy is none of these things. It’s juvenile, sensuous, and entirely without biblical warrant. This isn’t using graphic language to highlight the horror of sin; it’s a bawdy way to make fun of a group of orthodox churchmen with whom Wilson disagrees. Wilson likes to emphasize that if Christ is Lord, he must be Lord of all. Yes and Amen. But “all” means our hearts, our minds, and our typing fingers.

So much of what Wilson produces online strikes me as showmanship. It’s like that famous quip from James Denney that is impossible to make ourselves look clever while also proclaiming that Christ is mighty to save. If Rick Warren did videos like NQN—granted, they would have a much different vibe—the same people that love Wilson’s gimmicks would almost certainly lampoon a hyped-up, dressed-up Rick Warren close-up as self-serving cringe. At the time of this writing, you can purchase from Canon Press a limited edition No Quarter November flag for $59.99 and an NQN Special Reserve Edition Flamethrower for $1,943.

Like Doug Wilson, I love P.G. Wodehouse. His witty use of the English language is without equal. Wodehouse wrote like a trapeze artist engaged in verbal flips and death-defying metaphors—and somehow, he always stuck the landing. I can see how Wilson takes his cues from Wodehouse. Except that with Wodehouse, there was nothing at stake. He was a humorist first and foremost. The point was to dazzle with his words, while poking gentle fun at aristocratic England. But Wilson wants us to believe that the stakes could not be higher. The barbarians have breached the castle wall. The Western world is crumbling. We are engaged in a war. The apocalypse is drawing nigh.

At the same time, Wilson’s online persona is almost always Wodehousian fun and games. So, in one video, where New Saint Andrews (Wilson’s college) tries to make an important point about the wickedness of contemporary culture, the narrator interjects with a mocking, “Hey, Wokey McWokeface.” It’s not being the “tone police” to say that this kind of insult is silly, unnecessary, and ultimately undermines the seriousness of the issue they are trying to address. Which is it—are we in the trenches against the enemy, or hosting our own late night talk show? Ironically, for all that Wilson says and writes about manhood, his online tone is often juvenile. Petty insults and childish putdowns do not display the manly virtue of magnanimity—the loftiness of spirit that enables one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness, and to display a noble generosity.

A More Excellent Way

I’m a fan of good satire. John Witherspoon used it to great effect against eighteenth-century Moderates in the Church of Scotland. Sarcasm can be a holy weapon in the Lord’s army (see Elijah on Mount Carmel). But sarcasm and satire by the minister are best used sparingly and against those whose hearts are set against the truth. But Wilson makes fun of those who could be allies and loves to troll people who disagree with him. It’s as if all the world is a meme war to be won, and no publicity is bad publicity so long as people are paying attention to Wilson and Canon Press. I suppose I’ve taken the bait by writing this essay.

One of the sad realities is that Wilson could set a different mood—still full of Chestertonian mirth, but focused on better things and in a better way. After Rachel Held Evans—the progressive Christian writer and scathing critic of Wilson—sadly passed away at only 37 years old, Wilson wrote a moving article full of sympathy and grace. He showed genuine pastoral sensitivity, without giving away an inch of theological ground.

Wilson knows how to strike that tone—wise, gracious, resolute, and (dare I say) winsome. One can only conclude that he prefers to write in a different way. Wilson could keep all the good stuff on classical Christian education, all the helpful material on family formation, all the countercultural advice on being old school men and women. He could explain the Bible. He could highlight heroes from church history. He could blog about the Great Books. He could work to maximize what he shares in common with other conservative Christian leaders and networks. Christians could be drawn to Wilson because he shows them more of Christ rather than more of Christendom. That’s one viable approach.

But he would have to dial back—way back—the sarcasm. He would have to decrease so that Christ can increase. He would have to press pause on the perpetual pot-stirring. He would have to cultivate a depth of intellectual exploration that is more lasting, and ultimately more helpful, than a surface-level spray into the controversy du jour. He would have to refrain from keeping his pointer finger permanently extended in search of eyes to poke. He could try to be an evangelical statesman or lean into his role as a seasoned mentor to younger Christians—especially men who don’t need permission to be brawlers, as much as they need a godly role model to emulate and a spiritual father to correct their youthful excesses. He could use the eighth decade of his life to devote his considerable writing talents to persuading unbelievers to consider Christianity, to passing on the Reformed faith, and to offering a deep, penetrating cultural analysis. I believe he could do all this if he wanted to.

Or he can pepper his writing with naughty words, play with blowtorches, and make fun of Southern Baptists. That’s the other option. It will be hard to take both approaches at the same time.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Case for Kids

Tue, 01 Nov 2022 11:26:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-case-for-kids/id1526483896?i=1000583326809

The most significant thing happening in the world may very well be a thing that is not happening: Men and women are not having children. The biblical logic has been reversed, and the barren womb has said “Enough!” (Prov. 30:16). The paradigmatic affliction of the Old Testament is now the great desire of nations. If Rachel wanted children more than life itself (Gen. 30:1), our generation seems to have concluded that nothing gets in the way of life more than children.

True, human beings are reproducing—but in most countries, not fast enough to replace themselves. Measuring total fertility rate (TFR) is not an exact science, so the numbers vary from source to source, but the trends are undeniable. Outside of Africa, which is home to forty-one of the fifty most fertile nations, the planet faces a bleak demographic future. Many major European nations—such as Bulgaria, Greece, Hungary, Poland, Portugal, and Spain—have a TFR of 1.50 births per woman or lower, disastrously below the replacement rate of 2.1. Italy’s future is especially grim, as that country has one of the lowest TFRs in the world, just 1.22. Virtually every country in Europe—including the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, Germany, Belgium, Finland, and Denmark—has a TFR below 1.8. Only France, with a TFR of 2.03, comes close to the replacement rate. Decline is on its way. The Russian population is already contracting. Germany’s population is on pace to shrink from 83 million to around 70 million over the next thirty years. If trends do not reverse, Europe’s population will plummet from 750 million today to less than 500 million by the end of the century.

The numbers for East Asia are even worse. Hong Kong, Macau, Singapore, and Taiwan each have a TFR around 1.0; South Korea’s is 0.81. These countries make aging and shrinking Japan, with its TFR of 1.37, look almost vibrant. And whatever military and economic power resides in China, increasingly children do not. Despite the replacement of the notorious one-child policy by a two-child policy in 2016 and then a three-child policy in 2021, China’s birthrate has continued to tumble. As recently as 2019, the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences predicted that China’s population would peak in 2029. But the decline has already started. This year, for the first time since the Great Famine (1959–61), China’s population has shrunk, by just over 1 percent since 2021, according to the Shanghai Academy of Social Sciences.

For many years, the United States appeared to be an exception to the rule of declining birthrates in the industrialized world. In 2007 the United States had a TFR of 2.1, whereas the figure for the European Union was below 1.6. But since then, the U.S. birthrate has fallen by 20 percent, to as low as 1.73 according to some estimates. What looked like American exceptionalism less than a generation ago now looks like mere delay.

At no time in history have people been having fewer children. In most countries the number of births per woman is well below the replacement rate, and even in countries with a high TFR, such as those of sub-Saharan Africa, the rate is dropping. The human race seems to have grown tired of itself.

The reasons for declining fertility are no doubt many and varied. Surely, some couples want to have more children but are unable to do so. Others struggle with economic pressures or health limitations. But fertility does not plummet worldwide without deeper issues at play, especially when people around the world are objectively richer, healthier, and afforded more conveniences than at any time in human history. Though individuals make their choices for many reasons, as a species we are suffering from a profound spiritual sickness—a metaphysical malaise in which children seem a burden on our time and a drag on our pursuit of happiness. Our malady is a lack of faith, and nowhere is the disbelief more startling than in the countries that once made up Christendom. “I will multiply your offspring as the stars of heaven,” God promised a delighted Abraham (Gen. 26:4). Today, in the lands of Abraham’s offspring, that blessing strikes most as a curse.

In 1968, Paul Ehrlich predicted worldwide famine and a “race to oblivion” in his book The Population Bomb. Fifty years later, the bomb has not detonated. Today, we must fear population bust rather than boom. The list of Very Bad Things—as Jonathan Last calls the consequences of declining fertility in his 2013 book What to Expect When No One’s Expecting—is long and depressing: an aging population, a shrinking workforce, a declining tax base, a decrease in technological and industrial dynamism, difficulty in finding a spouse, empty buildings and crumbling infrastructure, unfunded entitlements, and a general disquiet as more and more people get older and sicker with fewer people to care for them. Some future president might be forced to coin the campaign slogan, “It’s midnight in America.”

Last emphasizes economic and national concerns, the sort of developments that get the attention of presidents and parliaments. But the problems with declining fertility, and the accompanying collapse of the family, go much deeper. Whittaker Chambers was led to reject atheism by studying the miracle of his infant daughter’s ear. As he watched his daughter eat in her high chair, an “involuntary and unwanted” thought entered his mind: “Those intricate perfect ears” could have been “created only by immense design.” Faith can give us a heart for children, but children can also give us the eyes of faith.

When family formation fails, so does the inculcation of faith. This is Mary Eberstadt’s argument in How the West Really Lost God: Family decline is not merely a consequence of religious decline; it is also a cause of it. Religious people are more inclined toward family life, but it is also the case that something about family life inclines people toward religion. There is no need to prioritize chicken or egg. It is the indissoluble connection that matters: The fortunes of faith and family rise and fall together.

There are many plausible reasons for this connection. The Christian story is set within the matrix of family—from the expectation of Eve’s Snake-Crusher, to the Promised Seed of the patriarchs, to great David’s Greater Son, to the birth of the Christ Child to Mary with Joseph at her side. The presence of children often drives parents to church, whether for help in raising them or because the experience of creating children helps us apprehend our Creator. The sacrifices required in parenting are the same kinds of sacrifices required in a life of Christian discipleship.

The connection between faith and family cuts in the opposite direction as well. As Eberstadt observes: “In an age when many people live lives that contradict the traditional Christian moral code, the mere existence of that code becomes a lightning rod for criticism and vituperation—which further drives some people away from church” (emphasis original). In other words, if your parents were divorced, or you grew up with two mommies, or you are currently sleeping with your girlfriend, or you are not particularly enamored of the thought of monogamy and raising children, the Christian faith—which has always been a scandal to sinners—carries an additional offense, which previous generations did not have to overcome. “People do not like to be told they are wrong,” Eberstadt notes, “or that those whom they love have done wrong. But Christianity cannot help sending that message.” No doubt, secularization has undermined family formation. Just as surely, though, the collapse of the married, intact, childrearing family has made the Christian faith harder to swallow. The biggest plausibility structure for faith is not intellectual but familial.

Carle C. Zimmerman’s Family and Civilization (1947) is remembered as a book about family types, but it is fundamentally a book about fertility. Borrowing from Augustine and Aquinas, Zimmerman argues that marriage has historically had three functions: proles, fides, and sacramentum. That is to say, the good of marriage (and of family life more broadly) depends on childbearing, sexual fidelity, and the permanence of the marriage bond (whether one holds to a Catholic view of the sacraments or not). Peter Lombard ordered the marital goods somewhat differently, placing fidelity before childbearing. But Zimmerman observes that the ordering of Augustine and Aquinas emphasizes childbearing—or prior to marriage, the intention of it—as the first and determinative step in the development of marital fidelity and permanence. Without children (or an openness to children), the other two commitments lose their moral and logical coherence.

Already in 1947, Zimmerman saw that the atomistic family—the family based on individualistic assumptions about happiness and the role of marriage—would lead to rapid and groundless divorce; that looser family structures would be proffered as solutions to family problems, only to make those problems worse; that the stigmas inhibiting adultery would deteriorate; that fertility would decrease; and that sexual perversion would be normalized. He also predicted that the decline of fertility among intellectuals would embolden them to challenge the validity of marriage itself; that it would take two generations (slowed by immigration) for family decay to become evident; and that the Christian Church would be the only cultural institution capable of encouraging a view of family grounded in something more than personal fulfillment.

One popular view holds that the birth-control pill led inexorably to declines in fertility. In his 2018 book Birth Control and American Modernity, Trent MacNamara examines newspaper accounts and the rhetoric of popular moralists in the first half of the twentieth century to show that natalism declined in accordance with changing norms, more than on account of new technologies. Americans did not decide to have fewer children because they had run out of land or because industrialization had made children less valuable as farmhands. Those common accounts make little sense (as if children came out of the womb ready to milk cows, and did not need to be fed and clothed and looked after). Americans started having fewer children for reasons at once simpler and more comprehensive. A combination of moral pragmatism and liberal social optimism did the trick for most. Twentieth-century Americans became convinced that the new technologies would give their (fewer) children better lives than they themselves enjoyed. They saw birth control as prudent economic altruism. They prioritized observable results over first principles. Above all, MacNamara insists, they believed that fewer children meant more security and more happiness. Almost a century later, that moral calculus has probably changed very little.

The new wrinkle in our day is the perceived threat of climate catastrophe. I recently read remarks from an elite liberal journalist, to the effect that the number one question people ask him after speeches and at dinners is whether they should have kids at all, knowing that kids will contribute to the “climate crisis.” Quite apart from debates we might have about the science of or solution to climate change, the intellectual assumptions behind the question are profoundly anti-human. The Bible encourages us to see the beauty of God’s creation, and the Bible is not indifferent to the frogs and dogs and fireflies. Let everything that has breath praise the Lord (Ps. 150:6). But the Bible’s narrative arc is not geocentric (as if the redemptive story were mainly about earth) or biocentric (as if it were mainly about plants and animals). The Bible’s story is anthropocentric. God sent his Son to save those made in his image. What’s more, as those made in his image, we are not an alien species on the planet, malignant tumors that only devour and destroy. We are sub-creators. We are meant to tend the garden. We can solve problems and make the world more inhabitable. If the climate crisis is as dire as we are told, lasting solutions will come from the efforts of our children, not their elimination.

It is striking to note how different our version of the good life is from Isaiah’s eschatological vision. In Isaiah 65, the prophet unveils the coming of the new heavens and new earth. The vision includes elements all people would cherish: peace, prosperity, protection. But the vision is also surprisingly domestic. We hear of children no longer dying in infancy and children born for blessing instead of calamity. We read of building houses and inhabiting them, of planting vineyards and eating their fruit. The picture is familial and generational, with an old man, a young man, an infant, and descendants together with their parents. Today’s version of the good life is more individualistic and more consumeristic. The good life has migrated from the home to the marketplace, to places of entertainment, and to the inner recesses of the self. Blessing is found in escaping the home—in travel, in consumption, in freedom from the bonds of domesticity.

My aim is not to make a theological case for or against birth control. The predicament we are in as a nation does not require Christians to eschew every form of family planning. Even with nine children, I am not a fertility maximalist. My wife has been blessed with relatively easy pregnancies (easy for me to say!), and we have more household space and household income than many other families. Our sacrifices are not what a couple with a gaggle of children living in a squalid apartment in New York City in 1930 would have made. I do not urge Christian couples to have as many children as possible.

But I do urge them to have more children. How many more I cannot say. Many couples must weigh risks pertaining to age, illness, miscarriage, or difficult pregnancies. But “more than two kids,” and “more kids than you think you can handle,” might be a good place to start. The fertility gap between religious and nonreligious Americans has been growing for two decades and now is wider than ever. This gap is not enough to offset the defections of “nones” from the ranks of the church—but it could, if religious Americans increased from barely hitting the replacement rate to about 2.4 children each. In other words, the difference between three kids and two kids—provided the culture of faith is thick enough in the home and in the church to keep those kids among the faithful—could be the difference between an America in which religion is declining and an America in which it is on the rise.

Unfortunately, contemporary American life does not make raising lots of children easy. I am reminded of the line from the comedian Jim Gaffigan (a Catholic and father of five): “Big families are like waterbed stores. They used to be everywhere; now they’re just weird.” Parking lots and parking garages are not made for fifteen-passenger vans. My family almost never eats out (for which many restaurant-goers are thankful). Flying all of us anywhere, without a lot of planning and saving, is crazy expensive and just plain crazy. Though the vast majority of people in our church-dominated lives have been extremely supportive of our big family, occasionally we get a vibe from strangers that communicates: “Are you foolish or just ignorant?” When our kids attended public school, we constantly heard that stories and examples in the classroom needed to “represent the diversity of our community,” which always meant more stories about LGBTQ families, never about big families going to church.

A culture with declining fertility will become accustomed to smaller and smaller families. The feedback loop is hard to interrupt. With fewer children, parents become more child-centric. And as parents become more child-centric, they do not see how they could possibly have more than one or two children. Even good parents—perhaps especially good parents—are susceptible to the assumptions of kindergarchy, where children rule the roost and moms and dads are expected to be all things to their children. How can parents have more than a couple kids if each child needs from the parent a constant companion, a camp director, a gourmet chef, a vacation planner, a coach, and an omnipresent safety net? To say nothing of the gargantuan car seats that must be installed and uninstalled, the slew of forms that must be filled out at every stage of life, and the cost of raising a child in an age when young people are expected to consume much and contribute little. It takes a stubborn otherworldliness for parents to dare to give their children more by giving them less.

Important as fertility is for the health (and existence) of a nation, pro-natalist governments have had little to show for their interventions. When Japan sounded the demographic alarm in 1990 and established an inter-ministry committee on “creating a sound environment for bearing and raising children,” its TFR was 1.54. After thirty years of Angel Plans, Childcare Leave Acts, a “Plus One Plan,” and a “Next Generation” law, Japan’s TFR stands at 1.36. This is not to say that governments should not enact pro-family tax policies and legislative priorities. I am all for making it easier and less expensive to raise children. Governments can help people to have the children they want. But they have not proven capable of convincing people to have children they do not want.

Part of being a conservative is being realistic about what we can achieve on earth. The disintegration of the family will not be undone in five years—maybe fifty, if the Lord allows. Still, we can do our part to promote social health in the here and now and to sow seeds for a later harvest. To that end, I offer two modest proposals.

First, we must put the institution and well-being of the family at the center of a renewed conservatism. One need not agree with all of Yoram Hazony’s critique of classical liberalism to recognize that his proposed “rediscovery” of the family in conservative thought is long overdue. Many of the philosophical fathers of liberalism were not fathers at all: Spinoza, Locke, Hume, Mill, and Bentham were all childless, and Rousseau abandoned his five children to orphanages. Conservatives must find a way to defend the God-given rights of the individual while affirming that the exercise of those rights takes place chiefly within the gift of the family. Such a conservatism will not just insist on vaguely defined “family values.” It will stand resolute in the conviction that all efforts to redefine the family as something other than a pre-political institution rooted in sex differentiation and procreation will not lead to civilizational health.

Second, if we must place the family at the center of our conservatism, it is even more critical that we place it at the center of our lives—not a god, of course, but one of the very best things God wants us to pursue. Christian schools should reassess whether they are preparing students just for college and career, or whether they are preparing them also for the family. Pastors and priests should make sure their people know that the most direct path to changing the world starts with changing a diaper. Too often Christian leaders lay impossible burdens on their people, insisting that they solve a host of social ills and become experts in a thousand different areas, forgetting to assure them that to get married, raise children in the church, and stay married is a life well lived. Women in particular need to know that motherhood is not a lesser calling, an interruption in the real business of life or an impediment to their being truly purposeful (which usually means being more like men). Just once I’d like to see a Christian college spotlight a stay-at-home mom in its alumni magazine. From the way Christian schools market themselves, you would never imagine that most of their women graduates become mothers or that normal family life is an honorable calling.

Moreover, we must understand marriage as the exchange of duties and obligations, not merely of emotions and experiences. And we must admit—scary as this sounds to me as a parent of four teenagers—that many young men and women should be getting married earlier. The postwar baby boom was actually a marriage boom. The average size of families did not increase as much as the number of people forming families did. Since 1950, the average age of first marriage for women has increased from just over twenty years old to almost twenty-eight. Women are having fewer children in part because they are having fewer married years in which to have children. And surely, for both sexes, resisting the allure of pornography and fornication is not made easier when sexual desires burn hot for ten or fifteen years before marriage is ever considered. The Bible never says “Thou must finish thine education before marriage,” or “backpack through Europe before marriage,” or “make time to binge-watch Netflix before marriage.” The Bible does say that it is better to marry than to burn (1 Cor. 7:9).

Above all, we must believe what the Scriptures tell us, that children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward (Ps. 127:3). Having children is not for the faint of heart. Kids are expensive. They are messy and exhausting. They take your time and can break your heart. They probably will never love you as much as you love them. Let’s not be romantic about it: Children are a burden. But they are also one of the greatest earthly blessings. Have we turned Rachel’s cry of desperation on its head, asking God to keep children from us lest we die to ourselves? The promise to Abraham of progeny was not his curse, and neither is it ours. A man like a warrior with arrows in his hand, a wife like a fruitful vine, and children like olive shoots around the table—these are the Lord’s blessings from Zion.

Throughout America and around the world, we see that faith and family stand and fall together. Conservative, devoutly religious persons have more children than their liberal and secular counterparts. Even within the church, mainline denominations have dwindled in part because their members are dying off without faithful children to replace them. Conservative churches have grown (or at least held their own) because their parishioners have had babies and kept more of those babies in the fold. The meek will inherit the earth, especially those humble enough to raise children.

In the end, having children is not merely an act of dogged obedience, or even simply an act of faith. It’s an act of transcendence. When I tell my child as he heads out the door, “Remember you are a DeYoung,” I am not only exhorting him to act in keeping with our values, I am sending our family name out into the world—into places where I cannot be and a future too distant for me to reach. “And I will make of you a great nation,” God told Abraham, “and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing” (Gen. 12:2). The Bible is full of genealogies that show that we are a people with a past and a future. When Genesis 5 traces the line from Adam to Noah, the refrain “and he died” is a reminder of the curse of death—but that each man had a son is a reminder of the promise that comes through birth (Gen. 3:15). The God who has put eternity into our hearts (Eccl. 3:11) also means to put children into the womb (Mal. 2:15). When we grasp one, we will grasp the other.

Kevin DeYoung is senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church, in Matthews, North Carolina, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary, Charlotte.

Is Sola Scriptura Biblical? Exploring the Fundamental Divide Between Protestants and Catholics

Mon, 24 Nov 2025 12:12:20 GMT

The doctrine of sola scriptura is the conviction that Scripture alone is infallible and should be given the final say in all matters of faith and practice.

Here is how the Westminster Confession of Faith explains the doctrine:

The supreme judge by which all controversies of religion are to be determined, and all decrees of councils, opinions of ancient writers, doctrines of men, and private spirits, are to be examined, and whose sentence we are to rest, can be no other than the Holy Spirit speaking in the Scripture. (WCF 1.10)

Notice, the Confession does not say Scripture is the only witness to which we can appeal. We can bring many authors, writings, traditions, creeds, and confessions forward as witnesses to defend and support the truth. The “alone” in sola scriptura does not mean that we have the Bible and nothing but the Bible. Rather, sola scriptura maintains that the Bible is the supreme judge—the final, ultimate, absolute, decisive arbiter in all controversies of religion.

The Confession then lists four kinds of testimony that are not final judges but sit under the judgment of Scripture:

councils, ancient writers, human doctrines, and private spirits (feelings, experiences, claims of divine prompting or revelation).

All of these must be examined by Scripture, tested against Scripture, and in every matter of faith and practice Scripture gets the last word.

This is not what the Roman Catholic Church believes. The Catholic Catechism teaches that the deposit of faith includes Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition. This means that Scripture is not the supreme judge, but rather an equally authoritative source of doctrine along with the teaching of the Church. When the pope, and the bishops in union with him, exercise teaching authority, they are referred to as the Magisterium (magister is the Latin word for teacher). The Magisterium is an infallible interpreter of both Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition.

The key, for our purposes, is that, according to Catholic teaching, Scripture’s authority is not alone. It stands alongside Tradition. Roman Catholic theology affirms an inspired Bible and an infallible Bible. But it does not believe in a Bible with unique or final authority. The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains:

the Church, to whom the transmission and interpretation of Revelation is entrusted, “does not derive her certainty about all revealed truths from the holy Scriptures alone. Both Scripture and Tradition must be accepted and honored with equal sentiments of devotion and reverence.” (CCC 82)

The question, then, is whether Scripture is “the supreme judge” over all tradition (WCF), or “equal” with Tradition (CCC). There is no more consequential difference between Protestants and Catholics than this. Peter Kreeft, the prolific and popular Catholic author, hits the nail on the head:

Most Protestants reject all the Catholic doctrines they cannot find explicitly in Scripture—for example, Mary’s Assumption into heaven—because they believe sola scriptura; that Scripture alone is the infallible authority. This is the fundamental reason behind all the differences between Protestant and Catholic Theology. (Catholic Christianity, 20)

He’s right. The primary disagreement, and the one on which the others depend, is the question of whether Scripture is the authority on all matters of faith and practice or whether Scripture is an authority on par with the dogmatic tradition of the church and the pronouncements of the pope.

As Protestants, we believe that the Bible is the norma normans (“the rule that rules”) while creeds and councils and church fathers ought to be considered the norma normata (“the rule that is ruled”). We do not believe the Scriptures are the only source of knowledge, the only witness to the truth, or the only book we can consult when doing theology. What we do believe is that

Scripture alone is unerring, Scripture alone has the final word, and Scripture alone rules all other rules and is ruled by nothing else. Scriptural Argument

Catholics consider the Scriptures infallible, so it matters to them, as it does to us, what the Bible teaches. Both sides should agree that if the Bible teaches sola scriptura, then we should believe it, and if it doesn’t, we shouldn’t. So let me give five reasons the Bible supports sola scriptura.

Reason #1: The perfection of Scripture

Second Timothy 3:15–17 is the classic text on the inspiration of Scripture, but the reason for mentioning it here is not because of the line “breathed out by God” (v. 16). The key phrases, as far as sola scriptura is concerned, are “able to make you wise for salvation” (v. 15) and “equipped for every good work” (v. 17). Yes, Paul is referring most immediately to the Old Testament, but we know that the early church counted the apostolic writings as Scripture (1 Pet. 3:16), so we can fairly apply 2 Timothy 3 to all of Scripture. The important point is this: Paul considers Scripture perfect, lacking in nothing, able by itself to save us and to make us competent for every good deed. In other words, with the Bible alone we have what we need for life and godliness.

Reason #2: The example of God’s people in the Old Testament

The constant refrain in the Old Testament is that God’s people must do all things according to what is written. When God’s people prepared to enter the Promised Land in Joshua’s day, they were told to commit themselves not to any tradition but to the Book of the Law and that they should be careful to do according to all that is written in it (Josh. 1:8). They were reminded of this throughout the conquest and again once they entered the land. When God’s people fell away, it was because they disregarded what was written. When Josiah sought to reform God’s people, it was according to the book of the law that they rediscovered. When the exiles returned, the book of Ezra recounts over and over that they were to do everything as it is written in the law of Moses.

There were scribes and priests to teach the law and interpret the word of God, and there were prophets to correct the people when they disobeyed the word of God, but the final standard by which the people were measured—and by which the prophets, the priests, and the kings were measured—was whether they had been careful to do according to all that was written.

Reason #3: The example of Jesus and the apostles in the New Testament

Like the Jews of the Old Testament, Jesus and the apostles appeal to Scripture as the final arbiter in controversies of faith. Jesus quoted Deuteronomy to the devil, believing that “it is written” was all that was needed to establish what was true and what was false (Matt. 4:4, 6, 7). Jesus told the Sadducees they were wrong because they did not know the Scriptures, implying that the Scriptures would never lead them astray even when their own traditions might (Matt. 22:29). When Paul preached Christ, he refuted the Jews by turning to the Scriptures (Acts 18:28). The Jews in Berea were considered more noble than the Jews in Thessalonica because they tested everything against the Scriptures (Acts 17:11).

And as for Peter, supposedly the first bishop of Rome and the first pope, he never says anything about possessing some unique authority in the church. He calls himself simply a “fellow elder” (1 Pet. 5:1). Paul in his letter to the Romans does not utter a single word about so great a privilege that will supposedly fall to their bishop. Instead, both Peter and Paul—even as they write with apostolic authority—constantly appeal to Scripture as decisive in all matters of faith and practice.

Reason #4: The way Jesus talks about Scripture and tradition

It’s true that the New Testament can speak positively about tradition. Paul passes on to the Corinthians what he received from the Lord (1 Cor. 11:23). He reminds the Corinthians of the gospel they received and in which they stand (1 Cor. 15:1). He tells Timothy to guard the good deposit entrusted to him (2 Tim. 1:14). Protestants should not be anti-tradition. We want to pass along what we have learned from the Bible and even what we have learned from the saints who have gone before us (2 Tim. 2:1–2). But tradition is authoritative only insofar as it accords with Scripture.

The example we see in Jesus is that Scripture sits in judgment over tradition. Jesus said the Scriptures cannot be broken (John 10:35), but he often criticized the traditions of the Jews. We see this most famously in the Sermon on the Mount (“you have heard it said, but I say to you . . . ”). If we want an example of appealing to tradition as an equal authority to Scripture we can find it not from Jesus but from his opponents. “For the sake of your tradition,” Jesus told the scribes and Pharisees, “you have made void the word of God” (Matt. 15:6). This was the perennial mistake Jesus found in many of the Jewish leaders, that they were “teaching as doctrines the commandments of men” (Matt. 15:9). For Jesus, the written word of God always took precedence over the traditions of men.

Reason #5: The covenantal nature of Scripture

Covenants come with stipulations and warnings, with blessings and curses. By their very nature, they cannot be added to or subtracted from (Deut. 4:2). Once they are written in full, they become the norm against which everything else is normed. Even if the Apostle John did not think “I’m writing the last book of the Bible,” he understood that with the close of the apostolic age, the time of new covenant documents was also coming to an end. So it’s not surprising that the book of Revelation echoes the language of Deuteronomy:

I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to him the plagues described in this book, and if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away his share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book. (Rev. 22:18–19).

When the Catholic Church adds new doctrines that cannot be found in Scripture (either explicitly or by good necessary consequence), it is forgetting the nature of the Bible as a covenantal book.

Common Objections

Having laid out some of the main scriptural arguments in defense of sola scriptura, let’s deal with a few of the most common objections to the doctrine. I’ll mention four of them and offer a brief response to each one.

Objection #1: No one taught this doctrine before Martin Luther.

This is simply not true. Not only did the Church Fathers use the Bible differently than any other source of authority, they explicitly taught that the canonical scriptures alone were unerring and were to be followed unreservedly. The Council of Trent (1546) taught that the traditions of the fathers pertaining to both faith and practice should be received “with an equal affection of piety with the Old and New Testaments” (First Decree, Fourth Session). But that’s not what the fathers themselves believed. We could cite many examples, but let me give just two.

First, Basil of Caesarea wrote to a physician named Eustathius:

They are charging me with innovation, and base their charge on my confession of three hypostases, and blame me for asserting one Goodness, one Power, one Godhead. In this they are not wide of the truth, for I do so assert. Their complaint is that their custom does not accept this, and that Scripture does not agree. What is my reply? I do not consider it fair that the custom which obtains among them should be regarded as a law and rule of orthodoxy. If custom is to be taken in proof of what is right, then it is certainly competent for me to put forward on my side the custom which obtains here. If they reject this, we are clearly not bound to follow them. Therefore let God-inspired Scripture decide between us; and on whichever side be found doctrines in harmony with the word of God, in favur of that side will be cast the vote of truth. (Letter 189)

Notice, Basil does not ignore church tradition, but when it comes to the decisive vote, he says it rests with the word of God alone.

Second, we see this same principle stated even more strongly in Augustine. He told Jerome that “I have learned to give this reverence and honor to those books of Scripture alone which are now called canonical.” He wrote further, “I do not suppose that you wish your books to be read as if they were the writings of the prophets or apostles, which beyond a doubt are free from any error” (Letter 82). Elsewhere, he said, “We ought not to consider the disputations of any men, though they be catholic and praiseworthy men, as canonical Scriptures” (Letter 148).

Or consider Augustine’s statement in writing against the Manicheans:

In the innumerable books that have been written latterly we may sometimes find the same truth as in Scripture, but there is not the same authority. Scripture has a sacredness peculiar to itself. In other books the reader may form his own opinion, and perhaps, from not understanding the writer, may differ from him, and may pronounce in favor of what pleases him, or against what he dislikes. In such cases, a man is at liberty to withhold his belief, unless there is some clear demonstration or some canonical authority to show that the doctrine or statement either must or may be true. But in consequence of the distinctive peculiarity of the sacred writings, we are bound to receive as true whatever the canon shows to have been said by even one prophet, or apostle, or evangelist. (Contra Faustum Manichaeum, 11.5)

Or this statement in writing against the Donatists who were trying to use Cyprian against him:

I am not bound by the authority of this letter, since I do not consider Cyprian’s letters to be canonical, but I weigh them against the canonical writings, and what agrees in them with the authority of the Divine Scriptures I accept in his praise, but what does not agree I reject in his peace. (Answer to Cresconius, 2.32)

Earlier in the same work Augustine states this principle with regard to the canonical Scriptures: “We dare not judge them in any way; rather, we use them to judge freely concerning other writings, whether of believers or unbelievers” (2.31). We would be hard pressed to find a clearer articulation of Scripture’s norming norm than what we have here from Basil and from Augustine.

Objection #2: Without an authoritative Magisterium, the Protestant church has divided into thousands of denominations.

Five quick responses.

Yes, there are and have been schismatic Protestant churches. Some divisions have been needless and dishonoring to Christ. That is to our shame. Not every division is the sin of schism. 1 Corinthians 11:19 says “there must be factions among you in order that those who are genuine among you may be recognized.” There is a fundamental unity shared by many, many Bible-believing Protestant denominations. The divisions are sometimes owing to different languages, or different traditions that grew out of different nations and languages. There is just as much division within the Roman Catholic Church as there is among Protestant churches. The presence of an authoritative Magisterium has not ensured that every Catholic bishop or diocese or priest believes, practices, and teaches the same things. To give just one example from the news this past week. People had this headline: “Gio Benitez, Openly Gay ABC News Weekend Anchor, Joins Catholic Church and Reaffirms Faith with Husband by His Side.” In the article, Benitez explains that he was inspired to join the Catholic Church because Pope Francis was so welcoming and affirming of LGBTQ persons. So does the Catholic Church support gay marriage? Official teaching says no. Many people heard the last pope say yes. And some parishes will happily receive gay couples into the Church. While it is true that Protestants disagree in many places on how to interpret the Bible, this pervasive interpretive pluralism (to use Christian Smith’s phrase) is not a Protestant problem; it’s a human problem. And having a Magisterium does not solve the problem. It only pushes the problem back another level. So now you can argue about what the Pope really means or what this papal encyclical really teaches. Catholics disagree about Christian faith and practice as much as Protestants do. They just end up arguing more about official Catholic teaching and less about the Bible than Protestants do. Objection #3: Protestants overlook the fact the church is called the pillar and buttress of the truth (1 Tim. 3:15)

We gladly affirm the central role God has given to the church in promulgating, promoting, and defending the truth. Indeed, the church supports and upholds God’s word as a pillar and buttress of truth. But we must not confuse the pillars of the building with the foundation, which is the testimony of the apostles and prophets (Eph. 2:20). The question is not whether the church should be listened to, or whether the Holy Spirit has been at work through the church, or whether the church has been an instrument in handing down the truth. Protestants affirm all this. The question is whether the tradition of the church is a source of authority on par with the Scriptures. This the Catholic Church affirms, and we deny.

Francis Turretin makes several distinctions that help us think carefully about what the role of the church is and is not. If the Scripture is the rule, Turretin says, then the church is like the hand of the architect applying that rule—essential to God’s work in the world, but with a different role than the Bible. We acknowledge that the church has handed down various creeds we affirm and passed along the Scriptures themselves, but the church only has the right to hand down what can be shown to be true from the Scriptures (Elenctic Theology, II.16.30).

Turretin talks about three kinds of judgment the church may be involved in.

The first is supreme and infallible, legislating what is right and speaking with absolute authority.

The second is ministerial, interpreting the law and applying it publicly through the preaching of the word and the discipline of the church.

The third is private, offering a judgment in matters of discernment and discretion.

Turretin insists that Protestants do not deny the right of the church to make judgments that are ministerial and private (Elenctic Theology, II.20.3). This is what the Scriptures mean by calling the church a pillar and a buttress of the truth. What we deny is that the church has supreme, final, and infallible authority. This belongs only to the Scriptures.

Objection #4: If the Bible is infallible, then the Church must be infallible because the Church gave us the canon of Scripture.

This objection—you may have an inspired Bible, but where did you get the inspired table of contents—misunderstands the nature of biblical authority and the historical process that gave us the canon. Scripture never gives the impression its authority is derivative. There is no reason to think Israel had an infallible revelation from God that helped the Jews select the Hebrew Scriptures, and yet Jesus accepted them and considered them divine. Why? Because the writings proved themselves to be authoritative and inspired.

We accept the books of the canon not because the church voted on which books to accept, but because those books with apostolic authority imposed themselves upon the church. It’s important to remember that the canonical books were listed with the term “recognized.” The church didn’t have various theologians present various books before a church council like some canonical version of Shark Tank. Rather, the church instinctively started using the apostolic writings and treating them with the same reverence they showed to other Scriptures. As J.I. Packer put it, “The Church no more gave us the New Testament canon than Sir Isaac Newton gave us the force of gravity. God gave us gravity. . . . Newton did not create gravity but recognized it.”

Think of an analogy. Suppose a child is separated from his family for a year. He barely remembers them. When he returns, there are many people around whom he thinks could be his family members. Some he quickly dismisses (different color, never seen them before, speaks another language). Most of the family he recognizes right away. But there are a few younger siblings he isn’t sure about. Eventually, after spending time with everyone, it becomes clear to whom he belongs. Now, has he made the family his family? Or did he learn to recognize who was whom? The family was not created by the child; the family members were self-authenticating, and over time the child came to recognize who the real family members were. This is in keeping with the pattern throughout the Bible.

The people of God do not form or create the word of God. The word of God always forms the people of God and is a judge over them.

Conclusion

Although the Catholic Church says many true things about the Bible, and its official theology considers the Scriptures to be an essential and indispensable source of authority, we have to consider the long-term fruit of denying sola scriptura. Although there are Catholic scholars who are experts in the Bible, and a few notable Catholic teachers who stress the importance of the Bible (often these teachers converted from Protestantism), most Catholic churchgoers would admit that they don’t know the Bible well and that most priests do not focus on teaching the Bible. In his autobiography about moving from Calvinism to Catholicism, Peter Kreeft acknowledges that Protestants are superior to Catholics in three things: sermons, hymns, and familiarity with the Bible. When evangelicals convert to Catholicism they almost always comment on the lack of in-depth Bible teaching in the Catholic Church. Sometimes they still send their kids to evangelical ministries, or join Protestant Bible studies, so they can continue to grow in the Scriptures. Could it be that in rejecting sola scriptura, the Catholic Church defaulted to modica scriptura (only a modicum of Scripture, or only a little Scripture)?

One of the main arguments for Catholicism is that the Catholic Church can provide a full course meal while Protestant churches only offer mere appetizers. Come to the Catholic Church, it is said, if you want more. This is an attractive appeal, except that in religion as in life, more of everything can mean less of what really matters. Even if the Catholic more were true (and I don’t believe that it is), we would have to ask what has gotten less because of the more. In the lives of most Catholics, have more sacraments meant more assurance? Has more purgatory meant more confidence in the finished work of Christ? Has more about merit and indulgences meant more resting in the good news of grace through faith? There is a reason that the truths of the Reformation came to be defined as five solas and why the foundational difference between Protestants and Catholics comes back to the question of Scripture alone. When it comes to the veracity and vitality of Christian faith and practice, sometimes less is more.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

This article is based on a lecture given at the Faithful Conference at Christ Covenant Church on November 16, 2025.

Top 10 Books of 2023

Mon, 11 Dec 2023 16:26:50 GMT

First off, my usual disclaimer and explanation.

This list is not meant to assess the thousands of good books published in the past year. This is simply a list of the books—Christian and non-Christian, but all non-fiction—that I thought were the best in the past year. “Best” doesn’t mean I agreed with everything in them; it means I found these books—all published in 2023—a strong combination of thoughtful, useful, helpful, insightful, and challenging. Undoubtedly, the list each year reflects my own interests and tends to be heavy on history and theology.

Instead of trying to rank the books 1-10 (always a somewhat arbitrary task), I’ll simply list them in alphabetical order by the author’s last name.

Peter Attia, MD (with Bill Gifford), Outlive: The Science and Art of Longevity (Harmony Books)

After several friends recommended the book for weeks, I finally gave it a try. And they were right, it’s a fascinating read, filled with insights and opinions about what usually kills us and what can help us live longer and live better.

Matthew Barrett, Reformation as Renewal: Retrieving the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church (Zondervan Academic)

An impressive work that one would expect from a scholar at the end of his career rather than toward the beginning of it. This well-researched tome makes the compelling argument that the Reformation was not so much the eruption of something new as it was the retrieval of something old.

Rosaria Butterfield, Five Lies of Our Anti-Christian Age (Crossway)

Rosaria is a truth-teller who is eager to help the struggler (who wants to be helped). As I wrote in my Foreword, this book is bracing in the best way. Be prepared to have the lies of our age forcefully challenged.

Jeff Fynn-Paul, Not Stolen: The Truth about European Colonialism in the New World (Bombardier)

Fynn-Paul is a legitimate scholar who acknowledges the moral failures that sometimes accompanied the settling of the New World. This book is not rightwing propaganda. But the book is a much-needed corrective to lazy leftwing ideologies about colonialism, stolen land, and how the United States expanded its territorial footprint over decades and centuries.

J. Gresham Machen, Christianity and Liberalism (Westminster Seminary Press)

The thing I always hear from people reading this book for the first time is how relevant it sounds even 100 years later. Machen’s classic, republished this year to commemorate its centennial anniversary, still resonates and still needs to be read, especially by pastors and by anyone charged with maintaining doctrinal fidelity in an anti-doctrine age.

Donald Macleod, From the Marrow Men to the Moderates: Scottish Theology 1700-1800 (Mentor)

I had the privilege of blurbing this book right before Macleod went home to glory. As one would expect from Macleod’s pen, the writing is superb, the insights are penetrating, and the history he tells is enjoyable to read. True, it helps if you have a particular interest in this period of Scottish history and theology, but Macleod always makes theology interesting for everyone.

Matthew Roberts, Pride: Identity and the Worship of Self (Christian Focus)

Because Roberts, an IPC pastor in England, ministers overseas, I’m guessing that many Americans have not been made aware of this excellent book. It would make a great addition to any Christian’s reading list on issues of sexuality and identity.

Neil Shenvi and Pat Sawyer, Critical Dilemma: The Rise of Critical Theories and Social Justice Ideologies—Implications for the Church and Society (Harvest House)

Shenvi and Sawyer have done Christians a great service by reading widely and deeply in the area of Critical Theory and then providing a calm and devastating critique of many ideas that threaten the peace and purity of the church.

Richard Norton Smith, An Ordinary Man: The Surprising Life and Historic Presidency of Gerald R. Ford (Harper)

I admit, if you are going to make it through 800 pages on Gerald Ford it helps a lot if you, like Ford, are from Grand Rapids, Michigan. But even if you don’t have that connection, the biography is still a well-written, balanced, and sympathetic portrayal of a hard-working, consequential, eminently decent man who is not as admired as he should be.

Susan Wels, An Assassin in Utopia: The True Story of a Nineteenth-Century Sex Cult and a President’s Murder (Pegasus Crime)

Yes, the title accurately describes the book. Wels tells a story that would seem to be make-believe, except that it isn’t. Most Americans know little about their own history in between the Civil War and Teddy Roosevelt. Wels shows us that sometimes truth is stranger, weirder, and more tragic than fiction.

Bonus:

The most personally challenging, inspiring, and thought-provoking book I read all year (of books published in any year) was Thoughts on Preaching by James W. Alexander (1804-1859). The first 100 pages in particular—filled with 166 short quips, musings, and reflections on preaching—were especially interesting and edifying.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Top 10 Books of 2024

Thu, 05 Dec 2024 09:00:00 GMT

First off, my usual disclaimer and explanation.

This list is not meant to assess the thousands of good books published in the past year. This is simply a list of the books—Christian and non-Christian, but all non-fiction—that I thought were the best in the past year. “Best” doesn’t mean I agreed with everything in them; it means I found these books a strong combination of thoughtful, useful, helpful, insightful, and challenging. Undoubtedly, the list each year reflects my own interests and tends to be heavy on history and theology.

Instead of trying to rank the books 1-10 (always a somewhat arbitrary task), I’ll simply list them in alphabetical order by the author’s last name.

Matthew Barrett (editor), On Classical Trinitarianism: Retrieving the Nicene Doctrine of the Triune God (IVP Academic)

With nearly 800 pages of oversized, double column pages, this book is not for the faint of heart. But as a reference volume defining and defending the classic doctrine of the Trinity, this is an extremely helpful collection of essays. It’s great to have in one place learned chapters on everything from aseity, simplicity, and impassibility to the procession of the Spirit and a critique of social trinitarianism.

James Montgomery Boice, Two Cities, Two Loves: Christian Responsibility in a Crumbling Culture (P&R Publishing)

First issued in 1996, this re-released edition includes a new preface by Linda Boice. As you would expect from Boice (1938–2000), this book contains a series of thoughtful, accessible expositions. More than that, though, Boice’s take on cultural engagement (admittedly dated in places) cuts across party lines and sounds a surprisingly relevant note almost three decades later.

Brian A. DeVries, You Will Be My Witnesses: Theology for God’s Church Serving in God’s Mission (Crossway)

By arguing that “bearing witness” is both the central aspect of the church’s mission and the identity of God’s people, DeVries—a church planter and seminary president in South Africa—helps correct a number of mistaken notions about mission and open up new avenues for embracing our own calling as witnesses. This book is a tremendous resource: clear, confessional, biblical, hopeful, inspiring, and practical.

Alex DiPrima, Spurgeon: A Life (Reformation Heritage Books)

The older I get (and the fewer years I have left!), the more I appreciate shorter biographies. Of course, Spurgeon also deserves a massive biography (and those have been written), but this new entry from pastor and historian Alex DiPrima, does a remarkable job of being relatively concise (under 300 pages) without merely repeating what longer books have said. DiPrima, who did his doctoral work on Spurgeon, uses new source material to present an up-to-date, yet timeless, portrait of the Prince of Preachers.

Carlos Eire, They Flew: A History of the Impossible (Yale University Press)

You might not expect a Yale history professor to write an academic book about levitation and bilocation. Even more surprising, you wouldn’t expect such a book to lean in the direction of concluding that these supernatural events may have really happened. While I don’t think Eire presents early modern Protestants fairly, the underlying premise of the book is fascinating. Without deciding one way or another whether people can float and be in two places at the same time, Eire presents undeniable evidence that many, many people in the past believed they were witnesses to these things. Eire argues that at the very least we should question our own assumptions about what is possible as much as we question the assumptions people made in the past.

David Gibson and Jonathan Gibson (editors), Ruined Sinners to Reclaim: Sin and Depravity in Historical, Biblical, Theological, and Pastoral Perspective (Crossway)

Do we really need a 1,000-page book on total depravity? Well, actually, we do. Even a quick glance at the thirty chapter titles demonstrates that there is a lot to say about this core doctrine of the faith. I especially appreciated the chapters on sin in the Pauline epistles (J. Gibson), on concupiscence (Wedgeworth), on the sinlessness of Christ (Jones), on the impact of secularization (Wells), and on a plea for more elenctic theology (Strange).

Erik Larson, The Demon of Unrest: A Saga of Hubris, Heartbreak, and Heroism at the Dawn of the Civil War (Crown)

With dozens of mostly short chapters, this book moves quickly and reads briskly. Even if you think you know Civil War history well, you will learn new things and be entertained—sometimes inspired and sometimes horrified—by stories you’ve never heard. Few authors do narrative history as well as Erik Larson.

L. Michael Morales, Numbers 1-19 (Apollos)

I don’t usually put commentaries on my best books list, but I’ve been waiting for this volume for some time (and I’m eager to get the second volume when it releases next month). I found Morales very helpful on Leviticus, and I am eager to use this book more fully whenever I get to Numbers. This is the sort of comprehensive, theologically rich commentary that makes a preacher want to preach this book of the Bible sooner rather than later.

Harrison Perkins, Reformed Covenant Theology: A Systematic Introduction (Lexham Academic)

In recent years, we’ve seen several excellent books on covenant theology. This new one from Harrison Perkins—an OPC pastor and part-time systematics professor—is unique in that it approaches the topic as systematic theology rather than mainly as biblical or exegetical theology (both approaches have their place). Perkins is an excellent young scholar-pastor, and this volume should serve as a valuable textbook for pastors and students for many years.

Brad Wilcox, Get Married: Why Americans Must Defy the Elites, Forge Strong Families, and Save Civilization (Broadside)

The title and subtitle tell you what you need to know. Wilcox (professor of sociology at the University of Virginia and the director of the National Marriage Project) is one of the leading voices championing the massive personal and cultural benefits of marriage. This book is a needed wake-up call for the growing number of Americans who think marriage can be safely delayed for years or should be avoided altogether. It’s not an overstatement to say that the fate of Western Civilization depends on men and women getting married, having children, raising those children, and staying married.

Honorable Mentions:

Every year, we read two books (one in the spring and one in the fall) as a church staff. We enjoyed this year’s books as much as any two I can remember: Samuel James, Digital Liturgies (Crossway, 2023) and C.S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces (HarperCollins, 1956). On a personal level, the book I found most inspiring, convicting, and encouraging throughout the past year has been: Pastoral Theology (1877) by Thomas Murphy (longtime pastor of Frankford Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia). The book is out of print but reprint versions can be found on Amazon.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Who Was St. Boniface?

Mon, 10 Jun 2024 10:05:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/who-was-st-boniface/id1700530766?i=1000658493677

The man we know as St. Boniface, apostle to the Germans, was born in Wessex, England around AD 680. At an early age, Wynfrith (his given name) joined a monastery at Nursling. He was an excellent student and desired to become a “pilgrim for Christ.” When he was nearly 40 years old, with a missionary zeal to reach the lost, Wynfrith set sail in 716 for Frisia, the coastal region along the North Sea that today overlaps parts of the Netherlands and Germany. Unfortunately, when he arrived, the Frisians were in revolt against Frankish rule, thus preventing the would-be missionary from establishing his ministry and forcing him to return home.

Two years later, Wynfrith made another attempt to settle among the Frisians. This time he acquired a letter of introduction from his bishop (and mentor and friend), Daniel of Winchester, so that he might travel to Rome and seek an audience with the pope. Nothing seems to have come from this initial visit, but in May 719 Wynfrith received a formal commission from Pope Gregory II to evangelize the heathens. It was at this same time that Wynfrith received his new name: Boniface.

From 719 to 722, Boniface worked among the Frisians with the Anglo-Saxon missionary Willibrord. Willibrord wanted the English monk to stay as an associate bishop, but Boniface had other plans. In 722, Boniface was consecrated a bishop by Gregory II and given a far-reaching papal commission to preach the gospel to the peoples east of the Rhine. In 723, Boniface visited the Frankish court and was taken under the protection of the Frankish ruler, Charles Martel (“the Hammer”). Having secured the protection of Charles, and with an assortment of official papal letters addressed to local chieftains, Boniface set out for the lands of Thuringia and Hesse in east-central Germany. This would be Boniface’s mission field for the next fifteen years.

Over the course of his long life, working throughout the Frankish kingdom, Boniface’s ministry was multifaceted. Although he hoped to evangelize rank pagans, most of his work was institutional, political, and pastoral. He corresponded with Christian leaders, managed disagreements (some of his own making), followed up with the already converted, and helped to establish numerous monasteries (most famously, the Fulda monastery founded by his disciple, Saint Sturm, in 744). From The Letters of Saint Boniface and from Willibald’s The Life of Saint Boniface (c. 768), we get a picture of a man full of zeal, full of action, and often full of frustration. He was perpetually bothered by the lax Christian standards among the Franks, while at the same time recognizing that he had no hope for successful ministry without the political support and defense of the Frankish court. Boniface spent most of his decades in Germany preaching, baptizing, and doing the slow work of teaching the people a more rigorous and more orthodox form of Christianity.

In 753, Boniface, now in his 70s, set off once more for the coastal region of Frisia. Throughout the fall, the winter, and into the following spring, Boniface and his followers labored hard to convert and baptize the Frisians. On June 5, 754, while the party was camped on the coast of Frisia—well beyond the protection of the Frankish royal power—Boniface and his men were attacked by marauders from the sea. No doubt, these were the sort of vagabonds who often targeted monks and missionaries as easy prey, loaded with loot and light on weaponry. Despite Boniface’s attempts to defend the group using a large manuscript book as a shield, the elderly bishop (by this time the archbishop of Mainz) and his companions were cruelly murdered. His body was carried by monks to the monastery at Fulda, where he was buried. The disfigured book Boniface used as shield (now known as the Ragyndrudis Codex) was brought back as well. Boniface was hailed as a martyr, and his memory as the apostle of Germany was cherished throughout Christendom.

Felling the Oak of Thor

If Boniface is known today, it is chiefly for the occasion early in his ministry (723 or 724) when he chopped down a sacred tree in front of the pagans in Hesse. For some, Boniface wielding his axe against the Oak of Thor is the example of how we ought to confront the enemies of Christ in our day and how we ought to defiantly tear down the cultural strongholds around us. Since this one incident in the life of Boniface has become its own meme—replete with trees, axes, woodchippers, and the like—it is worth looking at this dramatic event in some detail.

Here is the whole story, as Willibald tells it in his biography:

After Boniface by long and devious [i.e., clandestine] ways had visited the territories of great peoples, he came to the aforesaid prince of the Franks, and was received by him with veneration. He delivered to Duke Charles the letters of the above mentioned Roman bishop and of the apostolic see, and, subject to his lordship and patronage, returned, with the consent of Duke Charles, to the land of the Hessians where before he had tarried.

Now at that time many of the Hessians, brought under the Catholic faith and confirmed by the grace of the sevenfold spirit, received the laying on of hands; others indeed, not yet strengthened in soul, refused to accept in their entirety the lessons of the inviolate faith. Moreover some were wont secretly, some openly to sacrifice to trees and springs; some in secret, others openly practiced inspections of victims and divinations, legerdemain and incantations; some turned their attention to auguries and auspices and various sacrificial rites; while others, with sounder minds, abandoned all the profanations of heathenism, and committed none of these things.

With the advice and counsel of these last, the saint attempted, in the place called Gaesmere [or Geismar], while the servants of God stood by his side, to fell a certain oak of extraordinary size, which is called, by an old name of the pagans, the Oak of Jupiter [the Latin rendering of Thor]. And when the strength of his steadfast heart had cut the lower notch, there was present a great multitude of pagans, who in their souls were most earnestly cursing the enemy of their gods. But when the fore side of the tree was notched only a little, suddenly the oak’s vast bulk, driven by a divine blast from above, crashed to the ground, shivering its crown of branches as it fell; and, as if by the gracious dispensation of the Most High, it was also burst into four parts, and four trunks of huge size, equal in length were seen, unwrought by the brethren who stood by.

At this sight the pagans who before had cursed now, on the contrary, believed, and blessed the Lord, and put away their former reviling. Then moreover the most holy bishop, after taking counsel with the brethren, built from the timber of the tree a wooden oratory [i.e., a chapel], and dedicated it in honor of Saint Peter the apostle.

No doubt, this is a dramatic story, and we ought to be inspired by Boniface’s courage. But before we conclude that maximum confrontation is always the best option for cultural engagement in the post-Christian West, we should consider two salient factors often overlooked in this story and underappreciated in the wider ministry of Boniface.

Not Alone

The first factor we must not overlook is that Boniface did not undertake this act of cultural confrontation alone. The story is sometimes told as if Boniface went swashbuckling into the Teutonic Forest ready to meet the pagans head on and chop down their sacred trees. But notice that according to Willibald, Boniface was surrounded by many Christians. Some of these Christians were weak, and some were syncretistic. But some were of “sounder minds” and “abandoned all the profanations of heathenism.” It was in consultation with these well-grounded Christians that Boniface decided to topple the Oak of Thor. Boniface’s action was bold, but it was not foolhardy. He sought the counsel of others and must have concluded there was a reasonable chance that his boldness would do more than just make the pagans angry.

Along the same lines, we should note that Boniface only ventured out among the Hessians once he had secured the protection of Charles Martel. True, there were likely no police officers of the Frankish court on the scene to make sure Boniface got out of Geismar unscathed. Boniface was taking a risk in cutting down their pagan emblem. But the protection of the Frankish court was a vital aspect of Boniface’s mission work. His letters to and from various secular and church officials bear this out. In a letter to Bishop Daniel from the 740s, Boniface admits, “Without the support of the Frankish prince I can neither govern the members of the Church nor defend the priests, clerks, monks, and maids of God; nor can I, without orders from him and the fear inspired by him, prevent the pagan rites and the sacrilegious worship of idols in Germany.” Boniface needed Charles and other local Frankish officials to protect his ministry if it was going to succeed.

Although Boniface was often frustrated by the lack of Christian integrity and sincerity he saw in Frankish rulers, he also knew he was dependent upon their legal, political, and military support. Boniface could successfully chop down the oak tree in Geismar because out-and-out pagans were likely not the majority in that area and because Boniface had the support of the pope in Rome and the protection of the ruling elites in the region.

It also helped that God showed up with a miracle.

Not Common

The second salient factor to consider is that most of Boniface’s ministry was much less dramatic and much less confrontational. In his introduction to The Letters of Saint Boniface, medieval scholar Thomas F. X. Noble observes, “Spectacular events, like hacking down the oak of Geismar, appear very rarely. Missionaries were not intentionally provocative. They aimed to teach by word and example. That example was important [i.e., the fact that examples were important] to them may help to explain Boniface’s constant attention to clerical morality.” Boniface’s ministry focused more on ordinary means than extraordinary confrontations.

The story of Boniface and the oak tree is worth remembering and retelling. But a single dramatic event does not a comprehensive approach to ministry make (as if Augustine opening his Bible at random established the truest and best evangelism technique). Most of the time, Boniface tried to avoid offense, unless necessary on account of the gospel. Around the same time as the felling of Thor’s Oak, Bishop Daniel wrote Boniface a letter in which he suggests how “you may most readily overcome the resistance of those uncivilized people.” Daniel advised Boniface, “Do not begin by arguing with them about the origin of their gods.” Boniface, he insisted, would be better able to counter their claims after he let them talk awhile. Daniel also instructed Boniface that one of the best apologies for the Christian faith was to point how much more prosperous and more civilized the Christians were.

For Bishop Daniel and for his friend Boniface, cultural confrontation was about persuasion more than provocation. Here is how Daniel summarizes his counsel in an especially famous paragraph:

These and many similar things which it would take long to enumerate you ought to put before them, not offensively or so as to anger them, but calmly and with great moderation. At intervals you should compare their superstitions with our Christian doctrines, touching upon them from the flank, as it were, so that the pagans, thrown into confusion rather than angered, may be ashamed of their absurd ideas and may understand that their infamous ceremonies and fables are well known to us.

In other words: stay calm, don’t be obnoxious, become acquainted with their own ideas, and show them how Christian doctrine is better and more coherent. That’s the approach Boniface’s mentor in England wanted him to take. And by and large, it’s the way that Boniface—the student-scholar turned missionary-bishop—conducted his ministry.

Conclusion

Although the example of Boniface mobilized generations of missionaries throughout the Middle Ages, Richard Fletcher points out that “Boniface actually spent little of his life working among the out-and-out heathen.” The first half of his career was in England as a student, teacher, and scholar. Then over the second half of his career, living among the Franks, Boniface worked mainly as a reformer of the marginally converted and as a builder of ecclesiastical institutions. He reinforced Roman loyalties and Roman order; he re-Christianized the nominally Christian; he reformed and revitalized the Frankish churches. “These were colossal achievements,” Fletcher argues, “but they were not those that Boniface himself would have wished to be remembered by.”

And yet, remember him we should.

Boniface lived a remarkable life (accomplishing much for the gospel) and died a triumphant martyr’s death. It would fall to later generations to convert the heathen peoples of Germany, but the memory of Boniface inspired those efforts. We might say his principal work was reformation and revitalization. He was constantly enmeshed in organizational questions and issues of power-politics. Nevertheless, Boniface bore witness to Christ wherever he could—even at the cost of his life.

In the end, for as much as Boniface is chiefly remembered for his axe, it was the many decades of sharing the gospel, discipling Christians, building monasteries and bishoprics, cultivating personal holiness, navigating conflict, and keeping his hand to the plow that made Boniface successful. That is the option Boniface chose for his life and ministry, and that is the option open to all of us.

For Further Study

Willibald, The Life of Saint Boniface, trans. George W. Robinson (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1916).

The Letters of Saint Boniface, trans. Ephraim Emerton (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000).

Richard Fletcher, The Barbarian Conversion: From Paganism to Christianity (Berkely, CA: University of California Press, 1999), 204–213.

Robert Louis Wilken, The First Thousand Years: A Global History of Christianity (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2012), 276–278.

Peter Heather, Christendom: The Triumph of a Religion, AD 300–1300 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2023), 240–253.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

A People of Public Thanksgiving

Mon, 24 Nov 2025 12:16:11 GMT

For Christians, Thanksgiving is a form of witness

Today, Americans celebrate Thanksgiving. It’s become a day associated with many things: turkey, potatoes, pumpkin pie, the end of fall, and the start of the Christmas season. All of that is fine. But let us not forget what the day is supposed to be about.

Celebrating Thanksgiving in America is much older than America itself. The Pilgrims and the Puritans brought to this country a tradition of special days of fasting and days of thanksgiving. Whenever the first Thanksgiving took place (and there are several claimants to that honor), we know that Thanksgiving has been a tradition in America since at least the 1620s and 1630s.

Initially, Thanksgiving was an informal holiday, observed annually on various dates according to proclamations by church leaders (and later by civil authorities as well). The first American president to issue a Thanksgiving Proclamation was none other than our first president. In October 1789, George Washington assigned “Thursday the 26th day of November next to be devoted by the People of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be.” Instructed by Congress “to recommend” a day of public thanksgiving and prayer,” Washington called upon the new nation to acknowledge “with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God” and to “unite in most humbly offering our prayers and supplications to the great Lord and Ruler of Nations and beseech him to pardon our national and other transgressions.”

Although Thanksgiving goes back to George Washington, it has not been uniformly decreed by all our presidents. Thomas Jefferson refused to issue a thanksgiving proclamation in 1801, believing that supporting the holiday—rooted as it was in Puritan tradition—was tantamount to state-sponsored religion. Jefferson did not object to individual states endorsing the holiday, but he believed the First Amendment did not allow the federal government to establish Thanksgiving.

Thankfully, most U.S. presidents have not shown Jefferson’s reticence. In 1863, Abraham Lincoln became the first president to make Thanksgiving an official national holiday, calling upon his fellow citizens to thank “our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens” for “such singular deliverances and blessings” and to humbly lament “our national perverseness and disobedience.” Lincoln’s successor, Andrew Johnson, forgot to issue a Thanksgiving proclamation in 1865 until church leaders reminded him, at which point he appointed a holiday for the first Thursday in December. Better late than never.

In keeping with our own history, Thanksgiving ought to be a day of public prayer to God—thanking him for blessings given and pleading with him for mercies undeserved.

Until Franklin Roosevelt’s presidency, Thanksgiving did not really have a fixed date, though by tradition it was normally the last Thursday in November. In Roosevelt’s first year in office, the last Thursday in November fell on the 30th (the fifth Thursday of the month), which angered business leaders who wanted more shopping days before Christmas. They urged Roosevelt to move up Thanksgiving one week. The president refused that request in 1933 but acquiesced in 1939 when November again had five Thursdays. Business leaders were pleased, but the rest of the country was outraged that Roosevelt had defied tradition and moved Thanksgiving to the fourth Thursday. Sixteen states decided to celebrate Thanksgiving on the last Thursday anyway.

As a result, family and friends in different states did not have the same days off and could not celebrate together. Roosevelt told the press, “I was quite unprepared for the storm it kicked up. It looked to me for a while as if New England would secede from the union.” Consequently, Thanksgiving went back to the last Thursday of November, until Congress finally passed a joint resolution in 1941 establishing the fourth Thursday in November as the federal Thanksgiving Day holiday.

No doubt, many Americans now think of Thanksgiving in purely secular terms—a day to enjoy family, friends, food, and football. But as should be obvious, one cannot really celebrate Thanksgiving without, well, giving thanks. In keeping with our own history, Thanksgiving ought to be a day of public prayer to God—thanking him for blessings given and pleading with him for mercies undeserved. Even if many do not celebrate the holiday as it was originally intended, we must do so as Christians.

I’m not a great collector of fine art, but one significant piece of art hangs on the wall in our dining room. It’s a painting of ten men in tattered rags. Nine of the men beam with jubilation; one man stands with outstretched hands, looking pensively in the opposite direction. He is the tenth leper, about to return to thank Jesus, while the other nine go off on their merry way. Surely, as Christians, we know enough to be the one and not the nine. Right?

In the midst of so much cultural bad news and national upheaval, let us not be loud in grumbling and quiet in gratitude. Of all people, our lives should be marked by conspicuous thanksgiving. Our neighbors may no longer know whom to thank, but we do. As Thanksgiving Day arrives, let us consider whether our public witness, when compared to our fellow citizens, is most angry, most despondent, most fearful … or most thankful.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Don’t Waste Your Life

Thu, 14 Sep 2023 09:00:00 GMT

Risk is right. Be mastered by one thing. Make much of Christ and him crucified. Those exhortations—and many more like them—are just as relevant today as they were twenty years ago. As a young man, I was captivated by Piper’s pleas for ‘fear-defeating joy in Jesus Christ.’ I still need this message, but now I want my children to hear it as well. I’m confident, and prayerful, that God will continue to use this powerful book for twenty more years and beyond.

Order your copy of Don’t Waste Your Life from our friends at Westminster Bookstore today.

When We Confess Jesus As Lord

Wed, 03 Oct 2012 04:00:00 GMT

The following is an excerpt from a recent sermon I preached on Acts 2:29-36. The prose has been slightly edited for ease of reading, but I’ve tried to retain the sermonic, spoken feel as much as possible.

*****

Jesus is Lord.

And if he’s Lord over all, it means Jesus is my Lord. That’s what you’re saying when you confess Jesus as Lord. You’re saying, “Jesus can call the shots for my life. Jesus can tell me how I should think about myself and about marriage and about the world. Jesus is the one who has all authority in heaven and on earth. Not me. I am not an autonomous creature. I live to serve this Master.” That’s what you’re saying.

And when you believe that God raised Jesus from the dead, you’re not just saying, “Well, sure, resurrection. Meh. It doesn’t bother me. Sure, if a dead person wants to come back to life, okay by me. I mean, I’ve seen aliens and Martians and weird stuff before, whatever.” To believe in the resurrection is to believe it with boldness. You’re saying, “He lives and I’ll live. If he’s raised, then I can trust my whole life to him. If he really is the only person in the history of the world who died, did not stay dead, never died again, and rose to heaven, then this is the man I ought to spend my whole life following and give my whole life to worship.” That’s what you’re saying.

But no matter what we say, let’s be clear about one thing: Jesus is Christ and Lord whether we think he is or not. He’s not asking for your vote. He’s not standing there hat in hand just saying, “Will somebody down there please sing a song to me. I’m so lonely.” He does not depend on me or my affirmation of him. He is in heaven. He is at God’s right hand. He governs the church by his word and Spirit and no matter what any of us think or believe or decide, Jesus is now and forever will be Lord and Christ. He is not begging for you to be his Facebook friend and begging for more followers on Twitter. To be sure, Jesus issues a gracious invitation, but it’s not because he needs. It’s because he loves.

You can listen to the entire sermon and watch the whole thing here.

Who Do You Say That I Am?

Thu, 20 Nov 2014 00:00:00 GMT

The greatness of God is most clearly displayed in his Son. And the glory of the gospel is only made evident in his Son. That’s why Jesus’ question to his disciples is so important: “Who do you say that I am?”

The question is doubly crucial in our day because not every Jesus is the real Jesus. Almost no one is as popular in this country as Jesus. Hardly anyone would dare to say a bad word about him. Just look at what a super-fly friendly dude he is over there. But how many people know the real Jesus?

There’s Republican Jesus who is against tax increases and activists judges, and for family values and owning firearms.

There’s Democrat Jesus who is against Wall Street and Walmart, and for reducing our carbon footprint and spending other people’s money.

There’s Therapist Jesus who helps us cope with life’s problems, heals our past, tells us how valuable we are and not to be so hard on ourselves.

There’s Starbucks Jesus who drinks fair trade coffee, loves spiritual conversations, drives a hybrid and goes to film festivals.

There’s Open-minded Jesus who loves everyone all the time no matter what, except for people who are not as open-minded as you.

There’s Touchdown Jesus who helps athletes run faster and jump higher than non-Christians and determines the outcomes of Super Bowls.

There’s Martyr Jesus, a good man who died a cruel death so we can feel sorry for him.

There’s Gentle Jesus who was meek and mild, with high cheek bones, flowing hair, and walks around barefoot, wearing a sash and looks German.

There’s Hippie Jesus who teaches everyone to give peace a chance, imagine a world without religion, and helps us remember all you need is love.

There’s Yuppie Jesus who encourages us to reach our full potential, reach for the stars, and buy a boat.

There’s Spirituality Jesus who hates religion, churches, pastors, priests, and doctrine; he wants us to find the god within and listening to ambiguously spiritual musical.

There’s Platitude Jesus, good for Christmas specials, greeting cards, and bad sermons; he inspires people to believe in themselves, and lifts us up so we can walk on mountains.

There’s Revolutionary Jesus who teaches us to rebel against the status quo, stick it to the man, and dream up impossible utopian schemes.

There’s Guru Jesus, a wise, inspirational teacher who believes in you and helps you find your center.

There’s Boyfriend Jesus who wraps his arms around us as we sing about his intoxicating love in our secret place.

There’s Good Example Jesus who shows you how to help people, change the planet, and become a better you.

He embodied the covenant, fulfilled the commandments, and reversed the curse.

And then there’s Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God. Not just another prophet. Not just another Rabbi. Not just another wonder-worker. He was the one they had been waiting for: the Son of David and Abraham’s chosen seed, the one to deliver us from captivity, the goal of the Mosaic law, Yahweh in the flesh, the one to establish God’s reign and rule, the one to heal the sick, give sight to the blind, freedom to the prisoners and proclaim good news to the poor, the lamb of God come to take away the sins of the world.

This Jesus was the Creator come to earth and the beginning of a new creation. He embodied the covenant, fulfilled the commandments, and reversed the curse. This Jesus is the Christ that God spoke of to the serpent, the Christ prefigured to Noah in the flood, the Christ promised to Abraham, the Christ prophesied through Balaam before the Moabites, the Christ guaranteed to Moses before he died, the Christ promised to David when he was king, the Christ revealed to Isaiah as a suffering servant, the Christ predicted through the prophets and prepared for through John the Baptist.

This Christ is not a reflection of the current mood or the projection of our own desires. He is our Lord and God. He is the Father’s Son, Savior of the world, and substitute for our sins-more loving, more holy, and more wonderfully terrifying than we ever thought possible.

The Coptic Church and Chalcedon

Tue, 24 Feb 2015 00:00:00 GMT

On February 14, twenty-one Egyptian Christians were brutally beheaded by Muslim radicals working for the Islamic State in Lybia. The Coptic Orthodox Church announced yesterday that the twenty-one victims will be inserted into the Coptic Synaxarium (the Oriental Church’s official list of martyrs) and commemorated in the church calendar as martyrs and saints. Christians of every denominational and doctrinal stripe have expressed outrage, sadness, and a sense of unity with their fallen brethren.

Which leads to an important question: how should we view the Coptic Orthodox Church?

This isn’t a bad question, provided we approach it in the right way. Let’s set aside the issue of what the twenty-one martyrs understood about monophysitism. That’s not unimportant, but as far as I know the information is unattainable. Besides, what is most needed at this point is prayer for the persecuted church and sympathy for the suffering. Thinking about these men who died because of their allegiance to Christ, men who belonged to one of the oldest church communions in the world, and men who called upon Jesus as they were murdered on the beach—trying to determine whether these men were actually Christians seems like remarkably poor form.

And yet, perhaps now is an appropriate time to consider more broadly and think more carefully about why some consider the Coptic Orthodox Church to be, well, unorthodox. While participating in a panel discussion at Ligonier last week, one of the first questions we were asked was about the twenty-one Coptic martyrs and the heresy of monophysitism (yes, it’s that kind of conference). So let’s step back and try to understand the history and theology behind what may be the oldest (formal) split in the church.

Two Natures, Without Division

To tell the story properly, we have to start with a man by the name of Nestorius. Nestorius was born sometime after 351 and died sometime before 451. He was the patriarch of Constantinople. His teaching was condemned by the third ecumenical council at Ephesus in 431. It’s unclear whether Nestorius was actually a Nestorian. What is clear is that Nestorius was not very careful in his theology and did not acquit himself very well when he was put on the spot to defend his views.

Nestorius, like most heretics, was intent on preserving the truth. Most ancient heretics did not set out to disrupt the church or teach false doctrine. They weren’t like Bart Ehrman with an ax to grind, or like Richard Dawkins with an anti-Christian agenda. Most heretics in the history of the church were trying to be biblical. They would have been professing Christians, with genuine concerns, who got key doctrines wrong and whose followers got things even more wrong.

Nestorius was concerned that people were calling Mary “the God-bearer” (theotokos). His concerns were probably not entirely unwarranted. God-bearer is an appropriate title for Mary, but only if the emphasis is on the Son and not Mary. It has happened since Nestorius, and most likely was happening in his day too, that people took the dangerous step from “Mary the bearer of God” to “Mary the divine Mother of God.” Theotokos is a proper term, but only with the proper qualifications.

Nestorius objected to this popular title. He could admit that Mary bore someone and that the someone was Jesus of Nazareth. But he reckoned that she gave birth to only the human nature of Christ. How could the divine nature be born? Divinity is eternal. It can’t be given birth. So, Mary, Nestorius reasoned, could be the mother of Jesus, but not the mother of God. If she was, then the Son of God was born, making him a creature with a beginning, and making us in our worship guilty of Arianism and of violating the second commandment.

Nestorius’ solution, or at least the theological solution that got attached to his name, was to argue for a dividing wall between the two natures. He knew the Son was God, and he knew the Son was a man. So Mary must be the mother of one half of Jesus, but not the other. She brought forth a man who was accompanied by the Logos. The two natures of Christ existed, not in hypostatic union, but in a kind of relational partnership.

Nestorius was opposed by Cyril of Alexandria (378-444), the brilliant apologist and implacable foe. He made two arguments against Nestorianism.

(1) If Mary is not theotokos, then instead of the incarnation of God himself, we have a human being born with the divine Logos. In other words, if Mary is not the God bearer, then we must understand the incarnation as something different than God becoming man. We have God coming alongside a man. No longer do we have the God-man Christ Jesus. We have Jesus Christ, a man with God in him. Thus, in Nestorianism, God is in Christ in nearly the same manner God is in us. The difference is not ontological; it is only a matter of degree. Nestorianism ends up making too little of Jesus and too much of us.

(2) If Mary is not theotokos, the relationship of Christ to humanity is changed. Only orthodox Christology allows for a real redemption of fallen man. Nestorianism’s problem was not with the two natures, but with the one person. Christ is fully God and fully man in Nestorianism, but he does not seem to be one person. Instead of two natures in a single self-conscious person, the two natures are next to each other with a moral and sympathetic union. The logic of Romans 5:19—that our salvation is accomplished through “the one man’s obedience”—will not hold. It’s only through the one man Jesus Christ, the union of humanity and deity, that we are made righteous.

Two Natures, Without Confusion

Which brings us to Eutychianism and Coptic Christians. Eutyches was a monk at a large monastery in Constantinople. He was born around 378 and died in 454. Again, it’s hard to determine what he actually taught. Eutyches himself was, to quote one author, “an aged and muddle-headed thinker.” So it’s unclear how much of Eutychianism came from Eutyches.

We do know that Eutyches had a strong anti-Nestorian bias. He was loathe to fall into the error of dividing Christ’s humanity from his divinity. So instead of division, we find in Eutychianism a confusion or mixture of the two persons. Eutyches taught that there was only one (mono) nature (physis) in Christ after the union of his divinity and humanity (hence, monophysitism).

Eutyches argued for the absorption of the human nature into the divine, the fusion of the two natures resulting in a tertium quid (third thing)–like mixing yellow and blue to get green. He said that Christ’s humanity was so united to his divinity that his humanity was not the same as ours (consubstantial). Christ was “of one substance with the Father” but not “of one substance with us.”

Eutyches was stubborn and not very careful in his theology. Yet, he was not without friends in high places. Eutyches was deposed in 448 by a Synod led by Archbishop Flavian. Eutyches complained to Pope Leo that he was treated unfairly. Leo, after some back and forth, wrote a letter to Flavian where he brilliantly surveyed all the Christological heresies and concluded that Eutyches was wrong. “In Christ Jesus,” he wrote, “neither Humanity without true Divinity, nor Divinity without true Humanity, may be believed to exist.”

But Eutyches was a friend to the Emperor, Theodosius II. In an effort to defend Eutyches, the emperor called a council in Ephesus in 449. The delegates were very pro-Eutyches and when legates from Pope Leo came to present their side, they weren’t even allowed to speak. Flavian was mauled and beat up, so badly in fact that he died a few days later. Eutychianism was vindicated, but the whole meeting was a sham. It’s now referred to as the “Robbers’ Synod.”

Later that year, Theodosius died in horse riding accident. His sister Pulcheria and her husband Marcian (not to be confused with the heretic Marcion) assumed the throne. Pulcheria agreed that the last synod was a travesty. So at the request of Pope Leo she convened a new synod at Chalcedon in 451, in what later would be considered the Fourth Ecumenical Council. The First Ecumenical Council in Nicea (325) rejected Arianism; the Second in Constantinople (381) rejected Docetism; the Third in Ephesus (431) rejected Nestorianism; and the Fourth in Chalcedon (451) rejected Eutychianism.

A Mess Worth Making?

Chalcedon didn’t settle everything. Some in the east still couldn’t swallow the doctrine of Christ’s two natures. Making things more confusing was the contested legacy of Cyril of Alexandria. Cyril was a legend already in his own age, the standard bearer for orthodoxy. He was the hero who led the charge against Nestorius, securing his condemnation at Ephesus in 431. If you agreed with Cyril, you were orthodox. If you didn’t, you probably weren’t. Unfortunately, Cyril had grown fond of an unhelpful anti-Nestorian phrase: “one incarnate nature of God the Word incarnate.” He thought this phrase came from Athanasius, but the phrase actually came from the heretic Apollinarius. Cyril used the phrase as a way to safeguard the unity of Christ against Nestorianism. In later years, Cyril was very clear that he still affirmed a full human nature and accepted the phrase “two natures” as long as it did not detract from the union of those two natures.

Many in the East, however, including in Cyril’s native Egypt, believed that embracing Chalcedon and its doctrine of the two natures of Christ was a repudiation of Cyril and his impeccable orthodoxy. This lead to a church split a millennium older than any Catholic-Protestant divisions. There are six churches known as the Old Oriental Orthodoxy (or Non-Chalcedonian Churches): Syriac, Coptic, Ethiopian, Eritrea, Malankara (Indian), and Armenian. These six churches have a completely different hierarchy and are not in communion with the rest of Eastern Orthodoxy (under the Patriarch of Constantinople) or with Rome (under the Bishop of Rome).

These churches have been called monophysite, but they reject the label, saying they too deny Eutychianism. They prefer to be called miaphysites because they want to emphasize the one (mia) nature, without rejecting the doctrine of the two natures of Christ.

So is the Coptic Orthodox Church actually orthodox? That depends on whom you ask, especially in the Eastern Orthodox Church. Some want to underline the fact that the church of the Old Oriental Orthodoxy still repudiate several ecumenical councils and have not formally embraced the Chalcedonian Definition. Others want to talk about the ecumenical dialogue of recent years in which leaders from the Eastern Orthodox and Oriental Orthodox have agreed that they don’t disagree on the doctrine of the two natures, only on the way to say it. For my part, I’m unwilling to say the non-acceptance of Chalcedon is no big deal. And yet, it doesn’t seem in this insistence as if continued non-acceptance is the same as outright rejection or damnable heresy. There are historic and national reasons which may be obscuring a great deal of unity on Christological essentials.

No matter the confusion surrounding he Coptic Church, what is clear is that a half-way Christ cannot save. We need a Mediator who can lay a hand on us both. There is no room for a Nestorianism that threatens the unity of God’s work or a Eutychianism that threatens the fully human dimension of Christ’s work. At its best, all our doctrinal defining and theological wrangling is meant to preserve the simple, eminently biblical truth that Jesus Christ is both God and man, and as such, is uniquely and solely capable of saving the chosen ones of Adam’s helpless race.

UPDATE

In the comment thread and by personal correspondence, some have expressed other serious concerns with the Coptic Church besides their non-Chalcedonian Christology. My post was prompted by the question we received at the conference regarding the monophysite heresy. Hence, the focus of this post was on the history behind this Christological debate and the origination of the division between the Eastern Orthodox and the Oriental Orthodox. I am not familiar enough with the inner workings (or out working) of Coptic Christianity to assess the church as a whole, nor was it my intention to do so.

Theological Primer: Hypostatic Union

Wed, 19 Dec 2018 00:04:42 GMT

From time to time I make new entries into this continuing series called “Theological Primer.” The idea is to present big theological concepts in around 500 words. Today we look at the hypostatic union.

*****

In simplest terms, the hypostatic union is a reference to Jesus Christ as both God and man, fully divine and fully human. Hypostasis is the Greek word for subsistence (think: individual existence). The hypostatic union, therefore, is the technical term for the unipersonality of Christ, whereby in the incarnation the Son of God was constituted a complex person with both a human and a divine nature.

For a concise and careful definition of the hypostatic union, the Chalcedonian Definition (AD 451) is still unsurpassed.

Therefore, following the holy fathers, we all with one accord teach men to acknowledge one and the same Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, at once complete in Godhead and complete in manhood, truly God and truly man, consisting also of a reasonable soul and body; of one substance with the Father as regards his Godhead, and at the same time of one substance with us as regards his manhood; like us in all respects, apart from sin; as regards his Godhead, begotten of the Father before the ages, but yet as regards his manhood begotten, for us men and for our salvation, of Mary the Virgin, the God-bearer; one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, recognized in two natures, without confusion, without change, without division, without separation; the distinction of natures being in no way annulled by the union, but rather the characteristics of each nature being preserved and coming together to form one person and subsistence, not as parted or separated into two persons, but one and the same Son and Only-begotten God the Word, Lord Jesus Christ; even as the prophets from earliest times spoke of him, and our Lord Jesus Christ himself taught us, and the creed of the fathers has handed down to us.

At the heart of this definition are the four negative statements I’ve italicized above.

Without confusion: The Lord Jesus Christ is not what you get when you mix blue and yellow together and end up with green. He’s not a tertium quid (a third thing), the result of mixing a divine and human nature.

Without change: In assuming human flesh, the Logos did not cease to be what he had always been. The incarnation affected no substantial change in the divine Son.

Without division: The two natures of Christ do not represent a split in the divine Person. Jesus Christ is not half God and half man.

Without separation: The union of the human and divine in the person of Jesus Christ is a real, organic union, not simply a moral sympathy or relational partnership.

This may seem like needless theological wrangling, but Chalcedon’s careful definition is meant to preserve the biblical teaching that (1) the divine nature was united, in the person of the Son, with a human nature (John 1:14; Rom. 8:3; 1 Tim. 3:16; Heb. 2:11-14) and (2) the two natures are united in only one divine Person (Rom. 1:3-4; Gal. 4:4-5; Phil. 2:6-11). As Chalcedon puts it, the characteristics of each nature are preserved—in no way annulled by the union—even as they come together in one person (prospon) and one subsistence (hypostasis).

Why Do We Need to Keep Praying “Forgive Us Our Debts”?

Mon, 17 Nov 2025 11:50:52 GMT

An Essential Truth

I remember hearing a pastor say years ago that you could give the secret to a good marriage in just one word. The word he gave was not money or sex or communication or even love. The word was forgive. Forgiveness is the key ingredient not only in marriage but in any relationship involving sinners. If your friends are going to stick around, if you are going to see your relatives more than once a year, if you plan to work in the same place with the same people for any length of time, if you want to be happy in the church (or simply not give up on the church), you need to learn forgiveness. You need to grant it, and you need to receive it.

What’s true in our horizontal relationships is also true in our vertical relationship. Of course, God is not a sinner. He never needs to be forgiven. But if we are to have a healthy relationship with our heavenly Father, we must often come before him confessing our sins and asking for grace.

We can look at this fifth petition in those two categories: our vertical relationship with God and our horizontal relationships with others. We can label these two realities the forgiveness we need to receive and the forgiveness we need to give.

The Forgiveness We Need to Receive

We need daily bread that we might live and daily forgiveness that we might not die. If we ask every day for bread, it stands to reason that we also ask God every day for grace for our debts. We owe to God what we cannot pay. That makes us debtors.

Does it matter if we say “debts and debtors” or “trespasses and those who trespass against us”? We need an international council to settle this and make corporate prayer much easier! It doesn’t matter a lot, but it may matter a little. Matthew 6:12 has the word debts, Matthew 6:14 has trespasses, and Luke 11:4 has sins—three different English words for three different Greek words. So whether we pray for our debts our trespasses or our sins to be forgiven, we pray biblically. The words mean roughly the same thing.

But they don’t mean exactly the same thing. The word trespass suggests that we have violated a rule or committed an infraction. The word debt suggests we owe God something we cannot pay. “Forgive us our debts” suggests that we have done things that we should not have done, and left undone things we should have done.

“Forgive us our trespasses” comes from the Book of Common Prayer, which is why many people use the word trespasses. The Geneva Bible and the King James Bible used the word debts. If you know your church history, you know that the Book of Common Prayer was and is still used by the Anglican Church. So denominations that came out of the Church of England—Episcopal, Wesleyan, Methodist—tend to use trespasses, while most everyone else says debts.

The only other place the Greek word opheilema (debt) occurs in the New Testament is in Romans 4:4, where it clearly refers to a debt, or what someone is owed. Likewise, the word opheiletes is consistently employed to mean “debtor” in the rest of the New Testament (Matt. 18:24; Luke 13:4; Rom. 1:14; 4:4; 8:12; 15:27; Gal. 5:3). Every English translation I can find, except for the loosely translated New Living Translation, uses “debts” in Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer.

More important, however, than getting the word right is getting the idea right. Every day, we live as debtors to mercy. Do you believe that? Do you believe that just as you have needs to ask for every day, so you have sins that need to be forgiven every day? And notice the word in the prayer is not debt but debts, as in many. Every single debt deserves to be met with God’s righteous displeasure, but think about the many debts we owe to God, debts that we are powerless to pay. Herman Witsius makes this point powerfully:

Had we contracted by one debt of this kind, would not the thought of it have been enough to fill our mind with indescribable horror? But we are chargeable with debts—debts of every description: original, imputed, inherent; [and] actual, debts of omission and commission, of ignorance, infirmity, and deliberate wickedness, without limits and without number.1

At this point, some Christians may ask, “Why, if we have already been redeemed, cleansed, and justified, do we need to keep asking for forgiveness?” I remember well at my church a godly woman who objected to our weekly confession of sin. She thought it was a real downer and encouraged wallowing in our sins when God wanted us to know we were forgiven and free. She believed it was wrong for justified sinners to return to their sins over and over.

So why does Jesus teach us to pray, “Forgive us our debts,” and not just once but frequently, if not daily? Well, for starters, we still sin. We ask for forgiveness for our debts because we never stop being debtors. But more than that, it’s because Jesus wants us to relate to God not just as a judge but as a father. This is such an important point and one that sincere Christians often miss. If you think of God only as judge, then you are either innocent or guilty. You are justified or not justified. You don’t think in terms of pleasing or displeasing God. You think only in terms of the legal declaration of righteous or not righteous. As important as it is to recognize that God is judge, if that’s the only way you relate to him, your Christianity will become stilted and stale.

God is also our Father, and that’s explicitly how Jesus wants us to address him in the Lord’s Prayer. A good father always loves his children, but he can be pleased or displeased with them. You wouldn’t go back to the judge to admit another mistake, but you would go to your father to say you’re sorry. When my kids do what they shouldn’t do or fail to do what I asked of them, I don’t want them fearing that they are going to be disowned and booted out of the family. But neither do I want them to think that their disobedience is no big deal. If they are good children—and if they know I am a good father—they will come to me and acknowledge their sins, and I will be eager to forgive them.

So if I sin as a Christian, I should not fear condemnation, for there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, but I should still feel pricked in my conscience. I should not despair, but I should feel guilty when I do things that deserve to be punished. I have disrupted the Father-son relationship I enjoy with God. That’s why I should ask for forgiveness—not to be justified all over again, but because I have made a mess of the most important relationship in my life. The prayer “Forgive us our debts” is the cry not of a frightened litigant but of a loving child.

Notes:

Herman Witsius, Sacred Dissertations on the Lord’s Prayer (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage, 2010), 313. For ease of reading, I slightly altered the punctuation in the quotation.

This article is adapted from The Lord’s Prayer: Learning from Jesus on What, Why, and How to Pray by Kevin DeYoung.

New Perspectives on Old Princeton, 1812–1929

Thu, 23 Jan 2025 14:29:46 GMT

Description

This book focuses on Princeton Theological Seminary and the theologians who taught there from the time of its founding in 1812 to the time of its reorganisation in 1929. It confronts the standard assessment of Old Princeton in the historiography of North American evangelicalism and sets out why a new paradigm is needed. The volume critically engages with the ‘Ahlstrom thesis’ and other more recent scholarship concerning Old Princeton’s relationship to the Scottish intellectual tradition. The contributions seek to move beyond Old Princeton’s alleged indebtedness to Enlightenment thought and advance a more constructive reading of the Old Princetonians, their theology, and their place in the American evangelical experience. The book offers a fresh and more accurate assessment of the theological and philosophical assumptions that held sway at Old Princeton and through the seminary to the American continent and beyond. It will appeal to scholars interested in theology, religious history, and intellectual history.

Table of Contents

1. Samuel Miller on the Life of the Mind: Re‑imagining the Princeton Paradigm, Paul Kjoss Helseth

2. Reformed Orthodoxy, Old Princeton, and Natural Theology, Kevin DeYoung

3. Archibald Alexander and the Philosophy of Common Sense, Michael Plato

4. Jonathan Edwards, Old Princeton, and American Calvinism, Robert W. Caldwell III

5. Politics, John Witherspoon, and Old Princeton, Gary L. Steward

6. Old Princeton and the Westminster Standards, J. V. Fesko

7. Charles Hodge and Rationalism in Germany and America, 1820–1870, Annette G. Aubert

8. The Spirituality of the Church and Her ‘Painful Responsibilities’, Alan D. Strange

9. The Task of Theology, Progressive Orthodoxy, and the Function of Scripture, Jeffrey A. Stivason

10. The ‘Circle of the Sciences’ and the Theological Nature of All Knowledge, David P. Smith

11. Engaging the Evolution Question at Old Princeton, Bradley J. Gundlach

12. Old Princeton and Effacing ‘This Blot Upon Our Holy Religion’, S. Donald Fortson III

Order a copy of New Perspectives on Old Princeton, 1812–1929 from Routledge.

What Is Hypocrisy?

Mon, 10 Nov 2025 09:30:37 GMT

Many Christians misunderstand the nature of hypocrisy. It’s common to think of hypocrisy as the gap between your actions and your feelings. So if I do something without having my “heart” in it then I’m a hypocrite. Evangelicals are especially sensitive to this charge because we believe (quite rightly) that Christianity is more than “just going through the motions.” We know that having a personal relationship with Christ is crucial. We believe faith must be sincere.

And yet, we can easily misappropriate our good instincts. Some Christians wonder if they should still go to church if they don’t feel like it. They wonder if it’s right to sing the praise songs if they aren’t feeling worshipful that morning. They hesitate to give generously because “God loves a cheerful giver” and, well, giving doesn’t make them very happy. They aren’t sure they should repent of their sins or work to forgive their offender unless they feel really sorry and feel like forgiving. Many Christians fear that doing the right thing without the right feelings makes them hypocrites.

But is this really hypocrisy? Another word to describe this behavior might be “maturity.” Children only do what they feel like doing. Adults learn to do things they are supposed to do though they may not always be excited about it. Of course, as Christians we want to grow so that we feel good about what is good. But the Christian life is full of instances where the doing and the feeling do not exactly match—sometimes with feelings ahead of obedience and sometimes with obedience ahead of our feelings.

Hypocrisy is not the gap between doing and feeling; it’s the gap between public persona and private character. Hypocrisy is the failure to practice what you preach (Matt. 23:3). Appearing outwardly righteous to others, while actually being full of uncleanness and self-indulgence—that’s the definition of hypocrisy (Matt. 23:25-28).

The hypocrite is not the Christian who struggles against sin, fights against temptation, and keeps doing what is right even on his worst-feeling days. That’s a hero. The hypocrite is the Christian who uses the veneer of public virtue to cover the rot of private vice. He’s the man living a double life, the woman fooling her friends because she has church clothes, the student who proudly answers the questions in Sunday school and just as proudly romps through immorality the rest of the week.

The sin of hypocrisy is not that we are more messed up than we seem. That’s true for all of us. The sin is in using the appearance of goodness to cloak the deeds of evil. The sin is in thinking that who others think you are matters a great deal more than who God knows you to be.

Prioritizing the Church in Missions

Tue, 09 Sep 2025 05:00:00 GMT

“The apostle Paul did not start ‘movements.’ He planted churches. We are overdue for a renewed emphasis on what the Bible emphasizes: prioritizing the church in missions. This excellent resource—written by two seasoned pastors serving in churches overseas—is just the antidote we need. Pastors, students, missionaries, mission committees, mission agencies, senders, and goers—everyone interested in missions will be helped by reading this book.”

Order a copy of Prioritizing the Church in Missions from our friends at Westminster Bookstore.

Should Christians Feel Guilty All the Time?

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 11:00:17 GMT

There are plenty of Christians who rarely feel the sting of conscience or the pangs of regret. But I also know many Christians who easily feel bad for all the things they are not doing or are doing less than perfectly. In fact, I’m convinced most serious Christians live their lives with an almost constant low-level sense of guilt.

How do we feel guilty? Let me count the ways.

We could pray more. We aren’t bold enough in evangelism. We like sports too much. We watch movies and television too often. Our quiet times are too short or too sporadic. We don’t give enough. We bought a new couch. We don’t read to our kids enough. Our kids eat Cheetos and French fries. We don’t recycle enough. We need to lose 20 pounds. We could use our time better. We could live some place harder or in something smaller.

What do we do with all this behind-the-scenes guilt? We don’t feel stop-dead-in-our-tracks kind of remorse for these things. But these shortcomings can have a cumulative effect whereby even the mature Christian can feel like he’s rather disappointing to God, maybe just barely Christian.

Here’s the tricky part: we should feel guilty sometimes, because sometimes we are guilty of sin. Complacency as Christians is a real danger, especially in America.

Yet I don’t believe God redeemed us through the blood of his Son that we might feel like constant failures. Do Peter and John post-Pentecost seem racked with self-loathing and introspective fear? Does Paul seem constantly concerned that he could be doing more? Amazingly enough, Paul actually says at one point, “I am not aware of anything against myself” (1 Cor. 4:4). He’s quick to add, “I am not thereby acquitted. It is the Lord who judges me.” But it sure seems like Paul put his head on the pillow at night with a clean conscience. So why do so many Christians feel guilty all the time?

1. We don’t fully embrace the good news of the gospel.

We forget that we have been made alive together with Christ. We have been raised with him. We have been saved through faith alone. And this is the gift of God, not a result of works (Eph. 2:4-8). Let us not be afraid to embrace the lavishness of God’s grace.

2. Christians tend to motivate each other by guilt rather than grace.

Instead of urging our fellow believers to be who they are in Christ, we command them to do more for Christ (see Rom. 6:5-14). So we see Christlikeness as something we are royally screwing up, when we really should see it as something we already possess but need to grow into.

3. Most of our low-level guilt falls under the ambiguous category of “not doing enough.”

Look at the list above. None of the items is necessarily sinful. They all deal with possible infractions, perceptions, and ways in which we’d like to do more. These are the hardest areas to deal with because no Christian, for example, will ever confess to praying enough. So it is always easy to feel terrible about prayer (or evangelism or giving or any number of disciplines). We must be careful that we don’t insist on a certain standard of practice when the Bible merely insists on a general principle.

For example, every Christian must give generously and contribute to the needs of the saints (2 Cor. 9:6-11; Rom. 12:13). This we can insist on with absolute certainty. But what this generosity looks like–how much we give, how much we retain–is not bound by any formula, nor can it be exacted by compulsion (2 Cor. 9:7). So if we want people to be more generous we would do well to follow Paul’s example in 2 Corinthians and emphasize the blessings of generosity and the gospel-rooted motivation for generosity as opposed to shaming those who don’t give as much.

4. When we are truly guilty of sin, it is imperative that we repent and receive God’s mercy.

Paul had a clean conscience, not because he never sinned, but, I imagine, because he quickly went to the Lord when he knew he was wrong and rested in the “no condemnation” of the gospel (Rom. 8:1). If we confess our sins, John says, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9). We aren’t meant to feel borderline miserable all the time. We are meant to live in the joy of our salvation. So when we sin—and we’ll all sin (1 Kings 8:46; 1 John 1:8)—we confess it, get cleansed, and move on.

This underlines one of the great dangers of constant guilt: we learn to ignore our consciences. If we are truly sinning, we need to repent and implore the Lord to help us change. But if we aren’t sinning, if we are perhaps not as far along as others, or are not as disciplined as some believers, or we are making different choices that may be acceptable but not extraordinary, then we should not be made to feel guilty. Challenged, stirred, inspired, but not guilty.

As a pastor, this means I don’t expect that everyone in my congregation should feel awful about everything I ever preach on. It is okay, after all, for people to actually be obedient to God’s commands. Not perfectly, not without some mixed motives, not as fully as they could be, but still faithfully, God-pleasingly obedient. Faithful preaching does not require that sincere Christians feel miserable all the time. In fact, the best preaching ought to make sincere Christians see more of Christ and experience more of his grace.

Deeper grace will produce better gratitude, which means less guilt. And that’s a good thing all the way around.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

9 Traits of Healthy Biblical Complementarianism

Mon, 25 Aug 2025 09:18:46 GMT

In the conservative evangelical circles I mainly inhabit, there is almost no controversy about whether the Bible allows for women to be ordained as pastors and elders. The people I talk to and listen to are firmly convinced complementarians. That is, they (we) believe that God created men and women equal in worth and dignity but with different roles in the home and in the church. At the very least, this means the office of pastor or elder is to be filled by qualified men. The core of complementarianism is not up for discussion.

How we talk about complementarianism is.

And how we practice complementarianism too.

Is the problem that we lack courage or that we are missing compassion? Have we gotten too soft? Or have we gotten too restrictive? Does complementarianism need a re-branding, a reformation, a revival, or a retrieval?

The conversations can be pointed, the rhetoric heated. And yet, the fact that there is an intra-complementarian discussion taking place is a sign of the relative success of the movement. The complementarian camp is large enough to contain a fairly disparate group of people and personalities. The presence of disagreements and the need for definitions should come as no surprise. Sharpening is not a problem, so long as we are not unnecessarily sharp with each other.

So what does a healthy complementarianism look like? I certainly don’t have the last word on the subject. But here are nine important traits.

1. Creation not accommodation.

The differences between men and women are rooted in divine design. This is clear from 1 Timothy 2 and from Genesis 1-2. Complementarianism is not about Paul accommodating to a patriarchal first century culture, let alone about us accommodating the expectations of our cultures inside or outside the church. God has something to say about manhood and womanhood. And what God has to say is rooted in what he designed.

2. Function not simply ordination.

The first point may seem obvious, like Complementarianism 101, but it’s an important foundation for this second point. If men and women are different by creational design, then we can’t simply quarantine “ordination” and say that manhood and womanhood have no bearing on church ministry or church roles so long as the pastors and elders are men. The issue is not mainly titles or labels or the laying on of hands. The issue is about function. To be sure, complementarians may not agree on where to draw all the lines concerning home groups and Sunday school classes and public worship, but as a starting place for these discussions we have to remember we are talking about the flourishing of divine design, not adhering to a set of narrow and seemingly arbitrary rules.

3. Warmly embraced not quickly checked off.

There’s a difference between affirming complementarianism as an act of intellectual throat clearing—“Look, I don’t think women should be pastors either, but…”—and joyfully affirming the vision as good and beautiful and best.

4. Convictional not merely traditional.

There’s also a difference between a thoughtful complementarianism based on the exegesis and application of Scripture and a clumsy complementarianism that is little more than the default position of an overly prescriptive cultural traditionalism.

5. Tender not triumphalistic.

No doubt, sometimes the troops need to be rallied. In the sexual insanity of our day, the call to courage is surely appropriate. But we need to realize that all kinds of people can be listening in as we talk about biblical manhood and womanhood. Some of those listening are wavering and some are wolves, but some are hurt and some resonate with broken hearts more than with raised banners. We need to be on guard against rhetoric that is all caps all the time. Let us be persuaders, not just pugilists.

6. Principial not personal.

It’s human nature: we personalize when we listen and universalize when we speak. Because we’ve gone toe to toe with liberals, we think battle mode is the way to go, always. Or because we’ve had a bad pastor or a brutish boyfriend, we are always slamming the complementarianism we say we believe in. Don’t size up the whole complementarian universe based on a couple of your most painful experiences.

7. Bible and theology affirming not wife and motherhood belittling.

We want the women in our churches to read the Bible, study the Bible, and help others understand the Bible. I love that the women at my church are eager to go deep, get good theology, and challenge their hearts and minds. Yes and Amen to women who study the Scriptures. Go ahead and talk about Deuteronomy as well as diapers. And yet, let’s not ridicule the women for talking about diapers! For most women, at some point in their lives, and often for most of their lives, their identity (after being a child of God created in God’s image) will be bound up in being a wife and especially a mother. Moving deeper into the word does not mean moving away from Titus 2.

8. Careful with words not careless.

We all use labels. It’s hard to speak of our immeasurably complicated world without them. But if we use negative sounding isms, let’s explain what we mean by them. Let’s not casually label others as “feminist,” “liberal,” “patriarchal,” or “hierarchical,” unless the situation clearly calls for it and we make clear what we mean. A church that has women read the sermon text (a practice I’m not in favor of) is not automatically wed to the spirit of the age, nor is a church which only allows men to teach classes and lead small groups necessarily oppressive and Neanderthal.

9. Leaning against the culture instead of into the culture.

The core convictions of complementarianism will not magically seep into our children or into our churches. The cultural breeze is blowing too stiffly against us. Biblical manhood and womanhood must be taught as well as caught. When it comes to the goodness of God’s divine design for men and women, unless we are pushing forward against the forces of sports and media and politics and business and entertainment, we will end up drifting in the wrong direction.

I remember years ago hearing a pastor describe his position on homosexuality as theologically conservative and socially progressive. I could tell by the way he was speaking that everything in him was leaning with the wind. He was holding on to orthodoxy by a thin string. So I wasn’t surprised a few years later when he announced that he had changed his mind on homosexuality and now saw nothing wrong with same-sex sexual relationships. In the same way, we must be careful that our complementarianism is deep, thoughtful, rooted, biblical, and utterly at home with being despised, misunderstood, and counter-cultural. Faithfulness does not mean making as many enemies as possible, but it does mean that for the sake of the good, the true, and the beautiful, we are fine with facing opposition when it is impossible to avoid.

The Biggest Story Advent

Mon, 27 Oct 2025 11:04:15 GMT

To receive a copy of The Biggest Story Advent and each new release from Kevin DeYoung, become a book club member here.

In this short video, Kevin shares why The Biggest Story Advent is a meaningful way to help kids understand the Bible’s big story.

This new devotional walks through twenty-five daily readings from Genesis to Jesus’s birth, showing how God’s promises lead to the coming of Christ. Designed to be engaging and accessible, it helps families center their Christmas season on the good news of God’s plan of redemption.

A Reformation of Confidence

Mon, 30 Oct 2017 13:03:22 GMT

The Reformation was about many things. It was about papal abuses and church reform. It was about worship and the sacraments. It was about repentance and indulgences. It was about the Bible and the priesthood of all believers. And of course, the Reformation was about justification.

But it was also about confidence. Not self-confidence, but confidence that God is for us not against us, confidence that we can go to heaven without a sentence in purgatory first, confidence that though we cannot rest in our works, we can rest in Christ’s.

Consider, for example, this powerful reflection from Luther on the confidence we should have in prayer.

Therefore, since it is commanded that we pray, do not despise prayer and take refuge behind your own unworthiness.

Take an example from other commands. A work which I do is a work of obedience. Because my father, master, or prince has commanded it, I must do it, not because of my worthiness, but because it has been commanded.

So it is also with prayer. So, when you pray for wife or children or parents or the magistrates, this is what you should think: This work I have been commanded to do and as an obedient person I must do it. On my account it would be nothing, but on account of the commandment it is a precious thing. So you should pray for the prince, the city, the burgomaster, and so on. Therefore I admonish you most faithfully, do not despise your prayers!

But do not pray as the clerics do, who merely pray at a venture and think: I am not holy enough and fit enough to be heard.

Or: I if I were as holy as Peter and Paul I would pray too! You must rather say: The commandment which applied to St. Peter applies to me also, and Peter’s prayer was no more holy than mine, for I have been given the same second commandment as he. Therefore my prayer is just as holy and precious as St. Peter’s.

Your prayer is not one cent less valuable than St. Peter’s. And this is the reason: I will grant that he is holier as far as his person is concerned, but the commandment and obedience upon which St. Peter based his prayer I base my own also.

You have needs enough: You are lacking in faith, in love, in patience, in gentleness, in chastity; my wife, my children are sick. Then pray undauntedly and with sure confidence, because God has commanded you to pray. He did not command it in order to deceive you and make a fool, a monkey of you; he wants you to pray and to be confident that you will be heard; he wants you to open your bosom that he may give to you. Sermons on the Catechism (1528)

To be sure, we can’t tell the story of the Reformation without talking about the printing press and political turmoil in Europe. And we’ll certainly want to say something about Eucharistic controversies and the important influence of Renaissance humanism. The Reformation has been written about for 500 years, and it will be written about for 500 more. There’s a lot to say.

And yet, one of the things we must never forget to say is that the Reformation mercifully allowed fearful sinners to have a new kind of relationship with God. The Reformation reminded God’s people that they can have direct access to God through Christ. It re-centered the church on the lavish, scandalous good news of the cross. And it reassured them (and us) that God is on the side of the justified saint, even though they were still struggling sinners.

Praise the Lord. This is gospel indeed.

5 Key Concepts in the Reformation Understanding of Justification

Wed, 31 Oct 2012 04:00:00 GMT

On October 31, 1517, Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses concerning clerical abuses and indulgences on the church door at Wittenberg. This famous event is often considered the launching point for the Protestant Reformation.

The chief concern for Luther and the other reformers was the doctrine of justification. It was, to use Calvin’s language, the “main hinge on which religion turns.” And the doctrine of justification is no less important today than it was 500 years ago.

There are five key concepts every Protestant should grasp if they are to understand the reformer’s (and the Bible’s) doctrine of justification.

1. The Christian is simul iustus et peccator.

This is Martin Luther’s famous Latin phrase, which means “At the same time, justified and a sinner.” The Catechism powerfully reminds us that even though we are right with God, we still violate his commands, feel the sting of conscience, and battle against indwelling sin. On this side of the consummation, we will always be sinning saints, righteous wretches, and on occasion even justified jerks. God does not acquit us of our guilt based upon our works, but because we trust “him who justifies the ungodly” (Rom. 4:5).

2. Our right standing with God is based on an alien righteousness.

Alien doesn’t refer to an E.T. spirituality. It means we are justified because of a righteousness that is not our own. I am not right with God because of my righteousness, but because “the perfect satisfaction, righteousness, and holiness of Christ” has been credited to me. “Nothing in my hands I bring, simply to thy cross I cling; naked, come to thee for dress; helpless, look to thee for grace; foul, I to the Fountain fly; wash me, Savior, or I die” wrote August Toplady in the old hymn. We contribute nothing to our salvation. The name by which every Christian must be called is “The Lord is our righteousness” (Jer. 23:6).

3. The righteousness of Christ is ours by imputation, not by impartation.

That is to say, we are not made holy, or infused with goodness as if we possessed it in ourselves, but rather Christ’s righteousness is credited to our account.

4. We are justified by faith alone.

The Catholic Church acknowledged that the Christian was saved by faith; it was the alone part they wouldn’t allow. In fact, the Council of Trent from the 16th-century Catholic counter-reformation declared anathema those who believe in either justification by imputation or justification by faith alone. But evangelical faith has always held that “all I need to do is accept the gift of God with a believing heart.” True, justifying faith must show itself in good works. That’s what James 2 is all about. But these works serve as corroborating evidence, not as the ground of our justification. We are justified by faith without deeds of the law (Rom. 3:28; Titus 3:5). The gospel is “believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved” (Acts 16:30-31), not “believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and cooperate with transforming grace and you shall be saved.” There is nothing we contribute to our salvation but our sin, no merit we bring but Christ’s, and nothing necessary for justification except for faith alone.

5. Faith is only an instrumental cause in our salvation.

In other words, faith is not what God finds acceptable in us. In fact, strictly speaking, faith itself does not justify. Faith is only the instrument by which we embrace Christ, have communion with him, and share in all his benefits. It is the object of our faith that matters. If you venture out onto a frozen pond, it isn’t your faith that keeps you from crashing into the water. True, it takes faith to step onto the pond, but it’s the object of your faith, the twelve inches of ice, that keeps you safe. Believe in Christ with all your heart, but don’t put your faith in your faith. Your experience of trusting Christ will ebb and flow. So be sure to rest in Jesus Christ and not your faith in him. He alone is the one who died for our sakes and was raised for our justification. Believe this, and you too will be saved.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

13 Blessings for God’s Adopted Children

Fri, 10 Oct 2025 08:54:11 GMT

1 John 3

Justification gives us two positive rights: the right to adoption as sons and the right to eternal life. The Westminster Confession has only one paragraph in the ordo salutis on adoption, but the article is especially rich.

All those that are justified, God vouchsafeth, in and for his only Son Jesus Christ, to make partakers of the grace of adoption, by which they are taken into the number, and enjoy the liberties and privileges of the children of God, have his name put upon them, receive the Spirit of adoption, have access to the throne of grace with boldness, are enabled to cry, Abba, Father, are pitied, protected, provided for, and chastened by him, as by a father: yet never cast off, but sealed to the day of redemption; and inherit the promises, as heirs of eternal salvation. (WCF 12.1)

Notice the who, the why, and the what.

The who: All those who are justified. This is not a blessing for the special few, but for all those who are truly justified. Adoption is distinct from justification, but never separate from it. If justification is the change in a legal verdict, adoption is the change in our legal status. Adoption is the familial change of status that is conjoined to our judicial change of status. Adoption reminds us that we do not relate to God only as Judge, but also as Father.

The why: Our adoption is in Christ and for the sake of Christ. He is the older brother, a Son by natural right, who makes the way for us to be sons by grace. “But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God” (John 1:12–13).

The what: The Confession lists thirteen blessings we enjoy as God’s adopted children.

1. We are counted in the number of God’s children.2. We are no longer slaves, but free people.3. We have the privilege of being at home.4. We have God’s name upon us as members of his family.5. We have access to the throne of grace.6. We can speak intimately to God, crying out, “Abba, Father.”7. We are pitied by our heavenly Father.8. We are protected by our heavenly Father.9. We are chastened by our heavenly Father.10. We will never be cast off or disowned.11. We are sealed and secure for all time.12. We have an inheritance coming full of unspeakable blessings.13. We are heirs of eternal life.

And so we exclaim: “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God” (1 John 3:1).

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Grace that Saves Is the Grace that Leads Us Home

Mon, 06 Oct 2025 09:04:30 GMT

I know, I know. The horse is already dead, so stop beating it.

As far I know my own heart, I’m not trying to pile on, dig in my heels, or even win an argument. I would like, however, to be clear.

I believe with all my heart in justification by faith alone. It is the “main hinge on which religion turns,” as I explain here and here. I cherish beyond words that because “it is finished” (John 19:30), I can know true comfort, trusting that Jesus Christ “has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil” (HC Q/A 1). I gladly affirm the scandalous nature of free grace. I need it every day. As God gives me strength, I will preach, and pray, and sing, and shout of the wonderful, matchless grace of Jesus as long as I live.

I am also compelled by Paul’s example and by Holy Scripture to declare the whole counsel of God (Acts 20:27).

Which doesn’t mean we move past the gospel or leave grace behind. The gospel never ceases to be relevant. We are never not dependent on grace.

In fact, grace is so amazing that there is more than one thing to say about it. By grace we do wonders (Acts 6:8), by grace we are justified (Rom. 3:24), by grace we exhort (Rom. 12:3), by grace we build (1 Cor. 3:10), by grace we work hard (1 Cor. 15:10), by grace we give generously (2 Cor. 8:7), by grace we use our gifts (Eph. 4:7); by grace we are strengthened (Heb. 13:9), and by grace we are saved (Eph. 2:8). Every good thing we do, every true thing we believe, every bit of resting, every bit of striving, every mercy and every effort is by grace (James 1:17).

If there is one central area of confusion surrounding progressive sanctification, I think it has to do with the role of exertion in the Christian life. Is there any place for God-infused effort as we “grow in grace” (2 Pet. 3:18)? When we meet people whose hands and feet cause them to sin, can we only tell them of justification by faith, or can we also implore them to cut it out and “cut it off” (Mark 9:43-47)? Might that word of warning and exhortation be a grace to them?

If we are faithful parents, faithful mentors, and faithful preachers, we will gladly teach with all our might that Christ made propitiation for the sins of his people (Heb. 2:17), that we can with confidence draw near to the throne of grace (Heb. 4:16), that Christ is the mediator of a new and better covenant (Heb. 9:15), that Christ offered up his body once to bear the sins of many (Heb. 9:28), and that we should not be sluggish (Heb. 6:12), that we must not go on sinning deliberately (Heb. 10:26), that we must run with endurance the race set before us (Heb. 12:1), and that we should strive for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord (Heb. 12:14).

Legalism, self-righteousness, glorying in our own strength—these are dangers we must always guard against and constantly preach against. The greatest grace champions can be graceless in real life. The strongest proponents of holiness can be worldly to the core. We are all leopards whose spots do not change as easily as we would like or as noticeably as we think. We need to hear of grace to the day we die.

And we need grace to enable us—as regenerated, saved, justified, adopted, beloved children—to beat our bodies (1 Cor. 9:27), run the race, and fight the good fight (2 Tim. 4:7).

There is no plausible way to read the Bible and conclude that God working in us absolves us from working hard, no responsible way to think that exhortation and exertion are anything other than essential to a life of discipleship.

1 Corinthians 15:10 “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary I worked harder than any of them, though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me.” Philippians 2:12-13 “Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, so now, not only as in my presence but much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” Colossians 1:29 “For this I toil, struggling with all his energy that he powerfully works within me.” 2 Peter 1:5 “For this reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge…”

The Bible clearly teaches that God works in us so that we might work out. This is taught by Calvin:

As it is an arduous work and of immense labour, to put off the corruption which is in us, he bids us to strive and make every effort for this purpose. He intimates that no place is to be given in this case to sloth, and that we ought to obey God calling us, not slowly or carelessly, but that there is need of alacrity; as though he had said, “Put forth every effort, and make your exertions manifest to all.” (Commentary on 2 Peter)

And by the Westminster Confession of Faith:

Their ability to do good works is not at all of themselves, but wholly from the Spirit of Christ. And that they may be enabled thereunto, beside the graces they have already received, there is required an actual influence of the same Holy Spirit, to work in them to will and to do, of His good pleasure: yet are they not hereupon to grow negligent, as if they were not bound to perform any duty unless upon a special motion of the Spirit; but they ought to be diligent in stirring up the grace of God that is in them. (16.3)

This effort is not by our own strength, and it merits nothing. But as Christ works in us by his Spirit through the gospel, we are called to striving and effort. To make this effort is not a return to Moses, and to call others to this striving is not antithetical to the gospel. In an attempt to safeguard what is true, let us not proscribe a bevy of doctrines that are not false. Nuance is not the enemy of faith. Saying everything Scripture says does not have to weaken any one thing that Scripture does say.

If as a preacher I tell you that you can be justified by works of the law, I should be damned (Gal. 1:8,9; 2:16). And if I never tell you to flee from sin (1 Cor. 6:18), never warn you about persisting in sin (1 John 3:4-10), never implore you to no longer keep on sinning (Heb. 10:26), never plead with you to pluck out your eye (Mark 9:47), never let you know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God (1 Cor. 6:9), never urge you to lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees (Heb. 12:12-17), then you may be damned.

God uses a multitude of indicatives and a host of imperatives to save us and sustain us. It’s all of grace, of course, but grace does not always look or sound the same. There is grace to run and grace to rest. And we need both.

The Protestant Debate Over Justification: Here I stand.

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 10:34:00 GMT

“Am I OK?”

Take a look at America‘s self-esteem curriculum or just watch “Oprah” once in a while and you’ll see that deep down we’re not so sure we are OK. At the very least, most of us need some convincing.

As a minister, I’ve witnessed the worry and doubt firsthand. A mother of young children wonders if her house is clean enough and if she’ll ever measure up. A cancer patient isn’t sure if he prays and loves God as much as he should. A young man struggles to feel like a good person again after his affair. At the bottom of all these fears and anxieties, they are asking the same question.

Looking for Love in All The Wrong Places

Most of us are desperate for reassurance, yet today a large and growing number of Americans are looking for answers to their deepest questions outside the church. Churches across the country are struggling to define their purpose in this postmodern and increasingly secular age. Many are de-emphasizing the Gospel and emphasizing social issues. Others are attracting crowds with self-help messages. And some are swimming with the cultural current, embracing doubt itself as a narrative.

The problem today is that the “good news” is often replaced with good advice and good causes. Churches that should be talking about the work of Christ on the cross and the grace of God for sinners are stuck on recycled pop psychology, moral exhortation, or entertainment. But these fail to speak to the eternal question that haunts all of us: How do I know that I’m OK? We all want to know we are justified.

And for the billions of Christians around the world, the most important approval we need – really the only one that matters – is God’s approval.

The theological word for this is justification. Justification is God’s declaration that we, though guilty sinners, are righteous in God’s eyes.

Heated Debate Over An Old Issue

Five hundred years ago, Martin Luther‘s view on justification – we are saved by faith alone, apart from meritorious works – divided Europe, started a century of conflict, and became the heartbeat of the Protestant Reformation. A decade ago, Lutherans and Roman Catholics signed a landmark agreement that some hoped would put the issue to rest.

It didn’t. Today, the controversy over how we get right with God is as tempestuous as ever – and much of the dispute is within Protestant circles. Thankfully, no lives have been threatened this time around. But just about everything else has been. The debate over justification has spilled over into churches, schools, campus ministries, conferences, and personal relationships.

Take a casual stroll around a Christian bookstore, not to mention the hotheaded blogosphere, and you’ll find Christians passionately divided over justification. Two leading figures, John Piper of Bethlehem Baptist Church in Minneapolis and N.T. Wright, the Bishop of Durham in the Church of England, have written books criticizing each other’s views.

The Stakes Couldn’t Be Higher

All of this may seem like petty squabbling over a trivial issue, but Protestant consensus on justification should matter to everyone.

Christians should care because it is ultimately a matter of life and death. Others should care because it’s a doctrine that defines – or at least should define – the core belief of 600 million people globally, shaping how they engage with the world around them. As justification goes, so goes the church. A muddied view of justification could muddy the Protestant fountainhead, limiting its effort to quench the thirst for acceptance that we all feel deep down.

For Martin Luther, the father of the Reformation, justification was an intensely personal question. As a monk and devout Catholic, Luther had tried everything to assuage his guilt and get right with God. But he was still tormented by feelings of unworthiness and terrified by God’s righteous wrath.

Until he understood that the righteous shall live by faith (Rom. 1:16-17).

Like millions of Christians after him, Luther took solace in the good news that if we believe in Jesus Christ, God will count our faith as righteousness. We are not declared innocent and righteous in God’s sight by works, not even by our best moral efforts. We are justified by faith alone.

Faith Alone?

Of all the points of contention between the early Reformers and the Catholic Church, disagreement over justification was sharpest. Luther himself said that it was “the doctrine by which the Church stands or falls.” The crux of the debate was this: What, if any, role do our own actions play in being justified?

The Reformers saw in the Bible that we are justified by faith alone. The Catholic Church has always acknowledged that the Christian was saved by faith; it was the alone part Catholics questioned. Do not works play some role in our justification? they asked.

Of course, Protestants insist on good works, too. But these works serve as corroborating evidence, not as any ground for our justification. Indeed, that’s what the controversial second chapter of the New Testament book of James is saying: Works are how we “see” in others the kind of genuine faith that underlies justification. The gospel says, “believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved,” not “believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and cooperate with transforming grace and you shall be saved.” Yet the 16th century Council of Trent condemns those who believe in justification by faith alone.

New Perspective, New Confusion

The 1999 Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification – signed by Catholics, Lutherans, and later by Methodists – thawed this historical ice in some quarters, but most Catholics and Protestant theologians still don’t agree on justification. More recently, a number of respected Protestant scholars such as E.P. Sanders, James Dunn, and N.T. Wright have argued for a “New Perspective on Paul.”

They maintain that Luther read too much of his own personal angst into Paul’s epistles. The faith versus works debate was about ethnic boundary markers, not attempts to merit God’s favor. Justification, therefore, is not so much about how we get saved as it is about how we know who belongs to the people of God. They say we’ve gotten Paul, and justification, terribly wrong. Justification, contra Luther, is based on the whole life lived and has nothing to do with having God’s righteousness.

Even some Evangelicals have questioned whether it’s right to speak of Christ’s righteousness being counted for the believer’s righteousness. There’s some evidence that the New Perspective is leading Evangelicals closer to a Catholic understanding of salvation – one that bases our final justification, in part, on what we do.

At the heart of the Protestant faith is the conviction that there is nothing we contribute to our salvation but our sin, no merit we bring but Christ’s, and nothing necessary for justification except faith alone.

The Center of My Ministry

As a pastor in a Protestant church, my whole ministry centers on the conviction that by grace we are saved through faith. And it’s not our faith that delivers us, as if believing something, anything at all were pleasing to God. It’s the object of our faith – Christ’s life, death, and resurrection – that saves us.

The doctrine of justification is not an esoteric wrangling about words to the people in my congregation. Justification by faith alone in Christ alone by grace alone means we can have confidence before God. There’s no need to figure out venial versus mortal sins. There’s no purgatory for remaining imperfections because God looks on his people and sees them clothed in the “Lord our righteousness” (Jer. 23:6; Zech. 3:1-5).

Justification means I don’t have to find the god within because I have already been declared innocent by the God without. It means an end to all my futile attempts at self-justification, whether by politics, parenting, or preaching. Justification means I can sleep soundly at night, whether I wake up in the morning or not, knowing that God is for me and not against me.

The Church At Its Best

Much of the impotence of American churches is tied to a profound ignorance and apathy about justification. Our people live in a fog of guilt. Or just as bad, they think being a better person is all God requires. Even a cursory look at church history in the past few hundred years shows that the church is at its best and most vibrant when justification through faith alone is heard from her pulpits and clearly articulated by her most prominent spokesmen.

After so much time and so many controversies, there are still plenty of Protestants – be they Lutheran, Presbyterian, Baptist, Anglican, or Pentecostal – who still believe justification is the doctrine on which the church stands or falls. I guess I’m one of them.

The Holy Mountain

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 04:00:00 GMT

The first mention of the new heavens and new earth in the Bible is found in the book of Isaiah, chapter 65. It gives a sweetly glorious picture of what is to come.For behold, I create new heavens and a new earth, and the former things shall not be remembered or come into mind. The ways of this world, with its sin and suffering, will be forgotten. You will never think of the affair you had, the abortion you had, the pornography you saw, the gossip you spread, the drugs you took, the pain you caused. You won’t think of it. The pain of your divorce, the crushing disappointment that your marriage was marred with disease, the unbearable agony of waiting each month wanting to be pregnant, the feeling of non-stop aching in your joints because of arthritis, the unspeakable sadness you felt when you lost a child or watched him walk away from the Lord, the nights you couldn’t sleep because of anxiety, the dark days that seemed to never end–you won’t remember any of it. It won’t come to your mind.

But be glad and rejoice forever in that which I create; for behold, I create Jerusalem to be a joy, and her people to be a gladness. I will rejoice in Jerusalem and be glad in my people; no more shall be heard in it the sound of weeping and the cry of distress. In the new heaven and new earth you will never hear a moan or a groan or an ouch. You will hear no weeping, no sighs of exhaustion or desperation. You will only hear gladness–laughter, singing, whistling, music, the sound of a buzzing party with your friends, the high-pitched excitement of a feast that is finally under way. And besides all this, God will rejoice and be glad in his people. God will delight in his finished work of consummation. He will rejoice in his image reflected in millions of his children. He will be glad to have you around and will thrill to hear songs sung in his honor without ceasing.

No more shall there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not fill out his days, for the young man shall die a hundred years old, and the sinner a hundred years old shall be accursed. This doesn’t mean there will be death in heaven (Isaiah 25:8 says death will be swallowed up forever). Isaiah is simply grasping for some human analogy to describe what this new world will be like. In the new heaven and new earth you will not need to fear old age. There will be no cancer cells, no MS, no car accidents, no SIDS, no miscarriages, no ALS, no Trisomy 18. You won’t have to get blood tests, or chemo, or worry what the CAT scan will say. Death shall be swallowed up in victory.

The wolf and the lamb shall graze together; the lion shall eat straw like the ox, and dust shall be the serpent’s food. They shall not hurt or destroy in all my holy mountain, says the Lord. There will be no predators, no thieves, no bullies. Nations will not make threats of nuclear strikes. Children will not be subject to exploitation. Women will not be sold as sex slaves. AIDS will not ravage entire countries. Hunger will not pain any belly. Poverty will not cripple families. Men will not hit women or leave their children fatherless. Women will not belittle men and children will not reject their parents. There will be no animosity between siblings, no hurt feelings between friends, no awkward moments between those who used to be close, no harsh words, no slanderous accusations, no misunderstandings, no broken hearts, no unfulfilled expectations, no shattered dreams, no disappointment, nothing that hurts shall ever be felt again.

And best of all, Jesus will be there. We will be able to see him, touch him, talk with him, ask him anything, learn from him, and most of all worship him. We will love to praise him and laud him. We will love to sing with brothers and sisters in a thousand different languages. We will love to hear him say “Well done, good and faithful servant.” And we will love to shout as a great multitude, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.” And we will hear a voice from the throne say at the consummation of all things, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God.”

In memory of Don Hageman, who glorified God in his life and in his death. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints” (Ps. 116:15).

Pastoral Prayer from September 14, 2025

Sun, 14 Sep 2025 13:15:28 GMT

Our father in heaven. Our good, gracious, loving, strong, tender, fierce, merciful, avenging, ever blessed Father, we come to you in the name of Jesus Christ, your son, our Lord. We pray that you would hear us for Jesus’s sake as we think of the news in our city and our country from these past weeks, there are many reasons to grieve, to cry out for justice.

We think of the shooting at Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis three weeks ago, the brutal murder of Iryna Zarutska right here in our city last month, and the assassination of Charlie Kirk in Utah on Wednesday. O Lord, bring comfort to the grieving, strength to the weary, hope to those who are this morning in despair.

Look upon the Ukrainian population in our midst, even in this church, as they may bear a special sadness. Wipe away their tears. We pray again, you might heal their war-torn land. Lead many to Christ. We pray this morning for Erika Kirk and her two children. No one should be a widow so young. We thank you for the many times her husband bore witness to Christ and even her testimony, as she shared over the weekend, boldly, gladly, kindly, courageously.

We thank you that she continues to point people to Jesus as this world’s only true hope, knowing that the Lord Jesus suffered the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God. As we look at the evil in our world, we find ourselves saying with the psalmist, “oh Lord, how many are my foes? Many are rising against me.”

And then we say also with the psalmist, “but you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head. The nations may rage, the peoples may plot, the wicked may take counsel together. But he who sits in heaven laughs. You, O Lord, hold them in derision.” You tell us. “Kiss the son, lest he be angry, and you perish in the way. For his wrath is quickly kindled.” Blessed are all those who take refuge in you. We pray, oh Lord, that the civil magistrate, as Romans 13 teaches, might be a defense for those who do good and bear the sword against those who do evil. And even as we pray for justice, we are also mindful of Proverbs 24 “do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let your heart be glad when he stumbles, lest the Lord see it, and be displeased, and turn away his anger from him.”

O Lord, we ask humbly, boldly, that you might do a great work in our midst. Many have wondered if you might be stirring once again in the West, perhaps ready to send awakening, ready to fill your churches, ready to quench a thirst with the water of life, when so many are realizing they have been drinking from foul and broken cisterns.

Do a mighty work in our day, O Lord, not simply for the good of this country, though we pray that you might bless America, that you might treat us not as our sins deserve, but we ultimately pray for the fame of your name. We shudder to remember that righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a disgrace to any people.

We give thanks for the many freedoms—the blessings we have enjoyed in this country. We ask that you would protect the rights of conscience, freedom of speech, freedom of worship, freedom to pursue life, liberty and happiness and forgive us as a nation when we have turned that liberty into license. Give us truth. Give us grace as we relate to friends and family, to coworkers who do not know the truth of your word or know it, and do not submit to it. Oh Lord, though we are rightly angry when your laws are disobeyed and your commandments are disregarded, yet may we in our anger sin not.

We pray that you would set them free from the snare of the devil like the stew in Elisha’s day. May the many in our land have eyes to see that what the world is offering them is death in the pot, death in the pot. Give them life that is truly life. Lead us not into temptation. Keep us in the love of God.

Make us like oaks of righteousness, strong, sturdy, bearing fruit, and remind us, O Lord, that we do not wrestle ultimately against flesh and blood, but against powers and principalities. And they would love to turn us against one another. They would love to turn our eyes off of Christ. They would love to turn us to hate our enemies. But we follow the Lord Jesus who carried his cross, who did not revile when reviled.

And so may we never fight a spiritual battle in worldly ways. And even as we pray as we should for this earthly country, we ask that you would set our minds and our hearts on our heavenly home. For we have been reminded once again. We confess, we often forget that here we have no lasting city. We pray in the strong name of Jesus Christ, our present and coming King.

And we ask, even so, come, Lord Jesus, come quickly, we pray. Amen.

“That’s Just Your Interpretation”

Fri, 19 Sep 2025 14:16:24 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/thats-just-your-interpretation/id1526483896?i=1000607663261

One of the benefits of getting older is that you become even less impressed with recycled bad arguments.

Fifteen years ago when people were still talking about the Emergent Church, I participated in a panel discussion about the pros and cons of the movement. After a riveting panel in front of 50 people, in a cavernous hall that had room for more than 500, a visibly upset man accosted me, frustrated with how I used Scripture to critique the Emergent Church.

He didn’t try to argue with any particular comment I made, including my references to the Bible. Instead, he argued with me that everything I said was only my interpretation of the Bible. I tried to show him that Jesus taught as if there was a discernible meaning in Scripture that could be known, agreed upon, and meaningfully communicated. He replied that this was only my interpretation. I tried to belabor the point that the men in the Bible didn’t speak or write as if they only had an interpretation of the Bible. He said this line of reasoning was also just my interpretation.

Needless to say, we both walked away from our exchange more frustrated than enlightened.

The debate about interpretation is an old one. During the Reformation, Protestants and Catholics weren’t (then) divided over the total trustworthiness of Scripture. They were divided over the clarity and authority of Scripture. The doctrine of perspicuity—which, for a word meaning “clarity” isn’t all that clear—is sometimes maligned as a magical assertion that everything in the Bible is easy to understand. But the doctrine is more sophisticated than that.

The Westminster Confession of Faith gives a classic definition when it admits that “[a]ll things in Scripture are not alike plain in themselves, nor alike clear unto all,” yet the things that are necessary for salvation “are so clearly propounded, and opened in some place of Scripture” that even the unlearned—“in a due use of the ordinary means”—can gain a sufficient understanding of them (WCF 1.7).

In our day, that debate is not a technical theological controversy about popes, councils, and the magisterium. But the question is just as important because an implicit denial of the clarity of Scripture goes hand in hand with the diminishment of the study of Scripture.

When someone says “That’s just your interpretation,” or when critics slander conservative Christians as believing not just in the infallibility of the Bible but in the infallibility of their interpretation of the Bible, the next step is almost never to strive for a supposedly better interpretation. The critics don’t mean to dive deeper into the text so as to determine what the Bible teaches. The charge of “just your interpretation” has the opposite effect; it short-circuits the interpretative process altogether.

This is a rhetorical strategy that marginalizes traditional and orthodox doctrine, not by proving that the doctrine is wrong but by making the rather mundane observation (masquerading as profundity) that some people don’t agree with the doctrine. Why go to the hard exegetical, historical, and theological work of debating women’s ordination or gay (so-called) marriage if you can sidestep the debate by labeling the church’s long-held position as “just your interpretation”?

Besides being intellectually lazy, the charge of “just your interpretation” is also self-defeating, because, of course, the critics believe they have arrived at a very good interpretation of how to understand conservative Christians. More than that, at some point, everyone thinks the Bible is clear about some things. I’ve read theologians argue strenuously against the clarity of Scripture, only for those same theologians to later assert that obviously the Bible is clear about the message of the kingdom, or about God’s preference for the poor, or about God’s heart of love for the outcast. Perspicuity for me, not for thee?

The reality is that “interpretations” are what we have in every area of intellectual inquiry. The problem of pervasive interpretation pluralism is not an evangelical problem. It is a human problem. Do we really think historians, economists, sociologists, and scientists don’t disagree on how to interpret matters in their field? And do we think they aren’t confident that their conclusions are much more sure than mere “interpretations”? If we are going to give up on reading texts and reaching firm conclusions, we won’t just marginalize the Bible; we will render the entire exercise of human reason fruitless and irrelevant.

The Bible has always been subject to different interpretations. Peter acknowledged that some things Paul wrote were “hard to understand” and that “the ignorant and unstable twist them to their own destruction, as they do the other Scriptures” (2 Peter 3:16). The task of preachers, theologians, and ordinary Christians “in due use of the ordinary means” has been to determine the true meaning of the text.

As Augustine put it, “What difficulty is it for me when these words can be interpreted in various ways, provided only that the interpretations are true?” The prophets and the apostles, the early Fathers and the Reformers all assumed that the Bible could be correctly understood and applied. We dare to affirm the same.

One of the great challenges for biblical inerrantists in our day is not only to show that what we believe is right, but to defend the very right to be right.

“An Enquiry” (Missionary Legacy Edition) Foreword

Tue, 09 Sep 2025 12:48:01 GMT

William Carey was born August 17, 1761 in Paulerspury, England, a small village in Northamptonshire. Even today the village isn’t much more than a thousand people. But it was into this tiny hamlet that Carey was born—the man who would help launch the modern missionary movement and the man who exhorted his fellow Christians with the now famous words: “Expect great things from God; attempt great things for God.”

For much of his life, it did not seem that Carey was destined for great things. William’s father was a weaver, and William’s first job was in shoemaking. William was not rich. He did not have formal schooling past age twelve. He did not come from a well-connected or well-known family. As an adult, he was only 5’4” (unusually short even for his day) and bald. William Carey did not look the part of a man who would change the world.

At 18, he left the Anglican fold and joined a Dissenting church (i.e., not a part of the state church of England). Carey became a Baptist. Not long after, in 1781, he married Dorothy “Dolly” Plackett. By the next year Carey began preaching every other week, splitting his time as a cobbler and as a pastor. In 1785 he was turned down for ordination, but the church allowed him to continue preaching on a trial basis as he honed his skills. It took him two more years to be officially ordained. In 1789 he assumed the pastorate at a Baptist church in Leicester.

A Continuing Commission

Carey was a Calvinist, believing in unconditional election and in the need for the sovereign grace of God if sinners were to be converted. Carey also possessed indefatigable zeal for the un- converted. He couldn’t understand why the church’s attitude toward the heathen was so passive. In 1786 he began publicly advocating for a missionary society. When Carey proposed the idea at a gathering of his Particular (i.e., Calvinistic) Baptist col- leagues, one minister is reported to have said, “Young man, sit down. You are an enthusiast. When God pleases to convert the heathen, he’ll do it without consulting you or me.” Carey was living among hyper-Calvinists.

The rebuke prompted Carey to study the matter more closely and put his thoughts on paper. The result was a modestly-sized book published first in 1792 and republished in this volume. Though the book was relatively small, the title was not: An Enquiry into the obligations of Christians to use means for the conversion of the heathens. In which the religious state of the different nations of the world, the success of former undertakings, and the practicability of further undertakings, are considered, by William Carey. There is nothing fancy about Carey’s book. There are pages of tables about the size of various nations, how many people live there, and what religion they practice. What made the tract influential was not the data but the basic message: We are commanded to go into all the world and preach the gospel. The whole world hasn’t heard the gospel. So why isn’t anyone going?

Carey’s central theological argument was that the Great Commission is still binding. True, there may be some sense in which the gospel went out into all the world during the time of the apostles (Romans 10:18; Colossians 1:23), but the expansive success of the gospel in the first century does not render the Great Commission null and void. Carey insisted that the Great Commission was still the church’s commission. If teaching all nations was restricted to a certain era, Carey reasoned, then so was baptizing (yet the church still baptizes). If the Great Commission is no longer operative, then all those who had gone to the heathen before did so without warrant. If the commands of Matthew 28 were limited to apostles, then why did Jesus promise to be with them to the very end of the age?

Particularly compelling is Carey’s response to the familiar retort—common in his day and in ours—that we can fulfill the call of “missions” by simply attending to the spiritual needs in our own neighborhoods. On this point, it is worth quoting Carey at length:

It has been objected that there are multitudes in our own nation, and within our immediate spheres of action, who are as ignorant as the South Sea savages, and that therefore we have work enough at home without going into other countries. That there are thousands in our own land as far from God as possible, I readily grant, and that this ought to excite us to ten-fold diligence in our work and in attempts to spread divine knowledge amongst them is a certain fact; but that it ought to supersede all attempts to spread the gospel in foreign parts seems to want proof. Our own countrymen have the means of grace and may attend on the word preached if they choose it. They have the means of knowing the truth, and faithful ministers are placed in almost every part of the land, whose spheres of action might be much extended if their congregations were but more hearty and active in the cause. But with them the case is widely different, who have no Bible, no written language (which many of them have not), no ministers, no good civil government, nor any of those advantages which we have. Pity, therefore, humanity, and much more Christianity, call loudly for every possible exertion to introduce the gospel amongst them.

Carey’s reply anticipates the now familiar distinction between the “reached” and the “unreached.” By all means, Carey says, we ought to labor hard in our own lands. But if our neighbors—in “Christian” lands—need our help, how much more do those persons around the world with no or little access to the Bible, to the church, or even to the blessings of civilization, need gospel workers among them.

A One-Way Ticket to India

By the end of 1792, the Baptist Missionary Society was formed. In June of the next year, Carey and his family left for India as the society’s first missionaries. On November 11, 1793, Carey landed on India’s east coast in Calcutta. Carey spent 41 years in India and never returned to England.

The British colonial government in India was not welcoming of missionaries, and the powerful East India Company looked down on their arrival even more. While in British controlled cities like Calcutta, Carey was constantly in danger of hostility or deportation. By 1800, he had moved 16 miles north to the Danish colony of Serampore. There he joined two other English missionaries, Joshua Marshman and William Ward. Together, Carey, Marshman, and Ward became the famous Serampore Trio. Before long, Carey baptized his first Indian convert, Krishna Chandra Pal.

The work of the Serampore Trio was multifaceted. They started educational institutions–boarding schools at first (for both boys and girls, in separate schools), and then Serampore College in 1819. The college, which opened with 37 students (19 Christians and 18 non-Christians) offered instruction in Sanskrit, Arabic, and English. In 1826, Marshman met with the King of Denmark and secured a royal charter for the college, making it the first degree-granting institution in Asia.

The Trio also worked to abolish the practice of Sati whereby widows were expected to burn themselves to death on their husband’s funeral pyre.

Crucially, over many years they labored extensively in Bible translation, completing six translations of the whole Bible, along with 23 New Testaments, and portions of the Bible in ten other languages. Carey himself translated the Bible into Bengali, Sanskrit, and Marathi.

A Human Hero

We are right to consider Carey a hero of the faith, but he was also a real, and sometimes flawed, human being. Carey often struggled with feelings of isolation and loneliness. He was deeply aware of pride in his heart, and often commented that he felt his heart to be dead and lifeless.

Most painfully, Carey did not have a close relationship with his first wife and was not as sensitive to her fears and desires as he should have been. Dorothy lived a difficult life. She was five years older than Carey and always seemed to be pregnant, in poor health, or both at the same time. She was strongly opposed to the missionary venture that Carey was so passionately committed to. Dorothy was seasick most of the trip to India. Once in Calcutta, she got dysentery and her sister (and traveling companion) died. Later, their five-year-old son, Peter, died, plunging Dorothy into deep despair.

Dorothy was never happy in India. At times she expressed profound anger, almost to the point of violence, toward her husband. She suffered from ill treatments of the day. After being diagnosed with paranoia, her doctor recommended another pregnancy to snap her out of her delusion. From time to time, she would be confined to her room with only the children allowed to see her. She died December 8, 1807, possibly poisoned by the mercury which was often used to treat dysentery.

Six months later, Carey married Lady Charlotte von Rumohr. She was the daughter of a Danish count, fluent in several languages, and extremely wealthy. The marriage was a scandal. But Charlotte proved well-suited for missionary work and spent 13 happy years with William until she died in 1821.

In 1823, Carey married his third wife, Grace Hughes. When Carey died, he left his library to Grace, but he asked to be buried next to his second wife, Charlotte.

An Inspiration for Many

Carey’s accomplishments are hard to fathom. He was an accomplished gardener, discovering three varieties of eucalyptus. He founded the Agri-Horticultural Society in India 30 years before the Royal Agricultural Society was established in England. He published the first books on science and natural history in India. He helped develop indigenous paper production, and is considered by some to be the father of modern printing and publishing in India. Carey established the first newspaper printed in an oriental language. He introduced savings banks, lending libraries, and the study of astronomy. He worked for the humane treatment of lepers. He taught linguistics and published Sanskrit editions of Indian classics. About the time the United States was celebrating a postage stamp in honor of Elvis, India issued a stamp commemorating the work of William Carey.

Most importantly, Carey was a church planter. Although he saw only a few converts in his lifetime, he was able to establish an indigenous church. Even though this work was small, Carey’s influence was great. His contribution was to thrust the English-speaking world into the work of global missions. One missiologist has estimated that from the time of William Carey to the 1960s, four out of every five Protestant missionaries came from the English-speaking world.

For good reason, then, Carey has been hailed as the father of the modern missions movement. This is certainly true for English-speaking Protestants. From Henry Martyn in India, to Robert Morrison in Canton Province, to Hudson Taylor in inland China, to Adoniram Judson in Burma, to Samuel Zwemer in Arabia and Egypt, dozens and hundreds (if not thousands) of missionaries have been inspired by Carey to “expect great things from God” and “attempt great things from God.” This fact alone makes Carey worth remembering and his missionary tract worth reading.

Given Carey’s heroic efforts for the spread of the gospel, it is fitting that his epitaph highlights the grace of God for sinners. His tombstone reads: “William Carey, D.D.; Born: 17 August 1761; Died: 9 June 1834; A wretched poor and helpless worm on thy kind arms I fall.”

Order a copy of Carey’s An Enquiry from our friends at Westminster Bookstore.

Fuel for our Faithfulness

Mon, 08 Sep 2025 08:09:56 GMT

The word of God does not return empty or void but it waters and returns accomplishing its purposes (Isaiah 55).

We do not know when God’s purposes will be accomplished. We do not know if God’s purpose is to harden the heart or to soften it. But we ought to have absolute confidence that our work in the word is never in vain. No faithful sermon, no Bible study, no time of prayer in the word with your children, no memorizing of scripture, no ministry of the word is in vain.

Why should missionaries continue to labor in the hardest parts of the world with limited success or no success at all? Because they are confident that God has a people for himself from every tribe and language and tongue and nation, and so they stay.

Divine sovereignty—of the strong Reformed type—is one of God’s great motivators for missions. Paul says he endures all for the sake of the elect (2 Timothy 2:10). John Newton wrote a letter to Reverend Thomas Jones stating, “If I were not a Calvinist, I think I should have no more hope of success in preaching to men than in preaching to horses or cows.” Divine sovereignty should not make us lazy. It should make us long suffering.

One of the most common objections to the doctrine of election is that if it is true that God chooses who will be saved then there is not much point in working hard to get the gospel out. But this human logic is just the opposite of biblical logic which says: if God has not chosen some to believe, then why bother speaking? Divine sovereignty in salvation is precisely the reason to keep on speaking—because God has chosen some; because God is sovereign; because God has elected; because some will believe. As Spurgeon noted, we don’t know who the elect are until they believe, so we’d better keep sharing the gospel, in hope and in confidence that those appointed for eternal life will believe (Acts 13:48).

God’s sovereignty is fuel for our faithfulness–not a deterrent to hard work and sacrifice, but the best motivation for it. As Luther said, reflecting on his labors for reformation: “I did nothing. The word did all the work.”

In Bondage and Incapable

Wed, 20 Aug 2025 12:52:13 GMT

Ephesians 2

And you were dead in the trespasses and sins . . . (Eph. 2:1)

Pelagius (360–418) was a British monk famous in his day for his piety and austerity. For most Christians ever since, however, Pelagius has been infamous for his theology. Pelagius taught that humans must have the ability to overcome their sin. “How can we be blamed for sins we are powerless to resist?” Pelagius thought. He did not believe in inherited guilt and depravity. In particular, Pelagius opposed this phrase from Augustine’s Confessions: “Grant what you command, and command what you will.” He thought Augustine’s view of human inability made man too passive and undermined human responsibility.

Throughout the controversy with Pelagius, Augustine proved himself to be the church’s champion of sovereign grace. The fallen human will, Augustine taught, is in bondage to sin, utterly incapable of choosing the good. We can only be saved by grace. More than that, we can only accept God’s grace by the regenerating power of grace itself.

The familiar phrase many Christians use to describe the fallenness of man is “total depravity.” This is a fine phrase so long as we realize the “total” refers to the extent of our depravity (e.g., our will, our desires, our reason, all our faculties) and not the depth of our depravity (i.e., we are all as bad as we possibly can be). A better phrase might be “total inability” because it captures the helplessness (and hopelessness) of the human will apart from Christ.

Some Reformed theologians have made the distinction between natural inability and moral inability. Francis Turretin was not fond of the distinction, but his nephew and successor, Benedict Pictet, used the terms, as did John Witherspoon. The disciples of Jonathan Edwards took the distinction in a more liberalizing direction, sowing the seeds for a rosier view of the human will. But Pictet and Witherspoon used the distinction to underscore that the impotence of the sinner did not arise from a physical or natural defect, but from a depraved nature. They wanted to make clear that man had no excuse for his sin, since his sin was voluntary and moral.

The Canons of Dort provide the best succinct definition of total inability when it affirms that “all people are conceived in sin and are born children of wrath, unfit for any saving good, inclined to evil, dead in their sins, and slaves to sin; without the grace of the regenerating Holy Spirit they are neither willing nor able to return to God, to reform their distorted nature, or even to dispose themselves to such reform” (3/4.3). Such a low view of man does not sit well with many people in our age, but Dort’s teaching is abundantly biblical. We are dead in trespasses and sin (Eph. 2:1). The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit (1 Cor. 2:14). The mind of the flesh cannot submit to God’s law (Rom. 7:18, 24; 8:7). No one can come to Jesus unless the Father draws him (John 6:44; cf. 8:34; 15:4–5).

There is no escaping the conclusion that we are utterly powerless to save ourselves. Not only that, but we are powerless to truly reform ourselves. We must be born from above. We must be born of the Spirit (John 3:5). Left to ourselves we would reject Christ, just as his fellow Jews did (1:12). But we are not without hope, for we who were born in sin can be born again, “not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God” (1:13).

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Is Every Sin the Same in God’s Eyes?

Tue, 15 Mar 2022 14:57:00 GMT

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Many Christians hold to the mistaken notion that every sin is the same in God’s eyes. Some Christians embrace this conviction by way of a misguided theological calculation—“If every sin deserves eternal judgment, then every sin must be equally heinous.” Others promote the idea for apologetic reasons—“Your sins are no worse than anyone else’s sins.” Still others believe in the equality of every sin out of a genuine sense of humility—“Who am I to think that my sins are less vile than anyone else’s sins?” While each of these reasons is understandable, and in some sense commendable, the witness of Scripture and the testimony of the church’s confessions tell a different story.

The assumptions embedded throughout redemptive history make clear that some sins are worse than others. Consider several examples.

The Mosaic law prescribed different penalties for different infractions and required different sacrifices and payments to make restitution. The Mosaic law also distinguished between unintentional sins and high-handed sins (Num. 15:29-30). Sins of rank idolatry and willful rebellion were more serious indictments on the kings of Israel and Judah than was the sin of failing to remove the “high places” in the land. God’s anger was often specifically directed against the leaders of the people. That is, the sin of the king or the priests or the elders meant greater judgment than the sins of the laity. Jesus warned that cities in which he performed his miracles would be more severely judged than Sodom and Gomorrah (Matt. 10:15). Jesus considered Judas’s betrayal to be a sin worse than others (Matt. 26:24). God’s anger is especially roused when sins are against children, the weak, or the helpless (Jer. 32:35; Matt. 18:6; Luke 20:47). Excommunication seems to have been reserved for only the most flagrant sins (1 Cor. 5:1-13). Cornelius was considered a devout man who feared God (Acts 10:2). Though not saved by his good works, even among non-Christians there is a difference between being a decent person and being a dirty, rotten scoundrel. James teaches that there is a progression of sin: from tempting desires, to the internal nurture of those desires, to external action, to final death (James 1:14-15). According to John, there is a sin that leads to death, but not all sins are unto death (1 John 5:16).

The Bible simply doesn’t make sense—not the Mosaic law, not the exile, not church discipline, not the frequent warnings of judgment for certain transgressions—if all sins are equally vile in God’s eyes. In fact, life doesn’t make sense if every sin is the same. Parents do not discipline their children the same for every act of disobedience. Employers do not inflict the same punitive measures for every violation of company policy. Law enforcement officers do not treat every offense in the same way. Our judicial system does not hand down the same punishments for every infraction. We all know instinctively that some transgressions are worse than others.

As much as it shows admirable humility or apologetic concern, we must not act or teach as if every sin is the same in God’s eyes.

What we know to be true in ordinary life we must not forget in our spiritual lives. As much as it shows admirable humility or apologetic concern, we must not act or teach as if every sin is the same in God’s eyes.

A Little Help from the Larger Catechism

Here’s where the confessional documents of the church are so valuable. Take the Westminster Larger Catechism, for example, which makes clear that “All transgressions of the law of God are not equally heinous; but some sins in themselves, and by reason of several aggravations, are more heinous in the sight of God than others” (WLC 150). The Larger Catechism goes on to provide an extremely helpful analysis of what makes “some sins more heinous than others” (WLC 151). According to the Westminster Divines, sins receive their aggravations from four different categories. It’s worth looking at each one briefly.

From the persons offending: if they be of riper age, greater experience or grace, eminent for profession, gifts, place, office, guides to others, and whose example is likely to be followed by others.

This means that sins are worse when they come from pastors or parents or public figures, when they come from those with a platform (to use our language), when they come from those who teach and write books, and when they come from Christians who should (and do) know better.

From the parties offended: if immediately against God, his attributes, and worship; against Christ, and his grace; the Holy Spirit, his witness, and workings; against superiors, men of eminency, and such as we stand especially related and engaged unto; against any of the saints, particularly weak brethren, the souls of them, or any other, and the common good of all or many.

This means that sins are worse when they expressly blaspheme God or demean Christ and the gospel, when they reject the work of the Spirit in convicting of sin and revealing the truth, when they show disrespect to parents and persons in authority, when they ignore our weaker brothers and sisters, and when they lead many astray and have a poisonous effect in society at large.

From the nature and quality of the offense: if it be against the express letter of the law, break many commandments, contain in it many sins: if not only conceived in the heart, but breaks forth in words and actions, scandalize others, and admit of no reparation: if against means, mercies, judgments, light of nature, conviction of conscience, public or private admonition, censures of the church, civil punishments; and our prayers, purposes, promises, vows, covenants, and engagements to God or men: if done deliberately, willfully, presumptuously, impudently, boastingly, maliciously, frequently, obstinately, with delight, continuance, or relapsing after repentance.

This means that sins are worse when they deal with matters that are black or white instead of gray, when they break forth externally not just internally, when they are frequent, when they are celebrated, when they cannot be undone, when they are against nature, against conscience, and against the warnings of others.

From circumstances of time and place: if on the Lord’s Day, or other times of divine worship; or immediately before or after these, or other helps to prevent or remedy such miscarriages; if in public, or in the presence of others, who are thereby likely to be provoked or defiled.

This means that sins are worse when they take place in connection with the gathering of God’s people for worship, when they could have been avoided, and when they are committed in public so as to be well known to others.

Good for Us and for Others

If you’ve never studied WLC 151, the four categories above, not to mention the dozens of Scripture references I omitted, repay careful reading and meditation.

I can think of at least three benefits: public, pastoral, and personal.

When it comes to our public witness, we must have the courage to say that some sins are worse than others. Sins by pastors are worse than sins by parishioners. Sins by public figures with many followers are worse than sins by private individuals. And although all sexual sins are serious, we should not shrink back from teaching that sins against the light of nature—by which the Large Catechism means homosexuality (the sole reference is Romans 1:26-27)—are especially heinous, particularly when these sins are committed with delight and to the detriment of the common good.

Pastorally, distinguishing among various degrees of sin can help us apply the comfort and the warnings of Scripture more judiciously. Some of us are quick to pull the punch when the Bible would have us issue a stern warning, while others are ready to thunder judgment against our people for every offense. Likewise, when we learn to discern how “sins receive their aggravations,” we will have the proper categories to hold people responsible for the lesser sins even when others have sinned more grievously against them.

And finally, there are personal benefits to understanding the varieties of sins in the Bible. Too many Christians have flattened the moral contours of revelation such that we no longer distinguish between falling into sin and running headlong into sin. This means that some of us are too hard on ourselves (seeing no moral space between fallen temptations and flagrant disobedience), some of us are too easy on ourselves (believing our heinous sins to be little more than “struggles” or “mistakes”), and many of us give up striving after holiness because we will never completely leave sin behind in this life. The Bible points us in a different direction. Every sin deserves God’s wrath and curse (WLC 152), but not every sin is the same in God’s eyes.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Who Was St. Patrick?

Thu, 16 Mar 2023 17:45:55 GMT

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I’ve heard it said that representatives from Ireland have come over to America to see what we do for St. Patrick’s Day. It is a strange holiday on the American calendar, filled with shamrock shakes, green-dyed rivers, and lots (and lots) of drinking. I’ll leave it to the Irish to decide if we’ve captured the essence of their culture but we certainly haven’t captured the essence of St. Patrick.

As is the case with many saints and heroes from the early church, getting to the “historical Patrick” can be difficult. One reliable source, however, is Richard’s Fletcher’s excellent book, The Barbarian Conversion: From Paganism to Christianity (University of California Press, 1999). For a readable, scholarly treatment on the long, slow, amazing transition in Europe from paganism to Christianity there is no better book.

And what does Fletcher say about Patrick? First off, we need to know what Patrick did not do.

He did not expel snakes from Ireland: the snakelessness of Ireland had been noted by the Roman geographer Solinus in the third century. He did not compose that wonderful hymn known as ‘Saint Patrick’s Breastplate’: its language postdates him by about three centuries. He did not drive a chariot three times over his sister Lupait to punish her unchastity. . . He did not use the leaves of the shamrock to illustrate the Persons of the Trinity for his converts: true, he might have done so; but it is not until the seventeenth century that we are told that he did. (82)

Determining fact from fiction for Patrick is particularly tricky because his writings were not always passed along reliably, and because he wrote in remarkably poor Latin. With little formal education, Patrick did not handle Latin well. Fletcher says Patrick’s Latin is “simple, awkward, laborious, sometimes ambiguous, occasionally unintelligible” (83). Bad writing and bad sources have meant plenty of bad information about St. Patrick.

There is a broad consensus, however, on the basic outline of his life. Patrick—who lived his adult life in the 400s—was actually British, not Irish. He was born into a Christian family with priests and deacons for relatives, but by his own admission, he did not grow up a good Christian. As a teenager he was carried by Irish raiders into slavery in Ireland. His faith deepened during this six-year ordeal. Upon escaping Ireland, he went back home to Britain. While with his family, he received a dream in which God called him to return to Ireland to convert the pagans there to Christianity.

In his Confessio Patrick writes movingly about his burden to evangelize the Irish. He explicitly links his vocation to the commands of Scripture. Biblical allusions like “the nations will come to you from the ends of the earth” and “I have put you as a light among the nations” and “I shall make you fishers of men” flow from his pen. Seeing his life’s work through the lens of Matthew 28 and Acts 1, Patrick prayed that God would “never allow me to be separated from His people whom He has won in the end of the earth.” For Patrick, the end of the earth was Ireland.

Over decades, Patrick is reported to have made “many thousands of converts.” He evangelized in cities and in the countryside. He encouraged the monastic way of life, ordained priests, and planted churches. Patrick was also, to use Fletcher’s phrase, “soaked in the Bible.”

To be steeped in the Scriptures was not unheard of. What was new was Patrick’s understanding of the Bible’s missionary mandate. Patrick understood that God wanted the church to win the nations of the world for Christ. Fletcher argues that no one within western Christendom had been possessed by such convictions. As far as our evidence goes, Patrick was the first person in Christian history to take the scriptural injunctions literally; to grasp that teaching all nations meant teaching even barbarians who lived beyond the border of the frontiers of the Roman Empire. This is Patrick’s legacy: a pious and zealous desire to see the Great Commission fulfilled, even (or especially) the very same Irish who had once made him their slave.

Our culture may remember St. Patrick in goofy (and sometimes dangerous) ways, but it is good that we remember him. It’s unfortunate that the forefather of western missions is chiefly celebrated by drinking beer and dreaming of leprechauns, but at least he is celebrated. We don’t know much for certain about Patrick. But what we know of his ambition and ministry should be enough to make all of us a little green with (sanctified) envy.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Politics, the Church, and Getting Our Story Straight

Wed, 09 Aug 2023 15:43:35 GMT

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In the last several years, we have seen a resurgence of interest among Christians in political theology. On the whole, I believe this has been a good thing intellectually. I’m less certain this has been a good thing ecclesiastically.

We need smart, well-read Christians talking about natural law, the magisterial Reformers, Enlightenment philosophy, and American history. We need experts weighing in on the differences between classic liberalism, conservatism, libertarianism, progressivism, and post-liberalism. Having done my doctoral work on John Witherspoon, I am personally very interested in reading about Locke and the Founders, in analyzing the Declaration and the Constitution, and in examining what political principles we can glean from the Bible and from the wisdom of the church through the ages. More Christians reading deeply and thinking carefully about political theology is a welcome development.

Okay, you’re wondering, so where’s the “but”?

The “but” is about political theology that supplants the centrality of the church. This can happen by deliberate conviction (the political theology calls for it), but it can also happen by the sheer weight of interest in politics. The issue isn’t merely idolatry (“You are too concerned about politics!”). The bigger issue is when Christians—and pastors worst of all—make the church intellectually, affectionally, and teleologically subservient to the world of politics and nation-states, instead of the other way around.

A Little Help from the Larger Catechism

Let me get at this concern in a roundabout way by highlighting a great section from the Westminster Larger Catechism. Question 191 asks, “What do we pray for in the second petition [of the Lord’s Prayer]?” Here’s the answer:

In the second petition, (which is, Thy Kingdom come,) acknowledging ourselves and all mankind to be by nature under the dominion of sin and Satan, we pray that the kingdom of sin and Satan may be destroyed, the gospel propagated throughout the world, the Jews called, the fullness of the Gentiles brought in; the church furnished with all gospel officers and ordinances, purged from corruption, countenanced and maintained by the civil magistrates; that the ordinances of Christ may be purely dispensed, and made effectual to the converting of those that are yet in their sins, and the confirming, comforting, and building up those that are already converted: that Christ would rule in our hearts here, and hasten the time of his second coming, and our reigning with him for ever: and that he would be pleased so to exercise the kingdom of his power in all the world, as may best conduce to these ends.

Notice three things about this answer.

First, the Catechism understands “Thy Kingdom come” to be about sin, salvation, and the church. The Westminster divines do not understand the petition to be about general human flourishing or about national renewal. The focus of the prayer is on the propagation of the gospel, the conversion of the lost, the health of the church, the destruction of the devil, and the renovation of our hearts. More on this ecclesial focus in a moment.

Second, the Catechism is not unconcerned with the political realm. The middle of the answer expresses a hope that the church would be “countenanced and maintained by the civil magistrates.” The church never operates in a cultural or societal vacuum. The church’s work is made more difficult when the civil magistrates do not allow it to be established and to minister unmolested. That’s what is meant by “countenanced.”

As for the other verb, the word “maintained” likely implies state support for the church through the system of parish taxation that operated in England in the seventeenth century. I don’t believe that system is necessary, or, in a much larger and more pluralistic society, wise or feasible. I affirm the theological instincts evidenced in the Adopting Act of 1729 where American Presbyterians distanced themselves from the civil magistrate’s involvement in the church. At the same time, I do want the civil magistrate to maintain the rule of law and the free exercise of religion so that the church can flourish. Christians are right to be involved in these issues and concerned when the governing authorities are increasingly hostile to the church.

Third, even with a view of church and state that is more seventeenth century than eighteenth century (or twenty-first, for that matter), the Catechism’s prayer is still explicitly ecclesial in focus instead of political.

Theologians have often talked about the kingdom of God in three different ways. First, there is the regnum potentiae, the kingdom of power. This is the dominion of Jesus Christ over the universe, the providential and judicial administration of all things which Christ exercises by virtue of being the eternal Son of God. Second, we can speak of the regnum gratiae, the kingdom of grace. This refers to Christ’s reign over his saved people, the spiritual kingship which Christ exercises by virtue of being our Mediator and the head of the church. Finally, there is the regnum gloriae, the kingdom of glory. This is Christ’s dominion in the age to come. The kingdom of glory is the kingdom of grace made perfect and complete.

Now look at the phrase “kingdom of power” in the last line of the Catechism’s answer. We pray “that [Christ] would be pleased so to exercise the kingdom of his power in all the world, as may best conduce to these ends.” Notice the ecclesial logic. The “these ends” have to do with the proclamation of the gospel, the saving of the lost, and the edification of the saints. In other words, Christ rules over all things for the good of the church. The kingdom of power is subservient in purpose to the kingdom of grace (giving way to the kingdom of glory), not the other way around.

J. G. Vos makes this point powerfully in The Westminster Larger Catechism: A Commentary. First, he talks about what really destroys Satan’s kingdom:

Many people are deceived into thinking that the general progress of human civilization, general education and culture, science and invention, and economic and social progress and organization can restrain or destroy Satan’s kingdom. All these things can fit in with Satan’s kingdom as much as with God’s kingdom. Only the gospel of Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit, really destroys Satan’s kingdom. (551)

Several pages later, he comes back to the threefold distinction of the kingdom:

We pray for the extension and continuance of the kingdom of grace, the hastening of the kingdom of glory, and the success of the kingdom of power for its appointed ends. Note that the kingdom of power is not an end in itself, but a means to the furtherance of the kingdom of grace and the hastening of the kingdom of glory. (557)

To be sure, we will be salt and light in a dark and decaying world, but the prayer the Westminster divines would have us pray is for God to so rule over the world for the sake of the church.

Conclusion

Vos is exactly right (and the Larger Catechism before him). The kingdom story we are telling (or should be telling) is not the story of Christ saving his people so that they can transform the culture or reclaim a nation. Instead, the story is of Christ so ruling over the nations of the world that the church might be built up. The church is the thing, not because politics and magistrates and nations don’t matter, but because gospel preaching, gospel officers, gospel ordinances and the renovation of the heart matter more—and matter for eternity.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Giving Thanks for the Goodness of God

Wed, 15 Nov 2023 17:54:00 GMT

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One of the first things we learn about God is that he is good. “God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food.” Many of us grew up hearing this prayer at the dinner table. It’s good theology—simple and true.

It also highlights an attribute of God that is surprisingly hard to define. We think we know what it means for God to be good, until we try to explain it. Then we usually start listing other attributes (God is loving, God is gracious, God is kind) or resort to platitudes (God helps us). It takes some reflection to understand all that we mean—or should mean—when we confess that God is good.

Defining Our Terms

Before coming to a simple definition of what God’s goodness is, we must say what it is not.

By goodness we do not mean that God is relatively good. If we say, “That hotdog is good,” we mean, “Of all the hotdogs out there, this is one of the better ones.” This is not what God is like. God is not good because he compares favorably to other gods. There is none like the LORD; he alone is God (Ps. 86:8–10).

By goodness we do not mean that God is morally exemplary or ethically upright. Of course, that’s gloriously true. But “goodness” should not be confused with “holiness.”

Nor, by goodness, do we mean that God is merciful. We see in Exodus 33 that these two things—goodness and mercy—cannot be separated, but strictly speaking, God’s goodness extends further than his mercy. Mercy may be the ultimate expression of divine goodness, but it is not the only expression. God shows mercy to some, but his goodness extends to all.

So, what do we mean by God’s goodness? Divine goodness is the overflowing bounty of God by which he communicates blessing to his creation and to his creatures. God’s goodness is the opposite of harshness and cruelty. To experience divine goodness is to enjoy the sweetness, friendliness, benevolence, and generosity of God.

Goodness is the broader category encompassing several of God’s moral attributes. His goodness toward those in misery we call mercy. His goodness to forebear with those deserving judgment we call patience. And his goodness to those who are guilty we call grace.

Three Aspects of God’s Goodness

Theologians speak of God’s goodness as necessary, voluntary, and communicative.

God’s goodness is necessary in that God cannot be other than completely, perfectly, and unalterably good. Goodness is what God does, but it is also who he is. Good and upright is the LORD (Ps. 25:8). Good are you LORD, and you do good (Ps. 119:68). Jesus told the rich young man, “No one is good except God alone” (Mark 10:18). Of course, Jesus didn’t mean that human beings are incapable of doing good things or possessing relative goodness. Jesus meant that only God in himself is originally, infinitely, and immutably good. God is good in the highest degree. His goodness can never increase nor decrease. He is all good and unmixedly good. He is like the sun—all light in whom there is no darkness. That’s what we mean when we say God is necessarily good.

God’s goodness is also voluntary. This may seem to contradict the previous point, but it does not. God’s eternal and intrinsic goodness is necessary, but his will to make known this goodness to others is voluntary. In other words, it was necessary that whatever God would create would be good, but it was not necessary that God create in the first place. As Stephen Charnock puts it in The Existence and Attributes of God, “God is necessarily good in his nature, but free in his communications of it.” God did not have to go outside of himself to be good, nor did he have to create the universe in order to be conscious of his own Trinitarian goodness. The fact that God willed to display divine goodness is a further expression of that goodness.

This leads to the third point: God’s goodness is communicative. Whatever good we have or whatever good we enjoy is because God has willed for his goodness to be known and enjoyed. Every good and perfect gift comes from above, from the Father of lights (James 1:17). Food is good, marriage is good, friendship is good, health is good, peace is good, prosperity is good, work is good, recreation is good, rest is good—because God is good. He is a benevolent Creator, making his sun rise on the evil and on the good, sending rain on the just and on the unjust (Matt. 5:45). Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, every excellent thing is owing to the overflowing goodness of God (Phil 4:8). God communicates his goodness not with miserliness, but with great delight. God loves to make his goodness known. The supply of his goodness is inexhaustible, and the sharing of it knows no end.

Three Areas Where God Displays His Goodness

If the nature of God’s goodness is threefold, so is the manifestation of his goodness. We see the display of God’s goodness chiefly in three areas: in creation, in providence, and in redemption.

First, we see God’s goodness in creation.

Think of the constant refrain throughout the creation week: “And God saw that it was good.” We come to the climax of the sixth day, with the events of Genesis 2 already having taken place—with the creation of the man, and then the creation of the woman, fit for the man—and then we read: “God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good” (Gen. 1:31).

God was a benefactor to us long before we could offer any response of obedience or worship. “The earth is full of the goodness of the LORD” (Ps. 33:5, KJV). God gave us mountains and beaches, trees and flowers, the sun, the moon and the stars—all as a gift. God gave marriage and children as a gift. He crowned us with glory and honor, above all else in the world, as a gift.

Most of us grow dull to the wonder and the beauty God has provided for us in creation. Do you ever hear birds chirping? Or see leaves changing colors? Or flowers blooming? Maybe you watch deer from your front porch, or pigeons, or squirrels, or ants working their little abdomens off. Maybe you see roses or tulips or a brilliant dogwood. Even the wild lilies of the field are arrayed in greater splendor than Solomon (Matt. 6:28–29).

I love how G.K. Chesterton reminds us of the goodness of God in creation:

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we. The repetition in Nature may not be a mere recurrence; it may be a theatrical encore. (Orthodoxy, 58)

I remember several years ago watching one of my young children reach into a basket on the floor containing our collection of Nerf balls. He would lean over, pick up a ball, and throw it on the ground. Then I’d grab the ball and throw it back in the basket. My son would laugh and laugh, and then get the same ball and throw it back on the ground. We did this for a few minutes—out of the basket, in the basket—before I told my wife, “He would be happy doing this until Jesus comes back.” Children are the ones with the capacity for monotonous delight in the good gifts of creation. We are the ones whose eyesight has grown old and dim.

Second, we see God’s goodness in providence.

God not only creates the world, he sustains all that he has made. He preserves both man and beast (Ps. 36:6, KJV). He opens his hand to supply the desire of every living thing (Ps. 145:16). God has not left himself without a witness, Paul says, “for he did good by giving you rains from heaven and fruitful seasons, satisfying your hearts with food and gladness” (Acts 14:17). God cares for the wellbeing of animals (Ex. 20:10; cf. Jonah 4:11). He does not allow the ox to be muzzled while it treads out the grain (Deut. 25:4). He provides for the crying ravens (Ps. 147:9) and the hungry lion (Ps. 104:21). Mufasa and Simba and Nala do not eat on account of an impersonal Circle of Life. They eat because God gives them food.

And think of all the ways God provides beyond the world of nature. He gives us his Law that we might know how to obey him and how to live at peace with one another (1 Tim. 1:8). He institutes government for the protection of life and the promotion of justice (Rom. 13:1–4). He restrains human wickedness (Ps. 65:7). He gives us his word as a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our path (Ps. 119:105). He guides all our steps and works all things after the counsel of his will (Ps. 139:16; Prov. 16:33; 20:24; Jer. 10:23; Rom. 8:28; Eph. 1:11). The Lord is good to all, and God’s tender mercies are over all his works (Ps. 145:9).

Third, and most clearly, we see God’s goodness in redemption.

The Father promises our salvation from eternity, the Son seals our salvation in his blood, the Spirit applies the blessings of our salvation through faith—all evidence of God’s singular goodness to the believer. “For you, O LORD, are good and forgiving, abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you” (Ps. 86:5).

The God who had no need of creating the world had even less need of redeeming it. From the sin in the Garden of Eden to the idolatry of the Golden Calf to the evil of Golgotha, there was an utter lack of deserving on the part of God’s people. There was no inducement to help except for his own glory and goodness. And when he helped, God gave us better than worlds or wealth. He gave us his Son. And at such a cost! We could rightly say that during Christ’s humiliation (and supremely so on the cross) God’s goodness was more obviously manifested to us than to his own Son.

God has given us an embarrassment of riches in his Son. And he gives access to these riches by means of such an easy yoke (Matt. 11:30). He appeals to us not with a show of force but with heartfelt entreaties, wooing us by the kindness of Christ our Savior (Eph. 2:7; Titus 3:4). As Charnock puts it, “He is the true Father, that hath a quicker pace in meeting, than the prodigal hath in returning.” God runs to us faster than we run to him. That is the goodness of God.

Three Responses to God’s Goodness

Considering all that God’s goodness is and all that it does, what should our response be to such goodness?

One appropriate response is to ask God for more blessing. Let us run to God with our prayers. Remember the lesson of the persistent widow. “And he told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart” (Luke 18:1). If we who are evil know how to give good gifts to our children, how much more will our heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him (Luke 11:13). God delights to open his hand toward us (1 Pet. 5:7). Grab hold of him until he blesses you (Gen. 33:26).

A second response is to reflect God in blessing others. Let our hearts be large toward our fellow creatures, just as the Creator is generous toward us. Let us be especially gracious in showing goodness to our enemies, to those who hate us, misunderstand us, mistreat us, and tweet against us (Matt. 5:43-48). God did not disparage himself to treat us better than we deserved. It is surely not beneath us, then, to imitate God in showing kindness to those who do not deserve it. “If his hand and bowels [i.e., heart] be open to us,” Charnock says, “let ours not be shut to any.”

A third response is to meditate on God’s many blessings to us. By this I don’t mean a mere mental reflection on God’s goodness, though that would be worthwhile. By meditate, I mean: let the goodness of God shape every bit of who you are and how you see the world. A deliberate rumination on the goodness of God should make us humble, patient, and trusting. It should also make us thankful. “Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good” (Ps. 107:1; 118:1; 136:1). “Truly God is good to Israel, to those who are pure in heart” (Ps. 73:1). A God of inexhaustible bounty and blessing is a God who has given us every reason for gratitude. “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1 Thess. 5:18).

The goodness of God should stir us to grateful worship. For, in God, “infinite cheerfulness attends infinite goodness” (to quote Charnock one more time). “Who will show us some good?” the Psalmist asks. The answer is the Lord who shines the light of his face upon us. “You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound” (Ps. 4:6-7). The God of infinite cheerfulness and infinite goodness is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ and the heavenly Father of all those who call upon him in the name of his Son. Let us not doubt his benevolence. Let us, rather, be public in our praise and profuse in our gratitude. “Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good” (Ps. 34:8).

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

In Praise of Prudence: What the Cardinal Virtues Can Teach Us About the Splintering of Evangelicalism

Thu, 11 Jan 2024 10:00:00 GMT

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In 2021 I attempted an analysis of “Why Reformed Evangelicalism Has Splintered,” arguing that many of the old networks and alliances had fallen apart and that four new “teams” had emerged. I labeled these “teams” (or “impulses” or “instincts”) with four positive terms: (1) contrite, (2) compassionate, (3) careful, and (4) courageous. Each label indicates what that “team” considers to be the need of the hour. The 1s want the church to acknowledge its own sins and failures; the 2s want the church to deal lovingly and winsomely with others (especially with outsiders); the 3s want the church to be theologically rigorous and intellectually precise; the 4s want the church to be bold and aggressive in opposing the anti-Christian spirit of the age. While some of the specific cultural and political issues I highlighted have receded to the background, and others have come to the foreground, I think the analysis is still accurate.

The purpose of my 2021 article wasn’t to argue for a particular position. I wanted to describe each “team” in a way that they might recognize. As I said in the article,

Although I’m closer to 3 than to any other category, I’ve tried my best to label each group in a way that expresses the good that they are after. Most of us will read the list above and think, “I like all four words. At the right time, in the right place, in the right way, the church should be contrite, compassionate, careful, and courageous.”

Big picture categorizations lose their effectiveness if people sense you are setting up strawmen so that your “team” can win the day.

What I want to do in this article, now three years later, is let my affinity for the 3s show through and make the case for being careful. I’m not waving the banner for Team Careful because I think contrition, compassion, and courage are unimportant. I don’t mean to suggest that the 3s are all right and the 1s, 2s, and 4s are all wrong. In fact, I will insist that contrition, compassion, and courage are essential to faithful Christian witness. I do want to argue, however, that these three impulses will veer off track unless they are shaped and governed by theological, intellectual, and verbal carefulness. Carefulness is not more important than the rest, but it is the one category without which the other three categories will not be helpful and cannot be perfected.

Four Categories and Four Cardinal Virtues

At this point you may be wondering why the title of this article is “In Praise of Prudence” instead of “The Case for Being Careful.” The reason: I want to argue for carefulness by making an appeal to prudence, the latter being a richer and deeper category than the former.

About two years after I wrote the splintering article, I read Josef Pieper’s book on The Four Cardinal Virtues. In his classic treatment of the topic, Pieper (a distinguished twentieth-century German Catholic philosopher) draws from the Christian tradition, and from Thomas Aquinas in particular, in exploring the meaning and importance of prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. Sometime after finishing the book, it occurred to me that the four cardinal virtues map fairly well onto the four categories in my article. The mapping is not a perfect match (especially in two categories), but it’s close. The contrite position overlaps with temperance, compassion moves in the same direction as justice, carefulness is akin to prudence, and courage bears a close resemblance to fortitude.

Let’s look at each virtue in turn, saving prudence for the end. All quotations are from the University of Notre Dame English translation (1966) of Pieper’s book.

Temperance

One might think that “contrite” would match up with “justice,” given that those at the left end of the spectrum seem most concerned with “social justice” issues. But temperance is a better fit. When considering the virtue of temperance, don’t think of moderation or of mere emotional tranquility. Think more comprehensively of the right ordering of our inner lives. If prudence is directed toward existent reality, and justice to our fellow man, temperance “refers exclusively to the active man himself” (147). To be sure, temperance is often connected to sexual behavior and calls forth the duties of virginity and chastity. But temperance cannot be reduced to sexual ethics. At its core, temperance is about self-denial and selflessness. “Whatever forces of self-preservation, self-assertion, self-fulfillment, destroy the structure of man’s inner being, the discipline of temperance and the license of intemperance enter into play” (150).

The connection with contrition is that temperance insists upon humility, gentleness, and meekness—qualities that Team Contrite faults the church for lacking in spades. If I can preview an insight from prudence here, one of the problems with the 1s is that they are much quicker to enjoin their ideological opponents to be contrite than they are apt to lament the temptations and failings of their own class and their own networks. But that doesn’t mean their criticisms are entirely without merit. Christians do get intoxicated with power; churches do get mired in scandal. At its best, Team Contrite is calling the church to be the best version of itself, to be (in Pieper’s language) full of “chastity, continence, humility, gentleness, [and] mildness” and to drive out “unchastity, incontinence, pride, [and] uninhibited wrath” (151).

Justice

“Justice is the virtue which enables man to give to each one what is his due” (44). Drawing on Aquinas, Pieper stresses that justice has to do with debts, what someone owes to someone else (57). We are debtors to God, debtors to parents, debtors to our country (108). Justice is the highest of the three moral virtues (temperance, justice, fortitude) because what we do to others visibly reveals the invisible contours of the heart.

Linking Team Compassion to the virtue of justice may seem like a stretch. Compassion is usually thought of as being an expression of mercy, not of indebtedness. The connection is that compassion, like justice, focuses on our neighbors. Temperance and fortitude are directed toward the self; prudence is directed toward the reality of the outer world; of the cardinal virtues, only justice is directed toward others (54). The compassion instinct often leads to explicit concerns over injustice. If the 1s are likely to rebuke the church for injustice, the 2s are more likely to call for sympathy and lament. The other-directed instinct also prompts Team Compassion to think about how unpopular biblical truths can be presented in ways that are most palatable, especially for those who are well-educated and anti-religious.

Fortitude

When looking at the four cardinal virtues and my four splintering categories, fortitude and courage have the most obvious overlap. Fortitude is a readiness to fall—to die if necessary—in battle (117). The courageous person accepts insecurity; he is willing to take risks for what is right. The goal is not to suffer injury for its own sake. Martyrs in the early church were forbidden from reporting themselves to the magistrates. One can be too ready to fall in battle. Bravery is a means to an end. Fortitude is virtuous not because it is willing to destroy the enemy, but because it means to preserve, acquire, or defend “a deeper, more essential intactness” (119).

This is an important point. When we think of courage or bravery, we usually think of charging into battle to fight against the bad guys, no matter the odds and no matter the cost. To be sure, this can be an expression of fortitude. But just as often, courage means pressing on in quiet consistency when no one is looking. “Endurance is more of the essence of fortitude than attack” (128). Far from passive resignation, endurance represents a strong activity of the soul, a vigorous clinging to what is good. Fortitude will not allow for a timid Christianity, but neither does it demand an existence that is “activistically heroic” (128).

Prudence

To our ears, prudence seems a rather lame virtue. I can’t help but think of Dana Carvey’s impression of George H. W. Bush saying in a wimpy, nasally twang, “Wouldn’t be prudent.” Fortitude and justice sound strong; prudence sounds like a weak refusal to take any risks. Prudence “carries the connotation of timorous, small-minded, self-preservation, of a rather selfish concern about oneself” (4). Just as “carefulness” can appear to be the least noble of my four categories, prudence strikes us as a cautious, calculating, evasive pseudo-virtue.

But this kind of cynical squint misses what prudence is about and why it is so centrally important. The prudent person is not a mere tactician or proceduralist. The prudent man possesses an accurate assessment of the world around him. “Prudence implies the kind of objectivity that lets itself be determined by reality, by insight into the facts. He is prudent who can listen in silence, who can take advice so as to gain a more precise, clear, and complete knowledge of the facts” (92). To be prudent is to be committed to reality before feeling, to reason before experience, and to truth before action.

The Mold and Mother of Virtue

There is no single cardinal virtue that is more important than the others. All four stand or fall together. But if there is no ranking in terms of importance, there is a ranking in terms of logical priority. And in this ranking, prudence comes first. “No dictum of traditional Christian doctrine strikes such a note of strangeness to the ears of contemporaries, even contemporary Christians, as this one: the virtue of prudence is the mold and ‘mother’ of all the other cardinal virtues, of justice, fortitude, and temperance” (3). The good man is good only in so far as he possesses prudence. Being precedes Truth, and Truth precedes the Good (4).

Therefore, we cannot do what is good unless we act out of and according to what is true as defined by the God who created all things and rules over all. “In other words, none but the prudent man can be just, brave, and temperate” (3).Prudence is unique among the cardinal virtues. If the other three are technically the “moral virtues,” then prudence is what guides the moral life. As we have already seen, prudence is neither directed toward the self (like fortitude and temperance), nor toward others (like justice), but toward concrete reality.

Prudence is the virtue of seeing things as they really are, and we can only do what is right if we know what things are like. Far from consigning us to cowardly inaction, prudence leads us to act according to truth and with clear-eyed objectivity (10).

The danger with prudence, like the danger with carefulness, is that it can devolve into intellectualism, nitpicking, and self-centered caution. Each of my four categories can be lived out in the wrong way. It is possible for me and my fellow 3s to give very careful analysis on very complicated issues without ever doing much of anything besides giving careful analysis. Prudence cannot be a virtue on its own. Prudence is only virtuous in so far as it leads to justice, fortitude, and temperance. But if prudence is not virtuous by itself, neither can justice, fortitude, and temperance be virtuous apart from prudence. Prudence is the cause of the other virtues, the measure of the other virtues, and the quality that informs the other virtues (6-7).

When the contrite rail on the sins of the church by projecting their own experiences on others, or when they impute to the church everywhere the sins of the church in a few places, they are not acting according to prudence.

When the compassionate speak out against injustice without determining whether injustice has taken place, or when they build bridges with only one kind of person (and never think to build walls), they are not acting according to prudence.

When the courageous confuse an eagerness to attack with the virtue of fortitude, or when they denounce the moral rot of our day with the weapons of the world or without describing their opponents fairly, they are not acting according to prudence.

If this sounds hyperbolic—like exaggerated flag-waving from the captain of Team Careful—consider that prudence is, in essence, another word for ethical maturity, a call for that wisdom and character without which the moral life is not possible (31).

Conclusion

The “case for being careful” is that prudence must be preeminent among the four cardinal virtues. We cannot educate a person in justice, fortitude, and temperance without first educating him in prudence (31). That is to say, we must know what things are really like. We must grasp concrete reality. We must be objective. We must be accurate and precise with our words. We must be guided—before personal hurt or personal experience, even before the noble hope of influencing people with the gospel or the honorable goal of holding back the forces of evil—by what is true.

“Man can have no other standard and signpost than things as they are and the truth which makes manifest things as they are; and there can be no higher standard than the God who is and His truth” (40). If Jesus is right, and surely he is, that we are sanctified by the truth (John 17:19), then there is no path to faithful Christian obedience and faithful cultural witness that does not begin in praise of prudence.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Limits of Civil Government: Robert Dabney’s Opposition to Church Establishments

Thu, 05 Sep 2024 21:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-limits-of-civil-government-robert-dabneys/id1700530766?i=1000670150773

I recently published an article in Themelios on the changes American Presbyterians made to the Westminster Confession relative to the doctrine of the civil magistrate. As an addendum to that piece, I thought it might be helpful to explore what Robert Dabney (1820–1898) taught on the same subject.

My interest in Dabney is not because he has been a strong theological or ecclesiastical influence in my life. Growing up in the Dutch Reformed tradition in Michigan, I hardly knew anything about Dabney (or the Southern Presbyterian tradition more broadly). Even today, Dabney is not one of my go-to theologians. We also have to acknowledge when using Dabney as any sort of plumbline that his views about Blacks were dishonorable and sinful. For all the many biblical and confessional truths Dabney defended, he also harbored extreme racial prejudice. No amount of historical context can excuse some of the things Dabney said and stood for.

My reason for bringing up Dabney is that some voices on the Christian Nationalism Right—or what we might call the Christendom Right—are especially fond of Dabney, finding his emphasis on manliness and his views on the family to be refreshingly anti-modern. In light of these affinities, it is worth noting how strongly Dabney opposed church establishments and how much he defended the voluntary principle of church government.

Opening Considerations

At the heart of Dabney’s political theology is the contention that the purpose of civil government is secular and not spiritual. He thoroughly and frequently rejected any “theocratic conception of civil government” (Systematic Theology, 869). The proper object of government is the safeguarding of man’s life, liberty, and property. Intellectual and spiritual concerns belong to the family and to the church. The civil magistrate should not interfere in the area of religion. His powers were limited to “regulating and adjudicating all secular rights, and protecting members of civil society in their enjoyment of their several proper shares thereof.” Practically, this meant three things: taxation, punishment for crimes, and defensive war (ST, 869). Everything else was beyond the scope of government’s God-given mandate.

Of course, this does not mean Dabney wanted Christianity banished from the public square. Far from it. To keep the civil government separate from the church is not the same as keeping Christian principles out of government or Christian influence out of society. Dabney took for granted that Christianity was a kind of public truth and that the best civilization would be a Christian civilization. Dabney opposed church establishments not because he was opposed to the idea of a godly commonwealth or a Christian people, but because he thought establishments were unbiblical and ineffective.

It should also be noted that Dabney’s views diverged in significant ways from the American Founders. He rejected social contract theory as the North’s “radical social theory” and the attendant idea of natural rights as “anti-biblical theories of rights” (Lucas, Robert Lewis Dabney, 178–79). He believed that the theory of equal and natural rights inescapably led to abolitionism, egalitarianism, and the weakening of social and familial hierarchies. No doubt, with the justification of slavery in view, Dabney argued that man’s civil liberty consisted only in “the freedom to do whatever he has a moral right to do” (ST, 867).

In the spiritual sphere, Dabney argued strenuously in favor of religious liberty. He explicitly rejected arguments in favor of punishing heretics and enforcing religious conformity, whether these arguments came from “later Romish writers” or from Augustine in his defense of persecuting the Donatists (ST, 873–74). Dabney’s reasons for opposing religious persecution are many: man has the right of private judgment, rulers are often non-Christians, suppressing heresies makes the heresies more popular and the heretical groups more sympathetic, persecution corrupts the persecuting community, religious sects are made more dangerous when they are oppressed than when they are left alone.

Dabney did not want the government enforcing its religious preferences. The alternative to religious liberty is for competing religious communions to fight over “which shall have the right to coerce the other” (ST, 876). But the only umpire fit to decide which communion is right is God himself. And since every communion believes God is on their side, each one’s claim is, in his own eyes, equally valid. Hence, the real referee between religious claims is pure power. Dabney condemns this view as nothing more than: “The strongest rules. Might makes right” (ST, 876). In the end, Dabney insists that “the only safe theory” is the one that binds the state to the commitment “that every man enjoys religious freedom untouched because the right to this religious freedom is a secular, or political right” (ST, 879).

Importantly, Dabney acknowledges that “the doctrine of religious liberty was not evolved at the Reformation.” He admits that “Protestants held it a right and duty to persecute heretics” (879). For Dabney, this admission was not a reason to reject the American understanding of religious liberty but to celebrate it. “The separation and independence of Church and State was not only not the doctrine of the Reformation. No Christian nation holds it to this day, except ours” (880). If America’s experiment in disestablishment was novel, so be it. In Dabney’s mind, America was right, while others had not sufficiently evolved in their thinking.

Having sketched a basic outline of Dabney’s view, we can turn now to the specific issue of church establishments. Under this heading. Dabney explores two theories in support of the establishment principle. He finds both theories unscriptural and unconvincing.

Argument #1 for Church Establishments: The Moral Argument

The first theory is the moral or ethical argument for church establishments. Dabney cites the Prussian lawyer, Emer de Vattel (1714–1767), and the British Prime Minister, William Gladstone (1809–1898), as both making similar arguments in favor of church establishments. Their key argument, according to Dabney, is that the commonwealth is a moral person—with judgment, conscience, and responsibility. Consequently, as a corporate moral person, the state must recognize and obey the true religion as any other moral person is bound to do. Just as every person has a religion (for even no religion is a religious commitment), so every state must have a religion. And if the state must have a religion, it is bound to profess the true religion. Moreover, the state must profess this religion by concrete acts, which means (at least) religious tests for office and the use of state power in the propagation of its religion. The only alternative to a Christian state, argued Gladstone, is one that is anti-Christian and atheistic (ST, 880–81).

Dabney’s Response

Dabney’s response to this line of thinking is not easy to outline (as there are various rabbit trails, points, and subpoints), but we can enumerate at least six arguments he makes against the moral theory of church establishments.

1. Dabney rejects the idea of the state as a corporate moral person. True, he says, a nation is bound to obey and worship the true God, but this “obligation is nothing else but the individual obligation of all the members, and nothing more is needed to defend or sanction it than their individual morality and religiousness” (ST, 881). In other words, an association of persons fulfills its religious obligations (if it has any such obligations) through the individual members of that association.

2. Dabney further rejects the notion that every corporation must have a corporate religion. Should we expect that banks, armies, insurance companies, gas companies, railroad companies, and stagecoach companies all profess a corporate religion? Dabney considers the idea absurd. Not every association of persons is bound to profess and establish a corporate religious identity.

3. Dabney rejects the argument that the state is like a large family and therefore has the same obligations to religion as the family. After mentioning the examples above (banks, armies, etc.), Dabney acknowledges that some might argue that these corporations are trivial and partial. For example, there is no divine warrant for railroad companies, and all persons are not bound to be members of the gas company. The family and state are different. They exist by divine appointment; they are perpetual; they embrace everyone. The right analogy is not with the state and a bank, the argument goes, but with the state and the family. Just as the family ought to have a family religion, so the state, as a larger family, ought to have a state religion.

While Dabney does not concede the logic of this argument, he is willing to deal with it on its own terms. He insists that the state and the family are not analogous corporations. The object of the family, with regard to children, is “to promote their whole welfare.” This is not the object of civil government. This is a key point for Dabney and a key point in the debate over church establishments. Dabney does not believe that the state has the responsibility for its citizen’s highest or heavenly good. Its scope is much more limited. “The object of civil government is simply the protection of temporal rights against aggression, foreign or domestic” (ST, 882). The state is not analogous to the family because the latter is responsible for the total well-being of the subject—spiritual, physical, educational, and moral—in a way that the former is not.

Dabney disagrees with Gladstone’s contention that the proper end of human government is to foster the welfare of human beings in all things. Dabney calls this the to pan (Greek for “everything”) view of civil government, and he rejects it for three reasons: Romans 13:4 teaches otherwise; it is utterly impractical; and it renders every association of human beings an extension of the state.

4. Dabney rejects the argument that the magistrate has a duty to establish religion because upon this principle the rulers of the world are empowered to establish many false religions. Dabney is realistic about the present, and he can see what has taken place over the centuries. If the sovereign must choose a religion, he will choose the one he thinks is right. And that means that the Sultan will choose Islam, the emperor of China will choose Buddhism, the king of Spain will choose Popery, and that Julian the Apostate had a right to choose the Roman gods (since paganism was Julian’s preference and the historic religion of the empire) and to persecute Christians (ST, 882). How sensible is that theory, asks Dabney, which ensures the teaching of errors, by the authority and power of the civil government, in almost every nation on earth?

5. Dabney rejects the notion of religious tests for government functions. He imagines the British government, for example, telling a skilled financier, “You shall not help in my treasury, because you do not believe in Apostolic Succession,” or telling a Presbyterian, “I will have none of your courage and skill to release my armies from probable destruction, because you listen to a preacher who never had a Prelate’s hand on his head,” or to a faithful pilot, “You shall not steer one of my ships off a lee shore, because you take the communion sitting” (883). True, these examples all deal with finer points of Christian theology. Perhaps Dabney would have thought differently if the religious options were more extreme. But as far as he could see, to insist on these sorts of tests was a failure in good and effective governance.

6. Finally, Dabney rejects the moral argument for church establishments because he thinks that the power to propagate a state religion also entails a duty to persecute religious dissenters. Dabney believes the “medicine of error is not violent repression, but light” (883). The best way to promote true religion is for the state to protect freedom of discussion and to ensure that the truth can be openly taught and that those in error can come to it.

Argument #2 for Church Establishments: The Necessity of Virtue Argument

The second theory we might call the “necessity of virtue” argument for church establishments. (This is my label, not his.) Dabney calls it the Chalmerian View, after the famed Scottish minister Thomas Chalmers (1780–1847), but the necessity of virtue is at the heart of the argument. This second theory makes fewer claims for the state and is generally a more attractive theory. The argument goes like this: The proper object of civil government is man’s secular well-being. The government is concerned with a limited sphere of activity, not with the whole welfare of man. But the public welfare of any commonwealth depends on its public morals, its virtue. And true virtue can only be inculcated by Christianity. Therefore, the state must establish and maintain the Christian church in order to meet its obligation to provide for decency, order, and the public morality necessary for the common good.

Dabney’s Response

Dabney does not deny the premises of the argument. He agrees that the public welfare depends upon public morals and that Christianity is the source for these public morals. What Dabney denies in the Chalmerian syllogism is the conclusion. “The contested point,” he writes, is the proposition that “‘voluntaryism’ will usually fail to diffuse a sufficient degree of public morals; and that a State-endowed Church, or Churches, of good character and spiritual independence will do it far better” (ST, 884). Dabney thinks that churches organized according to the voluntary principle will be healthier, more evangelical, and do more to strengthen the religious character of a nation than churches organized under the establishment principle.

We can trace out five arguments Dabney makes in support of this conclusion.

1. State churches are bound to be more irreligious, more carnal, and more anti-evangelical. He reasons that governments are usually made up of people who acquired their post by party tactics, by political skill, by riches, by bribery, or by family connections. In short, most government officials are not in their positions because of their Christian graces. Even if church membership is required to serve in political office, these men tend to be nominal Christians. The result is that that state religion ends up being hostile to the evangelical faith, and the state bestows preferment upon those Christian ministers that are least effective from an evangelical point of view. History has borne this out, with Anglo-Catholics being given preferment in England, Arminians in the Netherlands, and Moderates in Scotland (ST, 884–85).

2. When financial support is guaranteed by the state it attracts carnal-minded men, and the more carnal-minded they are, the more ambitious they will be for ecclesiastical preferment.

3. When the church is endowed by the state, it adopts an oppressive attitude toward those who refuse to belong to the state church. This, in turn, makes many people prejudiced against the state church. They see it as an arm of the government (which it is), and they resent paying taxes for the preaching of doctrines they do not agree with.

4. Dabney insists that the religious state of America (in the second half of the nineteenth century) proves that the voluntary system is more effective. There was no established church (either federally or at the state level) at the time of Dabney’s Systematic Theology, and yet he saw plenty of churches to supply the needs of a growing nation. He believed that with free and open competition, the churches tended to become more evangelical. Likewise, he believed the growth of the church in England and Scotland came chiefly from dissenting groups.

5. Most importantly, Dabney believes that church establishments—of any kind, for whatever reason—compromise the independence of the church.This is what he saw in Scotland when Chalmers led the Free Church out of the Church of Scotland because of the government’s commitment to patronage. If the state employs a denomination to teach its subjects religion and morals, then the preachers of the state church are, in their ministerial functions, state officials. As such, they must bind themselves to what the state wishes them to teach. But what happens when the minister cannot in good conscience obey the state? “Whenever it happens that the magistrate differs from his conscience, he can only retain his fidelity to this Master by dissolving the State connection” (ST, 886). That is to say, ministers in the state church only adhere to the establishment principle so long as they agree with the establishment. Only by the voluntary principle can the independence of the church be fully maintained.

A Concluding Biblical Postscript

I’ve tried to present Dabney’s arguments fairly and without much comment. Some of his arguments are stronger than others, but on the whole, I think his case against church establishments rests on good logical, philosophical, and historical grounds.

But, you may ask, what about biblical grounds?

I’ve not summarized everything Dabney says about civil government, nor have I included his many proof texts (and we shouldn’t think that proof texts are always necessary to make biblical arguments). But it’s true, his argument is not mainly about the meaning of biblical texts, because the arguments for church establishments over the years have not been mainly about biblical texts.

Historically, almost all the biblical arguments for suppressing heretics, enforcing religious conformity, or establishing a state church have come from the example of Israel in the Old Testament. The “grand appeal” for the establishment principle—whether from England or from Scotland or from Geneva—has been based on “the example of the Israelitish kingdom, where State and Church were united so intimately.” Dabney’s terse response: “a theocratic State is no rule for a State not theocratic.” His longer response is also worth quoting:

When a State can be shown, where there is but one denomination to choose, and that immediately organized by God Himself just then; where there is an assurance of a succession of inspired prophets to keep this denomination on the right track; where the king who is to be at the head of this State Church is supernaturally nominated by God, and guided in his action by an oracle, then we will admit the application of the case. (ST, 887)

Unless we have all the blessings and spiritual realities enjoyed by the nation of Israel in the Old Testament, we should not try to adopt, for our nation, the government given to Israel.

In conclusion, Dabney warns that governments are often eager to lean on the church to do its bidding and that if we are not careful the energies of the church will be subsumed under the aims of the state. The establishment of the church by the state almost always turns out better for the state than the church. And then this final sentence: “Do not suppose that this question will never again be practical.”

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

7 Principles for Angry Parents Disciplining Angry Children

Mon, 18 Aug 2025 09:39:27 GMT

I hate to admit that the title of this blog post too often describes my household. I never (or at least it seems that way to me) lose my temper with my wife, my staff, or my congregation. But sadly, I too often feel (and act?) like that little Anger guy from Inside Out when it comes to my kids. Too many frustrated sighs and raised voices and sharp tones (and that’s just from the parents!).

In Ephesians 6:4, God tells fathers—though I think it’s okay for moms to listen in—to raise children in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. He also warns against provoking our children to anger. So how do we do one without the other? How do we discipline exasperating kids without in turn exasperating them unnecessarily?

Commenting on Ephesians 6:4, Martyn Lloyd-Jones offers seven principles to govern our disciplinary action as parents (Life in the Spirit, 278-84). The headings and commentary are mine. The quotations are the Doctor’s.

1. Self-Control

“We are incapable of exercising true discipline unless we are first able to exercise self-control, and discipline our own tempers” (278).

The goal is for children to be less angry, not for parents to join them in their fury. An explosion of anger often feels good, and it may even yield short-term results, but the fruit is behaviorism more than gospel sweetness. I can think of many times I’ve had to go back to my kids later and tell them I was sorry for responding to their sin in a sinful way.

2. Predictability

“If a parent is to exercise this discipline in the right way he must never be capricious. There is nothing more irritating to the one who is undergoing discipline than a feeling that the person who is administering it is capricious and uncertain. There is nothing more annoying to a child than the kind of parent whose moods and actions you can never predict, who is changeable, whose condition is always uncertain. There is no worse type of parent than he who one day, in a kindly mood, is indulgent and allows the child to do almost anything it likes, but who the next day flares up in a rage if the child does scarcely anything at all” (279).

Well, Lloyd-Jones is 2-for-2 in nailing me as a parent. I wish it weren’t so, but some days I’m all sugar canes and lollipops (literally, to my wife’s chagrin). And then when I’m tired and stressed, the fuse gets real short real fast. How will my children know how I expect them to act if they don’t know what to expect from my actions?

3. Willing to Listen

“Another most important principle is that the parent must never be unreasonable or unwilling to hear the child’s case. There is nothing that so annoys the one who is being disciplined as the feeling that the whole procedure is utterly unreasonable. In other words, it is a thoroughly bad parent who will not take any circumstances into consideration at all, or who will not listen to any conceivable explanation” (280).

I know Lloyd-Jones is right in theory, but then I think: he never met a 21st-century American child. It seems like our kids always have an excuse for their sin. They are always ready to rationalize. When discipline is coming, the kids suddenly transform into the world’s most penetrating logicians, ready with the legal acumen of Maimonides. Certainly, children can make this principle difficult to carry out. And yet, we must not think we always have all the facts squared away. If we could calmly listen—just for a minute and then move on—we might learn something, and our kids might be more trusting.

4. Not Selfish

“But there is another principle to be considered—the parent must never be selfish. . . . My charge applies to persons who do not recognize that the child has his own life and personality, and who seem to think that children are entirely for their pleasure, or for their use” (281).

Hmm, that’s a good reminder. Even at their worst moments, my children are more than distractions to my progress or obstacles to tranquility. They are image bearers made by God and loved by God. They feel things just like I do. They are human beings, not personal projects or impediments.

5. Not Mechanical

“Punishment, discipline, must never be administered in a mechanical manner. There are people who believe in discipline for its own sake. That is not biblical teaching, but the philosophy of the Sergeant Major. . . . It must never be thought of in terms of pressing a button and expecting an inevitable result to follow. That is not true discipline; it is not even human. That belongs to the realm of mechanics. But true discipline is always based on understanding; it has something to say for itself; it has an explanation to give” (282).

If your favorite parenting book has page after page of simple, fool-proof formulas for turning disobedience into correction into heartfelt submission, you’ll probably get more benefit from those pages by ripping them out and using them as wet wipes. We can’t train our kids like that dude trained the raptors in Jurassic World. Our kids are more complicated than raptors (and hopefully less violent).

6. Not Severe

“Discipline must never be too severe. Here is perhaps the danger that confronts many good parents at the present time as they see the utter lawlessness about them, and as they rightly bemoan it and condemn it. Their danger is to be so deeply influenced by their revulsions as to go right over to this other extreme and to become much too severe. The opposite of no discipline at all is not cruelty, it is balanced discipline, it is controlled discipline” (283).

It is possible to be too “conservative” in our discipline. Kids need boundaries, not bruises. They need rebuke, not berating.

7. Letting Them Grow Up

“We must never fail to recognize growth and development in the child. This is another alarming parental defect which, thank God, one does not see now so often as formerly. But there are still some parents who continue to regard their children all their lives as if they had never outgrown their childhood. The children may be 25 but they still treat them as if they were 5″ (284).

Your kids will always be your kids. But they won’t always be messy toddlers or mouthy pre-teens or moody high schoolers or know-it-all college kids. Or so I’m told. We need to let God do the work only he can do, and trust he will do all the work we can’t. Kids grow up. And so should parents.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

What Is True Revival?

Thu, 23 Feb 2023 14:27:43 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/what-is-true-revival/id1526483896?i=1000601313924

What are we to make of the Asbury Revival?

Given the fact that I have not attended or watched any of the services, and that we have yet to determine the long-term fruit of these events, the only responsible answer is, “I don’t know.” Certainly, we ought to hope that this is a powerful moving of the Holy Spirit and be grateful for every good report we hear. At the same time, it is not quenching the Spirit to ask clarifying questions, and, in general, to wait and see whether—in looking back months and years from now—sinners have been truly converted, lives have been lastingly transformed, and churches have been made fuller by the events of these days.

The point of this post is not to talk about Asbury, but to talk about the Bible. While the Bible doesn’t use the word “revival,” it does detail instances in the lives of God’s people where sudden and surprising change takes place. Whether we call it an “awakening” or “renewal” or “reformation” or “revival,” there have been times throughout history—including biblical history—where the God who normally works by ordinary days (Zech 4:10) has chosen to work in extraordinary ways.

Perhaps the clearest and most comprehensive example of a biblical “revival” came during the reign of King Josiah. The year was 640 B.C. (or thereabouts), and Judah was in bad shape. After some good years with King Hezekiah, the nation had declined with fifty-five years under the wicked King Manasseh. The next two years under King Amon were hardly better: “And he did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, as Manasseh his father had done. He walked in all the way in which his father walked and served the idols that his father served and worshiped them” (2 Kings 21:20-21).

The country looked bleak. God’s people were languishing. There wasn’t much to cheer about. But God, by a sovereign, surprising work of his Spirit, brought reformation and breathed new life into his people. The God-given renewal in Judah, like all true revival, was marked by several distinguishing characteristics.

Let me mention five.

The first and most important mark in revival is a rediscovery of the word of God (2 Kings 22:1-2, 8-10).

Can you imagine this scene? Someone on your church staff comes up from the boiler room, “Pastor, you are not going to believe this. I found a Bible down there! Remember hundreds of years ago when we used to read the Bible? Well, I found one! And I have to tell you, I think we’re in big trouble. I’ve been looking at God’s commandments for us, and we are way off.” That’s essentially what happened in Josiah’s day. It was the rediscovery of the book of the law that sparked revival in the land.

2 Kings 22:13 “Go, inquire of the Lord for me, and for the people, and for all Judah, concerning the words of this book that has been found. For great is the wrath of the Lord that is kindled against us, because our fathers have not obeyed the words of this book, to do according to all that is written concerning us.” 2 Kings 23:3 “And the king stood by the pillar and made a covenant before the Lord, to walk after he Lord and to keep his commandments and his testimonies and his statutes with all his heart and all his soul, to perform the words of this covenant that were written in this book.” 2 Kings 23:24-25 “Moreover, Josiah put away the mediums and the necromancers and the household gods and the idols and all the abominations that were seen in the land of Judah and in Jerusalem, that he might establish the words of the law that were written in the book that Hilkiah the priest found in the house of the Lord. Before him there was no king like him, who turned to the Lord with all his heart and with all his soul and with all his might, according to all the Law of Moses, nor did any like him arise after him.”

From start to finish God’s mighty work in the land was done according to the word. “What does it say? What do we need to do? Give it to me straight,” Josiah says. “We are going to be a people of the Book.”

True revival will be Bible saturated. Revival is not simply an intense longing for spiritual things. Tom Cruise has a hunger for spiritual things. Gen Z college students are generally interested in spiritual things. God-wrought revival brings a fervor for the Bible, that we might live, feel, sing, pray, work, and worship according to the word of God.

In our day, the Bible will not be found while repairing the temple, but when the Spirit blows, the authority of the Bible will be rediscovered. Preachers will preach with greater unction as they preach line upon line from the Bible. The minister will plead with sinners as a dying man to dying men. Parents will instruct their children in the truth of God’s word. At social settings, conversation will move from sports and the weather to discussion about the Scriptures. People of all ages will hunger to read, memorize, and study the Bible. They will love to hear good preaching. They will love to read good books. There will be renewed confidence in, desire for, and obedience to every jot and tittle of Scripture. That’s how revival starts, and without this first mark, there is little chance the events in question will have lasting significance.

The second mark of true revival is a restored sense of the fear of God (2 Kings 22:11-17).

We can hear Josiah’s heart in verse 13: “The wrath of God is kindled against us, and rightly so. He will not look on sin lightly and our sins have been very great. We have provoked his anger.” Josiah is shaken to the core. The book they found was Deuteronomy–the book of the law, with the Ten Commandments, and all the rules codified for God’s people. That’s the scroll Josiah is just getting wind of, coming across passages like these:

Deuteronomy 17:18-19 “And when he sits on the throne of his kingdom, he shall write for himself in a book a copy of this law, approved by the Levitical priests. And it shall be with him, and he shall read in it all the days of his life, that he may learn to fear the Lord his God by keeping all the words of this law and these statutes, and doing them.” Deuteronomy 4:23-24 “Take care, lest you forget the covenant of the Lord your God, which he made with you, and made a carved image, the form of anything that the Lord your God has forbidden you. The Lord your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God.”

Josiah takes God’s word seriously because he takes God seriously. He understands that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. When revival comes, God draws near, and the nearness of his presence produces profound reverence and awe. Whether converted for the first time or brought back to God again in a new way, in true revival sinners are made freshly aware of the holiness of God.

The third mark of true revival is a return to God through confession and repentance (2 Kings 22:18-20).

A broken heart and a contrite spirit God will not despise. Repentance is not simply saying “I’m sorry.” True repentance is about turning away from the ugliness of sin and running to God for mercy. True confession is standing before a holy God, humiliated and ashamed, and saying with David “I am the man.” Repentance means crying out from the heart, “My God, my God why hast thou accepted me?” When the Spirit of God falls upon a people, consciences are pricked and convicted sinners confess their sins. Moreover, on the other side of the coin, Spirit-prompted repentance leads to faith in Jesus Christ and his atoning work on the cross (Mark 1:15).

The fourth mark of true revival is renewed spiritual commitment and accountability (2 Kings 23:1-3).

This is what God’s people did in the Old Testament. They were always renewing the covenant–in the desert, in the promised land, back from exile. When God brought revival, his people began to say to each other, “It’s time to ante up, time to recommit.” There was more than an individual experience of refreshment. There was a public, corporate commitment to godliness. On March 16, 1742, for example, Jonathan Edwards’ congregation entered into a covenant. Everyone in the church fifteen and older made promises—aspirational promises to avoid sin, to love their neighbors, to devote their lives to the business of religion, and to walk uprightly before a holy God. Renewed corporate commitment is one mark of genuine revival.

And finally, true revival is marked by a reformation of true piety (2 Kings 23:21-25).

When revival comes to a church or community, piety is reformed. People start to live like they profess. Instead of blending in with their cultural surroundings, God’s people stand out. They return to God and reform their ways. They pursue faithfulness to the word, not the fashions of the world.

Reformation of true piety entails two things: a decisive break with the sinful ways of the past and an eagerness to obey the word of God in the present. We see both under Josiah’s reign. The shrines, altars, high places, and false gods are destroyed; and the Passover is re-instituted. This is what God called for in Deuteronomy 18. And Josiah does it quickly: no excuses, no delays, just swift obedience. In revival, God cultivates a new hatred for sin and a new hunger for righteousness.

Conclusion

So what is true revival? It is not generic spirituality, mere emotionalism, or utopian idealism. True revival is marked by a rediscovery of the word of God, a restored sense of the fear of God, a return to God through confession and repentance, a renewed spiritual commitment as God’s people, and, finally, a reformation of true piety. Whether we use the word “revival” or not, this is what we should pray for, and these are the marks we should use to assess every movement of religious fervor—past, present, or future.

Worship as Covenant Renewal

Thu, 24 Mar 2022 09:00:00 GMT

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Exodus 24 is a picture of covenant confirmation. After initiating the covenant (Exod. 19), establishing the constitutional obligations of the covenant (Exod. 20), and applying the constitution as case law (Exod. 21-23), God confirms the covenant with Moses. In addition to being a picture of covenant confirmation for Moses and the people of Israel, Exodus 24 provides a striking picture of worship as covenant renewal.

Exodus 24 begins with a call to worship as the Lord summons Moses and Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, and the seventy elders of Israel to draw near. Moses then includes the people in what can be described as a service of worship–a ceremony of covenant confirmation (and later renewal) focusing on three elements.

The service centered on the Book of the Covenant. Moses told the people all the words of the Lord (the Ten Commandments) and all the rules applying those words (v. 3). Then later Moses repeated the essence of these instructions, reading to the people from the Book of the Covenant (v. 7). Importantly, we see that Moses was not just passing on oral tradition. Already at this early stage in redemptive history, Moses had written revelation to share (v. 4). Twice in this passage, the people respond to the word of God with a commitment of obedience. This is the heart of worship as covenant renewal. God’s word is read and taught–the stipulations, the promises, the blessings and curses. God’s people hear it, receive it, understand it, and respond.

The service also involved the blood of the covenant. With an altar (v. 4), sacrifices (v. 5), and sprinkling (v. 6), blood not only accompanies the administration of the covenant, it makes the provisions of the covenant possible. The shedding of blood represents substitution (there are twelve pillars for the twelve tribes of Israel) and propitiation (hence the mention of burnt offerings and peace offerings). The blood of the covenant also pointed to consecration as the people were set apart by the word and set apart for obedience to the word (v. 8).

Finally, the service included the bread of the covenant. As Moses and Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu, and the seventy elders beheld God in his glory, they ate and drank (v. 11). Covenant ceremonies often concluded with a meal (Gen. 26:30; 31:44, 46). Eating and drinking was an expression of fellowship, a sign and seal of the closeness the people had with each other and with their God.

Exodus 24 is a worship service, the first official gathering of corporate worship in the Bible. It contains the basic elements of a public service and sets the pattern for biblical worship. There is a call to worship, an approach to worship made possible by a bloody sacrifice, the reading of God’s word, a response to God’s word, a fellowship meal, and the promise of God’s presence as he draws near in worship. As we gather to rehearse the Lord’s covenant promises and provisions (1 Cor. 11:23-26), the same elements should be found in our services today.

The historic liturgy of the Christian church did not originate in evangelicalism, or in the Reformation, or in Europe. It grew out of Old Testament (and then New Testament) assumptions about what it meant for God’s people to gather and renew the covenant. The corporate gathering of God’s people is not mainly for community or for fellowship or for moral instruction, though all of these are present. “We gather each Lord’s Day,” Mike Horton reminds us, “not merely out of habit, social custom, or felt needs but because God has chosen this weekly festival as a foretaste of the everlasting Sabbath day that will be enjoyed fully at the marriage supper of the Lamb. God has called us out of the world and into his marvelous light: That is why we gather” (A Better Way, 24). Every Sunday, we come to worship our covenant-making God, be reminded of his covenant promises, and once again renew our covenant commitment. The deepest and richest and most biblical worship will have a liturgy that reflects these ancient, and continuing, realities.

What Does “Begotten, Not Made” Mean?

Thu, 17 Apr 2025 14:00:50 GMT

Only Begotten Son of the Father

The Nicene Creed confesses that the Lord Jesus Christ is “the only begotten Son of God.” The Greek word translated “only begotten” is monogenēs, a word used five times in the New Testament with reference to Jesus (John 1:14, 18; 3:16, 18; 1 John 4:9).

While most newer translations render the term “only” or “one of a kind,” the King James Version uses “only begotten” in those five Johannine verses. Whatever the proper translation of the word is in each of those five biblical instances, every English translation I’ve ever seen of the Nicene Creed renders the word “only begotten.”

Let’s think about the names “Father” and “Son.” God is Father because he has a Son; Jesus is the Son because he has a Father. That much should be obvious. And the way in which the Father relates to the Son is by “begetting.” The Father generates the Son, and the Son is “from the substance of the Father” (Creed of Nicaea). One thing we can say about the Father that we cannot say about the Son is that the Father is unbegotten. One thing we can say about the Son that we cannot say about the Father is that the Son is begotten.

Okay, but what does that all mean?

The Arians agreed that Jesus Christ was the only begotten Son of God. This specific language wasn’t the issue. The issue was what those words meant. In a letter to Alexander, bishop of Alexandria, Arius explained that God was “the begetter of his only Son before endless ages; through whom he made both the ages and all that is.” Arius would not have objected to saying, as the Nicene Creed does, that Christ was “begotten of his Father before all worlds.” But in the letter to Alexander, Arius also argued that the Son, “timelessly begotten by the Father,” was “created and established before all ages” and “did not exist prior to his begetting.”1 To counter this position, the Nicene Creed made four further statements in definition of “only begotten.”

The Son is “God of God.” The phrase “God of God” is not a superlative like “Holy of Holies” or “King of kings” or “Lord of lords.” The “of” here might better be translated “from,” speaking of derivation. Jesus Christ is God from God, and the fact that God is used in both halves of the formula suggests that the Son is the same kind of God as the God from which he comes. The phrase also communicates that the Son is not a part of God. He is wholly God of wholly God. The generation of the Son does not imply the division of the Godhead or the multiplication of deities.

The Son is God; the Father is God; the Son is of the Father (the Father is not of the Son); and there is only one God. The Son is “Light of Light.” This claim is similar to the last, but not identical. Here we are dealing with a term rather than a title of divine identity. The argument is that if the term light means the same thing with both the Father and the Son, then they must both be of the same essence. The Son is not a different kind of light than the Father. To put it more technically, a property shared in common, with the same meaning in both, signifies a common nature.

The Son is not a lesser light than the Father. The Son is “very God of very God.” This clause is crucial, especially with regard to the Arian controversy. The defenders of Arius might have said that the Son was God of God. They might have affirmed that Jesus Christ was God and that he came from God. They might have affirmed these statements because they reckoned the Son to be a different sort of God than the Father. But the Arians would not have said that the Son is “very God,” for that implies that the Son is no less God than the Father (“very” is an archaic way of saying “truly”). The Word was God—that much was plain from John 1. But for the Arians, the divine Word was a different kind of deity (a created, lesser deity) than the Father. The Nicene Creed will not allow for an Arian misinterpretation of John’s Gospel.

The Son was “not made.” Now we come to the crux of the Nicene argument. There was no way that Arius or his party could possibly defend this assertion. For Arius, one could not be “begotten” unless he was “made” or “created.” Hence, the Nicene Creed is making the all-important affirmation that the Son’s begottenness is not like our begottenness, or not in every respect. The Son’s begottenness is an eternal begottenness. No one created the Son. There never was when the Son was not—not in time and not before time.

A Song to Be Sung

The doctrine of the Son’s begottenness from the Father is called eternal generation. It is a classic and crucial Trinitarian doctrine, but it also a mystery beyond human description. Eternal generation is like human generation in that one essence begets the same essence, but it is unlike human generation in that it does not involve physical reproduction. Eternal generation is hyperphysical (it is outside the physical or material realm), infinite (it does not take place in time), and ineffable (it cannot be fully comprehended). By eternal generation we do not mean that the Father created the Son’s essence, but rather that the Father communicates the essence he shares with the Son.

Nicene orthodoxy teaches us to hold several truths at the same time:

The Son is of the same essence as the Father. The Son is to be distinguished from the Father. The Son is of the Father. The Father is never of the Son.

The language of “only begotten” helps explain how all these truths can stand together. The early church thought long and hard about how to explain that the Godhead can consist of multiple persons without there being multiple essences. The Son is equal with the Father because he was eternally begotten of the Father. The Son is also distinct from the Father because he was eternally begotten from the Father. When Jesus says he is in the Father and the Father is in him, he is speaking to the theological reality that the Nicene Creed means to defend (John 14:11). We know that a son is from the “stuff” of his father, and yet a son is not the same as his father, and the father does not come from his son. What we understand intuitively in an earthly sense, the Nicene Creed is trying to explain and safeguard in an eternal and theological sense.

If you find all of this is hard to understand, you are not alone. The most brilliant theologians in history have gladly acknowledged that the doctrine of the Trinity is full of mystery. We are dealing with realities beyond our ability to fully understand or articulate. But mysterious does not mean unreasonable or irrational. It means that we, as finite creatures, do not possess sufficient intellect to fully grasp the infinite. When faced with such glories, it is often wise to think of how we pray and how we sing. Intuitively, led by the Spirit, full of the word, we know that Jesus Christ is to be worshiped just as the Father is to be worshiped. We know, like the earliest Christians knew, that we should sing songs about Jesus and to Jesus.

Think of what we sing at Christmas in that brilliant hymn Adeste Fidelis (“O Come, All Ye Faithful”): “God of God, Light of Light. / Lo, he abhors not the Virgin’s womb. / Very God, begotten, not created.” The Christ child we worship in the manger is none other than “very God of very God,” the only begotten Son who is from the Father but was not created or made by him. Many of us have been reciting Nicene theology since before we could read or write. We know it to be true. We know it to be glorious. We know it to be beautiful. And so we sing.

Notes Quoted in Donald Fairbairn and Ryan M. Reeves, The Story of Creeds and Confessions: Tracing the Development of the Christian Faith (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2019), 55–56.

This article is adapted from The Nicene Creed: What You Need to Know about the Most Important Creed Ever Written by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Does the American Revision of the Westminster Confession Contradict the Original Version on the Doctrine of the Civil Magistrate?

Mon, 16 Jun 2025 09:56:10 GMT

I’ve written before about how Presbyterians changed their views on the civil magistrate and how this shift is reflected in the American revision of the Westminster Confession of Faith.1 When the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America adopted the Westminster Standards in 1788, they amended the Standards in four places: WCF 20:4, 23:3, 31:3; and WLC 109. The most significant change is in Chapter 23, where the third article was almost completely rewritten.

The stakes may not seem very high, and the whole debate may seem like little more than historical wrangling. But this is quite a live issue in the Presbyterian world. For one thing, all ministers and officers in the PCA and the OPC subscribe to the American revisions. If the two documents are just different in emphasis, than a minister in the PCA could say, “Sure, I agree with my own denominational standards, but they don’t contradict what the Westminster Assembly decided in 1646.” On the other hand, if the two versions are mutually exclusive, then a man must decide which view of the civil magistrate he affirms.

Similarly, many suggest that there was a single Reformed political theology from Calvin to Turretin to New England to the eighteenth-century Presbyterians. If these proponents can show that there was a consistent view for 250 years, then anything deviating from that view should be considered less than truly Reformed. My contention is that Reformed political thought has not been static, and, in fact, that American Presbyterianism saw itself as correcting elements of the earlier tradition.

How Different?

It is worth seeing once again the two versions of WCF 23:3 side by side. Everything after the initial underlined section is new in the American version.

Historic Text (1646)Chapter XXIII Of the Civil MagistrateIII. The civil magistrate may not assume to himself the administration of the Word and sacraments, or the power of the keys of the kingdom of heaven: yet he hath authority, and it is his duty, to take order, that unity and peace be preserved in the Church, that the truth of God be kept pure and entire; that all blasphemies and heresies be suppressed; all corruptions and abuses in worship and discipline prevented or reformed; and all the ordinances of God duly settled, administered, and observed. For the better effecting whereof, he hath power to call synods, to be present at them, and to provide that whatsoever is transacted in them be according to the mind of God.American Revision (1788)Chapter 23Of the Civil Magistrate3. Civil magistrates may not assume to themselves the administration of the Word and sacraments; or the power of the keys of the kingdom of heaven; or, in the least, interfere in matters of faith. Yet, as nursing fathers, it is the duty of civil magistrates to protect the church of our common Lord, without giving the preference to any denomination of Christians above the rest, in such a manner that all ecclesiastical persons whatever shall enjoy the full, free, and unquestioned liberty of discharging every part of their sacred functions, without violence or danger. And, as Jesus Christ hath appointed a regular government and discipline in his church, no law of any commonwealth should interfere with, let, or hinder, the due exercise thereof, among the voluntary members of any denomination of Christians, according to their own profession and belief. It is the duty of civil magistrates to protect the person and good name of all their people, in such an effectual manner as that no person be suffered, either upon pretense of religion or of infidelity, to offer any indignity, violence, abuse, or injury to any other person whatsoever: and to take order, that all religious and ecclesiastical assemblies be held without molestation or disturbance.

Since publishing my article in 2024, several responses have argued that the difference between the two versions of WCF 23:3 is only a matter of emphasis and not an actual contradiction. Other ministerial colleagues in the PCA have argued that although the American version of WCF 23:3 is significantly changed, the new version does not entail a denial of anything in the original. These brothers assert that the Westminster divines and the American Presbyterians agreed with the magisterial Reformers that the civil magistrate may not interfere in matters of faith (in sacra). This, however, is not the same as saying the magistrate does not have authority around matters of faith (circa sacra). Thus, it is argued that the American Presbyterians prohibited the magistrate’s involvement “in matters of faith” without rejecting what the original version of WCF 23:3 said about the magistrate’s duties “around matters of faith.”

Central to this argument is the recognition that America at the end of the eighteenth century, and well into the nineteenth century, continued to uphold blasphemy laws, Sabbath laws, and religious tests for office. Moreover, Presbyterians—including those responsible for drafting the American revision—were often in favor of these provisions. Like their British counterparts in 1646, American Presbyterians believed the civil magistrate should maintain “piety, justice, and peace” (WCF 23:2). Some have maintained, then, that American version—while perhaps not a hard establishmentarianism, is still a “soft” establishmentarianism. In short, the two versions of the Westminster Confession may not be identical, but they are, in the end, not mutually exclusive.

Must, Must Not, May (1646)

What should we make of this argument that the two versions are merely different, not contradictory? To answer this question, we have to go back to the original 1646 version. We can break apart WCF 23:3 into three lists: what the civil magistrate must do, what he must not do, and what he may do.

The civil magistrate must:

Take order, that unity and peace be preserved in the Church. That the truth of God be kept pure and entire. That all blasphemies and heresies be suppressed. That all corruptions and abuses in worship and discipline be prevented or reformed. That all the ordinances of God be duly settled, administered, and observed.

The civil magistrate must not:

Assume to himself the administration of the Word and sacraments. Assume to himself the powers of the keys of the kingdom of heaven.

The civil magistrate may:

Call synods or be present at synods. Provide that whatever is transacted at synods be according to the mind of God.

Notice that although the Westminster divines prohibit the magistrate from preaching, from administering the sacraments, and from enacting ecclesiastical discipline, they do give the magistrate considerable authority in matters related to the church. In fact, the first thing the magistrate must do is ensure that “unity and peace are preserved in the Church.” Likewise, he must ensure that doctrine is kept pure and that the worship and discipline of the church are reformed. He is responsible not only for the establishment of the ordinances of the church, but for ensuring that these ordinances are observed by the people. Finally, we are told that the civil magistrate has power to call ecclesiastical synods and power to determine whether the decisions of the synod are “according to the mind of God.”

In short, the civil magistrate, according to the Westminster divines, should be involved in maintaining the welfare of the church, should root out false expressions of the church, should reform the church (when corrupt), should prevent the church from being corrupted (when already reformed), should oversee the establishment of the church, and should make sure that his people attend church services. Some may call this involvement only circa sacra (because the magistrate is not an officer in the church), but clearly the Westminster Assembly was calling for a very active magistrate with respect to matters of faith.We can see how the Confession was understood in its own day by looking at the book Truth’s Victory Over Error by David Dickson (1589–1662). Based on lectures given in the early 1650s, Dickson’s work (released posthumously in 1684) was the first published commentary on the Westminster Confession of Faith. In his section on the civil magistrate, Dickson asks,

Is it the duty of the Civil Magistrate, to take order, that all Blasphemies and Heresies be suppressed, all the ordinances of God duly settled, administered, and observed; all abuses in worship and discipline reformed, all Idolaters, Gainsayers, and other obstinate dissenters, being obliged and forced to quit their tenets and opinions, and conform themselves to the true worship and service of God, according to his Law?2

Dickson answers “Yes,” and then seeks to confute those who disagree. The first half of Dickson’s question comes directly from WCF 23:3, while the second half gives Dickson’s gloss on what the first half entails. According to Dickson, idolaters, gainsayers, and dissenters should be forced to quit their beliefs and conform themselves to the true worship and service of God.

In the next paragraph, Dickson further insists that:

Quakers and other Sectaries err, who judge it Antichristian, and the practice of the Church of Rome, that the Civil and Supreme Magistrate, with the assistance of the Church and her Censures, should by his coactive power, force and oblige all his subjects, to a Reformation of Religion, and to a conformity to the true worship, sound doctrine, and discipline of the Church.3

In Dickson’s estimation, the Westminster Confession requires the civil magistrate to exercise a coercive power in matters of faith. The magistrate is obliged to reform religion and should force all his subjects to conform to the true worship, sound doctrine, and discipline of the church. Dickson considers it an error held only by Quakers and sects that the civil magistrate should not do all these things.

Must, Must Not, May (1788)

Having looked at the original version of WCF 23:3, we need to now look at the American revision. Again, we can break apart the doctrine in terms of what the magistrate must do and must not do (there is no corresponding category of may).

The civil magistrate must:

Protect the church of our common Lord, without giving the preference to any denomination of Christians above the rest. Ensure that all ecclesiastical persons whatever shall enjoy the full, free, and unquestioned liberty of discharging every part of their sacred functions, without violence or danger. Protect the person and good name of all their people, in such an effectual manner that no person be suffered, either upon pretense of religion or of infidelity, to offer any indignity, violence, abuse, or injury to any other person whatsoever. Take order, that all religious and ecclesiastical assemblies be held without molestation or disturbance.

The civil magistrate must not:

Assume to himself the administration of the Word and sacraments. Assume to himself the powers of the keys of the kingdom of heaven. In the least, interfere in matters of faith. Enact any laws that interfere with, let, or hinder, the due exercise [of the church’s government and discipline], among the voluntary members of any denomination of Christians, according to their own profession and beliefs.

From the outset we should recognize that the new version of WCF 23:3 represents a massive change. This is not like believing the earth is round even though the Confession never says the earth is round. Of course, there are many things we can believe that the Confession does not bother to address. But when the Confession is changed in such a drastic way, we are right to think there must have been something in the original that they no longer agreed with.

Thankfully, in the case of the American revision, we don’t have to wonder what they didn’t agree with. The American Presbyterians tell us.

For starters, we know that American Presbyterians rejected the idea that the magistrate had power to call synods. When colonial Presbyterians adopted the Westminster Confession of Faith in the Adopting Act of 1729, they did so

excepting only some Clauses in the 20 and 23 Chapters, concerning which Clauses, the Synod do unanimously declare, that they do not receive those Articles in any such sense as to suppose the civil Magistrate hath a controlling Power over Synods with Respect to the Exercise of their ministerial Authority; or power to persecute any for their Religion, or in any sense contrary to the Protestant succession to the Throne of Great-Britain.4

This amounts to an explicit repudiation of several elements of the Westminster Confession of 1646.

Likewise, we have this crucial paragraph from the Synod minutes of 1786:

The Synod of New York and Philadelphia adopt, according to the known and established meaning of the Terms, the Westminster confession of Faith as the confession of their faith; save that every candidate for the gospel Ministry is permitted to except against so much of the twenty third Chapter as gives authority to the Civil Magistrate in matters of Religion. The Presbyterian Church in America considers the Church of Christ as a spiritual Society intirely distinct from the Civil Government; and having a right to regulate their own ecclesiastical policy independently of the interposition of the Magistrate.”5

There is no way to construe this self-understanding, in relationship to the historic text, as merely a matter of emphasis. Why announce in 1729 that you do not agree with Chapter 23 in the Confession, and then declare again in 1786 that you disagree with the same chapter, and then drastically revise that chapter two years later, if you are simply “leaning in a different direction” or wanting to stress a different but complementary point? In the eyes of the American Synod, the Westminster Confession gave “authority to the Civil magistrate in matters of Religion.” The Synod did not see the Westminster divines as advocating only a circa sacra involvement. They believed the original edition of the Confession gave too much power to the civil magistrate, and they set out to change that mistake. When the 1788 edition says the civil magistrate must not “in the least, interfere in matter of faith” it means to reject what the 1646 edition said about the civil magistrate’s involvement in the doctrine, worship, discipline, government, attendance, and assemblies of the church.

Soft Establishment?

To be sure, American Presbyterians did not want a nation stripped of Christian privilege, Christian laws, and a Christian ethos. Eighteenth-century Presbyterians were for a Christian magistrate who inculcated Christian virtues for a Christian people in a Christian nation. At the same time, the Presbyterians were against any interference by the state in matters of faith.

When the revision of the Confession was published in 1788 it included eight Preliminary Principles written by John Witherspoon. In the first principle, the Synod stated “unanimously” that

they consider the rights of private judgment, in all matters that respect religion, as universal and inalienable: They do not even wish to see any religious constitution aided by the civil power, further than be necessary for protection and security, and, at the same time, equal and common to all others.6

This language should come as no surprise when we recall that the New Jersey Constitution of 1776 (drafted mainly by Presbyterians and approved in the New Jersey Congress by the likes of John Witherspoon), stated unequivocally that no person should ever be “deprived of the inestimable privilege of worshipping Almighty God in a manner agreeable to the dictates of his own conscience,” that no person should be “compelled to attend any place of worship, contrary to his own faith and judgment,” nor should any person “be obliged to pay titles, taxes, or any other rates” for church buildings or church ministry. American Presbyterians equated the establishment principles with the dangers of Anglicanism and governmental interference.

The second Preliminary Principle builds on the first. The Synod affirmed secondly that

every Christian Church, or union and association of particular Churches, is entitled to declare the terms of admission into its communion, and the qualifications of its ministers and members, as well as the whole system of its internal government which Christ hath appointed.7

This is a significant departure from the original Confession. The Westminster divines could not envision a land where every church and every denomination was free to determine its own system and government. American Presbyterians, by contrast, made it a cornerstone of their ecclesiastical identity that the magistrate had no business getting involved in the church’s business.

Besides the minutes of the Synod of New York and Philadelphia, we have almost no record of how the events unfolded at the decisive assembly in 1788. One of the few (only?) firsthand accounts comes from Ashbel Green, a young pastor at the time and a member of the adopting Synod. It is worth quoting at some length his description of the relevant events:

No part of the Confession of Faith was altered, except that which relates to civil government and the civil magistrate. The Scotch Confession having been formed for a nation in which the church and state are united, declares that “the civil magistrate hath power to call Synods, and to be present at them, and to provide that whatsoever is transacted in them be according to the mind of God.” In place of this, the Synod that adopted the Constitution of the Presbyterian Church in the United States declared, that “it is the duty of civil magistrates to protect the Church of our common Lord, without giving preference to any denomination of Christians above the rest, in such manner that all ecclesiastical persons whatever, shall enjoy the full, free and unquestioned liberty of discharging every part of their sacred functions, without violence or danger.” Some minor alterations were made in the Scotch Confession, but all of the same import as the above.

You see, then, how unfounded and senseless has been the cry, that the Presbyterian Church has been seeking governmental patronage. This can never be done, but in open violation of an established principle of the standards of that Church. Nay, I verily believe, that if there were no constitutional article on the subject, that Church would consider any connexion with the State whatever, as a calamity and a curse.

This may be as proper a place as any other to mention, that when, through mere oversight, the members of the adopting Synod were just going to take the final vote on the catechisms of the Church, without alteration, the Rev. Jacob Ker, of the state of Delaware, (I well remember his name, and think that he had very seldom spoken before,) arrested the proceedings, by calling attention to a clause in the Larger Catechism, in answer to the question, “What are the sins forbidden in the second commandment?” He stated that the catechism as it then stood, specified among the sins forbidden in this commandment, “tolerating a false religion,” and he made a motion to strike out this clause. My impression is, that this motion was carried without debate, and by a unanimous vote.8

Green makes clear at least three realities: (1) The delegates in Philadelphia saw themselves as adopting a different understanding of church and state than existed in Great Britain. (2) The delegates did not want governmental patronage (e.g., as existed for Anglicans in England and for Presbyterians in Scotland), for they considered any connection with the state “a calamity and curse.” (3) The delegates quickly and without controversy rejected the 1646 view that “tolerating a false religion” was a sin. In short, the adopting Synod in Philadelphia was not just talking about frogs instead of cats. They were saying, at least in many of the most important details, that they did not believe in cats anymore.

Public Decorum or Ecclesiastical Worship?

No doubt, the revised Confession of Faith still expected the civil magistrate to be a supportive friend of the Christian religion. American Presbyterians in the eighteenth century did not envision a naked public square or a neutral civil magistrate. In his 1782 thanksgiving sermon at the end of the Revolutionary War, John Witherspoon insisted that civil magistrates “are under the strongest obligations to do their utmost to promote religion, sobriety, industry, and every social virtue, among those who are committed to their care.”9 For Witherspoon, this “promotion” meant three things: guarding the rights of conscience, setting an example of Christian commitment and character, and restraining open vice and impiety. He believed, as almost all Presbyterians did, that public wickedness—drunkenness, lewdness, swearing, Sabbath breaking, blasphemy, and riotous behavior—should be punished.

But here we must not confuse the magistrate’s role in maintaining public decorum with his role in maintaining the doctrine, worship, and discipline of the church. The original version of WCF 23:3 clearly gave the magistrate a duty to reform the church, to stamp out false churches, and to force his subjects to conform to the true church. The American revision explicitly rejected all of this. Now the duty of the civil magistrate was to ensure that everyone had the right to choose his own church, and that each church had the right to establish its own doctrines, government, and discipline. Likewise, the magistrate no longer had authority to call or preside over synods (a view already rejected by 1729). The magistrate’s only job relative to the church was to make sure that ecclesiastical assemblies could do their business without interference.

The revised Confession still used the familiar language of “nursing fathers” to describe the work of the civil magistrate. The phrase from Isaiah 49:23 was often applied in expansive ways, with the magisterial Reformers insisting that kings should put an end to idolatry, maintain pure doctrine, and cleanse his dominion of impiety. But the phrase was not always used in this way. In his famous sermon The Essential Rights and Liberties of Protestants (1744), Elisha Williams argued that when the civil magistrate protects all his subjects “in the enjoyment of this right of private judgment in matters of religion, and the liberty of worshipping God according to their consciences,” then he “most truly comes up to the character of a nursing father to the church of Christ.”10 Williams believed Protestants had been inconsistent with their own principles, that some “Protestant states” had tried “to make all think and practice alike in religion by legal establishments and annexed penalties: but it never produced this effect.”11 (91). He was calling for a level of religious liberty that did not exist in the Protestant nations of the Old World.

If the magistrate of 1646 had much he was supposed to do in matters of religion, the magistrate of 1788 had much he was supposed to prevent others from doing in matters of religion. According to the revised text, magistrates must protect the person and good name “of all their people” so that no one is made to suffer “indignity, violence, abuse, or injury” on account of “religion or infidelity.” The word “indignity” almost certainly refers to the various forms of public humiliation that existed in colonial America. As late as 1768, an observer in Boston noted that those who refused to go church could be put in the stocks or otherwise confined. Stocks and pillories were common forms of temporary confinement, often for religious offenses, and a mechanism designed to encourage public embarrassment. The American revision insists that not only does the magistrate have no right to inflict these punishments on religious grounds, he must also ensure that no one—no matter their religion, or even if they practice no religion whatsoever—is treated in such an abusive manner. While public decorum should be maintained (e.g., laws against blasphemy, lewdness, and swearing), no one was to be punished for what they believed, what church they went to, how their church worshiped, whom their church admitted into membership, what doctrines their church taught, or whether they went to church at all.

An American Church

The difference between 1646 and 1788 cannot be explained as a matter of emphasis. The two doctrines of the civil magistrate contain elements that are mutually exclusive. To put it bluntly, the American Presbyterians embraced the error of Quakers and sects that David Dickson thought the original Confession confuted. Either the civil magistrate must reform the church, cleanse the land of heretics, establish pure doctrine and pure worship, see to it that churches are settled, administered, and attended, or the civil magistrate must ensure that no one is punished for his religious commitments (or lack thereof), that every church can teach its own doctrine and regulate its own affairs, and that every person has unquestioned liberty to discharge his sacred responsibilities as he sees fit. Those are the options presented to us in the 1646 edition and in the 1788 edition of the Westminster Confession of Faith.

I am not suggesting that American Presbyterians of the eighteenth century would approve of the political arrangement of the twenty-first century. Surely, in many respects they would not. They assumed an overwhelmingly Protestant nation where Catholics and (more so) Jews could be tolerated, but without all the rights of Protestants. I would argue that the principles of 1788 regarding the rights of conscience and liberty of worship should be extended to non-Christians in our day, but I grant that they did not conceive of the religious pluralism we now have in America.

In the end, we have no access to what eighteenth-century Presbyterians think about the world of the future. We can, however, know something of their thoughts about the world of the past. And here my argument is that they believed they were doing something new. That’s why Presbyterians were such staunch supporters of Independence and of the Constitution.12 Of course, one cannot help but blush to read Presbyterian pastor Alexander McWhorter (a member of the Westminster revision committee) praise “our glorious” and “wonder-working Constitution of the United States,” but American Presbyterians thought God had done something amazing in the birth of their denomination and in the birth of their country. And that amazing thing was liberty. That’s what was new—not brand new as a concept, but new as an organizing principle for a people and new as a religious right for everyone.13

Looking back, a century later, Philadelphia pastor Thomas Murphy noted the many similarities between the formation of the General Assembly and the formation of the Constitution. Both were organized under a similar process, at the same time, in the same place, by the same kind of men, having the same principles, and having the same prospects. Murphy saw the hand of providence at work to set up a great nation on the earth, and to establish a great scriptural church to influence and sanctify that nation. In both cases, God had done something new. Just as the national government was “adopted for a new people, formed out of the best elements of the old lands,” so was the national Presbyterian Church. It was a “new Church formed out of the best elements of the Reformed Churches of other lands,” but, make no mistake, Murphy insists, this was “not an Irish Presbyterian Church or a German or a Dutch Reformed or a Welsh, but an American Presbyterian Church.”14

Notes

Kevin DeYoung, “A Tale of Two Texts: How the Westminster Confession of Faith Was Changed by American Presbyterians to Reflect a New Understanding of the Civil Magistrate,” Themelios 49:2. David Dickson, Truth’s Victory over Error: Or the True Principles of the Christian Religions Stated and Vindicated (Glasgow: John Bryce, 1764), 186. Dickson, Truth’s Victory over Error, 187. Guy S. Klett, ed., Minutes of the Presbyterian Church in America 1706–1788 (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Historical Society, 1976), 104. Klett, Minutes of the Presbyterian Church in America 1706–1788, 604. The Constitution of the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America (Philadelphia, PA: Thomas Bradford, 1789), 133–34. The Constitution of the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America, 134. Ashbel Green and Jones Joseph Huntington, The Life of Ashbel Green, V. D. M., Begun to be Written by Himself in His Eighty-Second Year and Continued to His Eighty-Fourth (New York, NY: Robert Carter and Brothers, 1849), 183–84. The Works of the Rev. John Witherspoon, D.D., L.L.D., Late President of the College, at Princeton New Jersey, 4 vols., 2nd ed. (Philadelphia: Woodward, 1802), 3:83. Elisha Williams, “The Essential Rights and Liberties of Protestants,” in Ellis Sandoz, Political Sermons of the American Founding Era: 1730 –1805, 2 vols., 2nd ed. (Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund, 1998) 1:97. Williams, “The Essential Rights and Liberties of Protestants,” 1:91. Alexander MacWhorter, A Festival Discourse Occasioned by the Celebration of the Seventeenth Anniversary of American Independence (Newark, NJ: John Woods, 1793). MacWhorter (usually given as McWhorter) was a Presbyterian pastor and a member of the committee responsible to amending the Westminster Confession. Besides celebrating American independence and the cause of liberty, MacWhorter repeatedly praises “our glorious” and “wonder-working Constitution of the United States” (12). A case can be made that the First Amendment religion clauses (free exercise and no establishment) are rooted in the revised Westminster Confession of Faith. See Leah Farish, “The First Amendment’s Religion Clauses: The Calvinist Document that Interprets Them Both,” Journal of Religion and Society, Vol. 12:1–22. Thomas Murphy, The Presbytery of the Log College; or, The Cradle of the Presbyterian Church in America (Philadelphia, PA: Presbyterian Board of Publication, 1889), 306.

This article appeared on Themelios.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Penal Substitutionary Atonement: Sung Through the Ages

Mon, 11 Aug 2025 09:32:35 GMT

The notion that Christ died as our sin-bearing substitute who bore the curse for our sakes is considered, by some, too primitive, too violent, and too narrow. Penal substitution is only a theory of the atonement, just one idea among many, maybe not even a good theory, at the very least not the best or the most important one. I would argue that texts like Isaiah 53, Mark 10, Romans 3, 2 Corinthians 5, Galatians 3, and Philippians 3 demonstrate that Christ is not only our wrath-sustaining Savior, he is also the Lord our Righteousness. The Son’s propitiatory sacrifice for sinners is the best news of the good news, the biblical truth that holds the gospel together.

But besides the testimony of Scripture in support of penal substitution, I would point to the history of our hymnody.

Man of Sorrows! What a Name

Bearing shame and scoffing rude,In my place condemned he stood,Sealed my pardon with his blood:Hallelujah, what a Savior!

O Sacred Head, Now Wounded

What thou, my Lord, hast suffered Was all for sinners’ gain;Mine, mine was the transgression, But thine the deadly pain.Lo, here I fall, my Savior! ‘Tis I deserve thy place;Look on me with thy favor, Vouchsafe to me thy grace.

Ah, Holy Jesus, How Hast Thou Offended

Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee?Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee!‘Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee:I crucified thee.

Alas! and Did My Savior Bleed

Was it for crimes that I had done, He groaned upon the tree?Amazing pity! Grace unknown! And love beyond degree!

Stricken, Smitten, and Afflicted

Tell me, ye who hear him groaning, Was there every grief like his?Friends thru’ fear his cause disowning, Foes insulting his distress:Many hands were raised to wound him, None would interpose to save;But the deepest stroke that pierced him Was the stroke that Justice gave.

Ye who think of sin but lightly,Nor suppose the evil great;Here may view its nature rightly, Here its guilt may estimate.Mark the sacrifice appointed! See who bears the awful load!’Tis the Word, the Lord’s anointed, Son of Man, and Son of God.

What Wondrous Love Is This

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul,What wondrous love is this, O my soul!What wondrous love is this, that caused the Lord of blissTo bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,To bear the dreadful curse for my soul!

A Debtor to Mercy Alone

A debtor to mercy alone, Of covenant mercy I sing;Nor fear, with your righteousness on, My person and off’ring to bring.The terrors of law and of God With me can have nothing to do;My Savior’s obedience and blood Hide all my transgressions from view.

And Can It Be That I Should Gain

And can it be, that I should gain An interest in the Savior’s blood?Died he for me, who caused his pain?For me, who him to death pursued?Amazing love! How can it be That thou, my God, shouldst die for me?Amazing love! How can it be That thou, my God, shouldst die for me!

Without penal substitution there is no salvation. And there isn’t nearly as much to sing about.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

How to Make Better, More Careful, More Persuasive Arguments

Tue, 30 Apr 2024 17:05:05 GMT

Of all the memorable statements uttered by Charles Spurgeon, this advice from Lectures to My Students has stuck in my head as much as anything the great preacher said or wrote:

The sensible minister will be particularly gentle in argument. He, above all men, should not make the mistake of fancying that there is force in temper, and power in speaking angrily. . . . Try to avoid debating with people. State your opinion and let them state theirs. If you see that a stick is crooked, and you want people to see how crooked it is, lay a straight rod down beside it; that will be quite enough. But if you are drawn into controversy, use very hard arguments and very soft words.

So many wise sentiments in these few sentences. We could talk about how “the Lord’s servant,” even as he rightly contends for the faith, “must not be quarrelsome but kind to everyone, able to teach, patiently enduring evil, correcting his opponents with gentleness” (2 Tim. 2:24–25). We could talk about the folly of mistaking forcefulness for true spiritual power. We could talk about the wisdom of avoiding protracted debates, by stating your opinion and then moving on. All of that is pure gold.

But I want to focus on the last sentence in the paragraph above. I want to suggest two ways we can make our arguments harder, which in this case means better, more careful, and more persuasive.

First, we can make our arguments better by focusing on the what instead of the why.

Let’s suppose your church is divided over what kind of new flooring to get in the fellowship hall. One side wants to continue with carpet, but you are on the side that wants hardwood. You might argue that the hardwood costs less, or is easier to clean, or fits with the look and feel of the rest of the church. Those are what arguments. The other side might not agree with your reasons, but they are rational, objective arguments to consider.

But suppose you make the case for hardwood flooring in a different way. You insinuate that the only reason some people want carpet is because their grandparents own a carpet company, and they are hoping to get a financial windfall from the church’s decision. Or you suggest that the pro-carpet side has always tried to control the church, and this is about holding on to their power. Or you insist that non-Christians are repelled by carpet in the fellowship hall and that the pro-carpet side doesn’t care about reaching unbelievers with the gospel. These are all why arguments. In this second scenario, you are arguing that the other side is motivated by greed, by a love for power, and by an indifference toward evangelism.

We can see in this (hopefully) absurd example that why arguments can easily create more heat than light. This is not surprising because why arguments tend to be more personal, more ethically charged, and more difficult to prove. Of course, why arguments are not always wrong. Maybe the pro-carpet folks really are in cahoots with Big Carpet, maybe they really are a cabal of old-time powerbrokers, maybe they really are gospel-less infidels. Sometimes the why arguments are important arguments to make. But—and here’s the key—those things can’t just be asserted or insinuated. Arguments must be made. They can’t just be thrown out there because you’ve decided to connect the dots in one way, when those same dots could be connected in several other ways. If the pro-carpet ringleader has a grandparent in the carpet industry, he could be scheming for a kickback, or he could be trying to care for his aging grandparents, or it could be that he grew up familiar with all the benefits of carpet, or the connection could be a pure coincidence because the man hasn’t talked to his grandparents in years and they sell a different kind of carpet anyway.

Why arguments work because they pack a rhetorical punch. They insist that our opponents are not just wrong, they are bad people, with bad motives, in league with other bad forces in the world. It’s true, there are bad people with bad motives out there, and in so far as their badness is manifest, it may be right to make it known. But we must always be careful that if there is a why argument to be made, it only comes after painstaking attention to the what. We must deal first with the facts—and not just the facts that can support our conclusion, but all the facts, including the ones that might support a different conclusion. We should also consider that even if someone’s why is self-interested or inconsistent, the what of his position might still be correct.

I’m wary of arguments that depend upon unproven assumptions or vague connections. And yet, that’s how too many arguments are made: “These people I don’t like are motivated by an idolatrous love of power. These people I don’t like have been bought off by dirty money. These people I don’t like are jealous of the attention others are receiving. These people I don’t like are trying to impress a nefarious group of gatekeepers.” Again, maybe all these why arguments are true. But then they must be proven—carefully and cautiously, not quickly and slanderously, and with a good faith attempt to understand how people understand their own why before we try to prove that we know the real why.

Second, we can make our arguments better by making the who much more generic or much more specific.

This advice may sound contradictory, so let me offer another made-up example.

Suppose I want to write an article on what’s wrong with preaching today. If I stay at the level of “preaching today,” I’m not really talking about anyone or any group in particular, so if I mention the need for better application and more unction in the pulpit, no one wonders if I’m talking about them or their team. As long as I stay generic, the article is more about what makes for good preaching rather than what is wrong with a particular person or group of people.

But suppose in writing the same article I focus on what’s wrong with the preaching in Charlotte. Now everyone is going to wonder: who is he really talking about? As the focus narrows, the target gets more concentrated and potentially more offensive. People will speculate that I’m trying to critique the churches in my Presbytery, or the churches down the street, or the most well-known churches in town. If I want to critique any of those groups, then I should have the courage to do so out in the open. But if I just want to talk about preaching, then I should keep the focus more general.

The key is to ask yourself: Am I trying to make arguments about a what or am I trying to make arguments against a who?

You may have a who in mind as you talk about the what, but if the point is really to address the what, then keep the who at a high level. The problem is when people go after a who that is specific enough to be a jab, but not specific enough to actually be argued against. For example, “white evangelicalism” often functions as this kind of mid-level who—just specific enough to be criticizing an opponent, but not specific enough to know who we are talking about or if the who is actually representative of the whole. It’s not that we can’t ever generalize, lump people into groups, or argue from specific examples to broader themes, but if we mean to indict a whole group, we must show that the indictment is largely true of the whole group. Otherwise, we are just signaling to our in-group that we are against the correct out-group.

This also means we should not rely on our negative words to do all the heavy lifting. Certain words are so loaded, and have become so elastic, that they are used to shut down arguments rather than to have them. I’m thinking of words (on the left) like abusive, toxic, racist, and whiteness; and words (on the right) like effeminate, snowflake, SJW, and woke. We don’t have to banish all these words from our vocabulary—some behavior is genuinely abusive or racist or effeminate—but it would be a good exercise to try to express these negative assessments in different language. We might discover that we don’t really have a clear definition in mind, but we simply like the way these epithets land on our opponents.

By the same token, when I see someone reference “Big Eva,” or “regime evangelicals,” or “the patriarchy,” or “coastal elites” my first question is always, “Who exactly do you have in mind?” We all use shorthand words and phrases, but they are not in themselves an argument. Often, they are little more than opportunities to high-five our friends as we sneer at our enemies.

Conclusion

In summary, and to simplify, we can put it like this: (1) focus on the what more than the why, and (2) don’t go to the who if you really mean to focus on the what.

When in doubt, go up or go down the ladder of abstraction. If you mainly want to talk about ideas, go up the ladder. Keep the focus on the principles and arguments (what I’m trying to do in this piece). Talk about the what. Go to the why only after careful research and after first trying to understand people on their own terms.

If you mainly want to talk about specific people or movements (as I’ve done in other articles, books, and reviews), go down the ladder. Look at words and texts. Focus on concrete sentences and paragraphs. Make arguments using specific examples. Hopefully, we will be more careful, more gracious, and more thoughtful when we know we are talking about real people who can (and probably will) argue back. In both points, the aim is not only to make better arguments, but to make us better people when we have arguments to make.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Rise of Right-Wing Wokeism

Mon, 28 Nov 2022 11:12:00 GMT

Review: ‘The Case for Christian Nationalism’ by Stephen Wolfe

I first encountered Stephen Wolfe, through his writing, when I was doing my doctoral work. We were both working on similar intellectual themes and looking at similar sources. I quoted Wolfe—who has a PhD from Louisiana State University and is now a “country scholar at Wolfeshire”—once or twice in my dissertation. Since then, I’ve read an article here or there from Wolfe and have tracked with some of his comments on Twitter. When I saw that he had a massive book coming out making The Case for Christian Nationalism, I was eager to read a serious exploration of such a timely and controversial topic.

This is a long review, so let me state my conclusion up front: I understand and sympathize with the desire for something like Christian Nationalism, but if this book represents the best of that ism, then Christian Nationalism isn’t the answer the church or our nation needs. For all the fine retrieval work Wolfe does in parts of the book, the overall project must be rejected.

The message—that ethnicities shouldn’t mix, that heretics can be killed, that violent revolution is already justified, and that what our nation needs is a charismatic Caesar-like leader to raise our consciousness and galvanize the will of the people—may bear resemblance to certain blood-and-soil nationalisms of the 19th and 20th centuries, but it’s not a nationalism that honors and represents the name of Christ.

Decline and Retreat

Let me start by acknowledging the understandable desire for something like Christian Nationalism. The best part of the book is Wolfe’s chapter on “The Good of Cultural Christianity” and, in particular, the section on “Celebrating Decline.” Wolfe is right to maintain that while cultural Christianity cannot save sinners (i.e., the message of the gospel is entrusted to the church, not to the civil order), a Christian culture can be both preparative and persuasive in direction of the gospel (213). Just because hypocrisy and nominalism are dangers—dangers that ministers should and do warn against—that doesn’t mean we should welcome the collapse of social assumptions and stigmas that pushed people in the direction of biblical truth and basic morality.

Too many Christians are quick to wish away cultural Christianity without considering the alternatives. “But wouldn’t you prefer to live in a community,” Wolfe asks, “where you can trust your neighbors, having mutual expectations of conduct, speech, and beliefs according to Christian standards? Wouldn’t you prefer to have neighbors with Christian standards of decency, respect, and admonishment, even if it is merely cultural?” (223).

These are good questions. I share Wolfe’s bewilderment over the Christian leaders who seem to prefer a society hostile to Christianity. I’ve seen pastors in my own denomination look wistfully at Christians losing power and becoming a minority in the country, as if Constantine ruined everything and our influence would be so much greater if we only we could lose power and become more marginalized.

It’s one thing to acknowledge cultural Christianity comes with tradeoffs or to recognize cultural Christianity allowed for certain sins to flourish; it’s another thing to say “good riddance” to Bible Belt near-Christianity, as Russell Moore did in a 2015 article that Wolfe quotes at length (224–25). Wolfe notes how Moore rejoices that “we don’t have Mayberry anymore, if we ever did” (226). Traditional family values may have kept some children in intact families. “But,” Moore concludes, “that’s hardly revival” (225). True, not revival, but something worth preserving, if we can?

I’ve given a mini-speech in private settings probably a dozen times in the past five years. I’ve said something like this to my friends and colleagues:

We have to realize that people are scared and discouraged. They see America rapidly becoming less and less Christian. They see traditional morality—especially in areas of sex and gender—not only being tossed overboard but resolutely and legally opposed. Of course, we should not give way to ungodly fear and panic. We should not make an idol out of politics. We should not fight like jerks because that’s the way the world fights. But people want to see that their Christian leaders—pastors, thinkers, writers, institutional heads—are willing to fight for the truth. You may think your people spend too much time watching Tucker Carlson, or retweeting Ben Shapiro, or looking for Jordan Peterson videos on YouTube, or reading the latest stuff from Doug Wilson—and I have theological disagreements with all of them (after all, some of them aren’t even Christians)—but people are drawn to them because they offer a confident assertion of truth. Our people can see the world being overrun by moral chaos, and they want help in mounting a courageous resistance; instead, they are getting a respectable retreat.

The online “winsomeness” debate of 2022 was a reprise of the “empathy” debate of 2021. In both instances, someone raises the point, “Hey, that word should not represent the sum total of our Christian witness. In fact, by itself, that word may smuggle in some bad ideas and assumptions.” A number of voices chime in in agreement.

In response, other Christians say, “Woah, wait a minute. Jesus was full of compassion. We should be kind to one another and love our neighbors. Why are you anti-Jesus?” Which prompts the first group to say, “That’s not really what we were talking about.” Meanwhile, another group runs with the idea that “winsomeness” and “empathy” are bad and concludes that if you don’t assert yourself with maximum obnoxiousness and offensiveness, then you’re a Big Eva Squish. Lather, rinse, repeat. The conversation devolves into the usual taking of sides.

I understand and sympathize with the desire for something like Christian Nationalism, but if this book represents the best of that ism, then Christian Nationalism is not the answer the church or our nation needs.

As frustrating as those discussions can be, they highlight an important difference in evangelical sensibilities. I’ve used the word “winsome” for years. It’s a good word. One of the unofficial slogans of Reformed Theological Seminary, where I gladly serve, is “winsomely Reformed.” If “winsome” means we engage in the battle of ideas with respect and civility, looking to build bridges where we can, then it’s certainly a worthwhile goal. The problem is when “winsomeness” and “empathy” get to be defined not by our words and deeds but by how our words and deeds make people feel. “I will be kind” is Christianity. “I will not do anything to jeopardize your good opinion of me” is capitulation.

The other problem is that winsomeness almost always runs in one direction. The “winsome” folks are careful to speak respectfully and humbly to an LGBT+ audience, while they’re eager to speak “prophetically” to the MAGA crowd. Many conservative Christians are tired of always being on the defensive and always having to communicate their convictions in ways that left-leaning secularists approve of. They want more than a tiny island of religious freedom where we promise not to bother anyone; they want a vigorous defense of what’s true.

The appeal of something like Christian Nationalism is that it presents a muscular alternative to surrender and defeat. Few conservative Christians have anything like a sophisticated political philosophy. But they know gay so-called marriage is wrong and drag queen story hour is bad. So if the two choices in political philosophy are (1) supporting gay “marriage” because that’s what pluralism demands and defending drag queen story hour as a blessing of liberty or (2) Christian Nationalism, millions of Christians in this country are going to choose the latter. I imagine the same basic equation explains the newfound interest in Catholic integralism as well.

I sympathize with the reasons many Christians want something like Christian Nationalism. They aren’t necessarily looking for culture warriors. They just don’t want to be told that the increasing hostility toward Christian ethics is all a figment of their imagination or really their own fault. These Christians are looking for leadership. They’re looking for confidence. They’re looking for a way to assert not only that Christian ideas have the right to exist but that Christian ideas are right. When a 475-page book with hundreds of footnotes from people like Althusius and Turretin reaches the top 100 on Amazon, you know something deeper is going on than a passion for political theory. Many Christians want an alternative to decline and retreat. So do I. But Christian Nationalism is not the answer.

Difficult Task

I’m going to get to my critique, but first let me make some preliminary remarks about what makes this book difficult to review.

For starters, it’s a long book, covering a lot of ground—from philosophy to history to theology to political theory. Wolfe has a lot to say, and there’s a lot that can be said in response. But a book review is not a book, so the reviewer has to practice restraint. If you want a fuller summary and more comprehensive evaluation of the book, I recommend Neil Shenvi’s four-part review.

Second, this is a personal book. Although there are plenty of footnotes and evidence of academic research, this volume is not meant to be a dispassionate scholarly reflection on the nature of civil society. As Wolfe says in the last paragraph on the last page, “This book is not an intellectual exercise, nor intended simply to ‘contribute to the field’ of Christian political theory. It is personal. It is a vision of the future, and my family is a part of that future” (478).

With that aim, it’s hard to know whether the book should be reviewed as a work of political theorizing, as a work of historical retrieval, or as a personal manifesto. Wolfe isn’t just arguing for the establishment principle or for legislating both tables of the Mosaic law, he’s justifying violent revolution (324) and calling for “the Great Renewal” (435). It would be a mistake to think Wolfe’s interest is in settling antiquarian debates.

Third, reviewing The Case for Christian Nationalism is difficult because Wolfe stacks the rhetorical deck against critical engagement with his claims and his ideas. At the beginning of the book, Wolfe emphasizes his commitment to use “an older style” of writing that relies on actual arguments, logical coherence, and scholarly demonstration. He laments the fact that so many Christians “resort to rhetorical devices, tweetable shibboleths, and credibility development to assert disparate principles and applications” (19–20). He decries those who “personally attack those who would disagree” and “appeal to common prejudice or sentiment” (20).

And yet, Wolfe doesn’t abide by these same ideals in dealing with those who would disagree with his ideas. He speaks of his opponents as “regime evangelicals” (341) and describes them as “rhetorically enslaved to the sentiments of a coastal elite” (456). Likewise, he anticipates that “the most vociferous critics [of his pro-Russian views] will be [Globalist American Empire]–affirming Christians” (445).

Just as the left has predetermined that any opposition to its ideology must be attributable to racism, sexism, homophobia, and transphobia, so some voices on the right have predetermined that anyone unwilling to go all the way in the direction of Christian Nationalism must be sellouts eager to please a nefarious cabal of secular elites. This posture hardly encourages an open and honest exchange of ideas.

These difficulties notwithstanding, I want to offer a substantive critique of The Case for Christian Nationalism. I’ll group my concerns under four headings: nations and ethnicity, the nature of the church, Protestant political thought, and the way forward.

1. Nations and Ethnicity

By Wolfe’s own admission, his definitions are often idiosyncratic, and by my estimation, they’re not entirely consistent. For example, the all-important concept of “nation” sometimes operates in Wolfe’s thinking more organically like an ethnicity, sometimes more loosely like a culture, sometimes more locally like a love of people and place, and sometimes more traditionally like a nation-state with a recognizable set of laws, a governing magistrate, and the power of the sword. The front cover contains a picture of America with a cross in the middle, so the book would seem to be about the nation-state we know as the United States of America. But at other times, it’s clear Wolfe doesn’t like that idea of “nation” and is animated by a different understanding of nation—one that defines “nationalism” as the natural good of becoming conscious of your own “people-group,” being for your own people-group, and keeping your people-group distinct from other people-groups (135).

There are many problems with Wolfe’s defense of this “similarity principle.” It’s built upon a weak and speculative foundation about how people would have formed distinct nations even without the fall, it gives too much credence to our own fallen inclinations, and it gives too little consideration for how our desire for “similarity” has been tainted by sin. Grace may perfect nature, but it often does so in ways that feel unnatural to us.

Likewise, Wolfe’s argument doesn’t reckon with the way the Bible relativizes our sense of family (Mark 3:31–35), tears down dividing walls between people groups (Eph. 2:11–22), and presents a multitribal and multilingual reality (and hoped-for future) as a heavenly good (Rev. 5:9–10).

I also fail to see how Wolfe’s rejection of the West’s universalizing tendency squares with Wolfe’s use of natural theology and natural law (which are, by definition, universally accessible, leading to truths than can be universally affirmed). Shenvi’s review is particularly good on the issue of ethnicity, so I won’t repeat all the same arguments here.

But before moving on from this point, it’s worth mentioning how Wolfe leaves a number of serious questions unanswered. Wolfe often decries the mental habit, forced upon us by secular elites, that makes Christian nationalists feel the need to prove they’re not racists or kinists or xenophobes. Wolfe refuses to play by those rules (456–57). I understand the frustration. But surely in a 500-page book, it wouldn’t have been misplaced, or kowtowing to the spirit of the age, for Wolfe to make clear exactly what he is and isn’t arguing for (especially when he quotes approvingly from Samuel Francis on VDARE.com).

Wolfe says a mark of nationalism is that “each people group has a right to be for itself” (118), and that “no nation (properly conceived) is composed of two or more ethnicities” (135), and that our “instinct to conduct everyday life among similar people is natural, and being natural, it is for your good” (142), and that “to exclude an out-group is to recognize a universal good for man” (145), and that “spiritual unity is inadequate for formal ecclesial unity” (200), and that “the most suitable condition for a group of people to successfully pursue the complete good is one of cultural similarity” (201).

What are we to do with these statements? Is Wolfe’s main concern about immigration policy for a nation-state? That’s part of what animates his warning against self-immolation and national suicide (171). Is he making the argument that we need not be ashamed to love our family, our country, and our place more than other families, countries, and places? That’s also part of his concern; fair enough.

But you don’t have to be a left-wing watchdog to wonder how these “similarity” arguments work out in practice. In a footnote, Wolfe rejects modern racialist principles and denies that he’s making a “white nationalist” argument (119), but if we cannot accept the creedal nation concept, and if ethnicities are grouped by cultural similarity, it’s an open question how much cooperation and togetherness blacks and whites (not to mention Asians and Hispanics and Native Americans) will ever share—or if they should even try to live and worship together.

Is this really the direction we’re to be pushed by the gospel? Are we really to pursue a social ordering on earth so different from that which is present in heaven? Are we really so sure that our love for people like us and our ostracism of people unlike us are God-given inclinations and not fallen ones?

If there were no other problems with the book, Wolfe’s vigorous defense of becoming “more exclusive and ethnic-focused” (459) should stop in their tracks all who are ready to follow Wolfe’s vision for national renewal. The fact that the left thinks racism is everywhere doesn’t mean racism is nowhere. Wolfe may eschew contemporary racialist categories, but he doesn’t make clear how his ideas on kinship are different from racist ideas of the past that have been used to forbid interracial marriage and to enforce the legal injustice of “separate but equal.”

By God’s grace, America has made great strides in overcoming racism in the past 60 years. I fail to see how Wolfe’s vision isn’t a giant step in the wrong direction.

2. Nature of the Church

Key to Wolfe’s political theory is the contention that “a Christian nation is a nation whose particular earthly way of life has been ordered to heavenly life in Christ” (174). I will say more about Protestant political thought in the next section. My criticism at present isn’t about moral philosophy as much as it’s about systematic theology.

By God’s grace, America has made great strides in overcoming racism in the past 60 years. I fail to see how Wolfe’s vision isn’t a giant step in the wrong direction.

To his credit, Wolfe clearly distinguishes between the civil realm and the ecclesial realm. He holds to a (kind of) two-kingdom theology. Wolfe’s project doesn’t entail theocracy; neither is it theonomy: “The Christian nation is not the spiritual kingdom of Christ or the immanentized eschaton; it is not founded in principles of grace or the Gospel” (186). Nevertheless, civil government ought to direct people to the Christian religion because “an earthly kingdom is a Christian kingdom when it orders the people to the kingdom of heaven” (195).

Wolfe doesn’t conflate the church and the world, but he argues that “the Christian nation is the complete image of eternal life on earth.” Wolfe rejects the idea of the church as a “colony” or “outpost” of heaven (222). The church may give us the “principal image” of heavenly life (public worship), but only a Christian nation can give us the “complete image” of heavenly life. “For in addition to being a worshipping people, the Christian nation has submitted to magistrates and constitutes a people whose cultural practices and self-conception provide a foretaste of heaven” (223). In short, Wolfe maintains that a Christian nation should be ordered “to make the earthly city an analog of the heavenly city” (209).

I disagree with this conclusion. It’s one thing to suggest civil society may bear resemblance to heavenly realities or that in the life to come we’ll more deeply enjoy whatever is excellent in this life. It’s another to suggest the analog of the heavenly city is to be found in the earthly city. Contrary to Wolfe, I maintain the church is an “outpost” or “embassy” or “colony” of the heavenly city.

This comports with the sweep of redemptive history: the reality of heavenly paradise is first found in Eden; then a reflection of Edenic bliss is to be found in the nation of Israel (the land in which God dwells, described with Edenic language and marked by Edenic boundaries); at present God’s dwelling is with his people in the church (where the judicial punishments in Israel are recalibrated as ecclesiastical disfellowshipping and the picture of Edenic plenty is manifested by giving generously to our brothers and sisters); and finally at the consummation will the kingdom of this world become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ (Rev. 11:15).

It’s only at the end of the age that we can expect heaven to come down to earth. In the time being, the analog of the heavenly city resides in the church. Wolfe quotes Matthew Henry to the effect that “whatever is excellent and valuable in this world” will enter the New Jerusalem (222). But Henry, in that same passage on Revelation 21:9–27, doesn’t describe the New Jerusalem as the realization of the earthly city. The New Jerusalem, according to Henry, is a picture of “the church of God in her glorious, perfect, triumphant state” (Commentary on the Whole Bible).

After all, the New Jerusalem is a vision of the Bride, the wife of the Lamb, the church (Rev. 21:9). When Hebrews describes the church as “Mount Zion” and “the city of the living God,” as “the heavenly Jerusalem” and “the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven” (Heb. 12:22–23), it’s hard to conclude we should call the church an incomplete image of heavenly life.

Christ’s chief concern in this age is with the church. While many institutions contribute to earthly life and human flourishing, Jesus didn’t promise to build any institution other than the church (Matt. 16:18). The impression one gets from The Case for Christian Nationalism is that the church plays merely a supportive spiritual role as part of a larger project that involves the civil realm ordering people to their complete good. Wolfe’s vision is nation-centric rather than church-centric.

For example, if we’re to experience the Great Renewal, we must hope and pray for a god-like magistrate “whom the people look upon as father or protectorate of the country, . . . a man of dignity and greatness of soul who will lead a people to liberty, virtue, and godliness—to greatness” (279). There isn’t much about prayer in the book, which isn’t significant in itself, except that the strongest (only?) exhortation to prayer is that we should pray for God to raise up a “Christian prince”—a leader “who would suppress the enemies of God and elevate his people; recover a worshiping people; restore masculine prominence in the land and a spirit of dominion; affirm and conserve his people and place, not permitting their dissolution or capture; and inspire a love of one’s Christian country.” Wolfe concludes the chapter by urging the reader to “pray that God would bring about, through a Christian prince, a great renewal” (322).

Besides questioning the wisdom of wishing for “a measured theocratic Caesarism” and a “world-shaker for our time” (279), I fail to see how this has been, let alone should be, the great hope of God’s people. I agree with Wolfe that the church shouldn’t be a hub of political activism, but do we really want to insist that the magistrate has the power to “resolve doctrinal conflicts,” to moderate synods, and to “confirm or deny their theological judgments”? Has it generally worked out well for the church when the magistrate “retains his superiority” over the doctrine of the church (313)?

In Wolfe’s vision, pastors are left to be “more like chaplains” (470) and the people of God are told to form civil associations “without pastoral leadership” (471). Any vision of Christian Nationalism that increases the importance of the nation at the expense of the importance of the church is a price too high to pay.

3. Protestant Political Thought

Wolfe’s use of early Protestant political thought is commendable and shouldn’t be dismissed lightly, but there’s no one Protestant (or Reformed) political theory that must be determinative for all peoples in all places and all times. Let me back my way into that conclusion by making three points.

(1) Wolfe’s retrieval project from 16th- and 17th-century sources is largely correct.

Most theologians in the early and high period of Reformed orthodoxy believed in the power of the civil magistrate to call and conduct synods, in the necessity of enforcing both tables of the law, and in the establishment principle (i.e., an official state church supported financially and enjoying certain legal privileges). They maintained that the magistrate had the power to punish heretics, enforce uniformity of doctrine and worship, and use capital punishment (in extreme cases) to protect society from the leavening effects of sin and false teaching.

Coming out of the Catholic Church, Protestant theologians believed strongly in the liberty of conscience. As Wolfe points out, they taught that true inward religion was a matter of persuasion, but this didn’t mean the magistrate couldn’t use coercive power to suppress false religion (353).

Opponents of these older views should be careful not to overstate their case. It’s one thing to make a prudential argument against, say, the enforceability of blasphemy laws in our day. It’s another to argue such laws are in principle wrong. Wolfe is to be commended for having the courage of his convictions and forcing Christians to think more carefully about a host of conclusions that most Western Christians assume just can’t be true.

(2) As illuminating as Wolfe’s case may be, it in no way constitutes the Protestant position.

Perhaps it can be called “classic” if classic simply means old. But Protestant social thought hasn’t been static since the death of Turretin, nor should it be argued that everything after 1700 can be written off as “Enlightenment” thinking. By the end of the 17th century, leading Protestant moral philosophers and natural-law thinkers were rethinking the effectiveness of enforced religious uniformity and questioning the biblical justification for granting to the magistrate such far-reaching power in religious matters.

For example, in the 1687 work Of the Nature and Qualification of Religion in Reference to Civil Society, Samuel von Pufendorf argued that the state was not founded for the sake of religion and that religion, as a part of natural human freedom, cannot be delegated to the sovereign. According to Pufendorf, the magistrate’s chief duty was not the heavenly ordering of his society but the safety and security of his people. That was the end for which civil government was instituted.

Any vision of Christian Nationalism that increases the importance of the nation at the expense of the importance of the church is a price too high to pay.

To be sure, Pufendorf didn’t argue for disestablishment, and he didn’t think the sovereign had to tolerate every kind of religious deviation, but he pushed the Protestant world toward toleration and made the case that the sovereign shouldn’t enforce anything more than the basics of natural religion. One can disagree with Pufendorf, but he was an orthodox Lutheran, and his work is rooted in hundreds of biblical texts.

Pufendorf was far from the only thinker moving in this direction. In 1689, John Locke argued in his famous Letter Concerning Toleration (1689) that the magistrate may tolerate false religion. “What if a Church be idolatrous, is that also to be tolerated by the magistrate?” Locke asked. His answer proved influential: “What power can be given to the magistrate for the suppression of an idolatrous Church, which may not in time and place be made use of to the ruin of an orthodox one?”

Both Pufendorf and Locke were writing in response to the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685) which forced French Huguenots to convert to Catholicism, face life in prison, or flee the country. Toleration looked better and more conducive to the aims of Christianity than giving the sovereign final say over the teaching and worship of the church. The move away from the strict enforcement of religious nationalism was promoted most powerfully not by free thinkers and atheists but by committed Protestants.

There’s a reason Thomas Aikenhead, the 20-year-old student who died by hanging in 1697, was the last person to be executed for blasphemy in Great Britain. Increasingly, Protestants believed there was a better way for diverse religious populations to coexist. At the outset of the book, Wolfe lays down one of his principles: “I do not appeal to historical examples of nationalism, nor do I waste time repudiating ‘fascist nationalism’” (26). Considering the real-life aims of the book, it would have been nice to know where Wolfe’s version of Christian Nationalism has been implemented and whether it has proven successful at promoting a commodious life as an analog of heaven. But we’re never shown Wolfe’s vision in living color. Perhaps we’re to accept that Christian Nationalism, like socialism, hasn’t worked because the real thing has never been tried.

For all the faults of America (and there are many), and for all the problems facing Christians today (also, many), you’d be hard-pressed to find a country where orthodox Protestants wield more political power, have more cultural influence, and have more freedom to practice their faith according to the dictates of their conscience.

I’m generally in agreement with Aaron Renn’s “negative world” thesis. I think we’re in a moment of profound cultural change and that the forces aligned against orthodox Christian faith are many and powerful. It remains to be seen which Christian institutions and individuals will remain faithful. A big sort is already underway.

And yet, there are still more supports for biblical Christianity—institutionally and culturally—than in almost any other country in the world. That’s changing, and we shouldn’t rejoice in the declension. But I dare say Christianity in this country—without a national religious establishment, without a world-shaking Christian prince, without uniformity in worship and doctrine—has fared pretty well. When talking about earthly realities, it’s always helpful to ask the question “Compared to what?” If the American experiment has failed, I’d like to know which country in the past 250 years has gotten a passing grade.

(3) Wolfe’s handling of the American founding, in support of his Christian Nationalism project, is not persuasive.

In his last chapter before the epilogue, Wolfe asks the question, “Does the American political tradition permit a Christian self-conception, Christian governments, and church establishment?” (398). He concludes at the end of the chapter that the founders “all believed that a religious people was necessary for civic morals, public happiness, and effective government, and most (if not all) thought that Christianity provided something distinctive in this regard” (430). The founders also believed, says Wolfe, that the government had a role in supporting true religion and that violations of natural religion could be suppressed. This is all true. America’s founding was much more Christian than today’s strict “wall of separation” advocates would make us think.

But there’s a disconnect between these conclusions and the rest of the book. Wolfe’s book doesn’t simply argue Christianity is necessary for public virtue or that Christianity should have a privileged place in American cultural and political life. Wolfe argues for “theocratic Caesarism,” for a national church establishment, and for a Christian prince to punish false teachers and to regulate external acts of religion—including professions of faith, ceremonies of worship, and the church’s doctrine (356–57). This isn’t what the American founding was about, and in many respects it was precisely what the American colonists wanted to avoid.

As I’ve written before, if the founding era was about one thing, it was about liberty—not the “liberty” of expressive individualism but a commitment to liberty that believed government existed to protect men’s rights, that government should be limited, and that government’s power should be frustrated by checks and balances. Wolfe says, “Our time calls for a man who can wield formal civil power to great effect and shape the public imagination by means of charisma, gravitas, and personality” (31)—which is the sort of demagogic instinct our Constitutional system was meant to oppose.

In Wolfe’s retelling, one is led to believe the political philosophy of the founding era was no different than what Protestants had believed 100 or 200 years ago. For example, Wolfe concludes that John Witherspoon’s “view on the role of government in religion is no different than Cotton Mather’s” (417). This is simply not true.

For starters, Witherspoon taught a course on moral philosophy at Princeton (the lectures from which Wolfe quotes several times). Witherspoon had been shaped by Pufendorf and Hutcheson and the whole tradition of Protestant natural-law ethics. (It was a saying in Glasgow that the students there had to endure classroom instruction “in which . . . their Heads they knock/Grotius, Pufendorf, and Locke.”)

Mather, on the other hand, derided the discipline of moral philosophy as “infidelity reduced to a system.” Witherspoon and Mather shared many doctrinal commitments in common, but they didn’t conceive of church-state relations in the same way.

As a member of the New Jersey Provincial Congress, Witherspoon and the other delegates (including other prominent Presbyterians) defended religious freedom and opposed religious establishments. Article XVIII of the Constitution they framed says the following:

That no person shall ever within this colony be deprived of the inestimable privilege of worshipping Almighty God in a manner agreeable to the dictates of his own conscience; nor under any pretence whatsoever compelled to attend any place of worship, contrary to his own faith and judgment; not shall any person within this colony ever be obliged to pay titles, taxes, or any other rates, for the purpose of building or repairing any church or churches, place or places of worship, or for the maintenance of any ministry or ministry, contrary to what he believes to be right or has deliberately or voluntarily engaged to perform.

To be sure, what New Jersey did in 1776 would take another 50 years to take root in the rest of the American states. My argument isn’t that state establishments didn’t exist at the time of the founding, or even that it was wrong that they did exist. My argument is that many orthodox Christians opposed these establishments and opposed them on historical, prudential, and biblical grounds.

Knowing that James Madison—Witherspoon’s student at Princeton—refused to give the magistrate authority over the external acts of religion, Wolfe is at pains to prove that Madison’s view was “extreme” and that his “importance in the founding era on religious liberty is exaggerated” (423). Perhaps, but if Madison’s views were not as important, it’s because the views of Presbyterians and Baptists were more important. Madison’s famous Memorial and Remonstrance was written in opposition to Patrick Henry’s plan to tax property owners to fund ministers from all Protestant denominations. Madison’s Memorial was filed with the general assembly in Virginia with 1,552 signatures.

The most popular petition against Henry’s proposal, however, was filed by Presbyterians, Baptists, and other dissenters. Their proposal, which made many of the same arguments as Madison’s, garnered 4,899 signatures. These dissenters knew that a pan-Protestant establishment had never worked (or even been attempted). Establishment always meant privileging one denomination at the expense of another, which is why disestablishment happened most quickly in religiously diverse states and most slowly where one denomination had been dominant.

To spend time dreaming of a pan-Protestant establishment in the United States today—with 330 million people, and with a Protestantism that now includes a large number of Pentecostals and charismatics, plus a black tradition and a liberal tradition, and hundreds of denominations that don’t see eye to eye on a thousand different things—is a dream that will never be realized. And for that we should be thankful.

Let me make a final comment about Presbyterians, since I am one and so is Wolfe. For better or worse (and I would say for better), the Presbyterian view on church-state relations changed in America. From the reorganization plan in 1787 to the first General Assembly in 1789, Witherspoon played a key role in establishing a national Presbyterian church, and when the ecclesiastical constitution was finally adopted, the Westminster Confession had been altered to create more distance between church and state. The edition of the Westminster Standards used by the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) and the Orthodox Presbyterian Church (OPC) contains those 1789 revisions that limited the power of the civil magistrate over religious matters.

Moreover, these changes didn’t originate in the 1780s. In conjunction with the Adopting Act of 1729, the Presbyterian church in the American colonies already allowed that chapters 20 and 23 of the Westminster Confession weren’t binding on ministers and that ministers need not receive “those articles in any such sense as to suppose the civil magistrate hath a controlling power over Synods with respect to the exercise of their ministerial authority.” With few exceptions, Presbyterians in this country have never held to the “classic” Reformed position on the power of the civil magistrate.

4. Way Forward

This review has already gone on too long, but there’s one final point to make: the book, for all its serious work of theological and philosophical retrieval, is hard to take seriously after you read the epilogue. Without the epilogue, the book would still provoke a strong reaction, but one could argue that at the heart of Wolfe’s vision is a return to the political ordering of Western Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries. I don’t think that’s the right vision, but it’s worthwhile to consider why many of our theological forebears thought so differently about how to order their societies. There is much to learn from these earlier theologians, even if we don’t think it necessary to implement their political ideas in our own day.

But the epilogue gives the whole book a different feel. Wolfe’s epilogue purports to answer the question “Now what?”—but the chapter consists of a string of loosely connected topics that can fairly be described as a 38-part rant. Several examples will suffice to justify this conclusion.

On the problem with progress:

Every step of progress is overcoming you. Ask yourself, “What sort of villain does each event of progress have in common?” The straight white male. That is the chief out-group of New America, the embodiment of regression and oppression. (436)

On living under a gynocracy:

We live under a gynocracy—a rule by women. This may not be apparent on the surface, since men still run many things. But the governing virtues of America are feminine vices, associated with certain feminine virtues, such as empathy, fairness, and equality. (448)

On the many problems with gynocracy:

Are you a minority and have a grievance? Signal displeasure to white women, even blame them for your pain, and women will shower you with money and retweets. . . . Consider also child transgenderism, which seems to be facilitated in large part by over-empathetic and sometimes deranged mothers. The most insane and damaging sociological trends of our modern society are female-driven. The gynocracy is self-destructive and breeds social disorder. (451)

On women and credentialism:

As academic institutions cater to and graduate more and more women, credentialism is on the rise. . . . This is why women place their credentials—“Dr.” or “PhD” or “Professor,” or even “MA in theology”—in their social media name. (453)

On the ruling class:

There is no robust common ground here. There is no credibility we can establish with them. Unavoidably, we are threats to their regime. Christian nationalism is an existential threat to the secularist regime. They are enemies of the church and, as such, enemies of the human race. (456)

On the need to resist modern life:

I’m not going to tell you how far to go in this, but it is both good for you and your family and it prepares for a better future. I expect that most committed Christian nationalists will be farmers, homesteaders, and ranchers. (461)

On choosing a career:

I say now [to my kids]: “Find a career that maximizes your autonomy from the forces of the secularist ruling class.” If you are a white, heterosexual, cis-gendered male, then the world will not offer you any favors. Indeed, your career advancement depends on sacrificing your self-respect by praising and pandering to your inferiors who rule over you. Even the CEOs, in the end, are dominated by woke scolds. (464)

On the embarrassment of low testosterone:

Christian nationalism should have a strong and austere aesthetic. I was dismayed when I saw the attendees of a recent PCA General Assembly—men in wrinkled, short-sleeve, golf shirts, sitting plump in their seats. We have to do better. Pursue your potential. Lift weights, eat right, and lose the dad bod. We don’t all have to become bodybuilders, but we ought to be men of power and endurance. We cannot achieve our goals with such a flabby aesthetic vision and under the control of modern nutrition. Sneering at this aesthetic vision, which I fully expect to happen, is pure cope. Grace does not destroy T-levels; grace does not perfect testosterone into estrogen. If our opponents want to be fat, have low testosterone, and chug vegetable oil, let them. It won’t be us. (469–70)

That Wolfe thinks all this is concerning. That he wrote it down is extra troubling. That he and his editors thought it a good idea to end the book with a series of vituperative harangues is baffling. Is this the civilizational answer we’ve been looking for—living off the grid, complaining about women, complaining about the regime, complaining about how hard it is to be a white male, warning about the globalists, calling out the dangers of vegetable oil, and chastising Presbyterians with dad bods?

Besides trafficking in sweeping and unsubstantiated claims about the totalizing control of the Globalist American Empire and the gynocracy, Wolfe’s apocalyptic vision—for all of its vitriol toward the secular elites—borrows liberally from the playbook of the left. He not only redefines the nature of oppression as psychological oppression (making it easier to justify extreme measures and harder to argue things aren’t as bad as they seem), he also rallies the troops (figuratively, but perhaps also literally?) by reminding them they’re victims. “The world is out to get you, and people out there hate you” is not a message that will ultimately help white men or any other group that considers themselves oppressed.

When Wolfe sarcastically thanks those who “woke many from their dogmatic slumber” and rejoices that “more are awakening each day,” one might be forgiven for seeing his version of Christian Nationalism as a form of right-wing wokeism. What does it mean to be woke if not that we’re awakened to the “reality” that oppression is everywhere, extreme measures are necessary, and the regime must be overthrown?

If critical race theory teaches that America has failed, that the existing order is irredeemable, that Western liberalism was a mistake from the beginning, that the current system is rigged against our tribe, and that we ought to make ethnic consciousness more important—it seems to me that Wolfe’s project is the right-wing version of these same impulses.

Better Strategy: Confidence, Courage, Christlikeness

So what is my answer to our national and civilizational collapse?

First of all, we should remember there are much bigger problems than national and civilizational collapse. Like sin, flesh, and the Devil. Like death and hell (Matt. 10:28). As a pastor, I’m also concerned about the peace and purity of the church. Surely it’s significant that these discussions around Christian Nationalism are taking place when it has never been less likely to happen.

On the one hand, that makes sense. We’re grasping for some alternative to the rise of militant progressivism. And yet, considering that there are no plans afoot to establish a Protestant or Presbyterian colony on Mars, we should hold to our political blueprints—the ones that have no possibility of being achieved—loosely and charitably. I fear the practical payoff from this discussion will be very small, but the potential for division in the church will be great.

But if we must say something about a strategy for national renewal, it’s multifaceted and rather ordinary. We need confidence, courage, and Christlikeness. We need faithful churches, gospel preaching, and prayer. We should contend for the faith. We should disciple our churches and catechize our kids. We should create new—and steward existing—civic, educational, and ecclesiastical institutions. We should love our neighbors and share our faith. We should press home the truths of natural and revealed religion in the public square and get involved in the political process. Where possible, most of us should get married and have children (the more the merrier).

Our “strategy” is not one thing. It’s many things. It’s cultivating the virtues of prudence, justice, wisdom, and temperance (and understanding how each virtue needs the other three). It’s building bridges and building walls. It’s speaking the truth and offering grace. It’s striving to grow in every fruit of the Spirit. It’s asking that God would give us every virtue of grace. It’s modeling an alternative culture as the City of God, and it’s trying to be salt and light among the City of Man.

I lament that America is much less Christian than it used to be. I want Christians in the fray, not simply negotiating the terms of our surrender. I want Christian people and Christian ideas to influence our nation for good. I pray for Christ and his kingdom to come. I want godly and wise magistrates. I want to see the sexual revolution turned back.

I love my nation and want to see it become more Christian—mostly by regeneration, but also by the good that comes from cultural Christianity. I just don’t think that equals Christian Nationalism.

I love my nation and want to see it become more Christian—mostly by regeneration, but also by the good that comes from cultural Christianity. We should pray and labor for all of that. I just don’t think that equals Christian Nationalism as it has now been offered to us.

I know the instinct that assumes that whatever position seems most “conservative” must be correct, especially if that position is hated by the left. But that’s not a foolproof instinct. And besides, Wolfe makes clear that his project is not “conservative.” We are better to see Wolfe’s vision as one of several postliberal ideologies that are growing on the radical right.

Read the chapter on “The Nationalist” in Matthew Rose’s 2021 book A World After Liberalism and you’ll see that many of the central ideas from Samuel Francis—the impotence of the conservative movement, the need to stir up the grievances of Middle America, the call for distinct ethnicities (read: white) to stop the self-harm and defend their own nation, the insistence that America is dead and revolution is necessary, and the encouragement to make use of Caesarism and the mass loyalties that a charismatic leader inspires—are present in Wolfe’s own vision.

Biblical instincts are better than nationalist ones, and the ethos of the Christian Nationalism project fails the biblical smell test. Will the person who goes all in on this book—the person who says “yes” to every rant, the person who feels drawn to the vision of ethnic separation, the person who is just biding his time until the Christian prince arrives and the revolution is ready to start—be apt to grow in faith, hope, and love (1 Cor. 13:13)? Will he be led to rejoice insofar as he shares in Christ’s sufferings (1 Pet. 4:13)? And if the end of things is at hand, will he be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of his prayers (1 Pet. 4:7)? Or will this book help us return reviling for reviling (1 Pet. 2:23)?

We aren’t the first Christians to live in trying times; most Christians around the world, and millions of Christians throughout history, would likely trade their circumstances for ours. The cultural upheaval we’re living through will be a means of providential grace if it leads us to think more carefully about civil society, to contend for the truth more persuasively, to commit ourselves more fully to Jesus and his church, and to grow in that holiness without which no one will see the Lord (Heb. 12:14).

Certainly, let us pray for a great renewal, but let us also remember that the renewal we need most in our world and in our land is the restoration of true doctrine, the reformation of our lives, and the revival of that divine and supernatural light which shines in our hearts to show us the glory of God in the face of Christ (2 Cor. 4:6).

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Is It Wrong to Have Sex Before Marriage?

Wed, 18 Oct 2023 09:15:00 GMT

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Not long ago, an American politician found herself in an awkward situation when she mentioned at a prayer breakfast that she was running late for the event because her fiancé wanted to have sex that morning. From her public admission, it was clear that the woman and her fiancé were living together and were in a sexual relationship. What was also clear is that the woman—a professing Christian at an evangelical church (with her pastor in the audience)—didn’t realize she had said or done anything wrong. She mentioned her reason for being late with a smile and with a chuckling assurance to her fiancé that she would see him in the evening and that he wouldn’t have to wait long for his desires to be fulfilled. Later, after getting flack for her risqué remarks, the congresswoman explained that she goes to church because she is a sinner, not because she is a saint.

I mention this story not to draw attention to this particular event or to pick on this particular politician, but to illustrate the reality that sex before marriage, even for many Christians, has lost any sense of stigma. Watch almost any television show or any movie that involves dating or romance, and you will find that sexual activity between non-married persons is completely normal and utterly pervasive. Christians may still get upset when the culture pushes an LGBTQ agenda, but most of those same Christians won’t even notice when popular songs, shows, videos, or movies routinely show, describe, or assume sex before marriage. If worldliness is whatever makes sin look normal and righteousness look strange (to paraphrase David Wells), then the routine acceptance of sex before marriage is one of the clearest signs of worldliness in our age.

Is It Wrong?

The title of this piece asks, “Is it wrong to have sex before marriage?” so let me start by showing from the Bible that such behavior is clearly a sin. “Fornication” is the (now rarely used word) for sex between two persons who are not married. In traditional terms, adultery has often meant illicit sex once married, and fornication has meant illicit sex outside of marriage. The word “fornication” is used in the King James Version in 1 Corinthians 6:18, but the Greek word there is porneia which includes every kind of illicit sexual activity, from adultery to homosexuality to prostitution to sex before marriage.

The Bible doesn’t dwell on the sin of fornication because such behavior was, in the minds of the biblical authors, clearly and obviously wrong. We see this assumption in several places. According to Exodus 22:16–17, the man who has sex with a non-engaged virgin, should make her his wife, indicating that sexual intercourse is a covenant-forming activity not to be entered into apart from the covenant bonds of marriage. Likewise, according to Deuteronomy 22:13–21, if a woman has sex before marriage, she is put in the same category as a prostitute. The Torah does not allow for sex before marriage.

The New Testament carries forward the same sexual boundaries found in the Old Testament. When Joseph sought to quietly break off his betrothal to pregnant Mary, it is obvious that Joseph considers Mary to have done something wrong and that the whole community will also disapprove of Mary’s behavior (Matt. 1:19). The Bible also considers it important for us to know that Mary really was a virgin (Matt. 1:20; Luke 1:34). Most clearly, the logic of 1 Corinthians 7—that it is better to marry than to burn with passion (1 Cor. 7:9)—only works on the assumption that sexual activity belongs in marriage and not outside of marriage. The strong desire for sexual intimacy should only be fulfilled within the bonds of marriage between a man and woman (1 Cor. 7:36–38). Every other context for sexual intimacy is sin. This means that sexual activity before marriage—which includes sexual intercourse, and by extension, every kind of romantic activity involving one’s sexual parts—is prohibited by God.

Why Is It Wrong?

That fornication is sin should be obvious from even a cursory reading of the Bible. Why fornication is wrong takes a little more thought. As I said earlier, the Bible doesn’t say a whole lot about sex before marriage. We cannot automatically gauge the importance of a matter in the Bible, or the gravity of an offense, merely by counting up the number of verses used to discuss the issue. The sense one gets from reading the Scriptures is that the people of God knew fornication was obviously wrong and so there wasn’t a lot to say except to set forth the consequences of the sin and how to avoid and flee the sin. Nevertheless, if we think a bit broader and deeper, it’s not hard to understand why the Bible puts premarital sex outside the bounds of licit sexual behavior.

Simply put, fornication is a sin because it is inconsistent with the nature of sex, the nature of marriage, and the nature of the family. Marriage is a covenant bond between a man and woman (Mal. 2:14), a covenantal bond sealed by the one flesh union of sexual intimacy (Gen. 2:24). In his book Marriage as Covenant, pastor and biblical scholar Gordon Hugenberger argues convincingly that marriage during the Old Testament period was typically formed by the swearing of a solemn oath (verba solemnia) and then ratified by the oath-sign of sexual intercourse. The two elements were meant to go together, with the public promise preceding the private ratification. As Hugenberger puts it, “because of the necessarily private, though no less binding, nature of sexual union as an oath-sign, the complementary verba solemnia were especially appropriate as they offer essential public evidence of the solemnization of a marriage” (p. 216). When couples have sex before marriage, they are engaging in private activity whose purpose is to consummate a public promise. Without the latter, the former is an endeavor to enjoy the benefits of the covenant without formally entering into the covenant.

We should not overlook the language of “one flesh” in Genesis 2:24. On one level, it can be argued that the language of “one flesh” means sexual intimacy should not take place unless the couple is ready to commit to “oneness” in every other area of the relationship. Sex is the final and most intimate of relational bonds, and it should not be entered into unless the couple has promised to be bound together for life. That is a fair inference from the language of “one flesh.”

At the same time, the more direct referent is not to the oneness of relational intimacy but to the oneness of biological function. The reason that same-sex unions do not constitute marriage is the same reason that couples do not commit fornication by merely holding hands or hugging. “One flesh” does not refer to any kind of activity that physically connects one person to another. A man and a woman become “one flesh” in sexual intercourse because their individual bodies come together for a singular biological purpose. Marriage is that sort of union which, if all the plumbing is working correctly and takes place at the opportune time, produces children. This doesn’t mean every act of sex must produce children, but it does mean that when we engage in sexual activity, we are opening ourselves up to the gift of children. The promises made in marriage matter not just for the bride and groom. The promises matter for the sake of the children that they hope to produce and for the sake of the wider community that benefits when children are born in wedlock and raised by their two biological parents.

Sex before marriage undermines all this. Fornication only “works” if sex can be divorced from the promises that constitute a marriage, divorced from the public dimension of marriage, and divorced from the children that normally come from marriage and flourish most in the context of marriage. The Bible clearly and explicitly says that premarital sex is wrong. The Bible just as clearly, if more implicitly, teaches that premarital sex is personally selfish and publicly subversive of the goods that marriage is meant to promote and protect.

What If I’ve Already Committed this Wrong?

I would be remiss if I didn’t offer a word of hope for those who already know that premarital sex is wrong and feel terrible that they’ve committed this sin. Fornication is not the unforgivable sin, neither does it consign a person to a life of second-class spiritual citizenship. Think of the second chance given to the prostitute Gomer in the book of Hosea. Think of the sexual sinners in the genealogy of Jesus. Think about the women who were sexual sinners who encountered God’s grace in Jesus. Most importantly, think of the cross where all our sins can be washed whiter than snow. Let us walk in the light as God is in the light (1 John 1:7). It’s true, sex before marriage is a sin, but if we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

7 Reasons Why Mormonism and Christianity Are Not the Same

Mon, 05 Jun 2023 09:00:00 GMT

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The aim of this article is to provide a brief overview of Mormon history and theology. My purpose is not to debunk Mormonism or to prove Christianity. But I hope this quick survey will demonstrate that the two are not the same.

A quick note on secondary sources: Christian materials do not always treat Mormonism fairly or go the extra mile to present Mormon ideas as a Mormon would recognize them. One book that does is Andrew Jackson’s Mormonism Explained: What Latter-day Saints Teach and Practice. I also recommend A Different Jesus? The Christ of the Latter-Day Saints by BYU professor Robert Millet. Richard Mouw concedes too much in his Foreword and Afterword, but it is still helpful to get Mormon Christology from a Mormon himself.

Mormon History

Joseph Smith was born in rural Vermont in 1805, the fourth of nine children. With little success farming in Vermont, the Smith family moved west to Palmyra, New York. There Joseph Smith was exposed to different revival movements, and most of his family became Presbyterians, though Smith later said he leaned toward Methodism.

The presence of so many variations of Christianity bothered Smith. Which one was right? How could he choose? At one revival meeting, a preacher quoted from James 1:5 “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him” (KJV). Smith, 14 years old at the time, went home, reflected on these words, and went into the woods to pray.

According to Mormon tradition, this is when Joseph Smith had his first vision. In this vision, which is foundational to the Mormon faith, Smith claimed to see two “personages.” The one—God the Father—pointed to the other and said, “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” Smith asked them what sect he should join. They answered that he should join none of them. They were all wrong. All their creeds were an abomination, and all their believers were corrupt.

Three years later, Mormons believe Smith received another vision. In this vision the angel Moroni told Smith of golden plates buried under a hill near Palmyra. The plates were revealed in 1827 when Smith was provided with two reading crystals—Urim and Thummim—by which he could translate the writing (Smith claimed the plates were written in hieroglyphics). In 1830 Smith published The Book of Mormon, which contains the story of the lost Israelites who migrated to America in the sixth century BC but were killed in battle in AD 428. Smith later received another vision from John the Baptist giving him the Aaronic Priesthood.

That same year (1830) Smith founded the “Church of Christ.” In 1838 he changed the name to “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.”

Smith continued to receive revelations telling him to move from New York to Ohio to Missouri and eventually to Illinois where he and his followers built a town called Nauvoo. There Smith and his followers tried to live out a utopian vision of society. They also instituted polygyny as early Mormon leaders argued that Jesus had had many wives. Smith and his brother were arrested in 1844. Later a mob stormed the jail and killed them both. Mormons consider Smith a martyr. Others say he died in a violent shoot-out.

Following Smith’s death there was a schism. A small group called the Josephites became the Reorganized Church with headquarters in Missouri. Most followed Brigham Young, who became their First President and prophet. In 1847, Young took the followers to Utah and built Salt Lake City.

Today, according to LDS figures, there are nearly 17 million Mormons worldwide—with about 7 million living in the United States. Mormonism is the largest new religious movement from the West since Christianity (which can be said, more accurately, to have come from the Near East). Mormonism is also the first homegrown American religion. Mormonism continues to grow (though at a slower rate) because of its missionary impulse, its relatively high birthrate, and its commitment to doctrinal and ethical distinctives.

Mormon Theology

Let me highlight seven areas of Mormon doctrine. I won’t try to refute the Mormon position, but I hope you will see the explicit (and often intentional) deviation from historic Christianity.

1. View of history. In Mormon thinking, the rise of Mormonism was not merely a reformation or renewal of the church. It was a complete restoration. Following the death of Christ’s apostles, the church fell into complete apostasy. The church lost divine authority and true doctrine. There is no unbroken continuity from the early church to the present. Christianity, for almost all of its history, was false and without the truth—until Joseph Smith and his revelation. Mormonism not only rejects historic orthodox Christianity, the entire religion is based on the need for such repudiation.

2. View of revelation. Mormons believe the Bible (the KJV version), but do not consider it inerrant. Neither do they consider the Bible complete. What makes Mormonism unique is their belief in continuing revelation sustained through prophets, seers, and revelators. So while Mormons affirm the Bible, they also affirm the inspiration of the Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price. Through an elaborate hierarchy of President, First Presidency, Twelve Apostles, First Quorum of the Seventy, and Second Quorum of the Seventy, Mormons can receive authoritative interpretations and new authoritative revelations.

3. View of man. According to Mormon theology, men and women are the spirit sons and daughters of God. We lived in a premortal spirit existence before birth. In this first estate we grew and developed in preparation for the second estate. In this second estate we walk by faith. A veil of forgetfulness has been placed over our minds so we don’t remember what we did and who we used to be in our premortal existence. Our purpose in this life is to grow and mature in a physical body to prepare us for our final eternal state.

Mormons do not believe in human depravity. We are not implicated in Adam’s fall. We are basically good in our eternal nature, but prone to error in our mortal nature. The human is a being in conflict, but also a being with infinite potential.

4. View of God. In Mormon thought, God has a physical body. According to Doctrine and Covenants, “The Father has a body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s; the Son also;” but “The Holy Ghost has not a body of flesh and bones, but is a personage of Spirit.”

Whether God the Father is self-existent is unclear. There was a long procession of gods and fathers leading up to our Heavenly Father. Brigham Young once remarked, “How many Gods there are, I do not know. But there never was a time when there were not Gods and worlds.” What is clearer is that the Mormon God is not a higher order or a different species than man. God is a man with a body of flesh and bones like us.

Mormons do not believe in the Trinity. They affirm the unity of three personages, but the unity is a relational unity in purpose and mind, not a unity of essence. The three separate beings of the Godhead are three distinct Gods.

5. View of Christ. Mormons believe Jesus is Redeemer, God, and Savior. He is endless and eternal, the only begotten son of the Father. Through Jesus, the Heavenly Father has provided a way for people to be like him and to live with him forever.

But this familiar language does not mean the same thing to Mormons as it does to Christians. Jesus was born of the Father just like all spirit children. God is his Father in the same way he is Father to all. Whatever immortality or Godhood Jesus possesses, they are inherited attributes and powers. He does not share the same eternal nature as the Father. Jesus may be divine, but his is a derivative divinity. Mormon theology teaches, in the words of Joseph Smith, that Jesus Christ is “God the Second, the Redeemer.”

6. View of the Atonement. Mormons believe Jesus died for sins and rose again from the dead. The atonement is the central event in history and essential to their theology. And yet, Mormons do not have a precise doctrine of the atonement. They do not emphasize Christ as a wrath-bearing substitute, but emphasize simply that Christ somehow mysteriously remits our sins through his suffering.

While the atonement itself is not overly defined, the way in which the atonement is made efficacious is much more carefully delineated. Salvation is available because of the atoning blood of Christ, but this salvation is only received upon four conditions: faith, repentance, baptism, and enduring to the end by keeping the commandments of God (which include various Mormon rituals).

Finally, it should be noted Mormon theology stresses the suffering in the garden rather than the suffering on the cross. Atonement may have been completed on Golgotha, but it was made efficacious in Gethsemane.

7. View of salvation. The goal of Mormon salvation is not about escaping wrath as much as it is about maximizing our growth and ensuring our happiness. Salvation is finding our way back to God the Father and recalling our forgotten first estate as his premortal spirit children.

Mormon theology teaches that we cannot receive an eternal reward by our own unaided efforts. In some respects, salvation is based on what we have earned, but what we earn is by grace. How this plays out in Mormon life may differ from person to person, but they stress that the gift of the Holy Ghost is conditional upon continued obedience. Mormons must keep the First Principles and Ordinances, which consist of the Ten Commandments, tithing, chastity, and the “Word of Wisdom” which prohibits tobacco, coffee, tea, alcohol, and illegal narcotics.

Temples are also important in Mormon doctrine and practice. Couples must be married in a Mormon temple to have an eternal marriage, and every Mormon must be baptized in one of their 135 (and counting) authorized Temples. Because of the importance of baptism in the Temple, baptisms for the dead are extremely common. Mormons keep detailed genealogical records so that their ancestors can be properly baptized. By one estimate more than 100 million deceased persons have been baptized by proxy baptism in Mormon temples. Those who received this baptism are free in the afterlife to reject or accept what has been done on their behalf.

Death in Mormon thinking is seen as another beginning, complete with opportunities to respond to postmortem preaching in the world to come. We will live in the spirit world, and at some point our spirit and body will be reunited forever.

There are four divisions in the afterlife. The Lake of Fire is reserved for the Devil, his demons, and those who commit the unpardonable sin. The Telestial Kingdom is where the wicked go. It is a place of suffering but not like the Lake of Fire. Most people go to the Telestial Kingdom where they are offered salvation again. The lukewarm-not quite good, not quite evil-go to the Terrestrial Kingdom when they die. This Kingdom is located on a distant planet in the universe. The Celestial Kingdom is for the righteous. Here God’s people live forever in God’s presence. We will live as gods and live with our spouses and continue to procreate. This is the aim and the end of Mormon salvation.

Conclusion

Christians can be thankful for Mormon friends and family members who are good neighbors and share many of the same ethical standards and moral commitments. But Mormonism and Christianity are not the same. Far from it. Though the language sounds similar at times, the beliefs are quite distinct. Mormons do not understand history, God, man, salvation, heaven, hell, the cross, Jesus, or the Trinity as the canonical Scriptures teach, nor do they agree with the conciliar doctrine taught by the one, holy, catholic, apostolic church over the last two thousand years.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Case Against Christians Attending a Gay Wedding

Mon, 05 Feb 2024 20:44:22 GMT

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The case against Christians attending a gay wedding is relatively straightforward. We can lay out the case in three premises and a conclusion.

The Argument

Premise 1: Gay “marriage” is not marriage.

No matter what a government may sanction, the biblical definition of marriage (see Gen. 2:18–25, Mal. 2:13–15, Matt. 19:4–6; Eph. 5:22–33) involves a man and a woman. I won’t belabor the point, because I assume in this post that I’m speaking to those who agree with the Westminster Confession of Faith when it says, “Marriage is to be between one man and one woman” (WCF 24.1). Gay “marriage” is not only an offense to God—sanctioning a kind of sexual activity that the Bible condemns (Lev. 18:22; 20:13; Rom. 1:24–27; 1 Cor. 6:9–10; 1 Tim. 1:9–10)—gay “marriage” does not actually exist.

Premise 2: A gay wedding celebrates and solemnizes a lie.

Whether the service is done in a church or in a reception hall, whether it is meant to be a Christian service or a secular commitment ceremony, a gay wedding declares what is false to be true and calls evil good.

Premise 3: Attendance at a gay wedding bears public witness to the purported goodness of what is taking place in that public event.

This is where many good Christians disagree, even if they agree with the first two premises, so let me expand on this point.

A wedding is categorically different from a birthday party, a meal at someone’s house, or just hanging out. There is no legal reason people need to have a wedding ceremony. Beyond one or two witnesses, there is no requirement by the state to make the joining of two persons in matrimony a public event. The reason for the public event is so that friends and family members can join in the celebration of what is taking place. It used to be that people were asked to raise any objections they might have, to “speak now or forever hold their peace.” That part of the liturgy underscores the public nature of a wedding and the way in which those in attendance were assumed to be lending their support and affirmation for the marriage about to be established. Even today, wedding invitations will often ask the invited guests to “join us as we celebrate” or “honor us with your presence.” By common understanding, people attend weddings as an act of support and celebration for the union that is being formed.

Conclusion: Therefore, Christians ought not to attend a gay wedding.

Christians can in no way support or celebrate a union that is an offense to God and is, in fact, no marriage whatsoever.

Three Common Objections

Having outlined the basic case against attending a gay wedding, let me address three common objections to the argument just stated.

Objection 1: Being at a wedding doesn’t entail agreement.

No doubt, Christians can attend gay weddings without affirming the “marriage” in their hearts. Their intentions may be to love the bride or groom without in any way celebrating what is taking place. But can those private intentions be known to others who see our public attendance? A wedding is a public event that entails each one in attendance bearing public witness. The traditional wedding liturgy from the Book of Common Prayer calls marriage a “holy estate” which “Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee.” Being at the wedding as a guest honored those who were hosting the wedding and affirmed what was taking place there. If “Christ adorned and beautified with his presence” the wedding at Cana in Galilee, how can we offer our presence at a kind of wedding that should not be adorned and is not beautiful?

Attending a gay wedding does not take place outside of a larger web of cultural meaning. If Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego knew in their hearts that they were not worshiping Nebuchadnezzar’s image, and if they had explained their differences with Nebuchadnezzar ahead of time, it would not have made their bowing before the statue any more acceptable. The public act of bowing had a recognizably public meaning, whatever their private intentions or whatever private conversations could have taken place.

To cite another biblical example, think of Paul’s instructions regarding food sacrificed to idols in 1 Corinthians 8–10. The exegesis is complicated, and not every commentator agrees on what Paul is forbidding and what he is allowing. I think Paul forbids eating any meat that was knowingly used in pagan worship. But at the very least, we know that Paul opposes any involvement in the practices that take place in pagan temples. “I do not want you to participate with demons,” Paul says (1 Cor. 10:20). It seems to me that attending a gay wedding—with the inevitable singing, and clapping, and rice-throwing, and cheering, and hugging at the receiving line—is more like participating in an ungodly ritual than eating the meat that was previously used in the ritual.

Similarly, many commentators think that Jesus’s concern with eating food sacrificed to idols in Revelation 2 has to do with participating in local guilds where an act of ritual piety toward the resident deity was commonplace before meals and special gatherings. If this (or something like it) is the context for the admonitions to Pergamum and Thyatira, we have another reason to steadfastly avoid participating in a public event where the god of Eros is implicitly honored above (and in place of) the God of the Bible.

Objection 2: Christians should show compassion and build bridges with unbelievers.

Of course, Christians want to extend love and keep the door open for gospel conversations, but surely this good desire is not by itself a sufficient moral framework for making ethical decisions. I doubt many pastors would counsel parents to attend a polyamorous commitment service, or their son’s Klan induction ceremony, or their daughter’s abortion party. These may seem like extreme examples, but they help to reveal necessary moral principles. There are events and celebrations and ceremonies that are so sinful and offensive to God (and should be offensive to us) that we wouldn’t think twice about turning down an invitation, no matter how hurt or angry a friend or family member was by our non-attendance. I suspect that gay weddings don’t offend many Christians in the same way because these ceremonies have already become normalized.

As much as I sympathize with my congregants who are desperate to maintain relational ties with their loved ones, I also need to help them realize that they cannot be bound by the relational threats that loved ones make when we do not agree with their sinful choices. To be sure, we do not want to push people away; we want to keep the door open for gospel conversations. But in almost every instance I deal with as a pastor, it’s not the Christian parents or Christian friends who are closing the door or pushing people away.

Almost always, it’s the person choosing a non-Christian path who refuses to have a relationship with someone who won’t deign to affirm their idolatrous decisions. If the relationship is truly at stake in attending a gay wedding, it is not because the Christian grandmother is choosing to cut off her gay grandchild by not attending the wedding, it is because the gay grandchild chooses to cut off the Christian grandmother who will not join in a public celebration of what she knows to be wrong.

Objection 3: Christians who refuse an invitation to attend a gay wedding are guilty of Pharisaical censoriousness.

As Christians, we gladly sing and shout that Jesus was a friend to sinners. Throughout the gospels, sinners flock to Christ, even as many of the religious establishment grumble against him. We are right to condemn the spirit of the older brother that cannot rejoice over the lost son who had come home. But we must remember that the three examples in Luke 15 are all about lost things and lost people that were found, about sinners who had repented, about God’s love for prodigals who come to their senses, leave their sins behind, and return to the Father.

The fact is that even as Jesus gladly ate with sinners, and as sinners were drawn to him, he never joined in any occasion where sin was being freely practiced, much less celebrated. He called Zacchaeus to eat with him, but he did not attend a retirement party honoring Zacchaeus after a lifetime of cheating people in collecting their taxes.

The parable of the prodigal son is meant to rebuke the scribes and Pharisees. Today the parable can serve as a necessary rebuke to all who are unwilling to accept that God’s grace can forgive and change repentant sinners—homosexual and transgender sinners among them. The parable can also serve as a warning to those who are quick to stand apart from the rest of their redeemed family. But the parable offers no rebuke to those who refuse to show up at events that condone and commend sinful behavior. The older brother got it wrong not because he refused to attend the activities of his lost brother, but because he would not rejoice when his lost brother had been found.

What is at Stake

The question of attending a gay wedding is just one of many difficult issues Christians will need to face in our strange new world. The issue demands compassion, but also clarity and courage. For Christians who agree on the sinfulness of gay “marriage,” the issue is not on the same level as the Trinity or the person of Christ. But neither is the issue mere adiaphora. Attending a gay wedding, or counseling other Christians to do so, raises serious concerns in my mind.

I am concerned that Christians will take this approach as a sign that gay “marriage,” while not ideal, is not a serious sin and not fundamentally inconsistent with the nature of marriage itself. When we wouldn’t attend the incestuous wedding or the polyamorous wedding or the wedding to a minor, but we would attend the gay wedding, we indicate with our actions that we don’t truly think of gay “marriage” as totally unacceptable.

I am concerned that Christians will adopt an approach to ethical reasoning that allows them to say “yes” to inappropriate requests so long as they are privately opposed and the intentions in their hearts are right.

I am concerned that Christians who have lost their livelihoods because they refused to bake a cake or take pictures for a gay wedding will be thought extreme for refusing their services when they could have just explained their reservations beforehand and accepted the job in good conscience.

I am concerned that it will be harder to disciple a converted Christian out of a gay “marriage” if we have been advising Christians that they can attend the solemnization of those “marriages.”

I am concerned that the same logic that is often used to defend going to a gay wedding—we don’t want to be Pharisees, we don’t want to lose the relationship, we don’t want to be known for condemnation instead of compassion—can be used to defend gay “marriage” itself, or at least to stay silent on issues of marriage and sexuality.

I know that the impulse to attend a gay wedding, or to allow that others may do so, is often borne out of a good and sincere desire to love our family and friends. There are few things more painful than making a decision that we know our child or grandchild will interpret as rejection. But we simply cannot bless, even by our mere presence, what we know to be a lie—a lie that Scripture calls an abomination and that according to 1 Corinthians 6 will destroy eternally the souls of those who continue in it.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Four Characteristics of Paul’s Encouragement

Mon, 28 Jul 2025 10:36:11 GMT

There are a lot of interesting conclusions to be gleaned from the laundry list of names in Romans 16. But the one I appreciate most is Paul’s example of offering divinely inspired encouragement.

According to my biblically informed definition, encouragement means highlighting the evidences of God’s grace in the gospel or in a gospel-centered person to the glory of God. Each part of that definition is important. Encouragement is not spotlighting a person, but underlining God’s grace. It is not about simply commending nice people to make them feel good, but about commending the work of the gospel in others to the glory of God.

The definition above can help differentiate encouragement from flattery. Encouragement is based on what is true about a person. Flattery affirms through exaggeration or falsehood. Encouragement keeps human praise in proportion, lifting everything up for God’s praise. Flattery gives too much influence to human agency. Encouragement blesses for the sake of the blessed and the Blessed One. Flattery harbors ulterior motives and looks for favors or reciprocal affirmation. While God despises flattery, he delights to see Christians encourage each other.

One reason we know this to be true is because he inspired Paul to record his encouragements in Romans 16. Notice four characteristics of Paul’s encouragement.

First, he recognized others publicly. Paul had never been to the church at Rome. But he knew some of the members through his travels. Others he had heard about. And he likes what he’s seen and heard. So he tells the whole church, in front of everyone. He does this in all his letters. He holds up Tychicus as a faithful minister in the Lord (Eph. 6:21) and Epaphroditus as a fellow worker and fellow soldier (Phil. 2:25). He goes out of his way to encourage, speaking of “Luke the beloved physician” when plain old “Luke” would have sufficed. We probably don’t think of Paul as a great encourager, more of a champion of the gospel or defender of the faith, but the only reason we don’t see him encouraging others is because it happens so frequently.

Second, Paul was tender in expressing his affections. Epaenetus, Ampliatus, Stachys, and Persis are all beloved to him. Rufus’ mother could have been his own mother their bond was so close (Rom. 16:13). Elsewhere, Paul tells the Philippians he holds them in his heart and yearns for them with the affection of Christ Jesus (Phil. 1:7). He has abundant love for the Corinthians (the Corinthians!) and is happy to live and die with them (2 Cor. 2:4; 11:11). Perhaps people find us discouraging or intimidating because they sense no warmth. Our praise is always perfunctory, never tender. There’s a difference between saying “you’re in my thoughts” and telling someone “I hold you in my heart.”

Third, Paul’s encouragement was rooted in his love for the gospel. He doesn’t simply commend people for being really good at something. He honors them for the work of God he sees in and through them. These are fellow workers, fellow servants, fellow saints. Paul’s heart beats with gratitude because God saved these men and women and now uses them to bless others. The strongest bonds of friendship should be gospel bonds. The deepest affections ought to be stirred in us, not because we like the same movies and music or come from the same place and root for the same teams, but because we share the same passion for, and identity in, the gospel. These “greetings” are more than secular “hellos.” They are signs of church-wide solidarity growing out of our communion together through our union with Christ.

Fourth, Paul didn’t just encourage his friends and co-laborers, he cultivated an atmosphere of appreciation and affection in the whole church. He greets them, but then tells them to greet each other. Go meet Philologus. Stop by and see Julia. Give my regards to Nereus. Paul is fostering community. He even encourages signs of physical affection. The sign is not as important as the thing signified. Whether it’s a kiss, a hug, a hearty handshake, or a super sweet fist bump, Paul understood that God gave us bodies and wants us to use them appropriately to encourage others.

Paul wanted the church to be quick to encourage, not quick to condemn. He wanted them overflowing in praise, instead of overflowing in criticism. He wanted the church to be warm and invigorating, not cold and life-quenching. He didn’t want a church of boasters or flatterers. But he wanted a congregation where the members sought to honor one another above themselves, a place where God’s grace was noticed and lifted up for the glory of God. He wanted more sunshine, fewer clouds.

Paul’s love for encouragement makes sense because God is the great encourager. He is always rejoicing in the truth. He loves to highlight his own grace and glory. He called Jesus his beloved Son and speaks just as kindly to us–beloved, little children, new creations, holy ones. Because of the work of Christ, God accepts us when he would otherwise reject us, which means he can encourage instead of condemn. And by this same work of Christ, we can encourage all those who belong to Christ.

Where and How Do We Draw the Line?

Mon, 21 Jul 2025 10:03:23 GMT

“In essentials, unity. In non-essentials, liberty. In all things, charity.”

Sounds nice, but which are which? Everyone wants to be unified in what really matters, to agree to disagree on what isn’t as important, and to exercise love in all things. But no one seems to agree on what really matters a lot, a little, or not at all. As hard as it can be determining the content of our faith, it can be even harder figuring out where to put up our fences.

This business of deciding where and how to draw doctrinal lines is incredibly complex. I can’t begin to do all the necessary biblical, theological, historical, and practical exploration in this article. But perhaps I can sketch an outline of some important considerations.

In that vein, here are seven steps we ought to pursue in establishing doctrinal boundaries. The explanations of the points will get shorter as we move through the list.

1. Establish the essentials of the faith.

This is the most critical step. We need to know what constitutes the irreducible core of the Apostolic gospel. One way to determine the essentials is to look at the Pastoral Epistles (1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, and Titus). In these letters, Paul talks a lot about the importance of right doctrine. We can get a good indication of what doctrines matter most by looking at several categories of passages in the Pastorals.

First, we have the “trustworthy sayings” (1 Tim. 1:15; 3:1; 4:9–10; 2 Tim. 2:11–13; Titus 3:4–8). With the possible exception of the saying in 1 Timothy 3, each “trustworthy saying” deals with salvation. We see several interlocking truths: Jesus Christ is a Savior who came to save sinners. Salvation comes not by works but through faith and Spirit wrought regeneration. Those who truly believe will devote themselves to good works and persevere to the end.

Second, we can look at the various creedal formulas (1 Tim. 1:17; 2:5; 3:16; 6:15–16; Titus 2:11–15). With these verses, we get an even better sense of what constitutes the good deposit of the gospel. There is one God, and He is unspeakably glorious. There is one Mediator, Jesus Christ, who gave His life for ours. Jesus is a great God and Savior who appeared in the flesh and ascended into heaven. He is coming again. We have been saved by the grace of God that we might live holy lives.

Third, Paul opposes certain doctrines associated with false teaching (1 Tim. 1:8–11; 4:1–3; 2 Tim. 2:18; Titus 1:16). These errors boil down to two mistakes: legalism and license. Some false teachers were leading people to perdition by calling darkness light and insisting that a life of sin was consistent with the gospel. On the other hand, others were pushing an unhealthy asceticism and imposing man-made rules. Both mistakes threaten the gospel.

Fourth, we get a glimpse of the essentials of the faith by noting what beliefs are explicitly linked to the gospel and sound doctrine (1 Tim. 1:8–10; 2:8; 2 Tim. 3:14–17). We see in these verses that sound faith is determined by our fidelity to Scripture. We also see that the gospel is a message about Jesus Christ, who gave us grace before the ages began and saved us unto works and immortality. This is all because of grace, not according to our works, but in accordance with God’s eternal purposes.

From these four sets of passages we can begin to sketch what the essentials look like: God is glorious; we are sinners; and Jesus Christ is our Savior and God. Jesus Christ is the Son of God and God in the flesh; He died and rose again; He ascended into heaven; He is coming again. Salvation is by sovereign grace, according to the converting power of the Holy Spirit, through faith, not according to our works. The Scriptures are wholly inspired and true. Jesus Christ saves us from sin, saves us for eternal life, and saves us unto holiness. Any gospel that denies these essentials— or ignores them, marginalizes them, leads people to doubt them, or is ashamed of them—is a different gospel.

2. Listen to the communion of the saints.

Tradition must never trump Scripture. But if we love Scripture, we will learn from the traditions of the church. We are not the first people to read the Bible. We are not the only ones who have had the Spirit to help us. God has been at work over the centuries to shape and protect the truth by means of His church (1 Tim. 3:15). This means we should be extra cautious before believing something almost no Christians have believed before (like the goodness of homosexuality) and extremely hesitant before rejecting something almost every church has accepted (like the reality of hell). By the same token, we should be less dogmatic about issues that have divided Christians for centuries (like the millennium).

Those who wrote the ancient creeds, such as the Apostles’ Creed, the Nicene Creed, and the Chalcedonian Definition, were not infallible, but these creeds have served as effective guardrails, keeping God’s people on the path of truth. It would take extraordinary new insight or extraordinary hubris to jettison these ancient formulas. They provide faithful summaries of the most important doctrines of the faith. That’s why the Heidelberg Catechism refers us to the Apostles’ Creed, “a creed beyond doubt, and confessed through the world,” when it asks, “What then must a Christian believe?” (Q&A 22–23).

Similarly, John Calvin states (as a kind of throwaway comment) that the “principles of religion” include: “God is one; Christ is God and the Son of God; our salvation rests in God’s mercy; and the like” (Institutes 4.1.12). John Owen provides a similar list, asserting that the “principal fundamentals of Christian religion” affirm “the Lord Christ to be the eternal Son of God, with the use of efficacy of his death, as also the personal subsistence and deity of the Holy Spirit” (Works of John Owen 15:83). Later, Owen expands the list to include: believing in God the Father, looking for salvation in Christ alone, professing obedience unto Him, believing that God raised Him from the dead, insisting on personal holiness, and “many other sacred truths of the same importance” (84). These short statements confirm that we were on the right track with our summary statements under point one.

3. Distinguish between landing theology and launching theology. Some doctrines represent different conclusions reached from basically the same premises. Other doctrines are starting points that set us on a wildly different trajectory. For example, the difference between postmillennialism and amillennialism is not a difference over first things. The two sides simply disagree how best to interpret a few disputed texts. It’s a matter of landing theology. By contrast, the doctrine of Scripture (to give one example) is about launching theology. If we get that doctrine wrong, we are bound to mess up everything else.

4. Distinguish between the explicit teaching of Scripture and the application of scriptural principles. The Bible clearly teaches that parents train their children in the way of the Lord. It is less clear about how to do that. The Bible does not definitely answer the question as to whether kids should go to public school, Christian school, or home school. Different Christians may reach different conclusions based on good Christian principles. To make the Bible speak dogmatically on this issue is to force the Bible into all sorts of anachronisms.

5. Distinguish between church existence and church health. Lose some doctrines and you no longer have a church. Lose other doctrines and your church is not everything it should be. The latter is still a problem worth correcting, but you can exercise more patience and gentleness in getting there.

6. Avoid foolish controversies. This is another common theme in the Pastoral Epistles (1 Tim. 1:4–6; 4:7; 6:4, 20; 2 Tim. 2:14, 16, 23; 4:4; Titus 1:14; 3:9). Some doctrinal disputes are worth dying for, others are just dumb. We should steer clear of theological wrangling that is speculative (goes beyond Scripture), vain (more about being right than being helpful), endless (no real answer is possible or desired), and needless (mere semantics).

7. Allow for areas of disagreement, especially regarding “conversion baggage.” Paul is most flexible when it comes to the traditions of new converts. He is willing for Christians to be convinced in their own minds about certain days and foods (Rom. 14:5). This isn’t because Paul doesn’t know what to think. He knows that these external habits aren’t required. But he’s willing to let others continue in them so as not to violate conscience. You may know that drinking alcohol and eating meat on Fridays during Lent are perfectly fine, but it’s not worth upsetting sincere Christians who still have trouble with such practices.

Over, around, and in all these steps we must put on love—love for God, love for neighbor, love for truth, and love for the church. The point in drawing lines is not to be right or even courageous. The goals are to love God by proclaiming and protecting His Word, and to love others by putting up fences to keep out wolves and nurture green pastures. The hard work of setting boundaries must not be ignored. God calls us to it for His glory and our good.

The Sermon that Helped Push the Colonies Toward Independence

Mon, 30 Jun 2025 14:23:22 GMT

Is America a Christian nation?

The only simple answer to that question is: it depends.

Were all the founding fathers evangelical Christians? Far from it. Did the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution establish this land as a Christian country? Definitely not. And yet, Christianity has certainly been the defining religious influence in our history. Virtually every key Revolutionary era leader took for granted the need for Bible-infused virtue if the Republic would survive. And many of these leaders were sincere, orthodox, evangelical Christians.

Like John Witherspoon.

On May 17, 1776, John Witherspoon (1723-94) preached one of the most significant sermons in the history of this country. Preaching at Princeton, the Scottish pastor turned college president, delivered his most famous address. It was a General Fast Day, appointed by the congress of the American colonies for prayer and humble supplication before God in the face of an unknown, and possibly war-filled, future.

Witherspoon’s sermon, based on Psalm 76:10, was entitled The Dominion of Providence Over the Passions of Men. It is widely regarded as one of the principal sermons that prepared the way for the Declaration of Independence, a document that Witherspoon himself—the lone clergymen—would sign on July 4, 1776.

Scholars who care about these things almost always draw attention to the second half of Witherspoon’s sermon where the Scotsman, for “the first time” he said, introduced a “political subject into the pulpit.” But before he got to talking about independence, the Presbyterian minister had a more important point to make.

“In the first place,” he began, “I would take the opportunity on this occasion, and from this subject, to press every hearer to a sincere concern for his own soul’s salvation.” His argument was as simple as it was forceful: if you are right to care about your earthly affairs, how much more your eternal state?

I do not blame your ardor in preparing for the resolute defense of your temporal rights. But consider I beseech you, the truly infinite importance of the salvation of your souls.

Is it of much moment whether you and your children shall be rich or poor, at liberty or in bonds?

Is it of much moment whether this beautiful country shall increase in fruitfulness from year to year, being cultivated by active industry, and possessed by independent freemen, or the scanty produce of the neglected fields shall be eaten up by hungry publicans, while the timid owner trembles at the tax gatherers approach?

And is it of less moment my brethren, whether you shall be the heirs of glory or the heirs of hell?

Is your state on earth for a few fleeting years of so much moment?

And is it of less moment, what shall be your state through endless ages?

Have you assembled together willingly to hear what shall be said on public affairs, and to join in imploring the blessing of God on the counsels and arms of the united colonies, and can you be unconcerned, what shall become of you for ever, when all the monuments of human greatness shall be laid in ashes, for “the earth itself and all the works that are therein shall be burnt up.”

Witherspoon was doing nothing different from what he had done with previous Fast Day sermons in Scotland. Conversion always came before current events. Although Witherspoon grew increasingly interested and involved in politics from the time he arrived in Philadelphia in 1768, he never ceased to be concerned for “the ministry of reconciliation . . . committed to me.”

In urging his hearers to attend to the day of salvation at hand, Witherspoon did not call men to general deistical interest in benevolence and divine things; he called them to Christ.

Suffer me to beseech you, or rather to give you warning, not to rest satisfied with a form of godliness, denying the power thereof. There can be no true religion, till there be a discovery of your lost state by nature and practice, and an unfeigned acceptance of Christ Jesus, as he is offered in the gospel. Unhappy they who either despise his mercy, or are ashamed of his cross! Believe it, “there is no salvation in any other. There is no other name under heaven given amongst men by which we must be saved.”

Unless you are united to him by a lively faith, not the resentment of a haughty monarch, but the sword of divine justice hangs over you, and the fullness of divine vengeance shall speedily overtake you. I do not speak this only to the heaven, daring profligate, or grovelling sensualist, but to every insensible secure sinner; to all those, however decent and orderly in their civil deportment, who live to themselves and have their part and portion in this life; in fine to all who are yet in a state of nature, for “except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

The fear of man may make you hide your profanity: prudence and experience may make you abhor intemperance and riot; as you advance in life, one vice may supplant another and hold its place; but nothing less than the sovereign grace of God can produce a saving change of heart and temper, or fit you for his immediate presence.

The sermon is worth reading in its entirety (go here, scroll down, and click on the Dominion of Providence), both for its political-historical significance and also to learn from Witherspoon’s great concern for conversion and personal holiness even in the midst of such national tumult.

We give thanks for liberty on this day—temporal freedoms, yes; eternal deliverance most of all.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

15 Ways to Discern False Teaching

Mon, 07 Jul 2025 09:58:10 GMT

What is false teaching and how do we spot it?

Obviously, there is no foolproof scheme for identifying false teaching. Biblical discernment takes years of prayer, preaching, and practice. But there are certain questions that may help us sift the good from the bad. Here are 15 discernment diagnostic questions I suggested to my congregation.

1. Does the teaching sound strange? This is not foolproof, of course—predestination may sound strange at first. But sound teaching should make biblical sense for those who have read through the Bible every year, go to church every Sunday, and have gone to Sunday school for decades. As an initial question, the longtime Christian should wonder “Why have I never heard anything like this before?”

2. Does it sound too good to be true? Not in the next life, mind you, but in this life. Promises of never failing material well being or relational ease or emotional tranquility are not to be trusted.

3. Does it involve trinkets or relics or holy water? Christianity entails some mystery, no magic.

4. Does it involve prophetic words? Christians may define prophecy differently. I’m not thinking here of a word fitly spoken, or powerful preaching, or wise counsel. I’m talking about “the Lord told me” sort of communication that tells other people what to do and cannot be tested or sifted according to Scripture.

5. Do angels or aliens or seed money play a major role in the teaching? Enough said.

6. Does it feature prominently the word “code”? Bible Code, DaVinci Code, Omega Code. Just stay away.

7. Does the teaching involve secrets? This was the appeal of Gnosticism. It purported to lead the initiate into the realm of secret knowledge. This is what makes me nervous about Masons, Mormons, and even many fraternities and sororities. Unless national security is involved, be wary of groups that are held together by tightly held secrets. Books with “secret” in the title are usually suspect too (Lesslie Newbigin’s The Open Secret being the exception that proves the rule).

8. Does it rely on a cartoon view of God? False teaching tends to cast God as either an autocratic strongman or a friendly face passing out beads at Woodstock. By contrast, the God of the Bible shines forth with (to use Jonathan Edwards’ phrase) a host of diverse excellencies.

9. Does the teaching use big themes to negate specific verses? We should always interpret Scripture with Scripture, but we must not allow amorphous themes like love or justice or grace to flatten the contours of Scripture.

10. Does it promote an unmediated approach to spirituality? Mysticism, in its technical sense, can be defined as an approach to God apart from mediation. False spirituality tries to foster intimacy with God that does not go through the mediated revelation of Scripture and does not lead one to the mediation of Christ on the cross.

11. Does the false teaching traffic in under-defined terms and slogans? Liberalism starts with an inattention to words. It is the triumph of orthodoxy to be careful with language.

12. Does the teaching neglect the need for repentance? Beware the feel good invitation for everyone to come to the wide open arms. The coming of the Kingdom is not good news for sinners. It is good news for sinners who repent.

13. Does the false teaching or teacher seem obsessed about one person, one doctrine, or one idea? An unsolicited exposé running into the hundreds of pages likely reveals more about the author than the subject.

14. Does it result in an unbalanced presentation of the truth? True Christianity walks the tight rope between complementary biblical truths—truth and grace, Christ as God and man, salvation by faith alone and the necessity of the obedience of the Christian. It was usually the heretics who were guilty of resolving biblical tensions in ways that were too neat and tidy.

15. Does the teaching fit with the Bible’s storyline of sin and salvation? How can a holy God dwell in the midst of an unholy people? If the teaching doesn’t make sense as a plot line in that story, I’m suspicious.

Mature Christians do not cast a critical eye on everyone and everything a hair’s breadth different from them. But they are discerning, and they are careful. Guard your heart. Guard your home. Guard the good deposit.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

A Tribute to John MacArthur

Tue, 15 Jul 2025 11:07:22 GMT

I grew up in a church tradition that was far removed from the fundamentalist and dispensationalist circles that revered John MacArthur. I don’t think I read a MacArthur book, or had heard much about him, until I was stirred by The Gospel According to Jesus as a college student.

Since then, I’ve read many of his books and listened to many of his sermons—both online and in person. What I will remember about John most is his unwavering commitment to expositional preaching. Even today, when I meet a “MacArthur” guy or a “MacArthur” church, I know that they will be absolutely committed to the inspiration, inerrancy, and authority of the Bible—and the verse-by-verse teaching of that Bible. That is a tremendous legacy to leave behind.

Over the past 15 years, I preached with John at different conferences and in his own church. In all my interactions with him—at a conference, on the phone, or in a private meeting—he was always a model of gentlemanly warmth and magnanimity. It is to his credit that I’ve encountered the same gracious spirit (in abundance) at Grace Community Church and The Master’s Seminary and The Master’s University.

John was never anything but kind and encouraging to me, which, I’m sure, has been the experience of many other younger men. I give thanks for his Bible-shaped life and his Bible-saturated ministry.

For more reflections from some of the T4G speakers see Tributes for John MacArthur at 9Marks.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

What the Ascension Means for You

Thu, 29 May 2025 13:57:23 GMT

1 John

My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. (1 John 2:1)

Of all the aspects of Christ’s work in his state of exaltation, the ascension is one of the most overlooked. And yet Christ’s ascension is more prominent in Scripture than many realize. Luke describes the ascension in the most detail, first in his Gospel and then in Acts. Peter’s Pentecost sermon is, in part, about the ascension and enthronement of Christ. Likewise, John’s Gospel is full of references to the ascension of the Son of Man and the importance of Jesus returning to the Father.

The ascension is not simply about getting Jesus to heaven. It matters how Jesus ascended. He ascended locally (a real geographic place), visibly (in front of many witnesses), and bodily (not some ethereal disappearance). The manner in which Jesus ascended will be the manner in which he descends at the end of the age. The blessed appearing of our Lord and Savior will be an actual appearing—in the flesh, to the earth, witnessed by multitudes.

Just as important, the ascension is a further fulfillment and vindication of the triumph of the resurrection. It is no wonder that the ascension is highlighted throughout the New Testament as a necessary precursor to a number of blessings in this age of the Spirit. The ascension is linked to the giving of messianic gifts (Eph. 4:8–10), to the intercession of our high priest (Heb. 4:14–16), and to the subjection of all things under Christ’s feet (1 Pet. 3:22). Because Jesus is our conquering King, he is positioned to gift us with the spoils of victory. Because Jesus is seated at the right hand of God the Father, he is able to plead his finished work on our behalf. And because Jesus is enthroned on high, he is able to rule over all things in heaven and on earth.

What, then, does the oft-overlooked ascension mean for us?

First, the ascension means that we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous (1 John 2:1; cf. Rom. 8:34).

Second, the ascension means God’s people are, in a manner of speaking, already in heaven. We set our minds on things that are above, because our lives are hidden with Christ who dwells above (Col. 3:2–3).

Third, the ascension means we can receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. Once ascended to heaven, Jesus sent another Helper (John 14:16; 16:7) to give us power from on high and to be with us forever.

Fourth, the ascension means human flesh sits enthroned in heaven. God has granted all power and authority to a man (Matt. 28:19; Eph. 1:21–22). Jesus Christ is exercising the dominion that human beings were made to have from the beginning (Gen. 1:28). The ruin of the first Adam is being undone by the reign of the second.

Because of Christ’s ascension we know that the resurrection is real, the incarnation continues, Christ’s humanity lives on in heaven, the Spirit of Jesus can live in our hearts, and a flesh-and-blood, divine human being rules the universe.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Bible and the Trinity

Mon, 16 Jun 2025 15:29:00 GMT

Ephesians 2

For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. (Eph. 2:18)

The doctrine of the Trinity can be summarized in seven statements: (1) There is only one God. (2) The Father is God. (3) The Son is God. (4) The Holy Spirit is God. (5) The Father is not the Son. (6) The Son is not the Holy Spirit. (7) The Holy Spirit is not the Father.

All of the creedal formulations and precise theological terms and philosophical apologetics have to do with safeguarding each one of the seven statements and doing so without denying any of the other six. When the ancient creeds employ extrabiblical terminology and demand careful theological nuance, they do so not to clear up what the Bible leaves cloudy, but to defend, define, and delimit essential biblical propositions.

Although the word Trinity is famously absent from the Bible, the theology behind the word can be found in a surprising number of verses.

For starters there are verses that speak of God’s oneness (Deut. 6:4; Isa. 44:6; 1 Tim. 1:17).

Then there are a myriad of passages which demonstrate that God is Father (e.g., John 6:27; Titus 1:4).

Next, we have scores of texts that prove the deity of Jesus Christ, the Son—passages like John 1:1 (“the Word was God”), John 8:58 (“before Abraham was, I am”), Colossians 2:9 (“in him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily”), Hebrews 1:3 (“He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature”), and Titus 2:13 (“our great God and Savior Jesus Christ”). And this is to say nothing of the worship Christ willingly received from his disciples (Luke 24:52; John 20:28) and the charges of blasphemy leveled against him for making himself equal with God (Mark 2:7).

Then we have similar texts that assume the deity of the Holy Spirit, calling him an “eternal Spirit” (Heb. 9:14) and using “God” interchangeably with the “Holy Spirit” (Acts 5:3–4; 1 Cor. 3:16; 6:19) without any embarrassment or need for explanation.

The shape of Trinitarian orthodoxy is finally rounded off by texts that hint at the plurality of persons in the Godhead (Gen. 1:1–3, 26; Ps. 2:7; Dan. 7:9–14)— texts like 1 Corinthians 8:6 that place Jesus Christ as Lord right in the middle of the Jewish Shema, and dozens of texts that speak of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in the same breath, equating the three in rank while assuming distinction of personhood (Matt. 28:19; 1 Cor. 12:4–6; 2 Cor. 2:21–22; 13:14; Gal. 4:6; 1 Pet. 1:1–2).

The book of Ephesians, for example, is full of triadic formulas like Christ/Spirit/ God or Spirit/Lord/Father (1:13–14; 2:18, 20–22; 3:14–17; 4:4–6; 5:18–20; 6:10–18), indicating that the persons are deserving of the same honor and that each person can be distinguished from the other two persons.

The doctrine of the Trinity, as summarized in the seven statements above, is not a philosophical concoction by overzealous and overintelligent theologians, but is one of the central planks of orthodoxy that can be demonstrated from a multitude of biblical texts and is meant to be understood, articulated, and celebrated.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

‘I Am Not the Christ’: A Sermon That Shaped My Ministry

Tue, 10 Jun 2025 15:01:39 GMT

I’ll never forget the sermon I heard as a graduating senior at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in the spring of 2002. The preacher was Gordon Hugenberger (b. 1948), an adjunct professor at the seminary and the senior pastor at Park Street Church in Boston. His text came from John 1:19–23 and John 3:28–30. My friends and I were so moved by the sermon that one of the guys (thank you, Joey!) made a cassette tape for each one of us. Over twenty years later, we still reference the message when we are together.

Not the Christ

In John 1:19, we read that an official delegation of priests and Levites has been sent to John the Baptist to ask him a simple question: “Who are you?” Even though this is only the first chapter of the book, John is already a big deal. He baptizes, he preaches, he calls people to repent, and he stirs up controversy. Everyone wants to know who John is. Here’s this strange man with strange clothes and strange eating habits and a big following. What’s he all about? What are his credentials? Who is he? That’s what the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem want to figure out.

John’s answer to their question is as shocking as it is freeing: “He confessed, and did not deny, but confessed, ‘I am not the Christ’” (verse 20). John gives his answer without reservation and without hesitation. He does not hedge. He does not qualify. He does not beat around the bush. He proclaims it with absolute clarity: “Listen up. Let me tell you who I am by telling you who I am not. Read my lips: I am not the Christ.”

What remarkable humility. Here comes this delegation of leaders eager to see what all the fuss is about. Matthew tells us, “Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region about the Jordan were going out to him” (Matthew 3:5). The Jews were wondering if John might be the sort of person they had been waiting for — a prophet, maybe Elijah, maybe even the Messiah. And the first thing that comes out of John’s mouth is, “I’m not the guy you’re looking for.”

How different from the way most of us posture and position ourselves. I might have said, “Well, technically I am not the Christ, but I am really close with him. I’m not saying I’m as important, but I do play a pretty significant role. By the way, did you know we’re cousins?” John doesn’t do any of that. If anything, he undersells his significance. He emphasizes his main point three times: “I confess, and I do not deny; I confess I am not the Christ.”

Crucial Confession

Although Dr. Hugenberger was well regarded as a brilliant Old Testament scholar, what made his senior chapel sermon so memorable was its simplicity. Throughout the sermon, he would say, “Christian, what do you believe?” Then we would respond in antiphonal fashion, “I am not the Christ.” He kept hammering away at John’s confession in chapter 1 and then linked it with John’s statement in chapter 3: “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). The whole sermon was about the expectations and temptations pastors face to act like they are Messiahs. It was exactly the message we needed to hear as eager, zealous, potentially anxious graduating seniors.

I remember, in particular, how Hugenberger began the sermon. In my memory, it went something like this:

I want to introduce to you a confession that is more important than the Westminster Confession or the Belgic Confession. Some of you may be fond of the Augsburg Confession or the Second Helvetic Confession. But this confession is more important than all these. No doubt, you confess the Apostles’ Creed, and you confess the Nicene Creed, but I have a confession for you without which all other confessions are worthless. This confession is absolutely essential for your effectiveness in ministry, your joy in ministry, and even your survival in ministry. The confession I am talking about is the confession of John the Baptist, who confessed boldly and gladly, “I am not the Christ.”

I’ve semi-preached this sermon a couple times before (giving due credit to Dr. Hugenberger). I’ve referenced this sermon in candidating at each of the three churches I’ve served. I always mention this sermon in the first week of my pastoral ministry course.

Dr. Hugenberger’s sermon was funny in parts. He encouraged us to develop a ministry of absence, to skip meetings once in a while, so people know we are not that important. It was well-crafted and well-delivered. But most of all, it was a simple, biblical reminder of a truth that pastors (and churches) can too easily forget.

Pointers to the Point

I told the dear saints at Christ Covenant back in 2017 when I first arrived, “You need to know that your pastor is not the Christ. I will try my best to be faithful, to love you well, to preach and lead and pray well. But I am not omnipresent. I am not omniscient. I am not omnicompetent. I cannot meet with everyone who wants to meet with me. I will not excel in every area that you might want a pastor to excel. I will work hard, but I cannot be the Holy Spirit in your life. And I am not Jesus.”

This may sound like a rebuke to church people for expecting too much of their pastor. But that’s not how I’ve delivered the message (I hope), and it’s not how God’s people have heard the message. I think church members are actually pleased to hear that their pastor knows what he is not. I think most Christians take well to being reminded that Jesus is the point and that pastors are just pointers.

And what’s true of pastors is true for all of us. We can’t do it all. We can’t save our kids. We can’t be everywhere at once. We won’t finish our to-do list every day (or ever). The universe does not hold together by the word of our power. So, we better get this confession of faith nailed to the wall of our heads and buried deep into our hearts.

Let All God’s People Say

John, of course, was legitimately a big deal, but he wanted to emphasize in his introduction that he was a big nobody. “I want you to know right off the bat that, one, I’m not the Christ, two, I’m not Elijah, and three, I’m not the Prophet. Got it?” When John finally comes around to affirming something about himself, he says, in essence, “If you need some title, here’s what you can say about me: I am a voice” (John 1:23). No résumé, no curriculum vitae, no dust jacket. Just a voice crying in the wilderness.

John knew his place. He was a voice announcing the Word made flesh. He wasn’t the groom; he was the best man, which means pastoral ministry is about bringing Christ and the church together, not about making the bride of Christ fall in love with the pastor.

We all want to be important, to be significant, to make a difference in the world, to do something that matters. Pastors have those desires as much as anyone. And they aren’t bad desires, as long as we realize that the story is not about us, that self-worth stems from self-forgetfulness, and that a humble life is a happy life. The confession of John the Baptist brings me back to the central and indispensable truth that I am not the main attraction, but I know the one who is.

Christian, what do you believe? And all God’s people said, “I am not the Christ.”

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Most Important Decision You’re Probably Not Thinking About

Sat, 20 May 2023 10:29:00 GMT

Dear Graduating High School Seniors,

Some of you have heard hundreds of sermons over the years—many of them at church, and for some of you, one sermon a week for the past dozen years in your Christian school.

This is a season of milestones for many of you. Final papers and final exams. Last games, last meets, and last classes. You’ve worked hard to get to this point. And you are probably working hard for what is coming next. For many of you that’s college or university. You’ll get ready over the summer. You’ll buy some dorm furniture. You’ll say goodbye to your friends. You’ll say goodbye to your parents. You’ll find your way around a new school and a new place.

You are making preparations for all that lies ahead. After filling out forms, sending in applications, and narrowing down your choices, you finally made your decision. And in a few months, most of you will be somewhere new. You are probably tired of making decisions. But I want to remind you of one colossal decision that is coming your way. The decision doesn’t seem earth shattering. In fact, it seems much less important than the hundred other decisions you’ve had to make in the last year. This decision is so much an afterthought for most graduating seniors that maybe you’ve not even considered it yet.

Fast forward a few months from now. You are living on your own—in a dorm or in an apartment somewhere. You’ve unloaded your stuff. You’ve met your roommate. You’ve signed up for classes. You’ve had a few meals in the cafeteria. You’ve endured days of awkward orientation activities. And after a short night of sleep on your first Saturday in this new phase of your life, you wake up Sunday morning. What are you going to do?

This is what I want to talk to you about, so please listen carefully: Of all the decisions you’ll face this year, the most important one may be whether you get up and go to church on the very first Sunday when no one is there to make sure that you go.

I pastored a church in Michigan that was for many years right across the street from Michigan State University. We saw scores of freshmen visit our church their first Sunday on campus. True, many of them never came back. We saw students who started at church and didn’t last. But we rarely saw students who didn’t start at church and eventually make it there. What you do in those first weeks on your own, especially what you do with your commitment to a local church, will set you on a trajectory where Jesus Christ will truly be Lord of your life or where he will be something that you learned as a young person and then left behind.

Listen to Jesus

I know, I know. This is what you would expect a pastor to say to you: “Be sure to go to church, young man! Don’t sleep in on Sunday, young woman!” You may think, “I’m not against going to church, but isn’t my relationship with Jesus the really important thing? I’ll still read my Bible even if I don’t make it to church.” You may be going to a Christian college, and you’ll have chapel services and Christian roommates and chaplains wanting to meet with you. Or you will be at schools with Cru or RUF or Campus Outreach. That’s great. Praise God for good campus ministries. Praise God for Christian colleges.

But your chapel is not a church. Your weekly Cru meeting is not a church. Your dorm Bible study is not a church. Remember what Jesus said to Peter in Matthew 16, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matt. 16:18). Jesus never promised to build up a Christian college. He never promised to build a Christian day school. He never promised to build a campus ministry. There is only one institution on earth that Jesus Christ promised to build, and that’s the church.

If you want to be into what Jesus is into, you’ll get into a church.

You need to decide before you leave home what you will do on that first Sunday morning. Don’t wait until that moment to decide, because you’ll probably decide you’re tired, or you don’t have a car, or you don’t know where to go, or you’ll get to it next week. Decide before that first Sunday what you will do on that first Sunday. You’ll be making all sorts of plans this summer, and one of the most important decisions you may ever make is what you will be committed to that first week and those first months. Will you get up and go to church—not just chapel, not just campus ministry—but a local church, where the people aren’t all your age, where the music isn’t all your style, where the pastor may not be everything you want him to be?

A Grotesque Anomaly

The British pastor John Stott was not known for overstatement. He was, like a refined English parson, very careful and measured. Which is why these words, written a few years before his death, are so striking. “An unchurched Christian is a grotesque anomaly. The New Testament knows nothing of such a person. For the church lies at the very center of the eternal purpose of God. It is not a divine afterthought.”1

Think of three of the main images for the church in the New Testament: the church pictured as a building, as a bride, and as a body. Christ is the foundation, and the church is the building. Christ is the groom, and the church is the bride. Christ is the head, and the church is the body. Each pair goes together. You are not meant to have one without the other. We are not meant to have Christ without the church.

Would you want your building to have a foundation but no house?

Would you call it a marriage if there was a groom but no bride?

Would you want to carry around a head without the body?

A Worldview and a Rhythm of Life

I am willing to bet that at some point growing up you’ve heard the word “worldview.” That word is in the mission statement of almost every Christian school. Teachers and parents want to give students a biblical lens for looking at everything. They want you to be renewed in your minds so that you view the world not just as someone with a great education does but as someone with a distinctly Christian education.

That’s all very important. I hope to impart a Christian worldview to my own children. But do you know what may be even more important than getting them to think the right things? It’s getting them to instinctively embrace the right rhythms. The most powerful influences in your life are often the things you don’t even think about, the things you do out of habit, the things you do because you always do them— whether someone makes you do them or not.

We are formed not just by thoughts but by habits too, study habits, exercise habits, social media habits, personal hygiene habits. These may not be planks in our worldview, but they shape us just as much or even more. It’s just what we do. And in time what we do becomes who we are. Will the local church be one of your habits in the next year? There are plenty of lukewarm Christians sitting in churches every week across this country. That’s not the goal. But you want to know where you can find passionate, on fire, totally sold-out Christians? In church. In fact, you won’t find them anywhere else.

Let me conclude with this prediction, which I think is not only supported by personal experience but also by the word of God: if you want to be much less of a follower of Jesus Christ five years from now, make church marginal in your life. If you make church an afterthought, you won’t be thinking about centering your life on Jesus five years from now.

Therefore, don’t give up meeting together as some are in the habit of doing (Heb. 10:25). Ephesians 1 says, God “put all things under his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all” (Heb. 10:22–23). Don’t cut the head off of Jesus. Decide today that you will get up on that first Sunday morning and find a good gospel-preaching, Bible-believing church. To be sure, we can meet with God anywhere. But only in the church do we have the fullness of him who fills all in all.

Notes: John Stott, Living Church: Convictions of a Lifelong Pastor (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2007), 19.

Join the Clearly Reformed Book Club

Wed, 04 Jun 2025 11:02:47 GMT

As a special start to the summer, all Clearly Reformed book club members will receive a copy of the best-selling The Biggest Story Bible Storybook.

In the best-selling The Biggest Story Bible Storybook, each page tells about the God who created the world, acted in history, and continues to act in the present.

Beginning in Genesis and ending with Revelation, Kevin DeYoung provides engaging retellings of various Bible stories, explaining how they fit into the overarching storyline. Each reading is coupled with beautiful illustrations by award-winning artist Don Clark and concludes with a reflective prayer. Perfect for bedtime stories or to read together as a family, both children and parents alike will experience afresh the captivating story of the Bible in an easy-to-understand, compelling way.

Each Clearly Reformed Book Club member receives a copy of each of Kevin DeYoung’s new book releases and exclusive Clearly Reformed printed booklets written by Kevin.

To become a book club member and take advantage of these resources, set up a monthly recurring donation of any amount.

An Explication of the Shorter Catechism

Thu, 29 May 2025 13:26:32 GMT

“S.A. Fix has done the church a great service by not only bringing Thomson’s neglected work into the light of day, but by providing such a learned and illuminating introduction to Thomson himself. Thomson’s Explication of the Shorter Catechism is a masterful example of orderliness, comprehensiveness, and eighteenth-century Old School piety. Both Fix’s introduction and Thomson’s commentary deserve careful reading and re-reading.”

Order a copy of An Explication of the Shorter Catechism from our friends at Westminster Bookstore.

8 différences essentielles entre catholiques et protestants

Wed, 28 May 2025 12:45:21 GMT

Demandez à un protestant sérieux d’aujourd’hui quelle est la plus grande menace qui pèse sur le christianisme orthodoxe, et il vous citera peut-être les hostilités culturelles, la révolution sexuelle ou le nominalisme dans nos églises. Mais si vous aviez posé la même question à un protestant il y a cent ans, il aurait presque certainement mentionné l’église catholique romaine. Jusqu’à une date relativement récente, les protestants et les catholiques de ce pays étaient, sinon des ennemis, du moins des joueurs dans des équipes adverses.

Aujourd’hui, une grande part de cette animosité a disparu. Et dans une large mesure, ce dégel entre les protestants et les catholiques a été une bonne chose. Les protestants et les catholiques sincères se retrouvent souvent comme compagnons de combat pour défendre par exemple les enfants à naître, soutenir le mariage traditionnel et tenir ferme pour défendre la liberté religieuse. Et à une époque où l’on réduit l’importance de la doctrine, les protestants évangéliques ont souvent plus en commun, sur le plan théologique, avec un fervent catholique romain imprégné d’orthodoxie historique qu’avec les membres libéraux de leurs propres confessions. Personnellement, j’ai bénéficié au fil des ans d’auteurs catholiques tels que G. K. Chesterton, Richard John Neuhaus et Robert George.

Pourtant, les différences théologiques entre protestants et catholiques restent encore très larges et, dans certains cas, très profondes. Il est important de connaître quelques-unes des principales questions qui nous divisent légitimement, de peur de penser que toutes les collines théologiques ont été abaissées et que toutes les vallées dogmatiques sont devenues une plaine.

Voici quelques-uns des principaux points qui séparent encore les catholiques et les protestants. Bien sûr, de nombreux catholiques romains peuvent ne pas croire (ou même ne pas savoir) ce que leur théologie officielle affirme. Mais en cherchant à comprendre les documents officiels de l’Église, nous pouvons nous faire une bonne idée de ce que les catholiques sont censés croire et voir en quoi cela diffère des croyances protestantes traditionnelles (sauf indication contraire, les citations sont tirées du Catéchisme de l’Église catholique).

L’église

Depuis Vatican II, l’église catholique a assoupli sa position envers les protestants, en les qualifiant de « frères séparés ». Néanmoins, pour être considéré comme faisant partie de l’Église dans sa plénitude, il faut être immergé dans le système catholique romain avec ses sacrements, ses ordres et se placer sous l’autorité du pape. « Sont pleinement incorporés dans la société de l’Église ceux qui… sont joints à la structure visible de l’Église de Christ, qui la gouverne au travers du souverain pontife et des évêques ».

De plus, le pape est considéré comme infaillible quand il parle ex cathedra (depuis la chaire) ; c’est à dire, quand il prononce officiellement la doctrine.

L’église catholique a aussi sept sacrements, au lieu de deux : l’eucharistie (ou Repas du Seigneur) et le baptême, comme les protestants, mais elle a, en plus, la pénitence, les ordres saints, le mariage, la confirmation et les rites derniers.

L’Écriture

Les catholiques reçoivent un canon plus large. En plus des 66 livres de la Bible protestante, les Bibles catholiques incluent les apocryphes, avec des livres comme Tobie, Judith, 1 et 2 Macchabées, Sirac et Baruch. De plus, l’enseignement catholique honore la tradition plus que ne le font les protestants. Certes, de nombreux évangéliques pâtissent de l’ignorance de la tradition et de la sagesse du passé. Mais la théologie catholique ne se contente pas de respecter le passé, elle le sacralise. « L’Écriture et la tradition doivent être acceptées et honorées avec les mêmes sentiments de dévotion et de révérence », affirme le Catéchisme.

De même, le magistère est habilité à donner des interprétations définitives. « La tâche de donner une interprétation authentique de la Parole de Dieu, soit sous sa forme écrite, soit sous la forme de la tradition, a été confiée à la seule fonction vivante et enseignante de l’Église… aux évêques en communion avec le successeur de Pierre, l’évêque de Rome ». La question de l’autorité reste la plus grande division pratique entre les protestants et les catholiques.

Le repas du Seigneur

La messe est centrale pour la foi catholique (leur service d’adoration), et, au centre de la messe se place la célébration de l’eucharistie. Les catholiques croient que le pain et le vin sont transubstantiés en le corps et le sang physiques réels de Jésus-Christ.

Ces éléments sont offerts comme le sacrifice de la part de l’Église et un sacrifice de l’œuvre de Jésus-Christ sur la croix. Il ne s’agit pas simplement d’un mémorial du sacrifice de Christ, mais c’est la même œuvre expiatoire : « Le sacrifice de Christ et le sacrifice de l’eucharistie sont un même et unique sacrifice… le sacrifice [de l’eucharistie] est véritablement propitiatoire ».

Le baptême

Les catholiques enseignent que « la justification est conférée dans le baptême ». Les eaux du baptême lavent le péché originel et nous unissent avec Christ. Le baptême n’est pas seulement un signe et un sceau de grâce, mais il confère effectivement la grâce salvatrice.

Marie

Selon la doctrine catholique, Marie n’est pas seulement la mère de Christ, mais la mère de l’Église. Elle a été conçue sans le péché originel (c’est l’immaculée conception) et, à la fin de sa vie terrestre « elle a été ravie, corps et âme, dans la gloire céleste et exaltée par le Seigneur comme reine au-dessus de toutes choses » (c’est l’assomption). Elle intercède pour l’Église, « continue à nous apporter les dons du salut éternel » et elle est « une mère pour nous dans l’ordre de la grâce ».

Marie a été bien plus que la mère de Jésus remplie de foi : « La bienheureuse vierge est invoquée dans l’Église sous les titres d’avocate, d’aide, de bienfaisante et de médiatrice ».

Le purgatoire

Les catholiques enseignent également que ceux qui meurent dans la grâce de Dieu, mais encore imparfaitement purifiés, sont assurés de la vie éternelle, mais doivent d’abord subir une purification au purgatoire. En raison de la présence de cet état intermédiaire, l’église catholique a développé la pratique de la prière pour les morts. « L’Église recommande également l’aumône, les indulgences et les œuvres de pénitence entreprises en faveur des défunts ».

En ce qui concerne le salut de ceux qui n’entendent pas l’évangile, le catéchisme catholique s’engage à l’inclusivité : « Ceux qui, sans faute de leur part, ne connaissent ni l’évangile de Christ ni son église, mais qui cependant cherchent Dieu d’un cœur sincère et, poussés par la grâce, s’efforcent dans leurs actions de faire sa volonté telle qu’ils la connaissent par les exigences de leur conscience, ceux-là aussi peuvent obtenir le salut éternel ».

Les mérites

Il n’est pas vraiment juste de dire « les catholiques enseignent que l’on peut gagner son salut ». C’est peut-être ce que croient de nombreux catholiques, mais l’enseignement officiel de Rome est plus nuancé, même s’il est encore loin de la compréhension du sola gratia de la Réforme. Le catéchisme résume la situation : « Puisque l’initiative appartient à Dieu dans l’ordre de la grâce, personne ne peut mériter la grâce initiale du pardon et de la justification, au début de la conversion. Mus par l’Esprit Saint et par la charité, nous pouvons ensuite mériter pour nous-mêmes et pour les autres les grâces nécessaires à notre sanctification, à l’accroissement de la grâce et de la charité, et à l’obtention de la vie éternelle ».

La justification

L’enseignement catholique rejette la doctrine protestante de la justice imputée. La question est celle-ci : la justice par laquelle nous sommes pardonnés et rendus justes devant Dieu est-elle une justice agissant en nous ou une justice mise sur notre compte ? Les catholiques disent que c’est la première, les protestants disent que c’est la seconde. Selon l’enseignement catholique, la justification est plus que la déclaration par Dieu de notre justice fondée sur l’œuvre de Christ, elle est aussi le renouvellement de notre homme intérieur et la réconciliation avec Dieu. Il s’agit bien entendu de bonnes choses, mais les catholiques déclarent qu’elles sont présentes dans et par la justification, plutôt que par la foi seule.

Le concile de Trente, issu de la Contre-réforme catholique du XVIe siècle, déclare : « Si quelqu’un dit que les Hommes sont justifiés par la seule imputation de la justice de Christ ou par la seule rémission des péchés, à l’exclusion de la grâce et de la charité qui sont répandues dans leur cœur par le Saint-Esprit et qui leur sont inhérentes, ou même que la grâce par laquelle nous sommes justifiés n’est que la faveur de Dieu, qu’il soit anathème ». Si les protestants et les catholiques peuvent s’efforcer de trouver un terrain d’entente sur la justification, l’enseignement officiel de l’église romaine s’oppose toujours à toute notion de justice imputée par la foi seule.

Conclusion

Les catholiques et les protestants devraient-ils se traiter mutuellement avec décence et respect ? Bien sûr. Allons-nous travailler côte à côte sur des questions morales et sociales importantes ? Très souvent. Peut-on trouver des chrétiens nés de nouveau adorant dans les églises catholiques ? J’en suis certain. Mais les désaccords entre protestants et les catholiques en sont-ils, de ce fait, négligeables ? Difficile de dire une telle chose. Les différences existent encore et elles comptent toujours.

Sanctifie-nous par ta vérité, Ô Seigneur ; ta parole est vérité.

Kevin DeYoung ist Hauptpastor der Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina (USA) und Assistenzprofessor für Systematische Theologie am Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte, USA).

Why Christians Should Give Thanks for Memorial Day

Mon, 27 May 2019 08:15:15 GMT

Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, was instituted to honor Union soldiers who died in the Civil War. After World War I, the purpose of the day was expanded to include all men and women who died in U.S. military service. Today, Memorial Day is often thought of as the unofficial start of summer–a long weekend with a car race, playoff basketball, and brats and burgers on the grill.

It is always tricky to know how the Christian should or shouldn’t celebrate patriotic holidays. Certainly, some churches blend church and state in such a way that the kingdom of God morphs into a doctrinally thin, spiritually nebulous civil religion. But even with these dangers, there are a number of good reasons why Christians should give thanks for Memorial Day.

1. Being a soldier is not a sub-Christian activity. In Luke 3, John the Baptist warns the people to bear fruit in keeping with repentance. The crowds respond favorably to his message and ask him, “What then shall we do?” John tells the rich man to share his tunics, the tax collectors to collect only what belongs to them, and the soldiers to stop their extortion. If ever there was a time to tell the soldiers that true repentance meant resigning from the army, surely this was the time. And yet, John does not tell them that they must give up soldier-work to bear fruit, only that they need to be honest soldiers. The Centurion is even held up by Jesus as the best example of faith he’s seen in Israel (Luke 7:9). Military service, when executed with integrity and in the Spirit of God, is a suitable vocation for the people of God.

2. The life of a soldier can demonstrate the highest Christian virtues. While it’s true that our movies sometimes go too far in glamorizing war, this is only the case because there have been many heroic acts in the history of war suitable for our admiration. Soldiers in battle are called on to show courage, daring, service, shrewdness, endurance, hard work, faith, and obedience. These virtues fall into the “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just” category that deserve our praise (Philippians 4:8).

3. Military service is one of the most common metaphors in the New Testament to describe the Christian life. We are to fight the good fight, put on the armor of God, and serve as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. When we remember the sacrifice, single-minded dedication, and discipline involved in the life of a soldier, we are calling to mind what we are supposed to be like as Christians in service to Christ.

4. Love of country can be a good thing. As Christians we have dual citizenship. Our first and ultimate allegiance must always be to Christ whose heavenly dwelling is our eternal home. But we are also citizens of an earthly country. We will stand before God not as individuals wiped clean of all earthly nationality, but as people with distinct languages, cultural affinities, and homelands. It is not wrong to love our distinct language, culture, or nationality. Whenever I’m at a ball game I still get choked up during the singing of the National Anthem. I think this is good. Love for God does not mean we love nothing else on earth, but rather that we learn to love the things on earth in the right way and with the right proportions and priorities. Love of country is a good thing, and it is right to honor those who defend the principles that make our country good.

5. I believe the facts of history will demonstrate that on the whole, the United States military has been a force for good in the world. Obviously, as a military power, we have blundered at times, both individually and corporately. But on the whole, the men and women of our armed services have fought and are fighting for causes that promote freedom, defend the rights of human beings, and reject tyranny. War is still hell and a tragic result of the fall. Praise God for his promise to one day end all human conflict. But in a world where people are evil by nature and leaders are not always reasonable and countries do not always have good intentions, war is sometimes the way to peace-at least the best peace we can hope for between peoples and nations this side of heaven.

So thank God for a day to remember God’s common grace to America and his special grace in enlisting us, poor weak soldiers that we are, in service to Christ our Captain and conquering King.

How Are We Actually Reconciled to God?

Tue, 13 May 2025 13:52:02 GMT

2 Corinthians 5

For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil. (2 Cor. 5:10)

In 2 Corinthians 5:18–20, Paul explains that he has a ministry of reconciliation. This invites the question: How are we reconciled to God? That may seem like a silly question to us. “What do you mean, how are we reconciled? We say we’re sorry for our sins. God says it’s not a problem. And everything’s all better.” But God’s forgiveness doesn’t work like that. It would be a violation of his own nature. God is loving, but he is also just. God cannot simply pass over our sins because he feels like it.

Sin is a personal offense to God. If God were to simply look past our sin just because he really likes us, he would be treating his own name with contempt. There needs to be some kind of restitution for our wrongs, some kind of satisfaction of divine justice. Proverbs 17:15 says he who justifies the wicked is an abomination to the Lord. So how is God to justify us without committing an abomination? The answer lies in the great exchange (2 Cor. 5:21). For our sake, because he loved us, God sent his Son Jesus Christ, who never did anything wrong, never failed his heavenly Father in the slightest way, to be counted as sin, so that we who have nothing to offer God but our sin might be counted as righteous as Christ.

The gifts conveyed in justification are both negative and positive. Negatively, justification is the declaration that our sins have been forgiven and our guilt removed. This divine acquittal is not a process, but a once for all judicial verdict of innocence (Rom. 5:1; 8:30). The declaration is based on the substitutionary work of Christ (Gal. 3:13–14) and is grounded in an alien righteousness, that is, not in our righteousness but in Christ our righteousness (1 Cor. 1:30). Positively, justification entails our adoption as children of God (Eph. 1:5–6; 1 John 3:1) and our legal right to eternal life (Titus 3:7). We are no longer slaves but heirs (Gal. 4:7). Eternal life is now our present possession (John 3:36) and that for which we are kept (John 12:25).

As we can see, justification is a forensic term. That’s why it is used in the context of judgment or used as the opposite of condemnation (Deut. 25:1; Rom. 4:5; 8:33). The Greek word for “to justify” (dikaioo) speaks of something declarative, not transformative. Justification refers to a judicial pronouncement that one is righteous or that one is in right standing with the requirements of God’s law. We took the test of obedience and got an F. Christ took the test and got an A+. God is a fair teacher. He can’t give us an A+ just because he likes our smile. We have to get what we deserve. And an F deserves his wrath.

But that’s not the end of the story, because by faith we are joined to Christ. Consequently, instead of giving us the wrath we deserve for our F, God determined that Christ’s A+ would be credited to us, and our F would be credited to Christ. He got what we deserved, so that we can get what he deserves. And in that way, God and sinners are reconciled. We are justified before God, and God’s justice is satisfied.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The End for Which God Created the World

Thu, 01 May 2025 11:59:16 GMT

Revelation 4

“Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created” (Rev. 4:11)

We do not look at the universe rightly unless we see in creation a glorious reason to praise the living God.

“Let all the earth fear the Lord,” the psalmist tells us, “let all the inhabitants of the world stand in awe of him!” And why? “For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm” (Ps. 33:8–9). Similarly, Psalm 148 calls on the heavens and the heights, the Lord’s angels and his hosts, the sun and moon and shining stars, the highest heavens and the waters above the heavens to praise the name of the Lord. The reason? “For he commanded and they were created. And he established them forever and ever; he gave a decree, and it shall not pass away” (Ps. 148:5–6). In short, God formed us and made us; he created us for his glory (Isa. 43:7).

To use the language of Jonathan Edwards’s famous treatise, divine glory is “the end for which God created the world.” We must never suppose that God created the cosmos out of lack—because he wanted a relationship, or he wanted someone to love. God did not create the world because he was thirsty. Rather, God created the world because it is the nature of a fountain to overflow. Creation is the super-abundance of divine goodness, beauty, mercy, love, wisdom, power, sovereignty, self-sufficiency, self-existence, justice, holiness, faithfulness, and freedom.

Edwards puts the matter wonderfully. We should slow down and read him carefully:

As there is an infinite fullness of all possible good in God—a fullness of every perfection, of all excellency and beauty, and of infinite happiness—and as this fullness is capable of communication, or emanation ad extra, so it seems a thing amiable and valuable in itself that this infinite fountain of good should send forth abundant streams. . . . Thus it appears reasonable to suppose that it was God’s last end that there might be a glorious and abundant emanation of his infinite fulness of good ad extra; and that the disposition to communicate himself, or diffuse his own fulness, was what moved him to create the world.1

To put the matter much less elegantly, we can say the creation was God’s decision to go public with his glory. From the microscopic level to the cosmic level, we have reason to give God praise. Just consider that by some scientific estimates there are more stars in the universe than there are grains of sand on earth. The Milky Way has 150 billion to 200 billion stars, and our galaxy is only one of hundreds of billions of galaxies. Depending on which estimate you follow, there are more than 100 billion trillion stars. Think of the number one followed by twenty-three zeroes. That’s about how many stars there are in the universe. The number defies human comprehension. And Psalm 147:4 says, “He determines the number of the stars; he gives to all of them their names.”

All good theology begins with the beginning. There is no Christianity without the doctrine of creation. “Worthy are you, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for you created all things, and by your will they existed and were created” (Rev. 4:11).

Notes Jonathan Edwards, “Ethical Writings,” edited by Paul Ramsey and John E. Smith, Vol. 8, The Works of Jonathan Edwards, (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1989), 432–34.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Crushed for Our Iniquities

Tue, 29 Apr 2025 10:28:23 GMT

Isaiah 53

Yet it was the will of the LORD to crush him; he has put him to grief; when his soul makes an offering for guilt, he shall see his offspring; he shall prolong his days; the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand. (Is. 53:10)

Isaiah 53 begins with a question: “Who has believed what he has heard from us?” (v. 1). Considering all that happens to the suffering servant, it’s a fair question. How can such violence, such tragedy, such injustice be tolerated? How can the righteous suffer and the guilty go free? Why was the promised deliverer crushed for our iniquities? Verse 10 gives the answer to these mounting questions: “It was the will of the Lord to crush him.”

This may seem like an unsatisfying answer. “This only makes it worse,” we may think. “I could scarcely accept such punishment befalling an innocent man. I could barely embrace the idea that the righteous would suffer in the place of the guilty. But this is altogether too much. How does it help to know that it was the Lord’s will to crush him?”

But this is good news, and worth reflecting upon as a fitting summary to this entire section on the work of Christ.

Because it was the Lord’s will to crush him, we can behold the glory of our triune God in planning and procuring our redemption. The Father did not punish the Son as a helpless victim of cosmic child abuse. The Son went to the cross freely and willingly. Likewise, the Son did not appease an angry God as some sort of divine good cop to the Father’s divine bad cop. The Father sent his Son to the cross freely and willingly. The good news of Good Friday is that the Father did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all (Rom. 8:32) and that the Son drank the bitter cup of God’s wrath for our sakes (Mark 14:36).

Because it was the Lord’s will to crush him, we can rest secure in the love of God. The cross did not change the mind of God. Good Friday did not happen so that God could love us, but because he already loved those whom he had chosen in Christ. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16). God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Rom. 5:8). In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins (1 John 4:10).

And finally, because it was the Lord’s will to crush him, we can be sure that full satisfaction has been made for our sins. If the cross is something other than divine judgment upon the divine Son of God, if Good Friday is not the eternal, redemptive plan of God executed fully and finally on a hill outside Jerusalem, then we cannot know if our sins have truly been forgiven. We cannot be sure that Christ’s death was enough. We cannot be certain that it is finished.

But if Isaiah 53:10 is the answer to all the problems mounting in verses 1–9, then we can say with the psalmist the words that Jesus himself quoted: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes” (Ps. 118:22–23; Mark 12:10–11). And then we can say with all our might and savor with all our hearts the very next verse in that psalm: “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Ps. 118:24).

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Orthodoxy Has Always Been Essential for Orthopraxy

Mon, 28 Apr 2025 10:05:30 GMT

Guard the Deposit

The importance of orthodox theology in the early church cannot be overstated. Paul repeatedly tells Timothy to guard the deposit of apostolic truth entrusted to him (1 Tim. 6:20; 2 Tim. 1:13–14) and pass it on to others (2 Tim. 2:1–2). As a pastor in particular, Timothy must be able to teach (1 Tim. 3:2) and to correct his opponents with gentleness (2 Tim. 2:25). Similarly, Paul tells Titus he must be “able to give instruction in sound doctrine and also to rebuke those who contradict it” (Titus 1:9; cf. Titus 1:13). There is a core of apostolic teaching that the Christian church must embrace if it is to be Christian and if it is to be a church.

The Rule of Faith

Sadly, within some Christian traditions today, we see that doctrine is downplayed. We hear people talk about how right living (orthopraxy) is more important than right belief (orthodoxy) and how the Great Commission and the Great Commandment should caution us against spending too much time wrangling about doctrine. Almost all of us have heard the phrase (meant to be a good thing) that someone is “spiritual, not religious.” Even in evangelical churches, we too often settle for vague generalities. We are impatient with technical terms and careful reasoning. We prefer devotional platitudes instead of doctrinal precision.

But that’s not how the early Christians viewed their faith, at least not the ones who had enough education to write about their beliefs. Already in the second century, the church father Irenaeus (ca. 130–202) was referring to something called the “rule of faith.” And Irenaeus was only a couple of generations removed from the apostles. John had been Jesus’s disciple. He heard Jesus teach with his own ears; he saw the miracles with his own eyes; he was there on the Mount of Transfiguration, there at the empty tomb, and there in the upper room at Pentecost. This same John taught Polycarp (69–155), the famous (and ultimately martyred) bishop of Smyrna, who in turn taught Irenaeus.

In the second century, Irenaeus was a great champion for orthodoxy against the heresies of the Gnostics. How Irenaeus combated the Gnostics was almost as important as the specific arguments he made. He quoted from the Old Testament and from many of the documents we now know as the New Testament. In defending the truth, Irenaeus brought everything back to the past. That is, he tested everything against what had already been taught, what had been received, and what had been written down. He appealed, ultimately, to a “rule of faith”—a deposit of apostolic doctrine that had to be believed and should not be spoken against.1

In arguing this way, Irenaeus was articulating a Christian instinct that had been in the church from the beginning. Take the Apostles’ Creed, which probably originated in the middle of the second century, growing out of liturgical formulas already present in the church and called a “symbol of the faith” (“symbol” here is a technical term meaning “a formal authoritative statement or summary of the religious belief of the Christian church”2 ). Three questions were put to adults coming for baptism:

“Do you believe in God, the Father Almighty?” “Do you believe in Christ Jesus, the Son of God, who was born of the Holy Ghost and the Virgin Mary, and was crucified under Pontius Pilate, and was dead and buried, and rose again the third day, alive from among the dead, and ascended into heaven, and sat down at the right hand of the Father, and will come to judge the living and the dead?” “Do you believe in the Holy Spirit, in the holy church, and in the resurrection of the body?”3

This language sounds very familiar to most of us. And that’s the point. This doctrinal language has been around since the very beginning. From the earliest days of the church, converts being baptized were required to make a confession of faith, and this involved a confessional formula like the Trinitarian one above.

The Nicene Creed starts with “We believe” for a reason. Jaroslav Pelikan has observed that one of the most persistent features of all Christian creeds and confessions—a feature so obvious it is easy to overlook, especially on the other side of liberal theology—“is the utter seriousness with which they treat the issues of Christian doctrine as, quite literally, a matter of life and death, both here in time and hereafter in eternity.”4 It is not enough to exhort people to live like Jesus. To be sure, the apostolic message exhorted people to live godly lives but only in conjunction with a robust message about sin, salvation, incarnation, resurrection, atonement, reconciliation, and eternal life. Any gospel that denies these essentials or ignores them or skips over them to get to something else or leads people to doubt them or does not deal straightforwardly with them is, in effect, a different gospel. The Christian faith is more than a doctrine to be believed, but it is never less.

Notes For an accessible introduction examining how the rule of faith functioned in the early church, see Everett Ferguson, The Rule of Faith: A Guide (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2015). Oxford English Dictionary, s.v. “symbol,” accessed June 5, 2024, https://oed.com. The word “symbol” in this sense derives from the Latin word symbolus, which meant something like “sign and seal of authenticity.” The creed is the sign of an authentic Christian. The Apostolic Tradition (attributed to Hippolytus of Rome [d. 236]), quoted in Jaroslav Pelikan, Credo: Historical and Theological Guide to Creeds and Confessions of the Faith in the Christian Tradition (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003), 380–81. Capitalization has been slightly adjusted. Jaroslav Pelikan, Credo: Historical and Theological Guide to Creeds and Confessions of the Faith in the Christian Tradition (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003), 70.

This article is adapted from The Nicene Creed: What You Need to Know about the Most Important Creed Ever Written by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

6 Lessons We Learn from the Nicene Creed

Tue, 08 Apr 2025 13:48:36 GMT

Six Summary Statements

Here are six summary statements—or, we might say, six lessons—we can learn from this seventeen-hundred year-old confession of faith, the Nicene Creed.

1. The Nicene Creed stresses the importance of believing the right thing.

Sadly, we often hear Christian leaders and churches today downplay the importance of doctrinal fidelity. They may not deny essential articles of the faith, but they can talk about doctrinal precision as if it were alien to the Christian faith or something that gets in the way of authentic discipleship. Such a spirit of doctrinal latitudinarianism is antithetical to the spirit of Nicaea. To be a part of the historic, orthodox Christian church, however, we must believe at least as much as is affirmed in the Nicene Creed. This means that Mormons (who do not accept Nicene orthodoxy), Unitarians (who deny the Trinity), and liberals (if they deny the deity of Christ, the virgin birth, and the resurrection) cannot be considered a part of the church catholic.

2. The history of the Nicene Creed teaches us that new statements (and modified statements) are often necessary to combat new errors.

The Nicene Creed doesn’t tell us everything we need to know and believe. If the 318 bishops from the Council of Nicaea were alive today, undoubtedly they would see the Christian faith threatened in new and different ways. The Nicene Creed is a creedal floor, not a creedal ceiling. The Creed of Nicaea itself was significantly changed from Nicaea (325) to Constantinople (381). The church considered it the same creed because it was doctrinally the same, but it represented a significant augmentation and probably started from a separate formula altogether. The church in the fourth century understood that new threats to the faith merit new efforts to delineate truth from error. But sanctification explicitly includes these co-operations, making the description of “alone” misleading at best and inaccurate at worst. We are apt to misunderstand both justification and sanctification if we describe them in ways that are too similar.

3. The Nicene Creed models for us the central importance of the Trinity.

Too many Christians give too little thought to the Trinity, and too few churches teach their people about the Trinity or make sure that their worship is thoroughly Trinitarian. By structuring its “rule of faith” around the Trinity, and by spending so much time trying to carefully explain and vigorously protect truths about the Trinity, the Nicene Creed shows us a better way. The doctrine of the Trinity is not a math problem to avoid or a largely irrelevant doctrine that we can tuck away in the attic of our minds. To be a Christian is to be baptized in the triune name and to worship the God who subsists as three persons sharing one undivided essence. If we want to know God as he is, what could be more important than knowing, studying, and loving the doctrine of the Trinity?

4. The Nicene Creed underscores the importance of “religion” for Christian life and worship.

We often hear that so-and-so is “spiritual but not religious.” Even Christians have gotten into a bad habit of making “religion” the bad guy opposite the good guy of the gospel. If religion means man-made worship or man’s attempt to earn God’s favor on his own, then Christianity has no place for religion. But usually when people talk about being “spiritual but not religious,” they mean that they want a faith that is unencumbered by doctrinal boundaries, sacred rites, and the institution of the church with its authority structure and obligations. The Nicene Creed emphasizes the importance of each of these “religious” elements. The faith of Nicaea assumes that the Christian is part of a church and understands the importance of the sacraments.

5. The Nicene Creed is not embarrassed to view Christianity with a soteriological focus.

At the heart of the creed’s confession is the good news that the Lord Jesus Christ came down from heaven “for us and for our salvation.” Sometimes you hear people say that modern evangelicals invented this salvation-focused gospel, or that Westerners corrupted the gospel by making it so individualistic, or that medieval people were scared into believing in a God of judgment because the church wanted to control them. But we see right here in the fourth century that the church conceived of the Christian faith as irreducibly about sin and salvation, about judgment and forgiveness, about how we can be saved from the human problem that is sin and death.

6. The Nicene Creed points us to the future.

Part of what we respect and honor in the Nicene Creed is its age. It is ancient. It was the first official, ecumenical church creed. And Christians all around the world still use it seventeen hundred years later. But we would miss the point of the creed if we just admired it as a relic of history or as a connection with the past. The Nicene Creed itself ends by sending us into the future. The last line begins with the verb “we look” (prosdokumen in Greek). We look forward to, we desire, we anticipate, we hope for the resurrection of our bodies and eternal life in the world to come. In Latin, that final verb is expectamus. The Nicene Creed deliberately ends on a note of expectation and hope.

And remember, it is not just life that we are longing for—life without pain, life without sin, life with fellow Christians and with fellow family members who died in Christ. We look forward to all that, as well we should. But more importantly, the life we look forward to is life with the triune God—the God that the Nicene Creed does so much to explain and honor. For ages upon ages we will thrill to know and to worship God the Father Almighty, to bow before his only begotten Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, and to sing praise to the Holy Spirit, the Lord and giver of life.

This article is adapted from The Nicene Creed: What You Need to Know about the Most Important Creed Ever Written by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Do Not Weep for Jesus

Fri, 25 Mar 2016 00:00:00 GMT

There were a lot of shocking things said and done on Good Friday. This paragraph describes one you may not have considered before.

And as they led him away, they seized one Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the country, and laid on him the cross, to carry it behind Jesus. And there followed him a great multitude of people and of women who were mourning and lamenting for him. But turning to them Jesus said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For behold, the days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren and the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us,’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us.’ For if they do these things when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?” (Luke 23:26-31).

Jesus could be so unsentimental.

He told those grieving would-be followers to let the dead to go bury their dead (Luke 9:60).

He told the woman who blessed his mother, “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and keep it!” (Luke 11:27-28).

And he told those wondering about the murdered Galileans or about those killed by the tower of Siloam that unless they repented they would likewise perish (Luke 13:1-5).

People today would be outraged by Jesus’ insensitivity. Think about what we see in the paragraph above. There are women following Jesus, weeping and lamenting. For him! And why shouldn’t they? Jesus is a sad sight. He’s been mocked, beaten, scourged, and spat upon. He’s been led away by soldiers to die outside the city. He’s too weak to carry his own beam. He’s about to die on a shameful Roman cross. It is entirely natural that some in the crowd would be moved to tears.

Which is why Jesus’ response is so shocking.

Don’t weep for me.

Come on, Jesus. Can’t you show a little appreciation for the sentiment? At least these women feel sorry for you. At least these woman aren’t spitting upon you. You’d think he’d be grateful for a little moral support. But instead he stops them short: don’t cry for me, daughters of Jerusalem.

There is nothing wrong with their tears, except that they are in the wrong place. Jesus doesn’t stop them from weeping, as if godly people don’t show emotion. He calls them to weep . . . for themselves and for their children.

This is the seventh time he has warned of impending doom for Jerusalem (Luke 11:49-51; 13:6-9; 13:34-35; 19:41-44; 20:16; 21:20-24). Destruction will come upon the Jewish nation in AD 70. The fall of Jerusalem will be so great, Jesus says, it would be better to have no family at all. The sufferers will call on the hills to cover them, to put an end to their miserable lives. This is what will visit those who reject their Messiah.

Jesus finishes his warning with an enigmatic saying: “If they do these things when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?” In essence, it means: “If Jesus is not spared the cruelty of the cross, how will the nation of Israel escape divine judgment?” Don’t cry for the Son of Man doing the Father’s will. Cry for those who will face God’s wrath if they do not repent.

That’s why Jesus says what he says to the women in the crowd. His seeming insensitivity is not the absence of love, but the deepest expression of it. He calls them tenderly “daughters of Jerusalem.” He doesn’t want them to waste tears on what cannot and should not be altered, when they should weep and wail over a rebellion that must be surrendered.

Are you crying the right tears on this mournful day?

Hundreds of people died on a cross. Most suffered in physical torment longer than Jesus. There are ten thousand tragedies happening in this world everyday. Right now, as you read this. They deserve our sympathy and compassion. But pity not the Christ when he calls you to penitence instead.

The point of Good Friday is not to feel sorry for Jesus. Jesus does not need our sympathy. The point is to feel sorry for your sin. For if we don’t, we have good reason to weep. There will be no salvation for those who reject God’s appointed Savior.

Make this Good Friday truly good. Turn your mourning into dancing. Turn your sorrow into joy. Weep for your sin and come to Jesus. He offers you his grace and does not need your tears.

2025 RTS Jackson Online Discussion Forum

Thu, 20 Mar 2025 12:29:50 GMT

The February 2025 installment of the monthly RTS Jackson Online Discussion Forum features Dr. Kevin DeYoung and Dr. Ligon Duncan discussing Daily Doctrine.

A Light on the Hill

Thu, 17 Apr 2025 13:24:05 GMT

“I love the church, I love churches, and I love books about churches. I’ve always loved reading biographies of specific churches, and this is among the best I’ve ever read. Based on years of archival research, and with a good flare for the dramatic, Morell tells the fascinating 150-year story of Capitol Hill Baptist Church in Washington, DC. Morell’s approach is edifying without being pedantic, honest without being censorious, and rich in detail without getting lost in the weeds. The result is a book that deserves a wider audience than local church histories usually enjoy.”

Order a copy of A Light on the Hill from our friends at Westminster Bookstore.

Maundy Thursday

Thu, 09 Apr 2009 04:00:00 GMT

Like millions of Christians around the world, we will have a Maundy Thursday tonight. If you’ve never heard the term, it’s not Monday-Thursday (which always confused me as a kid), but Maundy Thursday, as in Mandatum Thursday. Mandatum is the Latin word for “command” or “mandate,” and the day is called Maundy Thursday because on the night before his death Jesus gave his disciples a new command. “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another” (John 13:34).

At first it seems strange that Christ would call this a new command. After all, the Old Testament instructed God’s people to love their neighbors and Christ himself summarized the law as love for God and love for others. So what’s new about love? What makes the command new is that because of Jesus’ passion there is a new standard, a new exemplar of love.

There was never any love like the dying love of Jesus. It is tender and sweet (13:33). It serves (13:2-17). It loves even unto death (13:1). Jesus had nothing to gain from us by loving us. There was nothing in us to draw us to him. But he loved us still, while we were yet sinners. At the Last Supper, in the garden, at his betrayal, facing the Jewish leaders, before Pontius Pilate, being scourged, carrying his cross, being nailed to the wood, breathing his dying breath, forsaken by God–he loved us. To the end. To death. Love shone best and brightest at Calvary.

Christ was all anguish that I might be all joy, cast off that I might be brought in, trodden down as an enemy that I might be welcomed as a friend, surrendered to hell’s worst that I might attain heaven’s best, stripped that I might be clothed, wounded that I might be healed, athirst that I might drink, tormented that I might be comforted, made a shame that I might inherit glory, entered darkness that I might have eternal life.

My Saviour wept that all tears might be wiped from my eyes, groaned that I might have endless song, endured all pain that I might have unfading health, bore a thorned crown that I might have a glory-diadem, bowed his head that I might uplift mine, experienced reproach that I might receive welcome, closed his eyes in death that I might gaze on unclouded brightness, expired that I might for ever live (The Valley of Vision, “Love Lustres at Calvary”).

A Resurrection Like No Other

Mon, 14 Apr 2025 10:39:40 GMT

Easter Sunday marks the movement from humiliation to exaltation in the work of Christ. During his earthly ministry, Jesus often predicted his resurrection, declaring himself to be the resurrection and the life (John 11:25) and announcing that he would lay his life down and take it up again (10:18; cf. 2:19-21). Jesus Christ rose from the dead by his own power.

But it was not by his power alone. The resurrection is frequently ascribed to the power of God (Acts 2:24, 32; 3:26; 5:30; 1 Cor. 6:14; Eph. 1:20) or more specifically to God the Father (Rom. 6:4; Gal. 1:1). Likewise, the work of the Spirit is implied on Romans 1:3 (“declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit”) and Romans 8:11 (“the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead”). The resurrection took place according to the operation of each member of the Trinity.

Importantly, Christ’s resurrection was more than a mere resuscitation of life. Jesus raised several persons from the dead (e.g., a young man, Jairus’s daughter, Lazarus). But none of these “resurrections” marked the turning point in history. We must ask the question: what makes Christ’s resurrection different, such that he can be called the first fruits of those who sleep (1 Cor. 15:20) and the firstborn from the dead (Col. 1:18; Rev. 1:5)?

Six points.

(1) Christ’s body was raised incorruptible. Jesus will not die again. His body underwent a remarkable change (e.g., the disciples did not recognize him on the Emmaus Road). Christ’s resurrected body could pass through walls and mysteriously appear or disappear. His body was not immaterial, but Christ’s physicality was had been adapted perfectly for spiritual use.

(2) Through the resurrection, Christ became a life-giving Spirit (1 Cor. 15:45). Raised to life, he was now able to give the Holy Spirit to his disciples.

(3) In fulfilling Israel’s feasts by his death and resurrection (Lev. 25), Christ became the first fruits of those who sleep (1 Cor. 15:20) and the firstborn from the dead (Col. 1:18; Rev. 1:5). Jesus’s resurrection is often mentioned as an example of what awaits ever member of Christ’s body (Rom. 6:4-9; 8:11; 1 Cor. 6:14; 15:20-22; 2 Cor. 4:10-14; Col. 2:12; 1 Thess. 4:14).

(4) The resurrection signified the accomplishment of Christ’s mediatorial work on earth. Christ “was declared to be the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness by his resurrection from the dead” (Rom. 1:4).

(5) By his resurrection, Christ triumphed over death. Note carefully the wording in Acts 2:24: “God raised him up, loosing the pangs of death, because it was not possible for him to be held by it.” The grave could not hold the Son of God because it had no claim on him. The wages of sin is death, but once sin is paid for, there is no obligation to pay the wages of sin. The resurrection announced that Christ’s work on behalf of sinners was finished, and there was nothing left to pay.

(6) Finally, the resurrection tells us that God’s justice has been satisfied. Romans 4:25 says Christ was raised for our justification. Like a convict being released from prison after his sentence has been fulfilled, the resurrection testifies that the penal and prescriptive requirements of the law have been paid for. Jesus lives, and so can we.

Taken from Daily Doctrine by Kevin DeYoung, © 2024, pp. 205. Used by permission of Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers, Wheaton, IL 60187, www.crossway.org.Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Can We Trust the Bible?

Wed, 09 Apr 2025 14:19:30 GMT

There are many things that we might say to help doubting Christians, or skeptical non-Christians, trust the Bible. We could note that the person of Jesus Christ is mentioned several times outside the Bible, including in Roman sources such as Suetonius, Tacitus, and Pliny the Younger and in Jewish sources like Josephus and the Talmud. We could talk about archaeological evidence from the past half-century that has demonstrated the existence of Pontius Pilate, the Pool of Siloam, and the town of Geresa on the Sea of Galilee. We could talk about the manuscript evidence for the text of the Bible, which is by leaps and bounds better than anything we have for any other ancient book.

All these are worthwhile avenues to explore when it comes to examining the trustworthiness of the Bible. But I want to take a different and simpler route. I want to examine what Jesus thought about the Bible. Granted, citing the Bible will not prove to skeptics that the Bible is trustworthy. The authority of Scripture is ultimately a matter of the inner testimony of the Holy Spirit and the supernatural work of God whereby the sheep hear the voice of their Shepherd in the Scriptures. And yet we can prove that if, on any level, we trust Jesus, then we must believe in the trustworthiness of the Bible. Consider four passages that highlight how Jesus viewed the Scriptures.

Matthew 5:17–19. Here in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus announces that He did not come to abolish one iota or one dot from the Law or the Prophets. That Jesus mentions these small written marks tells us that He is thinking of written Scripture. You can just as easily set aside something from the Word of God as you can get rid of heaven and earth.

Matthew 12:38–42. In arguing with the scribes and Pharisees, Jesus references the story of Jonah as true history. Jesus is not merely citing a piece of literature. The men of Nineveh cannot rise up in judgment on the last day if they are mere fictional characters. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus treats biblical characters and biblical history—from Abel and Noah and Abraham to Elijah and Elisha and the widow of Zarephath—as real people engaged in real historical events.

Matthew 19:4–5. Jesus quotes from Genesis 2 as to what “he who created them . . . said.” The passage from Genesis 2 does not include a direct quote from God. But that doesn’t matter for Jesus. The fact that He is quoting from the Bible means that He is quoting God. For Jesus, what the Bible says, God says.

John 10:35. Here Jesus states matter-of-factly that the “Scripture cannot be broken.” Jesus is arguing about one word in Psalm 82. He’s not citing the exodus story or some famous verse in the Old Testament. He is referring to one word in an obscure psalm. And yet Jesus believes—and can state without fear of being opposed by any serious Jew—that no word in the Scriptures can possibly be broken. Jesus is teaching—or better, He’s assuming what everyone already knew—that nothing taught in the Bible can be set aside, nullified, or annulled.

How should we think about the Bible? Surely, the only appropriate response for Christians is that we believe about our Bibles what Jesus believed about His Bible. Jesus affirmed every bit of law, prophecy, narrative, and poetry in the Scriptures. He shuddered to think of anyone overturning, rejecting, or disbelieving any portion of the Scriptures. He gladly embraced the authority and inspiration of the Scriptures down to the sentences, to the phrases, to the words, to the smallest letter, to the tiniest speck. Jesus accepted the chronology and miracles and history of the Bible as straightforward facts.

There is no doubt that Jesus believed in the total trustworthiness of the Scriptures—in every detail and in every truth that it means to affirm. And if Jesus trusted the Bible, who are we to think otherwise?

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Why Did They Hate Jesus?

Tue, 15 Mar 2016 00:00:00 GMT

It is sometimes said that Jesus was killed on account of his inclusion and tolerance, that the Jews hated him for hanging out with sinners and tax collectors. This is the sort of sentiment that has a bit of truth to it, but only a tiny bit. No doubt, Jesus upset many of the Jewish leaders because he extended fellowship and mercy beyond their constricted boundaries. But it is misleading to suggest that Jesus was hated for simply being too doggone-loving, as if his inspiring tolerance were the cause of his enemies’ implacable intolerance.

Take Mark’s Gospel, for example (because it’s the one Gospel I’ve preached all the way through). By my reckoning, Jesus is opposed once for eating with sinners (2:16), once for upsetting stereotypes about him in his hometown (6:3), a few times for violating Jewish scruples about the law (2:24; 3:6; 7:5); and several times for “blaspheming” or for claiming too much authority for himself (2:7; 3:22; 11:27-28; 14:53-64; 15:29-32, 39). As Mark’s Gospel unfolds, we see the Jewish leaders increasingly hostile toward Jesus. Although the fear of the crowds stays their hand for a while, they still try to trap Jesus and plot his destruction (8:11; 11:18; 12:12; 12:13; 14:1: 15:3, 11). There is a lot the Jewish leaders don’t like about Jesus, but their most intense, murderous fury is directed toward him because he believes “I am [the Christ, the Son of the Blessed], and you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of Power, and coming with the clouds of heaven” (14:62).

The four Gospels, as we might expect, emphasize different aspects of the Jewish opposition. Luke, for instance, makes more of Jesus’s identification with the society’s cast-offs as an issue for the Jewish leaders, while John makes more of Jesus’s unique status as God’s equal. However the basic outline is consistent in all four accounts. As Jesus’ reputation as a healer and miracle worker spreads, the crowds come to him in larger and larger numbers, prompting the elites to despise him more and more. As a general rule, Jesus was popular with the masses (the exception being in his hometown of Nazareth), and as his popularity increased with the crowds, so did the opposition from the Jewish leaders.

The Jewish leaders disliked, and eventually grew to hate, Jesus for many reasons. Mark 15:3 says the chief priests “accused him of many things.” They were angry with him for upsetting their traditions and some of their scruples about the law. They looked down on him for eating with sinners and associating with those deemed unclean or unworthy. But most of all, they hated Jesus because he claimed to be from God, and as time went on, dared to make himself equal to God.

That’s why they hated him; that’s why the crowds turn on him; that’s why Jesus was put to death. The Jewish leaders could not recognize Christ’s divine authority and identity. Jealousy was no doubt part of it (Matt. 27:18). But deeper than that, they simply did not have the eyes to see or the faith to believe that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the living God. That’s why in all four gospels, when the opposition against him reaches its climax, Jesus is not charged with being too welcoming to outsiders, but with being a false king, a false prophet, and a false Messiah (Matt. 26:57-68; Mark 14:53-65; Luke 22:66-71; and less clearly in John 18:9-24). They killed Jesus because they thought he was a blasphemer.

In the end, it was the implicit and explicit claims Jesus made to authority, Messiahship, and God-ness, not his expansive love, that ultimately did him in. This is not an excuse for our own hard-heartedness or a reason to distance ourselves from today’s “sinners and tax collectors.” We need Jesus’s example to set us straight. But we must put to rest the half-truth (more like a one-eighth truth, really) that Jesus was killed for being too inclusive and too nice. The Jewish leaders may have objected to Jesus’s far-reaching compassion, but they wanted him dead because he thought himself the Christ, the Son of the living God. If Jesus simply loved people too much he might have been ridiculed by some. But without his claims to deity, authority, and the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, he likely would not have been executed.

So as we approach another Holy Week, let’s certainly talk about the compassion and love of Jesus (how could we not!). But if we don’t talk about his unique identity as the Son of God, we have not explained the reason for his death, and we have not given people reason enough to worship.

How Does Sanctification Differ from Justification?

Wed, 02 Apr 2025 15:13:36 GMT

Related but Different Gifts

The Bible typically uses the language of “sanctified” or “sanctify” to refer to the believer’s positional holiness as one set apart unto God. In systematic theology, however, sanctification usually means the renovation of men and women by which God takes the joined-to-Christ, justified believer and transforms him more and more into the divine image. That is the sense we are talking about right now—progressive sanctification rather than definitive sanctification.

Sanctification can be understood passively and actively—passively, inasmuch as the transforming work “is wrought by God in us,” and also actively, inasmuch as sanctification “ought to be done by us, God performing this work in us and by us.”1 This is a crucial point. In sanctification, God is doing the work in us, but at the same time we are also working. Any theology that ignores either the passive or the active dimension of sanctification is going to be lopsided and unbiblical.

From this definition, we can already see that justification and sanctification, though related, are different gifts. The most serious, and potentially damning, errors surface when the two are not carefully distinguished. According to Turretin, justification and sanctification differ in at least five ways.2

They differ as to the order. God only sanctifies those who are already reconciled and justified by faith. They differ with regard to their object. Justification is concerned with guilt; sanctification with pollution. They differ as to their form. Justification is a judicial and forensic act whereby our sins are forgiven and the righteousness of Christ is imputed to us. Sanctification is a moral act whereby righteousness is infused in the believer and personal renewal is begun and over a long process carried to completion. They differ as to the recipient subject. In justification, man is given a new objective status based on God’s acquittal. In sanctification, we are subjectively renewed by God. They differ as to degrees. Justification is given in this life fully, without any possible increase. Sanctification is begun in this life but only made perfect in the next. The declaration of justification is once for all. The inward work of sanctification takes place by degrees.

Some Christians have argued that sanctification is also “by faith alone.” While we are right to stress that sanctification is a gift that comes only to those who put their faith in Christ, and that we grow in godliness by believing in the promises of God, the phrase “by faith alone” is not helpful. Both justification and sanctification are by faith, but whereas faith is the instrument through which we receive the righteousness of Christ, faith is the root and principle out of which sanctification grows.3 We say that justification is by faith alone, because we want to safeguard justification from any notion of striving or working. But sanctification explicitly includes these co-operations, making the description of “alone” misleading at best and inaccurate at worst. We are apt to misunderstand both justification and sanctification if we describe them in ways that are too similar.

Notes Turretin, Francis. Institutes of Elenctic Theology. 3 vols. Translated by George Musgrave Giger. Edited by James T. Dennison Jr. Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R, 1997, 2:689. Turretin, Elenctic Theology, 2:690–91. Turretin, Elenctic Theology, 2:692–93.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

A Holy Week Collection

Fri, 21 Mar 2025 14:03:15 GMT

Each Clearly Reformed Book Club member receives a copy of each of Kevin DeYoung’s new book releases and exclusive Clearly Reformed printed booklets written by Kevin.

Leading up to Holy Week, all book club members will receive A Holy Week Collection, five Holy Week articles written by Kevin DeYoung, compiled in a coffee-table keepsake booklet.

To become a book club member and take advantage of these resources, set up a monthly recurring donation of any amount.

Brothers, We Are Not Political Pundits

Tue, 04 Mar 2025 11:35:15 GMT

When I started out in ministry 23 years ago, I was greatly helped by John Piper’s book Brothers, We Are Not Professionals. Everything within me resonated with Piper’s call for pastors to be serious students of the Bible and to eschew ministry models based on gimmicks, entertainment, and a desperate attempt to seem relevant to the world. If there are any young men in the same place I was two decades ago—earnest, eager, and ignorant of all sorts of things you don’t know you are ignorant of—let me implore you as a now middle-aged pastor: “Brothers, we are not professionals, and neither are we pundits.”

But Kevin, isn’t everything political?

In a sense, yes.

Are you saying, then, that pastors must stay silent on the most pressing issues of our day?

No.

Of course, pastors should bring biblical truth to bear on the big questions of our day. But let us focus on the big questions—the questions that the Bible means to address, the questions that the Church Fathers and the Medieval scholastics and the magisterial Reformers and the Puritans and the best Christian minds of the last three hundred years can help us with. These questions are not usually the ones generated by the 24-hour news cycle or stirred up by the social media algorithm. I suspect most of us would be embarrassed to go back and revisit our predictions and two cents about the news from five years ago considering what we didn’t know at the time and how transient almost every bit of “breaking news” turns out to be.

Don’t get me wrong, we need some Christians (though, undoubtedly, not as many as we have now) to participate in the maelstrom of cultural commentary, just like we need Christians in every non-sinful area of human activity. Political punditry is a legitimate calling. It’s just not the pastor’s calling. The man who comments constantly on the things “everyone is talking about” is almost assuredly not talking about the things the Bible is most interested in talking about. That word “constant” is important. It takes wisdom to know when jumping in the fray might be necessary, but we don’t need pastors looking like a poor man’s version of the Daily Wire or the New York Times.

Don’t Dilute Your Authority

Pastors are not called to comment on everything, nor are we equipped to comment on everything. Brothers, we must not plunge ourselves into subjects on which we do not have the right, nor the expertise, to speak as ministers of the gospel. Before you send out your instant analysis on the controversy du jour, ask yourself: Can I say what I’m about to say by virtue of my training as a minister or by my hard-won expertise in some related area? Yes, Christ is Lord over all. Yes, there is not one square inch in all creation over which Christ does not cry out, “This is mine!” But fellow pastor, you and I are not qualified to speak on all of those square inches over which Christ reigns.

I confess it boggles my mind to see ministry friends and acquaintances—both to the “left” of me and to the “right” of me—who are spending their time, their energy, and their authority by offering hot takes on everything under the sun and by descending into social media food fights that bear a striking resemblance to the “irreverent babble” that leads people into more and more ungodliness (2 Tim. 2:16). Brothers, we must steadfastly avoid foolish, ignorant controversies (2 Tim. 2:23). It is not acquiescence to the spirit of the age that demands that “the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome” (2 Tim. 2:24), it is the command of Holy Scripture.

And frankly, most pastors have nothing particularly unique or insightful to say about politics. So much of “speaking prophetically” or applying the Lordship of Christ to all of life amounts to little more than slapdash criticism and recycled talking points. If we feel the need to say something about what’s in the news, let’s slow down, log off, read widely, get lost in some old books, give ourselves to months or years of reflection, and then maybe we will have something worth saying—something that isn’t being said by a hundred chattering voices already.

Only rarely will it be worthwhile for pastors to weigh in on some political matter immediately (other than lifting up many things to God in our public and private prayers). I don’t regret trying to address topics like abortion, transgenderism, race, or homosexuality, even if these can be called “political” topics. I do regret the times I’ve jumped in too quickly into the news cycle or offered my opinion too freely on individual politicians, if for no other reason than once you set yourself up as “a guy who comments on things all the time,” people can reasonably wonder why you comment on some things and some people and not on others.

If we give people non-stop political commentary and digital dust-ups, they will expect more of the same in the future. And if commenting on a subject three months from now means we are too late, then it’s not a subject that merits our limited hours and attention. As the Old Princeton divine, J.A. Alexander, put it: “The great themes of religious truth are enough to occupy more than he can get. Statesmanship is a science by itself. If a preacher excels in it, he must do so by sacrificing some of his sacred hours” (Thoughts on Preaching, 30).

When pastors decide to become more overtly political it hardly ever ends up as a credit to their insight and carefulness. The pastors on the left who spoke “courageously” about the evils of white privilege or about Covid protocols as a litmus test for neighbor love proved to be too dogmatic and spoke too gospel-y about debatable issues. They may have been cheered on by their friends and by some quarters of the internet, but they squandered their authority and made it harder for people to take them seriously as thinkers and as Christian leaders. To my punchy friends on the right, you are likely to make the same mistakes if you confidently parrot what another echo chamber wants you to say.

Do What You Were Trained to Do

It’s okay for pastors to have many interests. After all, I like to talk about life and books and everything (which sometimes includes current events and politics). But the things I am most passionate about—and I want it to be manifestly obvious that these are what I’m most passionate about—teaching about theology and church history, preaching about the Bible each Sunday, and being a local church pastor week after week. If ever those aren’t my genuine priorities—if what I really want to do is have a podcast ministry, or an itinerant speaking ministry, or a political action ministry, or a conservative think tank ministry—then I should quit this job and go do that job. There are lots of important jobs in the world and many ways we can serve the Lord and his people. But if you are a pastor, then be a pastor. Do what you were trained to do: study the Bible, preach sermons, love people, and lead your church.

Yes, we can have ordered loves. It’s not all or nothing. We can be engaged in many things at once, but Alexander is right: “It is unseemly for a minister of Christ to be known chiefly by works beyond the line of his calling, however valuable in themselves.” When it comes to our public ministry—what we are known for and what people think about when they think of our voice in the public square—political punditry is virtually a zero-sum game. We can be known for “prophetic” political commentary or we can be known for textually careful, biblically rich, theologically deep, church-focused gospel ministry.

Brothers, we can be pundits or we can be pastors, but we likely cannot be both.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

In Sanctification, Where You’re Going Is More Important Than Where You Are

Thu, 20 Mar 2025 13:10:08 GMT

Public Progress Report

It was several years ago, not long after my ordination, that I stumbled upon 1 Timothy 4:15and found it to be a source of both great comfort and mild discouragement. It wasn’t the first time I had read the verse. But it was the first time God opened my eyes to the verse to see what it meant for my life and ministry.

Most pastors are familiar with 1 Timothy 4:16—“Keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching.” That’s our blueprint for ministry: watch our lives and watch our doctrine. I knew verse 16 but hadn’t paid much attention to verse 15: “Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress.” It was that last part about progress that caught my eye. Earlier, in 1 Timothy 3, Paul lays out what seem like lofty requirements for elders and deacons. Then in 1 Timothy 4, just a few verses earlier, he tells young Timothy to “set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity” (1 Tim. 4:12). Does that feel a little intense to you? “Hey, Timmy, I know you are just out of seminary but I want you to be exemplary in pretty much every area of your life. Got it?” Sounds scary. But then comes this part about progress in verse 15. Apparently, Paul didn’t think “set an example” meant “get everything right the first time.”

You can take verse 15 as an upper or a downer. My discouragement came in thinking that people would see me five years from now and realize I used to be less mature, less capable, and less godly. It’s a little bit of a bummer to realize that later I’ll look back at the me I am now and be glad I’m not entirely the same me any longer. But verse 15 has mainly been an encouragement. It means I can be qualified to be an elder and set an example with my life without “having arrived.” I can grow. I can mature. I can become holier than I am now. My behavior and my teaching can improve. Progress is not only what God expects from me but what he allows from me.

Which brings us to one of the most important axioms about holiness: when it comes to sanctification, it’s more important where you’re going than where you are. Direction matters more than position. Your future progress speaks louder than your present placement. So cheer up: if you aren’t as holy as you want to be now, God may still be pleased with you because you are heading in the right direction. And be warned: if you aren’t as holy as you used to be, God probably isn’t impressed with yesterday’s triumphs when for the last few months you’ve done nothing but give up.

I should hasten to add that measuring your progress in the pursuit of holiness is easier said than done. For starters, you shouldn’t take your spiritual temperature every day. You need to look for progress over months and years, not by minutes and hours. As David Powlison likes to say, sanctification is like a man walking up the stairs with a yo-yo. There are a lot of ups and downs, but ultimate progress nonetheless. So don’t tie yourself up in knots wondering if Tuesday was godlier than Wednesday. Look at your trajectory over the last five months, or better yet, over the last five years. This goes for judging others too. Don’t rush to criticize the spiritual progress of others without knowing how far they’ve come and in which direction they’re heading Which leads to a related point: don’t be afraid to hand the spiritual thermometer over to someone else. The assumption in verse 15 is that other Christians will notice our progress. An honest, discerning friend is often more accurate than we are in assessing our relative spiritual health. They can see your general movement while you may only see today’s failure. Remember, it’s the testimony of almost all saints that as they get closer to God they see more of their ungodliness. It’s normal to feel less holy as you become more holy. Being more aware of sin in your life is usually a sign of the Spirit’s sanctifying work, not of his withdrawal. All that to say, when it comes to seeing your own sanctification, it’s not always best to take your own word for it. Ask your wife, ask your roommate, ask your dad, ask your pastor, ask your best friend: can you see my progress?

Repentance as a Way of Life

If the pursuit of holiness entails progress—with fits and starts, with victories and defeats, with two steps forward and one step back—then it also demands repentance. In the very first of Martin Luther’s 95 Theses he said, “Our Lord and Master Jesus Christ. . . . willed that the whole life of believers should be repentance.” Sanctification, therefore, will be marked by penitence more than perfection. Of course, perfection does not have to be a bad word. The Greek word sometimes translated as “perfect” (teleios or teleioō) simply means qualified, mature, or fulfilled (Col. 1:28; 4:12; Heb. 2:10; James 1:4). So in one sense believers are to be “perfect.” But biblically this never means complete sinlessness in thought or deed. Whatever you make of Romans 7 (and I think Paul is writing about his own struggle with sin as a Christian), it’s undeniable that even the best believers sometimes do things they don’t want to do and fail to do what they want to do. The Bible is clear—except for Jesus, no one will be sinless in this life (Heb. 4:15). “There is no one who does not sin” (1 Kings 8:46). There is “not a righteous man on earth who does good and never sins” (Eccles. 7:20). “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8). Given these stark realities, holiness on earth must include repentance.

This is especially true because those most eager to be holy are often most susceptible to judgmentalism and arrogance. Everyone in love with the idea of personal holiness (not to mention those audacious enough to write a book on it!) should pay attention to the words of Andrew Murray: “There is no pride so dangerous, none so subtle and insidious, as the pride of holiness.”1 It’s not that they would ever say it out loud, but there grows up in some Christians a sense of superiority concerning how far they have advanced compared to others. It is very possible to pursue holiness out of pride. It is also possible to pursue holiness out of humility, and succeed, and then become proud. It’s not for nothing that Jesus expects his followers to ask for forgiveness as a regular part of their prayers (Matt. 6:12). Repentance is a way of life for the holy child of God.

Wrapping up a message on holiness with a section on repentance may seem counterintuitive. A little weak and a little defeatist. Kind of like telling a recovering alcoholic what to take for his next hangover. But if repentance looks like a concession to sin rather than a mark of holiness it’s only because we think of repentance too lightly. It’s one thing to sin your heart out, mumble a few sorrys, and get on with life. It’s quite another thing to hate your sin, cry out to God, and make a spiritual U-turn. Real contrition is hard, painful work. As Thomas Brooks put it, quite vividly, “Repentance is the vomit of the soul.”2 Think about throwing up for a moment (just a moment!). There is nothing pleasant about it. I can’t think of any physical sensation I like less. I don’t use puking as a backup plan, as a remedy I can always rely on later. When I throw up it tells me I have the flu, a migraine, or I ate too much at Taco John’s. Something is terribly wrong.

Genuine repentance is similar. It’s not a convenient escape hatch after a weekend or a life of folly. It means admitting specific wrong, recognizing your offensiveness to God, changing course, turning to Christ, and wishing with all your heart you had never made the mistake you now despise. Or as Calvin put it, “[repentance] is the true turning of our life to God, a turning that arises from a pure and earnest fear of him; and it consists in the mortification of our flesh and of the old man, and in the vivification of the Spirit.”3 Throwing up is not easy. And neither is repentance. But one is much sweeter than the other.

Growing into a Good-Looking Christian

Back when I was in college I had a conversation with an older Christian man about my plans to enter the ministry. In the course of our conversation he quoted a line that I’ve never forgotten. It comes from Robert Murray M’Cheyne, a nineteenth-century Scottish preacher who died at the age of twenty-nine. In fact, of all the sentences outside the Bible, I’ve probably repeated this one more than any other: “the greatest need of my people is my own holiness.” Now in one sense, I suppose the gospel is more important than holiness, because the good news of Christ’s death and resurrection is good even if the person sharing it is a scoundrel. So maybe M’Cheyne should have said, “the second greatest need.” But in either case, he’s absolutely right about the importance of holiness. He understood the indispensable character of character. We think relevance and relate-ability are the secrets to spiritual success. And yet, in truth, a dying world needs you to be with God more than it needs you to be “with it.” That’s true for me as a pastor and true for you as a mother, father, brother, sister, child, grandparent, friend, Bible study leader, computer programmer, bank teller, barista, or CEO. Your friends and family, your colleagues and kids—they don’t need you to do miracles or transform civilization. They need you to be holy. As Horatius Bonar (another Scottish preacher and a friend of M’Cheyne) reminds us, holiness is not measured by “one great heroic act or mighty martyrdom. . . . It is of small things that a great life is made up.”4

Holiness is the sum of a million little things—the avoidance of little evils and little foibles, the setting aside of little bits of worldliness and little acts of compromise, the putting to death of little inconsistencies and little indiscretions, the attention to little duties and little dealings, the hard work of little self-denials and little self-restraints, the cultivation of little benevolences and little forbearances. Are you trustworthy? Are you kind? Are you patient? Are you joyful? Do you love? These qualities, worked out in all the little things of life, determine whether you are blight or blessing to everyone around you, whether you are an ugly spiritual eyesore or growing up into a good-looking Christian.

We live in a world obsessed with superficial beauty. Whether it’s on cable news or on the Weather Channel, the world expects a certain look. The message all around us is that you’re not good if you’re not good-looking. And so all of us—from ten-year-olds in makeup, to college students in ironic hipster garb, to stay-at-home moms on another diet, to middle-aged dads getting reacquainted with the gym, to aging boomers on Botox—we’re all interested in beauty. But what is true beauty? What is really worth seeing? Who has the look really worth imitating? Paul says, “Brothers, join in imitating me, and keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us” (Phil. 3:17). It’s godliness that God is looking for. The best-looking Christian is the one growing by the Spirit into the likeness of Christ. It’s all too common to think of holiness as some sort of snooty do-goodism, prudish moralism, or ugly legalism. But these isms are unfortunate caricatures, owing to our sins, our suspicions, and the lies of the devil. True holiness “is the most beautiful ornament and the most magnificent beauty which can be found in man.”5 Behold it in Christ and become like him in glory (2 Cor. 3:18).

God wants you to be holy. Through faith he already counts you holy in Christ. Now he intends to make you holy with Christ. This is no optional plan, no small potatoes. God saved you to sanctify you. God is in the beautification business, washing away spots and smoothing out wrinkles. He will have a blameless bride. He promises to work in you; he also calls you to work out. “The beauty of holiness” is first of all the Lord’s (Ps. 29:2, KJV). But by his grace it can also be yours.

Notes Andrew Murray, Humility (New Kensington, PA: Whitaker, 1982), 56. Thomas Brooks, Precious Remedies against Satan’s Devices (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1997 [1652]), 63. John Calvin Institutes, 3.3.5 Horatius Bonar, God’s Way of Holiness (Lexington, KY: Legacy Publications), 82–83. My next paragraph is a further summary of Bonar’s description of holiness in the “small things.” Wilhelmus A Brakel, The Christian’s Reasonable Service, trans. Bartel Elshout, ed. Joel R. Beeke, 4 vols. (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Books, 1994), 3:17.

This article is adapted from The Hole in Our Holiness: Filling the Gap between Gospel Passion and the Pursuit of Godliness by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Christianity Is About Saving Sinners

Tue, 30 Mar 2021 05:00:26 GMT

Salvation is the great theme of Scripture. If we can plot the biblical storyline as creation, fall, redemption, and consummation, then clearly it is that third act which dominates the pages of special revelation. Strictly speaking, the Bible details creation in two chapters (Genesis 1-2), the fall in one chapter (Genesis 3), and consummation in two chapters (Revelation 21-22). The other 1,184 chapters are about redemption.

Of course, in saying Christianity is about salvation, we do not mean that Christianity is about nothing but sin and salvation. The Bible is a big book full of many ideas, many promises, and many commands. And yet, if we are to do justice to the death and resurrection of Jesus—and to the apostolic preaching about that death and resurrection—we must affirm that Christianity is chiefly, firstly, ultimately, and amazingly a message about God’s gracious initiative to save sinful human beings.

The Story We Are Telling

What is the driving theme throughout the Bible? What is the point of Holy Week? What is the story we have to tell to the nations? How we assess the central plotline of redemptive history will define the Christianity we live and the Christ we proclaim. Is the Christian faith mainly the story of a cosmos to be renewed? A God to be obeyed? A mystery to be explored? A journey to be experienced? Or is the good news of the Bible most consistently, most frequently, and most significantly the story of sinners to be saved?

In a day where emphasizing the salvation of sinners is sometimes denigrated as too narrow and too unconcerned with the real needs of the world, we must not lose sight of the soteriological shape of the biblical storyline. Christ’s work to save helpless, hell-bound sinners is at the heart of the gospel and is the irreducible minimum of the apostolic message of the cross.

There is a reason that all four Gospels culminate with the death and resurrection of Jesus. No other biography spends a third of its time detailing the subject’s last week. But the Gospels are no ordinary biographies. They tell the story of victory in defeat, of triumph through tragedy. Make no mistake: the point of Jesus’s life was to die, the point of his death was to rise again, and the point of his resurrection was to justify believing sinners (Rom. 4:25). Upon seeing Jesus, John the Baptist announced, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29). From even before his birth, the mission of the Christ was to save sinners. “You shall call his name Jesus,” the angel told Joseph, “for he will save his people from their sins” (Matt. 1:21). No wonder Jesus understood his own mission as coming “to seek and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10). “The Son of Man did not come to be served,” he told his disciples, “but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark. 10:45).

Christ and Him Crucified

To be sure, the work of Christ on the cross was multifaceted. In the death of Jesus, we have the conquering of evil, the defeat of Satan, and the example of perfect love. We can talk about more than sin and salvation when we talk about the cross, but we must not talk about less. For there is no good thing accomplished by the cross that was accomplished apart from the satisfaction of divine justice, the expiation of sin, and the propitiation of wrath.

If “evangelical” means anything worthwhile at all, it means that we are people who live and breathe and love and share the evangel. It means that our preaching never strays from Christ and him crucified (1 Cor. 1:23). It means that the most important thing about the most important message in the world is that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures (1 Cor. 15:3).

The problem in the world is (and always has been) sin. The need of the hour is (and always has been) salvation. We believe in ethics. We believe in discipleship. We believe that salvation is unto holiness and for good works (Titus 2:14). And we also believe with all our might that God sent his only begotten Son into the world that whoever believes in him may not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16).

We do not teach correctly about Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday if we do not say something about the point of Christ’s passion week as an atoning sacrifice for sin. His death was a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God for our sins (Eph. 5:2; cf. Lev. 1:9, 13, 14). Christ gave himself for our sins (Gal. 1:4). He became sin for us (2 Cor. 5:21). He bore our sins in his body on the tree (1 Peter 2:24). He was pierced for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities (Isa. 53:5-6). The work of the high priest was to offer gifts and offer sacrifices for sin (Heb. 5:1; 8:3), and Christ is the best and true and final high priest because through the eternal Spirit he offered himself without blemish to God (9:14).

The death of Christ is enough to win for us cleansing and appeasement, forgiveness and redemption. Sin is lawlessness (1 John 3:4), but because of Christ’s death, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1:19). Christ’s sacrifice on the cross made purification for sin (Heb. 1:3), put away sin (9:26), and was a propitiation for sin (1 John 2:2). The One who loves us, the one who makes us a kingdom and makes us priests, is, we must always remember, the one who has freed us from our sins by his blood (Rev. 1:5-6).

God’s Salvation Story

We will not be Bible people—or Jesus people, or gospel people—if we are not salvation-for-sinners people. Though some may call it a soterian gospel or an individualistic gospel, the unavoidable reality of Scripture is that at the heart of the message of the cross is the simple, wonderful, glorious good news that Christ saves sinners like you and me. And if this message, and all that took place to accomplish what it announces, represents the climax of redemptive history—indeed, if all of history is about redemption—then we are right to conclude that this soteriological emphasis must shape the sound of our preaching, the priority of our ministry, and the mission of the church.

“The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost” (1 Tim. 1:15). That is the preaching that God blesses. That is that ministry that God uses. That is the mission that God has given us in the world. The mercy of God is the theme of our song because the salvation of sinners is the story of Scripture. Let us sing it, say it, and savor it—this week and for eternity.

Three Surprising Ways to Grieve the Holy Spirit

Fri, 18 Oct 2013 04:00:00 GMT

The Holy Spirit is often described as light. He shines into the dark places of the heart and convicts us of sin (John 16:7-11). He is a lamp to illumine God’s word, teaching what is true and showing the truth to be precious (1 Cor. 2:6-16). And the Spirit throws a spotlight on Christ so that we can see his glory and be changed (John 16:14). That’s why 2 Corinthians 3:18 speaks of becoming more like Christ by beholding the glory of Christ. Just as Moses had his face transfigured when he saw the Lord’s glory on Mount Sinai (Ex. 34:29; 2 Cor. 3:7), so will we be transformed when, by the Spirit, we behold God’s glory in the face of Christ.

The Spirit, then, is a light to us in three ways: by exposing our guilt, by illuminating the word of God, and by showing us Christ. Or to put it another way, as Divine Light, the Holy Spirit works to reveal sin, reveal the truth, and reveal glory. When we close our eyes to this light or disparage what we are meant to see by this brightness, we are guilty of resisting the Spirit (Acts 7:51), or quenching (1 Thess. 5:19) or grieving the Spirit (Eph. 4:30). There may be slight nuances among the three terms, but they are all speak of the same basic reality: refusing to see and to savor what the Spirit means to show us.

There are, then, at least three ways to grieve the Holy Spirit—three ways that may be surprising because they correspond to the three ways in which the Spirit acts as light to expose our guilt, illumine the word, and show us Christ.

First, we grieve the Holy Spirit when we use him to excuse our sinfulness. The Spirit is meant to be the source of conviction in the human hearts. How sad it is, therefore, when Christians try to use the Spirit to support ungodly behavior. We see it when people—whether genuinely deceived or purposeful charlatans—claim the leading of the Spirit as the reason for their unbiblical divorce, or for their financial impropriety, or for their new found sexual liberation. The Holy Spirit is always the Spirit of holiness. He means to show us our sin not to excuse it through subjective feelings, spontaneous impressions, and wish fulfillment disguised as enlightened spirituality. If the Holy Spirit is grieved when we turn from righteous into sin, how doubly grieved he must be when we claim the Spirit’s authority for such deliberate rebellion.

Second, we grieve the Holy Spirit when we pit him against the Scriptures. The Spirit works to reveal the truth of the word of God, not to lead us away from it. There is no place in the Christian life for supposing or suggesting that careful attention to the Bible is somehow antithetical to earnest devotion to the Holy Spirit. Anyone wishing to honor the Spirit would do well to honor the Scriptures he inspired and means to illuminate.

Sometimes Christians will cite the promise in John 16:13 that the Spirit “will guide you into all the truth” as reason to expect that the third person of the Trinity will give us new insights not found in the Scripture. But the “truth” referred to in John 16 is the whole truth about everything bound up in Jesus Christ, the way, the truth, and the life. The Spirit will unpack the things that are to come, insofar as he will reveal to the apostles (see v. 12) the significance of Jesus’ death, resurrection, and exaltation. The Spirit, speaking for the Father and the Son, would help the apostles remember what Jesus said and understand the true meaning of who Jesus is and what he accomplished (John 14:26).

This means that the Spirit is responsible for the truths the apostles preached and that in turn were written down in what we now call the New Testament. We trust the Bible—and do not need to go beyond the Bible—because the apostles, and those under the umbrella of their authority, wrote the Bible by means of the Spirit’s revelation. The Bible is the Spirit’s book. To insist on exegetical precision, theological rigor, and careful attention to the word of God should never be denigrated as stuffing our heads full of knowledge, let alone as somehow opposed to the real work of the Spirit.

Third, we grieve the Holy Spirit when we suggest he is jealous of our focus on Christ. The Holy Spirit’s work is to serve. He speaks only what he hears (John 16:13). He declares what he is given; his mission is to glorify another (John 16:14). All three persons of the Trinity are fully God, yet in the divine economy the Son makes known the Father and the Spirit glorifies the Son. Yes, it is a terrible thing to be ignorant about the Spirit and unwise to overlook the indispensable role he plays in our lives. But we must not think we can focus on Christ too much, or that when we exalt Christ to the glory of God the Father that somehow the Spirit is sulking off in the corner. The Spirit means to shine a light on Christ; he is not envious to stand in the light himself.

Exulting in Christ, focusing on Christ, speaking much and singing often of Christ are not evidences of the Spirit’s dismissal but of the Spirit’s work. If the symbol of the church is the cross and not the dove, that’s because the Spirit would have it that way. As J. I. Packer puts it, “The Spirit’s message to us is never, ‘Look at me; listen to me; come to me; get to know me,’ but always, ‘Look at him, and see his glory; listen to him, and hear his word; go to him, and have life; get to know him, and taste his gift of joy and peace.’”

Again, to know nothing of the Holy Spirit is a serious mistake (cf. Acts 19:2). But when Christians lament an over-attentiveness to Christ or moan about too much emphasis on the cross, such protestations grieve the Spirit himself. The Holy Spirit is not waiting in the wings to be noticed and lauded. His work is not to shine brightly before us, but to shine a light on the glory of Christ. To behold the glory of God the Father in the face of Jesus Christ the Son is not to sideline the Holy Spirit; it is to celebrate his gracious work among us.

Whether we are talking about holiness, the Bible, or Jesus Christ, let us never set the Spirit against the very thing he means to accomplish. We do not honor the Spirit by trying to diminish what he seeks to exalt. And we do not stay in his step by pushing others (or ourselves) in the direction of the very things that grieve him most.

Pastoral Theology: The Pastor in the Various Duties of His Office

Thu, 06 Mar 2025 13:54:44 GMT

“I love this book and am thrilled to see it being reprinted after languishing in obscurity for more than a century. As the pastor of Frankford Presbyterian Church (one of the oldest Presbyterian churches in Philadelphia) for forty-six years, Thomas Murphy was a leading churchman in the nineteenth century. Murphy’s book is to pastoral theology what Martyn Lloyd-Jones’ famous lectures are for preaching: inspiring, challenging, comprehensive, opinionated, practical, and spiritual in the deepest sense of the word. I can’t imagine a current or future pastor who wouldn’t be helped immensely by reading this book. It is one of the best things I’ve ever read on the nuts and bolts — and the privilege and the joy — of pastoral ministry.”

Order a copy of Pastoral Theology: The Pastor in the Various Duties of His Office from our friends at Westminster Bookstore.

Why Don’t Protestants Have a Pope?

Fri, 25 Sep 2015 00:00:00 GMT

This is one of my favorite stories at University Reformed Church in Lansing, MI.

Back in our old building–located on a busy street and right across from MSU–people would park in our parking lot without permission. While we tried to be gracious and as slow-moving as possible, sometimes we would have to tow vehicles parked on our property. On one occasion, a young man came into our building looking for his car. Our building manager kindly and patiently informed him that as per the signs in the parking lot, his car had been towed. The man was not happy. Our building manager continued to calmly explain the situation, but this man was having none of it. Even though he saw the sign which clearly stated his car would be towed, he just couldn’t believe a church would do this. Finally, he stomped out of our building and told our building manager exactly what was on his mind: “You guys aren’t very good Catholics!”

By definition Protestants do not make very good Catholics. (Or to be more precise, we are not good Roman Catholics, though I’d like to think a robust Protestant is a small-c catholic in the best sense of the word.) However much Protestants and Catholics can work together on social issues, and however much we may share an early creedal tradition, there are still many significant issues which divide us. One of the most important of those issues is how we understand the government that Christ gave to his church. In his massive four-volume Reformed Dogmatics, Herman Bavinck (1854-1921) gives six reasons Protestants reject the primacy of the Pope and the Catholic understanding of apostolic succession.

1. The distinction between clergy and laity that underlies the Roman Catholic hierarchy is neither taught in the New Testament nor exhibited in the organization of the first-century church. To be sure, the Bible distinguishes between shepherds and flock. Church offices are manifestly biblical, but in Catholic theology “clergy” and “laity” refer to more than just “pastor” and “church member.” As Bavinck explains, “In the Roman Catholic Church ‘clergy’ has become the word for a special class of ecclesiastical persons who by being tonsured and consecrated have been separated from all others, constitute a unique class of ‘clerics,’ are in a very special sense the Lord’s possession” (4:358). By contrast, the Scriptures teach that the people as a whole are the kleros, the Lord’s possession and inheritance (Exod. 19:5-6). There is no special priestly class in the New Testament, for all true believers are filled with the Spirit, led by the Spirit, share in the Spirit’s anointing, are a royal priesthood and God’s treasured possession. Pastors and elders are shepherds who serve the flock, not priests who make sacrifices or hierarchical bishops who rule over the people. “Office in the church of Christ is not a magisterium but a ministerium” (4:359).

2. The New Testament knows no episcopacy that is different from the presbyterate. Acts 20 is the classic text, for there we see Paul using the Greek words for overseer (episkopoi) and elder (presbyteroi) interchangeably (Acts 20:17, 28). Peter even calls himself an elder (1 Pet. 5:1). “Aside from the extraordinary offices of apostle, prophet, and evangelist, there are only two ordinary offices, that of deacons and that of presbyteroi (Phil. 1:1; 1 Tim. 3:1, 8): pastors and teachers (Eph. 4:1; 1 Tim. 5:17), those with gifts of administration (1 Cor. 12:28), those in positions of authority (Rom. 12:8; 1 Thess. 5:12), and leaders (Heb. 13:7, 17)” (4:360).

3. The apostolate was an exceptional and temporary office in the New Testament church. Granted, there should be a succession of apostolic truth, and there is a sense in which overseers/elders care for churches like the apostles did. But in the strictest sense, the apostles have no successors. They are a part of the non-repeatable, once-for-all foundation of the church (Eph. 2:20). “The apostles had been the ear-and-eye witnesses of Jesus’s words and deeds. They were directly called by Christ himself to their office, received a special measure of the Holy Spirit, and were called to a unique task, that is, to lay the foundation of the church and to offer in their message the permanent medium of fellowship between Christ and his church. In all these things they are distinguished from all others, are situated on a level far above all their successors, and hold an office that is nontransferable and nonrenewable” (4:362).

4. There is no scriptural proof that Peter had a unique authority different from or superior to the other eleven Apostles. Even if we take Matthew 16:18 to mean that Jesus promised to build his church upon Peter (and not simply upon his confession), the fact is that Jesus only makes such a promise in view of Peter’s confession. Peter would be foundational to the early church, but so would the rest of the Apostles (Eph. 2:20), for they too confessed Jesus as Christ (Matt. 16:15-16). Moreover, the power of the keys was extended to all the apostles in Matthew 18:18 and John 20:23 (4:363). The picture of Peter in the rest of the New Testament is never one of a man who has been given (or understands himself to have been given) authority over the whole church. He is rebuked by Paul (Gal. 2:11) and had no jurisdiction over Paul (Gal. 2:6, 9). He is sent along with John to Samaria by the other apostles (Acts 8:14). He is never mentioned as prince of the apostles (1 Cor. 12:28; Eph. 4:11; Rev. 21:14) and refers to himself meekly as a fellow elder (1 Peter 5:1, 3).

5. Even if Peter had been given unique authority over the church (which is not the case), this would still not establish the primacy of the bishop of Rome. For the Catholic understanding of the papacy to be true, it would have to be the case (1) that Peter spent some twenty plus years in Rome, (2) that he was the bishop there and primate over the entire church, and (3) that he consciously and intentionally transferred the authority in these two offices (bishop and primate) to Linus his successor. In Paul’s letter to Rome, and in his several letters from Rome, there is no mention of Peter’s ministry there, let alone a pontifical one. According to the oldest documents from the early church, the church in Rome was led by a college of presbyters, not by a monarchical episcopate (4:365). It wasn’t until the middle of the second century that the legend of Peter’s lengthy ministry in Rome began to circulate, a legend that Eusebius and Jerome would later make a part of the definitive Roman tradition (4:365-66).

6. The premise of the Catholic Church as run by a pontiff in Rome rests on a history that, even at its best, is filled with unfounded assumptions. As Bavinck points out again and again, if the primacy of the Roman bishop is true, then we must demonstrate that Peter spent decades in Rome, that he held the office of bishop and primate, and that he deliberately transferred this office to his successor at Rome. But later church tradition says Peter appointed overseers in other cities besides Rome. How do we know, if he meant to transfer supreme authority to any bishopric, that he meant to pass this primacy on to Rome? And if he transferred such power, where is the historical evidence for such a succession? And by what authority did he do so? “There has to be a divine law underlying this episcopal papal structure,” Bavinck notes. “But this is where the shoe pinched: it does not exist. Christ never said a word about Peter’s episcopacy at Rome nor about his successor. Neither according to Scripture nor according to tradition has Peter ever breathed a hint that the bishop at Rome would be his only true successor. The link between the primacy and the Roman episcopate is therefore only based on the fact that Peter did spend time in Rome and on the unhistorical assumption that he held the office of bishop and primate there” (4:367). With the entire foundation and unique authority of the Roman Catholic Church cobbled together by such dubious history, it’s no wonder that Bavinck remarks: “Eternity, here, hangs on a cobweb” (4:366).

So, that irate college student of yesteryear was right: I’m not a very good Catholic. The more important point to consider is whether the biblical and historical evidence suggests that I should be.

Gospelbound with Collin Hansen

Tue, 25 Feb 2025 13:47:56 GMT

Kevin joined Collin Hansen on Gospelbound to discuss his new book, David Wells’s influence, the mission of Clearly Reformed, the challenge of antinomianism, the role of family devotions in shaping faith, and more.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Journey to Accepting Difficult Doctrines Is Painful (and Rewarding)

Fri, 14 Feb 2025 12:30:15 GMT

Hard-to-Understand Doctrines

When we think about difficult doctrines, we can think about them in at least a couple of different categories. One category would be those doctrines that are particularly hard to understand. The great theologian Francis Turretin said that the two most difficult doctrines were the doctrine of the Trinity—the three persons, one essence—and the doctrine of the hypostatic union, that is the two natures in one person in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Those are not irrational, but they are suprarational. They’re beyond our full comprehension, and so we’re grasping at categories and language and trying to safeguard what we don’t mean and what we do mean. Any parent who’s tried to explain this to a child, or a Sunday school teacher who’s had a seven-year-old ask, “Is there one God or three gods?” “Well, there’s one God, but three persons.” “What does that mean?”—that’s hard to explain. So that’s one category.

Hard-to-Accept Doctrines

Then there’s another category which can also be hard to understand, but even more so, it’s hard to accept. It’s difficult on an existential level. I think of a couple of classic examples. One would be the doctrine that’s sometimes called limited atonement or particular redemption.

At first, it doesn’t sound like very good news to believe that God sent Christ and his intention in sending Christ was not to die for everyone. His death was sufficient for all, but it was efficient only for the elect. But the good news in that is that his death was a particular sacrifice. See, everyone limits the atonement either in the intentionality of it or in the nature of it. And so we want to say with Scripture that the nature of the atonement is not limited. It accomplished everything that God meant to accomplish in it. There was nothing lacking. It did not just make us savable; it made us saved. That’s hard on a visceral level.

And then the other one that most people will think of is the doctrine of election and then the corresponding doctrine of reprobation. If you go back further and further and ask the Why? question, the ultimate answer why some are saved and some are not is owing to the good pleasure of God. And that’s hard. That’s clearly taught in Romans 9, most famously, and in a lot of other places, but it’s a difficult doctrine to accept. But it’s really important. And it’s a great example of why theology is important. Because if we just stay away from a hard doctrine like predestination, we won’t be giving God that opportunity to reshape our hearts.

One of the reasons that doctrine is in Scripture is to reshape us from an anthropocentric view—a man-centered view of the world that asks, What do I think? How does this make me feel?—to a theocentric view of the world, where God calls the shots and God’s pleasure is ultimate. That is a painful journey for many people, but ultimately it’s good for us and it’s for God’s glory.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Christ Our High Priest

Thu, 20 Feb 2025 12:49:38 GMT

Hebrews 4

For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. (Heb. 4:15–16)

Priests in the Old Testament were mediators. If prophets represented God to the people, priests represented the people to God. The Levitical priests were taken from among men and appointed by God. They were given the task of acting on behalf of men. Their work was to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins (Heb. 5:1–9).

Although Christ fulfilled the work of the Levitical priesthood, the New Testament stresses that Christ was a priest after the order of Melchizedek (Ps. 110; Heb. 7). Francis Turretin highlights several differences between the two priesthoods. One came from Aaron, the other from Melchizedek. One was associated with the Mosaic administration, the other with Abraham. One had a derivative power, the other had power in itself. One was temporal and of finite value, the other eternal and of infinite value. In short, the two differ in persons, in institution, in efficacy, in perfection, and in duration.1

Christ’s work as priest chiefly consists of two things: atonement and intercession. “Christ executes the office of a priest, in his once offering himself as a sacrifice without spot to God, to be a reconciliation for the sins of his people; and in making continual intercession for them” (WLC Q/A 44). We will look at the atonement in more detail later, so we will focus here on the priestly work of intercession.

The nature of Christ’s ongoing intercession is manifold. Christ not only prays for us; his perpetual presence in heaven is itself part of his mediatorial work (Heb. 7:25; 8:1–4; 9:24). Christ is also in heaven in a judicial capacity to be an advocate with the Father (1 John 2:1) and to turn away the accusations of the accuser (Zech. 3:1–2; Rom. 8:33–34). In all this, Christ’s atonement and his intercession are inextricably linked. The suffering and death of Christ were “preparatory and antecedent to his intercession.”2 Suffering was the part of his priestly work done on earth; intercession is the part of his priesthood to be performed in heaven. Christ procured salvation by his suffering; he continues to apply it by his intercession.

Christ also ministers to us as a sympathetic high priest (Heb. 2:18; 4:15). We should not equate Christ’s sympathy with the notion that the Son of God is weeping in heaven for our sakes. Any notion of Christ’s continued suffering undermines the completed nature of his atoning work and confuses the state of exaltation with the state of humiliation. The sympathy of Christ is not the same as contemporary notions of sentimentality. Interestingly, Hebrews doesn’t actually say Christ sympathizes with us, but with our weaknesses. The point is that because of the Son’s identification with his brothers, he can help us. The emphasis is not on Jesus feeling the right thing in heaven. Rather, the good news is that because he has felt what we feel, he will surely come to our aid.

Our comfort is not that Christ is still bound up in our sorrow, but that because he suffered for our sake we can be caught up into his glory. Suffering itself is not sacred. Christ sanctified suffering because he suffered with a purpose. He suffered to save the lost. The aim of Christ’s ongoing priestly intercession is not for Christ to continue to participate in the life of suffering on earth, but for believers to participate in the life of God in heaven.

1. Turretin, Francis. Institutes of Elenctic Theology. 3 vols. Translated by George Musgrave Giger. Edited by James T. Dennison Jr. Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R, 1997. 2.406–8.

2. Turretin, Elenctic Theology, 2.406.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

15 Ways to Fight Lust with the Sword of the Spirit

Wed, 26 Aug 2015 00:00:00 GMT

It is almost impossible in the Western world to escape sensuality. Sex is on the television, in the movies and in our music, on the side of buses, during halftime shows, in our books and in glossy close-ups at supermarket check-out. Sex is all around us in the mall, dripping off every beer commercial, and two stories high on our billboards. Sexual sin is walking around our high schools, flaunted across our universities, and hiding in our churches.

And of course, sex is on the internet. Pornography and sex-related sites make up 60 percent of daily web traffic. Of internet users in the U.S., 40 percent visit porn sites at least once a month, and that number increases to 70 percent when the audience is 18-34 year old males. Half of hotel room patrons purchase pornography from their rooms. 90 percent of 8-16 year olds with internet access have viewed pornography online, and the average age of exposure is eleven.

The seventh commandment is not just broken in this country; it’s being smashed to pieces.

And sexual sin is not just an “out there” problem. Any pastor will tell you stories about how sexual sin has destroyed people in his congregation. None of us are immune from the dangers of sexual immorality. In a Christianity Today study from several years ago, 40 percent of clergy acknowledged visiting pornographic websites. Another survey found that 21 percent visit regularly. Yet another survey at Pastors.com found that 50 percent of pastors reported to viewing pornography in the previous year. And then there’s the underlying issue of the heart. The seventh commandment doesn’t just forbid adultery and pornography. It forbids every action, look, conversation, thought, or desire that incites lust and uncleanness.

So how in the world, in this world we live in, and with our sex-saturated hearts, can we obey the seventh commandment?

Let me suggest fifteen passages of Scripture that can help us fight lust and the temptation to sexual immorality.

1) Proverbs 5:18-19 “Let your fountain be blessed, and rejoice in the wife of your youth, a lovely deer, a graceful doe. Let her breasts fill you at all times with delight; be intoxicated always in her love.” This may seem a strange text for fighting sexual temptation, but married couples need to know they have delight at their lawful disposal. We need to know that sex is good, intimacy is good, bodies together in marriage are good. Good, glorious sex is spiritual warfare for the married couple.

2) Lamentations 3:25-27 “The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth.” This a verse is for singles. Granted, this passage isn’t talking about waiting for a spouse. It’s about waiting on the Lord. But that’s the point: the Lord is good to those who wait for him. He knows what you need. The preceding verses tell us “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. The Lord is my portion, says my soul, therefore I will hope in him.” Don’t think “How can I live without sex for another year or decade or two decades.” Think about today. The Lord has given you grace for this day and he will give you grace for the every subsequent day in which you follow God in the midst of unmet desires.

3) 1 Peter 3:15 “In your hearts regard Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you.” Before you take a second look or dress yourself so that others will, think: “Will this make me more ready to talk to someone about Jesus?” Sensuality deadens the spiritual senses and makes us less courageous and effective witnesses for Christ.

4) 2 Peter 3:10-14 “But the day of the Lord will come like a thief…Therefore…be diligent to be found by him without spot or blemish, and at peace.” Do you want to be cheating on your husband, masturbating, or watching Game of Thrones when Christ returns?

5) James 1:14-15 “But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.” This passage helps us understand how temptation works and reminds us that feeling tempted is not necessarily the same as sinning. Temptation beckons us to do what we should not do. That’s not sin. When the desire is nurtured it conceives and gives birth to sin (sin in the flesh or sin in the mind). Sin then grows and matures and leads to death. It is not lust to be attracted to someone or notice he or she is good looking. It is not lust to have a strong desire for sex. It is not lust to be excited about sex in marriage. It is not lust to inadvertently notice a woman bathing on the roof. It is sin to keep noticing and start scheming. Stoke the fires of this lustful passion and it will bring forth death. Just ask King David.

6) Hebrews 2:17-18 “Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.” Jesus was tempted, not as we are from a sinful nature. But there were external voices calling him to sin. Let us not underestimate the real nature of his temptations and undercut his sympathy and his ability to help. Jesus was hungry in the wilderness. He had a desire, a want. He was enticed to make the stones bread so he could enjoy the pleasure of food. But he told the devil, “Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” (Matt. 4:1-3). In our moments of sexual temptation, we need to think, “Flesh does not sustain me. Jesus does.”

7) Romans 14:21 “It is good not to eat meat or drink wine or do anything that causes your brother to stumble.” As Christians, we want to help each other avoid sin, not lead one another into it with flirting, coarse joking, and immodest dress.

8) Matthew 5:27-30 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell.” We are not good fighters. We make excuses. We don’t get radical. We pray a few prayers, feel bad all the time, tell a friend to ask how we’re doing once in awhile and that’s it. We need more decisive action than that. Avoid the movies, get rid of your internet connection, don’t kiss before marriage, throw out your t.v., tear out your eye—whatever it takes to battle lust. There are too many whole-bodied people going to hell and not enough spiritual amputees going to heaven.

9) Galatians 6:7 “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap.” There are often temporal consequences for disobedience. It could be STDs, baggage in marriage, a guilty conscience, getting mired in a deeper addiction, distraction at work, a pornography fetish you pass on to your children, destroying your family, your marriage, or your ministry. There are also eternal consequences if you give yourself over to this sin. Galatians 6:8 “For the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life.”

10) 1 Cor 6:15-20 “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ? Shall I then take the members of Christ and make them members of a prostitute? Never!…Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” We need a theology of the body: the body is good, but it’s not yours. Jesus didn’t just die to ransom our souls. He also died for your body. It belongs to God. It is a member of Christ’s body now. Surely, we don’t want to employ Christ’s body in some sexual escapade or his eyes in viewing pornography or his mind in sensual fantasy.

11) 2 Corinthians 5:17 “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” Cultural liberalism says, “Just be yourself.” Self-help doctrine says, “You can find a better you if you just dig deep enough.” Moralism says, “Be a better person.” The Bible says, “You are a new person by God’s grace, now live like it.” “Be who you are” is the gospel motivation for holiness.

12) Hebrews 10:24-25 “And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the day approaching.” No one fights a war by himself, and no one will have victory over sexual sin on his own. You need to talk to others about your struggles and listen just as well. Be honest. Ask good questions. Don’t just confess and feel better. Repent and change. Don’t just sympathize; admonish. Follow up with your brothers and sisters. Pray and remind each other of the gospel.

13) James 4:6 “But he gives more grace. Therefore it says, “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” God always gives more grace. So keep coming to him with your sin and all your commandment violations. Confess like David in Psalm 51 that you have sinned against God. Confess that God is the most offended party as a result of your sin. And then believe like David in Psalm 32: “Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity.” We will never experience growing victory over sin unless we are quick to turn to Christ all the times we fail.

14) Matthew 5:8 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” This has been the most helpful verse for me in fighting lust and the temptation to sexual immorality. We need to fight desire with desire. Satan tempts us by holding out something that will be pleasurable to us. We aren’t tempted to gorge ourselves on liverwurst, because for most of us, it doesn’t hold out the promise of great pleasure. But sex does. Pornography does. A second look does. The Bible gives us many weapons to fight temptation. We can tell ourselves it is wrong, it is sinful, it will lead to bad things, it isn’t what I should do as a Christian. All of those are helpful. But the one weapon we rarely use is more pleasure. We need to fight the fleeting pleasure of sexual sin with the far greater, more abiding pleasure of knowing God. The fight for sexual purity is the fight of faith. It may sound like nothing but hard work and gritting your teeth–the very opposite of faith. But faith is at the heart of this struggle. Do we believe that a glimpse of God is better than a glimpse of skin? Do we believe that God’s steadfast love is better than life (Psalm 63:3)? We’d probably sin less if we spent less time thinking about our sins, sexual or otherwise, and more time meditating on the love and holiness of God.

15) Ephesians 1:19-21 “…and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might that he worked in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come.” The great power that created the world, and saved us, and raised Jesus from the dead–that same power is now at work in you. We must believe that God is stronger than sexual temptation, sin, and addiction. If you believe that God brought a dead man back to life, you should believe that you can change. Not over night usually, but from one degree of glory to the next. Work out your salvation from sexual sin with fear and trembling, for God’s power is already at work within you.

A Brief Defense of Infant Baptism

Thu, 12 Mar 2015 00:00:00 GMT

It sounds like the beginning of a joke or a support group introduction, but it’s true: some of my best friends are Baptists. I speak at conferences with and to Baptists. I read books by Baptists (both the dead and the living). I love the Baptist brothers I know–near and far–who preach God’s word and minister faithfully in Christ’s church. I went to a Baptist church while in college and know that there are many folks of more credobaptist persuasion in my own church. I imagine the majority of my blog readers are Baptist. You get the picture. I have thousands of reasons to be thankful for my brothers and sisters in Christ who do not believe in baptizing infants.

And yet, I do. Gladly. Wholeheartedly. Because of what I see in Scripture.

One of the best things I get to do as a pastor is to administer the sacrament of infant baptism to the covenant children in my congregation. Before each baptism, I take a few minutes to explain why we practice infant baptism in our church. My explanation always includes some–but rarely is there time for all–of the following:

It is our great privilege this morning to administer that sacrament of baptism to one of our little infants. We do not believe that there is anything magical about the water we apply to the child. The water does not wash away original sin or save the child. We do not presume that this child is regenerate (though he may be), nor do we believe that every child who gets baptized will automatically go to heaven. We baptize infants not out of superstition or tradition or because we like cute babies. We baptize infants because they are covenant children and should receive the sign of the covenant.

In Genesis 15 God made a covenant with Abraham. This covenant was sealed with the sign of circumcision in Genesis 17. God promised to bless Abraham. For Abraham this meant two things in particular, offspring and land. But at the heart of the covenant was God’s promise that he would be a God to Abraham and his children (Gen. 17:7, 8).

Circumcision was not just a physical thing, marking out ethnic Jews. Circumcision was full of spiritual meaning. The circumcision of the flesh was always meant to correspond with circumcision of the heart (Rom. 2:25-29). It pointed to humility, new birth, and a new way of life (Lev. 26:40-42; Deut. 10:16; 30:6; Jer. 4:4; 6:10; 9:25). In short, circumcision was a sign of justification. Paul says in Romans 4:11 that Abraham “received the sign of circumcision as a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith while he was still uncircumcised.” God’s own interpretation of circumcision is that it was much more than just a physical sign for national Israel.

Remarkably, though, this deeply spiritual sign was given to Ishmael as well as Isaac, even though only Isaac was the continuation of the promised line. The spiritual sign was not just for those who already embraced the spiritual reality. It was to be administered to Abraham and his sons. Circumcision was not a simple equation. It didn’t automatically mean the recipient of the sign was in possession of the thing signified. Circumcision, like baptism, also pointed to belonging, discipleship, covenant obligations, and allowed for future faith that would take hold of the realities symbolized. Just as there were some in Paul’s day who were circumcised but not really circumcised (Rom. 2:25-29), some children of Abraham who were not truly children of Abraham (Rom. 9:6-8), so in our day there are some who are baptized who are not truly baptized. Children should be marked as belonging to the covenant, but unless they exercise saving faith, they will not grab hold of the covenant blessings.

Children today are baptized based on this same covenant with Abraham. Paul makes clear in Galatians 3 what Peter strongly suggests in Acts 2, namely that the Abrahamic covenant has not been annulled. It is still operational. In fact, we see the basic promise of the Abrahamic covenant running throughout the whole Bible, right up to the new heaven and new earth in Revelation 21.

Because sons were part of the Abrahamic covenant in the Old Testament and were circumcised, we see no reason why children should be excluded in the New Testament sign of baptism. Admittedly, there is no text that says “Hear ye, hear ye, circumcision replaces baptism.” But we know from Colossians 2:11-12 that baptism and circumcision carried the same spiritual import. The transition from one to the other was probably organic. As the Jews practiced proselyte baptism, that sign came to be seen as marking inclusion in the covenant people. For awhile circumcision existed along baptism, but as the early church became more Gentile, many of Jewish rites were rendered unnecessary, and sometimes even detrimental to the faith. Thus, baptism eclipsed circumcision as the sign of renewal, rebirth, and covenant membership.

Although not conclusive all by themselves, there are several other arguments that corroborate a paedobaptist reading of the New Testament.

One, the burden of proof rests on those who would deny children a sign they had received for thousands of years. If children were suddenly outside the covenant, and were disallowed from receiving any “sacramental” sign, surely such a massive change, and the controversy that would have ensued, would been recorded in the New Testament. Moreover, it would be strange for children to be excluded from the covenant, when everything else moves in the direction of more inclusion from the Old Covenant to the New.

Two, the existence of household baptisms is evidence that God still deals with households as a unit and welcomes whole families into the church to come under the Lordship of Christ together (Acts 16:13-15; 32-34; 1 Cor. 1:16; cf. Joshua 24:15).

Three, children are told to obey their parents in the Lord (Eph. 6:1). Children in the church are not treated as little pagans to be evangelized, but members of the covenant who owe their allegiance to Christ.

Four, within two centuries of the Apostles we have clear evidence that the church was practicing infant baptism. If this had been a change to long-standing tradition, we would have some record of the church arguing over this new practice. It wasn’t until the sixteenth century that Christians began to question the legitimacy of infant baptism.

So we come to administer the sacrament of baptism to this child today with the weight of church history to encourage us and the example of redemptive history to confirm our practice. We baptize in obedience to Christ’s command. The sacrament we are about to administer is a sign of inclusion in the covenant community as circumcision was, and the water we are about to sprinkle is a sign of cleansing from sin as the sprinkled blood of bulls and goats in the Old Testament was. We pray that this little one will take advantage of all his covenant privileges, acknowledge his Lord all the days of his life, and by faith make these promises his own.

*****

I doubt I’ve changed too many minds with this post, but maybe I’ve helped my Baptist friends understand what we mean (and don’t mean) by infant baptism. Maybe I’ve clarified a couple misunderstandings. Maybe I’ve strengthened the convictions of a few paedobaptists who weren’t sure why they believed what they said they believed. No matter where you fall on this issue, I encourage you think through the topic with an open Bible and some good resources in hand.

As a paedobaptist I recommend:

John Murray, Christian Baptism The Case for Covenantal Infant Baptism, edited by Gregg Strawbridge. Baptism: Three Views, edited by David F. Wright, with contributions from Sinclair Ferguson (infant baptism), Bruce Ware (believers only baptism), Anthony Lane (dual practice) Daniel R. Hyde, Jesus Loves the Little Children: Why We Baptize Children Bryan Chapell, Why Do We Baptize Infants

To understand how someone could come to embrace infant baptism, check out the “How I Changed My Mind” articles from:

Sean Michael Lucas (First Presbyterian Church – Hattiesburg, MS), Dennis Johnson (Westminster Theological Seminary – Escondido, CA).

We hand out Johnson’s 14-page letter to his daughter (who was struggling with the doctrine of infant baptism) in our new members class.

Best Books on Preaching: A Baker’s Dozen of My Favorites

Thu, 13 Feb 2025 14:59:38 GMT

Over the last 25 years, I have read dozens of books about preaching. I have learned something from almost all of them. There are many excellent resources out there, and even when I may not agree with the author’s theology or his overall method, I can still glean nuggets of wisdom and inspiration. My estimation of “best” is admittedly subjective. “Favorite” is probably more accurate. For all of us in ministry, a favorite book is often determined by when we read it and what we needed to hear at the time. And that’s undoubtedly true with the thirteen entries below.

I have not included standard textbooks like Haddon Robinson’s Biblical Preaching and Bryan Chapell’s Christ-Centered Preaching. I have benefited from both books, as I have from David Helm’s much shorter “textbook,” Expositional Preaching. I’ve also not included general pastoral works that have wonderful sections on preaching (e.g., Spurgeon’s Lectures to My Students or Charles Bridges’s The Christian Ministry, or The Book of Pastoral Rule by Gregory the Great). My list is based on a very imperfect and somewhat impressionistic measure: I distinctly remember where I was when I read this book and how it helped me or challenged me or inspired me.

I won’t try to rank these books from “least favorite favorite” to “favoritest.” Instead, I’ll group them in several different categories and include a few sentences about each.

Books I Have Read Several Times

1. D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones, Preaching and Preachers. If I could only read one preaching book for the rest of my ministry, it would be this one. I often tell young men that if they can read Preaching and Preachers and not feel a burning to preach, then I’m not sure they are called to be a preacher.

2. John Piper, The Supremacy of God in Preaching. I first read this in seminary and then read it another two or three times in my first few years of ministry. Piper now has a much bigger book on preaching (Expository Exaltation), but this earlier and shorter work still directs my preaching Godward as few books do.

3. J.C. Ryle, Simplicity in Preaching. This book—a pamphlet really—is the shortest on this list, but the practical advice is invaluable. Ryle doesn’t call for simplistic sermons or push the preacher away from tackling complicated topics. But he does issue a reminder many of us need: preach so that people can follow and understand what you are saying.

Books about the Theology of Preaching

4. James Thompson, Preaching Like Paul: Homiletical Wisdom for Today. I first read this during the hazy, crazy days of Emergent. Thompson argues persuasively that even (or especially?) in a post-Christian world, preaching still needs to be propositional, discursive, theological, and authoritative. Preaching as story-telling will not suffice.

5. Jonathan I. Griffiths, Preaching in the New Testament: An Exegetical and Biblical-Theological Study. The big idea: preaching in the New Testament is a unique form of word ministry—not identical with teaching, bearing witness, or sharing the gospel—to be carried out by qualified, commissioned, and authorized men. Griffiths sees New Testament preaching as inheriting the model of Old Testament prophetic ministry.

Classic Books

6. William Perkins, The Art of Prophesying. Not a long book and still practical after more than four centuries. You’ll also get a flavor for the method and the heart of Puritan preaching.

7. James W. Alexander, Thoughts on Preaching. I hope someone will reformat and republish this nineteenth-century work, or at least the opening section of 166 “homiletical paragraphs.” I haven’t read a more challenging and thought-provoking book on preaching in the last ten years than this one.

8. John Stott, Between Two Worlds: The Art of Preaching in the Twentieth Century. This was one of the first preaching books I ever read. As you would expect from Stott, it’s full of order, insight, and wisdom—not only for preaching but for being spiritually formed as a preacher.

Books by Sort-of Evangelicals

9. Phillips Brooks, The Joy of Preaching. The Episcopalian Brooks was a “broad churchman,” but these classic lectures from 1877 are well worth reading. Brooks calls for frankness, manliness, and preaching as “truth through personality.”

10. James S. Stewart, Heralds of God. As a twentieth-century Church of Scotland minister, Stewart can be a bit dodgy on the atonement, but he knows how to speak about the glory and the power of preaching. First published in 1946, this book can still inspire the preacher to be a “herald” and not merely a conveyor of religious truth.

More Recent Books

11. Albert N. Martin, Preaching in the Holy Spirit. In this short book, the well-known Baptist preacher directs our attention to a much-needed and sorely neglected topic.

12. Alec Motyer, Preaching? Simple Teaching and Simply Preaching. An influential Irish Bible scholar, Motyer distills a lifetime of teaching experience into an eminently readable and insightful book.

A Book for the Preacher’s Heart

13. Lewis Allen, The Preacher’s Catechism. Using the Westminster Shorter Catechism as his inspiration and (loose) guide, Allen goes through 43 questions and answers designed to remind the busy/distracted/discouraged/puffed-up/cast-down preacher about what really matters (and what doesn’t) in a life of faithful ministry.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Coram Deo Pastors Workshop 2025

Mon, 22 Apr 2024 17:34:06 GMT

Dear brothers,‍I want to invite you to next year’s Coram Deo Pastors Workshop on February 13, 2025.‍Following up on this year’s multi-day conference with many speakers, we are planning for a smaller one-day event next year. John Piper will be our keynote speaker, and I will be speaking as well. We will gather around the theme: The Power and Privilege of Preaching: Finding Inspiration and Practical Edification for a Lifetime of Faithful Expository Ministry. Once, again the event will be hosted by Clearly Reformed and Christ Covenant Church.‍When: February 13, 2025Where: Christ Covenant Church (Matthews, North Carolina)Speakers: John Piper and Kevin DeYoungTheme: The Power and Privilege of Preaching‍I consider it one of the greatest privileges of my life that I get to preach the Bible verse by verse, week after week. At the same time, preaching for years and decades can also be a grind. I hope that this one-day event will help rekindle in us a passion for preaching, re-establish our confidence in preaching, and remind us of practical strategies for improving as preachers.‍This event will be geared for pastors of all ages and for students preparing for ministry. We are limiting the event to 500 registrants. We may sell out quickly, so consider signing up soon.‍Your co-laborer in ministry,

Kevin DeYoung

Sin Makes You Stupid

Thu, 30 Jan 2025 17:11:27 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/sin-makes-you-stupid/id1700530766?i=1000751898640

Like every pastor who has been in ministry for many years, I’ve seen a number of moral failures among my ministerial colleagues. Just in the past year or so, I can count at least four men—each of whom I knew personally (at some level)—who are now out of the ministry because of disqualifying sin. I don’t write this article to sit in judgment on these men. I pray for them, as well as for their families, their churches, and those they have sinned against. The road ahead for these men will be hard and long (if they are willing to travel on it), but we worship a God who is eager to forgive when we humbly confess, earnestly repent, turn from our sins, submit to those in authority over us, and trust in Christ alone.

(It also bears mentioning that forgiveness from God does not necessarily mean restoration to public ministry.)

Whenever a high-profile case of disqualifying sin comes to light, it is easy to wonder how such a catastrophic fall was even possible. The incredulity is especially pronounced in cases of sexual sin. We think to ourselves, or say to our friends, “What was he thinking? How could he have been so foolish? Didn’t he know that he would get caught? Why would you sacrifice so much for so little?”

But of course, sin doesn’t work by the rules of rationality. There is no rational calculation that can explain why men would throw away a lifetime of ministry faithfulness for a few moments of fleeting pleasure. The lusts of the heart do not submit to cold-hard facts. No one sets out on a sexual liaison because he weighed out the pros and cons of such behavior. Satan masquerades as an angel of light. He is a master at deceiving his servants, and sometimes we are masters at deceiving ourselves. You can count on it as an irrefutable law of fallen human nature: sin makes you stupid.

This irrefutable law—true for every Christian—is especially true for ministry leaders. I am writing for you, brother pastor. I’m writing for you, seminary student. And I’m writing for me, because publishing books and speaking at conferences does not give you an elixir against stupidity. If anything, it can be a poison that dulls your spiritual senses.

Diagnostic Truths for Dangerous Times

It seems like we are hearing of pastoral failures more than we used to. It’s hard to know if the number of pastoral failures is actually increasing, or if we simply have access to information that might have gone unnoticed (or not discovered or broadcast) in previous generations. No doubt the hyper-connectivity of our digital age is part of the equation. But it may also be the case that actual pastoral failure is increasing too.

Think about it: Travel has never been easier. Communication has never been easier. Privacy has never been easier. Being ensnared in the vice of pornography has never been easier. Encountering sexual images and content has never been easier. It’s not hard to see how increased temptation may be leading to increased transgression.

Unfortunately, there are no foolproof solutions to guarantee that Christians never commit adultery or that pastors never commit disqualifying sin.

At the same time, there are realities that we can consider—and pray that we do not forget—that can help safeguard our souls.

Here are ten things my fellow pastors (and all Christians, for that matter) should consider frequently and perpetually, lest sin makes us stupid.

1. Consider if you are faithful in private and personal devotions.

An otherwise faithful man may fall into sudden sin in a moment of weakness, but I’ve never known a pastor in habitual sin who was at the same time fervent in daily prayer. There are no shortcuts to holiness.

The minister should also beware when he’s begun to take shortcuts in sermon preparation. I need slow, deliberate sermon preparation to feed my own soul. My heart will grow cold and unfeeling if I regularly preach sermons that I’ve preached before, or that I cribbed from someone else, or that demand little of my time and even less of my soul.

2. Consider if you are more eager to be away from home than to arrive back at home.

Even if you love travel for its own sake (which I don’t), you still should be excited every time you get to come back to your wife and kids. Just as the pastor should love to preach to his own people more than to strangers, so he should love to be with his own family more than with crowds and well-wishers somewhere else. Something is amiss when that pastor feels happier the farther he is from home. Think of your life as concentric circles—with God in the center, then your family, then your elders and your church staff, then your congregation, then your denomination, then your wider personal networks, and then the internet. We should spend most of our time cultivating the circles closest to the center. If those are healthy, you can handle difficulties in the outer rings. Be wary of ministry leaders who spend all their time on the outer rings (especially the internet) but are unhealthy at the center.

3. Consider if you have slid into a posture of defensiveness and entitlement.

I recently heard a seasoned pastor reflect that in every case of ministerial failure that he has witnessed, the common factor was pride. If they aren’t careful, pastors can rely on intimidation and manipulation to create a culture of quiet acquiescence and loyal yes men. Eventually, some men come to believe normal rules of Christian integrity no longer apply to them. When ministry leaders are unable to admit mistakes and always insistent on the best perks and privileges, there is grave danger afoot.

4. Consider if there are relationships with women that are overly friendly and overly comfortable.

We don’t need pastors to be awkward around women or to treat every woman as a potential Potiphar’s wife (and most of us aren’t as handsome as Joseph!). But common sense and spiritual caution should warn against traveling alone with women, privately texting at length with women, engaging in lots of banter online with women, sharing pictures with women, asking for photos from women, or sharing personal vulnerabilities with women. My wife doesn’t want me to be rude toward women (or just plain weird), but neither does she want me developing close friendships with women.

5. Consider if you are no longer vigilant in fighting lust and temptation.

Every pastor has heard (and probably preached) about the danger of pornography. But the danger doesn’t usually start there. Big sins almost always begin as little compromises: lingering looks, raunchy entertainment, lurid rabbit trails on social media, YouTube videos that get seedier and seedier. When we justify “little” sins, we invite bigger sins to track us down—and over time, with the help of Satan and the algorithm, they will.

6. Consider if you are lacking in meaningful, open, transparent friendships.

I’m always concerned when I meet Christian leaders who don’t seem to have close friends. And by friends, I don’t mean only famous friends or “friends” they see a couple of times a year at meetings and conferences. We need friends who aren’t afraid to ask us hard questions, friends who have known us for a long time, friends who would drop everything to comfort us in trial and drop everything to confront us when we fall into temptation.

7. Consider how much your sins will cost you when they are discovered.

Pastoral ministry is not like other professions, for it does not allow us to separate the ministry from the character of the one ministering. I think about the opportunities I have been given because of pastoral ministry, the livelihood I have because of pastoral ministry, the esteem and respect (among some) I have because of pastoral ministry. What utter folly it would be to trade all this for the indulgence of the flesh. And let us not think our sins can be hidden forever. Our sins are normally revealed in weeks or months, sometimes in years, sometimes after death (to the shame of followers, family, and friends), and always before the judgment seat of Christ. You may successfully lie to others (for a time). You may even lie to yourself. But God knows the truth, and the lie will not last forever.

8. Consider the harm you will do to others by your sin.

Let not the promise of grace lead us to underestimate the heinousness of sin. I shudder to think, were I ever to disqualify myself from ministry, of the harm I would do to my wife, my children, my congregation, and to all those who have ever been helped by something I’ve written, taught, or preached. I am pained to even contemplate the hurt and confusion that would fall on those who were led to Christ through me, or baptized by me, or married by me, or led to greater love for Christ through me. To be sure, it is not the minister per se, it is always the word of God through us, but so long as God uses human teachers, we teachers will bear a special responsibility to keep our lives free from the stain of high-handed sin.

9. Consider that there are greater, sweeter, more lasting pleasures than sin.

My go-to verse in fighting temptation is Matthew 5:8: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” I want to see God—in this life, and in the life to come. We must fight to believe that the beauty of holiness and the loveliness of Christ is better than the allure of shape and skin. And it’s not just that God will satisfy more than illicit sex. There are sweeter, everyday, earthly pleasures too—like a clean conscience, and a long marriage, and the fruitfulness of hard work, and the smile of grandchildren, and the laughter of friends. There is no sin so pleasing that God cannot provide holier and happier joys in some other way.

10. Consider the honor and glory of Christ.

This is the crux of the matter, is it not? As Christian ministers, we not only bear the name of Christ, we have also been given the immense privilege to steward the mysteries of Christ, minister the love of Christ, and preach the gospel of Christ. I know an article like this could make sinners despair of being saved, let alone ever being used by God again. That is not the point. There is always more grace in Christ than there is unrighteousness in us. And yet, it is salutary that we feel something of the fear of the Lord, which is, after all, the beginning of wisdom. I believe that God has given to pastors that best and highest calling anyone can receive. What could be worse than to dishonor so great a Friend, Lord, and Savior as Christ?

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

The Prayer of His People

Thu, 23 Jan 2025 16:50:00 GMT

Mark 11

Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. (Mark 11:24)

We don’t always think of prayer as a doctrinal topic, but many of the best systematic theologies have a section on prayer, often as an aspect of God’s providential care. This makes sense. In an ultimate sense, God doesn’t need our prayers, but he has chosen to govern the world through secondary means, and one of those means is the prayer of his people. God has ordained prayer so that we may see our dependency upon him and so that he receives glory as the giver of all good gifts. Calvin devotes seventy pages in his Institutes to prayer. As a part of this exploration, he gives four rules for right prayer:

• First rule: reverence.• Second rule: sincerity and penitence.• Third rule: we give up confidence in ourselves and humbly plead for pardon.• Fourth rule: we “pray by a sure hope that our prayer will be answered.”1

Drawing from texts like Mark 11:24 (“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask . . . believe that you have received it, and it will be yours”) and James 1:5–6 (“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God. . . . But let him ask in faith, with no doubting”), Calvin exhorts believers to be convinced that God is favorable and benevolent toward them. “It is amazing,” Calvin writes, “how much our lack of trust provokes God if we request of him a boon that we do not expect.”2

Of course, our prayers must be humble, and we should petition God according to his word (not according to all our whims and wants). But listen to godly Christians pray; they do not pray mealy-mouthed prayers. There are two great dangers in prayer: praying like we are God, and praying like there is no God. “Now what sort of prayer will this be?” Calvin asks in the same passage. “‘O Lord, I am in doubt whether thou willest to hear me, but because I am pressed by anxiety, I flee to thee, that, if I am worthy, thou mayest help me.’ This is not the way of all the saints whose prayers we read in Scripture.”

The most repeated command of Jesus, relative to prayer, is not how to pray or why to pray, but simply that we would pray. Ask, seek, and knock—that’s what Jesus wants (Matt. 7:7). He wants us to trust that God cares and be confident that God can help. That’s why prayerlessness is, at its core, unbelief. When Jesus comes again, will he find us praying and trusting (for the two are interconnected)? Or will he find us living and acting and planning and complaining and manipulating our own strategies as if there were no God at all?

Jesus knows that it is hard to keep praying and not give up (Luke 18:1). It is hard to pray for justice day after day and year after year with sometimes minuscule results. Prayer is first and foremost an act of faith—faith that there is a God, faith that he is a personal God, faith that we are able to come into his presence, faith that God moves the world through prayer, and faith that Christ intercedes for us at God’s right hand. We believe, Lord. Help our unbelief.

Notes: Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion, 2 vols. Translated by Ford Lewis Battles. Edited by John T. McNeil. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960, 3.20.11. Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion, 2 vols. Translated by Ford Lewis Battles. Edited by John T. McNeil. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960, 3.20.11

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

7 Things the Holy Spirit Does in and for Our Salvation

Sat, 18 Jan 2025 15:05:15 GMT

The Work of the Holy Spirit

The work of the Holy Spirit is the means by which all that Christ accomplished comes to benefit the elect. The Holy Spirit does (at least) seven things in and for our salvation.

1. The Holy Spirit convicts.

The word often translated “convict” (elegcho) is used in John 3:20 with the sense of bringing sins to light: “For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed [elegchthe].” The Holy Spirit acts like a giant searchlight, exposing the world’s wickedness, calling people to repentance, and convicting the world of sin, righteousness, and judgment (John 16:8–11).

2. The Holy Spirit converts.

As Jesus famously told Nicodemus, “unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God” (John 3:5). Titus 3:5 calls this work “the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit.” There is no Christian life without the converting work of the Spirit. He enables us to understand and spiritually discern the things of God (1 Cor. 2:12–14). He grants us repentance that leads to life (Acts 11:18). He pours God’s love into our hearts so we can be assured that in Christ God is for us and not against us (Rom. 5:5). The Holy Spirit enables us to believe in the promises of God (John 1:12–13; 3:36; 6:63–65).

3. The Holy Spirit applies.

Calvin begins book 3 of the Institutes with a question: “How do we receive those benefits which the Father bestowed on his onlybegotten Son—not for Christ’s own private use, but that he might enrich poor and needy men?” The answer: “The Holy Spirit is the bond by which Christ effectually unites us to himself.”[1] This is the logic of Romans 8:9–11. When we have the Spirit, we have Christ. And when we have Christ, we have the Spirit. The Holy Spirit applies to the believer the benefits won by Christ, because the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of Christ.

4. The Holy Spirit glorifies.

“He will glorify me,” Jesus told the disciples, “he will take what is mine and declare it to you” (John 16:14). This truth can help us avoid the common mistake of pitting the Spirit against Christ, as if we dishonor the Spirit by putting a relentless focus upon Christ. The Holy Spirit is a serving Spirit. He speaks only what he hears (John 16:13). He declares what he is given (John 16:14b). His mission is to glorify another (John 16:14a). All three persons of the Trinity are fully God, yet in the divine economy the Son makes known the Father and the Spirit glorifies the Son. Yes, it is a mistake if we know nothing about the Spirit. But when we focus on Christ we give evidence of the Spirit’s work. We cannot worship Christ without the work of the Spirit. And the Spirit does not want to be magnified except insofar as he points to Christ. This is why the notion of anonymous Christians is so mistaken. The work of the Holy Spirit is to bring glory to Christ by taking what is his—his teaching, the truth about his death and resurrection—and making it known. The Spirit does not work indiscriminately without the revelation of Christ in view.

5. The Holy Spirit sanctifies.

The Spirit gives the believer a new position in Christ—set apart in Christ and sprinkled with his blood—and a new power in Christ (Eph. 3:16). The Spirit works in us “for obedience to Jesus Christ” (1 Pet. 1:2). Peter elsewhere says that through God’s precious and very great promises we may “become partakers of the divine nature” (2 Pet. 1:4). This is the doctrine of theosis, or deification, often emphasized in the Eastern Orthodox Church. So long as we don’t think of Christians as becoming gods or being swallowed up in God in an ontological sense, the doctrine should be affirmed as an important aspect of our salvation. Peter isn’t thinking about “nature” as the divine essence so much as the nature of God’s character. That’s why the next phrase speaks of “having escaped the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire.” The point is that we can share in the qualities that are characteristic of God himself.

6. The Holy Spirit equips.

By the work of the Spirit, believers are given gifts for ministry. Sometimes called “service” or “activities,” the purpose of these gifts is to build up the church. The manifestation of the Spirit is for the common good (1 Cor. 12:7) and the edification of the church (1 Cor. 14:12, 26).

7. The Holy Spirit promises.

Ephesians 1:13–14 states that in Christ we “were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it.” A seal in the ancient world did three things: it authenticated, it secured, and it marked ownership. All three elements are probably in view here. The seal of the Spirit authenticates us as true believers, secures our eternal safety, and marks us out as belonging to God.

This sealing is not a second blessing subsequent to salvation; it happens the moment when we become a Christian. The sealing at the end of Ephesians 1:13 is connected to hearing the word of truth and believing the gospel earlier in the verse. That’s when the sealing takes place. Being sealed with the Spirit means that God has clamped down his embosser on us and promises to protect us and preserve us as he would his most prized possession. The Spirit is our guarantee (2 Cor. 5:5), like an engagement ring prior to the wedding, or like a down payment on a house before the final move-in date (Eph. 4:30).

The sealing is, first of all, a declarative fact, true of every Christian. But this doesn’t mean there cannot also be an experiential dimension. Subjectively, being sealed with the Spirit means we experience an inner authentication that we are indeed forgiven and loved by God. “The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God” (Rom. 8:16). Or as Paul puts it earlier in Romans, “God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit” (Rom. 5:5). The Spirit assures us that we belong to God. Ideally, this assurance will be believed and felt.

Notes: Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion. 2 vols. Translated by Ford Lewis Battles. Edited by John T. McNeil. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960., 3.1.1.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Our Triune God and the Christian Life

Mon, 27 Jan 2025 15:10:21 GMT

2 Corinthians 13

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all. (2 Cor. 13:14)

So why does the doctrine of the Trinity matter? What is the “payoff ” for the ordinary Christian who is never going to be an expert in the metaphysics of Aquinas and is never going to throw around Latin and Greek phrases at the dinner table? Let me try to answer that question with seven points.

1. Most importantly, we should joyfully affirm that if God is triune, in one sense, no other justification is necessary for learning the doctrine of the Trinity. When you learn more about your spouse or grow to understand your child more fully, do you need a “payoff ”? Isn’t it enough simply to know more fully the one you love so deeply? Every true Christian should thrill to know God as he really is.

2. The doctrine matters for creation. Unlike the myths of the ancient Near East, our God did not need to go outside himself to create the universe. Instead, in fashioning the cosmos, the word and the Spirit were like his own two hands (to use Irenaeus’s famous phrase). Creation, like regeneration, is a Trinitarian act, with God working by the agency of the word and the mysterious movement of the Holy Spirit.

3. The doctrine of the Trinity helps us comprehend a world of unity and diversity. Robert Letham has noted that the two main rivals to Christianity in our day are Islam (which stresses cultural unity at the expense of diversity) and postmodernism (which emphasizes diversity without attempting to see things in a broader meta-unity). If God subsists as three persons sharing the same essence, then the world God made is likely to exhibit stunning variety and individuality while still being part of one larger story directed toward one shared purpose.

4. The doctrine of the Trinity matters for worship. Prayer, worship, and communion are Trinitarian acts. We pray to the Father in the name of the Son by the power of the Spirit. A time is coming, Jesus told the woman at the well, when true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth (John 4:23). No worship can be fully Christian if it is not deeply Trinitarian.

5. The doctrine of the Trinity means that love is eternal. God did not create in order to be loved; he created out of the overflow of the perfect love that has always existed among Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

6. The doctrine of the Trinity informs how we relate to others. While we must be careful not to think of the Trinity in social terms (as if God is a group of three friends hanging out), the fact that God is three in one does have social implications. The doctrine of the Trinity means communion and communication are inherent in the divine being, and thus we reflect God when we commune and communicate with others. Moreover, the Trinity shows how there can be relational mutuality without indistinguishability. Reflecting this pattern, we can know and be known by another while still retaining our own personhood.

7. Finally, the doctrine matters for how we relate to God. As John Owen insisted, we ought to enjoy distinct communion with each divine person. We know the Father as the fountain and source of all good. We know the Son as our advocate, our intercessor, our sacrifice, and our brother. And we know the Spirit as our sanctifier and comforter. In all three persons we find safety, satisfaction, sweetness, and delight.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Introducing the Podcast ‘Doctrine Matters with Kevin DeYoung’

Mon, 06 Jan 2025 10:00:00 GMT

All thoughtful Christians want to better understand the Bible, its author, and its influence on their beliefs. In short—whether they recognize it or not—they want to understand theology. But many find the subject matter too academic, dense, or difficult to understand, and they lack proper study resources to help expand their knowledge of God and his written word.

In this weekly podcast, pastor, bestselling author, and associate professor of systematic theology Kevin DeYoung walks through the most important theological topics over the course of a full year. Drawing from his devotional Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology, DeYoung makes systematic theology clear and accessible for the everyday Christian.

Listen on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.

3 Questions about Creation: Who, How, and Why?

Mon, 09 Dec 2024 10:00:00 GMT

Our Creator God

When considering the creation of the universe, there are three principal questions we can ask: Who? How? and Why? Of those three questions, the first question is the most foundational. It also is the most obvious. According to the Bible, God is Creator of all things visible and invisible.

We cannot overstate the importance the Bible gives to the revelation of God as Creator. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth” (Gen. 1:1). Reading in English, we could say aseity is the first thing we encounter about God. In the beginning—before all and independent of all—there was God. In the original Hebrew, however, the verb bara (“to create”) comes prior to the word Elohim (“God”). This is not an unusual grammatical construction for Hebrew, but it does mean that even before we are introduced to the word for God, we know that he is a creator.

Our God is the one through whom all things came into being. He is the maker of heaven and earth. Over and over the Bible reminds us that the God of Israel is no territorial deity. As the people confessed in Nehemiah’s day, “You are the Lord, you alone. You have made heaven, the heaven of heavens, with all their host, the earth and all that is on it, the seas and all that is in them; and you preserve all of them; and the host of heaven worships you” (Neh. 9:6). There is only one Creator, and therefore there is only one God. “For thus says the Lord, who created the heavens (he is God!), who formed the earth and made it (he established it; he did not create it empty, he formed it to be inhabited!): ‘I am the Lord, and there is no other’ ” (Isa. 45:18).

When Paul preached to the Gentiles, he emphasized that they should put away their idols and turn to “a living God, who made the heaven and the earth and the sea and all that is in them” (Acts 14:15). As the Creator of all things, God needs nothing from his creatures. Famously, Paul explained to the Athenians that “the God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything” (Acts 17:24–25).

God gives us the answer to one of the most enduring questions: Where did the cosmos come from? Is the universe the result of some free personal agent, or did the universe somehow create itself? The biblical account teaches that creation is distinct from God (the two are not the same being) and at the same time that creation is entirely dependent on God. He is before all things and on him all things depend. As we’ve seen before, there never was when God was not, but there was when matter was not. As the psalmist exclaims, “Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God” (Ps. 90:1–2).

Creation Days

Of the three questions—Who? How? and Why?—the how question is the one where the most controversy has arisen. At the heart of the how question is the debate surrounding the creation days. Among evangelicals, there are four typical approaches.

(1) The six days of creation are normal twenty-four-hour days. This view usually means (but doesn’t have to equal) a belief in a young earth (e.g., thousands of years old instead of billions of years). (2) The Day-Age view argues that the creation days represent an unspecified length of time and that a “day” in God’s reckoning can refer to a long period of time (Isa. 11:10–11; 2 Pet. 3:8). (3) The Framework Interpretation popularized by Meredith Kline maintains that the first three days represent creation kingdoms, ruled over by the creation kings of days four through six. The days, therefore, should be read topically, not sequentially. Based on Genesis 2:5 (“the Lord God had not caused it to rain”), Kline argues that God oversaw creation by means of ordinary providence. (4) The Analogical approach understands the days more generally as divine work days.

While the events recorded may be broadly consecutive, the length of the time is irrelevant to the purpose of the Genesis account. The days are God-divided days or extraordinary cosmic days. Our human week is copied from this creation week, but “copy” is to be considered analogically not literally. While there are plausible reasons for each view, and orthodox Reformed representatives can be listed for each of them, I find the twenty-four-hour view most convincing.

First, there are several indications that the Hebrew word yom is used in Genesis 1 in the normal sense of a twenty-four-hour day: the references to morning and evening, the cycles of darkness and light, the fact that we still have seven days in our week. Most crucially, the refrain of “days, years, signs, and seasons” suggests we are dealing with normal calendar demarcations.

Second, there are good explanations for the appearance of the sun on day four. For example, the universe might have been illuminated by the special, supernatural presence of God. Alternately, one can argue that the sun was already made (Gen. 1:1), but not separated until the fourth day. Light wasn’t created on the fourth day; rather, the greater light and lesser light were separated (Gen. 1:14).

Third, normal days allow for the world to be relatively young, which means that death in the animal world need not have existed before the fall.

Fourth, God could have created the world with the appearance of age. Just as Adam on his first day did not look like an infant, so the universe, though created in six normal days, may look much older.

Fifth, this view of the creation days was affirmed by early commentators (Basil, Ambrose), by medieval scholastics (Lombard, Aquinas), by the magisterial Reformers (Luther, Calvin, Beza), by the Puritans (Perkins, Owen, Edwards), and was the only known view of the Westminster divines.

Sixth, God did not merely accommodate himself in how he explained the work but in how he actually accomplished the work. As Calvin put it, Moses didn’t speak of six days “for the mere purpose of conveying instruction. Let us rather conclude that God himself took the space of six days, for the purpose of accommodating his works to the capacity of men.”1

The End for Which God Created the World

We do not look at the universe rightly unless we see in creation a glorious reason to praise the living God.

To use the language of Jonathan Edwards’s famous treatise, divine glory is “the end for which God created the world.” We must never suppose that God created the cosmos out of lack—because he wanted a relationship, or he wanted someone to love. God did not create the world because he was thirsty. Rather, God created the world because it is the nature of a fountain to overflow. Creation is the superabundance of divine goodness, beauty, mercy, love, wisdom, power, sovereignty, self-sufficiency, self-existence, justice, holiness, faithfulness, and freedom.

Edwards puts the matter wonderfully. We should slow down and read him carefully:

Notes:

Calvin, John. Calvin’s Commentaries 22 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 1974, 1:78 Edwards, Jonathan, Ethical Writings. Edited by Paul Ramsey and John E. Smith. Vol. 8,

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Paul’s Missionary Enterprise

Mon, 02 Dec 2024 10:00:00 GMT

When it comes to the topic of what works, and what is meant to work, in missions, I am happy to tell you that the tried and true is still better. Even in missions. The old paths are still the good paths. I hope someday to be of old age and still saying the same thing: why the tried and true is still better. The aim is not to be traditional for the sake of being traditional, nor to insist that whatever was done in the past must have been better than what we do today. They were sinners then too and made mistakes and errors and we have learned from them. But it is the case that the old ways, when it comes to the mission of God in the world––evangelism, discipleship, church planting, church strengthening––are still today, as they were then, the biblical means of grace.

To make the case for the tried and true in missions, Acts 14 has become my go-to text. If you have one shot to help a group of people try to understand the mission of the church, what missions is about, what missionaries do, you can’t do better than to point them to the missionary par excellence: the Apostle Paul.

But Jews came from Antioch and Iconium, and having persuaded the crowds, they stoned Paul and dragged him out of the city, supposing that he was dead. But when the disciples gathered about him, he rose up and entered the city, and on the next day he went on with Barnabas to Derbe. When they had preached the gospel to that city and had made many disciples, they returned to Lystra and to Iconium and to Antioch, strengthening the souls of the disciples, encouraging them to continue in the faith, and saying that through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God. And when they had appointed elders for them in every church, with prayer and fasting they committed them to the Lord in whom they had believed.

Then they passed through Pisidia and came to Pamphylia. And when they had spoken the word in Perga, they went down to Attalia, and from there they sailed to Antioch, where they had been commended to the grace of God for the work that they had fulfilled. And when they arrived and gathered the church together, they declared all that God had done with them, and how he had opened a door of faith to the Gentiles. And they remained no little time with the disciples. (Acts 14:19–28)

That last paragraph shows how Paul has returned to Antioch. This was the church that had “set apart” Paul and Barnabas for Paul’s first missionary journey (Acts 13:2). He’s come back to report, declaring all that God had done through him, and how he had opened a door of faith. That’s the big picture summary: he had opened a door of faith. This is at least the bare minimum of what we are doing in missions, we are praying that God might open a door of faith.

The paragraph before this gives us a glimpse of the sort of things that I think Paul would have shared back at his sending church in Antioch. I imagine this to be Paul, back on furlough, as they used to call it, giving an update to the missions committee. This is exactly the sort of thing that should be in your mind if you’re thinking about going into missions. Or if you’re a pastor or you’re on a missions committee, when missionaries return and tell you what they have been doing, does it sound anything like what the Apostle Paul has done?

We see in these verses, particularly in 21–23, the “three-legged stool” of mission work. We have here the apostolic model for missionary service. This is what a church’s mission’s committee should be looking for in considering how to spend their mission dollars. Other authors have put it differently and used different lingo, but if you want to use neat alliteration you can describe the three-legged stool of Paul’s missionary enterprise this way: new converts, new communities, and nurtured churches.

The first leg, new converts, comes from verse 21, “when they had preached the gospel to that city and had made many disciples.” Notice how evangelism and discipleship are treated as the same thing or different aspects of the same thing. We often tend to put them into different buckets, but the aim is never to just have somebody pray a prayer or sign a card or call themself a Christian, it is to speak the gospel and build converts up as disciples. We find new communities in verse 23, when they had appointed elders for them in every church. Then in verse 22, we see nurtured communities, or nurtured churches, because we read that he strengthened the souls of the disciples.

Another way to describe this is in terms of evangelism and discipleship, or church planting, and then church strengthening. When we do our missions budget at our church, these are the three things we’re looking for. We also have a category that we think of as diaconal ministry, which is going to help adorn the gospel or help be an entry point. But the aim even with that is to support one of the legs of this three-legged stool. We want to know if this person or organization is doing evangelism/discipleship, planting churches, or strengthening churches.

It’s worth noticing that part of Paul’s missionary journey is to go back and strengthen the church. This is why we need good schools, why the Lord uses seminaries, why he uses good publishing houses to produce good books. All of this is to help ensure that we don’t just have something that we can call “a church.” Remember, church is not plural for Christian. I know that Jesus said, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them.” (Matthew 18:20) That’s a wonderful passage about the authority of Christ in church discipline. It’s not a passage that means that if three people are in a park and they’re praying it’s a church though. Those are three Christians in a park, praying.

Eckhard Schnabel, the fine biblical scholar and missiologist, has written helpfully on this subject and he has three points which are really identical to the ones I’ve just laid out. Here’s what he says,

“Missionaries communicate the news of Jesus the Messiah and Savior to people who have not heard or accepted this news.”“Missionaries communicate a new way of life that replaces, at least partially, the social norms and behavioral patterns of the society in which the new believers have been converted.”“Missionaries integrate the new believers into a new community.”

It’s a way of saying the same thing: evangelism and discipleship, church planting, and church strengthening. In Acts 14, we see this is what Paul and Barnabas have been sent out to do.

Missionaries may aim at one of these components more than the other, but all three must be present in an overall mission strategy. The work of discipleship and church planting cannot take place unless non-believers are evangelized and born again. At the same time, we cannot leave new converts on their own simply because they claim to be Christians. They must be grounded in their faith, taught what it means to turn their backs on the world and follow Jesus. If your mission strategy and my mission strategy does not have all three of these components working together, then our missionary effort will not be healthy, stable, long lasting, or ultimately fruitful to the ends of the Great Commission.

Note: This article was adapted from Kevin DeYoung’s Missionary Conference 2024 address, “Why the Tried and True Is Still Better, Even in Missions.”

Atonement Is a Work of Reconciliation and Redemption

Thu, 21 Nov 2024 10:00:00 GMT

All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. (2 Cor. 5:18–19)

The English word atonement was coined by Tyndale to signify how estranged parties are brought together (at-one-ment). The nature of Christ’s work is inescapably concerned with reconciliation. God is reconciling the world in Christ by not counting our sins against us (2 Cor. 5:18–21). This reconciliation is first of all personal and vertical (in relation to God), but also moves horizontally toward others (Eph. 2:11–22). God’s work of reconciliation is ultimately cosmic in scope (Col. 1:19–20).

Importantly, the New Testament never speaks of God being reconciled. That is to say, the “barriers” are all on our side. Yes, God’s justice is a “barrier” in a way, but it’s not as if God and sinners must each give a little and learn to love each other. We are told to go and be reconciled to God (2 Cor. 5:20) in the same way Jesus tells the sinner to leave his gift at the altar and go be reconciled to his brother, meaning: “God has something legitimate against me. I must go and seek reconciliation.” God is always the reconciler, not strictly speaking the reconciled.

We also need to be clear that the atonement did not make God love us (Rom. 5:8). The hostility is ours; the movement toward reconciliation was all from God. In one sense, our reconciliation was accomplished at the death of Christ (5:10), though we must personally receive it (5:11). Reconciliation is not an inward state but an objective change in our status before God.

The atonement is also a work of redemption. Redemption is an economic term, meaning to purchase, to buy back, or to set free. In the Old Testament, redemption is often used with reference to the exodus from Egypt (Ex. 6:6; Deut. 7:8), but the language is eventually used more broadly to refer to divine deliverance and salvation. “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine” (Isa. 43:1). As Hosea bought back Gomer from the auction block after she had prostituted herself, so the Lord purchases his people from their bondage to sin and the devil.

The New Testament also underscores the importance of our redemption. Christ has freed us from our sins (Rev. 1:5–6) and redeemed us from the curse of the law (Gal. 3:13). We have been rescued from the domain of darkness (Col. 1:13) and redeemed from an empty way of life (1 Pet. 1:18).

Finally, we should note that the purchase of our freedom was not free. We were bought with a price (1 Cor. 6:20). And over and over we are told that the price was the blood of Christ. We have redemption through his blood (Eph. 1:7). God purchased the church with his blood (Acts 20:28).

Considering the heinousness of our sin, the sufferings of Christ, and the promised blessings we enjoy now (and are yet to come), it is no wonder that the redeeming blood of Christ is lauded, above all, as “precious” (1 Pet. 1:18–19).

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

How To Know God (and Two Ways That Don’t Work)

Wed, 13 Nov 2024 10:00:00 GMT

These things God has revealed to us through the Spirit. For the Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God. For who knows a person’s thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him? So also no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. (1 Cor. 2:10-11)

The God of the Bible is, from start to finish, the God who makes himself known. Though not fully comprehensible by his creatures, God has given us the ability to know him truly and savingly.

But how? In what way does God make himself known? Before answering that question positively, let’s approach things negatively. Broadly speaking, there are two means by which Christians have wrongly sought to know God.

The first wrong way is rationalism. As an epistemological approach, rationalism “rejects any other source of knowledge than that which is found in nature and in the constitution of the human mind.”1 The problem with rationalism is not that it values reason or that it finds truth about God in nature. Christianity is not anti-reason; it is not irrational. But rationalism is something different. Rationalism admits no higher source of truth than reason. As a result, rationalism often becomes anti-supernatural and finds itself tied to the latest whims of science and tossed to and fro by the latest intellectual fads.

The second wrong way to know God is mysticism. While Christianity is “mystical” in that it deals with heavenly realities and spiritual truths than go beyond human comprehension and explanation, this is not the same as mysticism. As an epistemological approach, mysticism “assumes that God, by immediate communication with the soul, reveals through feelings and intuitions divine truth independently of the outward teaching of his Word.”2 Mysticism should not be confused with the Spirit’s work of illumination. When we pray for illumination, we are not praying for new information or looking to hear from God apart from his appointed means. We are asking for divine light to see and understand the Spirit-inspired Scriptures. Mysticism directs the Christian toward a subjective, inner light and away from the objective truth of the Bible.

Positively, the Bible teaches that the only proper way to know God is by way of objective revelation. Rationalism and mysticism may seem like opposite errors, but at the heart of both mistakes is an attempt to place the locus of authority in the human person instead of outside of ourselves (extra nos).

This is also the problem with liberalism. As one of the movement’s leading scholars puts it, liberal theology “is the idea that Christian theology can be genuinely Christian without being based upon external authority. Since the eighteenth century, liberal Christian thinkers have argued that religion should be modern and progressive and that the meaning of Christianity should be interpreted from the standpoint of modern knowledge and experience.”3

By contrast, historic Christianity has maintained that only God can adequately reveal God (1 Cor. 2:10–16). Modern knowledge and personal experience must be tested by God’s revelation (and not the other way around). We must apprehend God’s revelation by reason, and we need the illumination of the Spirit to lead us into truth, but reason is not independent of revelation, and the Spirit’s illumination is not independent of the Scriptures. We don’t want to be subject to our experiences at the expense of the intellect, and we don’t want to follow the intellect at the expense of faith.

Notes:

Charles Hodge, Systematic Theology (James Clarke, 1960), 1.4. Hodge, Systematic Theology, 1.7. Gary Dorrien, The Making of American Liberal Theology: Imagining Progressive Religion 1805-1900. Vol. 1. (Westminster John Knox, 2001), xii.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

A Christmas Collection

Wed, 27 Nov 2024 20:00:00 GMT

Each Clearly Reformed Book Club member receives a copy of each of Kevin DeYoung’s new book releases and exclusive Clearly Reformed printed booklets, written by Kevin.

In December, all book club members will receive A Christmas Collection, four Christmas articles written by Kevin DeYoung, compiled in a coffee-table keepsake booklet.

To become a book club member and take advantage of these resources, set up a monthly recurring donation of any amount.

Does James Contradict Paul?

Sat, 23 Nov 2024 20:57:20 GMT

Sola Fide

No Christian denies that justification is by faith. That is an obvious biblical teaching. The controversy is about whether justification is by faith alone (sola fide).

In Roman Catholic theology, justification is a process begun at baptism, after which we are obliged to cooperate with grace in hopes of receiving a favorable verdict from God at the end of our lives. “The Protestant doctrine of justification by faith alone contradicts Scripture,” writes Peter Kreeft, a winsome and articulate spokesman for Catholic theology. Nevertheless, argues Kreeft, Protestant theology reminds us “that none of us can deserve heaven” and that if God were to ask us why he should let us into heaven, “our answer should not begin with the word ‘I’ but with the word ‘Christ.’ ”1 Don’t overlook the word begin in that sentence, because works do eventually enter into the equation. Later Kreeft writes, “To the world’s most practical question, ‘What must I do to be saved?’, God has given us clear answer: Repent, believe, and live in charity.”2 That’s what Kreeft means when he says that justification is not by faith alone.

By contrast, the Bible stresses that we are justified by faith apart from works of the law (Rom. 3:28). “For by works of the law no human being will be justified in his sight” (Rom. 3:20). “We know that a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ” (Gal. 2:16). “It is evident that no one is justified before God by the law, for ‘The righteous shall live by faith’ ” (Gal. 3:11). In short, the righteousness by which we are acquitted comes through faith in Christ, not through the law on account of our own righteousness (Phil. 3:9).

It is important to note that faith is not itself virtuous. Faith is not the basis or the ground by which we are justified, as if the righteous act of believing outweighs all our unrighteous deeds. Faith has value because of the object to which it connects us. Think of skating on a frozen pond. Faith is the means by which we get out on the ice, but it is not the reason we do not sink. We are kept out of the dangerous water below by the object of our faith. It is the thickness of the ice that saves us.

To put it in Aristotelian terms, faith is the instrumental cause of our justification. “We compare faith to a kind of vessel,” Calvin writes, “for unless we come empty and with the mouth of our souls open to seek Christ’s grace, we are not capable of receiving Christ.”3 Faith is the outstretched empty hand ready to receive Christ and all his benefits. The act of believing, in itself, does not save. Faith “is only the instrument by which we embrace Christ our righteousness” (BC Art. 22).

Finally, we should be clear that although we are justified by faith alone, the faith that justifies is never alone. Good works do not contribute to the root of our justification, but they must be found as fruit of our justification. As Turretin observes, “it is one thing for works to be connected with faith in the person of the justified; another, however, in the matter of justification.”4 In other words, sinners are not justified by works, but works will always be evident in the lives of justified sinners.

The book of James seems to repudiate the Protestant doctrine of sola fide. How does Romans 3:28 (“For we hold that one is justified by faith apart from works of the law”) square with James 2:24 (“You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone”)? This seems like a plain contradiction. Paul thinks we are justified by faith alone; James thinks we are justified by faith and works. No wonder Luther once called James a “right strawy epistle.”

Good works do not contribute to the root of our justification, but they must be found as fruit of our justification.

Rightly understood, however, there is no contradiction between Paul and James. Here are five reasons why.

James and Paul are addressing different concerns. The foolish person in James 2:20 is not the apostle Paul. James was likely written before Paul’s letters to the Romans or Galatians. They are dealing with different issues. Paul is asking the question, “How are we right with God?” James is asking, “What does genuine faith look like?” For Paul the issue is: “How do Gentiles get into the church?” For James the issue is: “Why are people not caring for their brothers and sisters in the church?” James’s argument presupposes the importance of faith. The necessity of faith is presumed in verse 17 and in verse 20, and again in the example of Abraham in verses 22 and 24. James does not want faith to be supplanted by works or even supplemented by works. He wants faith to be demonstrated by works. The equation in James is not “faith plus works equals justification.” The equation is “faith minus works does not equal justification.” Think of salvation as F(aith)=J(ustification)+W(orks). Paul says, “Don’t you dare put ‘W’ on the left side of the equation.” James says, “Don’t you dare leave out ‘W’ on the right side of the equation.” Paul and James use “works” in two different ways. Paul is talking about works of the law, especially Jewish rites like circumcision, holy days, and food observance. Those were the typical ways, for a Jewish audience, that one would be tempted to place their confidence in something other than Christ. James is talking about the works of faith, acts of charity operative in the body of Christ without preferential treatment. Paul and James use the word justify in two different ways. Paul is dealing with people who trust in the works of the law for their standing with God. James is dealing with people who think that mere intellectual assent is real Christianity (James 2:19). Paul is talking about a forensic declaration of righteousness. James is talking about practical evidence that faith is real (2:16, 18). Paul teaches the same point James teaches. Paul speaks of the obedience of faith (Rom. 1:5) and of faith working through love (Gal. 5:6). Paul understands that dead faith is no faith at all (1 Cor. 6:9–11; Gal. 5:16–26). James is talking about the kind of “belief ” that even demons have (James 2:19). Neither Paul nor James believes that such empty, untrusting belief constitutes justifying faith.

In the end, there is no conflict between Paul and James. It is right to say we are justified by faith alone apart from works of the law, provided we understand, as James reminds us, that the faith that justifies will always work itself out in love.

Notes:

Peter Kreeft, Catholic Christianity: A Complete Catechism of Christian Beliefs based on the Catechism of the Catholic Church (Ignatius Press, 2001), 26. Kreeft, Catholic Christianity, 130. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, 2 vols. Translated by Ford Lewis Battles. Edited by John T. McNeil (Westminster Press, 1960), 2.14.1. Francis Turretin, Institutes of Elenctic Theology, 3 vols. Translated by George Musgrave Giger. Edited by James T. Dennison Jr. (P&R, 1997), 2.327.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

10 Theories of the Atonement

Thu, 14 Nov 2024 10:00:00 GMT

Theories over Centuries

Over the centuries, theologians have articulated several different theories or models of the atonement. Most of the models get something right, though some are much closer to the mark than others. We will look at ten models, concluding with penal substitution, which is at the heart of the atonement and the “theory” that holds all the biblical insights of the other theories together.

1. Recapitulation theory (Irenaeus).

According to this model, Christ lived out all the stages of human life in such a way that his life of obedience compensated for Adam’s life of disobedience. Christ obeyed the Father, reversing the curse in Adam and setting us free from the tyranny of the devil. This understanding of the atonement is right in what it affirms, though there is nothing about the satisfaction of divine wrath and little about Christ bearing the penalty of sin.

2. Ransom to Satan (Origen).

In this popular and well attested model, Christ’s death is seen as a ransom to purchase man’s freedom. The atonement is directed toward Satan, who was duped—like a fish is fooled by bait on a hook—into thinking the cross was his triumph when it was his defeat (think of the sacrifice of Aslan made to the White Witch in Narnia). The contemporary version is usually referred to as Christus Victor, meaning Christ is the one who vanquished the powers of hell. While this is certainly one important aspect of the atonement, the theory gives too much power to Satan in making him the object of the payment.

3. Commercial theory (Anselm).

Anselm’s theology of the atonement represented a major step forward in biblical reflection. In Anselm’s thought, Christ’s death brought infinite honor to God. In turn, God gave Christ a reward, which (needing no reward himself) he passed on to man in the form of forgiveness and eternal life. Importantly, Anselm understood that the atonement was directed toward God and that man’s main problem was dishonoring God. And yet the nature of the transaction is somewhat vague. Christ’s death is offered as a tribute—rooted in God’s honor instead of God’s justice—but it is not clearly a vicarious suffering for the penalty of sin.

4. Moral influence theory (Abelard).

For the medieval theologian Peter Abelard, Christ’s death showed God’s great love, which in turn gave man the impetus to repent and believe. In Abelard’s theory man’s main problem is spiritual neediness, with the atonement directed toward man in order to convince him of God’s love. This makes Christ’s atoning work strictly voluntary rather than a necessity according to the logic of divine justice.

5. Example theory (Socinus).

According to Faustus Socinus, the sixteenth-century anti-Trinitarian heretic opposed by every branch of the church, Christ’s death was an example of obedience and piety that can inspire man to the same virtues. The Socinian view of the atonement is not only Pelagian in its conception; it devalues the deity of Christ and calls into question the necessity of the incarnation itself. If man only needs to be inspired, why did God have to become man, and why a violent death on the cross? Socinianism fails where all man-directed atonement theories fail: it underestimates the plight of sinners, overestimates the power of human ability, and does nothing to account for the holiness and justice of God.

6. Governmental theory (Grotius).

In this understanding of the atonement, often associated with the seventeenth-century political theorist Hugo Grotius, the cross demonstrates that the law must be upheld and sin must be punished. Christ’s death is not a vicarious sacrifice but a way for God to uphold his moral governance of the universe. Grotius so emphasized God’s rectoral justice (maintaining moral rectitude) to the exclusion of God’s retributive justice (inflicting penalties on those who fail to live by this moral rectitude) that it is hard to know upon what basis Christ specifically (as opposed to someone else) had to die.

7. Mystical theory (Schleiermacher).

Like the moral influence theory, the atonement, in this model, is meant to effect a change in man. Unlike the moral theory, which is merely ethical in inspiration, the mystical theory argues that a change was wrought in man deep in his subconsciousness. Like the liberal theology he inspired, Friedrich Schleiermacher’s theory had no real place for man’s inherent guilt and depravity.

8. Vicarious repentance (Campbell).

According to the nineteenth-century Scottish theologian John McLeod Campbell, the atonement represented Christ’s identification with us. Christ lived a life of self-sacrifice, identified with us by suffering on the cross, and repented on our behalf, thereby leading God to be merciful to sinners. The problem with Campbell’s theology is that it makes mercy a necessary attribute of God and justice an arbitrary one. And yet justice that can be set aside (rather than satisfied) is not really justice, and mercy that must be administered is not really mercy.

9. Elect and effective (Barth).

According to Karl Barth, since Christ assumed human nature, his death must have been intended for all those with that nature. Similarly, because God decreed to make himself known to the world in Christ, the atonement must be effective in all people. Barth and his followers are notoriously difficult to pin down when it comes to the universalist implications of their views, but it is hard to see how the incarnation and the atonement don’t effectively save everyone upon a Barthian understanding.

10. Penal substitution (Protestant Reformers).

This view was emphasized by Calvin and Luther, but traces can also be found in Justin Martyr and Tertullian. It continues to be the dominant understanding among confessional Reformed Christians and among other evangelicals. On this view, Christ’s death was a substitutionary sacrifice meant to satisfy the demands of God’s justice. Man’s main problem is depravity, and thus the atonement is directed toward God as a payment for the law’s prescriptive and penal demands. This understanding of the atonement does not eliminate every aspect of the other views, but it most fully explains the biblical data for the meaning of the cross. The atonement may be more than a substitutionary sacrifice, but it is not less. None of the other theories make sense if Christ did not die in our place to assuage the wrath of God. As John Stott puts it, “Substitution is not a ‘theory of the atonement.’ Nor is it even an additional image to take its place as an option alongside the others. It is rather the essence of each image and the heart of the atonement itself.”1 In penal substitutionary atonement we find hope for sinners, the heart of the gospel, and the good news without which all other news regarding the cross is null and void.

Notes:

Stott, John. The Cross of Christ. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2006, 199.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

Is Double Predestination Fair?

Sun, 03 Nov 2024 19:08:47 GMT

Election and Reprobation

The terms election and predestination are often used interchangeably, both referring to God’s gracious decree whereby he chooses some for eternal life. In Romans 8:30 Paul speaks of those whom God has predestined, called, justified, and (in the end) glorified. In Romans 8:33 Paul references the “elect,” apparently a synonym for the predestined ones described a few verses earlier.

A sharp distinction between the two words is not warranted from Scripture, but if there is a distinction to be made, predestination is the general term for God’s sovereign ordaining, while election is the specific term for God choosing us in Christ before the foundation of the world. For some theologians, election is the divine ordination to the appointed end of salvation, while predestination is the divine ordination regarding the means of salvation. Calvin defined predestination as “God’s eternal decree, by which he compacted with himself what he willed to become of each man. . . . Therefore, as any man has been created to one or the other of these ends, we speak of him as predestined to life or to death.”1 For Calvin, predestination encompasses the entire eternal decree. Election and reprobation, then, represent two different aspects of that decree. The Canons of Dort make this same distinction, expounding on “election and reprobation” as the two elements of “divine predestination” (Art. 1).

This delineation is not without merit. The “elect” is always a positive designation in Scripture (e.g., Matt. 24:31; Titus 1:1), suggesting that election implies eternal life (though Romans 9:11 may be an exception to this rule). Predestination, on the other hand, can be used more broadly. Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and people of Israel, did to Jesus what God’s “plan had predestined to take place” (Acts 4:27–28). Of course, the doctrine of election does not depend upon the word itself. Numerous passages speak of believers being chosen in Christ (Eph. 1:4), chosen by God (2 Thess. 2:13), or prepared as a gift from the Father to the Son (John 6:37).

The opposite of election is reprobation, sometimes called double predestination. This is the belief that God not only predetermines those who will be saved but also predetermines those who will not be saved. Admittedly, this is a hard doctrine. Even Calvin called it a dreadful decree. But reprobation is more than a logical corollary to election. According to the Bible, God has vessels of wrath prepared for destruction (Rom. 9:22). The reprobate have been designated for condemnation (Jude 4), and they disobey the word as they were destined to do (1 Pet. 2:8).

It is important to note that in typical Reformed theology, reprobation has two parts: preterition (the determination to pass by some) and condemnation (the determination to punish those who are passed by). This distinction safeguards that God’s decree to punish the reprobate is not arbitrary or without justice. God wills to punish the guilty, not the innocent. While the decrees of God are beyond full human comprehension (Deut. 29:29), we must not shy away from testifying to the God who works “according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace” (Eph. 1:5–6).

Is Predestination Fair?

The doctrine of double predestination is not easy. Romans 9 tells us that before Jacob and Esau were born or had done anything good or bad, God had already determined to “love” Jacob and to “hate” Esau (Rom. 9:11–13). That is a hard word, prompting questions about God’s fairness and man’s responsibility. Thankfully, the apostle Paul anticipates both questions.

1) In Romans 9:14, Paul asks the question: “Is there injustice on God’s part?” His answer is a resounding, “By no means!” Notice, Paul does not defend God by appealing to human free will or by suggesting that election is based on God’s foreknowledge of our choice. Instead, Paul argues that God is not unjust in election, because election displays the character of God, and election serves the purposes of God. Paul makes both of these points in the same way, by quoting Scripture and then offering a summary statement of what Scripture teaches.

On the first point, Paul quotes from Exodus 33:19 where God reveals himself to Moses by announcing that he will have mercy on whomever he chooses to have mercy. For God to be God, he must be merciful, and he must be sovereign. The freedom of God to dispense his mercy to whomever he pleases, apart from any constraint outside of his own will, is at the heart of what it means to be God. Thus Paul summarizes: the ultimate reason some people believe and others do not depends on God, not on us (Rom. 9:16).

For God to be God, he must be merciful, and he must be sovereign.

Paul’s second point is the other side of the same coin. God not only has mercy on whom he will have mercy. He also hardens whom he wants to harden. If Romans 9:15–16 demonstrate God’s righteousness in loving Jacob, Romans 9:17–18 demonstrate God’s righteousness in hating Esau. This is why Paul quotes from Exodus 9:16. God raised Pharaoh up for the explicit purpose of hardening Pharaoh’s heart and thereby having occasion to show his (i.e., God’s) power.

2) In Romans 9:19, Paul anticipates a second objection: If salvation is up to God, why does he still find fault with us? Paul doesn’t back down from this objection, and he doesn’t deny that we are responsible for our choices and for our sins. Paul’s response is to question whether the question is even appropriate. To this end, Paul makes three points: We have no right to question God (Rom. 9:20); God has every right to do what he pleases (Rom. 9:21); predestination serves a divine purpose (Rom. 9:22–23).

Election and reprobation are not arbitrary exercises of divine power. They serve a good purpose in revealing the holiness of God, the power of God, and the glory of God. We would be unable to see and experience the full glory of God’s mercy apart from the backdrop of powerful wrath. It may seem as if Paul has not really answered the original questions he raised, but he has. His “answer” is to put God in his place and to put us in our place. Paul measures God by the only two things against which God can be measured: against Scripture and against himself. Paul defends the righteousness of God by helping us see what righteousness is all about. Righteousness is not about our fallible opinions of fairness or what we wish God were like. It’s about God’s character and God’s purposes as they are revealed in the Bible.

Notes:

Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion. 2 vols. Translated by Ford Lewis Battles. Edited by John T. McNeil. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960., 3.21.5.

This article is adapted from Daily Doctrine: A One-Year Guide to Systematic Theology by Kevin DeYoung.

A Call for Endurance and Faith

Tue, 01 Oct 2024 15:51:37 GMT

There is an unholy trinity eager to do its malevolent work in the world, and it wants you to fall for its tricks. The powers of darkness are not creative. They are copycats. The devil has no currency of his own. He only deals in counterfeits. He’s a liar and a deceiver, and he’s very good at what he does.

In Revelation 12 we are introduced to the dragon. In chapter 13 we meet his two accomplices: a beast from the sea (13:1) and a beast from the earth (13:11). The first beast represents the political sphere; the second beast represents the religious sphere. The first beast is a perversion of good government; the second beast, also called the false prophet (Revelation 19:20), is a perversion of true worship. The first beast shows us what a diabolical state looks like; the second beast shows us what a diabolical religion looks like.

The deadliest, most violent, most oppressive work the devil does on the earth always utilizes a perverse government, empowered and supported by a perverse religion.

The purpose of this article is not to suggest that American society has become this awful (though sometimes it feels close). I do not intend to give you advice on how to think about voting or whom to vote for (though both are important). No matter which candidate or party wins in November, we must not forget that our ultimate hope and allegiance belong not to the president nor to the Congress but to Jesus Christ, the King of kings and Lord of lords. With that in mind, I want us to think about a strategy—thoroughly Biblical and desperately needed—that we rarely think about.

Revelation 13:10 must have been a hard message for the Christians suffering in Asia Minor: “If anyone is to be taken captive, to captivity he goes; if anyone is to be slain with the sword, with the sword must he be slain.” This is not a graduation speech telling 22-year-olds they can accomplish anything they set their minds to. This is not a cheery address assuring us that the good guys always come out on top. To be sure, the saints will be victorious in the end, but not apart from suffering, and oftentimes not apart from death.

God was less concerned that His people figure out how to change a godless empire, and more concerned that His people not be conformed to the godless empire in which they lived.

So if the world around us loses all vestiges of Christianity and grows increasingly hostile to the Word of God, how then shall we live?

The end of verse 10 gives us an answer: “Here is a call for the endurance and faith of the saints.” Revelation 13:10 is not a political theory. No doubt, Christians who live in a democracy, with thousands of churches and millions of other believers, in a country with a rich Christian history, have more political options than first-century believers did in a thoroughly pagan Roman Empire.

But if verse 10 isn’t everything we need to hear, it is something that we almost never hear. The Spirit of God speaking through the Apostle John didn’t say, “Here is a call for political strategy,” or “Here is a call for cultural transformation” or “Here is a call for building a better Christian civilization.” There may be a time and place for all of those. But the singular call given in this passage is simpler—and perhaps harder: endurance and faith. It seems that God was less concerned that His people figure out how to change a godless empire, and more concerned that His people not be conformed to the godless empire in which they lived.

There are times where we are called to be bold and conquer. In some situations, we need that message, but when that’s the only message we hear, we can become anxious, arrogant, obnoxious Christians. When the whole world seems against you, and the burden feels crushing, and the weight is almost too much to bear, God’s Word to us is simple and clear: “Don’t quit. Don’t give in. Be patient. And do the right thing.”

We hear much about courage in our day, and rightly so. The Bible has nothing good to say about cowards. But the cardinal virtue we call “fortitude” is as much about endurance under attack as it is about an eagerness to rush into battle. Conspicuous bravado in front of our friends is rarely more courageous (or more important) than faithfully putting one foot in front of the other in an unnoticed life of consistency, honesty and integrity. Tell the truth, love your enemies, rejoice always, again I say rejoice—this is the way of endurance and faith.

The world doesn’t know it is worshipping a defeated devil. One by one, the unholy trinity—the dragon, the beast and the false prophet—will be thrown into the lake of fire. No political program can put them there. But Christ will.

“The foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men” (1 Corinthians 1:25). Are you tired? Do you feel defeated? Are you afraid? Discouraged? Weary in well-doing? This calls for patient endurance and faithfulness on the part of the saints. The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice—from Boston to L.A., from New York to Honolulu, from Miami to Fairbanks—let all the distant shores around the world rejoice, for our God reigns.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Redemption Accomplished and Applied

Wed, 30 Oct 2024 09:00:00 GMT

“A Scottish-born pastor and professor, Murray originally wrote this work of soteriology as a series of articles for ordinary church members. You would be hard pressed to find a more succinct and readable theological exploration of the work of Christ and the salvation of sinners.”

Order a copy of Redemption Accomplished and Applied from our friends at Westminster Seminary Press.

You Will Be My Witnesses: Theology for God’s Church Serving in God’s Mission

Tue, 26 Nov 2024 10:00:00 GMT

“By arguing convincingly that ‘bearing witness’ is both the central aspect of the church’s mission and the identity of God’s people, DeVries helps correct a number of mistaken notions about mission and opens up new avenues for embracing our own calling as witnesses. This book is a tremendous resource: careful, clear, confessional, biblical, hopeful, inspiring, and practical. This will be one of the first books—if not the first book—on missions that I recommend to pastors, students, and church members.”

Order a copy of You Will Be My Witnesses from our friends at Westminster Seminary Press.

Holiness in an Age of Worldliness

Mon, 02 Sep 2024 09:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/holiness-in-an-age-of-worldliness/id1700530766?i=1000670374080

You would think that one thing every Christian would agree on is the need for personal and corporate holiness. After all, the Bible tells us repeatedly, “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Leviticus 19:2; 20:7; 1 Peter 1:16). As God’s people, we must strive for that holiness without which no one will see the Lord (Hebrews 12:14).

And yet, many Christians seem scarcely interested in holiness and little concerned by Scripture’s warnings for those who do not pursue holiness. It is easy to get Christians passionate about family matters, or cultural issues, or political concerns. But some Christians have actually argued that part of “knowing what time it is” in our cultural moment is recognizing that virtues like obedience, truth-telling and purity of speech are unnecessary obstacles to defeating our political enemies. More commonly, churches or pastors that lean hard into the Bible’s exhortation to holiness are likely to be called pietistic, legalistic and unloving.

We should not be surprised at these protestations. The world, the flesh and the devil have always hated holiness. How could they not? God is holy, and the unholy trinity (the world, the flesh and the devil) hates God. To be holy is to be like God, which means that a necessary step toward God is to flee the world.

In Revelation 18:1-4, John hears a voice from Heaven calling Christians to come out of Babylon. Here, Babylon does not refer to one literal/historical kingdom. Babylon is a composite picture of many kingdoms—Rome, Tyre, Sodom, Nineveh and Jerusalem. Babylon is manifest today in the corruption, idolatry and immorality in America, in Canada, in the United Kingdom and in every other country.

Babylon is the anti-church. She is the opposite of Christ’s pure, spotless bride. Babylon is corrupt society, fallen culture, decadent civilization. In a word, Babylon is worldliness. Wherever sin looks attractive, impressive and pervasive—and it seems that you cannot live without it—there is Babylon.

So how do we flee Babylon? It doesn’t mean we must leave our urban centers. There is often “Babylon” in the country as much as there is in the city. We come out of Babylon by not taking part in her sins (verse 4). Revelation 17 and 18 are a warning against spiritual adultery and compromise. That’s why Babylon is depicted as a great prostitute. She looks attractive on the outside, but she holds in her hand a golden cup full of abominations and impurities (Revelation 17:4). The spirit of Babylon pulses through our veins when we do whatever it takes to get along in Babylon and get rich in Babylon.

“God is holy, and the unholy trinity (the world, the flesh and the devil) hates God. To be holy is to be like God.”

What might adultery with Babylon look like today?

Making financial profit more important than the people you serve and the principles you claim to believe in. Neglecting your responsibility to tithe to your local church and give generously to missionaries, worthwhile Christian organizations and those in need. Going into so much debt that you are no longer free to serve the Lord as He might call you or give generously as He might lead you. Choosing not to have any children because you think they are too expensive or don’t fit with your dreams and ambitions. (I say this acknowledging many would-be parents struggle through the pain of infertility.) Making ethical compromises as a doctor, pharmacist, lawyer, entrepreneur, advertiser or government employee for fear that you might lose business or your job. Affirming the signs and symbols of the sexual revolution so your friends won’t think negatively of you. Making decisions about your future based solely on what kind of income you can make and not on more important factors like ministry opportunities and proximity to a strong church. Sacrificing time needed for spiritual disciplines, family discipleship and personal ministry in order to make more money and make your possessions look more impressive.

The temptation to do whatever it takes to be prosperous is very strong. It is a kind of magic spell that beautiful Babylon puts over us. It’s like a potion that dulls our spiritual senses so we cannot fathom living any other way.

Babylonian worldliness leads people to trust in their prosperity. It perpetuates the myth of security. It wants us to forget that for all her might, Babylon the great will fall in a single hour (Revelation 18:10). If we don’t want to weep on the day of judgment, then we need to make sure we are not putting our hope in Babylon now.

One of the dangers for Christians in our day—where politics is everything and everything is political—is that we fail to cultivate a vertical gaze and a transcendent hope. We can end up spending our best time and energy on restoring America or saving Western Civilization.

To be sure, there is an appropriate way to be concerned about these things, to even be involved in these things. In my church, for example, we started a monthly prayer time for our country in advance of the upcoming election. But for as much as we care about our earthly home, we’d better have Hebrews 13:14 impressed deep in our souls: “Here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.”

If you want a place with singing, celebration, joy and feasting, then live for the place where you get all those things forever. Christ welcomes you to that eternal home. He goes ahead of you to prepare a place for His disciples. He will take you by the hand and lead you into the promised land.

But you have to leave Babylon to get there.

“Come out of her, my people,” says the Lord, “lest you take part in her sins, lest you share in her plagues” (Revelation 18:4).

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

‘Of the Civil Magistrate’: How Presbyterians Shifted on Church-State Relations

Mon, 22 Jul 2024 09:00:00 GMT

Abstract: In 1788, American Presbyterians meeting in Philadelphia approved a revised version of the Westminster Confession of Faith. The most significant change to the original 1646 version concerned the doctrine of the civil magistrate in chapter 23. In the century and a half following the Westminster Assembly, many Presbyterians grew wary of granting coercive powers to the civil magistrate and were drawn to more robust notions of religious liberty. In revising the Westminster Confession, Presbyterians in America rejected an older, European model of church-state relations whereby the magistrate was obligated to suppress heresies, reform the church, and provide for church establishments. As new debates about the proper relationship between church and state continue to multiply, it’s important to recognize that the two versions of WCF 23:3 represent two different and irreconcilable views of the civil magistrate.

The version of the Westminster Confession of Faith (WCF) used by most Presbyterians in America isn’t identical with the version approved by the Westminster Assembly in 1646. Most of the differences between the historic text and the text used by the Orthodox Presbyterian Church (OPC) and the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) are small—a change related to marrying the relative of a deceased spouse, a softened stance toward swearing oaths, and the removal of a reference to the pope as the antichrist. The most substantial changes—really, the only substantial changes—have to do with the relationship between church and state.

When the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America adopted the Westminster Standards in 1788, they amended the Standards in four places: WCF 20:4, 23:3, 31:3; Westminster Larger Catechism 109. The most significant change is in chapter 23, where the third article was almost completely rewritten, reflecting a new understanding of church and state that allowed for more toleration and gave much less power to the magistrate over the realm of religion.

The purpose of this article is to show what changed in the American revision of WCF 23:3 and why the changes were made. In exploring these changes, it’ll become clear the two versions of WCF 23:3, though overlapping in some areas, are, in significant ways, contradictory. In addition to examining the historical record, this article aims to make a point of contemporary relevance: that there’s more than one Reformed view of the civil magistrate and that those who want to subscribe to the Westminster Confession—either in general spirit or in an official capacity—should think carefully about which version they believe is correct.

A church officer in the OPC or PCA, for example, who subscribes without exception to his denomination’s version (the American version) of WCF 23:3 is implicitly rejecting the view that the civil magistrate has the duty to purify the church, to suppress heresies, and to call ecclesiastical synods. He is, instead, affirming a different view of the civil magistrate that does much more to restrict the magistrate’s power and gives members of the commonwealth much more freedom and liberty in the realm of religion (even to the point of practicing no religion at all).

In short, what the Westminster Assembly confessed in London about the civil magistrate in 1646 is not what American Presbyterians confessed in Philadelphia in 1788. The two versions of the Westminster Confession don’t say the same thing, and they cannot both be right.

1. What Didn’t Change

We can see what changed and what didn’t change by looking at a side-by-side comparison of the two versions of WCF 23:3. What’s bolded is the same in both versions (except moving from singular to plural); everything else was a change from 1646 to 1788.

Historic Text (1646)Chapter XXIIIOf the Civil MagistrateIII. The civil magistrate may not assume to himself the administration of the Word and sacraments, or the power of the keys of the kingdom of heaven: yet he hath authority, and it is his duty, to take order, that unity and peace be preserved in the Church, that the truth of God be kept pure and entire; that all blasphemies and heresies be suppressed; all corruptions and abuses in worship and discipline prevented or reformed; and all the ordinances of God duly settled, administered, and observed. For the better effecting whereof, he hath power to call synods, to be present at them, and to provide that whatsoever is transacted in them be according to the mind of God. American Revision (1788)Chapter 23Of the Civil Magistrate3. Civil magistrates may not assume to themselves the administration of the Word and sacraments; or the power of the keys of the kingdom of heaven; or, in the least, interfere in matters of faith. Yet, as nursing fathers, it is the duty of civil magistrates to protect the church of our common Lord, without giving the preference to any denomination of Christians above the rest, in such a manner that all ecclesiastical persons whatever shall enjoy the full, free, and unquestioned liberty of discharging every part of their sacred functions, without violence or danger. And, as Jesus Christ hath appointed a regular government and discipline in his church, no law of any commonwealth should interfere with, let, or hinder, the due exercise thereof, among the voluntary members of any denomination of Christians, according to their own profession and belief. It is the duty of civil magistrates to protect the person and good name of all their people, in such an effectual manner as that no person be suffered, either upon pretense of religion or of infidelity, to offer any indignity, violence, abuse, or injury to any other person whatsoever: and to take order, that all religious and ecclesiastical assemblies be held without molestation or disturbance.

As we can see, the first sentence of the revised version is unchanged from the historic text up until the word “or.” The Westminster divines and their 18th-century American counterparts agreed that “civil magistrates may not assume to themselves the administration of the Word and sacraments,” and that they mustn’t exercise “the power of the keys” in the courts of the church. The Confession rejected any species of Erastianism—named after the Swiss physician and theologian Thomas Erastus (1524–83)—that insisted on the state’s authority in ecclesiastical affairs. The Westminster divines may have thought the magistrate was afforded a power about religion (circa sacra), but he wasn’t to exercise power in religion (in sacris).

The Scottish commissioner George Gillespie figured prominently in this debate. True, the lore surrounding Gillespie’s role at the Assembly is sometimes more legend than fact. The 19th-century historian William Hetherington has Gillespie single-handedly vanquishing Thomas Goodwin, Philip Nye, Thomas Coleman, and John Lightfoot; toppling John Selden in a single speech; and thoroughly demolishing Erastianism for all time with Aaron’s Rod Blossoming (1646).

At the same time, it’s true that Gillespie, the youngest member of the Assembly, was an intellectual prodigy and one of the most frequent speakers and most effective debaters. In print, Gillespie argued that while the civil and ecclesiastical powers agreed in many respects (e.g., both are from God, both must obey God’s commandments, both ought to be honored, both can issue censures and correction), they differed in “their causes, effects, objects, adjuncts, correlations, executions, and ultimate terminations.” As he wrote several pages later, “The Magistrate himself may not assume the administration of the keys, nor the dispensing of Church-censures; he can but punish the external man with external punishments.” In short, the church was to be the object of the magistrate’s care but not of his operation.

Gillespie’s views on the civil magistrate, if not entirely convincing to every member of the Assembly, represented the kind of two-kingdom thinking that had been dominant in Scotland for three-quarters of a century. In 1578, the General Assembly in Scotland approved a brief manual on church government called the Second Book of Discipline, what has since been called “the first explicit statement of Scottish Presbyterianism.” A central theme throughout the document is that the Kirk (i.e., the Church of Scotland) and the civil magistrate may work toward some of the same ends but “always without confounding the one jurisdiction with the other.”

The magistrate can only deal with external matters; he cannot make laws that demand affections or compel the conscience to believe certain things. Crucially, the Second Book of Discipline also stipulated that the “magistrate neither ought to preach, minister the sacraments, nor execute the censures of the kirk, nor yet prescribe any rule how it should be done.”

Unlike its neighbor to the south, Scotland insisted the head of the church and the head of the state weren’t the same. When Reformed and Presbyterian pastors make a declaration in the name of “Jesus Christ, the only King and Head of his Church,” they’re denying not only the authority of the pope but also the authority of any earthly monarch over the church.

The Westminster Confession stands in the same tradition, believing the civil realm and the ecclesiastical realm are both under God’s authority but with different officers, different responsibilities, and different aims. As Calvin put it, “Whoever knows how to distinguish between body and soul, between this present fleeting life and that future eternal life, will without difficulty know that Christ’s spiritual Kingdom and the civil jurisdiction are things completely distinct.”

2. Civil Magistrate as Guardian and Avenger

Of course, “completely distinct” didn’t mean for Calvin, or for the Second Book of Discipline, or for Gillespie, or for the Westminster divines that the civil magistrate had no role to play in the establishment, defense, and promotion of true religion. On the contrary, they all believed the civil magistrate was responsible for enforcing both tables of the law. These responsibilities didn’t mean the state was ushering in Christ’s kingdom. That was the work of the gospel and the church. But the magistrate did have a responsibility to reform the church, to suppress false teaching, and to ensure the moral law was honored by all.

Until recently, most Reformed Christians, especially in America, would have quickly dismissed the historic text as tragically mistaken and embraced the 1788 revision as obviously correct. In recent years, however, as republican virtue has waned and as the democratic-liberal consensus has broken down, some Christians have wondered anew if the magisterial reformers and the confessional documents from the 16th and 17th centuries may have been right after all.

Stephen Wolfe, for example, has argued for a “Christian prince” in our day to do the following: “If the ministry degrades, he should reform it. He should correct the lazy and erring pastor but not perform the duties of pastor. He should protect the church from heretics and disturbers of ecclesiastical peace, ensuring tranquil spiritual administration.”

Wolfe insists the Christian prince “has the power to call synods in order to resolve doctrinal conflicts and to moderate the proceedings. Following the proceedings, he can confirm or deny their theological judgments; and in confirming them, they become the settled doctrine of the land.” According to Wolfe, the prince may look to pastors for theological advice as a father seeks advice from his son, but the prince “still retains his superiority.”

The Westminster divines thought about the relationship between church and state in the way most Reformed Christians did at the time: the civil magistrate has a duty to keep the church pure, to suppress blasphemies and heresies, to ensure the church’s worship and discipline are properly reformed, to maintain a settled church establishment, to call for church synods, and (like Constantine of old) to provide for them if necessary.

The Belgic Confession (1561), for example, declared that the “government’s task is not limited to caring for and watching over the public domain, but extends to upholding the sacred ministry, with a view to removing and destroying all idolatry and false worship of the Antichrist; to promoting the kingdom of Jesus Christ; and to furthering the preaching of the gospel everywhere; to the end that God may be honored and served by everyone, as he requires in his Word.”

Sixty years later, the Dutch theologians were still staying the same thing. The Synopsis of a Purer Theology—often called the Leiden Synopsis because it originated in 1624 as a series of disputations among faculty members at the University of Leiden—argued the civil magistrate’s duties fell into two broad categories: (1) the magistrate must make sure the civil laws are in agreement with the law of nature and with the recorded moral law; (2) the magistrate should establish and keep pure the worship of God in his region, reform what has become corrupt in the church, and “as far as he is able” go against heterodox teachers and those who block the way of progress of true religion.

While the Synopsis does espouse a basic two-kingdoms philosophy, it also argues for “the greatest possible harmony . . . between the two administrations, i.e., the political and ecclesiastical one.” The civil magistrate is lauded as nothing less than the “guardian and avenger of both tables of the Law.”

Given this broad consensus about magistrate’s role, it’s little wonder that when the Westminster Assembly met on September 10, 1644, to investigate the sins that could be provoking God’s wrath in the current conflict with the king, they listed among the sins of Parliament that it was “not active in suppressing Anabaptists and Antinomians,” it was “not seeking religion in the first place,” and “it was “not suppressing stage plays, taverns, profaneness, and scoffing of ministers.”

It should be clear from even this brief sampling of Reformed opinion that the American revision of 1788 represents a substantial change from the doctrinal assumptions of the 16th century and first half of the 17th century. Those who want to argue for a single Reformed view of church and state don’t have the facts on their side.

The American Presbyterians in 1788 were not saying the same thing the Assembly had said in 1646. It will not do to say(anachronistically) that “both are basically Kuyperian, although they are obviously leaning in different directions.” Gone from WCF 23:3 in the American revision are any references to the civil magistrate’s role in suppressing heresies and blasphemies, in reforming the church, in maintaining a church establishment, and in calling and providing for synods.

In its place, the American revision lists four basic functions for the civil magistrate relative to the church: (1) protect the church so its ministry and assemblies aren’t disturbed, (2) give no preference to any denominations of Christians above the rest, (3) ensure no law infringes on the free exercise and free association of Christians, and (4) protect all people so no one is injured or maligned based on his or her religion or lack of religion.

The civil magistrate in the American revision is still accountable to God (note the language of “our common Lord”), but he’s now a “nursing father” (see Isa. 49:23) who provides parental protection for the church to flourish rather than a “a guardian and avenger of both tables of the Law.” The phrase “nursing father” was a common designation for kings and other magistrates, going back centuries in Protestant political thought. The label could encompass many different functions, but the general idea was that the magistrate would have a supportive role to play relative to true religion.

Here that role is described as protecting the church so she’s free to perform her ministry without hindrance. Crucially, in the American edition of the Standards, “erroneous opinions or practices” are no longer to be “proceeded against” by the civil magistrate’s power (as the original wording of WCF 20:4 put it), and the sins forbidden in the second commandment no longer include “tolerating a false religion” (as the original wording of WLC 109 put it).

Moreover, the establishment principle has been removed in favor of the voluntary principle of church membership. If the burden of the historic text is to assert the authority and duty of the civil magistrate to overthrow idolatry among his people and to reform the church, the burden of the revised text is to assert the civil magistrate has noauthority to punish his people based on religion (or irreligion) and must not “in the least, interfere in matters of faith” (WCF 23:3). These are two different conceptions of what the civil magistrate should (and shouldn’t) do, not simply the same idea leaning in two different directions.

3. Of Toleration, Oaths, and Patronage

The fact that the 1788 version of WCF 23:3 was an almost complete revision of the 1646 text is well known (or should be). What’s less well known, and has been much less explored, is why the Presbyterians gathering in Philadelphia in 1788 considered, without any controversy, the original version so strikingly untenable and the amended version of their beloved Confession such a marked improvement. What happened from 1646 to 1788 that led most American Presbyterians to conclude that a thorough rethinking of the relationship between church and state was necessary?

The first answer we must give is to make clear the rethinking happened long before 1788. The vision of the civil magistrate in the Confession was never successfully implemented in England and only frustratingly implemented in Scotland. Protestant social thought wasn’t static. By the end of the 17th century, leading Protestant moral philosophers and natural law thinkers were already reconsidering the effectiveness of enforced religious uniformity. They also questioned whether the biblical justification for giving the magistrate such far-reaching power in the area of religion was truly warranted, seeing as how most of the biblical rationale came from Israel’s example in the Old Testament.

In 1687, in his work Of the Nature and Qualification of Religion in Reference to Civil Society, Samuel Pufendorf argued the state wasn’t founded for the sake of religion and that religion, as a part of natural human freedom, couldn’t be delegated to the sovereign. According to Pufendorf, the magistrate’s chief duty wasn’t the heavenly ordering of his society but the safety and security of his people. That was the end for which civil government was instituted.

To be sure, Pufendorf didn’t argue for disestablishment, and he didn’t think the sovereign had to tolerate every kind of religious deviation, but he pushed the Protestant world toward toleration and tried to make the case (rooted in hundreds of biblical texts) that the civil magistrate shouldn’t enforce anything more than the basics of natural religion.

Pufendorf was far from the only thinker moving in this direction. In 1689, John Locke argued in his famous Letter Concerning Tolerationthat the magistrate was permitted to tolerate false religion. Locke asked the question, “What if a Church be idolatrous, is that also to be tolerated by the magistrate?” His answer proved influential: “What power can be given to the magistrate for the suppression of an idolatrous Church, which may not in time and place be made use of to the ruin of an orthodox one?”

Both Pufendorf and Locke were writing in response to the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685), which forced French Huguenots to convert to Catholicism, face life in prison, or flee the country. Toleration looked better and more conducive to Christianity’s aims than giving the sovereign final say over the church’s teaching and worship. The move away from the strict enforcement of religious nationalism was promoted most powerfully not by free thinkers and atheists but by committed Protestants. There’s a reason Thomas Aikenhead, the 20-year-old student who died by hanging in 1697, was the last person to be executed for blasphemy in Great Britain. Increasingly, Protestants believed there was a better way for diverse religious populations to coexist.

Colonial Presbyterians had already broken with their Westminster forefathers in the matter of church-state relations by the time of the Adopting Act in 1729. When the ministers of the Synod of Philadelphia adopted the Westminster Confession of Faith and the Larger and Shorter Catechisms to be “the Confession of their faith” on September 19, 1729, they did so

At the first moment that confessional subscription became an official reality in American Presbyterianism, Westminster’s doctrine of the civil magistrate had already been rendered null and void.

Given that colonial Presbyterians were usually Scottish or Scotch-Irish, it shouldn’t be surprising they were instinctively wary of governmental intrusion into the life of the church and nervous about the government’s authority to suppress dissent. In explaining his reasons for dissenting from the established Church in Ireland, William Tennent explained to the Synod of Philadelphia in 1718 that the episcopal system of church government he had left was “wholly anti-scriptural” and that the involvement of “Surrogates and Chancellors in their Courts Ecclesiastic [is] without a foundation in the word of God.” Likewise, in 1722 the Synod declared the affairs of church government, including the “mere circumstantials of church discipline,” belong to the church and its officers.

The reference in the Adopting Act to “the Protestant succession to Throne of Great Britain” deserves careful attention. This curious phrase is almost certainly an allusion to the Abjuration Oath (1715), which had been a major source of heartache and division over the previous decade and a half in Scotland.

In 1707, the Act of Union brought together England and Scotland under the name of Great Britain. Many Presbyterians opposed the union as inconsistent with the principles celebrated in the National Covenant (1638) and the Solemn League and Covenant (1643) and as undermining the Revolution Settlement (1690), which restored Presbyterian government to the Established Church in Scotland.

More concerning than the union of 1707 was the legislation passed by the British Parliament in 1712. Not only did this new legislation reintroduce the practice of patronage, but it also required that all Scottish ministers swear an oath abjuring (i.e., solemnly denouncing) the claim of the Stuarts to the British throne and approving the Hanoverian succession. Around one-third of the Presbyterian ministers refused to take the oath, earning the label “nonjurors” (from the Latin jurare, meaning “to swear”).

The divisions in Scotland were especially strong in the southwest, where separatist groups threatened the Kirk’s unity. Lay members often looked down on jurors, believing their pastors to have compromised with English episcopalian culture and betrayed the ideals set forth in the national Covenants.

The issue for most clergy in the Kirk wasn’t that they were clandestine Jacobites pining for the return of the Old Pretender (the Catholic monarch James Francis Edward Stuart). The new king, George I, came from the Lutheran House of Hanover, so at least he was a Protestant. The problem was that the Abjuration Oath also stipulated the British monarch should be in communication with the Church of England and swear the Coronation Oath in its defense. What’s more, the amended Coronation Oath included a promise to “maintain and preserve inviolably the said settlement of the Church of England and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof.” Many Presbyterians took this language as an affront to Presbyterianism itself.

Robert Wodrow, the Kirk minister and voluminous letter writer, probably spoke for many when he explained his stance toward the Abjuration Oath in a letter dated December 6, 1715:

I came to determine myself so far as to state my sufferings anew, if the Lord order them out upon a refusal of the Abjuration in this new form of it. And in yours you point out what is indeed my real strait, not to evade the penalties which, with much more, I cheerfully leave to Providence; but how to give real and sufficient evidences of loyalty to King George, for want of which my heart does not reproach me, and to distinguish myself from the refusers upon a Jacobite lay, and yet to manage both so as I may not be involved in approbation of what I reckon sinful.

Later, writing in 1720, Wodrow reiterated this position:

That which is most grievous to me, and such as are in my circumstances hereabouts, is that we have no opportunity to distinguish ourselves (since public praying, and acting upon all occasions for his Majesty and the Protestant Succession, are not reckoned much upon) from those who decline the oaths, upon principles we loathe and abhor, in the event of our being called upon to suffer upon what we reckon matter of conscience.

The Abjuration Oath required Presbyterian ministers to profess allegiance to King George and support the Protestant succession to the throne of Great Britain. Most ministers were happy to swear to these things. What many couldn’t abide was any notion, implicit or explicit, that they were in favor of episcopacy and approved of the British monarch never again being a Presbyterian.

The reference in the Adopting Act to the Protestant succession was likely a way for the transplanted Scots to make the same distinctions Wodrow tried to make in Scotland. While colonial Presbyterians were willing to support the Hanoverians and foreswear any loyalty to Catholic monarchs, they felt obliged to make clear they didn’t believe the civil magistrate had any right to impose what amounted to a religious oath.

In their minds, if the original wording of the Westminster Confession could be construed as giving Parliament the authority to make Presbyterians commit themselves to the principles of Anglicanism, then the Confession needed to be changed. They reckoned that the power given to the civil magistrate by the Westminster divines was too great and too dangerous. Perhaps the Westminster divines didn’t rid themselves of Erastianism as fully as they thought?

The other disappointment with Parliament’s legislation of 1712 is that it restored “the Patrons to their ancient rights of presenting Ministers to the churches vacant in that part of Great Britain called Scotland.” In essence, this meant wealthy landowners and noblemen would have a significant say—sometimes the decisive vote over against the congregation—in filling pastoral vacancies. The Assembly debated the issue of patronage but without any clear resolution. The Assembly certainly didn’t condemn the practice as the Scottish commissioners would have liked. In 1649, the Scottish Parliament abolished patronage, only for it to be reintroduced during the Restoration in 1660, then abolished again in 1690, and finally reintroduced for good in 1712.

As problematic as the Abjuration Oath proved in the short term, the reintroduction of patronage inflicted a blow on the Church of Scotland from which it has never recovered. Virtually every schism—from the Seceders in 1733, to the Relief Church in 1761, to the Disruption of 1843—was prompted by dissatisfaction with lay patronage.

The division between the Moderate Party and the Popular Party in the Kirk in the middle part of the 18th century was also a division owing in large part to patronage. Moderates accepted patronage, believing it was part of good order and social cohesion, while the evangelicals in the Popular Party opposed it as grievous intrusion into the church’s affairs and congregations’ rights to choose their own ministers. Patronage’s significance in the American context isn’t that colonial Presbyterians were subject to it but that they all knew of it and wanted it—and every entanglement like it—kept far from them.

4. What Hath Witherspoon Wrought?

John Witherspoon (1723–94) may be most remembered as the president of the College of New Jersey (Princeton) and as one of the Founding Fathers (famously, the only clergyman to sign the Declaration of Independence), but he was also the most important leader in the American Presbyterian church in the second half of the 18th century.

According to Ashbel Green, Witherspoon’s protégé and first biographer, Witherspoon’s influence in the courts of the church was greater than any other member. It’s hard to argue with Green’s assessment.

Witherspoon served on every important committee (and at times, it seems, almost every committee), including the one charged with drafting a Plan of Government and Discipline for the soon-to-be-formed Presbyterian Church in the United States of America. Witherspoon drew up the eight Preliminary Principles that continue to serve several Presbyterian denominations to the present day. He preached the opening sermon at the first General Assembly in 1789, and of the 188 ministers at that assembly, 52 had been personally taught by Witherspoon. Green even records that after Witherspoon joined the American Presbyterians in 1769, the published acts of the Synod came mostly from the Scotsman’s pen.

It’s not insignificant that the architect of the national Presbyterian church in America made his name in his native country as the most formidable opponent of the Moderate Party and of patronage. For as well respected as Witherspoon was among evangelicals in Scotland, he was often a pariah to the power brokers in the Kirk. His traditional Calvinism, his political maneuverings against patronage (usually unsuccessful), and his satirical writings directed against Moderate men and the Edinburgh literati made him the object of frequent derision and attack.

Witherspoon may have loved the Kirk, but he was under no illusion that an established church, even a Presbyterian one, would bring about the civil and ecclesiastical purity the Westminster divines longed for. And patronage was a big part of the problem. Surely, it wasn’t lost on Witherspoon that all his ecclesiastical opponents had either been supported or promoted according to the patronage of the impious and massively influential Duke of Argyll. When Witherspoon landed in America in 1768, he may not have abandoned the establishment principle in his head, but he’d already experienced firsthand the meddling influence and high handedness of the state into the church’s affairs.

In 1776, the New Jersey Provincial Congress, which included John Witherspoon, approved a new state constitution. While the constitution restricted office-holding to Protestants, it vigorously defended religious freedom and opposed religious establishments. Article XVIII of the constitution they approved prohibited church establishments:

That no person shall ever within this colony be deprived of the inestimable privilege of worshipping Almighty God in a manner agreeable to the dictates of his own conscience; nor under any pretence whatsoever compelled to attend any place of worship, contrary to his own faith and judgment; nor shall any person within this colony ever be obliged to pay titles, taxes, or any other rates, for the purpose of building or repairing any church or churches, place or places of worship, or for the maintenance of any ministry or ministry, contrary to what he believes to be right or has deliberately or voluntarily engaged to perform.

Of the 10 men responsible for drafting the New Jersey constitution, seven were Presbyterians, with the leadership falling to the prominent Presbyterian pastor Jacob Green. If the Presbyterians in New Jersey were representative of the whole (and there’s every reason to think they were), then the Westminster-subscribing Presbyterians in America clearly believed in a different relationship between church and state than had been assumed at the Assembly a century earlier.

Witherspoon was no mere proceduralist when it came to church-state relations. Neither he nor his fellow Presbyterians in America conceived of an entirely neutral magistrate who presided over a secular people and considered all religions equally appropriate. The magistrate was to give no preference to any denomination of Christians even as he protected the rights of all persons, religious or irreligious (WCF 23:3).

In his Lectures on Moral Philosophy, modeled after the basic outline established by Protestant moral philosophers like Pufendorf and Francis Hutcheson (1694–1746), Witherspoon gave attention to issues like jurisprudence, civil society, and the “law of nature and nations.” Regarding the duties of the civil magistrate, Witherspoon argued that “we ought in general to guard against persecution on a religion account as much as possible,” that people are more dangerous “when they are oppressed,” and that even “Papists are tolerated in Holland without danger to liberty.”

Witherspoon allowed that the magistrate could enact laws to punish acts of profanity and impiety. He further allowed that there were good reasons some people believed the magistrate ought to make public provision for the worship of God. In the end, Witherspoon said the magistrate was like a parent with a right to instruct but not to constrain.

We should always be careful in leaning too heavily on Witherspoon’s moral philosophy lectures. He didn’t want them published, and the copies we have are from student notes published after his death. They’re class outlines rather than fully formed written treatises. On one subject after another, Witherspoon quickly surveys various views, usually looking for as much common ground as possible and often without offering a definitive opinion himself.

But insofar as we have the basic contours of Witherspoon’s thought from these lectures, we can see he didn’t want a government that was prohibited from being an aid to the church and a friend to Christianity. Along with his fellow Presbyterians, Witherspoon was eager to see the United States built on a Christian foundation and become increasingly Christianized. He presumed that in America, Protestant Christianity would be a kind of public truth and that the government would be generally supportive of religion’s place in society.

At the same time, there’s no doubt Witherspoon’s public words and public actions represent a significant shift in the way many Protestants (at least in America) viewed the civil magistrate’s role. There isn’t a straight line of continuity from the Westminster Assembly to the New England Puritans to the American founders.

When the General Assembly of 1789 presented a fawning address to the president of the United States (an address drafted by a three-person committee with Witherspoon as the head), they didn’t laud George Washington as the reformer of the church or the avenger of both tables of the law. Instead, they “esteem[ed] it a peculiar happiness to behold in [their] chief magistrate, a steady, uniform, avowed friend of the Christian religion; who has commenced his administration in rational and exalted sentiments of piety; and who, in his private conduct adorns the doctrines of the gospel of Christ; and, on the most public and solemn occasions devoutly acknowledges the government of divine Providence.”

The Assembly commended Washington for his character and example but then added that “to the forces of imitation, we [meaning the church] will endeavor to add the wholesome instructions of religion.”

Or consider, as another example, this remarkable section from a “Pastoral Letter”—again, written by Witherspoon—that the Synod of New York and Philadelphia issued in 1775 to the congregations under their care:

If it is undeniable, that universal profligacy makes a nation ripe for divine judgments, and as the natural means of bringing them to ruin, reformation of manners is of the utmost necessity in our present distress. At the same time, as it has been observed by many eminent writers, that the censorial power, which had for its object the manners of the public in the ancient free states, was absolutely necessary to their continuance, we cannot help being of the opinion that the only thing which we have now to supply the place of this is religious discipline of the several sects with respect to their own members; so that the denomination or profession which shall take the most effectual care of the instruction of its members, and maintain its discipline in the fullest vigor, will do the most essential service to the whole body. For the very same reason the greatest service which magistrates or persons in authority can do with respect to the religion or morals of the people, is to defend and secure the rights of conscience in the most equal and impartial terms.

This is a far cry from the opinion of the Westminster divines that the civil magistrate should suppress blasphemy and heresy. The American Presbyterians, instead, believed the task of reforming the people’s character belonged to the church and that the magistrate’s duty, therefore, was to secure the rights of conscience—equally and impartially—so the church can freely exercise its own discipline and discipleship.

Witherspoon’s chief concern—both politically and ecclesiastically—was the threat of tyranny. He believed civil liberty and religious liberty always went hand in hand; lose one and you’ll lose the other. As he said in “The Dominion of Providence over the Passions of Men”—his famous sermon from May 1776 that paved the way for independence—“I do not wish to oppose anybody’s religion, but everybody’s wickedness.”

It was based on this conviction that Witherspoon, two months later, joined with other Presbyterians and evangelical Protestants, along with Latitudinarians, Unitarians, Episcopalians, Congregationalists, Deists, Quakers, and one Catholic, in signing the Declaration of Independence. In so doing, the most influential Presbyterian pastor in America linked arms with a religiously diverse group of patriots to form a new nation, bound together not by an ecclesiastical creed but by a document that was an amalgamation of civic republicanism, Lockean liberalism, and Protestant natural law and moral philosophy.

This was a situation the Westminster divines, let alone the Covenanters, couldn’t have envisioned and wouldn’t have countenanced. But Presbyterians in America saw the relationship between the church and the state in different terms, and they revised the Westminster Confession accordingly.

5. Implications for Today

We live in a time where many voices across the political spectrum are questioning the wisdom of the democratic liberal order we’ve had in much of the West for the past 200 years. As Christians grieve what has been lost of their former cultural influence (and fear what lies ahead), there have been new discussions and new discoveries about what political arrangement can best serve our nation and our world.

Some of these discussions have been more heat than light, but many have been welcome forays into a deeper understanding of political theology. The ongoing theological and historical retrieval has the potential to bear good fruit. But we must allow the past to speak for itself before we recruit it to speak for us. Even if we’re anchored in a specific tradition, we must allow that the tradition, especially if it spans centuries and continents, doesn’t always say the same thing.

An important case in point, as I’ve tried to show, is the way the doctrine of the civil magistrate changed over time. John Coffey’s conclusion is apt: “With the exception of the Reformed Presbyterian Covenanters and some Seceders, eighteenth-century Presbyterians found ways of distancing themselves from the Westminster Assembly’s teaching on the coercive powers of the godly magistrate in matters of religion. . . . In every part of the English-speaking world, Lockean ideas of religious liberty looked increasingly attractive to Presbyterians who feared Anglican hegemony or saw little prospect of becoming the dominant majority.”

As a minister in the PCA, and as one who takes vows to uphold the revised version of the Westminster Confession, I think the changes were for the better. But my aim in this article hasn’t been so much to prove the changes were better as it has been to show the changes are significant and that they represent two different and irreconcilable views of the civil magistrate.

American Presbyterians still assumed Christianity would have a privileged place in their new nation. They preached and prayed and labored for a godly American republic. But they didn’t believe what the Westminster divines believed about the civil magistrate. They rejected an older, European model whereby the magistrate ensured only the right religion (his religion) was practiced in the land. If American Presbyterians in particular want to look to their confessional past for a model of church-state relations, they’ll have to determine if they’re going back to London or back to Philadelphia. They cannot be in both places at the same time.

This article appeared in the August 2024 issue of Themelios.

Clearly Reformed’s Spanish Resources (Recursos en Español de Clearly Reformed)

Mon, 05 Feb 2024 15:24:30 GMT

By God’s grace, Clearly Reformed has touched lives across more than 228 countries. As we continue to create and share valuable content, we are excited to announce our first resources now available in Spanish. Our aim is to continue to expand our Spanish offerings to better serve those seeking a deeper understanding of God and to strengthen their walk with him.

See below for our latest Spanish resources:

The Case Against Christians Attending a Gay Wedding: El Caso Contra la Asistencia de Cristianos a Una Boda Gay Divine Simplicity (video): Simplicidad de Dios Divine Infinity (video): Infinidad Divina Divine Aseity (video): Aseidad Divina

El Caso Contra la Asistencia de Cristianos a Una Boda Gay

Mon, 05 Feb 2024 10:00:00 GMT

El caso en contra de que los cristianos asistan a una boda gay es relativamente sencillo. Podemos exponer el caso en tres premisas y una conclusión.

El Argumento

Premisa 1: El “matrimonio” homosexual no es matrimonio.

Independientemente de lo que un gobierno legisle, la definición bíblica de matrimonio (ver Gén. 2:18-25, Mal. 2:13-15, Mat. 19:4-6; Ef. 5:22-33) implica a un hombre y una mujer. No voy a insistir en este punto, porque asumo que en este post me dirijo a aquellos que están de acuerdo con la Confesión de Fe de Westminster cuando dice: “El matrimonio debe ser entre un hombre y una mujer” (CFW 24.1). El “matrimonio” homosexual no sólo es una ofensa a Dios —al permitir mediante la legislación un tipo de actividad sexual que la Biblia condena (Lev. 18:22; 20:13; Rom. 1:24-27; 1 Cor. 6:9-10; 1 Tim. 1:9-10)—, sino que el “matrimonio” homosexual no existe en realidad.

Premisa 2: Una boda gay celebra y solemniza una mentira.

Ya sea que el servicio se realice en una iglesia o en un salón de recepciones, ya sea que pretenda ser un servicio cristiano o una ceremonia secular de compromiso, una boda gay declara lo que es falso como verdadero y llama bueno a lo malo.

Premisa 3: La asistencia a una boda gay da testimonio público de la supuesta bondad de lo que tiene lugar en ese acto público.

Aquí es donde muchos buenos cristianos no están de acuerdo, incluso si están de acuerdo con las dos primeras premisas, así que permítanme ampliar este punto.

Una boda es categóricamente diferente de una fiesta de cumpleaños, una comida en casa de alguien, o simplemente pasar el rato. No hay ninguna razón legal para celebrar una boda. Más allá de uno o dos testigos, el Estado no exige que la unión de dos personas en matrimonio sea un acto público. La razón del acto público es que los amigos y familiares puedan unirse a la celebración. Antes se pedía a la gente que planteara cualquier objeción que pudiera tener, que “hablaran ahora o callaran para siempre”. Esa parte de la liturgia subraya la naturaleza pública de una boda y el modo en que se suponía que los asistentes prestaban su apoyo y afirmación al matrimonio que estaba a punto de establecerse. Incluso hoy en día, las invitaciones de boda suelen pedir a los invitados que “nos acompañen en la celebración” o “nos honren con su presencia”. Por lo general, la gente asiste a las bodas como un acto de apoyo y celebración de la unión que se está formando.

Conclusión: Por lo tanto, los cristianos no deben asistir a una boda gay.

Los cristianos no pueden de ninguna manera apoyar o celebrar una unión que es una ofensa a Dios y que, de hecho, no es matrimonio en absoluto.

Tres Objeciones Comunes

Una vez expuestos los argumentos básicos en contra de asistir a una boda gay, permítanme abordar tres objeciones comunes al argumento que acabamos de exponer.

Objeción 1: Asistir a una boda no implica estar de acuerdo.

Sin duda, los cristianos pueden asistir a bodas gays sin afirmar el “matrimonio” en sus corazones. Sus intenciones pueden ser amar a la novia o al novio sin celebrar en modo alguno lo que está teniendo lugar. Pero, ¿pueden esas intenciones privadas ser conocidas por otros que ven nuestra asistencia pública? Una boda es un acontecimiento público que implica que cada uno de los asistentes dé testimonio público. La liturgia nupcial tradicional del Libro de Oración Común llama al matrimonio un “estado sagrado” que “Cristo adornó y embelleció con su presencia, y el primer milagro que obró, en Caná de Galilea”. Estar en la boda como invitado honraba a quienes la celebraban y afirmaba lo que allí tenía lugar. Si “Cristo adornó y embelleció con su presencia” las bodas de Caná de Galilea, ¿cómo podemos ofrecer nuestra presencia en una especie de boda que no debe adornarse y no es bella?

Asistir a una boda gay no sucede independientemente de una red más amplia de significado cultural. Si Sadrac, Mesac y Abednego sabían en sus corazones que no estaban adorando la imagen de Nabucodonosor, y si hubieran explicado sus diferencias con Nabucodonosor de antemano, eso no habría hecho que su inclinación ante la estatua fuera más aceptable. El acto público de inclinarse tenía un significado público reconocible; independientemente de sus intenciones privadas o de las conversaciones privadas que pudieran haber tenido.

Por citar otro ejemplo bíblico, pensemos en las instrucciones de Pablo con respecto a los alimentos sacrificados a los ídolos en 1 Corintios 8-10. La exégesis es complicada, y no todos los comentaristas están de acuerdo sobre lo que Pablo prohíbe o permite. Yo creo que Pablo prohíbe comer cualquier carne que se haya utilizado a sabiendas en el culto pagano. Pero como mínimo, sabemos que Pablo se opone a cualquier participación en las prácticas que tienen lugar en los templos paganos. “No quiero que seáis partícipes con los demonios”, dice Pablo (1 Cor. 10:20). Me parece que asistir a una boda gay —con los inevitables cantos, y aplausos, y tirar arroz arroz, y aclamaciones, y abrazos en la línea de recepción— es más parecido a participar en un ritual impío que comer la carne que se utilizó previamente en el ritual.

Del mismo modo, muchos comentaristas piensan que la preocupación de Jesús por comer alimentos sacrificados a ídolos en Apocalipsis 2 tiene que ver con la participación en gremios locales en los que era habitual un acto de piedad ritual hacia la deidad local antes de las comidas y reuniones especiales. Si este (o algo parecido) es el contexto de las amonestaciones a Pérgamo y Tiatira, tenemos otra razón para evitar firmemente participar en un acto público en el que se honra implícitamente al dios de Eros por encima (y en lugar) del Dios de la Biblia.

Objeción 2: Los cristianos deben mostrar compasión y construir puentes con los no creyentes.

Por supuesto, los cristianos quieren extender el amor y mantener la puerta abierta a conversaciones evangélicas, pero seguramente este buen deseo no es por sí mismo un marco moral suficiente para tomar decisiones éticas. Dudo que muchos pastores aconsejaran a los padres asistir a un servicio de compromiso poliamoroso, o a la ceremonia de iniciación de su hijo en el Ku Klux Klan, o a la “fiesta de aborto” de su hija. Pueden parecer ejemplos extremos, pero éstos ayudan a revelar principios morales necesarios. Hay eventos, celebraciones y ceremonias que son tan pecaminosos y ofensivos para Dios (y que deberían ser ofensivos para nosotros) que no pensaríamos dos veces antes de rechazar una invitación, sin importar cuán dolido o enojado resultara un amigo o familiar por nuestra inasistencia. Sospecho que las bodas gays no ofenden a muchos cristianos de la misma manera porque estas ceremonias ya se han normalizado.

Por mucho que simpatice con miembros de la congregación que están desesperados por mantener los lazos relacionales con sus seres queridos, también tengo que ayudarles a reconocer que no pueden estar atados por las amenazas relacionales que estos seres queridos hacen cuando no estamos de acuerdo con sus decisiones pecaminosas. Por supuesto, no queremos alejar a la gente; queremos mantener la puerta abierta a las conversaciones evangélicas. Pero en casi todos los casos con los que trato como pastor, no son los padres cristianos o los amigos cristianos los que están cerrando la puerta o alejando a la gente.

Casi siempre, es la persona que elige un camino no cristiano quien se niega a tener una relación con alguien que no se digna a afirmar sus decisiones idólatras. Si la relación está realmente en juego al asistir a una boda gay, no es porque la abuela cristiana esté eligiendo cortar con su nieto gay al no asistir a la boda, es porque el nieto gay elige cortar con la abuela cristiana que no se unirá a una celebración pública de lo que ella sabe que está mal.

Objeción 3: Los cristianos que rechazan una invitación para asistir a una boda gay son culpables de censura farisaica.

Como cristianos, cantamos y gritamos alegremente que Jesús era amigo de los pecadores. A lo largo de los evangelios, los pecadores acuden en masa a Cristo, incluso cuando muchos de los líderes religiosos refunfuñan contra él. Tenemos razón al condenar el espíritu del hermano mayor que no puede alegrarse por el hijo perdido que ha vuelto a casa. Pero debemos recordar que los tres ejemplos de Lucas 15 tratan de cosas perdidas y personas perdidas que fueron encontradas, de pecadores que se habían arrepentido, del amor de Dios por los pródigos que recobran el juicio, dejan atrás sus pecados y vuelven al Padre.

El hecho es que, aunque Jesús con gusto comía con pecadores, y los pecadores se sentían atraídos hacia él, nunca se unió a ninguna ocasión en la que el pecado se practicara libremente, y mucho menos se celebrara. Llamó a Zaqueo para que comiera con él, pero no asistió a una fiesta de jubilación en honor a Zaqueo después de toda una vida engañando a la gente en el cobro de sus impuestos.

La parábola del hijo pródigo pretende reprender a los escribas y fariseos. Hoy en día, la parábola puede servir como una reprimenda necesaria para todos los que no están dispuestos a aceptar que la gracia de Dios puede perdonar y cambiar a los pecadores arrepentidos —pecadores homosexuales y transexuales incluidos. La parábola también puede servir de advertencia a quienes se apresuran a apartarse del resto de su familia redimida. Pero la parábola no reprende a quienes se niegan a asistir a actos que consienten y celebran el comportamiento pecaminoso. El hermano mayor se equivocó no porque se negara a asistir a las actividades de su hermano perdido, sino porque no quiso alegrarse cuando su hermano perdido había sido encontrado.

Lo Que Está en Juego

La cuestión de asistir a una boda gay es sólo una de las muchas cuestiones difíciles que los cristianos tendrán que afrontar en nuestro nuevo y extraño mundo. La cuestión exige compasión, pero también claridad y valentía. Para los cristianos que están de acuerdo en la pecaminosidad del “matrimonio” homosexual, la cuestión no está al mismo nivel que la Trinidad o la persona de Cristo. Pero tampoco se trata de una mera adiafora. Asistir a una boda gay, o aconsejar a otros cristianos que lo hagan, me plantea serias dudas.

Me preocupa que los cristianos tomen este enfoque como una señal de que el “matrimonio” gay, aunque no es ideal, no es un pecado grave y no es fundamentalmente incoherente con la naturaleza del matrimonio en sí. Cuando no asistimos a una boda incestuosa o a una poliamorosa o a la de un menor, pero sí asistimos a la boda gay, indicamos con nuestros actos que realmente no pensamos que el “matrimonio” gay sea totalmente inaceptable.

Me preocupa que los cristianos adopten un enfoque del razonamiento ético que les permita decir “sí” a peticiones inapropiadas siempre y cuando se opongan en privado y las intenciones de su corazón sean correctas.

Me preocupa que se piense que los cristianos que han perdido su medio de vida por negarse a hacer una tarta o fotos para una boda gay son extremistas por negarse a prestar sus servicios cuando podrían haberse limitado a explicar sus reservas de antemano y aceptar el trabajo en conciencia.

Me preocupa que sea más difícil discipular a un cristiano converso de un “matrimonio” gay si hemos estado aconsejando a los cristianos que pueden asistir a la solemnización de esos “matrimonios”.

Me preocupa que la misma lógica que a menudo se utiliza para defender ir a una boda gay —no queremos ser fariseos, no queremos perder la relación, no queremos que se nos conozca por condenar en lugar de compadecer— pueda utilizarse para defender el propio “matrimonio” gay, o al menos para guardar silencio sobre cuestiones de matrimonio y sexualidad.

Sé que el impulso de asistir a una boda gay, o de permitir que otros lo hagan, nace a menudo de un deseo bueno y sincero de amar a nuestra familia y amigos. Hay pocas cosas más dolorosas que tomar una decisión que sabemos que nuestro hijo o nieto interpretará como un rechazo. Pero sencillamente no podemos bendecir, ni siquiera con nuestra mera presencia, lo que sabemos que es mentira, una mentira que las Escrituras llaman una abominación y que, según 1 Corintios 6, destruirá eternamente las almas de quienes continúen en ella.

Daily Doctrine

Wed, 05 Jun 2024 14:45:42 GMT

In this short video, Kevin explains why Daily Doctrine is such an important book for Christians who want to better understand the Bible.

Daily Doctrine, Kevin’s next book, due out Oct 1, is designed to make systematic theology clear and accessible for the everyday Christian. This devotional walks through the most important theology topics over the course of a year.

To receive a copy of Daily Doctrine and each new release from Kevin DeYoung, become a book club member here.

Religion & Republic Foreword

Tue, 28 May 2024 09:00:00 GMT

Recently I came across this astute observation, made in 1963, from the right-wing populist Willmoore Kendall, writing about the relationship between American Conservatism and religion:

The problem, put briefly, is this: the United States is—has been down to now anyhow—a Christian society governed, or rather self-governed, under a secular Constitution; nothing short of the sea-change I mentioned a moment ago, is likely to deprive Judaeo-Christian religious beliefs of the special status, approximating that of a public truth, that they enjoy within it. But, also, nothing short of such a sea-change is likely, in the foreseeable future, to gain for them a more privileged status than they now enjoy. Attempts to resolve the religious-society- secular-Constitution tension in the United States, in either the one direction or the other, are not only divisive, but contrary to the American tradition itself.1

As much as any observation I’ve come across in the past several years, these three (run-on) sentences explain the confused and combustible situation American Christians find themselves in as we enter the second quarter of the twenty-first century. While the tension began to unravel after World War II, Kendall could still plausibly argue in 1963 that the enduring “problem” of a religious society with a secular Constitution had not been resolved in one direction or the other. Six decades later, Kendall would not, I trust, make the same claims. In most parts of the country, in most elite institutions, and in most public debates, Christianity is no longer “a public truth.” If anything, opposition to Christian beliefs—especially related to ethics and morality—is, in the most powerful quarters of the country anyway, the new public truth.

Part of what makes Kendall’s observation relevant is that he was speaking explicitly about American conservatism. Progressives are happy to cut the religious-society-secular-Constitution tension by reshaping America into a thoroughly secular, if not positively anti-Western and anti-Christian, nation. Conservatives, on the other hand, know that such a reshaping is not only wrong about the American past but is poison for the American future. And yet, because so much of our culture, our laws, and our society’s general assumptions about meaning and morality have become anti-Christian, there is an understandable impulse among many conservatives that they only solution is to break the tension hard in the other direction. For many Christians, the answer to Ross Douthat’s question “How should contemporary Christians react to the decline of their churches, the secularization of the culture, the final loss of Christendom?” is a loud call to establish a Medieval-style Christendom or to reframe a continent-sized country of 330 million people along the lines of sixteenth-century Geneva.1 Whether these bold visions prove courageous or merely Quixotic remains to be seen. After all, we cannot know the future.

But we can know the past, and throughout our history as a country, America was neither a repristination of Calvinist Geneva, nor a secular novus ordo seclorum. Kendall’s warning explains why we live in such divisive times. From 1789 onward, there existed a sometime contentious but often complementary set of convictions that (1) America would never have a federally established Christian Church and that (2) America was and always had been an obviously Christian country. That is to say, from the end of the eighteenth century until the second half of the twentieth century, and especially in the nineteenth century, America could be fairly described as a nation held together—in law, in culture, and in shared assumptions—by a broadly Christian order that privileged Protestant Christianity while also tolerating religious minorities.

If this reading of history becomes more well-known and more widely accepted in the years ahead, I’m confident that we will have this book to thank. Religion and Republic is a deeply researched work, written with verve and lucidity by Hillsdale professor Miles Smith—an excellent historian, a man of many opinions (!), and, I should also say, a friend. Miles’ argument is straightforward: “What this volume proposes is that the United States Constitution’s disestablishment did not secularize society, nor did it remove institutional Christianity from the civic, state educational, or political spheres.” Elegantly simple. And, I’m convinced, true.

As I write this Foreword, public theology (at least on the internet) is dominated by arguments for and against Christian Nationalism. I agree wholeheartedly with Miles that historians and ministers would do well to set aside the term, whether one wants to wave Christian Nationalism as a banner or employ it as a bogeyman. The fact is that the term is of recent vintage and that no one agrees what it means. Is Christian Nationalism shorthand for theocracy, Catholic integralism, Trumpist Republicans, church establishments, the necessity of a strong-armed Christian prince, the views of the magisterial Reformers, Christian discipleship, Christians laws, Christian influence, or something else? As Miles points out in the book, it is all too easy for one side to label everything they don’t like as Christian Nationalism, and the other side to label everything they do like at Christian Nationalism. Religion and Republic makes a convincing case that Christian Nationalism does not represent the best of the disestablished liberal Protestant tradition as it came to flourish in the American republic.

The importance of Miles’ work is that he demonstrates so fully and so convincingly what disestablishment did and did not mean in the nineteenth century. On the one hand, American republicanism, enamored as it was with liberty, was always allergic to any hint of Erastianism, suspicious of any notion that the government had a right to interfere in church business. America’s version of liberalism was the liberalism of tolerance, of limited government, of civil and religious liberty. The Constitution enshrined the principle (on the federal level) that there could be no establishment of religion—a principle that worked its way through the states over the next forty years. Unlike almost all of Europe, there would be no state church in America.

But disestablished did not mean disentangled. American Christians went along with disestablishment, and often were champions of it, not out of a position of weakness, but of strength. Protestant Christianity did not need a state church to maintain its privileged position in the American civil, political, and social order. Even as the individual states continued down the road of disestablishment, Christian institutions proliferated, Christian beliefs were resolutely defended, and the American people were often warned against ignoring the Christian foundations of their republican experiment in self-government. Disestablishment was not the same as secularism, or even religious pluralism. True, everyone agreed that government should not be sectarian, but this did not mean government ought to be anti-religious, irreligious, or even had to be strictly neutral on religious questions. Virtually no one in America in the nineteenth century conceived of a political and social order devoid of religion. What’s more, the religion they assumed was necessary and ought to be protected and promoted was Protestant Christianity.

Religion and Republic is a history book first and foremost. Unlike some contemporary historians, Miles refrains from using history as a (rather obvious) Trojan horse for political and theological agendas. Miles wants to show us what was, not lay out a plan for what ought to be. And yet, if there is an implicit exhortation in the book, it is to consider again the wisdom of “Christian institutionalism.” In good conservative fashion, Miles reminds us that too often evangelicals have prioritized the individual or the nation-state, without giving much thought to the intermediate institutions that sustain human civilization. Christians can start by taking civil and social institutions seriously, not confusing them with the church or confusing the church’s mission with their mission, but taking them seriously nonetheless.

American Protestants should not be fooled into thinking they can turn back the clock to the consensus that existed in the Early Republic. For better or worse, their world is not our world. But that doesn’t mean we can ignore the way we were, for any political project seeking to renew the future of America must be grounded in the realities of the American tradition. And that means initiating people into a tradition that was something other than Christian Nationalism or anti-Christian secularism or mere libertarian proceduralism. It means teaching our own history as people who once conceived of themselves as both a religious people and as a republic.

The question in quotation marks is the first sentence in Douthat’s piece “A Gentler Christendom” in First Things (June 2022). ↩︎

You can purchase a copy of Religion & Republic from the Davenant Institute.

Embracing God’s Will

Mon, 01 Apr 2024 09:00:00 GMT

The apostle Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians (4:3) is remarkably clear and straightforward: “For this is God’s will, your sanctification.”

If you want to know what God’s will is for your life, there it is in black and white. Live a life pleasing to God (v. 1). Keep away from sexual immorality (v. 3). Let the man of God control his own body in holiness and honor (v. 4). Do not take advantage of a brother or sister (v. 6). You don’t have to wonder about hitting the bullseye of God’s will or walking some spiritual tightrope as you try to intuit special messages from the Lord. We can all know God’s calling. “God has not called us to impurity but to live in holiness” (v. 7).

The will of God is one of the most confusing concepts in the Christian life. Part of this confusion stems from the fact that the Bible talks about God’s will in at least two different ways.

Some passages speak of God’s will as fixed and inviolable. We can call this God’s will of decree. God’s works all things after the counsel of His will (Eph. 1:11). God does what He wants, and no one can block His hand (Dan. 4:35). God will of decree includes what is good (Eph. 2:10), what is wicked (Acts 2:23; 4:28; Gen. 50:20); where we live (Acts 17:26), and how long we live (Job 14:5; Psalm 39:4). Neither sparrows in the sky nor the hairs on our head fall to the ground apart from the will of our heavenly Father (Matt. 10:28-30).

Other passages speak of God’s will as something we can obey or disobey. We can call this God’s will of desire. There aren’t two wills in God, but the Bible does use the same language in two different ways. In 1 John 2:15-17, for example, the will of God is the opposite of the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride in one’s possessions. Likewise, Jesus teaches that “only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven” will enter the kingdom (Matt. 7:21). In passages like these, the will of God refers to the way God wants us to live.

To make matters more complicated, when Christians talk about “finding the will of God” they are usually thinking about a mysterious will of direction. The Bible, however, does not speak of God’s will in this way. Yes, God has a specific plan for each of our lives (Ps. 139:16), but there is no indication that he ordinarily means to reveal this plan to us ahead of time. Instead, He wants us to trust Him. We don’t have to know the future because we belong to the God who not only knows the future but exercises sovereign control over it.

Embracing the will of God is not about discerning—by some nebulous process of inner impressions—where to live, whom to marry, and what job to take. Rather, it is about the far more ordinary, and ultimately more important and more spiritual task, of seeking first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, all the while believing that whatever you truly need will be provided for you (Matt. 6:33).

This article appears in the CSB Men’s Daily Bible.

The Story Tract

Fri, 05 Apr 2024 18:29:24 GMT

An innovative new way to tell the gospel message, this tract illustrates how God’s story of redemption is shown throughout the entire Bible.

View the online version

Full Text

If You Only Read One Page…

The Bible tells the story of God’s steadfast love for his stubborn people. In some ways it’s a sad story, because human beings have made the world such a sad place. But ultimately, it is a happy story. The Christian story is about the good news that God so loved the world he gave his only Son that whoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life (John 3:16). Some people have heard of John 3:16, but fewer people know the rest of the story. It goes something like this…

Creation: In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The first man and woman enjoyed a perfect relationship with God. Everything in the universe was good.

Curse: But everything fell apart. Adam and Eve rebelled. Because of Adam’s sin, we are all sinners, doing and thinking what is bad for us and displeasing to God.

Christ: So God sent his Son, Jesus Christ ―full of grace and truth, power and perfection, humility and holiness―to make a way for sinners to be reconciled to God.

Cross: Jesus died for our sins on the cross, bearing the punishment we deserved. He rose again on the third day in demonstration of his power over sin and death.

re-Creation: Just as God raised Jesus to new life, so God is making all things new. In the end, God’s people will live forever, free from pain and full of joy in God’s presence.

Commitment: This good news is for those who turn from their sin and trust in Jesus. None of us deserve God’s mercy, but we can get right with God through Jesus Christ.

Creation:

A glorious God creates a good world.

Genesis 1:1, 31a ― In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth . . . And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good.

• There is only one God. He is good and glorious, loving and holy.

• God made us in his image, to worship him, be in relationship with him, and reflect his character.

• God made the world perfect, a paradise where we could enjoy God and his gifts.

Curse:

Human beings rebel against God.

Romans 5:12 ― Therefore, just as sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all sinned…

• Adam, the first man, disobeyed God’s command. He wanted to choose good and evil for himself. He disregarded God’s authority and rejected his love. As a result, Adam and Eve were expelled from paradise.

• The world is cursed because of Adam’s sin. Things aren’t the way they are supposed to be. The world is now full of suffering, pain, and evil.

• We sin everyday in thought, word, and deed by disobeying God’s commands. We worship our jobs, our money, and our comfort more than God. We love people and things more than we love the God who made us.

Christ:

God comes to us in human flesh.

Mark 2:5-7 ― And when Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “My son, your sins are forgiven.” Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, “Why does this man speak like that? He is blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?”

• Jesus is fully human. He had a real body, desires, and emotions.

• Jesus is fully God. He was more than a prophet and moral teacher. He demonstrated his divine status and authority by forgiving sins and exercising power over nature, the Devil, disease, and death.

• Jesus is the Christ, the long-awaited Messiah. He is the Son of God and one with God the Father. Jesus is worthy of our worship, trust, and affection.

Cross:

Jesus dies for our sins and is raised to life again.

1 Corinthians 15:3-4 ― For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures…

• Jesus died on the cross to take upon himself the wrath of God so that we might be reconciled to God. God forgives us, not because of our good works, but because of the sacrifice of his Son on the cross.

• Jesus was a kind of second Adam, fulfilling what the first Adam did not. He obeyed God in place of our disobedience and died the death we deserved as our substitute.

• By his death and resurrection, Jesus demonstrated his Lordship over all things. In coming back to life, Jesus showed that even death itself had been conquered.

re-Creation:

God is making a new people and a new place.

Revelation 21:5 ― And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.”

• God makes us new creations in Christ so that we die to our sinful ways and can learn to love God and our neighbor.

• Through Jesus, God has already begun to exercise his reign right here on earth. Those who follow Jesus are to be agents of change, hope, and renewal.

• At the end of history, God will finish this work of recreation. Those who have not received Christ will be eternally punished for their sins. Those who belong to Christ will live forever in a new paradise where we will be free from suffering and enjoy God forever.

Commitment:

Those who trust in Jesus Christ will be forgiven and made new.

Acts 2:37-38 ― Now when they heard this they were cut to the heart, and said to Peter and the rest of the apostles, “Brothers, what shall we do?” And Peter said to them, “Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

• God’s forgiveness is entirely an act of grace. We cannot earn it. We receive God’s mercy through faith solely because of Christ’s work on our behalf.

• Being a Christian means we renounce our old ways of thinking and living; we trust Christ alone as our Savior, obey him as Lord, and love him as our greatest treasure.

• Following Jesus means living for him, obeying his commands, and believing his promises. God gives us power through the Holy Spirit and teaches us by his Word (the Bible) so we can live in this new way.

So what do you believe about this Story?

Maybe your response is apathy: “I’ve heard this all before― big deal.” Maybe you like the parts about Jesus, but haven’t thought of yourself as a sinner in need of forgiveness.

Perhaps you are confused, wondering how anyone can be saved by grace alone. Or maybe you figure since you’ve been to church before you don’t have to think about your relationship with God. Being a Christian may just seem like a cultural thing you inherit from your family or from growing up in a certain place.

These are honest responses, but they are not Christian responses. Those who believe in the Story of God’s good news will respond with:

Understanding: “I know I am a sinner, separated from God and can do nothing to earn his favor.”

Faith: “I believe Jesus is God’s Son, that he died for my sins and rose again from the dead.”

Repentance: “I am sorry for my sinful thoughts and actions. I turn from them and trust in Jesus alone for forgiveness.”

Purpose: “I want to live for Jesus, be a new person, and learn to love others.”

Hope: “I will live forever with God in the joy of his new creation.”

If you believe the Story summarized in these pages, we encourage you to do the following:

1. Talk to a Christian who can tell you more about Jesus Christ.

2. Start praying to God. It’s okay if you don’t know “how to do it.” Just speak from your heart. God will listen. Ask God to reveal himself to you.

3. Get a copy of the Bible and read it for yourself. We encourage you to start with one of the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John).

4. Join a Christian church where the good news of Jesus’ death and resurrection is believed and the Bible is taught.

You can purchase copies of this tract from our friends at Crossway.

Amaze the Next Generation with God

Mon, 08 Apr 2024 09:00:00 GMT

Give Them God (Not Moralism)

I beg of you, don’t go after the next generation with mere moralism, either on the right (“don’t have sex, do go to church, share your faith, stay off drugs”) or on the left (“recycle, dig a well, feed the homeless, buy a wristband”). The gospel is a message not about what we need to do for God but about what God has done for us. So get them with the good news about who God is and what he has done for us.

Some of us, it seems, are almost scared to tell people about God. Perhaps because we don’t truly know him. Maybe because we prefer living in triviality. Or maybe because we don’t consider knowing God to be very helpful in real life. I have to fight against this unbelief in my own life. If only I would trust God that he is enough to win the hearts and minds of the next generation. It’s his work much more than it is mine or yours. So make him front and center. Don’t confuse platitudes with profundity. Don’t proclaim an unknown god, when we know who God is and what he is like (Acts 17:23). And don’t reduce God to your own level. If ever people were starving for a God the size of God, surely it is now.

Give them a God who is holy, independent, and unlike us—a God who is good, just, full of wrath, and full of mercy. Give them a God who is sovereign, powerful, tender, and true. Give them a God with edges. Give them an undiluted God who makes them feel cherished and safe, and small and uncomfortable too. Give them a God who works all things after the counsel of his will and for the glory of his name. Give them a God whose love is lavish and free. Give them a God worthy of wonder and fear, a God big enough for all our faith, hope, and love.

God as the Center

Do your friends, your church, your family, your children know that God is the center of the universe? Can they see that he is at the center of your life?

Imagine you had a dream of someone sitting on a throne. In your dream a rainbow encircled the throne. Twenty-four men surrounded the throne. Lightning and thunder issued from the throne. Seven lamps stood blazing at the foot of the throne. A sea of glass lay before the throne. Four strange creatures were around the throne, giving thanks to him who sits on the throne. And twenty-four dudes were falling down before the one who sits on the throne. You wouldn’t have to get Joseph out of prison to figure out the point of this dream. The throne is the figurative and literal center of the vision. The meaning of the dream is God.

Give them a God worthy of wonder and fear, a God big enough for all our faith, hope, and love.

This, of course, is no ordinary dream. It is John’s vision from Revelation 4. And it is reality, right now. More substantial and more lasting and more influential than your pain, or fear, or temptation, or opposition, or makeup, or clothes, or video games, or funny clips online, or edgy language, or the latest tech gizmo, or whatever else our culture says should be important to young people, is God. What matters now and for eternity is the unceasing worship of him who sits on the throne.

As you try to reach the next generation for Christ, you can amaze them with your cleverness, your humor, or your looks. Or you can amaze them with God. I need a lot of things in my life. There are schedules and details and a long to-do list. I need food and water and shelter. I need sleep. I need more exercise, and I need to eat better. But this is my greatest need and yours: to know God, love God, delight in God, and make much of God.

We have an incredible opportunity before us. Most people live weightless, ephemeral lives. We can give them substance instead of style. We can show them a big God to help make sense of their shrinking lives. We can point them to transcendence instead of triviality. We can reach them with something more lasting and more powerful than gimmicks, gadgets, and games. We can reach them with God.

Imagine that. Reaching the next generation for God by showing them more of God. That’s just crazy enough to work.

This article is adapted from The (Not-So-Secret) Secret to Reaching the Next Generation by Kevin DeYoung.

Win the Next Generation with Love

Mon, 01 Apr 2024 09:00:00 GMT

Win Them with Love

The evangelical church has spent far too much time trying to figure out cultural engagement and far too little time just trying to love. If we listen to people patiently and give them the gift of our curiosity, we will be plenty engaged. I’m not arguing for purposeful obscurantism. What I’m arguing for is getting people’s attention with a force more powerful than the right lingo and the right movie clips.

We spend all this time trying to imitate Gen-Z culture, and to what end? For starters, there is no universal youth culture. Young people do not all think alike, dress alike, or feel comfortable in the same environments. Moreover, even if we could figure out “what the next generation likes,” by the time we figured it out, they probably wouldn’t like it anymore. I’m now old enough to remember when Gen X was the thing, and then targeting Millennials was the holy grail of ministry. Count on it: when the church discovers cool, it won’t be cool anymore. I’ve seen well-meaning Christians try to introduce new music into the church in an effort to reach the young people, only to find out that the “new” music included “Shine, Jesus, Shine” and “Shout to the Lord.” Few things are worse than a church trying too hard to be fresh and turning out to be cringeworthy and dated. Better to stick with the hymns and the organ than do “new” music that hasn’t aged terribly well or do the new music in an embarrassing way. Singing good new songs well is one thing. But if they’re bad or can’t be done well, don’t force it.

The evangelical church needs to stop preaching the false gospel of cultural identification. Don’t spend all your time trying to figure out how to be just like the next generation. Tell them about Jesus. And love them unashamedly. I think a lot of older Christians are desperate to figure out what young people are into because they are too unsure of themselves to simply love the people they are trying to reach.

Jesus said it best: “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). Jesus did not say, “They will know you are my disciples by how attuned you are to new trends in youth culture.” Or “They will know you are my disciples by the hip atmosphere you create.” Give up on “relevance” and try love. If they see love in you, love for each other, love for the world, and love for them, they will listen. No matter who “they” are.

Talk to people. Notice visitors. Invite new people over for lunch. Strike up a friendly conversation at the greasy pizza joint. Let your teenagers’ friends hang out at your house. Love won’t guarantee the young people will never walk away from the church, but it will make it a lot harder. It won’t guarantee that non-Christians will come to Christ, but it will make the invitation a whole lot more attractive.

Hold Them with Holiness

Let me make this clear one more time. I’m not arguing that thinking about music styles or paying attention to the “feel” of our church or trying to exegete the culture is sinful stuff. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be asking questions related to cultural engagement. What I’m saying is that being experts in the culture matters nothing, and worse than nothing, if we are not first of all experts in love, truth, and holiness.

Look at what God says in 2 Peter 1:5–8:

For this very reason, make every effort to supplement your faith with virtue, and virtue with knowledge, and knowledge with selfcontrol, and self-control with steadfastness, and steadfastness with godliness, and godliness with brotherly affection, and brotherly affection with love. For if these qualities are yours and are increasing, they keep you from being ineffective or unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Did you pick up on the promise in the last verse? If we are growing in faith, virtue, knowledge, selfcontrol, steadfastness, godliness, brotherly affection, and love, we will not be ineffective ministers for Christ. If ever there was a secret to effective ministry, these verses give it to us. Grow in God and you’ll make a difference in people’s lives. If nothing of spiritual significance is happening in your church, your Bible study, your small group, or your family, it may be because nothing spiritually significant is happening in your life.

I love the line often attributed to Robert Murray M’Cheyne: “My people’s greatest need is my personal holiness.”1 I’ve given that advice to others dozens of times, and I’ve repeated it to myself a hundred times. Almost my whole philosophy of ministry is summed up in M’Cheyne’s words. My congregation needs me to be humble before they need me to be smart. They need me to be honest more than they need me to be a dynamic leader. They need me to be teachable more than they need me to teach at conferences. If your walk matches your talk, if your faith costs you something, if being a Christian is more than a cultural garb, they will listen to you.

If they see love in you, love for each other, love for the world, and love for them, they will listen. No matter who “they” are.

Paul told young Timothy to keep a close watch on his life and his doctrine (1 Tim. 4:16). “Persist in this,” he said, “for by so doing you will save both yourself and your hearers.” Far too much ministry today is undertaken without any concern for holiness. We’ve found that changing the way we do church is easier than changing the way we are. We’ve found that we are not sufficiently unlike anyone else to garner notice, so we’ve attempted to become just like everyone else instead. Today’s young people do not want a cultural Christianity that fits in like a Baptist church in Texas. They want a conspicuous Christianity that changes lives and transforms communities. Maybe we would make more progress in reaching the next generation if we were making more progress in holiness (1 Tim. 4:15).

Remember, the next generation is not just out there. They are also in here, sitting in our churches week after week. We often hear about how dangerous college can be for Christian teens, how many of them check out of church once they reach the university. But studies have shown that most of the students who check out do so in high school, not in college. It’s not liberal professors that are driving our kids away. It’s their hard hearts and our stale, compromised witness that open the door for them to leave. One of our problems is that we have not done a good job of modeling Christian faith in the home and connecting our youth with other mature Christian adults in the church.

One youth leader has commented that how often our young people “attended youth events (including Sunday school and discipleship groups) was not a good predictor of which teens would and which would not grow toward Christian adulthood.” Instead,

almost without exception, those young people who are growing in their faith as adults were teenagers who fit into one of two categories: either (1) they came from families where Christian growth was modeled in at least one of their parents, or (2) they had developed such significant connections with adults within the church that it had become an extended family for them.2 Likewise, sociologist Christian Smith argues that though most teenagers and parents don’t realize it,

a lot of research in the sociology of religion suggests that the most important social influence in shaping young people’s religious lives is the religious life modeled and taught to them by their parents.3

The take-home from all this is pretty straightforward. The one indispensable requirement for producing godly, mature Christians is godly, mature Christians. Granted, good parents still have wayward children, and faithful mentors don’t always get through to their pupils. Personal holiness is not the key that regenerates the heart. The Spirit blows where he will. But make no mistake, the promise of 2 Peter 1 is as true as ever. If we are holy, we will be fruitful. Personal connections with growing Christians are what the next generation needs more than ever.

Notes:

Iain H. Murray quotes M’Cheyne along this line: “ ‘Above all things, cultivate your own spirit,’ he wrote to a fellow-minister. ‘Your own soul is your first and greatest care. Seek advance of personal holiness. It is not great talents God blesses so much as great likeness to Jesus.’ ” Murray, “Robert Murray M’Cheyne: Minister of St. Peter’s, Dundee, 1836– 1843,” Banner of Truth, December 1955, Banner of Truth (website), November 12, 2001, https://banneroftruth.org/us/resources/articles/2001/robert -murray-mcheyne/. Mark DeVries, Family-Based Youth Ministry: Reaching the Been-There, Done-That Generation (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1994), 63. Christian Smith, with Melissa Lundquist Denton, Soul Searching: The Religious and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 56.

This article is adapted from The (Not-So-Secret) Secret to Reaching the Next Generation by Kevin DeYoung.

‘Easter Stories’ from ‘The Biggest Story Bible Storybook’

Wed, 27 Mar 2024 09:00:00 GMT

Experience the Story of Easter in a New Way for Children Ages 6–12

The Bible is a BIG book about a GREAT God. From beginning to end, each page tells about the God who created the world, acted in history, and continues to act in the present.

This Easter booklet is a perfect way to teach children about the life-changing story of Jesus’s death and resurrection. Each story from The Biggest Story Bible Storybook—“The King Comes,” “A Meal for the Ages,” “Everyone Leaves Jesus,” “The Snake Crusher Is Crushed for Us,” and “Jesus Lives”—helps children experience the captivating story of the Bible in an easy-to-understand, compelling way. Featuring beautiful, full-color illustrations by award-winning artist Don Clark, this thirty-two-page downloadable booklet is ideal for reading with kids ages 6–12 leading up to Easter Sunday.

Download ‘Easter Stories’ from our friends at Crossway here.

Synopsis of A Purer Theology

Wed, 24 Apr 2024 16:43:49 GMT

This article appears in Volume 8 Issue 2 of the Spring 2024 RTS Journal Reformed Faith & Practice.

Let me state my conclusion up front: Every English-speaking Reformed pastor and studentwould do well to own these two outstanding volumes. That may sound hyperbolic, or evencliché, but it’s true. This is an invaluable resource that can serve as a wise, reliable, profound, and easy to use (which does not mean simple) reference for anyone interested in defining and defending Reformed theology.

A New Edition of an Old Book

This new edition of the Synopsis of a Purer Theology uses the English translation (with minor changes and corrections) from the three-volume academic Brill edition published from 2014 to 2020. Davenant Press has done the church a great service by presenting the same content, but now in a more accessible and more affordable format. The Synopsis, first published in 1625, was composed between 1620 and 1625 by four professors at Leiden University: Antonius Thysius (1565–1640), Johannes Polyander (1568–1646), Andreas Rivetus (1572–1651), and Antonius Walaeus (1573–1639). Based on academic disputations at Leiden, the Synopsis represents a full, yet streamlined, summary of theology as it was understood in the Netherlands following the Synod of Dort (1618–1619).

The Synopsis was meant to be an academic textbook that offered a theological and philosophical exposition of the orthodox (“purer”) Reformed faith. The two volumes are composed of fifty-two disputations which move through the standard theological loci: prolegomena, doctrine of Scripture, God and his attributes, the Holy Trinity, creation, providence, anthropology, the decrees, the person of Christ, the work of Christ, soteriology, Christian worship, ecclesiology, sacraments, the civil magistrate, last things. For the contemporary reader, it is interesting to note which topics, that we might ignore or deal with quickly, are given their own disputation. For example, there is a disputation “Concerning the Good and Bad Angels,” another one on idolatry that deals with physical art and iconography (not with idols of the heart), a long disputation on the Sabbath and the Lord’s Day, a disputation each on almsgiving and fasting, on vows, on purgatory and indulgences, on the calling and duties of ministers, and on church discipline.

The Synopsis is a potent expression of Protestant scholasticism. The prose is not dry or lifeless, but it is often technical and presumes a certain familiarity with theology as an academic discipline. In the chapter on justification, for example, mention is made of the efficient cause for justification, the assisting cause, the internal impelling cause, the initiating external cause, and the material cause. Distinctions like this are not uncommon. The work as a whole is well-organized, with clearly stated topics and with each disputation consisting of dozens of numbered paragraphs. This makes the Synopsis, though dense, surprisingly accessible. One can easily look at, say, Disputation 29 “On the Satisfaction by Jesus Christ” and see what the Leiden professors thought about the atonement.

As a textbook for theological students, the Synopsis often speaks deliberately out of, and with reference to, the church’s long tradition of theological exploration. For example, in a single paragraph in the chapter on the Sabbath, Antonius Thysius (who was responsible for this disputation) references no fewer than thirteen church fathers: Eusebius, Ignatius, Jerome, Justin Martyr, Dionysius bishop of Corinth, Theophilus of Antioch, Melito of Sardis, Irenaeus, Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Tertullian, Cyprian, and Sozomen. Of course, the Bible is far and away the most important source for the Synopsis, but the disputations also refer to historical and literary texts from classical antiquity, cite Medieval authors like Aquinas, Lombard, and Scotus, and engage with Roman Catholic apologists like Robert Bellarmine and Gregory of Valencia.

What Curious Minds May Want to Know

Given the nature of the Synopsis, it would be impractical to provide anything like a proper summary. The Synopsis is a work of systematic theology, so one can fairly surmise what the book is about. But if a summary is not necessary, it might be worthwhile (or at least interesting) to highlight a number of sections where we might be especially curious to know that the Leiden professors think.

On the existence of God: “in Theology we should not ask ‘whether God exists,’ since Theology takes for granted that He does exist.” At the same time, the Synopsis insists that “because of the foolish and devil-surpassing blasphemy of certain atheists . . .we shall demonstrate his existence by two kinds of evidence: nature and reason” (6.3).

On divine simplicity: “that the divine essence is altogether without any composition, whether the composition be from material and integral parts, or from the essential parts of matter and form, from genus and difference, subject and accident, act and potency, and finally, essence and existence” (6.24).

On the Son as autotheos: if we consider the Son in his absolute essence, then the Son of God is rightly called autotheos [God of himself] as Calvin and some of the church fathers call him. Yet, if we consider the same essence as existing in the Son under a distinct mode of subsistence, “then He is God of God, light of light, as defined in the Nicene Creed” (8.18).

On the filioque clause: the Synopsis defends the Western acceptance of the clause, but also tries to find middle ground with the East, by affirming, as a way to “settle” the controversy, that “the Father spirates the Holy Spirit through the Son, and that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father through the Son” (9.19).

On guardian angels: the Synopsis is ambivalent. “It cannot be gathered so clearly from Scripture whether a single angel is assigned to each individual person” (12.52).

On idolatry: the Synopsis rejects the “notorious differentiation between latria and douleia in the sense used by the papal party.” The Leiden professors see Roman Catholic worship as full of idols and idolatrous practices, no matter what they call it. And yet, the Synopsis does not take a hard line against every kind of image. “What we have said about images should not be taken to mean that generally consider every use of images to be unlawful; in our view this applies in an absolute sense only to images of the Trinity.” Later: “we do not even reject outright all forms of worship or honorary decorations” (19.27-28).

On the Sabbath and the Lord’s Day: this disputation is one of the longest and most fascinating in the entire work. Thysius thinks the Fourth Commandment is different than the other nine, in so far as the specific Sabbath command is not reiterated in the New Testament. The general principle of “reverent rest” for the worship of God remains, but the Jewish Sabbath and other commandments involving rituals have been abolished. The Synopsis rejects “the idea of an ‘original Jewish Sabbath,’ and Sabbatarians or Sabbath-keeping Christians” (21.59). Thyisius is adamant that the Lord’s Day should not be overrun under the pretext of Christian liberty, but the Sabbath per se is not a command for Christians. And anyone who has to subscribe to Presbyterian or Reformed doctrinal standards will be interested to hear Leiden’s conclusion that “activities aimed at modest bodily invigoration and relaxation are not prohibited, since they belong to the purposes of the Sabbath-day” (21.36). As for special celebrations in the church calendar like Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost, Thysius believes they can be put to good use so long as they are not thought to be divinely prescribed and are not celebrated with superstition (21.61).

On using set prayers in worship: “It is our contention that so long as they are spoken from the heart with due intent, the formulae are not only lawful but very useful” (36.33). On giving alms to everyone who begs: “But we do not consider among their number [of the poor to whom we must give] those who are fit, or wayfarers and professional beggars, who, having been dulled by their base and idle laziness, practice mendicancy and put the security of their livelihood on us, and by feigning a state of wretchedness, by means of various tricks and craftily thought-up pretenses with which they would around compassion, by going about in public, door-to-door, or showing up at busy crossroads, they ask for a small gift, and in this way unfairly eat up someone else’s bread” (37.18).

On two kinds of “helpers”: while the Synopsis speaks of three offices (ministers, elders, and deacons), its description “two kinds of helpers” gives the outline for teaching elders and ruling elders: “some administer God’s Word as well as the government of the Church, while others administer only the Church’s government” (42.3).

On the mode of baptism: “In the Christian church it always has been deemed a matter of indifference whether we must baptize with a single immersion or with three. And so too for the question whether we must use immersion or sprinkling” (44.19).

On the future ruination of the world: there is no agreement on whether the ruination of the world will involve only a change in the qualities of this world, or whether it will mean the complete destruction of this world (52.56-58). The Synopsis concludes that the whole visible universe will be purified like metals are purified of their dross by fire (52.60).

Conclusion

Hopefully, the selections above demonstrate something of the usefulness, judiciousness, and thoughtfulness of the Synopsis (not to mention how relevant and fascinating are some of the conclusions). To repeat myself: these two volumes deserve to be the shelf of every busy pastor and every serious theological student. While the work should not be read as the final word on every theological question it raises, there is no doubt that the Synopsis will help the careful reader arrive at purer and better understanding of the historic Reformed orthodox.

You can purchase a copy of Synopsis of A Purer Theology from our friends at Reformation Heritage Books.

Antifragile Faith

Thu, 21 Mar 2024 09:00:00 GMT

The following is a review of the book Life in the Negative World: Confronting Challenges in an Anti-Christian Culture by Aaron M. Renn.

On June 2, 1987, the National Enquirer published a photograph of Donna Rice sitting on the lap of Gary Hart. When, earlier that spring, rumors surfaced of an affair between the actress and the Democratic Senator, the backlash had been strong enough to end Hart’s promising campaign for president. The photograph captured Hart wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Monkey Business”—that unfortunate phrase being the name of the yacht on which he and Rice had sailed on an overnight trip from Miami to Bimini. Hart’s political career was over. Later that fall, Gail Sheehy was to publish a long expose of the scandal in Vanity Fair. Sheehy wondered, “How could a man so dangerously flawed come so close to persuading us that he was fit to lead a superpower through the perils of the nuclear age?” Sheehy was dismayed that so many people failed to grasp the real issue. “The key to the downfall of Gary Hart is not adultery,” Sheehy wrote. “It is character. And that is an issue that will not go away.”

To read Sheehy’s article today is to visit a foreign land. Written decades before the #MeToo movement, the article refuses to turn Rice into a victim, focusing instead on “the world of Donna Rice [that] is much darker than it seemed.” (It should be said that Rice later returned to her Christian roots and championed, among other causes, the opening of the Museum of the Bible.) As for Hart, Sheehy paints him as a man torn apart by an unhealthy, almost devilish obsession with sexual escapades. Sheehy takes for granted that a president devoid of basic integrity and self-control is a danger to himself, to the country, and to the world. “If character is destiny,” Sheehy opined, “the character issue predicts not only the destiny of one candidate but the potential destiny of the United States he seeks to lead.”

By contrast, when news broke in 1998 of Bill Clinton’s affair with Monica Lewinsky, much of the country wasn’t convinced that private sex acts had much bearing on whether the president could do his job or not. And in 2016, in the wake of the leaked Access Hollywood tape, most conservatives concluded that Donald Trump’s sexual sins did not disqualify him from holding the highest office in the land.

These three sex scandals are mentioned in the first chapter of Aaron Renn’s new book, Life in the Negative World, and they highlight what he has labeled “the three worlds of evangelicalism”—the transition from a society that retains a positive view of Christianity (1964–1994), to a society that takes a neutral stance toward Christianity (1994–2014), to a society that has an overall negative view of Christianity (2014–present). The different political fallouts for Hart, Clinton, and Trump illustrate well how things have changed.

In the positive world, having an affair or being part of any sex scandal could be a career or campaign killer, even well past the era of the sexual revolution. In the neutral world (Clinton’s time), it would be damaging but probably survivable. In the negative world, violations of traditional Christian moral norms are no big deal unless they involve transgressions of one of the ideological taboos of the new public moral order, such as a feminist stance toward gender relations.

Renn’s argument is not that America used to be Christian or lived faithfully by Christian norms. Critics of Renn’s framework have been quick to point to America’s poor record on race, even when the country was much more “Christian.” But Renn’s “three worlds” thesis isn’t a way to grade the overall Christianity of the country. It’s a framework for understanding how society views the reasonableness of Christian truths, the validity of Christian arguments, and the obligation we all have to live up to a basic standard of Christian virtue. Renn claims that we are living in a negative world, one that is deeply suspicious of Christianity (especially when it comes to issues of sexuality). He makes a persuasive case.

I started following Aaron Renn—listening to his podcast, reading his articles, getting his newsletter—several years ago, a little before his article “The Three Worlds of Evangelicalism” was published in First Things. He’s different from the usual pastors, theologians, and historians I follow. When he veers into theological or church matters, I take his insights with a grain of salt (as people might do when I veer outside of those lanes). But I listen to Renn because he is a serious Reformed Christian layman. With experiences and expertise different from mine, he invariably has opinions and insights I hadn’t considered before.

For example, Renn argues that none of the familiar models of Christian engagement works in the negative world. The “culture war” strategy, as he calls it, specialized in decrying the erosion of our moral character. This strategy is truly effective only if our views are in the majority. In the positive world, it might be possible to raise the standard of Christian virtue and hope that a winning coalition will rally to our side. By contrast, the “seeker sensitivity” strategy argued for maximum personal and ecclesial flexibility so as not to turn off the suburban would-be churchgoer. This strategy often functioned as if aesthetic style and personal relationships were all that stood in the way of non-Christians’ embracing Christianity. Meanwhile, the “cultural engagement” approach sought to alleviate the concerns of educated city-dwellers: a kind of seeker sensitivity for skeptical cosmopolitan elites. Today’s cultural engagers, Renn believes, have morphed into another form of culture warrior, except that their war is not against the world but against other evangelicals. Renn acknowledges that all three approaches have something to teach us (insofar as courage, kindness, and understanding the people we mean to reach are Christian values); but as all-encompassing strategies, they are outdated.

I was also helped by Renn’s observation that Trump and wokeness are two key polarizers at work in re-sorting evangelicals. At least, if you take “Trump” to be less about voting for Trump (which some evangelicals may do while holding their noses) and more about an aggressive, populist, the-old-rules-don’t-work-anymore approach to cultural transformation, then Renn has hit upon an important point. Evangelicalism is being scrambled along those two axes: Are you opposed to wokeness, and are you opposed to Trumpism? It’s relatively straightforward to be opposed to one and for the other (or at least not terribly bothered by the other); the difficult space for Christians and churches is when you are opposed to both.

At the heart of Life in the Negative World is practical advice for individual Christians and for Christian institutions as they seek to be faithful in a changing cultural landscape. Renn groups his advice into three parts: living personally, leading institutionally, and engaging missionally. The outline is easy to follow, and the advice is down to earth and full of good sense.

On the personal side, Renn begins by stressing the need for faithful Christian obedience. Before we do anything else, we must ask whether we are serious about doing what the Bible says, whether we are ready to take up our crosses and follow Christ. Refreshingly, Renn calls Christians to be “antifragile”—a term he borrows from Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s book of the same name. The idea is that in a disordered and volatile world, we need to learn to be more resilient (both financially and emotionally) and less defined by the negative events and negative opinions that come our way. Renn also stresses the importance of pursuing vocational excellence. Though he is sometimes too dour in his assessment of evangelical excellence on this point (I know lots of Christian lawyers, doctors, and businesspeople at the top of their professions), Renn is right to warn against a popularizing streak, as well as a pietistic aversion to ambition, which can hamper evangelicals’ ability to exert leadership in key cultural areas. For example, evangelicals have had almost no intellectual influence in movement conservatism, and conservative inroads in the legal world have been almost all due to Catholics.

Renn’s institutional advice is also useful. As a local church pastor with a foot in the seminary world and some involvement in Christian K–12 education, I appreciated Renn’s call for institutional integrity. Anyone who follows him online knows that he cares about politics and about involvement in cultural matters, which makes his warning against mission drift and the dangers of linking everything to politics all the more striking. Renn urges Christians to pursue community strength (developing a counter-catechetical strategy as cultural minorities) and to pursue personal ownership. They should develop their own digital platforms and run their own privately held, medium-sized businesses, which employ people in good jobs, engender goodwill in the town, and don’t get caught up in the PC causes that can dominate publicly traded companies. These two strategies can help our Christian communities be more decisively Christian and less dependent upon those who may loathe our Christian commitments.

In the final section of the book, Renn turns his attention to the Christian’s outward-facing posture. With admirable Presbyterian order, Renn encourages us to be a light, to be a source of truth, and to be prudentially engaged in society. Of particular note in these closing chapters is Renn’s contention that conservatives need a new way to talk to men and a new way to relate to the Republican Party. With both critiques, Renn doesn’t provide many answers, but he is right to highlight (concerning the former) how traditional complementarian discourse was tailored to second-wave feminism. Regarding the Republicans, he argues that evangelicals have gotten little for their political loyalty except pro-life judges. As he points out, the base of the Republican Party is increasingly made up of non-Christians and post-Christians, and gathers its energy from the dissident right—and from the growing ranks of “barstool conservatives,” who embrace coarse language and a locker room bro culture as much as they oppose left-wing hectoring and nanny-state conformity. This presents a challenge for conservative evangelicals who will never vote for Democrats, but who may find themselves in a party that pays lips service to the Religious Right while becoming more irreligious.

I imagine there will be two main critiques of Life in the Negative World: first, that the book isn’t theological enough; second, that the world isn’t as negative as Renn imagines. Let me say something about each.

First, it is certainly true that this is not a robustly theological book. Renn discusses some Bible passages, but he admits several times that he is not a pastor, a Bible scholar, or a theologian. He stresses that his “Three Worlds” framework is not a theological or scientific model, but more like a tool that a consultant would use to help a client. I, for one, am glad that Renn didn’t try to write a theological treatise or try to baptize his proposals with a thin layer of proof-texting. With a background in the world of think tanks and consulting, Renn writes about what he knows. He is to be commended for staying in his lane. His is not the only book we need on the challenges of our present day, but it is a book we need. I’m glad he didn’t try to write a different one.

Second, it is also true that Renn doesn’t engage in a scholarly or statistical analysis to prove that, say, in 2014 we decisively entered the negative world. Again, his analysis is more impressionistic. Depending on where you live and the vocation you have, the world around you may still seem neutral or even positive toward Christianity. Just the other day I got a political mailer boasting that the candidate “loves her husband, loves her kids, loves Jesus.” Visitors from Great Britain are often amazed by how often and how openly our famous athletes thank God and talk about their Christian faith. There are, no doubt, many ways in which American culture is more pervasively Christian than we think. The left, with horror, certainly thinks so.

And yet, I hardly ever talk to anyone, Christian or non-Christian, who doesn’t believe that something has changed and is changing. No Christian today is likely to call our political coalition the Moral Majority. No one thinks that quoting the Bible before your local school board is going to win the day. Christianity is no longer our public truth, certainly not in the way it once was. Christian assumptions are not normative, and those who live out a Christian life and believe Christian truths—especially in the elite corridors of government, education, media, entertainment, and business—are not “normal.” If you want to shock young people, inform them that in 2008 the state of California passed an amendment banning same-sex marriage. That was a different world.

In the end, Renn’s book is full of good advice even for those who think the world is less anti-Christian than he does. It is one of the great strengths of the work that Renn doesn’t try to convince the reader that the sky is falling or that all the old rules should be broken now that the barbarians are at the gates. Renn clearly thinks that our society has changed, and that Christians should expect new opposition and new challenges. He is concerned, but he is neither pessimistic nor alarmist. One might even say he is hopeful—cautiously optimistic that because authentic Christianity has always been countercultural, today’s Christians can learn to be salt and light in the dark and decaying corners of post-Christian America. Far from being shrill or stirring up anxiety, Renn’s book helpfully lays out a positive vision for the negative world.

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Ask Pastor John: 750 Bible Answers to Life’s Most Important Questions

Mon, 11 Mar 2024 09:00:00 GMT

“I don’t know what is more remarkable, that the Ask Pastor John podcast has nearly two thousand episodes and over 230 million listens or that Tony Reinke has distilled all that content in order to give us a guided tour of 220 hours of audio recordings. Have you ever wished you could sit down with John Piper (or any wise, seasoned pastor) and ask him all your practical, nitty-gritty questions about life, ministry, parenting, sex, Bible reading, divorce, abuse, dating, gambling, eating, drinking, movies, demons, depression, poetry, and selfie sticks? Then this is the book for you. Even if you don’t agree with Piper on every jot and tittle of application, you will find that he is always thoughtful, always careful, always pastoral, and always tied to the Bible. Read the book straight through, a little each day, or use these five hundred pages as an encyclopedia on situational ethics and practical theology. Either way, I can’t imagine any Christian who wouldn’t be helped (and fascinated) by the hundreds of topics covered in this amazing resource.”

Order a copy of Ask Pastor John: 750 Bible Answers to Life’s Most Important Questions from our friends at Westminster Seminary Press.

Ist Sex vor der Ehe falsch?

Fri, 16 Feb 2024 09:05:00 GMT

Vor nicht allzu langer Zeit geriet eine amerikanische Politikerin in eine peinliche Situation, als sie bei einem Gebetsfrühstück erwähnte, dass sie spät dran sei, weil ihr Verlobter an diesem Morgen Sex haben wollte. Aus ihrem öffentlichen Eingeständnis ging hervor, dass die Frau und ihr Verlobter zusammenlebten und eine sexuelle Beziehung hatten. Klar war auch, dass die Frau – eine bekennende Christin und Mitglied einer evangelikalen Gemeinde (mit ihrem Pastor im Publikum) – sich nicht bewusst war, etwas Falsches gesagt oder getan zu haben. Sie erwähnte den Grund für ihre Verspätung mit einem Lächeln und versicherte ihrem Verlobten kichernd, dass sie ihn am Abend sehen und seine Wünsche erfüllen würde. Später, nachdem sie für ihre gewagten Äußerungen Kritik hatte einstecken müssen, erklärte die Kongressabgeordnete, dass sie nicht deshalb in die Kirche gehe, weil sie eine Heilige sei, sondern eine Sünderin.

Ich erwähne diese Geschichte nicht, um Aufmerksamkeit auf dieses spezifische Ereignis zu lenken oder mir gerade diese Politikerin vorzunehmen, sondern um die Realität zu veranschaulichen, dass Sex vor der Ehe, selbst für viele Christen, jede Art von Stigma verloren hat. In fast allen Fernsehsendungen und Filmen, in denen es um Dating oder romantische Beziehungen geht, sind sexuelle Aktivitäten zwischen nicht verheirateten Personen völlig normal und allgegenwärtig. Viele Christen mögen sich noch immer aufregen, wenn die Kultur eine LGBTQ-Agenda vorantreibt, aber den meisten dieser Christen wird es nicht einmal mehr auffallen, wenn beliebte Lieder, Shows, Videos oder Filme routinemäßig Sex vor der Ehe zeigen, beschreiben oder voraussetzen. Wenn Weltlichkeit das ist, was Sünde normal und Rechtschaffenheit seltsam aussehen lässt (um David Wells zu paraphrasieren), dann ist die routinemäßige Akzeptanz von Sex vor der Ehe eines der deutlichsten Zeichen von Weltlichkeit in unserer Zeit.

Ist es falsch?

Der Titel dieses Artikels fragt, ob es falsch ist, Sex vor der Ehe zu haben. Lass mich also damit beginnen, anhand der Bibel aufzuzeigen, dass ein solches Verhalten eindeutig Sünde ist. „Unzucht“ ist das (heute selten verwendete) Wort für Sex zwischen zwei Personen, die nicht verheiratet sind. Traditionellerweise bezeichnete „Ehebruch“ in der Regel unerlaubten Sex nach der Heirat, „Unzucht“ hingegen unerlaubten Sex vor der Ehe. Bei vielen Übersetzungen wird in 1. Korinther 6,18 das Wort „Unzucht“ verwendet, aber das griechische Wort dort lautet porneia, das jede Art von unerlaubter sexueller Aktivität – von Ehebruch über Homosexualität und Prostitution bis hin zu Sex vor der Ehe – umfasst.

Die Bibel hält sich nicht lange mit der Sünde der Unzucht auf – und zwar deshalb, weil ein solches Verhalten in den Augen der biblischen Autoren eindeutig und offensichtlich falsch war. Das wird an mehreren Stellen deutlich: Nach 2. Mose 22,16–17 soll der Mann, der mit einer nicht verlobten Jungfrau schläft, sie zu seiner Frau machen, was darauf verweist, dass Geschlechtsverkehr eine verbindliche Handlung ist, die nicht außerhalb des ehelichen Bundes vollzogen werden darf; ebenso setzt 5. Mose 22,13–21 eine Frau, die vor der Ehe Sex hat, mit einer Prostituierten gleich. Die Tora erlaubt keinen Sex vor der Ehe.

„Sex ist das finale und intimste Band einer Beziehung; diese Verbindung sollte ein Paar nicht vor dem Versprechen eingehen, sich für ein ganzes Leben aneinander zu binden.“

Im Neuen Testament werden die gleichen sexuellen Grenzen wie im Alten Testament weitergeführt. Josefs Versuch, die Verlobung mit der schwangeren Maria stillschweigend zu lösen, macht es offensichtlich, dass Josef der Meinung ist, dass Maria etwas Falsches getan hat und sein gesamtes Umfeld dieses Verhalten ebenfalls missbilligen wird (vgl. Mt 1,19). Auch hält es die Bibel für wichtig, uns wissen zu lassen, dass Maria tatsächlich eine Jungfrau war (vgl. Mt 1,20; Lk 1,34). Und ganz klar funktioniert die Logik von 1. Korinther 7 – dass es besser ist zu heiraten, als vor Leidenschaft zu brennen (vgl. 1Kor 7,9) – nur unter der Annahme, dass sexuelle Aktivitäten ausschließlich in die Ehe gehören. Das starke Verlangen nach sexueller Intimität sollte nur innerhalb der Ehe zwischen einem Mann und einer Frau erfüllt werden (vgl. 1Kor 7,36–38). Jeder andere Kontext für sexuelle Intimität ist Sünde. Das bedeutet, dass sexuelle Aktivitäten vor der Ehe – worunter Geschlechtsverkehr und damit auch jede Art von romantischer Aktivität, die die eigenen Geschlechtsteile betrifft, fällt – von Gott verboten sind.

Warum ist es falsch?

Dass Unzucht Sünde ist, macht schon eine bloß flüchtige Bibellektüre klar. Warum Unzucht falsch ist, verlangt ein tiefergehendes Nachdenken. Wie bereits erwähnt, spricht die Bibel nicht viel über Sex vor der Ehe. Wir können die Bedeutung eines Themas in der Bibel (oder die Schwere eines Vergehens) allerdings nicht

automatisch messen, indem wir die Verse zählen, die sich damit befassen. Wenn man die Bibel liest, hat man den Eindruck, dass dem Volk Gottes offensichtlich klar war, dass Unzucht falsch ist, weshalb es dazu auch gar nicht mehr viel zu sagen gab – abgesehen von der Darlegung der Folgen der Sünde und wie man sie vermeiden und vor ihr fliehen sollte. Wenn wir jedoch etwas weiter und tiefer denken, ist es nicht schwer zu verstehen, warum vorehelicher Sex nicht Teil des biblisch erlaubten Sexualverhaltens ist.

Einfach ausgedrückt, ist Unzucht deshalb eine Sünde, weil sie mit dem Wesen der Sexualität, dem Wesen der Ehe und dem Wesen der Familie unvereinbar ist. Die Ehe ist ein Bund zwischen einem Mann und einer Frau (vgl. Mal 2,14), eine Bundesbindung, die durch das Ein-Fleisch-Werden sexueller Intimität besiegelt

wird (vgl. 1Mose 2,24). In seinem Buch Marriage as Covenant (dt. etwa Die Ehe als Bund) legt der Pastor und Bibelwissenschaftler Gordon P. Hugenberger überzeugend dar, dass die Ehe zur Zeit des Alten Testaments in der Regel durch einen feierlichen Schwur (verba solemnia) geschlossen und dann durch das Schwurzeichen des Geschlechtsverkehrs bestätigt wurde. Die beiden Elemente gehörten zusammen, wobei das öffentliche Versprechen der privaten Bestätigung vorausging. Wie Hugenberger es ausdrückt, „waren die ergänzenden verba solemnia wegen des notwendigerweise privaten – wenn auch nicht weniger verbindlichen – Charakters der sexuellen Vereinigung als Schwurzeichen besonders geeignet, da sie einen wesentlichen öffentlichen Beleg der feierlichen Begehung einer Ehe darstellen“ (S. 216). Wenn Paare vor der Ehe Geschlechtsverkehr haben, handelt es sich um eine private Aktivität, deren Zweck es ist, ein öffentliches Versprechen zu vollziehen. Ohne Letzteres ist der erste Akt ein Versuch, die Vorteile des Bundes zu genießen, ohne den Bund formell einzugehen.

Wir sollten die Formulierung „ein Fleisch“ in 1. Mose 2,24 nicht übersehen. Es lässt sich durchaus argumentieren, dass die Formulierung „ein Fleisch“ bedeutet, dass sexuelle Intimität nicht stattfinden sollte, solange ein Paar nicht bereit ist, sich in jedem anderen Bereich der Beziehung zum „Einssein“ zu verpflichten. Sex ist das finale und intimste Band einer Beziehung; diese Verbindung sollte ein Paar nicht vor dem Versprechen eingehen, sich für ein ganzes Leben aneinander zu binden. Das ist eine berechtigte Schlussfolgerung aus der Formulierung „ein Fleisch“.

Dennoch bezieht sich die Formulierung nicht primär auf die Einheit im Sinne einer zwischenmenschlichen Vertrautheit, sondern vielmehr auf die Einheit einer biologischen Funktion. Der Grund, warum gleichgeschlechtliche Partnerschaften keine Ehe darstellen, ist derselbe Grund, warum Paare keine Unzucht begehen, wenn sie nur Händchen halten oder sich umarmen. „Ein Fleisch“ bezieht sich nicht auf alle Arten von Aktivität, die eine Person mit einer anderen körperlich verbindet. Ein Mann und eine Frau werden beim Geschlechtsverkehr „ein Fleisch“, weil ihre individuellen Körper zu einem einzigartigen biologischen Zweck zusammenkommen. Die Ehe ist die Art von Verbindung, die – wenn alles richtig funktioniert und der Zeitpunkt stimmt – Kinder hervorbringt. Das bedeutet nicht, dass aus jedem sexuellen Akt Kinder hervorgehen müssen, aber es bedeutet schon, dass wir uns, wenn wir sexuelle Handlungen vollziehen, für das Geschenk von Kindern öffnen. Die Versprechen, die in der Ehe gegeben werden, sind nicht nur für die Braut und den Bräutigam wichtig. Sie sind wichtig für die Kinder, die sie zu zeugen hoffen, und für die gesamte Gesellschaft, die davon profitiert, wenn in einer Ehe Kinder geboren und von ihren beiden leiblichen Eltern erzogen werden.

„Unzucht ‚funktioniert‘ nur, wenn Sex von den Versprechen, die eine Ehe ausmachen, losgelöst werden kann.“

Sex vor der Ehe untergräbt das alles. Unzucht „funktioniert“ nur, wenn Sex von den Versprechen, die eine Ehe ausmachen, losgelöst werden kann; losgelöst von der öffentlichen Dimension der Ehe und auch losgelöst von den Kindern, die aus einer

Ehe normalerweise hervorgehen und im Kontext der Ehe am besten gedeihen. Die Bibel sagt klar und deutlich, dass vorehelicher Sex falsch ist. Die Bibel lehrt ebenso deutlich, wenn auch eher implizit, dass vorehelicher Sex egoistisch ist und öffentlich die Güter untergräbt, die die Ehe fördern und schützen soll.

Was tun, wenn man die Sünde begangen hat?

Ich möchte nicht versäumen, denen ein Wort der Hoffnung mitzugeben, die bereits wissen, dass vorehelicher Sex falsch ist und sich schrecklich fühlen, weil sie diese Sünde begangen haben. Unzucht ist keine unverzeihliche Sünde, auch verurteilt sie einen Menschen nicht zu einem Leben als Christ zweiter Klasse. Denk an die zweite Chance, die der Prostituierten Gomer im Buch Hosea gegeben wird. Denk an die sexuellen Sünder im Stammbaum Jesu. Denk an die Frauen, die sexuelle Sünderinnen waren und in Jesus Gottes Gnade erfuhren. Vor allem aber denk an das Kreuz, an dem alle unsere Sünden abgewaschen und weißer als Schnee werden können. Lass uns im Licht wandeln, wie Gott im Licht ist (vgl. 1Joh 1,7). Es stimmt: Sex vor der Ehe ist eine Sünde, aber wenn wir unsere Sünden bekennen, ist Gott treu und gerecht, uns die Sünden zu vergeben und uns zu reinigen von aller Ungerechtigkeit (vgl. 1Joh 1,9).

Kevin DeYoung ist Hauptpastor der Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina (USA) und Assistenzprofessor für Systematische Theologie am Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte, USA).

Empowered Witness Foreword

Tue, 06 Feb 2024 10:00:00 GMT

In the summer of 2023, at the General Assembly in Memphis, Tennessee, the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) celebrated its fiftieth anniversary. As a part of the commemoration, commissioners were given a professionally produced replica of a document titled A Message to All Churches of Jesus Christ throughout the World from the General Assembly of the National Presbyterian Church. The document dates from 1973 and was issued at the founding of the PCA (then called the National Presbyterian Church). The Message to All Churches was named and written as a conscious echo of a previous document. In 1861, James Henley Thornwell issued his Address to All Churches of Christ at the founding of the Presbyterian Church in the Confederate States of America (PCCSA). In fact, the PCA deliberately began as a denomination (in Birmingham, Alabama) on December 4, 1973, because the PCCSA had its beginning (in Augusta, Georgia) on December 4, 1861.

These origins continue to be a source of celebration for some and a source of embarrassment for others. The fact is that the PCA saw itself at its founding—and still sees itself today, in some respects—as a continuing church, as the faithful and orthodox branch of the Southern Presbyterian denomination. And make no mistake, the legacy of Southern Presbyterianism is complex. Take Thornwell, for example. Should he be remembered as a gifted educator, preacher, and writer, as the most influential theologian and churchman of his era? Or should he be remembered as a man who defended slavery and helped give birth to the Confederacy? Undoubtedly, he was all the above.

Because of Thornwell’s complicated personal history, Christians in recent decades have been largely dismissive of one of his most strongly held convictions. The first point in Thornwell’s inaugural address from 1861 was to explain and defend the spirituality of the church. For most hearers today—including Bible-believing Presbyterians and other conservative Christians—the spirituality of the church means one thing: a wrongheaded and shameful defense of slavery. And it’s true, Thornwell and other Presbyterians used the doctrine to support the “peculiar institution” in the South. But it would be a mistake to think the doctrine of the spirituality of the church began in antebellum America as a convenient way to avoid taking a hard look at slavery. The explicit doctrine goes back at least to the Second Book of Discipline (1578) in Scotland, and in seed form it goes back further than that. Even in America, Thornwell was far from the only one to defend the spirituality of the church. Charles Hodge, to cite one important example, believed in a version of the spirituality of the church, even as he took issue with how Thornwell applied the doctrine.

When the PCA began in 1973, it announced its continuing allegiance to the spirituality of the church. Here is how the Message to All Churches puts it:

We believe the Church in its visible aspect is still essentially a spiritual organism. As such, its authority, motivation and power come from Christ, the Head, who is seated at the right hand of God. He has given us His rulebook for the Church, namely, the Word of God written. We understand the task of the Church to be primarily declarative and ministerial, not legislative or magisterial. It is our duty to set forth what He has given us in His Word and not to devise our own message or legislate our own laws.1

This is a good summary of the spirituality of the church. The nature of church power is ministerial and declarative. This means all church power—whether exercised by the whole body, pronounced from the pulpit, or bound up in representative officers—must be in service to Christ (ministerial) and involves stating and enforcing the Word of God (declarative). The church does not have the competence, nor the authority, to make pronouncements on every matter that might matter to men and women. The aims of the church are first and foremost spiritual and eternal. Through most of Reformed history, the spirituality of the church has not entailed a silence on all political matters but rather a commitment to the uniqueness of the church’s mission and a principled conviction that the eternal concerns of the church should not be swallowed up by the temporal concerns of the state.

For all these reasons—and many others you will read about in the pages ahead—I am thankful for this book. Alan Strange has marshaled his considerable expertise in this area to write an accessible introduction to the spirituality of the church. Several years ago, I began urging Alan and Crossway to get together and make this book a reality. Now it is finally here; I pray the book finds a wide audience. With admirable skill, Alan shows how the spirituality of the church has been used (and abused) throughout history. But more than that, he also makes a compelling case for employing the doctrine in the church today. Don’t let the size of the volume fool you. Empowered Witness is a learned and important book. While the spirituality of the church will not answer every question pertaining to politics or cultural engagement, it is a historic and biblical doctrine, and we neglect it to our peril.

1 Message to All Churches, PCA Historical Center, December 7, 1973, https://www.pcahistory .org/.

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Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Act Like Men

Thu, 04 Jan 2024 22:13:50 GMT

Editor’s note: The following essay appears in the Fall 2023 issue of Eikon.

In his final instructions of his first epistle to the Corinthians, the Apostle Paul issues a series of five exhortations: “Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love” (1 Cor. 16:13–14). The purpose of this article is to examine the third exhortation — “act like men” — and explore whether that command tells us anything about manhood and masculinity.

Understanding andrizomai

The phrase “act like men” (ESV) translates a single Greek word: andrizesthe, from the word andrizomai. Several English translations render the andrizomai as “be courageous” (CSB, NAB, NIV, NLT, NRSV, RSV) or “be brave” (GNT, NKJV), choosing not to bring out the sense of anēr (Greek: “man”) on which the word is built. By contrast, the ESV and NASB translate andrizomai as “act like men,” while other English translations have “act like a man” (HCSB), “do manfully” (Douay-Rheims), or, most famously, “quit you like men” (Geneva Bible, KJV).

Everyone agrees that Paul uses andrizomai to tell the Corinthians to be brave and courageous. The question is whether the word also implies something about what it means to be a man. Curiously, the second edition of BDAG (the standard Greek lexicon of the New Testament) defines andrizomai as: “conduct oneself in a manly or courageous way” while the third edition defines the word as: “conduct oneself in a courageous way.” Since virtually all the same supporting examples are used in both editions, it seems the editors — perhaps due to changing cultural perceptions — simply chose to eliminate any connection to manliness.

In recent years, suggesting that there is a “manly” aspect to andrizomai has become more suspect. Roy Ciampa and Brian Rosner, for example, warn that “some scholars have taken the etymology of the word as evidence for a high biblical view of the male gender.”[1] The issue, however, is not whether andrizomai suggests “a high biblical view of the male gender” — a view I have not seen any scholar articulate — but whether the word says anything about the possible virtues of masculinity. Even the egalitarian Gordon Fee maintained that andrizomai “means to ‘play the role of a man,’ an idea that is frequent in antiquity as a call to courage in the face of danger.”[2] Surely, Fee is correct. The word Paul chose to use in 1 Corinthians 16:13 was a familiar word (though used only here in the New Testament) that borrowed on ancient notions of manly courage and bravery. As Anthony Thiselton puts it, “The translation of ανδρίζεσθε has probably become unnecessarily sensitive. In lexicographical terms the meaning clearly turns on ‘masculine’ writers stereotypically associated with ανήρ (gen ανδρός).”[3]

Thiselton’s conclusion — that andrizomai is clearly connected to a masculine sense of anēr — would have been uncontroversial until fairly recently. John Calvin gives the gloss “manly fortitude.”[4] Matthew Henry understands the exhortation to mean “Christians should be manly and firm in defending their faith.”[5] In their Commentary on the Whole Bible (one of Spurgeon’s favorite commentaries), Jamieson, Fausset, and Brown maintain that Paul said “watch ye” because the Corinthians were slumbering, “stand” was because they were tottering, and “quit you like men” was because they were effeminate.[6] Chrysostom was probably thinking something similar when he argued that “watch” was a caution against deceivers, “stand” was a caution against those who plot against us, and “quit you like men” was a caution against “those who make parties and endeavor to distract.”[7] For Chrysostom, andrizomai was the manly antidote to the cowardice that comes from being led astray by ephemeral things.

Virtuous Masculinity

So does Paul’s exhortation in 1 Corinthians 16:13 tell us anything about the nature of manhood and masculinity? Two cautions and then two points.

The first caution is that we should not load too much theology onto one ordinary, non-technical Greek word. Paul did not use andrizomai to establish a blueprint for biblical manhood or to indicate his “high biblical view of the male gender.” Paul wanted the church to stand strong, be brave, and to push back against bad ideas and bad behavior.

The second caution is that we should not think that courage is only a virtue to be associated with masculinity. Paul’s letter was addressed to the saints in Corinth (1 Cor. 1:2), and no doubt this included men and women. The history of God’s people is full of examples of courageous women — both in the Bible (e.g, Deborah, Jael, Abigail, Esther) and outside the Bible (e.g. Perpetua and Felicitas). The command andrizesthe applies to both sexes.

With these cautions in place, however, there is still something to learn about masculinity from 1 Corinthians 16:13.

First, it is significant that Paul felt free to borrow from his culture’s expectation that acting like a man meant bravery and strength. Paul’s use of andrizomai in 1 Corinthians is similar to his use of motherly and fatherly language in 1 Thessalonians 2. Of course, these virtues are not exclusive to men and women, which is why Paul can describe himself in these terms. But the virtues are most closely associated with either men or women. In the same way, Paul says “act like men,” not because women should not also be brave, but because there is something particularly unmanly about shrinking back and shirking one’s duty out of fear.

Second, we should not miss the fact that “act like men” is not only a call to manly bravery (instead of effeminacy), it is a call to adult behavior (instead of immaturity). This is an important point, lest we think masculinity entails rash bravado. Paul did not want the Corinthians to be cowardly, but neither did he want them to be childish (1 Cor. 13:11). Manly fortitude is never petulant or peevish. We “act like men” when we show ourselves to be strong, and when that strength is under control (Titus 2:6).

“Be strong, and let your heart take courage” (Ps. 31:24). That is a summons for all God’s people, especially for men. When Latimer told Ridley — they were both soon to be killed — that he should “play the man,” I am sure Ridley knew what he meant. And so do we. He meant: let us be men; let us be brave. For at the heart of virtuous masculinity is boldness for the sake of the truth and courage for the sake of others.

[1] Roy E. Ciampa and Brian S. Rosner, The First Letter to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), 855, fn 45.

[2] Gordon D. Fee, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1987), 828, fn 13.

[3] Antony C. Thiselton, The First Epistle to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eermands, 2000), 1336.

[4] John Calvin, Calvin’s Commentaries, 22 Vols. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1993), 20:76.

[5] Leslie F. Church, ed., Commentary on the Whole Bible by Matthew Henry (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1975), 1827.

[6] Robert Jamieson, A. R. Fausset, and David Brown, Commentary on the Whole Bible (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1961), 1228.

[7] Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, 12:264.

From the Marrow Men to the Moderates: Scottish Theology, 1700-1800

Tue, 14 Nov 2023 10:00:00 GMT

“Anyone interested in the rich and consequential history of the Scottish church will benefit immensely from this well-written, deeply learned, carefully judicious, and engrossing work. It is superb from start to finish. Surely, this series of volumes is destined to become a standard work in the field of Scottish ecclesiastical history and theology.”

Purchase a copy of From the Marrow Men to the Moderates: Scottish Theology, 1700-1800 from our friends at WTS Books.

Generation To Generation

Wed, 22 Nov 2023 10:00:00 GMT

“I did not have the privilege of having Douglas Kelly as one of my seminary professors, but since moving to Charlotte, it has been my privilege to work alongside and minister with many men who count Dr. Kelly as one of their formative influences. They all say the same thing about the excellence of his piety, his learning, his doctrinal fidelity, and his theological insights. As a professor at RTS Charlotte, and as a member of the same Presbytery, I can now count Dr. Kelly as a friend and colleague. I’m happy to say the reports of his giftedness and godliness are true! It has also been a joy to work alongside his delightful and talented wife, Caroline. I warmly commend this volume of essays in honor of Dr. Kelly. The chapters are stimulating, learned, and edifying – a fitting tribute to Dr. Kelly’s legacy inside and outside the classroom.”

Purchase a copy of Generation To Generation from our friends at WTS Books.

Dictionary of the New Testament Use of the Old Testament

Thu, 02 Nov 2023 13:15:31 GMT

“This impressive collection of articles represents years of research, writing, organizing, and editing. Pastors, professors, and careful students of the Bible will benefit from this outstanding reference work. A remarkable achievement.”

Purchase a copy of Dictionary of the New Testament Use of the Old Testament from our friends at WTS Books.

Quiet Time and Evangelism: How Much Is Enough?

Mon, 23 Oct 2023 09:00:00 GMT

The Bible often tells us to pray. It also presumes that God’s people will be familiar with the Scriptures and pass along their truths to their children. Meet any mature, fruitful Christian, and you can be sure He regularly has something like a “quiet time”—a time set aside to talk to God in prayer and hear from God in the Word.

I am not anti–quiet time or anti–daily devotions or anti-family worship. All these disciplines serve God’s people well and have been around for a long time. What does not serve God’s people well is the unstated (and sometimes stated) assumption — put upon us by others or by ourselves — that Christianity is only for super-disciplined neatniks who get up before dawn, redeem every minute of the day, and have very organized sock drawers. Spiritual disciplines are great (and necessary) when the goal is to know God better. Spiritual disciplines are soul-crushing when the aim is to get our metaphysical workout in each day, knowing that we could always exercise more if we were better Christians.

What Does the Bible Say About Quiet Time?

I first began my habit of daily devotions when I was in high school. My motives were somewhat mixed. I was motivated to pray every day that God would bless my running and that I would meet my goal of being all-county JV. I spent a few minutes in prayer each day and read one chapter in the Bible along with a daily reading from a simple devotional book. It took only five to 10 minutes, but it was a massive catalyst in helping me grow as a Christian.

Once in college, my faith grew like a weed — which is the right phrase, because although there was a lot of good going on in my spiritual life, there were also species of pride growing up at the same time. I was especially fastidious about my quiet time. I almost never missed a day, sometimes trudging through snow to get to my school’s prayer chapel, often fighting to stay awake during prayer because I was a college student after all, and I stayed up way too late. Many of my quiet times ended up really quiet! Nevertheless, I read through the Bible several times. I kept a prayer journal. I was, compared to most of my peers, a quiet-time champion. But I also felt terrible if I ever missed a day. I knew intellectually that I wasn’t earning God’s favor, but in my heart it felt like I was only a good Christian once I read my chapters and prayed my prayers. Looking back, I can see that the Lord used my zeal in many good ways. I can also see that there were more obvious biblical commands that I neglected so long as the quiet-time box was checked every morning.

Do the Scriptures command a daily devotional time of prayer and Bible reading? Not exactly, but they presume something like it.

This prompts an important question: Do the Scriptures command a daily devotional time of prayer and Bible reading? Not exactly, but they presume something like it. On the one hand, we must be honest with what we do and do not see in the Bible. Family worship is not one of the Ten Commandments. Jesus did not outline M’Cheyne’s Bible reading plan in the Sermon on the Mount. The vice lists in the New Testament do not mention “delinquent in devotions,” and “crushes his quiet time every morning” is not listed among the fruit of the Spirit. We must be careful not to make the minutes (or hours) we spend in daily devotions the sine qua non of Christian discipleship. Too many of us have learned to measure our discipleship according to this one criterion, and because we can always spend more time in prayer, we never seem to be measuring up.

And yet if that’s all we said about “having a quiet time” — it’s nowhere commanded in Scripture—we would not be telling the whole story. We are often commanded to pray (Matthew 7:7–11; Romans 12:12; 1 Thessalonians 5:17). Jesus assumes that God’s people will often be in private prayer (Matthew 6:6) and that the habit of prayer will be daily (Matthew 6:11). We know that Jesus withdrew to desolate places to pray (Mark 1:35) and that godly men like Daniel prayed three times a day (Daniel 6:10). Likewise, the Psalms commend to us the habit of meditating on God’s word day and night (Psalms 1; 119). We see in Timothy the example of public and private reading of Scripture (1 Timothy 4:13, 15; 2 Timothy 3:15). And, finally, on a number of occasions the Bible exhorts parents, and especially fathers, to instruct their children in the way of the Lord (Genesis 18:19; Deuteronomy 6:5–6; Psalms 78:4; Ephesians 6:4). There is no way to be faithful to these scriptural commands and examples if our lives are devoid of prayer, Bible reading, and time with our families in the Word.

The Bible Tells Us What, But Not How

So are we right back where we started, with a crushing sense that we can never spend enough time in private and family worship? I hope not. Notice that while the Bible says a lot about the what — be devoted to prayer, meditate on God’s law, teach your children — it does not say a lot about the how. Developing personal spiritual disciplines is one way to the what, but there are many others: corporate worship, small-group Bible studies, listening to sermons in the car, listening to the Bible while you walk, listening to Bible teaching while you do the dishes, Christian schools, Christian books, spiritual conversations, prayers before meals, prayers at bedtime, and prayers over the phone.

So, yes, we should cultivate the habit of prayer and Bible reading, but we should not think that God puts impossible standards upon us as frail, finite creatures. When the disciples implored Jesus, “Lord, teach us to pray” (Luke 11:1), Jesus didn’t give them specifics about time, place, position, and duration. He taught them what to say. Praying for the right reasons (not to be seen by others), to the right person (our heavenly Father), with the right petitions (hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done, give, forgive, protect) is far more important than the discipline meant to enable our prayers.

If I’m not mistaken, my wife likes to spend time with me. She likes talking to me and having me talk to her. When I’m overly busy, she won’t hesitate to ask for more of my attention. And even as a selfish husband, I’m usually eager to oblige because I love my wife. I love to spend time with her. Even after more than 20 years, there are still plenty of things to do and talk about. But because our lives are hectic and full, getting time together often requires planning and intentionality. If my wife made me check in every day at a set time, kept track of how many minutes I talked to her, and then rolled her eyes whenever I did anything else besides talk to her, that would make for a miserable marriage. But if I never made an effort to get a babysitter, go on a walk with her, plan a getaway, or simply put down my phone and look her in the eye, our marriage would likely grow stale and distant.

Will there always be more I can do to become a better husband? Of course. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a good husband or that my wife can’t be happy with our marriage. Happy marriages require work. They don’t happen by accident. But they are possible. That’s what our relationship with God is like as well. Following Jesus takes time and effort, but we don’t have to be time-management gurus or monastic ascetics to walk with Him in faithfulness and fruitfulness.

What About Evangelism? How Do I Know if I’m Doing Enough?

If our notion of a “quiet time” is hinted at here and there in the Bible but never explicitly commanded, popular notions of personal evangelism are even less well-attested in Scripture. Again, let me hasten to add that sharing the gospel with non-Christians is necessary work, and most Christians and most churches would do well to grow in courage for this ministry. But for all the emphasis we put on personal evangelism — sometimes treating it as the good work above all other good works—there are few verses we can go to in order to underscore its importance. There are verses directed to pastors and church officers to preach the word (2 Timothy 4:1–2) and do the work of an evangelist (4:5). There are verses about sending preachers out with the gospel so that people might believe and be saved (Romans 10:14–15). There are verses about God’s plan to redeem people from every tribe, language, and nation (Genesis 12:1–3; Matthew 28:19–20; Revelation 5:9–10; 7:9–10). There is an entire book of the Bible (Acts) about the apostolic mission to evangelize the lost, disciple new converts, and plant strong churches (Acts 14:21–23). What we don’t have are a lot of verses commanding individual Christians to share their faith.

God never meant for evangelism to be the single defining characteristic of faithful Christianity.

Of course, just as we saw with “quiet times,” if we stopped here, we would not get the whole story. Peter exhorts us to be ready to make a defense and to give a reason for the hope we have (1 Peter 3:15). Similarly, the armor of God in Ephesians 6 includes shoes that equip us with a “readiness given by the gospel of peace” (v. 15). We see evidence that the Corinthians were to be concerned for the salvation of nonbelievers (1 Corinthians 7:12–16; 14:23–25) and that Titus was to instruct God’s people to adorn with their faith and obedience the doctrine of God our Savior (Titus 2:10). More clearly, we see evangelistic activity at work in the Thessalonian church where the word was at work in the believers (1 Thessalonians 2:13–16), the word was running ahead (2 Thessalonians 3:1), and the word was ringing and sounding forth (1 Thessalonians 1:8).

My Part in the Great Commission

And what about the Great Commission? No doubt this is the lodestar text for most Christians when it comes to our evangelistic obligations. We are all told — right there in black and white — to make disciples. Or are we? The commission in Matthew’s Gospel is given explicitly to the 11 remaining apostles (Matthew 28:16–18). While we are right to understand the commission as being for us in some way (hence the promise to be with them to “the end of the age”), we must also admit that there are specific instructions we don’t all follow. We are not waiting in Jerusalem for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit (Luke 24:49; Acts 1:4), and not many of us will literally bear witness in Jerusalem or Judea or Samaria (Acts 1:8). Most Christians do not “go” as Matthew 28:19 commands, nor do most Christians perform baptisms. We understand instinctively that the Great Commission is ours by application more than by direct command.

This is an important point. The Great Commission was, first, for the apostles and then, by extension, for the church they would leave behind. This means that the Great Commission is our mission not as a personal job description but insofar as we are members of Christ’s church. The mission of the church is the Great Commission. Therefore, we all have a role to play and ought to have an earnest desire in seeing that mission accomplished. None of us are literal apostles. Some of us are ordained preachers. Others are sent-out missionaries. All of us can give and pray and labor to see our churches engaged in the Great Commission.

We have to acknowledge what we see and don’t see in the Bible. On the one hand, we see that the word preached to the church should not just stay in the church but flow through the church to outsiders. On the other hand, there is no indication that every conversation must turn to the gospel, or that our vocations can only be justified if we share our faith regularly, or that evangelism should trump all other ecclesiastical and doctrinal concerns. The New Testament encourages us to be ready to explain our Christian faith when asked; it encourages us to make the gospel look attractive by our honest and obedient lives; it encourages us to be concerned for the salvation of the lost; it encourages preachers to be faithful in teaching the gospel; it encourages believers to be conduits for the word of God. The New Testament does not expect us all to be extroverts, gifted conversationalists, and cold-call evangelists.

Nor did God ever mean for evangelism to be the single defining characteristic of faithful Christianity. When personal evangelism becomes more central than dozens of more explicit commands, we are not only tempted to compromise on doctrinal and missiological integrity; we become weighed down by the impossibility of the task. There are always more people to speak to, always more conversations we could have, always more lost people to reach. The “never enough” never lets up.

Evangelism Looks Different for Everyone

Part of the problem is the way many pastors talk about these things. As a preacher, I know how to deliver a sermon so that everyone feels convicted. It’s tempting to think that every good sermon leaves every Christian feeling guilty for something. So every sermon about holiness leaves everyone feeling unholy. Every sermon on prayer makes people feel guilty for not praying more. Every sermon on evangelism causes the whole congregation to squirm in supposed disobedience. That’s not healthy preaching, and it doesn’t make for healthy congregations. After more than 20 years in pastoral ministry, I now make a point to tell people in my sermons, “Many of you are being faithful in prayer.” “I see marks of godliness in most of you.” “Some of you are great examples of sharing your faith.” Too often, pastors preach what they don’t really mean. They don’t really think everyone is failing in every way, but they’ve learned to preach that way because it feels powerful and, truth be told, some people like it. As a result, God’s people are trained to conclude that because they could always do more (of some good discipline or practice), they are not doing enough.

God has not made us all in the same way, and He does not expect the word to flow through us all in the same way. You may end up being a preacher or a missionary. You may learn to love beach evangelism, handing out tracts, and knocking on doors. You may have gifts to easily converse with strangers. Or your gifts may be in hospitality. Or in writing. Or in public debates. Or you may be the beloved neighbor who gets the opportunity to speak of Jesus because you represent Him so well. God wants us to have a heart for the lost. He wants us to further the church’s overall mission in reaching the nations. He wants us to be ready to walk through open doors. But He never says that personal evangelism is what the Christian life is all about. Saving sinners is the impossible part; God does that. Our part is to ensure — in whatever way God has shaped us and in whatever opportunities He gives us — that the gospel that has come to us also flows out of us. Some Christians would make good salespeople; all good Christians are happy to talk about Jesus.

Impossible Christianity Audio Book

Mon, 16 Oct 2023 09:00:00 GMT

Impossible Christianity is now available as an Audio Book. Listen to an Excerpt.

The apostle Paul described the Christian life as a race, but to many believers it feels more like a punishing obstacle course. Fearing they’ll never be able to do enough or give enough or be enough, they see themselves as spiritual failures. But Scripture offers good news: even in ordinary life, Christians can be faithful, fruitful, and pleasing to God.

Impossible Christianity reassures readers that they don’t need to feel a collective sense of guilt for sins in the past and solve every societal problem in the present. Through biblical wisdom and engaging personal stories, Kevin DeYoung challenges the misconception that we need 40 hours in the day just to be good Christians. By reflecting on what Jesus actually taught about Christian discipleship, readers will be newly encouraged to pursue single-minded devotion to God and find lasting joy in a life of sincere and simple obedience.

The Truth About Lies

Mon, 18 Sep 2023 14:44:25 GMT

What a splendid little book, filled with enough simple truths and profound good news to change your life. In his disarming, yet unflinching way, Mack introduces us to Jesus Christ and tells us how we can live forever. What could be more important than that?

Purchase a copy of The Truth About Lies from our friends at WTS Books.

Five Lies of Our Anti-Christian Age Foreword

Thu, 07 Sep 2023 09:00:00 GMT

The devil is a liar.

And not just any old liar, a very good one. He normally avoids direct assaults. He prefers deceit, and misdirection. Think of the snake in the garden of Eden, merely suggesting that God’s word might not be fully trustworthy. !e devil specializes in traps and snares (2 Tim. 2:26). He masquerades as an angel of light (2 Cor. 11:14). He blinds the minds of unbelievers (4:4). Our enemy, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, is wicked, tricksy, and false (Rev. 12:9). He is a father of lies (John 8:44).!e devil lies to us in many ways. He may not speak through a snake, but he knows how to make his voice heard. Sometimes he may bring something directly to mind. Or perhaps he keeps us from seeing and hearing what we should. More often, I imagine, he speaks through the half-truths and quarter-truths we find in a thousand movies, television shows, and “news” reports. His voice can be heard in our universities and from the halls of power. If we listen carefully, we may detect his slithering speech in Christian books and in spiritual blogs, even from pastors and churches. That is why the book you are holding is so important. Make no mistake, this courageous book is bracing. You won’t agree with every sentence. But it is hard to imagine anyone who shouldn’t listen to what Rosaria has to say. Strike that— not what Rosaria has to say, but what God has said that Rosaria knows we need to hear. Rosaria Butterfield is a friend of mine, and she is eager to speak to you as a friend too—if you will let her. She is smart, caring, self-deprecating, and—here’s one thing I hope you’ll learn to love—in a world awash in soft heads and brittle hearts, Rosaria isn’t afraid to tell you what she really thinks. May her tribe increase.

There is a war raging between good and evil in our world, and though we might prefer the conflict to be fought somewhere else, we don’t get to pick the times in which we live. The front lines today are battles over sex, gender, and identity. We must be ready for a fight in precisely these places. Don’t underestimate the power of your opponent. The devil wants us to join him in his rebellion against God. He wants to make us cowards and traitors. He wants us to believe the myth of our own autonomy. He wants us to raise the white flag and side with the enemy—the enemy without or the enemy within, it doesn’t matter to him. The devil hates every spiritual blessing in Christ. He hates Christ’s power. He hates Christ’s forgiving grace. He hates Christ’s transforming grace. He hates the gospel and the church. He hates happy marriages and well-ordered families. He hates personal holiness and obedience. The devil hates Christians who stand their ground.

Have you ever noticed the central command for the Christian as he conducts spiritual warfare? Read over the passage in Ephesians 6 on the armor of God. The exhortation is not to cast out demons or bind territorial spirits. The command, repeated several times, is simply “stand” (vv. 11, 13, 14). Don’t give up. Don’t give in. Don’t back down. It’s as if Christ our captain is yelling out instructions to his troops: “Hold your lines, men! Don’t break ranks. Stand your ground!”

And how do we stand? It’s quite simple really. We live by truth, not by lies. There are five implements in the armor of God that are defensive: a belt, a breastplate, shoes, a shield, and a helmet. There is one offensive weapon, a sword. All six pieces of armor are meant to reinforce the same two things: the truth about God and the truth about ourselves. That’s how wise Christians have always done battle with the devil. That’s how the fight must be fought in our day.

The devil says to us, “If God is a God of love, how can he judge? You have nothing to fear if you sin.” But with the belt of truth, hear God’s voice saying, “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap” (Gal. 6:7).

And when the devil accuses us of falling short of the glory of God, we stand ready with the breastplate of righteousness, knowing that God “made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21).

And when the evil one bids us to walk in resentment and bit- terness with our brothers and sisters, we will not follow, because our feet are fitted with the gospel of peace, knowing that Christ himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility (Eph. 2:14).

And when the devil comes with his enticements to sin, we will take up the shield of faith and will choose, like Moses, to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a short time (Heb. 11:25).

And when Satan tries to convince us that God is unwilling to save us or unable to change us, we will trust that the name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run into it and they are safe (Prov. 18:10).

And when Satan tells us that we are hopeless, that sanctification is hopeless, and that endurance is hopeless, we will strike back with the sword of the Spirit. “No, Satan, there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus (Rom. 8:1). I am dead to sin and alive in Christ by the Spirit (8:10). I do not consider the sufferings of this present time worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed (8:18). We have hope for what we do not see, and we will wait for it with patience (8:25). The Spirit will help us in our weak- ness and intercede for us with groanings too deep for words (8:26). We know that for those who love God all things work together for good (8:28). We believe that if God is for us, no one can stand against us (8:31). We believe that we are more than conquerors through him who loved us (8:37) and that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord (8:38–39).”

Five Lies of Our Anti-Christian Age has everything to do with the armor of God, because this book is a book about truth—truth you may have never heard, truth you may have forgotten, or truth you already know but haven’t dared to embrace. Don’t follow the great dragon; that’s what this book is about. He has already been defeated. Follow the one who is truth (John 14:6). Listen to him. Love him. Learn from him. Do not fall for the lies of our age. Stand your ground.

Purchase a copy of Five Lies of Our Anti-Christian Age from our friends at WTS Books.

The Sermon on the Mount Is Not an Impossible Standard to Make Us Feel Bad

Fri, 25 Aug 2023 14:09:58 GMT

An Impossible Standard?

If we approach the Sermon on the Mount only or mainly as a means by which we see our sinfulness, we’ve not taken the sermon on its own terms. Martyn Lloyd-Jones saw the situation clearly:

Is it not true to say of many of us that in actual practice our view of the doctrine of grace is such that we scarcely ever take the plain teaching of the Lord Jesus Christ seriously? We have so emphasized the teaching that all is of grace and that we ought not to try to imitate His example in order to make ourselves Christians, that we are virtually in the position of ignoring His teaching altogether and of saying that it has nothing to do with us because we are under grace. Now I wonder how seriously we take the gospel of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The best way of concentrating on the question is, I think, to face the Sermon on the Mount.1

Lloyd-Jones is exactly right. We’ve turned the Sermon on the Mount into a giant spanking spoon—good for making you squeal in pain, but not a welcome instrument or a way of life. The Great Commission, then, becomes a summons to teach the nations everything Jesus has said—which, of course, they cannot do, and he doesn’t expect them to observe.

But isn’t the Sermon on the Mount an impossible standard? Who among us never worries, never lusts, never gets angry, never lies, is never a hypocrite, and always loves his enemies, always follows the Golden Rule, and always serves God alone? Here it’s good to recall the distinction between true obedience and perfect obedience. There is a way to insist on genuine obedience as a way of life without doubling down on never sinning and always doing what is right. Besides that helpful theological category, however, notice four things in the text pointing us away from thinking Jesus means to give us an impossible discipleship plan.

First, Jesus presents us with bracing either/or options at several points in his sermon. We can take the narrow gate or the wide gate, the easy path or the hard path, the way of life or the way of death (Matt. 7:13–14). We can be healthy trees bearing good fruit or diseased trees bearing bad fruit (Matt. 7:17–20). We can build our house on the rock and be secure or build our house on the sand and be destroyed (Matt. 7:24–27). The stakes could not be higher. If we are no more righteous than the scribes and Pharisees, we will never enter the kingdom of heaven (Matt. 5:20). If we murder in our hearts, we are liable to the hell of fire (Matt. 5:22). If we give ourselves over to lust, we will end up in hell (Matt. 5:29). If we don’t do the will of our Father, we will not enter the kingdom of heaven (Matt. 7:21). We must not give up hope of obeying Jesus’s commands, lest we give up the hope of heaven.

Too many Christians instinctively set aside the commands of Scripture as utterly impossible to obey on any level. The danger with this mindset is not only that we might be disheartened when we shouldn’t be, but that we might not be warned when we should be. Once we convince ourselves that failure is the norm—“No one really obeys Jesus. No one really builds his house on the rock. No one really is pure of heart. No one really enters the narrow gate. No one really bears good fruit.”—we won’t take seriously the many warnings given to us in Scripture that people unchanged by the gospel prove themselves to never really have been saved by the gospel (1 Cor. 6:9–10; Heb. 12:14; Rev. 21:8). When genuine (though imperfect) discipleship becomes impossible, hell often becomes impossible as well. By contrast, Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount urges us to choose the right way to live and stick with it.

Second, Jesus understands that there is an already-and-not-yet dimension to our Christian walk. On the one hand, Jesus announces that the kingdom of heaven is at hand (Matt. 4:17). On the other hand, he also tells us to pray for the kingdom to come (Matt. 6:10). The fact that we have to pray for God’s will to be done on earth as it is in heaven implies that we are not always angelic in our obedience. Heaven has broken in but is not yet fully and finally come to earth (Rev. 11:15).

Third, woven into the fabric of Christ’s kingdom living is the expectation that we will need grace and forgiveness. This is a key observation, and one we often miss. When Jesus exhorts us to “[hear] these words of mine and [do] them” (Matt. 7:24), he’s thinking of all the words he’s just been preaching. And think about what we find among those words. “Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Matt. 5:3). “Blessed are those who mourn” (Matt. 5:4). “Forgive us our debts” (Matt. 6:12). And in Luke’s account: “Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful” (Luke 6:36). The Sermon on the Mount contains within its many commands an awareness that these commands will not be kept flawlessly. That means part of entering by the narrow gate is being so poor in spirit that you know you need God’s help. It means lamenting your sins and looking to God for mercy. It means asking your heavenly Father to forgive the debts you accrue daily. Jesus’s sermon is not a mount of self-defeating misery, because part of observing all that Jesus commanded is knowing where to find relief when we are miserable offenders.

This may be a good spot to say something about the importance of the conscience. The normal state of the Christian should not be one of low- to medium-level guilt. Remember, Paul said the conscience accuses and excuses us (Rom. 2:15). The conscience is supposed to be a prosecuting attorney when we sin and a defense attorney when we don’t sin. And yet many Christians operate with the assumption that if they are truly spiritual, they will feel bad all the time. That wasn’t Paul’s approach. He boasted in the testimony of his conscience (2 Cor. 1:12) and even went so far as to say he wasn’t aware of anything against himself (1 Cor. 4:4). That didn’t mean he was sinless. In fact, he quickly acknowledged that the Lord was the ultimate judge and he might be judging himself incorrectly. But his goal as a Christian was to serve the Lord with a clean conscience, and he frequently boasted of doing so in his ministry (Acts 23:1; Rom. 9:1; 1 Tim. 1:5; 2 Tim. 1:3).

Walking in the way of the Sermon on the Mount means walking close to Jesus.

In other words, when Paul sinned, he felt convicted, which prompted him to repent, which allowed him to know the grace of God and have a clean conscience. And when he didn’t sin, he didn’t manufacture a guilty conscience. He wasn’t going to make himself feel bad in order to make his opponents happy. If we are to follow Paul’s example, we too should always take pains to have a clear conscience toward both God and man (Acts 24:16). Don’t train yourself to have a guilty conscience. If you are guilty, deal with it and know the joy of forgiveness in Christ. If you aren’t guilty, don’t wallow in feelings of failure as if that makes you a better Christian.

Fourth, the Sermon on the Mount is not an impossible standard, because pleasing Jesus is not impossible. With most sermons, the messenger should decrease so that message can increase. But when you are the Messiah, the Son of the living God, the point of the preaching is going to be the preacher himself. The Sermon on the Mount compels us to ask: Who is this that thinks we will be persecuted for his sake (Matt. 5:11), that religious tradition bows before him (Matt. 5:21–22, 27–28, 31–32, 33–34, 38–39, 43–44), that building a life on his words makes one wise (Matt. 7:24), that the final judgment will be given with reference to him and given by him (Matt. 7:23)? Of course, the first and lasting impression of the sermon was Jesus’s authority (Matt. 7:28–29). No one had preached like Jesus before because there never was a God-man like Jesus before.

Walking in the way of the Sermon on the Mount means walking close to Jesus. The relentless subplot to this entire sermon comes in the form of this question: Are you with me?

Are you really with me? Are you with me no matter what? Submitting to this sermon means finally and fully submitting to Jesus. The law in the Sermon on the Mount reflects the heart of the lawgiver. The commands of Jesus are not meant to crush us any more than Jesus means to crush us. Jesus came to save us (Matt. 1:21), to enlist us (Matt. 16:24), and to be with us until the end of the age (Matt. 28:20). To the unbelieving and unrepentant Jesus will be a terror (Matt. 11:20–24), but to all who know the Son, to those who look for rest in the Son, to those who are eager to walk with the Son and learn from the Son, the yoke he gives you is easy, and the burden he asks you to carry is light (Matt. 11:30).

Notes:

D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones, Studies in the Sermon on the Mount (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1976), 1:12–13.

This article is adapted from Impossible Christianity: Why Following Jesus Does Not Mean You Have to Change the World, Be an Expert in Everything, Accept Spiritual Failure, and Feel Miserable Pretty Much All the Time by Kevin DeYoung.

How the Bible Talks about Corporate Responsibility and Repentance

Mon, 21 Aug 2023 18:24:00 GMT

Following the Threads of Complicity

Is it a workable ethic, for anyone, to insist that every connection to human sinfulness, past or present, renders us culpable for that sin? Even if we could rid ourselves of every place and every institution tainted by slavery, for example, could we be sure that what remained was never built by people who exploited others and never financed by people who made their money through sinful enterprise? Do not all our favorite streaming services make money, at least in part, by the commodification of sex? Aren’t many of our movie studios, and some of our favorite sports leagues, complicit in aiding and abetting a government that disregards basic human rights? Are we sure about the purity of our mutual funds, or of the clothes and shoes that are manufactured overseas, or of the labor practices of the online retailers we use every day? And what of the products we enjoy (or the ones we don’t even know we are benefiting from) that may have ties to companies complicit in the past crimes and aggressions of other countries?

Christian obedience becomes impossible when, instead of the basics of putting off the works of the flesh and putting on the fruit of the Spirit (Gal. 5:16–24; Col. 3:5–14), we are called to account for every unpopular ism, every broken system, and every bad thing we see too much of in the culture.

Corporate Responsibility, but with Limits

This leads to a related question: What about the sins of the past? It’s one thing to say that we aren’t automatically guilty by virtue of living and working within a fallen system. We live in a globally connected world, and the lines of complicity are hard to trace out. But what about instances where the evils have been obvious and have been committed by people like us? Do we share some responsibility for the sins committed by those who were part of the same immediate family? What about the same religious family? Or what if the perpetrators in the past shared our same skin color? In short, how should we think of corporate responsibility?

Let me state my answer up front and then show how I reach that conclusion: the Bible has a category for corporate responsibility, but there are important limits to the use of this category.

The book of Acts is an illuminating case study in this respect. On the one hand, God may hold people responsible for sins they may not have directly carried out. In Acts 2, Peter charges the “men of Judea and all who dwell in Jerusalem” (Acts 2:14) with crucifying Jesus (Acts 2:23, 36). To be sure, they did this by the hands of lawless men (Acts 2:23). But as Jews present in Jerusalem during Passion Week, they bore some responsibility for Jesus’s death. Likewise, Peter charged the men of Israel gathered at Solomon’s Portico with delivering Jesus over and denying him in the presence of Pilate (Acts 3:11–16). While we don’t know if every single person in the Acts 3 crowd had chosen Barabbas over Christ, Peter certainly felt comfortable in laying the crucifixion at their feet. Most, if not all of them, had played an active role in the events leading up to Jesus’s death. This was a sin in need of repentance (Acts 3:19, 26). We see the same in Acts 4:10 and Acts 5:30 where Peter and John charged the council (i.e., the Sanhedrin) with killing Jesus. In short, the Jews in Jerusalem during Jesus’s last days bore responsibility for his murder.

Once the action leaves Jerusalem, however, the charges start to sound different. In speaking to Cornelius (a Gentile), his relatives, and his close friends, Peter relays that they (the Jews in Jerusalem) put Jesus to death (Acts 10:39). Even more specifically, Paul tells the crowd in Pisidian Antioch that “those who live in Jerusalem and their rulers” condemned Jesus (Acts 13:27). This speech is especially important because Paul is talking to Jews. He does not blame the Jews in Pisidian Antioch for the crimes of the Jews in Jerusalem.

This is a consistent pattern. Paul doesn’t charge the Jews in Thessalonica or Berea with killing Jesus (Acts 17), nor the Jews in Corinth (Acts 18) or in Ephesus (Acts 19). In fact, when Paul returns to Jerusalem years after the crucifixion, he does not accuse the Jews there of killing Jesus; he does not even charge the council with that crime (Acts 23). He doesn’t blame Felix (Acts 24) or Festus (Acts 25) or Agrippa (Acts 26) for Jesus’s death, even though they are all men in authority connected in some way with the governing apparatus that killed Christ. The apostles considered the Jews in Jerusalem at the time of the crucifixion uniquely responsible for Jesus’s death, but this culpability did not extend to every high-ranking official, to every Jew, or to everyone who would live in Jerusalem thereafter. The rest of the Jews and Gentiles in the book of Acts still had to repent of their wickedness, but they were not charged with killing the Messiah.

Does this mean there is never any place for corporate culpability across time and space? No. In Matthew 23:35, Jesus charges the scribes and Pharisees with murdering Zechariah the son of Barachiah. Although there is disagreement about who this Zechariah is, most scholars agree he is a figure from the past who was not killed in their lifetimes. The fact that the scribes and Pharisees were treating Jesus with contempt put them in the same category as their ancestors who had also treated God’s prophets with contempt (cf. Acts 7:51–53). It could rightly be said that they murdered Zechariah between the sanctuary and the altar because they shared in the same spirit of hate as the murderers in Zechariah’s day.

The Bible has a category for corporate responsibility, but there are important limits to the use of this category.

Similarly, there are several examples of corporate confession in the Old Testament. As God’s covenant people, the Israelites were commanded to confess their sins and turn from their wicked ways so as to come out from under the divinely sanctioned covenant curses (2 Chron. 6:12–42; 2 Chron. 7:13–18). This is why we see the likes of Ezra (Ezra 9–10), Nehemiah (Neh. 1:4–11), and Daniel (Dan. 9:3–19) leading in corporate confession. The Jews were not lumped together because of race, ethnicity, geography, education level, or socioeconomic status. The Israelites had freely entered into a covenant relationship with each other and with their God. In all three examples above, the leader entered into corporate confession because (1) he was praying for the covenant people, (2) the people were as a whole marked by unfaithfulness, and (3) the leader himself bore some responsibility for the actions of the people, either by having been blind to the sin (Ezra 9:3) or by participating directly in the sin (Neh. 1:6; Dan. 9:20). Culpability for sins committed can extend to a large group if virtually everyone in the group was active in the sin or if we bear the same spiritual resemblance to the perpetrators of the past.

It also bears mentioning that public apologies are more or less appropriate based on whether their cost is mainly to us or mainly to someone else. When someone steeped in Southern Presbyterianism apologizes in tears for the sins of the nineteenth-century Presbyterians he grew up revering, that costs something. When college kids who have never been tempted in their lives to idolize Richard the Lionheart set up confessional booths on campus to apologize for the Crusades, that costs next to nothing. One is a public expression of personal lament; the other is a personal expression of public virtue (of our own) and public accusation (of others).

Sour Grapes

Jeremiah 31:29–30 is an important text:

In those days they shall no longer say:“‘The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge.’”But everyone shall die for his own iniquity. Each man who eats sour grapes, his teeth shall be set on edge.

The proverb about eating sour grapes is also quoted in Ezekiel 18:2 and suggests that the people of Judah believed God was being unjust in punishing them for the sins of past generations (Ezek. 18:25). “Why should the children be punished for the sins of their fathers?” they asked. But Jeremiah and Ezekiel quote the proverb to reject it. The soul who sins shall die, not the soul of the one who does not sin (Ezek. 18:4–9).

Although Jeremiah and Ezekiel speak of the proverb being no more used in Israel, the reality of the proverb was never the way God dealt with his people. It is true that God had promised to visit “the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and the fourth generation of those who hate me” and to show “steadfast love to thousands of those who love me and keep my commandments” (Exod. 20:5–6). But do not miss the precise language of God’s promise. God says he will visit the iniquity of those who hate me and will show steadfast love to those who love me and keep my commandments. The promise was based on the children behaving like their parents, not simply on account of parental behavior irrespective of whether the children deviated from that pattern.

Long before Jeremiah and Ezekiel, it was already a principle in the Mosaic covenant that the corporate nature of the covenant did not consign children to the punishment of their fathers. “Fathers shall not be put to death because of their children, nor shall children be put to death because of their fathers. Each one shall be put to death for his own sin” (Deut. 24:16). It was never the case that children, regardless of how they lived, were to be punished for their father’s sins.

Living life in the present is hard enough without the impossible burden of owning the sins of the past as well. To be sure, our parents can give us huge advantages or disadvantages in life, and on a cosmic scale (known only to God) some of us enter this world with more privileges than others. We should also add that past sins can be recognized and renounced, even if we are not required specifically to repent of them. The sins of the past are far from irrelevant. And yet we are not meant to live with a sense of corporate guilt for an ethnic, racial, or biological identity we did not choose and from which we cannot be free. Self-flagellation is not a requirement for spiritual maturity. It is one thing for us to love God and love our neighbors; it is quite another if the call of Christian discipleship means we must, on account of the failures of others, hate ourselves.

On the Crushing Guilt of Failing at Quiet Time

Thu, 07 Sep 2023 15:53:10 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/on-the-crushing-guilt-of-failing-at-quiet-time-kevin-deyoung/id1457099163?i=1000626903582 Must Devotions Be Daily?

I first began my habit of daily devotions when I was in high school. A couple of my friends at school were serious Christians, and they talked about spending time in their Bibles every morning before school. That wasn’t something I was doing at the time, but it sounded like a good idea. My motives were somewhat mixed. I was motivated to pray every day that God would bless my running and that I would meet my goal of being all-county JV. I spent a few minutes in prayer each day, and read one chapter in the Bible along with a daily reading from a simple devotional book. It took only 5 to 10 minutes, but it was a massive catalyst in helping me grow as a Christian.

Once in college, my faith grew like a weed—which is the right phrase, because although there was a lot of good going on in my spiritual life, there were also species of pride growing up at the same time. I was especially fastidious about my quiet time. I almost never missed a day, sometimes trudging through snow to get to my school’s prayer chapel, often fighting to stay awake during prayer because I was a college student after all, and I stayed up way too late. Many of my quiet times ended up really quiet! Nevertheless, I read through the Bible several times. I kept a prayer journal. I was, compared to most of my peers, a quiet-time champion. But I also felt terrible if I ever missed a day. I knew intellectually that I wasn’t earning God’s favor, but in my heart it felt like I was only a good Christian once I read my chapters and prayed my prayers. Looking back, I can see that the Lord used my zeal in many good ways. I can also see that there were more obvious biblical commands that I neglected so long as the quiet-time box was checked every morning.

Meet any mature, fruitful Christian, and you can almost guarantee he regularly has something like a “quiet time”—a time set aside to talk to God in prayer and hear from God in the word.

I am not anti–quiet time or anti–daily devotions or anti–family worship. All of these disciplines serve God’s people well and have been around for a long time. What does not serve God’s people well is the unstated (and sometimes stated) assumption—put upon us by others or by ourselves—that Christianity is only for super-disciplined neatniks who get up before dawn, redeem every minute of the day, and have very organized sock drawers. Spiritual disciplines are great (and necessary) when the goal is to know God better. Spiritual disciplines are soul-crushing when the aim is to get our metaphysical workout in each day, knowing that we could always exercise more if we were better Christians.

Measuring Up

And yet if that’s all we said about “having a quiet time”— it’s nowhere commanded in Scripture—we would not be telling the whole story. We are often commanded to pray (Matt. 7:7–11; Rom. 12:12; 1 Thess. 5:17). Jesus assumes that God’s people will often be in private prayer (Matt. 6:6) and that the habit of prayer will be daily (Matt. 6:11). We know that Jesus withdrew to desolate places to pray (Mark 1:35) and that godly men like Daniel prayed three times a day (Dan. 6:10). Likewise, the Psalms commend to us the habit of meditating on God’s word day and night (Pss. 1; 119). We see in Timothy the example of public and private reading in Scripture (1 Tim. 4:13, 15; 2 Tim. 3:15). And, finally, on a number of occasions the Bible exhorts parents, and especially fathers, to instruct their children in the way of the Lord (Gen. 18:19; Deut. 6:5–6; Ps. 78:4; Eph. 6:4). There is no way to be faithful to these scriptural commands and examples if our lives are devoid of prayer, Bible reading, and time with our families in the word.

We must be careful not to make the minutes (or hours) we spend in daily devotions the sine qua non of Christian discipleship.

So are we right back where we started, with a crushing sense that we can never spend enough time in private and family worship? I hope not. Notice that while the Bible says a lot about the what—be devoted to prayer, meditate on God’s law, teach your children—it does not say a lot about the how. Developing personal spiritual disciplines is one way to the what, but there are many others: corporate worship, small-group Bible studies, listening to sermons in the car, listening to the Bible while you walk, listening to Bible teaching while you do the dishes, Christian schools, Christian books, spiritual conversations, prayers before meals, prayers at bedtime, and prayers over the phone.

Following Jesus Takes Effort

If I’m not mistaken, my wife likes to spend time with me. She likes talking to me and having me talk to her. When I’m overly busy, she won’t hesitate to ask for more of my attention. And even as a selfish husband, I’m usually eager to oblige because I love my wife. I love to spend time with her. Even after more than twenty years, there are still plenty of things to do and talk about. But because our lives are hectic and full, getting time together often requires planning and intentionality. If my wife made me check in every day at a set time, kept track of how many minutes I talked to her, and then rolled her eyes whenever I did anything else besides talk to her, that would make for a miserable marriage. But if I never made an effort to get a babysitter, go on a walk with her, plan a getaway, or simply put down my phone and look her in the eye, our marriage would likely grow stale and distant.

Will there always be more I can do to become a better husband? Of course. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a genuinely good husband or that my wife can’t be happy with our marriage. One of the saddest things in a marriage is when one or both spouses are impossible to please, when good-faith efforts are never enough, when past hurts are never forgotten, when imperfections are always put front and center. Happy marriages are different. They require work. They don’t happen by accident. But they are possible. That’s what our relationship with God is like as well.

Following Jesus takes time and effort, but we don’t have to be time-management gurus or monastic ascetics to walk with him in faithfulness and fruitfulness.

5 Questions About Homosexuality

Fri, 16 Jun 2023 13:27:16 GMT

This article is part of the Questions and Answers series.

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/5-questions-about-homosexuality-kevin-deyoung/id1457099163?i=1000616937619 Q: If the Bible says so little about homosexuality, why do Christians insist on talking about it so much?

A: The reason the Bible says comparatively little about homosexuality is because it was a comparatively uncontroversial sin among ancient Jews and Christians. There is no evidence that ancient Judaism or early Christianity tolerated any expression of homosexual activity. The Bible says a lot about idolatry, religious hypocrisy, economic injustice, and pagan worship because these were common sins for God’s people in both testaments.

The prophets didn’t rail against homosexual practice because as a particularly obvious and egregious sin it was less frequently committed in the covenant community. The Bible talks about bestiality even less than it talks about homosexuality, but that doesn’t make bestiality an insignificant issue—or incest or child abuse or fifty other sins the Bible barely addresses. Counting up the number of verses on any particular topic is not the best way to determine the seriousness of the sin involved.

Having said all that, it’s not like the Bible is silent on the issue of homosexual behavior. It’s explicitly condemned in the Mosaic law (Leviticus) and used as a vivid example of human rebellion in Paul’s most important letter (Romans). It’s listed among a host of other serious vices in two different epistles (1 Corinthians and 1 Timothy). It’s one of the reasons God destroyed the most infamous cities in the Bible (Sodom and Gomorrah).

And that’s not even mentioning all the texts about marriage in Genesis, in Proverbs, in Song of Solomon, in Malachi, in Matthew, and in Ephesians. When the Bible speaks in a single verse—as an aside, with no agreed upon historical interpretation—about people being baptized on behalf of the dead (1 Cor. 15:29), we are right to think this is not a matter that should detain us long and one we should not be too dogmatic about. The biblical witness concerning homosexual behavior is not at all this obscure or this isolated.1

Q: Why did Jesus never talk about homosexuality?

A: To insist that Jesus never said anything about homosexuality is not really accurate. Not only did he explicitly reaffirm the creation account of marriage as the one-flesh union of a man and a woman (Matt. 19:4–6; Mark 10:6–9); he condemned the sin of porneia (Mark 7:21), a broad word encompassing every kind of sexual sin. The leading New Testament lexicon defines porneia as “unlawful sexual intercourse, prostitution, unchastity, fornication.”2 Likewise, New Testament scholar James Edwards states that porneia “can be found in Greek literature with reference to a variety of illicit sexual practices, including adultery, fornication, prostitution, and homosexuality. In the Old Testament it occurs for any sexual practice outside marriage between a man and a woman that is prohibited by the Torah.”3

Jesus didn’t have to give a special sermon on homosexuality because all of his listeners understood that same-sex behavior was prohibited in the Pentateuch and reckoned as one of the many expressions of sexual sin (porneia) off-limits for the Jews. Besides all this, there’s no reason to treat Jesus’s words (all of which were recorded by someone other than Jesus) as more authoritative than the rest of the Bible. He affirmed the abiding authority of the Old Testament (Matt. 5:17–18) and understood that his disciples would fill out the true meaning of his person and work (John 14:25–26; 16:12–15; cf. Luke 24:48–49; Acts 1:1–2).

Q: Why aren’t other sins (like gluttony) taken as seriously as sexual sin?

A: Do we really want to suggest that one sin is no big deal because we’ve been lax about a different sin? If Christians are wrongly tolerant of unrepentant gluttony, this is a matter of extreme importance. Sin separates us from God. When we choose to embrace it, celebrate it, and not repent of it, we keep ourselves away from God and away from heaven.

Q: Isn’t the church supposed to be a place for broken people?

A: Yes and amen. We all need to be forgiven. We all need grace. The church is supposed to be full of sinners. But—and here’s the rub—the communicant membership of the church, like the membership of heaven, is made up of born again, repentant sinners. If we preach a “gospel” with no call to repentance, we are preaching something other than the apostolic gospel. If we knowingly allow unconcerned, impenitent sinners into the membership and ministry of the church, we are deceiving their souls and putting ours at risk as well. If we think people can find a Savior without forsaking their sin, we do not know what sort of Savior Jesus Christ is. “Such were some of you” is the hope-filled call to holiness for the sexual sinner and for every other kind of sinner (1 Cor. 6:11).

Few things are more important in life than repentance. It is so important that the Gospels and the Epistles and the Old Testament make clear that you don’t go to heaven without it. Ezekiel said, “Repent and turn from your transgressions” (Ezek. 18:30). John the Baptist said, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matt. 3:2). Jesus said, “Repent and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15). Peter said, “Repent and be baptized” (Acts 2:38). And Paul said God “commands all people everywhere to repent” (Acts 17:30).

No doubt, the church is for broken and imperfect people—broken people who hate what is broken in them and imperfect people who have renounced their sinful imperfections. If those with same-sex attraction are being singled out for repentance, the solution is not to remove forsaking of sin from the gospel equation, but to labor for a church community where lifelong repentance is the normal experience of Christian discipleship.

The communicant membership of the church, like the membership of heaven, is made up of born again, repentant sinners.

Q: How can it be a sin if someone is born with homosexual desires?

A: We are all products of nature and nurture. We all struggle with desires that should not be fulfilled and with longings for things illicit. As Christians we know that the heart is desperately wicked (Jer. 17:9). We are fallen people with a propensity for sin and self-deception. We cannot derive oughts from what is. Our own sense of desire and delight, or of pleasure and of pain, is not self-validating. People may, through no conscious decision of their own, be drawn to binge drinking, to promiscuity, to rage, to self-pity, or to any number of sinful behaviors.

If the “is-ness” of personal experience and desire determines the “ought-ness” of embracing these desires and acting upon them, there is no logical reason why other sexual “orientations” (say, toward children, or animals, or promiscuity, or bisexuality, or multiple partners) should be stigmatized.4As creatures made in the image of God, we are moral beings, responsible for our actions and for the lusts of the flesh. Quite simply, sometimes we want the wrong things. No matter how we think we might have been born one way, Christ insists that we must be born again a different way (John 3:3–7; Eph. 2:1–10).

Notes:

How many verses in the Bible speak directly to the issue of homosexuality? Robert Gagnon provides the following list: Gen. 9:20–27; 19:4–11; Lev. 18:22; 20:13; Judg. 19:22–25; Ezek. 16:50 (possibly 18:12 and 33:26); Rom. 1:26–27; 1 Cor. 6:9; 1 Tim. 1:10; and probably 2 Pet. 2:7 and Jude 7. Texts referring to homosexual cult prostitution could also be added: Deut. 23:17–18; 1 Kings 14:24; 15:12; 22:46; 2 Kings 23:7; Job 36:14; and possibly Rev. 21:8; 22:15. The Bible talks about homosexuality more than we might think (Robert A. J. Gagnon, The Bible and Homosexual Practice: Texts and Hermeneutics[Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2001], 432). A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, Third Edition, rev. and ed. Frederick William Danker, based on Walter Bauer’s lexicon (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 854. James R. Edwards, The Gospel According to Mark, Pillar New Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001), 213. “There is a growing conviction, notably in Canada, that paedophilia should probably be classified as a distinct sexual orientation, like heterosexuality or homosexuality. Two eminent researchers testified to that effect to a Canadian parliamentary commission last year, and the Harvard Mental Health Letter of 2010 stated baldly that paedophilia ‘is a sexual orientation’ and therefore ‘unlikely to change’” (Jon Henley, “Paedophilia: Bringing Dark Desires to Light,” The Guardian, January 3, 2013, www.theguardian.com/society/2013/jan/03/paedophilia -bringing-dark-desires-light).

This article is adapted from What Does the Bible Teach about Homosexuality? by Kevin DeYoung.

85th Anniversary of Westminster Theological Journal

Tue, 18 Jul 2023 09:00:00 GMT

I’ve benefited from the Westminster Theological Journal for years. I subscribe to more than a dozen journals, and WTJ is the only one I read virtually cover to cover every issue. If someone was going to subscribe to only one theological journal, I’d recommend WTJ.

The Westminster Theological Journal, Volume 85, is a Special Issue focusing on Pastoral Theology. It includes thought-provoking and pastorally relevant articles written by such pastor-scholars as William Edwards, Stafford Carson, John Currie, Steven Carter, Daniel Doriani, Ed Welch, Todd Rester, Sean Michael Lucas, and Bill Edgar.

For a limited time, receive a free copy of The Pastor and the Modern World, published by Westminster Seminary Press, with the purchase of WTJ, Volume 85.

Blessings of the Faith

Thu, 13 Jul 2023 13:35:51 GMT

It has often been said—sometimes with a sense of humor and sometimes in annoyance—that Presbyterian and Reformed churches love to do things “decently and in order.” I can understand both the humor and the frustration that lie behind that sentiment. We love our plans, our minutes, our courts, and our committees. Presbyterian and Reformed folks have been known to appoint committees just to oversee other committees (reminding me of the old Onion headline that announced “New Starbucks Opens in Rest Room of Existing Starbucks”). We like doing things so decently that we expect our church officers to know three things: the Bible, our confessions, and a book with Order in its title.

But before we shake our heads in disbelief at those uber-Reformed types (physician, heal thyself!), we should recall that before “decently and in order” was a Presbyterian predilection, it was a biblical command (see 1 Cor. 14:40). Paul’s injunction for the church to be marked by propriety and decorum, to be well-ordered like troops drawn up in ranks, is a fitting conclusion to a portion of Scripture that deals with confusion regarding gender, confusion at the Lord’s Table, confusion about spiritual gifts, confusion in the body of Christ, and confusion in public worship. “Decently and in order” sounds pretty good compared to the mess that prevailed in Corinth.

A typical knock on Presbyterian and Reformed Christians is that though supreme in head, they are deficient in heart. We are the emotionless stoics, the changeless wonders, God’s frozen chosen. But such veiled insults would not have impressed the apostle Paul, for he knew that the opposite of order in the church is not free-flowing spontaneity; it is self-exalting chaos. God never favors confusion over peace (see 1 Cor. 14:33). He never pits theology against doxology or head against heart. David Garland put it memorably: “The Spirit of ardor is also the Spirit of order.”

These careful, balanced, and well-reasoned volumes will occupy an important place on the book stalls of Presbyterian and Reformed churches

When Jason Helopoulos approached me about writing a foreword for this series, I was happy to oblige—not only because Jason is one of my best friends (and we both root for the hapless Chicago Bears) but because these careful, balanced, and well-reasoned volumes will occupy an important place on the book stalls of Presbyterian and Reformed churches. We need short, accessible books written by thoughtful, seasoned pastors for regular members on the foundational elements of church life and ministry. That’s what we need, and that’s what this series delivers: wise answers to many of the church’s most practical and pressing questions.

This series of books on Presbyterian and Reformed theology, worship, and polity is not a multivolume exploration of 1 Corinthians 14:40, but I am glad it is unapologetically written with Paul’s command in mind. The reality is that every church will worship in some way, pray in some way, be led in some way, be structured in some way, and do baptism and the Lord’s Supper in some way. Every church is living out some form of theology—even if that theology is based on pragmatism instead of biblical principles. Why wouldn’t we want the life we share in the church to be shaped by the best exegetical, theological, and historical reflections? Why wouldn’t we want to be thoughtful instead of thoughtless? Why wouldn’t we want all things in the life we live together to be done decently and in good order? That’s not the Presbyterian and Reformed way. That’s God’s way, and Presbyterian and Reformed Christians would do well not to forget it.

As of the writing of this article, individual copies and the set are discounted with our friends at WTS Books.

The Church of Christ

Wed, 05 Jul 2023 19:54:31 GMT

I am thrilled to see this classic work on Presbyterian polity being reissued. And if you think thrilled and Presbyterian polity don’t belong in the same sentence, that’s just one more reason we need Bannerman’s book. In a day where the doctrine of the church is often thought obscure, irrelevant, and even divisive, Bannerman reminds us just how much our forefathers thought about this topic and just how much the Bible has to say on these issues. This big book on the nature and order of the church is more helpful, more contemporary, and more important than you might think.

Rediscover this articulate, biblical doctrine of the church that has reached across denominational boundaries. Magisterial and enlightening, this is perhaps the most substantive single volume work on the bride of Christ available today. Freshly reprinted, this edition has been handsomely bound and re-typeset. French, Latin and German footnotes have been translated.

The Church of Christ

Watching What We Wear

Wed, 19 Jul 2023 09:00:00 GMT

There are many complicated and confusing theological issues in the Christian life—issues that require deep intellectual research and sophisticated analysis, issues that call for multidisciplinary scholarship and expertise, issues that cannot be meaningfully addressed in an opinion column of several hundred words.

Thankfully, modesty is not one of those issues.

It seems that at least once a year, probably around spring and summer, Christians start arguing about modesty. As a pastor and a parent, I know this is a real-world issue that we can’t avoid. The biblical commands regarding modesty are something we will either heed, however imperfectly, or simply ignore. We should choose the former. To be sure, these discussions are always culturally conditioned and full of gray areas. The Bible doesn’t give us a catalog from Promise Lands’ End (I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist) featuring acceptable outfits and divinely approved bathing suits. Modesty won’t look exactly the same in every time, in every place, and in every context. But modesty in dress—and that’s the kind of modesty I’m thinking about in this piece—does mean something, and we can get to that something if we keep three simple truths in mind.

One, modesty can be too rigidly applied and too insensitively enforced. It’s hard to talk about modesty with Christians without someone recalling their harrowing experience with dresses that weren’t supposed to rise above the ankle, or with youth retreats doling out detailed lists of do’s and don’t’s, or with parents enforcing conformity to an austere aesthetic without much in the way of explanation or grace. And this is to say nothing of the awkward conversations—cringey at best and totally inappropriate at worst—that Christian men sometimes have with Christian women about their clothes or their figure. Since modesty often (but not always) has to do with what women wear, and since authority figures in conservative Christian circles are often (and rightly) men, fathers and pastors and church leaders and teachers ought to take great care in how they approach this subject. This first point is not mere throat clearing. Young women really have been hurt by the dumb and sometimes sinful things communicated by an overwrought modesty culture.

As Christians, we know that our bodies are emphatically not our own and that our bodies are not meant ultimately for self-expression or self-fulfillment but for God’s glory.

Two, the lack of modesty in women is no excuse for a lack of godliness in men. This is usually the first retort when the modesty maelstrom starts swirling yet again: “So, you’re saying that if some guy starts harassing a woman it’s her fault? Let me get this straight, I’m responsible for what a man looks at and what goes on in his twisted heart?” Let’s be clear: when we sin, we are responsible. No one sins for us. The fact that one person dresses provocatively does not mean that someone else is justified in leering, lusting, or worse. Had Joseph given in to Potipher’s wife it would have been a great wickedness, no matter how seductive she tried to be (Genesis 39:9). Men are called to be pure in heart, regardless of whether the world or the people around them make that pursuit easier or harder.

Three, the Bible commands the Christian to dress modestly and to avoid drawing attention to our bodies in a sexual way. This is not the same as saying that women and men must look homely and as plain as possible. Sarah, Rebekah, and Rachel were all commended for their beauty. But Rebekah also covered herself when Isaac drew near (Genesis 24:65). There is a difference between beauty and sensuality. Women should not dress like brazen prostitutes seeking to entice wayward men (Proverbs 7:10; Ezekiel 16:30). The Lord does not look fondly upon haughty women who walk with outstretched necks, who glance wantonly with their eyes, who strut about like luxury and allurement on parade (Isaiah 3:16-26). If there is proper clothing that Paul commands Christian women to wear (1 Timothy 2:9-10), then it stands to reason some apparel must be improper. God cares about what we wear, and although there are no exact rules about what is appropriate, some types of clothing and some ways of presenting ourselves are inappropriate.

The problem with immodesty is that it communicates at least two things that do not square with Christian discipleship. First, immodesty signals a lack of concern for others in the body of Christ, a disregard for how our choices affect others. Second, immodesty communicates, “My physical beauty is the best thing I have to offer, so I will show off all that I have.” In truth, that’s likely not what those who dress immodestly really believe. The immodest dresser often thinks very little of herself (or himself). Revealing apparel is a way to compensate for a lack of faith in what makes them truly beautiful. Healthy modesty, by contrast, says “I have something to keep private, not because I hate my body, but because the body God gave me is so good, beautiful, and pleasing that I am not going to reveal it to everyone.”

We often hear that any insistence on female modesty is yet another attempt to control women’s bodies and to shame them for being sexual beings. That logic may sound powerful in today’s cultural climate, but it lacks Biblical coherence. As Christians, we know that our bodies are emphatically not our own and that our bodies are not meant ultimately for self-expression or self-fulfillment but for God’s glory (1 Corinthians 6:19-20). None of us should feel ashamed for being sexual creatures, but we should be ashamed to show off certain features of our anatomy in public. The reality is we all have “unpresentable parts”—parts of the body that are not evil but are to be “treated with greater modesty” (1 Corinthians 12:23). To call upon Christians—women and men—to cover up these parts is not cruel and unusual punishment. In truth, it’s an important way we honor God and love one another.

God’s Word Is Necessary

Wed, 07 Jun 2023 09:00:00 GMT

This article is part of Crossway’s effort to support their One Million Bibles Initiative, which is focused on providing Bibles to parents, children, and others in need throughout the Global South.

What We Want Most

Most of us, deep down, want the same things out of life. Of course, I’m talking about ultimate things, not immediate things. On the immediate level, people have a wide variety of desires. Some people like to travel. Some people like fine dining. Some people prefer indoor plumbing and a comfortable bed. And other people like camping. There are a million different tastes, interests, and hobbies. But if we get to the level of the heart, I think people all around the world generally want the same things: We want purpose. We want to be happy. We want to know we are okay. We want to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. We want to be known by someone bigger than ourselves. We want to live forever.

And if you dig around in those desires, you’ll find that most people are waiting for some word from somewhere so that they can finally know this good life. They want a law or a list that will tell them steps to take to get there. They want their teacher to say, “You’ve passed,” or their parents to say, “I love you.” They want to get a call from their dream job or their dream date. They want to hear good news about their retirement fund or their health or their kids. Many of them are listening intently to hear from the most sacred voice they know: their own. And some are desperate to hear from God.

The doctrine of the necessity of Scripture reminds us of our predicament: the One we need to know most cannot be discovered on our own. And it assures us of a solution: this same ineffable One has made himself known through his word. As the Westminster Confession of Faith explains, “Although the light of nature and the works of creation and providence do so far manifest the goodness, wisdom, and power of God, as to leave men inexcusable; yet are they not sufficient to give that knowledge of God, and of his will, which is necessary unto salvation.” Holy Scripture, the Confession goes on to say, is therefore “most necessary” (WCF 1.1). The Scriptures are our spectacles (to use Calvin’s phrase), the lenses through which we see God, the world, and ourselves rightly. We cannot truly know God, his will, or the way of salvation apart from the Bible. We need Scripture to live the truly good life.

We need Scripture to live forever. “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68). There is no other book like the Bible. It reveals a different kind of wisdom, comes from a different source, and tells of a different love.

A Different Source

So where do we go to learn the things God has revealed? Do we look to the trees? What about the inner light? How about community standards? Maybe human reason and experience? The clear testimony of 1 Corinthians is that only God can tell us about God. Just as the spirit of a person discloses the thoughts and feelings and intentions of that person, so also no one can make known the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God (1 Cor. 2:11). The only Being knowledgeable enough, wise enough, and skillful enough to reveal God to you is God himself.

Which raises an interesting question: isn’t Paul really talking about the inner working of the Spirit and not the necessity of the Scriptures? You might be thinking to yourself, “I agree completely. We need God to tell us about God.

I can’t know the truth unless God reveals it to me. And God speaks to me through the still small voice in my heart. When I look deep inside myself, that’s where I hear from God. We receive the Spirit of God, who speaks to our spirit, telling us the things we can learn only from God.”

We cannot truly know God, his will, or the way of salvation apart from the Bible. We need Scripture to live the truly good life.

Sounds plausible, but is that Paul’s point? The “we” in 1 Corinthians 2:12 (“we have received . . . the Spirit [of] God”) does not refer to all the Corinthians or to all of us, but to Paul and his companions. The contrast starts in verses 1–5 with Paul’s “I” and then transitions to the “we” who imparted to the Corinthians “a secret and hidden wisdom of God” (v. 7). Paul is clearly thinking of “you Corinthians” and “we who have ministered the gospel to you” (see 3:9). So while it’s true that every believer receives the Spirit and each of us needs the Spirit of God to illuminate the word of God, Paul is speaking here of the unique apostolic deposit of truth he has received and has passed on to the Corinthians. This is precisely what Jesus promised would happen (John 16:12–15), and it is how the apostles understood their teaching: not as the word of man but as the word of God (1 Thess. 2:13; cf. Rev. 1:1–2). Nothing in 1 Corinthians 2 suggests that the real way to hear from God is to seek out the bewildering ruminations of the self. Already in Corinth—Paul’s most “charismatic” congregation—we see there is an objective standard of truth which supersedes private impressions or experience (1 Cor. 14:37–38; 15:1–4).

True, for a time the early church existed without the completed New Testament. But even then, their life and doctrine were in submission to the Scriptures they already had. And the new revelation being placed alongside the Old Testament had been carefully scrutinized as coming from the apostolic band (Eph. 2:20) and adhering to the apostolic gospel (Gal. 1:8). “Naturally, as long as the apostles were alive and visited the churches,” Bavinck writes, “no distinction was made between their spoken and their written word. Tradition and Scripture were still unified. But when the first period was past and time-distance from the apostles grew greater, their writings became more important, and the necessity of the writings gradually intensified. The necessity of Holy Scripture, in fact, is not a stable but an ever-increasing attribute.”1 Paul knew the Corinthians needed the wisdom of God that could come only from the Spirit of God, and he wrote to them this word with the understanding that he had uniquely received the Spirit whereby he could proclaim to them the truth of the gospel.

People talk about “spirituality” as if it were generated by concentrated attention to the inner workings of the human soul. But true spirituality is not something found within us. It is something outside of us, created by the agency of God’s transcendent Holy Spirit. We need the Spirit who is from God if we are to understand the things of God (1 Cor. 2:12). And where do we go to hear from God’s Spirit? To those who were entrusted to be the very mouthpiece of the Spirit (1 Cor. 2:9–13), to those who wrote the very oracles of God (Rom. 3:2), to those who have written down what God himself has breathed out (2 Tim. 3:16). So this is the necessity of Scripture in a nutshell: We need the revelation of God to know God, and the only sure, saving, final, perfect revelation of God is found in Scripture.

A Different Love

It may seem like there is nothing left to say about the necessity of Scripture, but that would be to miss the heart of Paul’s argument. The reason for revelation is that we might know God’s mercy and be saved. The uniqueness of Scripture is found not just in its wisdom or even in its divine origin. What makes the Bible utterly unlike any other book—religious or otherwise—is the unsurpassed grace we encounter in its pages. We need Scripture because without it we cannot know the love of God.

Our God speaks, and he speaks not simply to be heard and not merely to pass along information. He speaks so that we can begin to know the unknowable and fathom the unfathomable (1 Cor. 2:9; cf. Isa. 48:8). You may think you’ve seen it all, and you’ve heard it all, and you’ve experienced everything there is to experience. But you haven’t seen or heard or imagined what the God of love has prepared for those who love him (1 Cor. 2:9). This is the good news of the cross. This is the good news for the forgiven and redeemed. And this is the good news you won’t find anywhere else but in the word of God.

Notes:

Herman Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics, Volume 1: Prolegomena, ed. John Bolt, trans. John Vriend (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2003), 470.

This article is adapted from Kevin’s book, Taking God At His Word: Why the Bible Is Knowable, Necessary, and Enough, and What That Means for You and Me

Christianity and Liberalism Foreword

Sat, 10 Jun 2023 09:00:00 GMT

It’s been said that the most important word in the title Christianity and Liberalism is “and.” With that little word, Machen made the central thesis of his book unmistakable: there is Christianity, and there is liberalism. They are not the same thing. Whether individual liberals might possess saving faith in Christ was not a question Machen presumed he could answer. “But one thing is perfectly plain,” he wrote, “whether or not liberals are Christians, it is at any rate perfectly clear that liberalism is not Christianity.”

If Machen’s “and” seems provocative, it’s worth understanding the context in which his book was published. In February 1920, an ill-conceived plan of union precipitated Machen’s bold disjunction. Representatives from eighteen denominations met in Philadelphia as the “Council on Organic Union of Evangelical Churches in the United States.” The resulting Philadelphia Plan called for the mainline denominations to unite as the United Churches of Christ in America. The 1920 General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA), Machen’s denomination at the time, embraced the plan of union and sent the proposal to the presbyteries for approval. This was Machen’s first General Assembly as a commissioner—he had only been ordained in 1915—and he was astonished by how little the proposal was debated and how quickly it was pushed through the Assembly for a vote. Both Machen and his Princeton Seminary colleague B. B. Warfield strongly opposed the Philadelphia Plan, arguing that the creed on which the union was based contained nothing truly evangelical, let alone distinctly Presbyterian.

Like many pleas for ecclesiastical unity before and since, the 1920 plan was steeped in vague, shallow, and imprecise language. Although it failed to achieve the support of the majority of presbyteries, a line had been crossed. By seeking union with many non-Reformed denominations, and by including Christian traditions as diverse as Methodists, Quakers, and Moravians, the “Philadelphia Plan” effectively displaced the Westminster Standards and rendered elements of historic Christianity as adiaphora (things indifferent). The theological language which held such a union together was essentially liberal and modernist.

It’s worth noting that by “liberalism” Machen was not thinking of the classic liberalism of John Locke and Adam Smith or the political liberalism of more recent vintage. He was thinking of the well-established tradition of theological liberalism which grew up in German soil and was blossoming in the mainline denominations of America in the early part of the twentieth century. From Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768–1834), who argued that the essence of true religion is a feeling of absolute dependence, to Albert Ritschl (1822–1889), who emphasized the kingdom of God as moral progress, to Adolf von Harnack (1851–1930) who insisted that the development of doctrine marked the abandonment of true Christianity, to Walter Rauschenbusch (1861–1918) who advocated the social gospel of deeds over creeds, liberalism was its own tradition, with its own heroes, its own core beliefs, and its own ecclesiastical vision. Machen didn’t employ “liberalism” as a theological swear word or a cheap putdown. He understood that liberalism had its own internal cohesion and external aims. He didn’t think liberalism was silly or stupid. He just didn’t think it was Christianity either.

Christianity and Liberalism did not start out as a book. It began as an address, given on November 3, 1921, before the Ruling Elders’ Association of Chester Presbytery, outside of Philadelphia. Perhaps this genesis helps explain why Machen’s book, even today, is so trenchant in expression, so clear in order and articulation, and so accessible to regular Christians. In 1922, the address was published in The Princeton Theological Review. That article was then expanded and augmented with some of Machen’s brief articles from The Presbyterian, a popular magazine at the time, to become the small book published in 1923, whose hundredth anniversary this edition is meant to commemorate.

The bulk of Machen’s book is taken up with the exploration of five essential doctrines of the faith: the doctrine of man, the doctrine of Scripture, the doctrine of Christ, the doctrine of salvation, and the doctrine of the church. In each category, Machen demonstrates that the liberal conception of the faith is fundamentally out of step with historic, biblical Christianity: Where liberalism teaches the goodness of man and the universal fatherhood of God, Christianity insists that Jesus did not come into the world to call the righteous to be better citizens but to save sinners and bring them into the family of God. Where liberalism teaches that true faith is founded on spiritual experience, Christianity insists that true religious experience depends upon the veracity of the historical events in the Bible. Where liberalism lauds Christ as a great teacher and our moral exemplar, Christianity insists that faith in Christ does not make sense apart from a supernatural, sinless, and divine Christ. Where liberalism finds salvation in man’s upward journey to spiritual betterment based on the noble self-sacrifice of Jesus, Christianity proclaims good news based on the propitiatory work of Christ to redeem sinners and save all those who put their faith in him. Where liberalism conceives of the church as a gathering of generally spiritual persons coming together to effect social transformation, Christianity holds forth the church as a group of redeemed men and women (and, for Machen, their children) gathering together to humbly give thanks to Christ for his grace and to find unity in the truth as they worship Christ and him crucified.

Even from this brief overview, we can see that the issues we face today are not all that different from the ones Machen faced one hundred years ago. To be sure, we do not want to engage in Machen-envy and exaggerate our own plight or cast every contemporary disagreement in apocalyptic terms. Thankfully, there are many denominations today which, despite all their struggles, are not questioning the utter sinfulness of man, the authority of the Bible, the full deity of Christ, the substitutionary work of Christ, or the nature of the church as God’s called-out ones. And yet, even if the issues are not exactly the same, the spirit of this century is not unlike the spirit of the last century. There are many lessons we can learn (or re-remember) from Machen’s classic work:

True unity must be grounded in more than shared mission and shared experience. The church must not lose sight of its unique mission in the world, to announce the good news of forgiveness and eternal life in Christ. Definitions matter. We must not settle for theological ambiguity. It is not enough to say what is true; we must also make clear what is false. Beware of all theologies that do not begin with the utter holiness of God and the utter lostness of man. We must never stop preaching and singing about the cross—not just as an example of God’s love, but as the place where, in love, God’s Son bore the curse, died in our place, and sustained on our behalf the wrath of God for sin. Efforts to “rescue” Christianity from its supposed irrelevance in our day, inevitably make Christianity look outdated and impotent in the days ahead.

The church of Jesus Christ cannot be sustained—and indeed never was founded—on doctrinal indifferentism.

It could be argued that more than anything Christianity and Liberalism is about the doctrine of doctrine itself. If there is one recurring theme throughout the book it is that the church of Jesus Christ cannot be sustained—and indeed never was founded—on doctrinal indifferentism. From the very beginning, Machen argues, the Christian movement was not just a way of life, but a way of life founded upon a message. “It was based, not upon mere feeling, not upon a mere program of work, but upon an account of facts. In other words it was based upon doctrine.” At the root of liberalism is the contention that the way of Christ’s life should not be sullied with over-precise wrangling about the person and work of Christ, or dogmatic insistence upon certain beliefs in order to belong to Christ. While few Christians today care what Harry Emerson Fosdick said a hundred years ago (or have even heard of him), the spirit of his theological latitudinarianism and his insistence on Christianity chiefly as a way of life and a means of cultural reform—these emphases are alive and well in evangelical and Presbyterian churches in America and around the world.

In the end Christianity and Liberalism still matters not only because people need truth but because people need rest. The pulpit that preaches the good news of the cross is proclaiming the only message that can truly bring peace. Ironically, the more the church tries to mimic the world, the less the church has to offer the world. “Is there no place of refreshing where a man can prepare for the battle of life?” Machen asks in the last paragraph of the book. Is there no place where the sunken-down sinner can find grace and gratitude at the foot of the cross? Is there no place where people can be united in the only truths and in the only One who can truly bring divided people together? “If there be such a place,” Machen concludes, “then that is the house of God and that the gate of heaven. And from under the threshold of that house will go forth a river that will revive the weary world.” That’s as true today as it was one hundred years ago.

For more resources, visit the Christianity & Liberalism website.

Purchase a copy of Christianity & Liberalism: 100th Anniversary Edition from our friends at WTS Books.

Can A “Christian Nation” Be Good For Everybody?

Tue, 30 May 2023 09:00:00 GMT

The following is a book review for Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land: How Christianity Has Advanced Freedom and Equality for All Americans by Mark David Hall.

There are few artifacts more enduring in the American imagination and more symbolic of our national ethos and essence than the Liberty Bell. The bronze “State House bell” was ordered from the Whitehouse Foundry in London by Isaac Norris, the Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly, in 1751. After the bell cracked on its first ring, local metal workers John Pass and John Stow melted down the bell and cast a new one. Famously, after 90 years of hard use, their “Liberty Bell” also developed a crack—a crack made more noticeable in 1846 when technicians attempted (unsuccessfully) to repair the bell and stop the crack by making it wider. Today the 2,000-pound bell sits in the Liberty Bell Center in Philadelphia and is viewed by more than a million visitors every year.

The bell is so well known as a historical artifact, and “liberty” has such a universal and positive ring for most Americans, we forget that the Liberty Bell is a manifestly Christian artifact and symbol. The name “Liberty Bell”—first employed, in 1835, by an anti-slavery publication—comes from the biblical inscription that runs around the bronze exterior: “Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land Unto All the Inhabitants thereto” (Leviticus 25:10). During the nineteenth century, the bell’s inscription became a rallying cry for abolitionists. After the Civil War, the bell traveled across the country for displays and commemorations, helping to remind the fractured nation that the colonies once fought together for liberty from British tyranny. If there was anything that could bring the country back together after four years of conflict and 600,000 deaths it was an appeal to the nation’s past—a shared history that believed in freedom and believed in the Bible, even if both of these beliefs were sometimes held to with tragic inconsistency.

A Narrow Purpose

Mark David Hall’s new book Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land: How Christianity Has Advanced Freedom and Equality for All Americans (Fidelis Books, 2023) seeks to remind us of this shared history. Hall, a Professor of Politics at George Fox University and a Visiting Fellow at Princeton University’s James Madison Program, is no stranger to his subject matter, having written or edited books on America’s Christian founding, on faith and the founders, and on religion and public life in the founding era. The best way to read this new work is to understand that Hall is making an argument. That is to say, Hall does not attempt anything like a comprehensive analysis of freedom and equality in American life, nor does he seek to provide an exhaustive evaluation of Christianity’s contribution to public life in America.

No doubt, the biggest criticism of the book will be along these lines: that Hall has given a truncated, one-sided, overly rosy picture of Christian influence in America. Such criticisms, however, miss the point of what Hall is trying to accomplish. If Hall pushes hard in one direction—defending the salutary effects of Christianity in America and defending the American experiment more generally—it is because so many have pushed hard in the other direction. From academics claiming that the Enlightenment triumphed over Christianity in the American Founding, to the 1619 Project asserting that the American Revolutionary War was fought to preserve slavery, to Christianity Today’s former editor insisting that America was positively not founded on Christian principles, it has become commonplace for many Americans, even religious ones, to assume that the American founding was negligibly Christian and that Christianity has had an overwhelmingly negative influence when it comes to freedom and equality in this country. Hall disagrees:

This book…focuses on the ways in which Christians have advanced liberty and equality in the American context. Contrary to many academics and popular authors, I show that Christians have regularly been motivated by their faith to create fair and just institutions, fight for political freedom, oppose slavery, and secure religious liberty for all. Of course, some Christians have appealed to the Bible and Christian theology to oppose such reforms or to justify evil practices. Americans of other faiths and no faith have also worked to advance liberty and equality for all. Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land cannot tell all of these stories; its more modest goal is to put to rest the myth that Christianity has been a regressive force with respect to positive political, legal, and societal reform in the United States. (2)

In this “modest goal,” Hall is successful. While the skeptical reader may find himself often muttering “Yeah, but…” and the academic expert may wish for a deeper dive rather than a 200-page jaunt through 250 years of history, the open-minded inquirer will find that Hall makes a scholarly and persuasive case that liberty is not just an American ideal but a Christian one, and that Christians have done much to advance the ideal in America.

Myths Overturned

In the book’s seven main chapters, Hall sets out to counter several familiar stereotypes and unfortunate myths regarding Christian influence in American history. Let me mention three examples.

First, Hall repudiates the myth that the Puritans were tyrannical theocrats. Without making seventeenth-century Calvinists out to be champions of religious liberty (as we would understand the term), Hall demonstrates that the Pilgrims and Puritans held to many democratic and republican theories of civil government, an observation that Alexis de Tocqueville also made after his famous tour of America in the nineteenth century. Undoubtedly, the Puritans in America desired to create Christian social and political institutions that they believed were faithful to the Bible, but they also eschewed ecclesiastical courts over civil affairs, made church membership voluntary, and did not institute an inquisition-style group of clergy who enforced religious conformity (20). Like every other “Christian nation” in the Western world, the Puritans in America believed the magistrates should punish blasphemy, heresy, and a long list of sins of irreligion. At the same time, the American Puritans made extensive revisions to English law, adding to the rights of ordinary citizens and mitigating the abuses of power and money (19). Even when the law called for harsh penalties, the death penalty was rarely enforced. If the Puritans were not twenty-first century democrats, neither were they intolerant theocrats (33).

Second, Hall examines the controversial history surrounding the American Founders and slavery, in particular the claim of the 1619 Project that “nearly everything that has truly made American exceptional” comes out of slavery (65-66). Without defending slavery or excusing the founders who owned slaves, Hall’s scholarship provides a helpful—and accurate—contrast to the 1619 Project’s assumptions. For example, Hall argues that “no founder defended slavery as a positive good, and many key founders—like John Dickenson, James Wilson, John Jay, Benjamin Franklin, Benjamin Rush, George Washington, and James Madison—either manumitted their slaves, came to oppose slavery, or did both. Later in the nineteenth century, Black leaders like Lemuel Haynes and Frederick Douglas appealed to the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution as being on the side of liberty. Although the founders famously (or infamously) had to compromise on slavery in order for the federal constitution to have any chance of passing the states, Hall reminds us that there were good reasons at the end of the eighteenth century to think slavery was on the road to extinction. Not only had the Northwest Ordinance (1787) banned slavery in its territories, but from 1790 to 1810 the rate of growth of the free Black population in the United States outpaced that of enslaved Americans (85). Slavery seemed to be on a slow, but certain, road to nowhere, and the many Christian groups and Christian arguments opposing slavery seemed to be winning the day.

A third example of an unfortunate myth can be found in the chapter on evangelical reformers in antebellum America. Because the South and the Bible Belt have become synonymous in many people’s minds today, we fail to appreciate just how relatively irreligious the South was at the start of the nineteenth century. Until the at least the 1830s, evangelical fervor was much more dominant in New England and in the Midwest than in the South, and it was that religious energy that propelled the abolitionist movement. As Hall puts it, “[The 1619 Project] account ignores the reality that by the founding era, many civic and religious leaders had come to understand that slavery was an evil that must be ended. In the nineteenth century, numerous citizens were motivated by the Christian convictions to work toward what they hoped would be its peaceful demise” (109). After all, slavery was peacefully being outlawed in the North and mid-Atlantic states and had been prohibited from expanding into the upper Midwest. Christian convictions inspired reformers to spread the same anti-slavery sentiment and legislation across the rest of the country. Likewise, Hall also notes that even though the United States government oppressed Native Americans, many white Americans actively interceded on behalf of the Cherokee Nation, including Christian missionaries and notable religious leaders.

Conclusion

Hall’s book is partly a scholarly investigation of the past and partly an impassioned plea for the future. Proclaim Liberty is a polemical work–not in tone (which remains careful and measured throughout), but in its direct aim to persuade the reader that Christianity is good for America and that religious freedom is good for all Americans. No doubt, one of the most surprising insights comes from Chapter Five on “The True Origin of the Separation of Church and State.” Hall argues convincingly that the notion of a strict separation between church and state only came to fore after the Civil War as Protestants worried about the growth and influence of the Catholic Church. At the time of the Declaration of Independence in 1776, the Catholic population in America was only 1.8 percent. One hundred years later, Catholics accounted for roughly half of all Americans (119). Protestants feared—with some justification, given a string of nineteenth-century papal encyclicals which stood opposed to capitalism and democracy and seemed to require Roman Catholicism as the official state religion wherever possible—that without strict separationism there would be no limit to Catholic power. Americans never supported a high wall of separation until it was connected to anti-Catholicism. But by the end of the twentieth century strict separationism was being used against Protestants as well as Catholics. Now in the twenty-first century, Protestants and Catholics often work together, lest religious freedom be trampled underfoot by activist courts and the free exercise of religion gets reduced to mere private belief. Hall is right to be concerned that the liberty the founders believed in can be lost.

Hall has written an important book full of important history and corrective scholarship. As a physical book, the quality would have been improved with a better typeface, better paper, a better cover design, and something besides running footnotes (so that the total reaches 555 for the entire book). The impressive content, though, more than makes up for the lackluster design. Although the second half of the book strays a bit from the historical question “how Christianity has advanced freedom” into present-day advocacy for religious freedom, the book as a whole is thoroughly researched and effectively argued. Hall’s work is a needed reminder that even if America never was, and is not now, “Christian” in every sense of the word, we can never fully separate—nor should we want to separate—Christianity from America. The fight for liberty, not least of all religious liberty, is ongoing and should be the concern of all Americans. And for that liberty in the first place—for all Americans—we have Christians to thank.

He Was Ready for Heaven

Sat, 20 May 2023 12:20:15 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/he-was-ready-for-heaven/id1526483896?i=1000614023014

I’m not in the habit of commenting on the death of every famous Christian. The world doesn’t need a statement or a reflection from everyone on everything all the time.

But it’s not all the time that two well-known friends in ministry die within the span of 24 hours. Those outside the Presbyterian Church in America may not realize that Briarwood in Birmingham and Redeemer in Manhattan may be the two most famous churches in our denomination. How sad, yet providentially fitting, that their pastors would enter into glory on nearly the same day. Harry Reeder’s death came as a shock. Tim Keller’s death shouldn’t have been shocking—his battle with pancreatic cancer was well known—but somehow even though Tim had outlived the normal prognosis (by a long shot), when his days drew to an end, it still felt sudden. Beautifully, Tim was ready to die. None of us were ready for him to go.

I initially got to know Tim through his books and his sermons. Even though we had met a few times along the way in TGC (The Gospel Coalition) circles, I didn’t get to see Tim up close at regular intervals until six or seven years ago when I came on the TGC board. We navigated some choppy waters in those days, and then later we were put together on the PCA’s sexuality study committee. Over many emails, phone calls, and meetings I got to know the Tim Keller behind the famous books and famous sermons. Turns out it was the same Tim Keller. Amazingly, I never got a whiff of pretension with Tim, never a hint of moral impropriety, and never a sense of superiority or entitlement. I know many other young(ish) men who probably thought the same thing I did, “Why is Tim so kind and encouraging to me?”

That question has nothing to do with me and everything to do with Tim. On the one hand, I think Tim made a conscious effort in the last five years to invest in the next generation. He deliberately looked for ways to support others, steer them, and, if necessary, affectionately spar with them. This was a strategic move on his part, perhaps sensing more and more his own mortality. But conversation also came naturally for Tim. Though not an extrovert by most definitions, he was at ease with people (or at least he was by the time I got to know him). He was insatiably curious about ideas, books, and trends. He loved to talk about theology, culture, and history. He also loved to tell stories. Importantly, he smiled often and liked to laugh.

He kept the main thing the main thing. He wasn’t a jerk. He wasn’t a prima donna. He was enjoyable to be around. He was full of the fruit of the Spirit.

I’ve written before, at greater length, about Tim’s life and ministry, including some ways we were similar and some ways we were different. As I said at the conclusion of that piece, the best thing about Tim wasn’t his intellect, his insights, or his communication skills—as impressive as those gifts were. Second to the gospel that he joyfully preached, the most lasting lesson from Tim Keller’s life is Tim Keller’s life. His books will last a long time. Likely, so will the church he pastored and the ministries he helped to start. But in these days immediately following his death, I suspect what you’ll hear most is Tim’s life of heartfelt faith and sincere devotion. He loved Jesus. He loved the Bible. He loved his wife, Kathy, and their children. He kept the main thing the main thing. He wasn’t a jerk. He wasn’t a prima donna. He was enjoyable to be around. He was full of the fruit of the Spirit. He was ready for heaven. That’s a good life; that’s a Christian life.

Soon after his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer in 2020, I was on the phone with Tim, probably talking about some brushfire at TGC. He said he needed to tell me something about his health and let me know why he would be out of commission for some time. His demeanor was sobering and realistic, but also hopeful and grateful. I remember hearing from Tim several months later, “You know, I’ve always talked about preaching the gospel to yourself and finding freedom in the gospel, and I’ve really believed it. But with this diagnosis I finally have complete freedom.” Then he said with a chuckle, “I can say no to everything now. Once you have cancer you can do whatever you want.” The comment was lighthearted, but it also made a serious point. Tim knew what Christ had done for him and who he was in Christ. He also knew that he was free to focus in the months or years head—whatever the Lord might give him—on those things (and only those things) that were most important. Tim was fully alive even when dying of cancer. He was full of faith until the end, all the way up to the moment when his faith became sight.

Tim and I didn’t talk all the time. There are many others who knew him longer and more deeply. But we did communicate regularly, and it says something revealing—if unsurprising—that as I peruse our emails over the past few months, Tim was writing about everything from Christian Nationalism and two kingdoms theology, to Abraham Kuyper and Martyn Lloyd-Jones, to the Bible’s teaching on spiritual adultery and idolatry. In our last communication a few weeks ago, Tim told me that he would be feeling better in a month and should be ready for a podcast interview after that. Well, there won’t be a podcast interview, but Tim was right: he’s feeling much better now.

The very last line, which seemed perfunctory at the time, now feels rather poignant. “Talk later—and thanks!” he said. I’d like that. Because of Jesus, we will talk later. And Tim, thanks.

Giving Thanks for Harry Reeder (1948–2023)

Fri, 19 May 2023 17:44:26 GMT

“I have some sad news to share,” a subdued voice told me over the phone. “Harry Reeder died in a car accident this morning.”

That was the call I got from my friend yesterday afternoon. I couldn’t believe it. I’d just seen Harry two weeks ago at the Gospel Reformation Network conference here in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was going to see Harry again in a few weeks, if I didn’t talk to him before then, at the PCA General Assembly. How could this be true? Did this really happen? Is Harry really gone? That was my response, and it was the same response I got from members of my congregation as I shared with them the tragic news that their beloved former pastor had passed on to glory.

I suppose everyone is unique, but Harry truly was unlike anyone I’ve ever met. He was a powerful preacher—authoritative and gregarious, big in personality and passionate about the gospel, funny and blood earnest all at the same time. But he wasn’t just a gifted preacher and teacher. He was also an amazingly conscientious pastor—never forgetting a name, learning all he could about his flock, and constantly following up on church members. As everyone who knew Harry can attest, he seemed to possess indefatigable energy, not to mention a filing cabinet in his brain that could produce sermon outlines, the movements of Civil War regiments, and alliterative insights seemingly at will.

In many ways, Harry was a man’s man: strong, athletic, and confident. But he was also a family man. We should pray for his wife, Cindy, along with their three children—Jennifer, Ike, and Abby—and their many grandchildren. Harry will be greatly missed by thousands, but especially by his family. I’ll miss him as a Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) founding father, as a ministerial example, and as a friend.

Harry’s Pastoral Imprint

Hardly a week goes by that I don’t hear firsthand about Harry Reeder’s ministry. Though Harry left Christ Covenant, where I now serve as senior pastor, almost 25 years ago, the church still bears his imprint. Under the Lord Jesus, it’s Harry Reeder’s church.

When Christ Covenant particularized as a congregation on December 5, 1981, the church had fewer than 40 members and no pastor. At the time, Harry was leading a flourishing work at Pinelands Presbyterian Church in Miami, Florida. The PCA—less than a decade old—wanted to establish a flagship church in Charlotte. The aim was to plant a church that would plant a presbytery. Not surprisingly, the denomination wanted Harry to return to his hometown and plant this kind of church.

Harry will be greatly missed by thousands, but especially by his family. I’ll miss him as a PCA founding father, as a ministerial example, and as a friend.

Harry was interested, but he soon discovered there was already a small PCA church in Charlotte, and Harry didn’t want to plant a rival church to one that already existed. This humble hesitancy was all the encouragement Christ Covenant needed to aggressively pursue Harry to become its senior pastor. In February 1983, Harry and Cindy moved to Charlotte and began their ministry at Christ Covenant.

Harry left a thriving church of 400 for a church plant in a trailer. But almost immediately, the church began to grow—tripling in the first three months, outgrowing their facilities the same year, adding a second service in 1987, moving into their first owned building in 1988, doubling again three years later, starting a Christian school in 1989, and then breaking ground in 1994 on the worship center where I now have the privilege of preaching each Sunday. By the time Christ Covenant moved into its permanent home in 1997, the church had swelled to 3,000 members, almost half of whom were children.

In 1999, Harry left Christ Covenant to become the senior pastor at Briarwood Presbyterian Church in Birmingham, Alabama. It may have been the only church that could’ve lured Harry away from the congregation and the city he dearly loved. Briarwood isn’t only a very large and generous church—it’s also the mothership of the PCA, the place where the denomination began on December 4, 1973. Following Frank Barker at Briarwood was no small task, but Harry and Frank supported and encouraged each other admirably during the transition and over their many years together in Birmingham. For almost a quarter century, Harry preached the Bible—faithfully, fruitfully, forcefully—in what is one of our denomination’s most important and influential congregations.

Harry’s Faithful Mentorship

For many ministers my age and younger, Harry became an implicit, and sometimes explicit, mentor. Like hundreds of others over the years, I traipsed across Civil War battlefields with Harry as he passed along the stories and leadership lessons he loved to share. He wasn’t shy about stating his opinions, but he also was generous in passing out encouragement. Many pastors looked up to him for his theological clarity, his moral courage, and his resolute commitment to the “old paths” of preaching, sacraments, and prayer.

Many pastors looked up to him for his theological clarity, his moral courage, and his resolute commitment to the ‘old paths’ of preaching, sacraments, and prayer.

The PCA will celebrate its 50th anniversary in Memphis next month as commissioners from all over the country gather for General Assembly. I can hardly believe we won’t see Harry there.

As well as anyone I’ve known, Harry embodied the motto of the PCA: “Faithful to the Scriptures, true to the Reformed Faith, obedient to the Great Commission.” That was Harry—all of him and all of it. He loved to teach the faith, he loved to defend the faith, and he loved to share his faith. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person to see Harry witness to the restaurant server or ask perfect strangers how he could pray for them.

Above all, Harry’s legacy is the gospel he preached so effectively and shared so frequently. For Harry, all is glory and gladness now and forever. For those he knew here on earth, there’ll be grief and sadness. But if Harry’s word can be believed—no, if God’s Word can be believed—then we don’t mourn as those who have no hope. We have heard the joyful sound: Jesus saves! Jesus saves!

Don’t Be True to Yourself

Thu, 18 May 2023 15:37:29 GMT

Misguided Advice

Twenty years ago, Anna Quindlen—a writer for the New York Times, a Pulitzer Prize winner, and a recipient of prestigious honorary degrees—gave this advice to a group of graduating seniors:

Each of you is as different as your fingertips. Why should you march to any lockstep? Our love of lockstep is our greatest curse, the source of all that bedevils us. It is the source of homophobia, xenophobia, racism, sexism, terrorism, bigotry of every variety and hue because it tells us that there is one right way to do things, to look, to behave, to feel, when the only right way is to feel your heart hammering inside you and to listen to what its timpani is saying.1

That’s fairly typical commencement counsel: “Follow your dreams. March to the beat of your own drummer. Be true to yourself.”2

I’d like to offer different advice: “Do not follow your dreams. Do not march to the beat of your own drummer. And whatever you do, do not be true to yourself.”

If you think I’m being a little hyperbolic, you’re right. I’ll provide some nuance to this advice at the end. But I believe it’s important to state the matter provocatively because our world screams at us in thousands of commercials, movies, and songs that the best way to live, the only authentic way to live, is for you to be you, for you to live out your truth, for you to find your true self and then have the courage to live accordingly.

Deceived by Desires

The Bible, on the other hand, tells us, “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death” (Prov. 14:12). Think of the story of Esau who sold his birthright for a pot of stew. “Let me eat some of that red stew,” he said, “for I am exhausted. I am about to die; of what use is a birthright to me?” (Gen. 25:30, 32). Esau was consumed with his desires.

Esau was defined by his desires, and they deceived him. Esau is depicted as an animal. You can see this more clearly in the original Hebrew. All he can think of is the red stuff, the red stuff (ha-adom, ha-adom). He exaggerates the extent of his need. He wasn’t literally going to die. (Like kids saying when dinner is a half hour late, “I’m starving!”). Esau is emotional and impulsive. He is fainting, gasping, gulping. You can almost see him wiping off his mouth, throwing down a napkin, and letting out a loud belch as he walks away from his meal of stew. He was not made nobler for satisfying his desires. He was made lower. He became like an animal. That’s what the text wants us to see. Esau the skillful hunter was prey to his own appetites. He had a better identity as the firstborn of Isaac, but he gave that away. He became a profane man, treating what was sacred with irreverence and disrespect.

The world tells us that our identity is found in what we desire. So to deny the fulfillment of what you desire is to deny your truest identity. We are all awash in what Carl Trueman calls “expressive individualism.”3 The idea is that you are what you feel, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m sure you remember Elsa’s anthem “Let It Go” from Frozen. With its emphasis on testing the limits and breaking through, it’s no wonder the song and the character Elsa have become a favorite in the LGTBQ+ community.

No right, no wrong, no rules for me I’m free.4

What could be more indicative of the spirit of the age?

A Philosophy for Our Times

Throughout most of history, philosophers and theologians have distinguished between affections (which are motions of the will) and passions (which sweep over us unbidden). That’s why the Westminster Confession says God is without parts and passions. The Westminster divines were using “passion” not as we do to mean intense zeal. They were saying, God does not have an emotional life like we do. He is Pure Act; nothing happens to him. He is never rendered passive.

The salvation we all know we need is not to be found by looking within ourselves but by looking for grace outside ourselves.

Consequently, the Western tradition, especially in the Christian tradition, has insisted that the lower appetites must be constrained by reason and the grace of God working within us. In fact, the Reformed tradition goes one step further and reminds us that we can be misled by all our faculties. That’s what we mean by the phrase “totally depraved”—our passions are broken, our reason is not entirely reliable, and our wills, apart from Christ, are bound to sin.

Most people you will encounter in life—and maybe you, reading this today—operate with an unspoken assumption that shapes and defines every argument, every instinct, and the way you look at the world and look at yourself. The assumption is this: is equals ought. Importantly, the is here is no longer about your body. It’s not about some physical givenness. “My body tells me something true about myself even when I don’t feel that it is true.” That mindset is no longer assumed. Now it is assumed that what you feel about yourself, or believe about yourself, or perceive about yourself tells you who you are and how you should behave.

Is equals ought conditions us to believe: “This is what I feel like, so this is what I should do; and if you tell me I can’t do that, or that I should be something or someone other than I feel myself to be, you are attacking the very heart of my personhood.”

What’s wrong with this philosophical assumption? Besides being devoid of any objective, empirical, scientific facts, the assumption is entirely at odds with Christian anthropology. The only way is equals ought can work is if there is no doctrine of the fall—if our instincts are never self-deceived, if our desires are never self-centered, and if our dreams are never self-destructive.

The salvation we all know we need is not to be found by looking within ourselves but by looking for grace outside ourselves. G. K. Chesterton said it so well:

That Jones shall worship the god within him turns out ultimately to mean that Jones shall worship Jones. Let Jones worship the sun or moon, anything rather than the Inner Light; let Jones worship cats or crocodiles, if he can find any in his street, but not the god within. Christianity came into the world firstly in order to assert with violence that a man had not only to look inwards, but to look outwards, to behold with astonishment and enthusiasm a divine company and a divine captain. The only fun of being a Christian was that a man was not left alone with the Inner Light, but definitely recognized an outer light, fair as the sun, clear as the moon, terrible as an army with banners.5

Like most heresies, the is equals ought heresy is partially true. It grasps something we want to affirm; namely, that ethics must be rooted in ontology. That’s just a fancy way of saying identity does shape obligation. Is does equal ought, if you have a doctrine of sin, regeneration, union with Christ, and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. The great theologian of our age, Lady Gaga, was right: you were born that way. The good news of Jesus Christ is that you can be born again another way.

Notes:

Quindlen made these remarks at Sarah Lawrence College in 2002. They were then published in her book Loud and Clear (New York: Random House, 2004), 307. This chapter is adapted from a commencement address I gave: “Whatever You Do, Do Not Be True to Yourself” (Geneva College, Beaver Falls, PA, May 7, 2022), https://kevindeyoung.org. See Carl Trueman, The Rise and the Triumph of the Modern Self: Cultural Amnesia, Expressive Individualism, and the Road to the Sexual Revolution (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2020). Idina Menzel, “Let It Go” in Frozen, directed by Chris Buck and Jennifer Lee (Burbank, CA: Walt Disney Animation Studios, 2013). G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (New York: Image, 1959), 75–76.

This article is adapted from Do Not Be True to Yourself: Countercultural Advice for the Rest of Your Life by Kevin DeYoung.

Prophetic, or Merely Performative?

Wed, 14 Jun 2023 09:00:00 GMT

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The Bible is not opposed to critiquing Christians. There is hardly a book in the Bible that doesn’t involve some form of correction, warning, or rebuke for God’s (often) wayward people. In fact, in many texts Christians are exhorted to confront our brothers when sinned against (Matthew 18:15), to gently restore those caught in transgression (Galatians 6:1), and to warn those who have wandered from the truth (James 5:19). Indeed, the Scriptures were given to us for reproof and for correction (2 Timothy 3:16).

There is no problem—when done wisely, humbly, and fairly—with Christians pointing out problems with the Christian church, or, for that matter, when Christians address publicly what others have spoken, written, or done publicly. The danger is when Christians—as a full-time vocation or as an online hobby—become professional critics of the church. Good parents discipline their children at the right time and in the right way. Bad parents exasperate their children with constant harping and provocation.

“But what about the prophets,” you might counter. “Wasn’t their fulltime calling basically to show God’s people their sins? Of course, religious people and religious institutions don’t like the prophetic voices in their midst. God’s people have always persecuted the prophets.” True enough, no one likes to be confronted with sin, error, or hypocrisy. All of us, especially those who know we are debtors to mercy alone, should cultivate the kind of humility that makes us open to seeing our faults and leads to repent of our sins.

And yet, just because someone sounds “prophetic” does not mean he (or she) is justified in what he says or how he says it. Let’s think about the prophets in the Bible and consider some ways not to speak prophetically to other Christians or about the church. Here are some surefire ways to ruin the credibility of your critique:

First, be unaccountable. Because prophets in the Bible were often without honor (especially in their hometown), it’s tempting to conclude that any objection to the “prophetic voice” is just another sign of one’s recalcitrant heart. But here we should remember that the Bible is replete with many false prophets. That’s why in both Testaments God’s people are called to be discerning about those who claim to be speak “prophetically.” It’s also why false prophecy was punishable by death (Deuteronomy 18:20). Whenever we claim to speak for the Lord about his bride—whether from the pulpit or from the pages of the New York Times—we should be exceedingly careful to make sure what we are saying can be proven from what God has said in his Word.

Just because someone sounds “prophetic” does not mean he (or she) is justified in what he says or how he says it.

Second, only speak about the sins of God’s people. The Old Testament prophets often functioned like prosecuting attorneys (e.g., Malachi), making that case that God’s people had been unfaithful. But let us not forget that most of the Old Testament prophets also denounced the sins outside of Israel. The books of Isaiah and Jeremiah have long sections about the wickedness of the nations. Even Amos, who famously lambasts those who are “at ease in Zion,” begins his prophecy with a word about the judgment coming on Israel’s neighbors. We ought to be cautious about “prophets” in our day who are quick to speak to the “Gentiles” about the sins of Israel, while never speaking with the same prophetic force about the sins of those outside the fold of God’s people.

Third, never speak to God’s people as his chosen, beloved, covenant people. The Old Testament prophets say plenty of hard things, but they usually put those hard things in a broader context. Think again of the parenting analogy. Bad parents berate their children out of frustration, anger, and even dislike. Good parents discipline their children, while reminding them of their special status and privileged position. The prophets of the Old Testament rebuke and warn, but they also woo, persuade, and draw the wayward back with God’s cords of kindness.

Fourth, never offer grace and mercy. The good prophets in the Bible offer the same basic message to God’s people: repent, return, and be redeemed. There is mercy for Israel, just as there is redemption for Gomer (Hosea 3:1-5). Too many internet “prophets”—and to be fair, probably too many of “prophetic” preachers as well—know how to scold, but do not know how to succor. They know how to apply the law but not how to offer the gospel. It’s all “bad dog!” and never “Well done, good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your master.”

Fifth, never hold out hope and the promise of future glory. Most the prophetic books cover similar ground. Joel is a classic example: Israel has sinned (1:1-12), repent and return (1:13-2:17), the Lord will have pity and will bless you (2:18-32), the Lord will judge the nations (3:1-16), there is a glorious future awaiting God’s people (3:17-21). Isolated words of rebuke might be offered for the worst individuals, like Ahab and Jezebel, but when speaking to God’s people, the prophets don’t just harp on sins without also speaking of God’s electing love, his forgiving grace, and his coming glory.

Think about the prophetic letter we call Revelation (Revelation 1:3). The words of correction from Jesus to the seven churches are two chapters out of twenty-two that exult in the glory of Christ, encourage God’s people to press on, condemn the evils of Babylon, and celebrate the church’s final victory and vindication. If the chastising voices of our day—even though they have true things to say—never sound these notes, we might wonder whether the speech is actually more performative than prophetic.

Three Building Blocks for a Christian’s Political Theology

Tue, 13 Jun 2023 09:00:00 GMT

Every pastor desires to see his congregation formed theologically (and if the pastor doesn’t want that, he should!). Part of this theological formation involves thinking through a number of questions that relate to church and state. The three entries below are taken from a book I’ve been writing over several years called Daily Doctrine. It should be out next year. In the meantime, hopefully the topics below can help us think theologically about a few of the pressing issues of our day.

Church and State

In his 1802 letter, Thomas Jefferson wrote to the Danbury Baptist Association in Connecticut offering his interpretation that the Constitution erected a “wall of separation between Church & State.” Although Jefferson’s phrase has been often misapplied, and his gloss on the First Amendment can be criticized, Jefferson was right to recognize that church and state are different institutions whose aim and approaches must not be confused or conflated.

The church is the visible society of professing Christians (and their children) on earth. This society has an order and government designed primarily for the spiritual well-being of its members, though not without all reference to the temporal interests of the community.

By contrast, the state is the visible society of all the members of that body (e.g., a country). This society has an order and government designed primarily for the temporal well-being of its members, though not without reference to the spiritual references of its members.[1]

While the church and state will overlap in aims and functions at times, and both societies are ultimately accountable to God and will be judged according to the divine law, the two institutions are fundamentally different and independent.

The two societies differ in their origin. The church owes its origin to Christ as Mediator. The state is founded in nature, not in grace. That is, the state is common to all people, whereas the church is a part of God’s redemptive plan.

The two societies differ in the primary objects for which they were instituted. The church was ordained by God for the salvation of souls and for the spiritual good of its heavenly citizens. The state was ordained by God for the outward order and good of human society.

The two societies differ in the power committed to them. The church’s power does not involve the exercise of physical force. The church exercises its power by the force of truth upon the convictions and consciences of men. To the magistrates of the state belong the power of the sword.

The two societies differ in the administration of their respective authorities. The church has its own office bearers to exercise authority over its own affairs. The state, while not being prescribed a specific form of government in Scripture, has its own office bearers appointed by God to exercise authority as a government over the governed.

If these four points are true, then we must reject any Erastian system whereby the state exercises supreme authority over the church, and any mediaeval Catholic system whereby the church exercises supreme authority over the state. In the best of circumstances, the church and the state will pursue their unique aims in ways that are mutually reinforcing of the other, but the two societies must not be confused as being the same.

Establishment Principle and Voluntary Principle

As Reformed ecclesiology developed in the modern world, few theologians advocated final state authority over the church or final church authority over the state. Anything too close to the former was dismissed as Erastian—named after the Swiss physician Thomas Erastus (1524–83) who argued for state supremacy in ecclesiastical affairs—and anything too close to the latter was considered dangerously Catholic.

But this doesn’t mean the relationship between church and state was easy to figure out. Far from it. Even in countries with deep Protestant roots, church leaders and theologians often disagreed on whether the church should be organized according to the establishment principle or the voluntary principle.

According to the establishment principle, the church should be supported, defended, and promoted by the state. Even in a country like Scotland, which had long emphasized the distinction between church and state as two kings and two kingdoms, the assumption was that Scotland was a Christian nation and ought to be governed as a godly commonwealth. The church alone had authority to determine its worship, doctrine, and discipline, but the state was obligated to recognize and support the church by means of tax revenue and by upholding certain fundamental principles of true piety (e.g., Sabbath observance). The magistrate was afforded a power about religion (circa sacra) but not a power in religion (in sacris).

By contrast, those holding to the voluntary principle insisted upon a sharper separation of church and state. Most practically, this meant that the church was to be supported by the voluntary contributions of church members rather than out of the state coffers. Likewise, no one would be considered a member of the church simply by virtue of being a citizen of that country. Churches would be formed by the voluntary association of those wanting to belong to a given congregation. Among paedobaptists, “those” included parents and their children.

Given the fact that many of the greatest Protestant theologians in history have belonged to and believed in an establishment church, I’m hesitant to insist that the idea cannot mesh with biblical principles. And yet (as a Presbyterian), I’m glad that American Presbyterians, in forming a national denomination in 1788, altered the Westminster Standards in several places so as to give the civil magistrate much less of a role in the affairs of the church (WCF 20.4, 23.3, 31.1; WLC 109), sowing the seeds of disestablishment (which took almost fifty more years to play out in the individual states). This formal change cemented what had already taken place informally when chapters 20 and 23 of the Confession were curtailed with the Adopting Act of 1729.

While the separation of church and state has often been misconstrued as the separation of the church from the state (or, in more recent years, the hostility of the state toward the church), I nevertheless see good reasons for the voluntary principle. (1) In an Establishment, the church normally depends, to some degree, upon state revenue. This makes true ecclesiastical independence impossible. What the state giveth, the state can also taketh away. (2) The state that can establish my religion, can later change its mind and establish someone else’s religion. Given our belief in human depravity and corruptibility, I’d prefer not to give the state authority concerning religious matters. (3) The early church was clearly not an establishment church. The voluntary nature of gathering, belonging, and financially giving to the church—without which the church cannot flourish—seems more the spirit of the New Testament and should be considered a vital part of Christian discipleship.

Liberty of Conscience

When Martin Luther was summoned before the Diet of Worms and told to repudiate his views on theology and the church, he famously refused to recant, claiming that it was “neither right nor safe” to go against his conscience. More than a century later, the Westminster Confession of Faith stated just as emphatically, “God alone is Lord of the conscience” (WCF 20.2). The liberty of conscience has been ever since not just a hallmark of Protestant Christianity but one of the defining marks of the Western world.

But what did Luther and the Westminster divines mean by liberty of conscience? For starters, Luther declared that his conscience was “captive to the Word of God.” Luther did not use “conscience” as shorthand for “doing whatever I want to do.” His statement was about fidelity to the Bible, no matter the cost, not about cruising through life with “conscience” as a get out of jail free card.

Further, the Westminster Confession makes clear that “conscience” is not an excuse for sin and lawlessness. When, “upon the pretense of Christian liberty,” we “practice any sin, or cherish any lust,” we dishonor God and destroy the purpose of Christian liberty (WCF 20.3). Likewise, Christian liberty is not meant to overthrow the lawful power of civil and ecclesiastical authorities (WCF 20.4). The God-given authority of the civil magistrate and of the church are designed to work in concert with the God-given authority of the individual’s conscience—each supporting, and at times limiting, the others.

How this all works out in practice is often complicated, but the principle that “God alone is Lord of the conscience” is worth preserving. It means that we should not press others (nor capitulate to pressure) to do what their conscience (or ours) has concluded from the Bible is wrong. It means that the church should not require of its members (in worship or elsewhere) what the Bible does not require. And it means that wherever possible the government should look to accommodate the sincerely held beliefs of its citizens.

The Reformation view of the conscience means that religious freedom is not just an Enlightenment value or a pragmatic consideration. John Locke’s famous Letter Concerning Toleration (1689) argued chiefly on Christian grounds that the Protestant nations of Europe should show love, forbearance, and goodwill to all people.[2] Locke said there is “but one truth, one way to heaven,” but we cannot lead people there by coercion and by making them violate their consciences.[3] The care of souls does not belong to the civil magistrate. The magistrate is to secure men’s possessions; the church is to secure men’s salvation. They have distinct roles and operate in distinct spheres. To be sure, this may mean that the state has to tolerate false religion, but Locke feared that any power “given to the magistrate for the suppression of an idolatrous Church” could in time be used for “the ruin of an orthodox one.”[4]

The revolutionary notion that the individual conscience should be respected and that there should be freedom of religious belief and practice is one of the great legacies of Reformation principles. May God be gracious to preserve these freedoms in our day and for generations to come.

* * * * *

[1] These definitions, as well as the points that follow, summarize James Bannerman, The Church of Christ, 101-113, though it should be noted that Bannerman, who defended the establishment principle, argues for a more pronounced role for the state in establishing, supporting, and promoting true religion.

[2] Though, admittedly, Locke was thinking mainly about all Protestant people. Locke was actually more in favor of toleration for Jews and Muslims than for Catholics, because, like almost all Protestants at that time, he viewed Catholicism as a dangerous geo-political power hostile to the interests of Protestant Europe.

[3] John Locke, Letter Concerning Toleration, 153.

[4] Locke, Letter Concerning Toleration, 175.

Two Sexes, Created to Be Distinct

Thu, 25 May 2023 09:00:00 GMT

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During one of my summers as a college student—over 25 years ago now—I served as a counselor at a Christian camp. One of our responsibilities as counselor, besides keeping watch over a rowdy bunch of kids and teenagers and trying to teach them something about Jesus, was to come up with skits for the many large group gatherings during the week. Some of the skits were supposed to be serious, but most of them were supposed to make the campers laugh.

The camp director, an older man who has since gone to be with the Lord, told us there were two new rules we had to follow in putting together our brilliant sketch comedies. One, we couldn’t do anything so gross that some poor camper might get sick. Two, no crossdressing. The first rule was disappointing, but made sense. You don’t want to ruin a camper’s week by doing some nauseating food gag. But the second rule felt more inconvenient. After all, it was a staple of zany camp hijinks to have counselors dress up in outlandish outfits, especially men stuffing their shirts full to look like models of exaggerated femininity.

The director didn’t explain his rationale in great detail, and I don’t think it is always wrong for people to wear silly clothes in silly contexts. But I’ve often thought about the prescience in that older man’s wisdom. He knew that we were performing for puberty-throttled teenagers. Even in the late 1990s, he could see the potential confusion that a week of crossdressing skits might cause. Likely, no one would have been scared or led down a path of sexual deviance, but he figured why risk it? Why risk making teenagers feel (even more) insecure about their bodies? Why risk presenting drag—and I’m not sure we even knew the term at the time—as a fun, playful option for Christians? Maybe he was stricter than he needed to be. Or maybe he was ahead of his time.

Anyone with half an ear open to the news knows that we are living through a disturbing and disorienting cultural moment in which grown men and women don’t know (or pretend like they don’t know) the difference between men and women. Trans news is in the news every single day. Whether its Dylan Mulvaney drinking Bud Light, or J.K. Rowling getting pummeled online, or entertainers coming out as non-binary, or influencers lecturing their followers about preferred pronouns, or manly looking “women” taking the prize in women’s sports, or drag queens gyrating for little children, or politicians lauding the ghastly disfigurement known as “gender-affirming care,” we are awash in a world that refuses to believe that “God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:27).

Thankfully, while the pastoral and personal issues are complicated, the Biblical teaching on the trans issue is not.

Thankfully, while the pastoral and personal issues are complicated, the Biblical teaching on the trans issue is not. Deuteronomy 22:5 states matter-of-factly: “A woman shall not wear a man’s garment, nor shall a man put on a woman’s cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God.” I know, citing a verse from Law of Moses can be fraught with difficulties. Why should we listen to this verse when just a few verses later God’s people are told not to sow with two kinds of seed (v. 9) and not to wear cloth of wool and linen mixed together (v. 11)?

For starters, Jesus said he did not come to abolish the Law or the Prophets but to fulfill them (Matthew 5:17). So before we throw out any Old Testament command, we should be prepared to explain how Christ has fulfilled the command and transposed it to another key. Likewise, if the sacred writings are able to make us wise for salvation (2 Timothy 3:15), and if all Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable (v. 16), then every part of the Old Testament has something to teach us about God’s will for our lives. This is especially true for prohibitions in the Old Testament that are not given as case law, or connected to the sacrificial system, or tied to ritual uncleanness. The fact that Deuteronomy 22:5 prohibits an “abomination” suggests that this command was about more than good agrarian common sense.

And actually, the laws about seed and cloth help us understand what the prohibition against crossdressing is really about. God’s concern is with confusion and mixture. Paul reinforces the point of Deuteronomy 22:5 in 1 Corinthians 11 when he teaches that it is shameful for a woman to appear as a man and for a man to appear as a woman. Sexual differentiation is not a light matter to God. One, because He means for us to reflect His image as male and female. And two, because He means for male and female to reflect Christ and the church.

God created mankind in general as a sexual binary, and he created each one of us as one or the other. When we attempt to conceal God’s design by dressing like men (as women) or by dressing like women (as men)—or, even worse, by seeking to alter our sexual anatomy as men and women—we not only reject God’s good plan for us, we undermine the order he has established for all humanity.

I’m not sure my camp director two decades ago saw all this, but we could sure use more of his spiritual instincts today. We know we now live in a mad, mad world when sanity itself begins to look suspect.

12 Old(Ish) Books to Read When You Are Young

Mon, 01 May 2023 07:00:00 GMT

These 12 books are classics in the best sense of the word-classics not just because they are from another century but because they deal with topics that never go out of style and are written in a way that transcends their own time and culture. One of the most important things we can do when we are young and our beliefs and opinions have not yet fully formed is to make sure we read good books. I hope the annotated bibliography below will help point you in the right direction. I’ve tried to pick books that are rich and deep, but also accessible and not overly long.

Confessions (Oxford World’s Classics)

There may be no more influential theologian in the history of the church than Augustine, the bishop of Hippo in North Africa. This autobiographical work traces Augustine’s spiritual journey toward Christ through unbelief, philosophical wandering, and sexual promiscuity.

A Little Book on the Christian Life (Damask)

This little book of devotion and discipleship comes out of Calvin’s much larger work ‘The Institutes of the Christian Religion’. The French theologian and Genevan Reformer provides a beautiful and stirring picture of true spirituality.

Precious Remedies Against Satan’s Devices

In this work by English preacher and author Thomas Brooks, we see the genius of the Puritans for clearheaded organization and heart-probing spiritual diagnosis and gospel cure.

Pilgrim’s Progress

This is the most famous Christian allegory ever written and, by some accounts, the most widely distributed book in the world (after the Bible). Bunyan understood the trials and triumphs of the Christian life and presented the journey of faith in a way that has inspired millions of Christians.

Holiness: Its Nature, Hindrances, Difficulties and Roots

Ryle, an Anglican bishop in Liverpool, combined a sharp theological mind with unusually crisp communication. This is the best book for understanding the doctrine of progressive sanctification and growing in practical godliness.

Orthodoxy: With Annotations and Guided Reading by Trevin Wax

From theological treatises to biographies to detective stories, Chesterton was one of the greatest writers in the English language from the 20th century. This is Chesterton’s witty and intellectually robust defense of the joys of Christian orthodoxy.

The Christian Family

Bavinck is best known for his multi-volume ‘Reformed Dogmatics’ but this exploration of sex, marriage, and family life, though originally written in Dutch over a hundred years ago, remains incredibly relevant for our day.

Christianity and Liberalism (Revised Edition)

It’s often been said that the most important word in this title is “and”. Machen, the Princeton Seminary professor who left to start Westminster Theological Seminary, argues persuasively that theological liberalism is not a different version of Christianity but a different religion altogether.

Abolition of Man

While Lewis is better known for ‘Mere Christianity’ and ‘The Chronicles of Narnia,’ page for page this is one of the most important things Lewis ever wrote. Lewis argues that in forgetting the God-given natural order of morality, we have made ‘men without chests’ who try to see through first principles and therefore no longer see.

Redemption Accomplished and Applied

A Scottish-born pastor and professor, Murray originally wrote this work of soteriology as a series of articles for ordinary church members. You would be hard pressed to find a more succinct and readable theological exploration of the work of Christ and the salvation of sinners.

Knowing God

There are very few books that communicate such glorious truth—and communicate it as succinctly and as well—as Knowing God. Through Packer’s penetrating mind and gifted pen, the majesty of God and the wonder of the gospel shine through on every page. Easily one of the most influential books of the last half century.

The Holiness of God

No one did more in recent decades to remind us of the bigness of God than R. C. Sproul. This book will make sure we who were created in God’s image do not recreate him in ours.

An American Evangelist

Tue, 25 Apr 2023 07:00:00 GMT

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I first met Tim Keller in April 2011 at a national conference for The Gospel Coalition (TGC), the evangelical, renewal-minded organization Keller and Don Carson founded in 2005. About a month before the conference, Rob Bell released Love Wins, a provocative, universalist-leaning book “About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived.” It is hard to believe now, but Bell—who left ministry to start “a spiritual talk show in Los Angeles” the same year Love Wins came out—used to be one of the most famous pastors in America. Hailed by some as “the next Billy Graham,” Bell pastored Mars Hill Bible Church in suburban Grand Rapids, just a few miles from where I grew up. With the church growing to more than 10,000 attendees and its innovative pastor in high demand as a speaker and author, Time named Bell one of the 100 Most Influential People in the World (yes, the world). His books, and especially his popular NOOMA videos, were staples in many evangelical churches. At the time, I was pastoring in East Lansing, Michigan, not far from where Bell, the son of a Reagan-appointed district judge, grew up. Virtually every person at my church had visited Mars Hill or knew someone who attended Mars Hill. When Rob Bell started pitching universalism to his mainstream evangelical audience, it was a big deal.

A few weeks before the TGC conference in 2011, I published a twenty-page review of Love Wins. I was slated to lead a panel at the conference with Keller (and others) on the theme “God: Abounding in Love, Punishing the Guilty.” I knew of Tim Keller, of course. Everyone in my Reformed circles knew of Keller’s thriving ministry in New York City and of his 2008 bestseller The Reason for God (and, soon after that, The Prodigal God). I had never met Keller before, but it was Keller who, thanks to some mutual friends, had helped me get an advance copy of Love Wins so that I could have a lengthy review ready for publication as soon as the book was released. I wasn’t sure, though, whether Tim was following the controversy carefully. Turns out he was. (I’ve since discovered that, as much as Keller likes to stay out of the fray, he stays attuned to online debates.) As Tim passed by me in the speaker’s room, he said with a wry grin, “Well, if it isn’t the mean Kevin DeYoung.” I said, also with a smile, something like, “And if it isn’t the very nice Tim Keller.”

I’ve often thought about that initial exchange with Keller, because it says something about our different approaches to ministry. Though I hope to be kind and careful, my public ministry has often involved correcting error, guarding the truth, and warning against creeping liberalism. By contrast, though Keller usually lands squarely on the traditional side of doctrinal matters, he has a public ministry focused on making the gospel attractive to outsiders, staying out of intramural theological disputes, and warning against extremes. You might say I specialize in building walls, and Keller specializes in building bridges. I’m sure Tim would affirm with me that both are necessary.

I trust that many others will properly summarize and evaluate Collin Hansen’s excellent book Timothy Keller: His Spiritual and Intellectual Formation. It would be difficult for me to give a dispassionate analysis of a book written by a friend about a friend. What I can say by way of unbiased evaluation is that anyone remotely interested in Keller’s life and ministry will have a hard time putting this book down. Hansen, with a degree in journalism from Northwestern University, an MDiv from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, and more than ten years of experience working for TGC and directly with Keller, is ideally situated to write this book. The pace is quick, but with enough new information and personal anecdotes to repay the reader’s attention. The tone is appreciative and sympathetic, but not hagiographical. The biographical approach is unusual—it tells Keller’s story by relating him to his mentors and friends—but still basically chronological and easy to follow.

This book is not meant to be a traditional academic biography, replete with secondary sources and intent on evaluating Keller’s ideas, his strengths, his weaknesses, and his place in the larger cultural and ecclesiastical trends of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Instead, the book draws on interviews with its subject, and with his friends and family, to create a close-up portrait of Keller as an individual.

Continue reading this article on First Things.

Benjamin Warfield Collection

Fri, 17 Mar 2023 15:03:24 GMT

I am thrilled to see these new editions of B. B. Warfield’s classic works. Even for someone as brilliant and as influential as Warfield, his best writings have been hard to find gathered in one place, or in print at all. I hope every pastor, theological student, and interested layperson will get hold of these volumes. If they do, they will benefit from Warfield’s scholarly precision, biblical fidelity, and deep personal piety.

More than a century after his death, B. B. Warfield is still one of the most important exegetes and theologians in the Reformed tradition and for the evangelical church more broadly. The articles collected in The Inspiration and Authority of the Bible and in The Person and Work of Christ are deservedly considered classics in the field. I read them early on in my theological training and continue to read them with joy and profit. They belong on the shelf of every Christian who is eager to know the Christian faith in greater depth and to defend the truth once for all delivered to the saints.

The Inspiration and Authority of the Bible: Revised and Enhanced

The Person and Work of Christ: Revised and Enhanced

So, What about That TGC Article on Sex?

Tue, 07 Mar 2023 10:00:00 GMT

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On March 1, The Gospel Coalition posted an article by Joshua Ryan Butler, a pastor in Arizona and a fellow at the new Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics. The article, an excerpt from his forthcoming book Beautiful Union, immediately drew curious eyebrows and strong criticism for its sexualized description of the relationship between Christ and the church, and for its description of the sexual relationship between husband and wife.

In response to mounting criticism, TGC made the entire chapter available in order to provide more context for the controversial remarks. But the digital wildfire was already out of control. In the end, Butler resigned as a fellow, he was removed from speaking at TGC’s national conference, and the online cohort based on his book was canceled. On March 5, TGC pulled the article and the chapter off the website and issued an apology, asking for forgiveness and expressing a desire to listen and learn from its critics.

Many people have already weighed in on the controversy, and I’m sure more articles are in the works. I don’t have any genius to offer, but maybe there will be some small value in expressing what others may be thinking. If nothing else, writing this post will help the voices in my head go away.

Six thoughts.

One, the article was off in two respects. First, and most importantly, it spoke of Christ’s relationship to the church in ways that were lurid and specifically sexual instead of generally typological. I understand there is a long and ecumenical track record of pushing the allegorical envelope when it comes to the mystical union between Christ and the church. What Butler was attempting to do was appropriate. In my estimation, however, the language he employed was not. The sexual metaphor was pressed home in a way that was awkward at best and a violation of the Third Commandment at worst. As Old Testament scholar Meredith Kline observed decades ago, biblical anthropomorphism avoids “attributing to the holy One of Israel the erotic passions and sexual functions characteristic of the gods of pagan mythology.”

Many of the most virulent critics seemed to object to any asymmetry between men and women in sexual intimacy.

Two, the article also took a misstep in combining spiritual language and sexual language to talk about marital intimacy between husband and wife. To be sure, there is a time for spiritual language and a time for explicitly sexual language. There is also a time to put the languages together, but very carefully. There’s a reason Paul speaks of “our unpresentable parts” when describing the church as the body of Christ and each of us as members. If someone took Paul’s metaphor and started naming church members as sexual body parts, the language wouldn’t be exactly wrong, but it would be unwise and not keeping with biblical modesty and restraint. Yes, the prophets sometimes used shocking sexual language (Ezekiel, for example), but they were meaning to embarrass their sinful hearers, not to make a sensitive point of pastoral application. 

Three, as poorly expressed as some lines were—and editors should have helped him refine the language—it doesn’t take a lot of charity to know what Butler was trying to communicate. With a little help, he could have made almost the same exact points with much less heartache. For example, he could have said, “While we don’t want to press the analogy too far or speak too graphically about sexual matters, we know that Christ loves His people deeply and intimately. He implants the seed of the Word in the hearts of His people that they might bring forth new life.” On the marriage relationship, he could have said, “While we don’t want to describe marital intimacy in a way that centers the man and his experience, it is an undeniable biological reality that in sex that man enters and the woman receives. This is how Genesis often describes the sexual act. The woman’s openness and ‘hospitality’ is not ultimately for the man but for the potential human life that may come from their union.” 

Four, I don’t know Josh Butler, but everyone seems to speak highly of his character. It is obvious that he wants to be caring, sensitive, and helpful to the struggler. Nowhere in the excerpted chapter does he come close to advocating violence against women or subjugating women to the pleasure of men. The fact that people were negatively “impacted” by the article does not mean we have to agree with the most negative interpretations of the piece. We can be kind to genuinely hurting people without acquiescing to the most aggrieved, most offended, most perpetually outraged voices online. Just because someone can take an article in the worst way possible does not mean that such a reading is a good or necessary take!

Five, many of the most virulent critics seemed to object to any asymmetry between men and women in sexual intimacy. Their concern was not with the language about Christ and the church but about husband and wife. Yes, Butler did not word things as I would have said them. But was the underlying point he described not true? The man enters, the woman is entered; the man disperses seed, the woman receives. These are biological givens, according to God’s design. No amount of grievance and protestation can change these realities. To mention them should not be considered harmful, hurtful, or dangerous.

Six, the article was not good. The mob was worse. Butler did not deserve to be pilloried. The internet can be a cruel place—and the most censorious persons can be those who think tearing down the “powerful” is the same as lifting up the weak. Some of the loudest critics seemed intent on believing the worst about everyone involved in the whole fiasco. This is what happens all the time in polarized politics. Democrats don’t want Republicans to make good decisions. Republicans don’t want Democrats to be careful. Each side wants the other to make gaffes, the bigger the better. This ordeal quickly moved away from theological sharpening to pitchfork-toting and axe-wielding. I fear that an apology for “hurt,” without naming any identifiable sin, sends the wrong message: it canceled Butler, when it could have clarified the issues at stake and pointed out a better way.

The best cultural apologetics strike the right balance between clarity, compassion, and courage, all the while without compromise or capitulation.

From Death to Life

Tue, 28 Mar 2023 09:00:00 GMT

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“I don’t think people fully grasp how much of Protestant Christianity is going to die off in the next 3 decades.”

That was the first line of Ryan Burge’s tweet showing the age distribution of various Protestant traditions in America. Burge, a Baptist pastor who teaches at Eastern Illinois University, often posts interesting and useful graphs about religion in America. This particular graph shows the age distribution for 26 Protestant traditions—from Lutherans, to Congregationalists, to Methodists, to Presbyterians, to Baptists, to Pentecostals, to nondenominational churches. Brightly colored and easy to read, the graph demonstrates at a glance that Protestant churches are considerably grayer than the population at large. Hence, Burge’s concluding line: “There’s no major denomination where a majority are under 45 years old!”

No doubt, church attendance in America is in decline. The rise of the “nones” has been well documented, and younger generations are less interested in church than their parents and grandparents were at their age. When it comes to the churching of America, there is plenty of bad news to go around and plenty of challenges ahead.

And yet, Burge’s helpful graph does not support Burge’s exclamatory conclusion. His conclusion that “there’s no major denomination where a majority are under 45 years old” may be correct, but it is not demonstrated from the evidence he provides. Burge’s data, taken from the 2020 Cooperative Election Study, only provides information for adults 18 years and older. The graph says nothing about the percentage of children in the various Protestant denominations.

Even if one does not consider children as members of the church (as Presbyterians do), it is still misleading (not intentionally so, I’m sure) to make a comparative statement about those “45 and over” versus those “under 45” when the “under 45” half of the pie doesn’t include anyone under 18 years old. The more accurate conclusion from the graph would be: “There’s no major denomination where the number of 18-44-year-olds is greater than the number of those over 45.”

Why am I belaboring this technical point? Because I believe the percentages—though probably not great for any denomination—would look more encouraging for conservative denominations if the data included children.

Socially acceptable liberal theology doesn’t keep young people in the church.

For example, let’s compare the United Methodist Church (UMC) with my denomination, the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA). In Burge’s graph the two denominations have an almost identical percentage of those 65 and over (41 percent and 40 percent respectively). One might conclude, then, that both denominations are about to die out. But this would be to ignore the presence of children. Both denominations indicate “non-communing members” (i.e., baptized children) in their membership statistics, giving us a rough indication of how many children are in the denomination. The number is imperfect because many children go through a communicants’ class and become full members before turning 18, but the numbers can at least give us an order of magnitude.

In 2020, the United Methodist Church had 6,268,310 professing members and 449,660 baptized members. By comparison, the PCA had 299,891 professing members in 2020 and 78,330 baptized members. Obviously, the PCA is a much smaller denomination, but we can still compare percentages. While baptized members were only 7 percent of the total membership in the UMC, baptized members were 20 percent of the PCA’s membership. This is not far off the percentage of 0-18 year-olds in the nation at large (22 percent). Undoubtedly, the PCA is in a much healthier position than the UMC.

I’ve noted before that the mainline churches are literally dying. They have been in steep decline for almost six straight decades, so that year after year mainline denominations are consistently getting older, whiter, and smaller. Many conservative denominations aren’t doing great either, but they are, at least, doing less poorly.

So what should be our takeaway from yet another largely discouraging—though less so, if you include children—report on the state of church membership in America? Three things.

First, changing to fit the mood of the culture is not the answer. Reimagined Christianity—where core doctrines are abandoned and ethical standards are thrown out the window—may appeal to the deconstructing and to cultural elites, but it is no way to win the lost. Socially acceptable liberal theology doesn’t keep young people in the church either. According to Burge’s graph, only six Protestant traditions have at least 25 percent of their adult population in the 18-35 year-old bracket. All six are evangelical as opposed to mainline.

Second, if you don’t want your version of Protestant Christianity to die off, the strategy is pretty simple: have more kids and keep them in the church. It has always been the case that most people in the church get in the church because they were born and raised in the church.

Third, when all hope seems lost, why not try God’s way of reaching the lost? Preach faithfully, pray fervently, and be ready to give an answer for the hope that is in you. Ultimately, it’s up to God to save sinners. Jesus will build his church however he sees fit. But we can do our part by getting the gospel right and getting the gospel out. Those are the ingredients God still uses to bring people, churches, and denominations from death to life.

An Invitation and Explanation of the Coram Deo Pastors Conference

Wed, 22 Feb 2023 10:00:00 GMT

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Dear brother pastor,

In a spirit of prayerful expectation, I want to invite you to the Coram Deo Pastors Conference. This new event is hosted by Clearly Reformed (a new ministry I help to lead) and Christ Covenant Church (where I have the privilege of serving as senior pastor). We look forward to filling our sanctuary with nearly 2,000 pastors and church leaders at Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina on March 12-14, 2024.

The aim of the conference is, quite simply, to strengthen pastors. After the conclusion of the Together for the Gospel conference in 2022, a number of us started talking about how we might build on that legacy to provide a venue for pastors (and their wives, if that would benefit some couples) to be edified, inspired, equipped, and recharged for faithfulness in ministry. To that end, I organized a small steering group of friends—Justin Taylor, Ryan Kelly, Greg Gilbert, Jason Helopoulos, and Matt Schmucker—to think and pray about whether we might launch a new conference and what that conference might look like. Coram Deo Pastors Conference (CDPC) is the fruit of those conversations.

It may not be obvious from the conference schedule, but we’ve deliberately tried to organize the conference with three kinds of messages in mind: expositional sermons (Smith, Piper, Charles), history/theology lectures (Beeke, DeYoung, Finn, Van Dixhoorn), and messages that address current “hot topics” (Trueman, Gilbert). The three panels roughly follow the same pattern: one panel on pastoral ministry, one on the Christian and history, and one on the vexing issue of Christianity and politics. We hope this approach enables the conference to cover a variety of topics while also being clear about what the various messages are trying to accomplish.

We think there is much to be gained by hosting the conference at a local church (even if that means our space is limited). We will still have a great bookstore, exhibitors, sponsors, and the “feel” of a conference. But we also hope for the “feel” of church. The music will be led by Nathan Clark George, the pastor of worship at Christ Covenant, as he collaborates with other musicians from inside and outside our church.

I love being a pastor, and I love pastors, which is why I am thrilled to be a part of this new initiative. I hope to see many of you here in the Charlotte area for the inaugural Coram Deo Pastors Conference in the spring of 2024.

In Christ,Kevin DeYoung

More than Thoughts and Candles

Thu, 16 Feb 2023 10:00:00 GMT

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It certainly wasn’t the first deadly shooting on one of our college campuses, but this one just happened to be the college campus I know best. On Monday night, while I was taking my nine-year-old to a Hornets game for his birthday, my phone erupted with texts from my friends in East Lansing. There was an active shooter on the campus of Michigan State University.

We’ve all seen these stories before. Maybe your school or child’s school has faced this grief already. It was a little over four years ago when a similar tragedy took place at UNC Charlotte, just 20 minutes from where I now live. On Monday it happened at MSU—three dead, five seriously wounded, and a whole community in mourning.

Before moving to Charlotte, I pastored in East Lansing for 13 years. If you’ve never lived in a small city with a major university, you may not be able to fathom how virtually everyone and everything can be connected to a single school. I didn’t go to Michigan State, but it was hard to pastor University Reformed Church without bleeding green and white. I could hear Spartan Stadium from my home and see the blimp overhead for big games. So as I followed the news on Monday night, into Tuesday morning, I knew all the buildings and all the streets. I heard from friends with children locked in the basement of the library, from friends who opened their home for college students to sleep on the floor so they could get off campus, from friends with relatives who were running across campus in the dark because the police told them the shooter could be nearing their location.

East Lansing is not the softest soil for gospel ministry, but there are many faithful Christians and gospel churches there. I first heard news of the shooting from Jason Helopoulos, my good friend who is now senior pastor of my former church, which is so blessed to have him. He was on campus all night weeping with those who weep. In God’s providence, I’ll be in East Lansing next weekend for the Philadelphia Conference on Reformed Theology. It will be the first time preaching at my old church since we moved in 2017. I can’t wait to give a lot of folks a big hug (you know, as much as a Dutchman can hug).

My oldest son is a freshman at North Carolina State University. He loves the school, and we like it too (something about where your treasure is—one child and tens of thousands of dollars—there your heart will be also). But NC State has had a rough year. I’ve lost track of how many emails we’ve received informing us of student suicides on campus, just another one in the past week. Who knows all the reasons that shootings and suicides are multiplying, but surely the power of social contagion is real. The more you hear and see the unthinkable, the more it becomes thinkable.

As long as there is sin and suffering in the world, the gospel will be relevant.

As I’m writing this, I don’t know what MSU will do in response to the shooting. I’m sure there will be counselors, statements and speeches, probably a vigil at some point. I know NC State has made various resources available for students with questions and concerns. They’ve cancelled classes and provided mental health days. I’m sure leaders at these institutions and others like them are doing the best they can under gut-wrenching circumstances.

And yet, as Christians, we know things the world does not know. I don’t mean to criticize anyone seeking to provide comfort and help in this midst of grief and confusion. Decent people in the world want to help. They want to comfort. They want to make things better. They don’t want death and fear and suffering and sadness any more than any Christian does. But the world doesn’t know what it doesn’t know.

The world can send out thoughts; we can pray in Jesus’s name (John 14:13).

The world can provide counselors to listen; we can speak of the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort (2 Corinthians 1:3).

The world can offer yoga and mindfulness seminars; we can make known the mind of Christ (1 Corinthians 2:16).

The world can light candles; we can tell of the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ (2 Corinthians 4:6).

The world can reassure students they are special; we can remind them they have been created in the image of God, fearfully and wonderfully made, with a purpose and an eternal soul (Genesis 1:26; 2:7; Psalm 139:14).

The world can put an arm around the hurting and the fearful; we know the One who through suffering defeated the devil so we don’t have to be afraid (Hebrews 2:14).

The world can exhort people to live again; we can introduce them to the One who conquered death (Acts 2:24).

As long as there is sin and suffering in the world, the gospel will be relevant. Is there more hostility to authentic biblical Christianity than a few decades ago? Probably. But people are still people. They don’t want to be scared, and they don’t want to die. They need forgiveness, they need comfort, they need hope. They need Jesus.

We know what the world needs to know. With tears, then, but without apologies, let’s share that message—and make Him known.

Knowing God by J. I. Packer

Wed, 15 Feb 2023 10:00:00 GMT

As of this posting, you can order the book on sale with our friends at Westminster Bookstore.

PCA 50th Anniversary Devotion

Wed, 08 Feb 2023 10:00:00 GMT

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“I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to him the plagues described in this book, and if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away his share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which are described in this book.” Revelation 22:18-19

This injunction comes from Deuteronomy (4:2; 12:32; cf. 18:20-22) and is typical of covenantal formulas. At the close of ancient covenants—after the stipulations had been laid down and the blessings and curses enumerated—there was often a warning against tampering with the covenant. The admonition was meant to underscore the sanctity of the text and the severity of judgment that would befall anyone who would dare to alter in the slightest what had been written down.

The fact that Revelation closes with this formula suggests that John understood that as the last living Apostle his writing marked the end of an era. While he may not have known he was writing the last book of the Bible (or even thought in those exact terms), he certainly could have known that the time for writing new covenant documents was closing and thus it was necessary to apply the same covenantal warning found in Moses to his own letter. Most immediately, John was warning against tampering with anything in the letter he had just written. More broadly, however, he was providing a fitting conclusion to the whole Bible.

Even if John’s formula only applied to this one letter, he would still be telling us a lot: Don’t tamper with the deity of Christ. Don’t tamper with the atonement. Don’t tamper with the character of God. Don’t tamper with the exclusive claims of the gospel. Don’t tamper with the reality of eternal punishment and eternal reward. All of this is taught plainly in the book of Revelation, and we must not deviate from any of it.

For many of us, the danger is not that we would explicitly deny the Word of God. The danger is that we nullify the truth in other, more subtle ways.

We intellectualize the word of God so as to get out from under its demands. We might throw up our hands because we are not scholars and because so many smart people disagree on how to interpret the Bible. Such an approach has the appearance of sophistication, but it effectively robs the word of its power.

We compartmentalize the word of God so that it applies to stealing and lying and a few other matters, but it doesn’t speak to our business, our money, our family life, our desires, or what we do with our time.

We psychologize the word of God so that it doesn’t apply to us because of our temperament or because of our background. The Bible is only allowed to say what makes me feel good and what encourages my self-expression.

We marginalize the word of God by coming to it with preconceived notions of what it obviously can and can’t say. Consequently, the Scriptures can only mean what our culture already affirms, and God can only say to me what I already believe.

Much as we might like to, we cannot keep the warning of Revelation 22:18-19 safely at arm’s length. It is the temptation of every human heart to want God to say more or less than what he has said. But the child of God will come to Scripture with a humble heart, knowing that God’s Word gives us everything we need for life and godliness and that every word in the Word is not only true but for our good. God’s word is final and fixed. Addition and subtraction are not allowed.

An Update, Vision, and Explanation of Clearly Reformed

Mon, 06 Feb 2023 19:13:16 GMT

I want to share an update with you regarding Clearly Reformed.

Actually, part update, part vision, part explanation.

You may be a little confused about what exactly the ministry Clearly Reformed is anddoes. That’s understandable, because the ministry is just getting off the ground, and weare building parts of the plane as it’s in the air.

There are three ways to think about Clearly Reformed.One, it is a 501(c)3 ministry organization that was launched about a year ago. Westarted out as a ministry under Christ Covenant Church, where I pastor, but now we areour own non-profit entity. We have a board of directors, of which I’m the chairman. Andwe have an executive director—our full-time employee who makes everything gobehind the scenes. So that’s what Clearly Reformed is in a technical sense. But that’s notmuch of a vision or an explanation.

Two, you can think of Clearly Reformed as a ministry that tries to collect and stewardthe various resources that I produce. We certainly aren’t as big or as well-established asa Desiring God or a Ligonier, but you can think of Clearly Reformed sort of like thoseministries in that DG started out as the resource ministry of John Piper, and Ligonierstarted out as the resource ministry of RC Sproul. They’ve become much larger thanthat, but that’s how they started out. You can think of Clearly Reformed as the resourceministry of Kevin DeYoung. I hope that doesn’t sound pretentious, but that’s what weare trying to do in a nutshell.

But there’s a third way to think about Clearly Reformed, because ultimately the point ofthe ministry is in its name. The big aim is not to spread Kevin DeYoung’s content. The bigaim is to provide resources for the church that are “clearly Reformed.” That name has atwofold meaning. On one hand, it describes me and what I’m about. I am clearly aReformed guy. That’s my theology. That’s my church tradition. Those are my ministryand theological heroes. But there is another layer of meaning too. I believe one of thegreat needs in our day is for clarity. We live in an age of confusion and complication.People need Bible truths and good theology presented clearly and applied carefully—totheir lives and to the problems all around them. That’s what I’m passionate about. That’swhat Clearly Reformed is about.

Under this Clearly Reformed umbrella, we have a number of ministry initiatives—somealready in existence, some in the works, and some still in the dreaming stage. Let memention four.

First, we have kevindeyoung.org. This website has over 3,000 pieces of content I’veproduced over the years—sermons, articles, columns, interviews, and conference messages.If I’ve spoken it or said it, we are trying to put it on the website where you can find it.Currently, the web address has been kevindeyoung.org, and that will still direct you tothe right place. But you’ll notice that the domain name has been changed toClearlyReformed.org. Same content, same webpage, different name. But the oldaddress will still get you there. In fact, if you can’t remember those addresses, you canuse kdy.org. That will work too.

Second, we have Life, and Books, and Everything. That’s my podcast where I interviewauthors, ministry leaders, and other guests. Sometimes I talk to my friends about what’shappening in the world. And sometimes I use that platform to read articles I’ve writtenfor World Opinions, or for Ligonier, or Desiring God, or TGC, or 9Marks, or First Things.LBE is a part of what Clearly Reformed is trying to accomplish. You can find LBE onYouTube or wherever you get your podcasts.

Third, you may have seen the explainer video we released last year on divine simplicity.We hope to make more of those in the months ahead. As you can imagine, they taketime and money. But as we have funding, we want to keep making videos like that toexplain important theological topics in a short, professional, attractive video format. Belooking for more videos later in the year. And if you or someone you know would like tosupport this particular venture, we are looking for funding to speed up the process.Fourth, I’ve been working with some friends in ministry behind the scenes to launch anew pastors’ conference. I’m really excited about what we have coming together. Staytuned for more details. We are hoping to say much more about this conference in thenext few weeks.

Clearly Reformed is a brand-new ministry. Like I said, just about a year old. We don’tneed to be big, broad, or impressive. But we do want to be organized, strategic, and,most of all, faithful to God’s word and to the Reformed faith. Of course, my main joband my main love is to be the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church. I also teachtheology at Reformed Theological Seminary. Clearly Reformed is not meant to distractfrom those primary callings. But hopefully, with some great people working behind thescenes, we might be able to serve the cause of Christ in the world, and Clearly Reformedmight be a blessing to you and your church.

Kevin DeYoung

An Open Statement of the Truth

Fri, 03 Mar 2023 12:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/an-open-statement-of-the-truth/id1526483896?i=1000597616630

You may have wondered in recent days, “When did I become a bigot?” Not that you are likely a bigot, but that the world now considers you one. Beliefs that used to be obvious—to Christians and to almost everyone else—are now called hate speech, while practices and spectacles that wouldn’t have been whispered in private have become public celebrations.

Recently, I traveled across the country to preach at another church. On one of my flights, I overheard the male flight attendant talk loudly and boisterously about “his husband.” During my trip I went into a local bookstore and the two women next to me talked at length about lesbian volumes on the shelf and their own experiences with lesbianism. While walking through the downtown of that same city—a city with a reputation for being conservative and Christian—I noticed that most of the restaurants and shops were flying rainbow flags. I couldn’t help but feel that my beliefs—and not just my beliefs, but the truth of God’s word—were now the very beliefs that should only be spoken about behind closed doors.

The world wants to press us into its mold, and that mold is getting very tight very quickly. You don’t have to go looking for the sexual revolution. It will find you.

What, then, is an orthodox, biblical Christian to do?

Lots of things. We can pray and plan. We can invest in our church, in our communities, and in our families. We can be involved in politics, media, education, entertainment, or law. We can be good neighbors. We can love. We can worship. There are as many things to do to “live not by lies” as there are ways to be salt and light in the world.

But if you need a place to start, try these three things: be cheerful, be clear, and be confident.

Be cheerful. “Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, we do not lose heart” (2 Corinthians 4:1). This text is especially for pastors, but surely the spirit of the passage is for everyone in the church. Are Christians ever justified in being angry? Yes (Ephesians 4:26). Is it ever appropriate for Christians to be afraid? Yes (Matthew 10:28). Is there ever a place to hate what God hates, or even (in a manner of speaking) to hate those whom God hates? Yes (Psalm 139:21). The Christian life allows for many and complex emotions. But here’s what the Bible does not allow: the Christian must not lose heart.

We must never use apologetics—or for that matter, contextualization—as a way to make hard truths less noticeable or the offense of the gospel more palatable.

That’s what I mean by cheerful. Not absentminded or oblivious. But joyful, happy, hopeful. We must never revile when reviled. Nor is there ever a time to return unrelenting cynicism for cynicism. After all, people are supposed to ask us for the hope that is in us (1 Peter 3:15), not for the abject sense of utter despair.

Be clear. “We refuse to practice cunning or to tamper with God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth we would commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience in the sight of God” (2 Corinthians 4:2). This verse is at the heart of everything I believe about pastoral ministry. People need to hear the truth, and they need to hear it from us open and unashamed. Just because shouting would be rude doesn’t mean you have to whisper. Tell people what is. When asked and in the right setting, tell them what you think. The only sure way to keep biblical faith hidden is if we agree to hide it.

When I was preaching through Acts several years ago, and I encountered the Apostles’ bravery in so many passages, I repeatedly told my congregation that boldness was not the same as bravado, and that it was not a personality type for the loud and outgoing. Boldness, I said, is being clear in the face of fear. To be sure, I believe in the good use of apologetics, to strengthen the faith of believers, and to show unbelievers the incoherence of unbelief. But we must never use apologetics—or for that matter, contextualization—as a way to make hard truths less noticeable or the offense of the gospel more palatable.

Be confident. “For God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6). I find in too many Christians today—and I can find the sentiment creeping into my own heart—a lack of trust in the word of God. Look, the gospel is going to be veiled to those who are perishing (2 Corinthians 4:3). We shouldn’t be happy about that, but neither should we be surprised. The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers (2 Corinthians 4:4). That’s true. But it’s also true that the ruler of this world has already been judged (John 16:11).

Let’s be less anxious and less apoplectic. God still saves. God still changes hearts. God still speaks light into existence where all seems dark. To riff on the old gospel maxim: the world is much more sinful than we imagine, but God is bigger and better than we dare to believe.

Biblical Preaching, by Haddon W. Robinson

Mon, 23 Jan 2023 10:00:00 GMT

Haddon Robinson was my preaching professor in seminary. He was a very good preacher and a very good professor. His lectures were mini masterpieces of communication. He spoke without notes, included numerous illustrations, and always conveyed one big idea. It felt more like a rhetorical performance than a classroom lecture. Robinson literally practiced what he preached.

We were thoroughly schooled in all our homiletics classes at Gordon-Conwell in Robinson’s distinctive methodology. Robinson was our example, Biblical Preaching was our textbook, and students who preached Big Idea sermons won seminary awards. I enjoyed Dr. Robinson’s class, and I always marveled at his sermons in chapel. While I didn’t fully adopt his method, I learned much from his counsel, from his critiques, and from numerous insights in his book and in his lectures.

Lessons for Every Preacher

Robinson is best known for his Big Idea approach to preaching, but Biblical Preaching is about much more than this one concept. Biblical Preaching is Robinson’s attempt to convince the student of expository preaching and then help that student craft an effective, relevant, and memorable expositional sermon.

While parts of the book, first published in 1980, sound humorously dated (e.g. a reference to resources available on CD-ROM, a remark about how our culture loves “motion pictures,” the suggestion to visit “an experienced clothier” for wardrobe choices), this classic textbook is still well worth reading and rereading. There is plenty of good advice, much of which I’ve incorporated (sometimes unknowingly) into my own preaching.

In traveling the road from text to sermon, first find your exegetical idea, then your homiletical idea. And remember that the two ideas are often not identical. When determining your exegetical idea, ask three diagnostic questions: What does this mean? Is it true? What difference does it make? At any point in the sermon, the preacher can illustrate the text, defend the text, explain the text, or apply the text. These four movements can be remembered with the acronym IDEA (illustrate, defend, explain, apply). Most preachers spend almost all their time on “explain.” They would do well to incorporate more of the other three. Sermons should be arrows aiming at a target, and the points of the sermon should help the arrow hit that target. Preaching in general and illustrations in particular are more effective as they move down the ladder of abstraction. Be concrete wherever possible. When it comes to introductions and conclusions, start with a bang and quit all over. Introductions should get the hearers’ attention. Conclusions should not introduce new material. They need not be long, but they should do more than invite the hearer to “live in the light of these great truths.” Speak plainly. Speak clearly. Use short sentences.

I could go on. The book is especially suited for the young student or minister with almost no experience preaching. But even seasoned preachers will find solid advice and edification from Robinson’s well-honed words and time-tested advice.

Mining, Not Molds

Like any homiletics textbook, there are bound to be certain exhortations that reflect the author’s gifts and style but do not work for everyone in every context.

For example, I don’t think most preachers should preach without notes. I tried it early in ministry and wore myself out cramming my memorization right up until the moment I preached.

I don’t think you always need a spectacular introduction. After discipling people with the Word for years and decades, hopefully attention-grabbing headlines become less necessary.

And I don’t think you need as many illustrations as Robinson suggests. I doubt many preachers spend as much time collecting illustrations as Robinson did. It was not unusual to see Dr. Robinson in the cafeteria reading the paper and cutting out stories to use in a sermon someday. I wonder if that level of attention to illustration gathering is attainable (or necessary) for regular week-in-and-week-out preachers.

The best preachers can be dogmatic about the things they do well. I love Martyn Lloyd-Jones, but no one can possibly agree with everything he says in Preaching and Preachers. Seminaries are blessed to have revered and accomplished homileticians (like Robinson was) training students. The danger is that the school pumps out one type of preacher who preaches in only one kind of way. The best preaching textbooks should be mined for tools, methods, insights, and inspiration; they should not be considered molds into which each new preacher must be poured.

Is Big Idea a Good Idea?

Finally, a word about Big Idea preaching.

First, my critique. I’m not convinced by Robinson’s definition of expository preaching. He writes:

“Expository preaching is the communication of a biblical concept, derived from and transmitted through a historical, grammatical, and literary study of a passage in its context, which the Holy Spirit first applies to the personality and experience of the preacher, then through the preacher applies to the hearers.” (5)

There is much to like about this definition, but is it really the case that sermons can only be expositional if the preacher employs the historical-grammatical-literary method of interpretation? That cuts out a lot of good pre-modern preaching. Likewise, notice the phrase “biblical concept.” This already weights the discussion toward Big Idea preaching. I think Robinson’s definition is too exact. I would say that expositional preaching involves reading the Word of God, clearly, and then giving the sense, so that the people understand the reading (Neh. 8:8).

According to Robinson, every sermon must have a central, unifying idea. To ignore this principle is to ignore what experts in communication theory and in preaching have to tell us (18). Although Robinson claims the sermons of the apostles all communicated one big idea, I struggle to see how the prophetic sermons in the Old Testament, the sermons in Acts, or the letter of Hebrews (if it began as a sermon), can be as narrowly defined as Robinson suggests.

Likewise, when Robinson insists that “the purpose behind each individual sermon is to secure some moral action” (72) and that sermons should focus on “measurable results” (75), I fear the danger of creeping moralism and the assumption that every sermon must tell people to do something. I don’t think Big Idea preaching is the only way to preach or always the best way to preach.

But I do believe it is often a very good way to preach. Most sermons try to do too much (at this point, my congregation is crying out, “Physician, heal thyself!”). Most preachers probably spend too little time trying to figure out the text’s main idea and then are too little constrained to that one idea in the pulpit. It’s true, Reformed sermons often sound like running commentaries. They are usually chocked full of good theology and good information and they communicate many wonderful truths. But many of these sermons could accurately be titled, “A bunch of stuff I learned this week and want to tell you about.”

Robinson’s method is a helpful corrective to meandering messages that land on the congregation like a mist instead of penetrating the heart like a laser.

Conclusion

Biblical preaching requires both skill and faith. As Robinson reminds us, ministers are the only professionals who have people assemble weekly to hear what they have to say. “We preachers use words as tools, and we ought to use them with both thoughts and skill” (147). We can and should improve. That’s our challenge and our opportunity.

Thankfully, preaching is not just a human exercise. Just like the little boy with his fish burgers, Jesus can make a meal out of our meager offering. After all, “we serve the living Lord. Give him your small lunch and trust him to feed his people” (169).

Is the Church Failing at Being the Church?

Fri, 17 Feb 2023 10:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/is-the-church-failing-at-being-a-church/id1526483896?i=1000595148329

“Why do you evangelicals love to make up and say such bad things about yourselves?”

That’s how Ed Stetzer began his Foreword to Bradley Wright’s 2010 book Christians are Hate-Filled Hypocrites … and Other Lies You’ve Been Told. The question, Stetzer explained, was posed to him while he was at the Washington Post building in Washington, D.C., to address a room full of reporters. Instead of believing the worst about ourselves and being overly concerned with how others perceive us, Stetzer encouraged people to read Wright’s book.

Wright argued that, despite many imperfections, evangelical Christianity in America “was doing a pretty good job of being the church.” In his blurb, Scot McKnight—who, in a much more dire mood, recently called for “Saving Evangelicalism”—urged everyone to buy the book, read it carefully, and give the book away to others because, he insisted, “there’s lots of good news when it comes to the condition of the church in the West.”

Evangelicals have a long history of self-flagellation. On one level, this is commendable. As Christians we should, of all people, be aware of our sins, repent of our sins, and ask God to help us overcome our sins. And yet, we must be careful lest the virtue of personal humility leads the church at large to believe things that aren’t true, develop responses that aren’t necessary, and set out on paths that aren’t wise. Granted, Wright’s book came out over a decade ago—before Obergefell, before Trump, before #MeToo, before Covid. Maybe evangelicals are finally right to believe the worst about ourselves. Or maybe we have tendency to reach big conclusions based on experiences and headlines more than on hard facts.

I’m not sure what to call the two sides (and I don’t even like describing the conversation as “sides”), but there is an important, and sometimes tense, conversation afoot in the evangelical world about whether the church and its leaders are quite often worse than we’ve dared to admit, or whether the church and its leaders are quite often unfairly criticized in a rush of “prophetic” denunciation. The two sides likely agree on what constitutes sinful leadership in the church: manipulation, lying, selfishness, the desire for vainglory, lack of accountability, a harsh spirit, demeaning words, angry behavior, and anything else that Paul lists under “works of the flesh” (Galatians 5:19-21). We usually know what sin looks like. What we don’t know is whether these sins are bigger and badder and more prevalent than ever before.

A few weeks ago, Christianity Today published a list of its top stories from the past year. Several observers pointed out that most of the articles on the list had to do with scandals and controversies in the church. It is easy to deduce from the most popular podcasts and headlines that the evangelical church is suffering from an epidemic of abusive pastors, deviant churches, and fallen leaders.Before we denounce most leaders as Pharisees and large swaths of the church as complicit in the evil deeds of darkness, let’s make sure we are not trafficking in well-meaning, but unhelpful, myths.

Before we denounce most leaders as Pharisees and large swaths of the church as complicit in the evil deeds of darkness, let’s make sure we are not trafficking in well-meaning, but unhelpful, myths.

But do we know that this is the case? That’s an honest question. Maybe there is hard data out there showing that our problems are much worse than they use to be and that our sins are much worse than anywhere else in the world. But absent that data, we should not make sweeping conclusions based entirely on powerful anecdotes and personal experiences.

The problem is not with calling out sin where it exists. The problem comes when we implement grand plans and stir up new suspicions that may not be warranted. For example, in his book, Wright looks at sexual misconduct by clergy. Given the (then) well-publicized sins of Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, and Ted Haggard, along with detailed reporting from mainstream media outlets of lesser-known cases, it seemed obvious that sexual advances made by clergy was a pervasive problem. But according to research cited by Wright, only 1 in 33 churchgoing women reported that a religious leader had made a sexual advance to them.

Obviously, such behavior on the part of pastors should never be tolerated. Wright’s point was not to excuse the 3 percent but to make clear that 3 percent is not a lot considering that 1 in 4 women reported inappropriate sexual attention from authorities in non-religious workplaces. Similarly, Wright showed that instances of domestic abuse declined significantly among those who attended church weekly.

There are a number of issues Christians may not agree on when it comes to discussing moral failure in the church. We don’t always agree on what to call these sins (e.g., when does “sin” become “abuse” or “trauma”?). We don’t always agree on how to deal with serious sin when it surfaces in the church (e.g., when should we call in outside investigators and experts?). Most of all, I don’t think we are at all clear how often these types of sins are happening in the church.

There are nearly 400,000 churches in America, so there will always be plenty of bad examples to go around, and the bigger the denomination or movement the quicker the numbers will multiply. But before we denounce most leaders as Pharisees and large swaths of the church as complicit in the evil deeds of darkness, let’s make sure we are not trafficking in well-meaning, but unhelpful, myths. We don’t always have to believe the worst about ourselves (especially when the “ourselves” usually means “not me personally”). We can tackle problems somewhere without assuming they are problems everywhere.

The Economics of Abortion in One Lesson

Tue, 10 Jan 2023 14:45:00 GMT

Henry Hazlitt’s classic book Economics in One Lesson (1946) actually delivered on the audacious title. “The art of economics” wrote Hazlitt, “consists in looking not merely at the immediate but at the longer effects of any act or policy; it consists in tracing the consequences of that policy not merely for one group but for all groups.”[1] That is to say, the lesson of economics is that we have to look at the effects and the stories that are harder to see, but no less real and important.

Hazlitt insisted that economics was haunted by the fallacy of overlooking secondary consequences. In his famous example, Hazlitt imagines a young hoodlum who heaves a brick through the window of a baker’s shop. The shopkeeper is understandably furious, but soon the crowd that has gathered begins to postulate that the smashed window may actually be a great blessing. After all, the broken window will mean new business for the glazier (window repairer), who will then have an extra $250 to spend with other merchants, who will, in turn, have more money to spend on other goods and services. The naughty boy, who seemed at first to be a public menace, turns out to be a public benefactor.

But not so fast, argued Hazlitt. True, the broken window will mean more business for the glazier, and he will spend that money in other ways. But the $250 had to come from somewhere, and in this case it came from the shopkeeper. That was money he could have spent with other merchants and on other goods and services. At the very least, the economic benefit is nill; the shopkeeper’s pain is the glazier’s gain.[2]

It’s worse than that, however. Nothing new was created in the repair of the shop window. No new employment was added. No new productivity was achieved. If smashing windows is the secret to a growing economy, then war would be the best thing to befall a country. But, of course, it’s not. Perhaps war’s destruction might prove good business for construction companies and road contractors, but that’s only if we look at what is right in front of us. What we can’t see are the people with less money because they’ve been taxed to pay for the new construction. We can’t see all the other things they might have done with that money. We can’t see how people would have been put to more useful work had the city not been leveled. We can’t see the people bombed out of their homes, huddled in a temporary shelter (paid for by donations or by more taxes). In short, we see the obvious, but we ignore the secondary consequences.

The same fallacy is at work when it comes to economics and abortion. Of course, abortion is fundamentally wrong because life begins at conception, every human life is made in the image of God, and innocent persons have a God-given right to life. So even if abortion made great economic sense, abortion would still be wrong. But let’s think about the economic argument on its own merits. Many people argue that access to abortion is necessary because it helps women escape poverty and destitution. In its best form, the argument might go like this:

“Abortion isn’t desirable, but sometimes it is the only way to avoid a life of extreme want. Without access to abortion, too many women will be forced to bear children into the world that they can’t afford. The result is economic impoverishment for the child and for the woman. Abortion is an economic good, without which women would be much worse off.”

How should we respond to this line of thinking? For starters, we might respond from the child’s point of view that life is better than not living. Given the choice, I believe most of us prefer difficult circumstances to death. We might also ask the question whether any argument that can be used to justify killing children in the womb—for the sake of economic benefit—can be used just as logically to justify killing children outside the womb. I can tell you from experience children are least expensive when they first arrive. The real economic burdens come later. Can children be snuffed out at 6 or 16, or only at 6 weeks in the womb when the economic burden is least?

But more to the point, the economic argument in favor of abortion fails to take into account Hazlitt’s one economic lesson. It is easy to think how an individual woman might benefit economically from not having to provide for a child. What’s harder to see are all of the devastating economic incentives that abortion puts in motion.

The presence of widespread, legal, easily accessible abortion reinforces the narrative that men do not have control over their sexual appetites and that men should not be expected to fulfill their responsibilities as fathers. Far from empowering women, abortion empowers men to expect (if not outright demand) that sexual activity should be free from any consequences. This in turn disincentivizes men from considering marriage in the first place, which is the surest way to impoverish women.[3]

Abortion does for the poor what gambling does for the poor. Legalized gambling looks like an opportunity to escape poverty, but the social costs of gambling—lost productivity, lost employment, illness, divorce, abuse, neglect—are massive. Likewise, abortion looks like an economic gain, but only if we refuse to look at the larger social costs.

Overwhelmingly, abortions in America are procured by single women—85% of the women who had abortions in 2019 were unmarried. This may seem like a reason women need abortion access, but that argument fails to address the larger ways in which abortion cheapens sex, undermines marriage, and puts pressure on women to acquiesce to a male-centered perspective that views sexual intimacy as centered on physical gratification rather than ordered to family formation and child-rearing. If abortion looks like a socioeconomic “cure,” it is only first because it is a major component of the disease. And this is to say nothing of the lost economic activity that comes as a result of removing millions of potential American workers from the labor force and tax base.

Should abortion become less available and more stigmatized, some women will feel that as economic pain in the short-term. But the long-term socioeconomic gains will be significant, and the biggest winners (besides the children who get to live) will be women themselves.

1. Henry Hazlitt, Economics in One Lesson, Revised Edition (New York: Currency, 1979), 17.

2. Ibid, 23–26.

3. See “Marriage is an Important Tool in the Fight Against Poverty” by W. Bradford Wilcox.

John Witherspoon and Slavery

Wed, 01 Feb 2023 10:00:00 GMT

Part One: President and Patriot https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/john-witherspoon-president-and-patriot/id1526483896?i=1000591611910

For now, the John Witherspoon statue stands in its prominent place outside Firestone Library at Princeton University. I say “for now” because some students—including 300 graduate students who signed a petition initiated by graduate students and a faculty member in the Philosophy Department—are adamant that the statue should be removed. At one level the debate is about public symbols and to what degree statues and names memorializing the past must meet all the moral standards of the present. Not surprisingly, some have insisted that Witherspoon has to go, arguing that Princeton’s sixth president was a slave owner who lectured and voted against the abolition of slavery.

Despite listening sessions for faculty, students, staff, and alumni on a proposal to remove or replace the statue, little attention has been given (at least in public) to the actual history. We need to understand why John Witherspoon has been memorialized in the first place, both as rescuer of a university that was floundering before he invigorated it during his quarter century as president and as a courageous leader of the American Revolution. And then, second, we need to understand what Witherspoon believed, and what he did, about slavery.

In completing my PhD on John Witherspoon at the University of Leicester in 2019, I studied historical evidence that tells a more balanced, and often more positive, story than what one hears from Witherspoon’s detractors. It can fairly be stated that Witherspoon owned two slaves and did not advocate immediate emancipation. But as I explain below, drawing in part on new historical work and my own archival research, these bare facts do not tell the whole story—not the whole story about Witherspoon the president and patriot, nor the whole story about how Witherspoon related to slaves and free Blacks, what he believed about slavery, and what he hoped America, as it related to slavery, would be like in the future.

A Brief Biography

John Witherspoon was born on February 5, 1723 in the Scottish village of Gifford, 25 miles east of Edinburgh. In 1739, he defended his Latin dissertation “On the Immortality of the Mind” and graduated from the University of Edinburgh. Continuing at Edinburgh, he studied divinity, being instructed in the new Enlightenment ideas coming out of Europe and in traditional Presbyterian theology.

Witherspoon served two churches as a minister in the Scottish Kirk. His first church was in Beith, a small agricultural village in western Scotland. Witherspoon’s twelve years in Beith (1745–1757) were fruitful and eventful. In 1746, Witherspoon led a group of militia volunteers from Beith intent on fighting for King George II against the Jacobite uprising. Although Witherspoon was not engaged in any military conflict, he was captured and imprisoned for a short time in Doune Castle. In 1748, he married Elizabeth Montgomery, the daughter of Robert Montgomery of Craighouse, one of the prominent families in the parish. Together John and Elizabeth had ten children, seven of whom preceded them in death.

Witherspoon’s second pastorate was in Paisley (1757–1768), a growing manufacturing town on the outskirts of Glasgow. He was a popular preacher, and his church in Paisley had to be expanded to 1,300 seats to accommodate the growing congregation. During Witherspoon’s ministry in Scotland, he was asked to preach at important venues, he published more than a dozen books on theological topics and ecclesiastical controversies, and he was awarded an honorary doctorate from the University of St. Andrews.

In 1766, representatives of the College of New Jersey (later “Princeton University”) urged the Paisley pastor to become its next president. Although Witherspoon initially declined (because of his wife’s reticence to travel across the ocean and move to America), he later changed his mind and agreed to the college’s second round of entreaties. Witherspoon and his family landed in Philadelphia on August 17, 1768. He was 45.

When Witherspoon arrived, it was not at all certain that Princeton—at that time a primitive backwater compared to Glasgow—would survive. After a string of presidents who died early in their tenures, the college was low on students, low on teachers, and low on money. As president, Witherspoon was responsible for recruiting students, disciplining them, and (sometimes) boarding them. He was also charged with raising funds, furnishing the library, doing private tutoring, and teaching regular courses on history, eloquence, divinity, and moral philosophy. Witherspoon earned the reputation as a man of great energy, a fine teacher, and a firm disciplinarian. His leadership ensured Princeton’s survival and established it as one of the most important institutions in the new country.

In the 1770s, Witherspoon turned his attention increasingly to political matters, with John Adams once referring to Princeton’s president as “an animated son of liberty.” On May 17, 1776, Witherspoon preached one of the most significant sermons in American history, a message based on Psalm 76:10 entitled The Dominion of Providence Over the Passions of Men. As partly an exploration of the colonies’ right to revolt, the sermon is widely regarded as helping to prepare the way for the decisive move for independence later that summer. In July, Witherspoon etched his name in history as the only clergyman to sign the Declaration of Independence.

In the ensuing years, Witherspoon marshalled all of his energies and all the men and resources of Princeton to support the revolution. Witherspoon was so tied to the patriot cause that the Whig politician Horace Walpole famously remarked, “Cousin America has run off with a Presbyterian parson!” Likewise, in a 1779 letter, Adam Ferguson wrote to Alexander Caryle (both classmates of Witherspoon’s at Edinburgh): “We have 1200 miles of Territory in Length occupied by about 3,000,000 People of which there are about 1,500,000 with Johnny Witherspoons at their head against us.”

Witherspoon’s support for independence did not come without significant cost. During the war, the college was shut down, students were dispersed, and Witherspoon had to flee Princeton for fear of British troops. Presbyterian ministers were particularly hated by the British for their outspoken defense of the revolution. At the Second Battle of Trenton, John Rosbrugh—a graduate of Princeton, an ordained Presbyterian minister, and the first ever casualty among U.S. chaplains—was killed by Hessian troops under command of a British officer when they mistook Rosbrugh for Witherspoon. When Witherspoon returned to the college after the Battle of Princeton, the president found that buildings had suffered extensive damage, library books had been used for kindling, and many of his personal belongings had been confiscated or destroyed. “Old Weatherspoon has not escaped their fury,” a congressman wrote to Thomas Jefferson. Most painfully, Witherspoon’s son, James, was killed on October 4, 1777 at the Battle of Germantown.

It is hard to overstate Witherspoon’s influence as one of our most quintessential, if often forgotten, founders. He was well respected and often sought out for advice by the likes of George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, and Benjamin Franklin. James Madison stayed on an extra year at Princeton to sit under Witherspoon’s personal instruction. Besides the Declaration, Witherspoon also signed the Articles of Confederation, helped New Jersey ratify the Constitution, served in the state legislature, and participated in 126 committees during his six years in the Continental Congress. At various points, he served on the committee of finances, the committee to confer with George Washington on the military crisis and the procurement of supplies, the secret committee charged with executing the war effort, and on the all-important Board of War. Having learned French at a young age, Witherspoon also translated for French dignitaries visiting America. Furthermore, he personally taught a generation of educators, legislators, and statesmen in the new republic. A list of his Princeton students includes twelve members of the Continental Congress, five delegates to the Constitutional Convention, one U.S. president (James Madison), one vice president (Aaron Burr), forty-nine representatives, twenty-eight senators, three Supreme Court justices, eight district judges, one secretary of state, three attorneys general, and two foreign ministers.

In the last decade of his life, Witherspoon turned over many of his duties at Princeton to his son-in-law, Samuel Stanhope Smith. Witherspoon continued to preach almost every Sunday to the congregation at Princeton, until his eyesight began to fail. After losing his first wife in 1789, Witherspoon married Anne Dill, a much younger widow, in 1791. They had two daughters together before Witherspoon died at his country home, Tusculum, on November 15, 1794, having served as Princeton’s president for more than a quarter century.

Witherspoon and Slavery

It is often said that Witherpoon’s relationship to slavery was complicated. And I suppose that’s true in so far as most human beings are complicated, especially as they relate to the contested moral issues of their age. At the same time, Witherspoon’s views on slavery were fairly straightforward: he believed that bringing people into slavery was wrong (except as a punishment for crimes), that abolition should be sought after and prayed for, that slaves and Black people should be treated with decency and dignity, that immediate abolition (on a personal and national scale) would likely do more harm than good, and that slavery would soon disappear in America. In all these views, and in his personal practice, Witherspoon was typical of many educated men in Britain and in America, and more enlightened than several of our most famous founders.

The Case of James Montgomery

In spring of 1756, Robert Shedden of Scottish town Beith was caught up in a now-famous case involving a runaway slave known as James Montgomery. Years earlier Shedden had purchased Montgomery (who came to Scotland under the name Shanker) from Captain Joseph Hawkins in Virginia. After giving Montgomery an apprenticeship in Beith, Shedden was determined to sell his slave back to Hawkins, for the original sale price of £56 plus 1,000 pounds of tobacco (in light of Montgomery’s apprenticeship). When Montgomery refused to go, Shedden forcibly brought him to the Port of Glasgow. Montgomery escaped but was soon captured in Edinburgh and imprisoned. Robert Gray, Procurator Fiscal of the Ballie Court of Edinburgh, took up the case in defense of Montgomery, arguing, in part, that Shedden’s so-called slave “was instructed in the Christian Religion and was publicly Baptized in the presence of the Congregation in the parish Church of Beith and named James Montgomery Shedden, as is instructed by a certificate under the hand of John Witherspoon minister of the said parish.” Sadly, Montgomery died in prison before the case could be heard before the Court of Session.

Given the nature of a court case, there are two ways to view Witherspoon’s public act of baptism. Robert Shedden insisted that Witherspoon and the elders of the church informed Montgomery that even as a Christian he would still have the duty to obey his master. We have no record of Witherspoon accepting or denying this claim. On the other hand, Montgomery’s legal counsel emphasized that as a baptized member of the church in Beith, Montgomery could no longer be a slave, because such bondage was inconsistent with his freedom in Christ. Given the fact that Witherspoon baptized Montgomery the day before he was to be taken to Glasgow, and that Witherspoon sent him off with a certificate verifying his good Christian conduct, it seems probable that Witherspoon knew he was helping Montgomery make his case for freedom. As Alexander Murdoch of the University of Edinburgh has pointed out, “Nothing in the certificate of baptism claimed its possessor was a free man, but Witherspoon’s support was important.”

Although the Princeton and Slavery Project—which grew from a small undergraduate research seminar in 2013 into the launch of an impressive website in 2017, utilizing the work of 50 authors and 15 research assistants—cites William Harrison Taylor’s important article “Faith and Slavery in the Presbyterian Diaspora” several times, the Project website paints a more negative picture of Witherspoon than Taylor does. The Project’s website suggests that Witherspoon only meant to free Montgomery from sin and had no interest in his physical freedom. Taylor, on the other hand, observes that “the court also heard that Witherspoon had given [Montgomery] a ‘certificate of Christian conduct,’ indicating an expectation that he might go free, and effectively providing him with a means of achieving this.” At the very least, it is significant that Witherspoon was willing to instruct and baptize a slave in a dispute with one of his own church members. In fact, some have speculated that the surname “Montgomery” was given to the enslaved man after the maiden name of Witherspoon’s wife Elizabeth. This would be another indication of the closeness of Witherspoon’s relationship to the enslaved man he baptized and welcomed into membership in his church.

Private Instruction

As president, Witherspoon taught free Black men and gained the reputation for Princeton as a place where Black men could receive personal instruction. In 1774, Bristol Yamma and John Quamime—African born slaves who had purchased their freedom a year earlier—matriculated to Princeton to be special students of the president. They were not enrolled for degrees, but they had private lessons with Witherspoon.

Years later, John Chavis—a Revolutionary War veteran, property owner, and free Black man—sought out Witherspoon for similar instruction. In 1792, as an older “non-traditional” student, Chavis was admitted to Princeton using scholarship money from the Leslie Fund. In order to be admitted to Princeton, a student had to be tested in English grammar, orthography, punctuation, composition, geography, United States history, Latin grammar, Greek grammar, and mathematics. Chavis was well educated and a quick learner. While at Princeton, he received private tutoring from Witherspoon. In 1793 or 1794 Chavis left Princeton (likely because of Witherspoon’s illness and death) and later finished his academic studies at Liberty Hall Academy (now Washington and Lee University) and was licensed to preach by the Lexington Presbytery in Virginia.

As a member of congress, Witherspoon also sought funding for American Indian students to receive instruction at Princeton.

Views on Slavery

Witherspoon did not often speak explicitly to the issue of slavery, but when he did, his views were similar to other leading men of the founding generation: forced slavery is wrong; slavery will soon die out in America; immediate abolition is, therefore, neither wise nor necessary. In his Lectures on Moral Philosophy—composed soon after arriving in America, but published only posthumously from student notes—Witherspoon argued that while men may become slaves by their consent or as a punishment, “it is certainly unlawful to make inroads upon others, unprovoked, and take away their liberty by no better right than superior power.” Later, Witherspoon insisted: “Some have pleaded for making slaves of the barbarous nations, that they are actually brought into a more eligible state, and have more of the comforts of life, than they would have in their own country. This argument may alleviate, but does not justify the practice. It cannot be called a more eligible state, if less agreeable to themselves.” In conclusion, Witherspoon allowed that it was not necessary to free men already in a state of slavery because this would “make them free to their own ruin.” Still, “it is very doubtful whether any original cause of servitude can be defended, but as legal punishment for the commission of crimes.”

To be sure, Witherspoon was not a radical abolitionist. In his Description of the State of New Jersey, he maintained that slaves were well fed and well clothed. He did not view the plight of the enslaved with urgency. And yet, he was glad to see that the Dutch “use their slaves and other servants with great humanity, often not scrupling white and black to eat together.”

It is sometimes said that Witherspoon taught and voted against abolition, but this is only true if we equate abolition with immediate emancipation. When Witherspoon, in 1790, chaired the committee considering the possibility of abolition in New Jersey, he did not vote against abolition. He argued that sufficient laws against slavery were already in place and that slavery would soon die out.

Here is how Varnum Lansing Collins—Witherspoon’s most comprehensive biographer, even though his two-volume work President Witherspoon came out almost one hundred years ago—puts it:

As chairman of the [abolition] committee Dr. Witherspoon reported that the law already in force forbade the importation of slaves except actual servants of immigrants from other States, or of transient residents; that the exportation of slaves was likewise forbidden; that the law as it stood encouraged voluntary manumission of slaves; and that by it, moreover, slaves were protected from violence. He then offered the suggestions that New Jersey might enact a law that all slaves born after its passage should become free at a certain age, as for example 28; but in his opinion “from the state of society in America, the privileges of the press, and the progress of the idea of universal liberty,” there was little reason to believe that there would be any slaves at all in America twenty-eight years from that time.

We can question the judgment of men like Witherspoon, but we should deal fairly with the reasons for their actions. Collins concludes that Witherspoon’s opinions were “laudable but over-sanguine.”

Perhaps the best representation of Witherspoon’s views on slavery comes from his involvement not in politics but in the church. A 1787 resolution from the Synod of New York and Philadelphia—a Synod at which Witherspoon took the lead in proposing a new form of government and discipline—approved of “the general principles in favor of universal liberty that prevail in America; and the interest which many of the states have taken in promoting the abolition of slavery.” Although the Synod did not urge disciplining or separating from slaveholding churchmen and did not advocate for immediate abolition, it did encourage educating slaves, giving them a share of property, and teaching them to be self-sufficient so that they might be productive freemen someday. Moreover, the Synod went on to “recommend it to all the people under their care to use the most prudent measures, consistent with the interest and the state of civil society, in the parts where they live, to procure, eventually, the final abolition of slavery in America” (emphasis in original). This statement—if not written by Witherspoon himself—certainly would not have passed without his support.

Two Slaves

Given that Witherspoon baptized a runaway slave, taught free Blacks, and favored (eventual) abolition, what do we make of the fact that Witherspoon was himself a slaveowner?

It appears that Witherspoon first acquired slaves after moving to his country home (“Tusculum”) in 1779. Tax records from 1780 for the Western Precinct of Somerset Country show that out of more than 60 slaves in the precinct, Witherspoon owned one, no doubt to help farm his 500-acre estate, the largest acreage listed in that edition of the tax ratables. Beginning with the 1784 records, Witherspoon owned two slaves. While we might wonder about the consistency of writing against slavery while later owning slaves, Witherspoon likely reasoned, as he explained in his Lectures on Moral Philosophy, that releasing those already in slavery “would make them free to their own ruin.” In his last will and testament (written in 1793 and executed upon his death in 1794), the final line lists at £200: “2 Slaves supposed to be worth until they are 28 years of age.”

The reference to 28 years of age may be a hint that Witherspoon and his wife intended to manumit their two slaves, perhaps even in the near future. Recall Witherspoon’s suggestion that New Jersey enact a law that “all slaves born after its passage should become free at a certain age, as for example 28.” No doubt, this suggestion was modeled after Pennsylvania’s famous 1780 “Act for the Gradual Abolition of Slavery”—the first act abolishing slavery ever adopted by a democratic people. The Act decreed that children born into slavery (after the adoption of the Act) would be set free upon reaching 28 years of age. Perhaps there is another explanation for noting “until 28 years of age” in Witherspoon’s will, but one plausible explanation is that Witherspoon did not mean for the two slaves to remain in slavery past 28 years old.

Conclusion

The purpose of this article is not to excuse John Witherspoon from statements, judgments, or actions with which we would disagree. He led an impressive and influential life, but not a flawless one. And yet, if the measure for memorializing men and women from the past is perfection, we won’t be left with many heroes. No doubt, all of us wish to be judged as whole persons, by the totality of our words, deeds, relationships, and affections. Should anyone care to learn about us in the future, we can only hope that they will try to understand us on our own terms, in our own context, and not evaluate our life’s work based on blindspots that seem clear to them, however hidden they were to us. If Witherspoon’s contributions to Princeton and to the United States are, in the main, worth remembering and celebrating, and if his mistakes were actually fairly enlightened for his age, then perhaps we are better served tearing down our own prejudice toward people in the past instead of tearing down statues.

Part Two: A Fuller Measure of Witherspoon on Slavery https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/a-fuller-measure-of-witherspoon-on-slavery/id1526483896?i=1000597336754

As of the online publication of this essay, Princeton University is still deciding what to do with Witherspoon. The Council of the Princeton University Committee on Naming is forming its recommendation in response to the petition initiated in May 2022 to remove from its place of honor in Firestone Library Plaza between East Pyne Hall and the Chapel the statue of John Witherspoon (1723 – 1794), Princeton’s sixth president who led the (then) College of New Jersey from 1768 until his death 26 years later. This statue, commissioned by the Princeton University Board of Trustees, was dedicated in 2001. The initiators of the petition have cited as reasons for the statue’s removal their beliefs that Witherspoon “participated actively in the enslavement of human beings, and used his scholarly gifts to defend the practice.” One opponent to the proposed removal of Witherspoon’s statue submitted that the petitioners have “a tragic misunderstanding. . . of the full measure of Witherspoon on slavery.” In this present essay, I present new evidence on the duration and nature of Witherspoon’s ownership of slaves. I also briefly note Witherspoon’s connections to other evangelical Christians active in the abolition movement. By reviewing these facts—some of them not mentioned before in any of the secondary literature—I hope to present a fuller measure of Witherspoon on slavery.

In December 2022, I wrote an article opposing removal of the Witherspoon statue. Among the salient aspects of Witherspoon this piece explored were his outstanding service to Princeton, his courageous participation with the founders of our nation as a signer of the Declaration of Independence, his foundational leadership in the Presbyterian church, and, yes, the sad fact that he had owned slaves. This article generated a fair amount of attention, much of it negative. For many people, any defense of Witherspoon is tantamount to defending slavery itself. Of course, that was not the purpose of my article. We all wish slavery had not been present at the American founding, and we all lament that so many great men from that era could not see their own moral inconsistencies (or in some cases, egregious hypocrisies).

At the same time, it behooves us as critical thinkers, and simply as fellow human beings, to try to understand people from the past in their own context and on their own terms. In Witherspoon’s case, this doesn’t mean we justify slavery, but it does mean we must not accept the quick (and misleading) summary that says nothing more than “Witherspoon owned slaves and voted against abolition.” As I showed in my previous article, Witherspoon baptized a runaway slave in Scotland, taught free Blacks at Princeton, believed no man had the right to take away the liberty of another based on a superior power, and longed for the final abolition of slavery in America. As chairman of the New Jersey committee considering abolition, Witherspoon did not oppose abolition. Rather, he believed that laws were already in place to ensure the decent treatment of slaves and to encourage voluntary manumission, and that slavery would soon die out in America. He was, of course, wrong in this last conclusion, but most colonial leaders shared the same assumption. They did not know Eli Whitney’s cotton gin (invented in 1793) would revolutionize the cotton industry and vastly increase the demand for slave labor in the South.

New Evidence on Witherspoon’s Slave Ownership

But I don’t need to repeat the facts and arguments from my previous article. What I want to do next in this article is present new information about evidence of Witherspoon’s slaveholding—information I’ve not seen mentioned in any of the secondary literature or included on the Princeton and Slavery Project website. There are two direct pieces of evidence showing that Witherspoon owned slaves: (1) the New Jersey tax ratables, and (2) the listing of his possessions at the end of his life. Each one merits careful examination. Let’s start with the first piece of evidence.

Tax Ratables

The New Jersey State Archives holds the tax ratables for colonial New Jersey. These are, as the name suggests, records about property and other goods and the taxes levied on these possessions. At the end of 2022, I asked the State Archives if they could send me the relevant tax ratables for the Western Precinct of Somerset County (where Witherspoon’s country estate, Tusculum, was located). At that time, they hadn’t finished scanning all the documents, so I was only able to see enough of the ratables to confirm that the first record of Witherspoon owning a slave shows up in 1780 and that by 1784 he had two slaves. Within the past week, the excellent archivists in Trenton finished scanning the rest of the relevant documents and sent them to me. Here’s what they show: In 1785 and 1786, Witherspoon had two slaves. There is no record for 1787. But there are records for 1788, 1789, 1790, 1791, 1792, 1793, and 1794 (when Witherspoon died). In each year they list Witherspoon as owning zero slaves. After Witherspoon’s death, his wife Ann is mentioned in the tax ratables. No slaves are mentioned in her possession either.

Here is a simplified table of information drawn from the tax ratables (gaps in the sequence indicate no extant records for that year):

NameDateAcres of arable landSlavesJohn WitherspoonMay 17805001John Witherspoon17845002John WitherspoonJuly 17855782John WitherspoonAugust 17865562John WitherspoonSeptember 17885560John WitherspoonAugust 17895460John WitherspoonFebruary 17905460John WitherspoonSeptember 17915560John WitherspoonSeptember 17925460John WitherspoonSeptember 17935460John WitherspoonSeptember 17945460Ann WitherspoonSeptember 17954940Ann WitherspoonSeptember 17962110Ann WitherspoonSeptember 17972110

As we can see, Witherspoon did not own slaves—at least as the county assessor counted things—for most of the years he lived at Tusculum. (He moved from the college proper to Tusculum a mile away in 1779.). We don’t know how he acquired a slave in 1780. Did he purchase the enslaved person? Had the enslaved person already been working the property? Was the enslaved person assigned to him by the college? Nor do we know what changed in 1788 (or 1787). Were the two slaves sent elsewhere? Did they die? Were they emancipated? These are questions that probably cannot be answered. What we do know is that according to these records Witherspoon owned one and then two slaves over the course of seven years.

There is another fascinating discovery in the tax ratables. In 1792, 1793, and 1794 there is listed for the first time another Witherspoon (spelled “Weatherspoon” as John’s name also was), with the designation N (1792), then Ne (1793), then Neg (1794)—Neg being the designation for Negro. The persons marked “Neg” always shared a last name with a landowner and were likely servants or slaves who had been recently freed, or slaves who had been given property on their way to full emancipation. This African-American Witherspoon—the first name is spelled differently each year, but it is something like Forton—owned cattle and was listed as a householder.

The presence of a Black man with the surname Witherspoon is an important discovery. We don’t know if Forton was a new slave bought in 1792 because John Witherspoon went blind in both eyes in 1791 and needed new assistance. Or it might be that a new slave (or two) came to John upon his marriage to Ann in 1791, were given a household of their own, and worked for the Witherspoons until John’s death in 1794. Ann Witherspoon’s first husband came from a slaveholding family in York County, Pennsylvania. Perhaps the man Forton (and his wife?) came with Ann and that’s why the two slaves counted at the time of Witherspoon’s death include the curious reference to “until they are 28 years of age,” twenty-eight being the age at which those born into slavery were to set free under Pennsylvania law. Or it could be that in 1787 or 1788 Witherspoon gave his two slaves their own portion of the estate, such that the assessor no longer counted them as slaves in his possession. Perhaps Somerset County only began to designate “Negroes” in the tax ratables beginning in 1792. After 1794, presumably when the widow Ann would have needed help the most, there is no mention of the “Negro” Witherspoon, suggesting that he was free to go where he pleased.

Last Will and Testament

This still leaves us with the fact that two slaves are listed among Witherspoon’s assets at the time of his death. The slaves are nowhere mentioned in Witherspoon’s last will and testament. The will—drawn up on September 15, 1794 and modified on November 11—only stipulates who is to receive portions of his settled estate. No specific possessions are enumerated until after Witherspoon’s death when, on November 28, two appraisers list his possessions and provide a value for every item. This is where two slaves are mentioned.

We can’t be sure how to reconcile the appraisers’ mentioning of two slaves at the time of Witherspoon’s death with the listing of no slaves according to the tax ratables of the same year. There must have been some arrangement which rendered the status of the “Negro” Witherspoon ambiguous. The most likely explanation is that Witherspoon gave his slaves—either in 1787/1788 or upon receiving two slaves through his second marriage—a share of his estate that they might be prepared, in due course, to live in full freedom on their own. We know from Witherspoon’s Lectures on Moral Philosophy and from his work on the New Jersey committee mentioned earlier that Witherspoon was in favor of abolition, but that he also believed that moving too quickly could be dangerous for society and “make [slaves] free to their own ruin.” He was, in other words, a consistent proponent of gradual abolition.

How should we put all these pieces together? My best guess is that two slaves (husband and wife?) came with Ann Dill in her marriage to John Witherspoon, that they were considered Witherspoon’s assets by the assessors executing his will, but that the slaves were, in another sense, free persons and were listed as such in the tax record. The reference to “28 years of age” in Witherspoon’s will gives credence to the suggestion that the slaves would be free from all obligations at 28 years old (at the latest) in keeping with the 1780 Pennsylvania statute. If two Black persons came as a part of Ann’s property, it seems they were treated as free Negroes in their own household, but also had some sort of agreement (willingly or unwillingly we don’t know) to remain as servants so long as John was alive and needed assistance. In 1795, Ann had 494 acres in her possession, but this went down to 211 acres the following year, so she did not continue to maintain their estate on the same scale.

Witherspoon and the Presbyterian Church’s Statement on Slavery

The best example of Witherspoon’s thought on slavery and how to end it probably comes from the statement made by the Synod of New York and Philadelphia (i.e., the Presbyterian church) in 1787 and later reiterated in 1794. We should not forget just how revered Witherspoon was among his fellow Presbyterians. He was appointed to almost every important committee in the early years of the national Presbyterian church. He drew up many of the church’s foundational documents and was given the honor of preaching the opening sermon at the first General Assembly in 1789. At that first Assembly, there were 188 ministers present, 97 of whom were from Princeton, 52 of those being Witherspoon’s former pupils. Given his stature as senior statesman and as the personal mentor for over a quarter of the commissioners, the statement on slavery in 1787 undoubtedly reflected Witherspoon’s own beliefs and may have been drafted by him.

Here, in full, is the statement on slavery adopted by the Presbyterian church in 1787:

The Synod of New-York and Philadelphia do highly approve of the general principles, in favor of universal liberty, that prevail in America; and the interest which many of the states have taken in promoting the abolition of slavery. Yet, inasmuch as men introduced into a servile state, to a participation of all the privileges of civil society, without a proper education, and without previous habits of industry, may be, in many respects dangerous to the community. Therefore, they earnestly recommend it to all the members belonging to their communion, to give those persons, who are at present held in servitude, such good education as may prepare them for the better enjoyment of freedom.

And they, moreover, recommend, that matters, wherever they find servants disposed to make a proper improvement of the privilege, would give them some share of property to being with; or grant them sufficient time, and sufficient means, of procuring, by industry, their own liberty, at a moderate rate: that they may thereby be brought into society, with those habits of industry, that may render them useful citizens.

And, finally, they recommend it to all the people under their care, to use the most prudent measures, consistent with the interest and the state of civil society, in parts where they live, to procure, eventually, the final abolition of slavery in America. (Emphasis in original)

This long statement may give us the fullest and clearest explanation of Witherspoon’s views on slavery and abolition. He did not think men should be forced into slavery, but once already enslaved, he did not think immediate emancipation would be good for society or good for most slaves. He believed slaves should be educated and treated humanely. He favored abolition, but gradually and eventually. Toward that end, Witherspoon encouraged masters to give slaves a share of property, thus allowing them to be better prepared for freedom. It seems that Witherspoon likely practiced what he preached by making “Forton Weatherspoon” a householder of his own and giving him the opportunity to be fully emancipated, which he appears to have been shortly after Witherspoon’s death.

Witherspoon, John Newton, and William Wilberforce

Many Americans know of John Newton (1725 – 1807), or if they don’t know of Newton directly, they’ve heard his famous hymn “Amazing Grace” (1773). What many may not know is that Newton was, before his conversion to Christianity, a participant in the Atlantic Slave Trade, first serving on a slave ship in 1745 and continuing work on slave ships and investing in the slave trade for many years. Although Newton was “awakened” to God and his sin in 1748, he wrote in 1764 that he was not “a believer in the full sense of the word, till a considerable time afterwards.” In 1764, Newton began service as an Anglican clergyman. He moved to a church in London in 1780, eventually becoming one of the leading evangelical ministers of his day. In 1787, Newton published his Thoughts upon the African Slave -Trade (1787), in which he confessed his own complicity in the slave trade and called for its abolition.

Newton was one of the most important influences in the life of William Wilberforce (1759 – 1833), the acclaimed British leader who committed his life to the abolition of the slave trade. Following an evangelical conversion in 1785, the young Member of Parliament doubted that he should remain in politics. Wilberforce sought out Newton for counsel, who urged him to continue and “serve God where he was.”

While it would be too much to claim that Witherspoon was a pivotal in the lives of Newton and Wilberforce, it is worth noting that the three evangelicals were connected at various points. In 1791, the College of New Jersey, under Witherspoon’s leadership conferred an honorary degree upon Newton. No doubt, the school sensed a spiritual connection with Newton, but the degree also suggests implicit support for Newton’s role in opposing the slave trade. Both Newton and Wilberforce commended Witherspoon’s theological writings, especially his Treatise on Regeneration (1764). Newton said it was the best book he had read on the subject, while Wilberforce, for his part, recommended the book often, gave it away to friends, and penned a complimentary essay in 1823 for a new edition of the work. If Witherspoon had been seen as a friend of slavery and an enemy of abolition in his own time, it is unlikely that Newton and Wilberforce would have thought of him so highly and praised his work so unreservedly.

Conclusion

In all of this, we can still wish that Witherspoon had moved more quickly to free slaves in his own life or made the case for final abolition with more urgency. Indeed, New Jersey would become the last northern state to abolish slavery, doing so only in 1866, a year after the Civil War ended. But considering the totality of his teaching and his personal example on the issue of slavery, we ought to question any assessment that makes Witherspoon out to be someone deeply enmeshed in slavery throughout his life or in favor of the indefinite perpetuation of slavery. There is little doubt that Witherspoon was more enlightened on the issue of slavery than many of his generation, and less personally complicit in the evils of slavery than men like Jefferson, Madison, Washington, Franklin, and many of our country’s most celebrated founders.

Witherspoon was respected in his day as a great theologian, an exemplary college president, and an “animated son of liberty” whose leadership and sacrifice did much to advance the cause of the American Revolution and to establish the governing principles of the new republic. Even on the issue of slavery—though compromised by our standards—he showed himself to be moving in the right direction and called others to the same. With eyes wide open to his faults, Witherspoon’s legacy deserves to be commemorated—by the Scottish, by Americans, by Presbyterians, and, yes, by Princetonians too.

The Promise of Christmas

Fri, 23 Dec 2022 15:26:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-promise-of-christmas/id1526483896?i=1000591141357

Two podcasts that I’ve really enjoyed in the past are: American Scandal and American History Tellers. In both shows the narrator is Lindsay Graham (not the senator from South Carolina!). His voice and his style are unique. He tells each story by bringing you into the event as if you were there and by describing what you are experiencing in the present tense.

So in that vein, I want you to imagine:

It’s almost noon. The weather is ideal—72 degrees, sunny, slight breeze, low humidity. You look around and everything you see is stunningly beautiful. The trees, the grass, the sky, the river in front of you, the hills farther in the distance—they are all amazing.

The sound of birds overhead is pleasant. The animals are all peacefully playing. You grab a banana from the tree, peel the skin, and take a bite. It’s the best banana you’ve ever had. You share one with your best friend standing next to you. You look at each other and smile. It’s another perfect day in paradise.

Literally. Because you’re a man, you are Adam; if you are a woman, you’re Eve. As you stroll through the Garden of Eden, you enjoy each other, you enjoy your surroundings, you enjoy the presence of God in your midst. It’s been like this since the beginning. You hope nothing will ever change.

But just then you see a snake slither up to your feet. No reason to be alarmed. Snakes have never hurt you before. Nothing has ever hurt you before. But then the snake talks. He talks to you about God, about yourself, and about a fruit that is forbidden by God but the snake wants you to eat. You don’t know it at the time, but the snake is lying to you. But you’ve never been lied to before. You take the fruit and you eat. Both of you eat. You had hoped that nothing would ever change. But now in an instant, you know that the world will never be the same.

All of a sudden, everything looks different. You notice that you are naked. It’s embarrassing, so you quickly stitch together some makeshift clothes to cover yourself.

What other hope do you have? How else can your guilt be covered? Who else will save you from your sins?

Then things get worse, as God starts to talk. God has always been the best thing about the Garden. But now he sounds disappointed, angry, concerned. He asks where you are and why you are hiding. He asks who told you that you were naked. He asks about the fruit that you both ate.

Then he speaks of curses. He curses the serpent. He curses the ground. He tells you that work will be painful. He tells you that childbirth will be painful. He tells you that pain has been found and paradise has been lost.

But in the midst of all this bad news, this frightening news—in the midst of this terrible, evil day—there is something else God says. You aren’t sure what to make of it at first. God says that a child will come from the woman, and that this child will be at war with the snake. The snake will bruise the heel of the child, but—and this is what gets your attention—the child will crush the head of the serpent. What a strange word. And yet, for the first time since taking a bite of the fruit, you feel something like hope. For in the middle of curses and judgment, it sounds like God is making a promise.

Over the next hundreds and thousands of years that promise will grow and grow, until one day it enters the world as a tiny child. This is the one the weary world has been waiting for: the seed of the woman (Genesis 3:15), the child of Abraham (Genesis 12:3), and lion of the tribe of Judah (Genesis 49:10), a prophet like Moses (Deuteronomy 18:15–19), a royal son (Psalm 2:7), and a descendant of David (Psalm 132:11).

This is the child long foretold. He is born of a virgin (Isaiah 7:14), a light to the Gentiles (Isaiah 9:1–7) and a shoot from the stump of Jesse (Isaiah 11:1). Born in Bethlehem (Micah 5:2), come out of Egypt (Hosea 11:1), this is the speaker of peace to the nations, the one whose rule shall extend from sea to sea, from the River Euphrates to the ends of the earth (Zechariah 9:10). This poor, whimpering child is the God of justice and the Lord come to His temple (Malachi 3:1).

You can’t see all that as the two of you hang your shameful heads in the garden. But you want to believe. You have to believe. What other hope do you have? How else can your guilt be covered? Who else will save you from your sins?

For some, the baby will be a Judean scandal. But for those who dare to hope in the promise, his coming—and now his coming again—will be the greatest story any history teller has ever told.

The Crushing Obligation to Keep Doing More and More

Wed, 21 Dec 2022 10:00:00 GMT

Doing More for God

I understand there are lazy people out there who need to get radical for Jesus. I understand that many people are stingy with their resources and fritter their time away on inane television shows. I understand there are lots of Christians in our churches sitting around doing nothing who need to be challenged not to waste their life. I am deeply thankful for preachers and writers who challenge us to risk everything and make our lives count. I know a lot of sleepy Christians in need of a wake-up call.

But I also know people like me, people who easily feel a sense of responsibility, people who easily feel bad for not doing more. I was the kid in grade school who was ready to answer every question the teacher asked. I signed up for things just because they were offered. I took on extra credit just to be safe. I never skipped a class in college and would have felt bad for missing any chapel service. I took the practice ACT the year before I really took the practice ACT, which was a year before I took the real ACT. For all sorts of reasons—pride, diligence, personality—opportunities have often felt like obligations to me.

And surely I’m not the only one. Surely there are many Christians who are terribly busy because they sincerely want to be obedient to God. We hear sermons that convict us for not praying more. We read books that convince us to do more for global hunger. We talk to friends who inspire us to give more and read more and witness more. The needs seem so urgent. The workers seem so few. If we don’t do something, who will? We want to be involved. We want to make a difference. We want to do what’s expected of us. But there just doesn’t seem to be the time.

Calming the Crazy Man Inside

I think most Christians hear these urgent calls to do more (or feel them internally already) and learn to live with a low-level guilt that comes from not doing enough. We know we can always pray more and give more and evangelize more, so we get used to living in a state of mild disappointment with ourselves. That’s not how the apostle Paul lived (1 Cor. 4:4), and it’s not how God wants us to live, either (Rom. 12:1–2).1 Either we are guilty of sin—like greed, selfishness, idolatry—and we need to repent, be forgiven, and change. Or something else is going on. It’s taken me several years, a lot of reflection, and a bunch of unnecessary busyness to understand that when it comes to good causes and good deeds, “do more or disobey” is not the best thing we can say.

Here are some of thoughts that have helped me get out from under the terror of total obligation.

I am not the Christ. The senior sermon for my graduating class at seminary was given by Gordon Hugenberger of Park Street Church in Boston. The sermon was based on John the Baptist’s words, “I freely confess I am not the Christ.” Hugenberger’s point to a group of soon-to-be pastors was simple: “You may be part of the bridal party, but you are not the groom. You are not the Messiah, so don’t try to be. Along with the Apostles’ Creed and the Belgic Confession and the Westminster Confession, make sure you confess John the Baptist’s creed: I am not the Christ.” I still have a copy of the sermon and listen to it whenever I can find a tape deck. Our Messianic sense of obligation would be greatly relieved if we confessed more regularly what we are not.

There is good news. I was also helped with my busyness issues in seminary by reading a little book by Tim Dearborn called Beyond Duty: A Passion for Christ, a Heart for Mission.2 Dearborn, the director of faith and development for World Vision, argues that for too long the church has motivated people to mission by news of natural catastrophes, complex humanitarian disasters, unreached people groups, and oppressed and exploited minorities. We’ve been given statistics and stories about the all-too-sad conditions of the world. The good news of Christ’s death and resurrection, Dearborn maintains, has been turned into bad news about all the problems in the world and how much more we have to do to make things right. The take-home then becomes: serve more, give more, care more, do more. Dearborn reminds us that the gospel is good news of great joy, and that God is the only hope for the world.

Care is not the same as do. At the Lausanne missions gathering in 2010, John Piper made the statement that “we should care about all suffering, especially eternal suffering.” He chose the word “care” quite carefully. He didn’t want to say we should do something about all suffering, because we can’t do something about everything. But we can care. This means when we hear about grinding poverty or legal abortion or biblical illiteracy, we are not indifferent. We think and feel that these things ought not to be so. We won’t all care about every issue in the same way, but there are some issues we should all care about, some issues that should at least prick our hearts and prompt us to pray. Not giving a rip about sex slaves is not an option for the Christian. Not doing something directly to combat this particular evil *is an option.

We all have a cross to carry. But it’s a cross that kills our sins, smashes our idols, and teaches us the folly of self-reliance.

We have different gifts and different callings. Every Christian must be prepared to give an answer for the reason for the hope that we have (1 Pet. 3:15), but not everyone will do beach evangelism. Every Christian should be involved in the Great Commission, but not everyone will move overseas. Every Christian should oppose abortion, but not everyone will adopt or volunteer at a crisis pregnancy center. We need Christians who spend their lives improving inner-city schools and Christians whose dream is to get great theological books translated into Polish. And we need Christians who don’t make others feel guilty (and don’t feel guilty themselves) when one of us follows a different passion than another. I read and write a lot. That’s what I do well. But that doesn’t mean anyone should feel guilty for not reading and writing as much as I do. You have your own gifts and calling. We have to be okay with other Christians doing certain good things better and more often than we do.

Remember the church. The only work that absolutely must be done in the world is Christ’s work. And Christ’s work is accomplished through Christ’s body. The church—gathered in worship on Sunday and scattered through its members throughout the week—is able to do exponentially more than any of us alone. I can respond to Christ’s call in one or two ways, but I am a part of an organism and organization that can respond and serve in a million ways.

I can always pray right now. Prayer can feel like the biggest burden of all. We can always pray more, and we can’t possibly pray for every need in the world. Even if we are extremely organized and disciplined, we won’t be able to consistently pray for more than a handful of people and problems. But that doesn’t mean our prayers are limited to the items we can write on a 3 × 5 card. If your aunt’s cousin has upcoming heart surgery, pray immediately after you hear about it. When a missionary shares her requests, pray right on the spot for them. Don’t let the moment pass you by. Pray a short prayer. Trust God for the results and, in many cases, move on.

Jesus didn’t do it all. Jesus didn’t meet every need. He left people waiting in line to be healed. He left one town to preach to another. He hid away to pray. He got tired. He never interacted with the vast majority of people on the planet. He spent thirty years in training and only three years in ministry. He did not try to do it all. And yet, he did everything God asked him to do.

Take Time to Be Holy

I pray that nothing in this encourages you to embrace cheap grace or easy believism. We all have a cross to carry. But it’s a cross that kills our sins, smashes our idols, and teaches us the folly of self-reliance. It’s a cross that says I’ll do anything to follow Jesus, not a cross that says I have to do everything for Jesus.

No doubt some Christians need to be shaken out of their lethargy and to get busy for the kingdom. But many Christians are too busy already. I can take “redeem the time” (see Eph. 5:16, KJV) as a summons to better time management when in reality it’s a call to be holy more than a call to possess the seven habits of highly effective people. I can turn every “is” into an “ought.” I can overlook the role that necessity and proximity play in establishing divine obligations.3 I can forget that my circle of influence will inevitably be smaller than my circle of concern.

Above all, I can lose sight of the good news that the universe is not upheld by the word of my power (see Heb. 1:3). That’s Christ’s work, and no one else can do it. Hallelujah—he doesn’t even expect me to try.

Notes:

See my chapter “The Pleasure of God and the Possibility of Godliness,” in The Hole in Our Holiness (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012). Tim Dearborn, Beyond Duty: A Passion for Christ, a Heart for Mission (Federal Way, WA: World Vision, 1997). Cf. Kevin DeYoung and Greg Gilbert, What Is the Mission of the Church: Making Sense of Social Justice, Shalom, and the Great Commission(Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2011), 183–186, 225. See also my article “Stewardship, Obligation, and the Poor,” at http://www.9marks.org /journal/obligation-stewardship-and-poor.

Top 10 Books of 2022

Thu, 15 Dec 2022 10:00:00 GMT

First off, my usual disclaimer and explanation.

This list is not meant to assess the thousands of good books published in the past year. This is simply a list of the books—Christian and non-Christian, but all non-fiction—that I thought were the best in the past year. “Best” doesn’t mean I agreed with everything in them; it means I found these books—all published in 2022 or in the second half of 2021 (to give myself some breathing room)—a strong combination of thoughtful, useful, interesting, helpful, insightful, and challenging.

Instead of trying to rank the books 1-10 (always a somewhat arbitrary task), I’ll simply list them in alphabetical order by the author’s last name.

Dale Ahlquist, ed., The Story of the Family: G.K. Chesterton on the Only State that Creates and Loves Its Own Citizens (Ignatius Press)

Chesterton isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but if you like his style (like I do), you’ll love this book. I don’t agree with Chesterton on every point in this book, but given the state of the family today, listening to someone from a century ago is a breath of fresh air. Ahlquist has done a nice job pulling together Chesterton’s writings on the family across many decades and many venues.

Simonetta Carr, Church History (Reformation Heritage Books)

I haven’t heard many people talk about this book, but they should be. Carr and RHB have produced a beautiful, user-friendly, informative survey of church history. It works well as a coffee table book and as a simple survey that can serve families and students. Once you pick up the book, you won’t want to put it down.

Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God, Two Volumes (Crossway)

Crossway and Mark Jones are to be congratulated for producing such a handsome, sturdy, attractive reprint of a true classic. Charnock’s Existence and Attributes repays careful reading, and this new two-volume set makes that reading more enjoyable and more possible.

Matthew Continetti, The Right: The Hundred Year War for American Conservatism (Basic Books)

If you are interested in the history of American Conservatism, this will be a page-turner. One need not agree with Continetti’s framing of every issue to appreciate his skill in telling a fascinating and important story.

Abigail Favale, The Genesis of Gender: A Christian Theory (Ignatius Press)

What is feminism? This book provides one of the best insider’s account of the feminist movement. Favale is a gifted writer who moves seamlessly between personal biography and intellectual exploration. Favale is a Catholic, so I differ with her on some of her biblical reflections, but the discerning reader still has a lot to learn from this insightful book.

Phil Gramm, Robert Ekelund, and John Early, The Myth of American Inequality: How Government Biases Policy Debate (Rowman and Littlefield)

This is a wonky book filled with economic and statistical jargon. And yet, the overarching thesis is fairly simple: the government exaggerates the degree of inequality by failing to take into account wealth transfers, entitlement programs, and levels of taxation. The authors present a compelling case that the howls of American inequality are largely inaccurate.

Jon K. Lauck, The Good Country: A History of the American Midwest 1800-1900 (University of Oklahoma Press)

No doubt, this book will be more interesting if you are (or have been) a Midwesterner. But even if you aren’t, you will benefit from Lauck’s research, writing, evaluation, and synthesis. Lauck argues convincingly that the Midwest has a unique regional identity and that during the 19th century it was likely the most democratic place on the planet.

Nicholas Orme, Going to Church in Medieval England (Yale University Press)

The blurb on the front cover says, “A wonderful book”—and that’s exactly what this is. Orme’s volume is a joy to read and, with a number of attractive photos and illustrations, a joy to look at. The genius of the book is that it simply tells you what church was like—the buildings, the services, the staffing, the congregations, and the rhythms of daily life.

Serhii Plokhy, Nuclear Folly: A History of the Cuban Missile Crisis (W.W. Norton and Company)

With access to recently declassified KGB documents, Plokhy provides a new account of a well-known historical event. With over 350 pages of narrative, it’s not a short book, but Plokhy tells the story well—with new insights and with verve.

Matthew Rose, A World After Liberalism: Philosophers of the Radical Right (Yale University Press)

By looking at five “prophets” on the radical right, Rose has pulled together a number of themes that make sense of our current illiberal moment. This is a short book, well written, and contains a final chapter presenting a Christian alternative. Eye-opening, sometimes terrifying, and a must-read.

*****

Five of my favorite reads from 2022 not published in the last year:

Bradley Birzer, Russell Kirk: American Conservative (University Press of Kentucky, 2015)

David Hackett Fischer, Albion’s Seed: Four British Folkways in America (Oxford University Press, 1989)

J.N.D. Kelly, Golden Mouth: The Story of John Chrysostom―Ascetic, Preacher, Bishop (Cornell University Press, 1998)

David McCullough, 1776 (again) (Simon & Schuster, 2006)

David McCullough, The Wright Brothers (Simon & Schuster, 2016)

A Dust-up among the Historians

Mon, 09 Jan 2023 10:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/a-dust-up-among-the-historians/id1526483896?i=1000589630820

To many outsiders, the field of history probably looks like a straightforward endeavor. Historians teach us about the people, the events, and the ideas of the past. Sounds simple, but once you start studying the past, you realize there is no one agreed upon way to do history. In the last several years, this perennial difficulty has become especially pronounced within the guild of evangelical historians, “evangelicals” broadly understood.

A recent online kerfuffle helps illuminate this intra-evangelical debate. At the end of November, Jay Green, a professor of history at Covenant College, published a piece on “The New Shape of Christian Public Discourse” in which he tried to map public Christian voices across an X-axis that moves from “emancipationists” on the left and “civilizationalists” on the right, and across a Y-axis that moves from “minimalists” at the bottom to “maximalists” at the top. Like all meta-schemes, Green’s analysis isn’t perfect (as he readily acknowledges) but as a conversation starter, it introduces helpful categories.

What made Green’s analysis useful, and controversial, is that he named names (e.g., he put me in the “civilizational minimalist” category). Not surprisingly, some individuals did not agree with the quadrant they were assigned. In particular, Kristin Kobes Du Mez of Calvin University did not appreciate being placed in the “emancipatory maximalist” category. Her response to being put in the “illiberal” quadrant was (somewhat ironically, given the charge of illiberality), “Excuse me, but what the hell?”

Jay Green then responded by noting how much he admires writers Jemar Tisby, Beth Allison Barr, and Kristin Du Mez, how his essay should have been clearer, and how he is “very much a work-in-progress.” John Fea, as the Executive Editor of Current, admitted it was a mistake to have published Green’s piece in its original form. Fea also added that Green was right to apologize to Du Mez and that he (Fea) also wanted to affirm Du Mez’s liberality and apologize to her in public as he had already apologized in private.

Underlying this apology-fest is an ongoing debate about the role of the Christian historian. In the latest issue of Fides et Historia (the journal of Conference on Faith and History), there are three printed plenary addresses, all dealing with the topic of Christian historians as activists.

In his presidential address, John Fea describes how his own historical work has become more sermonic. While Fea tries to allow for different models, he sympathizes with those who see “Black bodies” in American streets, the presence of patriarchy in our churches, and the selfish refusal of Christians to listen to science, and they conclude that “Business as usual seems like just another form of silence in the face of injustice.”

For as much as the CFH talks about inclusion and the free exchange of ideas, it is clear that the present leadership of the historical guild assumes conclusions on the left.

In her address, Du Mez acknowledges that her book Jesus and John Wayne is activist history, but, in her estimation, so are historical books that support the status quo. “For decades,” she writes, “the pursuit of ‘Christian history’ has been dominated by white Protestant men.” Theirs was an activist history for the powerful, so why shouldn’t we have an activist history for the trampled and marginalized?

In a final plenary address, Jemar Tisby insists that the “historian as activist” debate is “very white-centered.” We all have biases, Tisby argues. The only question is whether we will be clear about them. “The question is about taking sides.” And as activists and advocates, historians are called to take sides.

What are we to make of this “historian as activist” debate? Two quick thoughts.

First, for as much as the CFH talks about inclusion and the free exchange of ideas, it is clear that the present leadership of the historical guild assumes conclusions on the left. Fea writes, “We in the CFH may not be a bunch of campus radicals, and some of us might have some mixed feelings about the agenda of the New Left or even the consensus Cold War liberals of the 1950s and 1960s.” Wait, only mixed feelings? Likewise, Tisby claims, “We are talking about issues that are pretty clear. Either masks work to reduce the virus spread or they don’t. Either the election was as legitimate as our elections ever are, or it was stolen. Either Black Lives Matter or they don’t.”

Besides the fact that the effectiveness of masking turned out to be far from clear, this is hardly a representative list of issues. Might the Bible actually be clearer about, say, abortion and gay “marriage” than about the effectiveness of masks? And when a calmly-reasoned article like Green’s prompts so much handwringing and such a flurry of apologies, one can be forgiven for wondering how open the guild really is to dissenting opinions and critical interaction.

Second, the “historian as activist” approach sounds a lot like the scholarly approach that Mark Noll, Nathan Hatch, and George Marsden—formal and informal mentors to so many in the current generation of historians—sought to supplant. In their book from the 1980s The Search for Christian America, Noll, Hatch, and Marsden argued that “Once we begin with our own commitments, the selection of the facts to fit them is all too easy, the more so since selectivity is usually unconscious.”

The problem they saw on the right is now ever present on the left. “Rather than offering genuine insight into our own times,” they wrote, “the past becomes just one more medium to convey positions which we already hold.” What we need instead, they insist (ala C.S. Lewis), is to open the windows to “the clean sea-breeze of the centuries.”

Wise words, and a better approach than visiting the past looking to settle scores for the present.

What Should Christians Think About Same-Sex Marriage?

Thu, 01 Dec 2022 19:12:06 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/what-should-christians-think-about-same-sex-marriage/id1526483896?i=1000588410430 Why This Issue Matters

I’m a pastor. My concern is with the church—what she believes, what she celebrates, and what she proclaims. Achieving some legal and political end is not my primary calling and yet, I’m concerned that many younger Christians—ironically, often those most attuned to societal transformation and social justice—do not see the connection between a traditional view of marriage and human flourishing. Many Christians are keen to resurrect the old pro-choice mantra touted by some Catholic politicians: personally opposed, but publicly none of my business. I want Christians to see why this issue matters and why—when same-sex marriage became the law of the land—the integrity of the family was weakened and the freedom of the church was threatened.

I know this is an increasingly unpopular line of reasoning, even for those who are inclined to accept the Bible’s teaching about marriage. Perhaps you believe that homosexual behavior is biblically unacceptable. And yet, you wonder what’s wrong with supporting same-sex marriage as a legal and political right. After all, we don’t have laws against gossip or adultery or the worship of false gods. Even if I don’t agree with it, shouldn’t those who identify as gay and lesbian still have the same freedom I have to get married?

That’s a good question, but before we try to answer it, we need to be sure we are talking about the same thing. Let’s think about what is not at stake in the debate over same-sex marriage.

The state is not threatening to criminalize homosexual behavior. Since the Supreme Court struck down anti-sodomy laws in Lawrence v. Texas (2003), same-sex sexual behavior has been legal in all fifty states. The state is not going to prohibit those in homosexual relationships from committing themselves to each other in public ceremonies or religious celebrations. The state is not going to legislate whether two adults can live together, profess love for one another, or express their commitment in ways that are sexually intimate.

The issue is not about controlling “what people can do in their bedrooms” or “who they can love.” The issue is about what sort of union the state will recognize as marriage. Any legal system which distinguishes marriage from other kinds of relationships and associations will inevitably exclude many kinds of unions in its definition. The state denies marriage licenses to sexual threesomes. It denies marriage licenses to eight-year-olds. There are an almost infinite number of friendship and kinship combinations which the state does not recognize as marriage. The state doesn’t tell us who we can be friends with or who we can live with. You can have one friend or three friends or a hundred. You can live with your sister, your mother, your grandfather, your dog, or three buddies from work. But these relationships—no matter how special—have not been given the designation “marriage” by the church or by the state. The state’s refusal to recognize these relationships as marital relationships does not keep us from pursuing them, enjoying them, or counting them as significant.

Marriage: What’s the Big Deal?

In the traditional view, marriage is the union of a man and a woman. That’s what marriage is, before the state confers any benefits on it. Marriage, in the traditional view, is a prepolitical institution. The state doesn’t determine what defines marriage; it only recognizes marriage and privileges it in certain ways. It is a sad irony that those who support same-sex marriage on libertarian grounds are actually ceding to the state a vast amount of heretofore unknown power. No longer is marriage treated as a prepolitical entity which exists independent of the state. Now the state defines marriage and authorizes its existence. Does the state have the right, let alone the competency, to construct and define a society’s most essential relationships?

We must consider why the state has bothered to recognize marriage in the first place. What’s the big deal about marriage? Why not let people have whatever relationships they choose and call them whatever they want? Why go to the trouble of sanctioning a specific relationship and giving it a unique legal standing? The reason is that the state has an interest in promoting the familial arrangement whereby a mother and a father raise the children that came from their union. The state has been in the marriage business for the common good and for the well-being of the society it is supposed to protect. Kids do better with a mom and a dad.1 Communities do better when husbands and wives stay together. Hundreds of studies confirm both of these statements (though we all can think of individual exceptions I’m sure).2 Same-sex marriage assumes that marriage is re-definable and the moving parts replaceable.

By recognizing same-sex unions as marriage, just like the husband-wife relationship we’ve always called marriage, the state is engaging in (or at least codifying) a massive reengineering of our social life. It assumes the indistinguishability of gender in parenting, the relative unimportance of procreation in marriage, and the near infinite flexibility as to what sorts of structures and habits lead to human flourishing.3

But What about Equal Rights?

How can I say another human being doesn’t have the same right I have to get married? That hardly seems fair. It’s true: the right to marry is fundamental. But to equate the previous sentence with a right to same-sex marriage begs the question. It assumes that same-sex partnerships actually constitute a marriage. Having the right to marry is not the same as having a right to the state’s validation that each and every sexual relationship is marriage. The issue is not whether to expand the number of persons eligible to participate in marriage, but whether the state will publicly declare, privilege, and codify a different way of defining marriage altogether. Or to use a different example, the pacifist has a right to join the army, but he does not have the right to insist that the army create a nonviolent branch of the military for him to join.4

Redefining marriage to include same-sex partnerships publicly validates these relationships as bona fide marriage. That’s why the state sanction is so critical to same-sex marriage proponents and so disconcerting to those with traditional views. The establishment of gay “marriage” enshrines in law a faulty view of marriage, one that says marriage is essentially a demonstration of commitment sexually expressed. In the traditional view, marriage was ordered to the well-being of the child, which is why the state had a vested interest in regulating and supporting it. Under the new morality, marriage is oriented to the emotional bond of the couple. The slogan may say “keep the government out of my bedroom,” as if personal choice and privacy were the salient issues, but same-sex marriage advocates are not asking for something private. They want public recognition. I don’t doubt that for most same-sex couples the longing for marriage is sincere, heartfelt, and without a desire to harm anyone else’s marriage. And yet, same-sex unions cannot be accepted as marriage without devaluing all marriages, because the only way to embrace same-sex partnerships as marriage is by changing what marriage means altogether.

Enough Is Enough?

So why not call a truce on the culture war and let the world define marriage its way and the church define marriage its way?

You may think to yourself, maybe if Christians were more tolerant of other definitions of marriage, we wouldn’t be in this mess. The problem is that the push for the acceptance of same-sex marriage has been predicated upon the supposed bigotry of those who hold a traditional view. The equal signs on cars and all over social media are making a moral argument: those who oppose same-sex marriage are unfair, uncivil, unsocial, undemocratic, un-American, and possibly even inhumane. If Christians lose the cultural debate on homosexuality, we will lose much more than we think. David S. Crawford is right:

The tolerance that really is proffered is provisional and contingent, tailored to accommodate what is conceived as a significant but shrinking segment of society that holds a publicly unacceptable private bigotry. Where over time it emerges that this bigotry has not in fact disappeared, more aggressive measures will be needed, which will include explicit legal and educational components, as well as simple ostracism.5

We must not be naive. The legitimization of same-sex marriage will mean the de-legitimization of those who dare to disagree. The sexual revolution has been no great respecter of civil and religious liberties. Sadly, we may discover that there is nothing quite so intolerant as tolerance.6

Does this mean the church should expect doom and gloom? That depends. For conservative Christians the ascendancy of same-sex marriage will likely mean marginalization, name-calling, or worse. But that’s to be expected. Jesus promises us no better than he himself received (John 15:18–25). The church is sometimes the most vibrant, the most articulate, and the most holy when the world presses down on her the hardest.

But not always—sometimes when the world wants to press us into its mold, we jump right in and get comfy. I care about the decisions of the Supreme Court and the laws our politicians put in place. But what’s much more important to me—because I believe it’s more crucial to the spread of the gospel, the growth of the church, and the honor of Christ—is what happens in our local congregations, our mission agencies, our denominations, our parachurch organizations, and in our educational institutions. I fear that younger Christians may not have the stomach for disagreement or the critical mind for careful reasoning.

Look past the talking points. Read up on the issues. Don’t buy every slogan and don’t own every insult. The challenge before the church is to convince ourselves as much as anyone that believing the Bible does not make us bigots, just as reflecting the times does not make us relevant.

Notes:

See Katy Faust’s striking article, “Dear Justice Kennedy: An Open Letter from the Child of a Loving Gay Parent,” in which she maintains that she is “one of many children with gay parents who believe we should protect marriage” because “the government’s interest in marriage is about the children that only male-female relationships can produce.” Public Discourse, February 2, 2015, www.thepublicdiscourse.com/2015/02/14370. See Maggie Gallagher, “(How) Does Marriage Protect Child Well-Being?” in The Meaning of Marriage: Family, State, Market, and Morals, eds. Robert P. George and Jean Bethke Elshtain (Dallas: Spence, 2006), 198–200. For the best explanation of what marriage is, from the perspective of reason and natural law, see Patrick Lee and Robert P. George, Conjugal Union: What Marriage Is and Why It Matters (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014); Anthony Esolen, Defending Marriage: Twelve Arguments for Sanity (Charlotte, NC: Saint Benedict Press, 2014); Sherif Girgis, Ryan T. Anderson, and Robert P. George, What Is Marriage? Man and Woman: A Defense (New York: Encounter Books, 2012). This analogy is taken from Voddie Baucham, “Gay Is Not the New Black,” July 19, 2012, TGC, http://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/gay-is-not-the-new-black. David S. Crawford, “Mechanism, Public Reason, and the Anthropology of Orientation: How the Debate over ‘Gay Marriage’ Has Been Shaped by Some Ubiquitous but Unexamined Assumptions,” Humanum (Fall 2012): 8; available online at http://humanumreview.com//uploads /pdfs/CRAWFORD_SSU_main_17pp_(final).pdf. See D. A. Carson’s excellent book, The Intolerance of Tolerance (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2012).

The Making of Biblical Womanhood: A Review

Tue, 31 Aug 2021 15:46:00 GMT

Abstract

Beth Allison Barr’s influential book The Making of Biblical Womanhood sets out to demonstrate the historical roots of “biblical womanhood,” a system of Christian patriarchy that is not really Christian. This review article poses two key questions, both of which point to significant weaknesses in Barr’s argument. First, does Barr, as a historian, deal fairly and accurately with the proponents of “biblical womanhood”? Second, does Barr, as a historian, deal fairly and accurately with the historical evidence she cites in opposition to “biblical womanhood”? Specific examples of historical half-truths reveal a more comprehensive problem with Barr’s methodology, which reflects a “heads I win, tails you lose” approach to history.

“Patriarchy may be a part of Christian history, but that doesn’t make it Christian. It just shows us the historical (and very human) roots of biblical womanhood.”1 In two sentences, this is the central argument of Beth Allison Barr’s popular book The Making of Biblical Womanhood: How the Subjugation of Women Became Gospel Truth.

The idea of “biblical womanhood” is nothing other than Christian patriarchy, and the only reason it continues to flourish is because women and men blindly continue to support it (p. 216). For too long, Barr argues, the system of Christian patriarchy has “place[d] power in the hands of men and take[n] power out of the hands of women.” It has taught “men that women rank lower than they do.” It has taught “women that their voices are worth less than the voices of men” (p. 18). At bottom, Christian patriarchy is no different from pagan patriarchy. Both are rampant in the world. Both have been around for a long time. And it’s time for both to end.

Although in many ways a learned book with hundreds of endnotes and plenty of academic citations, The Making of Biblical Womanhood is anything but a dry, dispassionate work. From the first sentence of the Introduction (“I never meant to be an activist”) to the numerous references in the Acknowledgments to those who “believed in this project” and “stood by me” and “fought for me” and “gave me the courage I needed to be braver than I ever knew I could be,” this is a work of vigorous advocacy (pp. viii–x). Barr is not simply arguing for a theological or historical interpretation. The stakes are much higher than that. She is “fighting for a better a Christian world” (p. x). She is fighting for evangelical Christians to finally be free (p. 218).

1. A Work of History

The Making of Biblical Womanhood straddles several different genres. It is part personal history, with Barr’s own painful interactions with patriarchy (as she sees it) looming large in the background (and in the foreground). Woven throughout the book is the story of Barr’s husband being fired as a youth pastor for challenging his church’s leadership over the role of women in the church. We also hear of disrespectful male students in her classroom and of a scary relationship she had with a boyfriend years ago. Barr acknowledges that this experience with her boyfriend, along with the experience of her husband’s firing, “frames how I think about complementarianism today.” These “traumatic experiences” mean that she is “scarred” and “will always carry the scars” (p. 204). Those sympathetic to Barr’s perspective will likely resonate with the personal narrative, considering it one more reason to dismantle patriarchy once and for all. Others, however, might be curious to know if there is another side to these stories (Prov 18:17) and, more importantly, might wonder whether the author’s scars get in the way of giving complementarianism a fair hearing.

The book also contains elements of a typical egalitarian apologetic. As an exegetical work, there is little in The Making of Biblical Womanhood that hasn’t been said many times over the past 40 years. Anyone familiar with egalitarian arguments will not be surprised by the main exegetical claims: Paul’s commands are culturally bound; husbands and wives both submit to each other; Phoebe was a deaconess; Junia was a female apostle; Mary Magdalene preached the gospel; Galatians 3:28 obliterates gender-based hierarchy. I won’t repeat Barr’s arguments, nor will I attempt a point-by-point rejoinder. If anyone wants to look at the same issues from a different perspective, my new book Men and Women in the Church is meant to be a concise overview of complementarian convictions and conclusions.2

What makes Barr’s work unique is her work as a medieval historian. It’s this new angle that prompted so many rave (if sometimes cliched) reviews: “readers should be ready to have their worlds transformed” (Tisby); “absolute game changer” (Du Mez); “this book is a game changer” (Fea); “convincing and moving” (Jenkins); “I have waited my entire adult life for a book like this” (Merritt); “a brilliant, thunderous narrative” (McKnight). With a PhD from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and now as an associate professor of history and associate dean at Baylor University, Barr has an impressive academic pedigree. No one can question that Barr writes as a well-trained historian, something she reminds the reader of often:

“As a historian…” (p. 6) “Listen not just to my experiences but also to the evidence I present as a historian” (p. 9). “Even from my early years training as a historian…” (p. 12) “Here I was, a professor with a PhD from a major research university…” (p. 56) “Because I am a historian…” (p. 56) “So as a historian…” (p. 60) “Instead, I taught the narrative I had learned from my training as a historian…” (p. 107). “My training as a historian…” (p. 107) “My medieval history-trained eyes…” (p. 125) “But as a historian…” (p. 127) “As a medieval historian who specializes in English sermons…” (p. 132) “Yet, as a medieval historian…” (p. 133) “So let me tell you what I know as a historian…” (p. 133) “As a historian who studies manuscript tradition…” (p. 143) “To my women’s history-trained ears…” (p. 171) “As a medieval historian…” (p. 183) “As a church historian…” (p. 194) “At least to my historian’s mind…” (p. 197) “I am a historian…” (p. 205)

With this relentless emphasis on writing “as a historian,” we would do well to evaluate The Making of Biblical Womanhood first of all as a work of historical scholarship.

Along these lines, let me raise two questions, both of which point to significant weaknesses in Barr’s argument. First, does Barr, as a historian, deal fairly and accurately with the proponents of “biblical womanhood”? Second, does Barr, as a historian, deal fairly and accurately with the historical evidence she cites in opposition to “biblical womanhood”?

2. Dealing Fairly with Our Opponents

One of the difficulties in evaluating Barr’s arguments against “biblical womanhood” is that she never provides a definition of what exactly she means by that pejorative label or how she has determined who counts as authoritative spokesmen for the concept she rejects. The closest she comes to a definition of biblical womanhood is when she observes that she grew up learning that “women were called to secondary roles in church and family, with an emphasis on marriage and children” (p. 1). Along the same lines, she defines complementarianism as “the theological view that women are divinely created as helpers and men are divinely created as leaders” (p. 5). The problem with both of these definitions is that they don’t come from anyone in the “biblical womanhood” or complementarian camp. That’s not automatically a problem. There’s a place for summarizing big, broad movements in our own words. But for a whole book against “biblical womanhood,” one would have expected a substantial and sophisticated analysis of the theological, exegetical, and cultural vision laid out in the book with biblical womanhood in its title, Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood.3 One would have hoped for a careful look at the Danvers Statement or an evaluation of the “Mission & Vision” of the Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood. Instead, Barr’s version of “biblical womanhood” relies heavily on her personal experience, broad generalizations, and bite-size quotations from people as diverse as Tim LaHaye, James Dobson, Bill Gothard, Russell Moore, Owen Strachan, John Piper, and Wayne Grudem.

I hope most history departments would insist that the best research tries to present historical subjects and ideas in ways that would be familiar to them. That is, before moving to critical evaluation, historians should try to make sense of what people in the past have believed, on their own terms, and why they came to the conclusions they did. While Barr demonstrates admirable sympathy for her medieval subjects (the women at least), she makes little effort to understand her “biblical womanhood” opponents or to look for much more than gotcha words and phrases. For example, Barr often mentions a 2006 article from Russell Moore where he talks favorably about the word “patriarchy.”4 (Incidentally, it’s ironic that Moore, because of an article 15 years ago, has become the chief culprit in advocating patriarchy when many would regard him as the type of complementarian most sympathetic to many of Barr’s complaints.) Barr also quotes Owen Strachan using the p-word (patriarchy). Citing Moore’s article, along with one line from Strachan, Barr insists, “Not long ago, evangelicals were talking a lot about patriarchy” (p. 12). Two examples hardly seem like a lot, especially considering the word complementarian was coined specifically to get away from words like patriarchy.

It should be stated that patriarchy, by itself, is not a bad word. If we have God as our heavenly Father, we all believe in some kind of patriarchy. Personally, I don’t tend to use the word because of all the negative connotations. But just because someone uses the word patriarchy doesn’t make them—or an entire movement—guilty of those negative connotations. In fact, as Barr points out, Moore is careful to distinguish Christian patriarchy from “pagan patriarchy” and “predatory patriarchy” (p. 16). Barr admits that Moore’s stance has been “women should not submit to men in general (pagan patriarchy), but wives should submit to their husbands (Christian patriarchy)” (p. 17). That seems like a significant and helpful distinction. But in her next line, Barr takes away the distinction Moore tries to make: “Nice try, I thought. Tell that to my conservative male student.” Does one rude college student mean that all patriarchy is pagan patriarchy?

At times, Barr’s takedowns feel more like political oppo research than careful academic reasoning. For example, she tells her students “how easily a study of Paul overturns John Piper’s claim that Christianity has a ‘masculine feel.’” After all, she argues, Paul describes himself as a pregnant mother, a mother giving birth, and even a nursing mother (p. 52). I don’t expect Barr to like the phrase “masculine feel,” but Piper’s argument does not rest on whether Paul ever uses female imagery. Piper argues that God has revealed himself to us in the Bible pervasively as King, not Queen, and as Father, not Mother. He argues that the Son of God came into the world as a man, that the priests in Israel were men, that the apostles were all men, that men are given the responsibility to lead, protect, and provide. Piper acknowledges that emphasizing a “masculine ministry” can be seriously misunderstood and misapplied. He also underscores several times that a “masculine ministry” is for the flourishing of women and that women contribute in fruitful partnership to the work of ministry. Again, Barr has every right to disagree with Piper’s vision for ministry, but that disagreement should deal with his specific arguments and proposals, not with one phrase she feels is particularly laughable.

Or to cite another example involving Piper, Barr claims, “Even John Piper admitted in 1984 that he can’t figure out what to do with Deborah and Huldah” (p. 36). But if you look up the citation, here is the totality of what Piper said:

I admit that Deborah and Huldah do not fit neatly into my view. I wish Berkeley and Alvera would do the same about 1 Timothy 2:8–15 (etc.!). Perhaps it is no fluke that Deborah and Huldah did not put themselves forward but were sought out because of their wisdom and revelation (Judges 4:5; 2 Kings 22:14). I argued in March (pp. 30–32) that the issue (in 1 Cor. 11:2–16) is how a woman should prophesy, not whether she should. Are Deborah and Huldah examples of how to “prophesy” and “judge” in a way that affirms and honors the normal headship of men?”5

That presents a different picture than Barr’s “he can’t figure out what to do with Deborah and Huldah”—not a befuddled complementarian, but someone trying to deal with the strongest arguments of the other side and provide a response. Surely, this is a good model for all of us to follow.

Similarly, Barr chides Capitol Hill Baptist Church for one of their Sunday school classes. “To this day,” she writes, “I grind my teeth over the church history series used by Capitol Hill Baptist Church. It paints a grim picture of a sordid, corrupt medieval church in which few people, except for a remnant of ‘scattered monks and nuns,’ found salvation” (p. 137). Barr is free to argue that the curriculum is too negative about the medieval church, but she ought to at least note the first two sentences of the lesson: “Common belief is that the Middle Ages was a truly horrible time period with no redeeming qualities. But the more we examine [we] realize just how rich some of the theology was, and how important many of the people and events are during this time period.”6

Whether because of her own pain, or maybe because of her stated aim to fight for a better world, Barr is frequently guilty of reading material from the other side with a hermeneutic of suspicion. For example, she states matter-of-factly that the ESV translation of Junia as “well known to the apostles” instead of “prominent among the apostles” was “a deliberate move to keep women out of leadership” (p. 69). How she has confidently ascertained the inner workings of the ESV translation committee is not stated. Likewise, she cites an ESV resource as saying, “The union of one man and one woman in marriage is one of the most basic and most profound aspects of being created in the image of God.”7 Barr concludes from this one sentence: “because we are created in the image of God, implies the ESV resources, we desire the union of marriage. Marriage—from the evangelical perspective—completes us” (p. 112). I can’t imagine many other readers jumped from “marriage is one of the most basic and most profound aspects of being created in the image of God” to the relational philosophy of Jerry Maguire. It is worth noting as well that the ESV resource in question was written by Yusufu Turaki, a pastor and scholar from Nigeria. Does Barr mean to lampoon the evangelical African perspective on marriage and singleness? And all of this is to say nothing of the fact that Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood specifically begins with a Foreword addressing single men and women—the eighth point of which states, “Mature manhood and womanhood are not dependent on being married.” While you will find many complementarians celebrating the goodness and design of marriage, I doubt you will find any insisting that single persons are incomplete without it.

Before moving on to the next heading let me make clear: I don’t believe complementarianism and “biblical womanhood” are above critique. I don’t agree with everything I’ve seen over the years from CBMW. I have cringed at certain comments complementarians have made on Twitter. There have been rhetorical blunders in the complementarian world and some theological mistakes. Like many others, I share Barr’s concerns with tying gender roles to the eternal subordination of the Son—a view I’ve critiqued before (though Barr unfairly equates ESS with Arianism). This review isn’t about circling the wagons and disallowing any criticism of Piper or Grudem or Dever (or DeYoung for that matter). But complementarians should recognize the arguments being critiqued, and they should know the intellectual reasons why fringe figures like Bill Gothard are often referenced when serious mainstream complementarian scholars like Doug Moo or Don Carson almost never are (let alone magisterial theologians like Augustine or Aquinas or Bavinck, all of whom interpret and apply the biblical passages on men and women differently than Barr does). One could be forgiven for thinking that words like “biblical womanhood” and “patriarchy” are not careful representations of cogent theological positions or discernible ecclesiastical movements as much as they are catch-all terms for whatever ideas about men and women that the author (and, likely, his or her colleagues) disdain. Would that our academic historians might treat their ideological opponents with the same level of integrity and sophistication they no doubt insist upon from their students in other historical matters.

3. Dealing Fairly with the Historical Evidence

As a work purporting to be serious history, The Making of Biblical Womanhood contains more than a few historical oddities. I don’t know that any other historian has ever referred to John Calvin and John Knox as “radical Puritan translators” (p. 145), given that the term “Puritan” began as a term of derision in the Church of England and barely existed before Calvin and Knox died. Likewise, Barr mistakenly claims that the Countess of Huntingdon’s Connexion was “the first American Calvinist denomination” to emerge from the evangelical revivals (p. 177), when, in fact, the Anglican breakaway group was English not American. Barr also evinces an amateurish view of the Arian controversy, equating the error of eternal subordination with the teachings of Arius (when someone like Origen would have been more accurate) and stating incorrectly, “When everyone else in the Christian world got wind of what Arius was teaching, they reacted with horror” (p. 194). This is hardly an accurate reading of the back-and-forth theological and geopolitical debate that ensued after Nicea and prompted the council in the first place.

More important than these mistakes, Barr often employs ambiguous language and selective information in presenting the heroes and heroines of her cause. For example, she observes triumphantly that Chrysostom interprets 1 Timothy 3:11 as a reference to deaconesses. This shows, on her reading, that the golden-tongued preacher clearly supported “female leadership” in the church (p. 68). But is “female leadership” the best description for the order of deaconesses that emerged in the third and fourth centuries? Early church documents like the Apostolic Constitutions explain that deaconesses were to visit women in their homes, help bathe infirm women, and assist the presbyters in baptizing women so as to maintain proper decorum. Robert Cara’s summary is apt: “there were two gender-separate ordained deacon bodies in at least part of the church during the third and fourth centuries AD and no example of a mixed-gender diaconate. The ordained deaconesses had restricted responsibilities compared to the male counterparts.”8 If deaconesses were “leaders” in the church, Barr should explain what that leadership looked like, lest we commit the historical fallacy of anachronistically reading modern notions of “female leadership” back into Chrysostom’s sermons.

Moreover, before we make Chrysostom an opponent of “biblical womanhood,” we should note what he says in his other homilies on 1 Timothy. According to Chrysostom, women in the church must “show submission by their silence. For the sex is naturally somewhat talkative; and for this reason he restrains them on all sides.” A little further in the same sermon we read: “He wishes the man to have the preeminence in every way.” And later: “The woman taught once and ruined all. On this account therefore he saith, let her not teach. But what is it to other women, that she suffered this? It certainly concerns them; for the sex is weak and fickle, and he is speaking of the sex collectively.”9 The point is not that Chrysostom is right about everything—I’m embarrassed by some of his language too—but intellectual honesty demands that we represent historical figures as they were, not as we wish them to be.

Or take the example of Genovefa of Paris, whom Barr calls the “defacto ecclesiastical leader of Paris” (p. 88). Leaving aside the fact that what we know about many of Barr’s medieval heroines come from hagiographical sources often written centuries later, is it fair to say Genovefa was the “defacto ecclesiastical leader,” when she did not ordain anyone, did not administer the sacraments, did not hold ecclesiastical office, and did not preach in the church? It is said that Genovefa prayed for the city when attacked by the Huns and encouraged the citizens of Paris not to flee. She reportedly received numerous visions of saints and angels. She erected a chapel in honor of Saint Denis. At one point, the bishop appointed her to look after the consecrated virgins. This is a kind of leadership to be sure, but not what most people hear in the term “ecclesiastical leader.”

Even more telling is Barr’s use of Brigit of Kildare. Whereas “Genovefa acted like a bishop,” Barr maintains, “Brigit of Kildare (according to hagiography) was actually ordained as a bishop” (p. 89). There is a story in one lone hagiographical source of a bishop presiding over Brigit’s consecration, and while chanting the liturgy of consecration, he got so intoxicated with the grace of God that he mistakenly read the episcopal ordination ceremony instead and made Brigit a bishop by accident. To her credit, Barr mentions the unusual circumstances surrounding Brigit’s “ordination.” What Barr doesn’t mention is what the source she cites says next: “Within this hagiographical episode, the saint herself did not acknowledge the unique event but instead accepted a donation of land.”10 In other words, Barr’s example of a woman having “received ordination like a man would have” (p. 89) is anything but. The ordination was an accident; Brigit refused to accept it; and the whole incident may not have happened in the first place.

We could cite other examples. Barr maintains, “Even Calvinist evangelicals of the past have affirmed women’s calling by God as public ministers” (p. 177). Her one piece of evidence in support of this claim is the aforementioned Selina, Countess of Huntingdon. To be sure, Selina was a remarkable woman. In fact, the conservative Calvinist publisher Banner of Truth released a book about her.11 The Countess supported George Whitefield, gave generously of her family fortune to start a training school for ministers, and established a number of chapels in England, over which she exercised close superintendence. While Reformed Christians of the past (and present) have celebrated the Countess of Huntingdon as playing a pivotal role in the evangelical awakening, this is a far cry from suggesting that Calvinistic Methodists in the eighteenth century affirmed Selina as a public minister, something she was not and something she would not have claimed.

And then there is Margery Kempe, the medieval English mystic who appears in The Making of Biblical Womanhood more than any other historical person. Barr tells of the time Margery was arrested, in 1417, in the town of York and brought before the archbishop. “The archbishop knew Margery was traveling around the countryside without her husband; he knew she was acting like a religious teacher without any training” (p. 73). And yet, when confronted by the archbishop of York, “she stood her ground in a room full of masculine authority” (p. 73). A priest read aloud one of the passages commanding the silence of women, but Margery was undeterred: “She preached from the Bible to a room full of male priests—including the archbishop of York—defending her right to do so as a woman” (p. 74). As Barr puts it later on the same page, “For this medieval woman, Paul didn’t apply. She could teach the Word of God, even as an ordinary woman, because, she argued, Jesus endorsed it” (p. 74).

Two pages later Barr explains that at another point in The Book of Margery Kempe, Margery hears God make a promise to come to her aid “with my blessed mother, and my holy angels and twelve apostles, St Katherine, St Margaret and St Mary Magdalene, and many other saints that are in heaven” (p. 76). According to Barr, “Margery Kempe stood with a host of female witnesses who helped authorize her voice, pushing back against male authority and even the limitations placed on her” (p. 99). Barr harkens back to Margery’s “great cloud of female witnesses” many times in the rest of the book (pp. 76, 77, 88, 96, 99, 181, 183). Crucially, the example of Margery Kempe was a key factor in motivating Barr to fight for the liberation of women and to challenge complementarian teachings about women in the church (p. 72).

The Book of Margery Kempe is a fascinating and sometimes bizarre autobiography of a remarkable medieval women who hears from God in intimate conversation, receives frequent visions, prays and fasts to the point of exhaustion, cuts off sexual relations with her husband because she wishes to be a virgin, enters into spiritual marriage with the Godhead, is told by Jesus to lie in bed with him and kiss his mouth as sweetly as she wants, is assaulted by the devil with visions of male genitalia and tempted to have sex with various men of religion, cries uncontrollably over the course of a decade, constantly interrupts worship services with shrieking and wailing, berates people on the street for their oath-taking and bad language, and speaks to people of every rank about her messages from God whether they want to hear from her or not.

Margery is many things, but she is hardly a rebel against male authority. Her Book is filled with good priests, confessors, and friars whom Margery seeks out for counsel and assistance and who, in turn, provide Margery with protection and support. In keeping with the expectations of her age, Margery seeks permission from religious leaders before traveling and receives a male escort to guard her on her journeys. She even describes her husband—with whom she will not have sex for several years—as a kind man who stood by her when others let her down. If there is an overarching theme to Margery’s Book it is the pursuit to find from (male) religious figures approval for her insights and validation for her unusual life.

When Margery appeared before the archbishop of York, it was one of many encounters like this throughout her life. Half the people who met her thought she had a special gift from God, and the other half thought she had a devil. The anger from the archbishop was not because she was a woman bucking patriarchal authority. She was accused of being a Lollard and a heretic. To be sure, she defended her right to speak as a woman, but as Barr herself notes, Margery explicitly denied preaching. “I do not preach, sir,” Margery stated before the archbishop, “I do not go into any pulpit. I use only conversation and good words, and that I will do while I live.”12 This is not exactly saying “Paul doesn’t apply.” It’s more like saying, “I listen to Paul, and I’m not doing what he forbids.” A few chapters later, Margery says to the archbishop, “My lord, if you care to examine me, I shall avow the truth, and if I be found guilty, I will be obedient to your correction.” Margery did not see herself as a proto-feminist standing against the evil forces of patriarchy. She saw herself as an orthodox Christian who was sharing her visions and revelations in the midst of antagonism and support from both men and women.

I can see why Margery (minus all the weird stuff) might be an inspiring figure for women. She is bold, passionate, and intensely devoted to God. But she was a medieval woman, not a twenty-first century one. Barr insists that Margery calls upon St. Margaret, St. Katherine, and St. Mary Magdalene because “the medieval church was simply too close in time to forget the significant roles women played in establishing the Christian faith throughout the remnants of the Roman Empire” (p. 88). Leaving aside the fact that the saints mentioned above were more than 1,000 years removed from Margery—indeed, we are much closer in time to Margery’s age than she was to St. Katherine or St. Margaret—isn’t the simpler explanation that Margery was a medieval Catholic who prayed to and called upon numerous saints? At other times in her Book, Margery prays to St. Augustine, and frequently she prays to St. Paul. Her “great cloud of female witnesses” (which included many men) was ordinary medieval piety, not a defiant repudiation of male authority.

Barr imagines that if Margery—who cared for her husband in his old age, was pregnant fourteen times, and spoke extensively about her son and daughter-in-law in part two of her Book—had a Twitter profile, “I doubt Kempe would include any reference to her family or her husband” (p. 168). It seems to me historians can’t be overly confident about the imaginary social media habits of medieval Christians. Speculating about Twitter profiles likely says more about us than our historical subjects.

Elsewhere Barr lauds the example of St. Paula, “who abandoned her children for the higher purpose of following God’s call on her life.” After the death of her husband, Paula set sail for Jerusalem on a pilgrimage, “leaving three of her children alone, crying on the shore” (p. 79). For Barr, this is the kind of womanhood we need more of in the church. I think most Christians today, outside of the enclaves of highly educated Westerners, would agree that if female liberation looks like mothers abandoning their children alone and losing all sense of calling as wives and mothers, then the cure for biblical womanhood is worse than the disease.

4. Heads I Win, Tails You Lose

These specific examples of historical half-truths reveal a more comprehensive problem with Barr’s methodology. Barr could have made a compelling case that women throughout history have been key players in the story of the church and have often acted in ways that contemporary Christians might find surprising. If this were the story, we could then explore how to understand these women in their historical context, how they understood themselves, how others viewed their ministries, and in what ways their examples are worth emulating today. That would be a worthwhile discussion—one that would likely provide evidence “for” and “against” current assumptions about biblical womanhood.

But that is not the book Barr has given us because that is not the historical method she employs. In Barr’s hermeneutic, all the evidence she likes counts as a blow to “biblical womanhood,” while all the evidence she doesn’t like counts as patriarchy. Time and again, Barr quickly pushes aside any evidence that might challenge her thesis. What’s left is a “heads I win, tails you lose” approach to history.

“Echoes of human patriarchy parade throughout the New Testament—from the exclusivity of male Jews to the harsh adultery laws applied to women and even to the writings of Paul. The early church was trying to make sense of its place in both a Jewish and Roman world, and much of those worlds bled through into the church’s story. At the same time, we see a surprising number of passages subverting traditional gender roles and emphasizing women as leaders” (p. 35). “Patriarchy exists in the Bible because the Bible was written in a patriarchal world. Historically speaking, there is nothing surprising about biblical stories and passages riddled with patriarchal attitudes and actions. What is surprising is how many biblical passages and stories undermine, rather than support, patriarchy” (p. 36). “The New Testament household codes tell a story of how the early church was trying to live within a non-Christian, and increasingly hostile, world. They needed to fit in, but they also needed to uphold the gospel of Christ. They had to uphold the frame of Roman patriarchy as much as they could, but they also had to uphold the worth and dignity of each human being made in the image of God. Paul gave them the blueprints to remix Roman patriarchy” (p. 54–55). “Of course, I told my students, not everyone in the early church supported women in leadership. The office of presbyter testifies loudly to how patriarchal prejudices of the ancient world had already crept into Christianity” (p. 68).

This line of argumentation is key to Barr’s entire project. Patriarchy is a shapeshifter (p. 153). It is ever present, always evolving and changing as history changes (p. 169). Patriarchy is like racism (pp. 186, 208). It never goes away. It just adapts to a new world. Consequently, anything that smacks of “biblical womanhood” is just one more indication how pervasive patriarchy has been in the world.

Who is to blame for “biblical womanhood”? Almost everyone. The Babylonians introduced patriarchy from the very beginning (p. 24). Then it was the Roman Empire that colored the New Testament in patriarchal hues (pp. 46–47). After Abelard valiantly fought for the ordination of deaconesses, the church acquiesced to worldly conceptions of power and pushed out women from positions of power (p. 114). Then the Reformation tragically cemented the idea that women should be wives and mothers (p. 123). Later the Victorian age introduced unbiblical notions of modesty and purity (p. 156). Finally, the early twentieth-century doctrine of inerrancy created an atmosphere of fear and proved the perfect weapon against women’s equality (pp. 190, 196). Patriarchy is the villain with a thousand faces.

Let me say one more time, if Barr simply wanted to demonstrate that “biblical womanhood,” as some conservative Christians understand and practice it, has been shaped over the centuries by ideas and forces other than the Bible, that would likely be a convincing argument. But this would require Barr to admit that the current fervor against “biblical womanhood” is culturally situated as well, comfortably resembling the spirit of this age.

It would also require a better, fairer, and more intellectually rigorous approach to history itself—an approach that doesn’t resemble a Grand Monocausal Theory of Everything whereby every piece of historical evidence already has a predetermined meaning. So, if the biblical patterns of leadership and biblical descriptions of God sound overly masculine, don’t worry—that’s patriarchy. If Jesus chose only male apostles and Paul commanded women to submit to their husbands, don’t be surprised—that’s patriarchy. If the Reformers championed marriage and motherhood, of course they did—that’s patriarchy. The historical deck is stacked before the scholarly game is even played.

Barr’s historical argument “works” because it is impossible not to work. Whatever evidence one might produce—from the Bible, from theologians across the ages, or from human nature itself—in support of male authority in the church and in the home, or for the high calling of motherhood, or for the general principle that men ought to lead, protect, and provide, all of this can be dismissed as patriarchy. By contrast, any evidence that shows women teaching others or exercising leadership—no matter what kind of leadership or what kind of teaching it might be, no matter the historical context or the reliability of the historical sources, and no matter how much the women themselves made a point not to transgress proper lines of authority—all of this counts as resistance to patriarchy. Given this hermeneutic—and with the entire canvass of human history to work with—Barr’s thesis, and those like it, cannot fail. It is not falsifiable. Every bit of patriarchy means she’s right, and every bit of not-patriarchy means she’s right too.

That’s one way to do history. But surely there is a better way.

[1] Beth Allison Barr, The Making of Biblical Womanhood: How the Subjugation of Women Became Gospel Truth (Brazos Press, 2021), 37.

[2] Kevin DeYoung, Men and Women in the Church: A Short, Biblical, Practical Introduction (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2021).

[3] John Piper and Wayne A. Grudem, eds., Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood: A Response to Evangelical Feminism (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 1991). Crossway released a revised edition in 2021.

[4] Russell Moore, “After Patriarchy, What? Why Egalitarians Are Winning the Gender Debate,” JETS 49 (2006): 569–76.

[5] John Piper, “Headship and Harmony: Response from John Piper,” The Standard 74.5 (1984): 39–40, available at Desiring God, https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/headship-and-harmony.

[6] “Class 5: The High Middle Ages,” Capitol Hill Baptist Church, 24 June 2016, https://www.capitolhillbaptist.org/sermon/class-5-the-high-middle-ages/.

[7] Yusufu Turaki, “Marriage and Sexual Morality,” ESV.org, https://www.esv.org/resources/esv-global-study-bible/marriage-and-sexual-morality, Barr’s italics.

[8] Robert J. Cara, “Justification of Ordained Office of Deacon Restricted to Qualified Males,” Reformed Faith & Practice 5.3 (2020): 38–39, https://journal.rts.edu/article/justification-of-ordained-office-of-deacon-restricted-to-qualified-males/.

[9] John Chrysostom, Homilies on the First Epistle of St. Paul the Apostle to Timothy 9 (NPNF1 13:435–36).

[10] Citing Lisa M. Bitel, Landscape with Two Saints: How Genovefa of Paris and Brigit of Kildare Built Christianity in Barbarian Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 180.

[11] Faith Cook, Selina: Countess of Huntingdon: Her Pivotal Role in the 18th Century Evangelical Awakening (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 2001).

[12] Margery Kempe, The Book of Margery Kempe, trans. Barry Windeatt, Penguin Classics (New York: Penguin, 2000), 164.

Liberty, Pandora, and the Serpent

Sat, 10 Dec 2022 10:00:00 GMT

What undergirds the American experiment? https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/liberty-pandora-and-the-serpent/id1526483896?i=1000585847663

When James Madison died in 1836, his last testament—written six years earlier—was finally published. The document, only two paragraphs long, was entitled “Advice to My Country.” After recounting a lifelong commitment to “his Country” and “the cause of its liberty,” Madison expressed his deepest conviction “that the Union of the States be cherished & perpetuated.” Then he offered one final admonition for the country he did so much to create: “Let the open enemy to it be regarded as a Pandora with her box opened; and the disguised one, as the Serpent creeping his deadly wiles into Paradise.”

Madison’s “Advice” is a fitting testament for the architect of the Constitution and the entire generation of Founders because it pulls together—seamlessly and subconsciously—the three strands of political thought that shaped America’s founding: Lockean liberalism (with a reference to the cause of liberty), classic republicanism (with a reference to Pandora and ancient mythology), and Protestant Christianity (with a reference to the devil’s deception in the Garden of Eden).

Although the statesmen and thinkers of the Revolutionary era disagreed on much, almost all of the Founders took those three principles for granted, which explains why men as diverse in outlook as Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton, and John Witherspoon could work together in crafting (or at least signing) the documents that established American independence and the American form of government.

Although the three strands can sometimes pull in different directions, each played a crucial role in shaping the American experiment. Lockean liberalism provided Americans with a basic understanding of the social contract and with a shared sense that government existed to preserve God-given rights. Classical republicanism provided Americans with the ideals of engaged citizenry and a free people who use their freedom responsibly and for the good of others. Protestant Christianity provided a shared belief in God’s existence and in his providential ordering of all things, in the supreme importance of the Bible, and in a basically Calvinist anthropology that saw man as fundamentally flawed but also capable of virtue and improvement. Even the way America came to see itself as a country founded upon (almost) sacred texts requiring reverence and careful examination was a Protestant self-conception.

The founders’ emphasis on liberty was not a rejection of Christianity but based on Christian ideas about the sanctity of the conscience and the corruptibility of too much power in the hands of too few persons.

As debates surrounding Christian Nationalism continue—both as a critique from the left and as the desired political goal for some on the right—it’s important to note that the language is foreign to America’s founding. Did committed Christians and Christian principles play a key role in the founding of America? Yes. Did most of the founders assume that Christianity would have a privileged place in American life? Undoubtedly. But this is different from suggesting that they set out to form a government ordered toward man’s heavenly good (read: Christianity). They were too wary of concentrated power to think that government could be trusted with such a lofty goal.

In general, there are two main ways to conceive of the task of government. One is to ask the question: “What is the best we could accomplish as a people, and how should government pursue this highest good?” The other is to ask the question: “What is the worst we might do as a people, and how should government be ordered to prevent this evil?” The American founding was animated by the second question. Although, the founders believed that men were capable of self-government, they also recognized that because of human sin and selfishness, government by men should be fundamentally constrained.

This is why Madison argued that government, as a reflection of human nature—which, he says, contains a “degree of depravity” requiring “a certain degree of circumspection and distrust” (Federalist 55)—must not be given unchecked power (Federalist 51), and why Hamilton argued for a government that would offset the natural inclinations of men (Federalist 9). The proper role of government for Madison and Hamilton was not a grand plan of leading man heavenward, but the simpler and more manageable goal of safeguarding our life and liberty and that of our neighbor.

In her book The Roads to Modernity, Gertrude Himmelfarb argues that France, Britain, and America each had their own distinctive Enlightenment. In France, the Enlightenment was about the exaltation of reason. In Britain, the Enlightenment was about social virtues. And in America, the Enlightenment was chiefly about liberty. There’s a reason the founders spoke of an “empire of liberty” and called each other “sons of liberty.” Their great fear was tyranny, and their great aim in ordering a new government was the preservation of freedom. Their emphasis on liberty was not a rejection of Christianity but based on Christian ideas about the sanctity of the conscience and the corruptibility of too much power in the hands of too few persons.

I appreciate much of what Christian Nationalism is against—a naked public square, an atomistic individualism, and a conception of liberty that must allow for every form of deviancy and degeneration. But as an ism, Christian Nationalism is bound to fail. The language is too foreign to America’s founding documents and founding ideals. Lockean liberalism is not the problem; the problem is when this liberalism exists without the communal aims of classical republicanism and the theological assumptions of Christianity. The three strands are undoubtedly frayed, but it is up to us to try to tie them back together.

4 Questions about Headship and Head Coverings

Mon, 07 Nov 2022 17:09:00 GMT

This article is part of the Questions and Answers series. Q: What does it mean that the husband is the head of his wife?

A: “I want you to understand that the head of every man is Christ, the head of a wife is her husband, and the head of Christ is God” (1 Cor.11:3).

Verse 3 outlines a series of overlapping relationships: “The head of every man is Christ, the head of a wife is her husband, and the head of Christ is God.” Anyone familiar with the scholarship on this issue knows that the little word “head” (kephale) has killed a lot of trees. Scholars, using their expertise in Greek and the latest computer software, have gone back and forth in articles and books arguing whether kephale means “authority over” or “source” (like the head of a river is its source). Others have argued that the word means “prominent,” “preeminent” or “foremost.” In the end, the context suggests that kephale in verse 3 must have something to do with authority. Roy Ciampa and Brian Rosner are right:

Even if by “head” Paul means “more prominent/preeminent partner” or (less likely) “one through whom the other exists,” his language and the flow of the argument seem to reflect an assumed hierarchy through which glory and shame flow upward from those with lower status to those above them. In this context the word almost certainly refers to one with authority over the other.1

Furthermore, we have other examples in Paul’s writings where kephale must mean something like “authority over.” In Ephesians 1, Paul says that Christ has been seated at God’s right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and all things have been placed under his feet, and he has been made head (kephale) over all things to the church (Eph. 1:20–22). The context demands that kephale refer to Christ’s authority over the church, not merely that the church has its origin in Christ. Likewise, in Ephesians 5 Paul says wives are to submit to their husbands, for the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ is the head of the church (Eph. 5:22–23). Citing the headship of the husband as a reason for the wife’s submission makes little sense if headship implies only source or origin without any reference to male leadership. Kephale, in at least these two instances in Ephesians, must mean “authority over.” And there are no grammatical or contextual reasons to think that Paul is using kephale in a different way in 1 Corinthians 11.

Therefore, we should understand 1 Corinthians 11:3 as saying that Christ has authority over mankind; the husband has authority over his wife (the Greek words for man and woman are the same for husband and wife); and God has authority over Christ. Thus, we have male and female—equal and interdependent (1 Cor. 11:11–12)—relating to one another within a differentiated order.

In previous years, some complementarians made too much of the fact that Paul relates the husband-wife relationship to the headship of God over Christ. To be sure, there is an important point to be made from the God-Christ parallel in verse 3—namely, that headship does not imply ontological inferiority. To have authority over someone—to be head of another—is not inconsistent with equality of worth, honor, and essence. But even here we should be careful to note that there is an “economic” expression of the Son in view in verse 3 (“Christ”), not an immanent or ontological expression (e.g., “Son”). We should not use the Trinity “as our model” for the marriage relationship, both because it is not necessary for complementarianism to be true and because the metaphysical inner workings of the ineffable Trinity do not readily allow for easy lifestyle applications. In fact, it is striking how the New Testament often grounds ethical imperatives in the gospel (e.g., marriage as an outworking of Christ and the church), but never in the eternal “ordering” of God.

If we are talking about the economic Trinity—the activity of God and the work of the three persons in creation and redemption—we can certainly say that the Son acts from the Father, while the Father does not act from the Son. There is an eternal ordering (taxis) of the Trinity that finds expression in time. And yet the language of the eternal subordination of the Son is not the best language to describe this order, nor do we ever see in Nicene tradition that the persons of the Trinity are distinguished by a relationship of authority and submission. Traditionally, the way in which the persons of the Godhead have been distinguished—and technically, they are distinct (which suggests three hypostases) not different (which would suggest another ousia)—is not by roles or by eternal relations of authority and submission, but by paternity, filiation, and spiration. To put it another way, the Father is the Father (and not the Son or the Spirit), the Son is the Son (and not the Father or the Spirit), and the Spirit is the Spirit (and not the Father or the Son) by virtue of the Father’s unbegottenness as Father, the Son’s generation from the Father, and the Spirit’s procession from the Father and the Son.

All of that to say, we should be extremely cautious about making sweeping statements about the Trinity from verse 3. What we can say from verse 3—and this is all we really need to say—is that headship does not have to be harsh (for God is the head of Christ) and that to be under the headship of another does not have to be demeaning (for Christ is under the headship of God). As Calvin puts it, “Yet, inasmuch as he became a Mediator in order to bring us near to God, his Father, he is set beneath, not in that divine essence, which resides in him in all fullness, and in which he does not differ from his Father at all, but as to his making himself our Brother.”2

Q: What is the covering?

A: “Every wife who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head, since it is the same as if her head were shaven” (1 Cor. 11:5).

Some argue that the head covering in 1 Corinthians 11:5 is long hair. After all, doesn’t verse 15 tell us that “her hair is given to her for a covering”? Long hair, though, is almost certainly not the covering itself. Verse 15 does not have to mean that long hair is given instead of a covering; it can mean simply that hair is given as a covering. The argument from verse 14 into 15 suggests that long hair is not the covering required in worship but is indicative of the fact that a covering is required (see also verse 6 where an uncovered head is not identical to, but is as disgraceful as, a shaved head). Roman women in late antiquity were to be marked above all else by pudicitia (Latin for “modesty”), and for a mature woman to wear her hair unveiled was one of the chief signs of sexual immodesty.3 Culture gives us the symbols of masculinity and femininity, while nature dictates that men should embrace their manhood and women embrace their womanhood.

So what was the covering? One educated guess is that it was some type of shawl. More than likely, it was not a veil as we see in many Muslim countries, because face coverings were not common in Greco-Roman culture. The covering Paul has in mind was possibly a small wrap-around, scarf-like garment that could be placed on the head when praying and prophesying.

Q: What “head” does the woman dishonor?

A: “Every wife who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head, since it is the same as if her head were shaven” (1 Cor. 11:5).

One of the difficulties in this section is that the word “head” is used throughout the passage with different, sometimes multiple, meanings. Thus, “every man who prays or prophesies with his head covered dishonors his head” (1 Cor. 11:4) means that every man who covers his physical head dishonors his spiritual head, that is, Christ (1 Cor. 11:3). And what about the woman? She too dishonors her spiritual head when her physical head is uncovered. The head she dishonors is, by extension, Christ, but most immediately her husband. The wife’s actions reflect on her husband, because she is his glory (1 Cor. 11:7; cf. Prov. 31:23).

The problem in Corinth likely involved men and women. We can see how a licentious, uncovered wife would bring shame to her husband. But men may have also been to blame. In the early Roman imperial period, men often used the dress and look of their wives in an effort to seek status for themselves.4 While it is unlikely that husbands wanted their wives to participate in worship unveiled, it’s likely that men were seeking glory from their wives as much as some women may have been in danger of bringing shame to their husbands.

Q: What does Paul mean by “authority”?

A: “That is why a wife ought to have a symbol of authority on her head, because of the angels” (1 Cor. 11:10).

Most English translations speak of a “sign” or “symbol” of authority. Even though there is no word for “sign” or “symbol” in the Greek of 1 Corinthians 11:10, most commentators are agreed that Paul is not saying that the woman should have authority over her own head. That conclusion does not easily follow from the rest of Paul’s argument. Instead, we are right to think that the head covering is the sign or symbol of authority.

But what kind of authority? Traditionally, interpreters understood verse 10 to be talking about a sign of the husband’s authority over his wife. More recently, however, many argue that the head covering is a sign of the authority the wife has to pray or prophesy. I don’t think the two interpretations are all that different. In both views, the wife must have a sign on her head that she has not thrown off her husband’s authority if she is to pray or prophesy. In other words, the head covering functions as a sign of submission to her husband and as a sign that she is therefore able to pray or prophesy in the assembly.

Notes:

Roy E. Ciampa and Brian S. Rosner, The First Letter to the Corinthians (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2010), 509. For more on kephale see Wayne Grudem, Evangelical Feminism and Biblical Truth: An Analysis of More than 100 Disputed Questions (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012), 201–11, 544–99.John Calvin, Men, Women, and Order in the Church: Three Sermons by John Calvin, trans. Seth Skolnitsky (Dallas: Presbyterian Heritage, 1992), 16.See Kyle Harper, From Shame to Sin: The Christian Transformation of Sexual Morality in Late Antiquity(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013), 41–42.

This article is adapted from Men and Women in the Church: A Short, Biblical, Practical Introduction

A World Awash in Sheer Monkery

Wed, 07 Dec 2022 10:00:00 GMT

The modern world and its new forms of works righteousness https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/a-world-awash-in-sheer-monkery/id1526483896?i=1000584746999

Reformation Day may be behind us, but a huge responsibility lies before us. The faith of the Reformation must be kept alive because the ideas Luther combatted are just as much present in our own day.

The story should be familiar to most Protestants.

Martin Luther was walking toward the village of Sotternheim when he got caught in a thunderstorm. Terrified by a bolt of lightning, Luther cried out in fear, “St. Anne, save me! And I’ll become a monk.” Two weeks later, an anxious Luther entered the Augustinian monastery at Erfurt.

Five years later, in the winter of 1510, Luther and another monk were on their way to Rome to represent one side of a conflict involving the Order of the Augustinian Hermits. As the junior partner in their monastic tandem, with few official responsibilities, Luther turned the trip into his own personal pilgrimage. For Luther, the Holy City of Rome was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see holy places and sacred shrines, to do works of penance, and to gain indulgences for himself and for his loved ones.

One day while in Rome, Luther visited the Scala Sancta—the Holy Stairs said to be the very steps Christ ascended during his trial before Pontius Pilate. The staircase, filled with relics and carved crosses, provided pilgrims with an unparalleled opportunity to procure a plenary indulgence for himself or for others. A young man racked with guilt, Luther dutifully climbed all 28 steps on his knees, kissing each step as he went and repeating the Lord’s Prayer all along the way.

As earnest as he was in his self-abasement, the Scala Sancta provided no relief for Luther’s anxiety. Upon reaching the top, Luther looked back down and said to himself, “Who can know if these things are so?” Luther desperately wanted to know that he was right with God, which is why he cried out to St. Anne in the thunderstorm, and why he made an 800-mile pilgrimage across the Alps to Rome, and why he climbed the Holy Stairs on his knees, and why he was almost killing himself with vigils, prayers, and a punishing pursuit of obedience. Years later, Luther reflected on his rigors as a monk: “I kept the rules so strictly, that I may say that if ever a monk got to heaven by his sheer monkery, it was I.”

It is easy to look on Luther’s pilgrimage with a mix of mockery and derision. Christian or not, few modern Westerners are likely to be inspired by Luther’s penitential exertions. Bewilderment, perhaps. Pity, maybe. But nothing approaching inspiration or aspiration. In his Pictures from Italy (1846), Charles Dickens remarked, having witnessed crowds of pilgrims shuffling up the Holy Staircase on their knees, “I never, in my life, saw anything at once so ridiculous, and so unpleasant, as this sight—ridiculous in the absurd incidents inseparable from it; and unpleasant in its senseless and unmeaning degradation.” Who could be so foolish as to try to acquire his righteousness by superstition, outward observances, and unrelenting austerity?

Who, indeed?

We live in a world filled with ever-increasing, and increasingly complicated, rules for righteousness.

While our modern world may not speak with the same theological vocabulary, modern people face just as much pressure to prove that we are right with ourselves and right with the world. We may not ascend a holy staircase on our knees, but many of us daily count our steps and count our calories. We may not cry out to saints in the middle of a storm, but every time a hurricane comes, leading intellectuals will cry out to science to save us from our carbon sins. In fact, the people most likely to scoff at the notion of a plenary indulgence are probably most likely to pay for a carbon offset.

We live in a world filled with ever-increasing, and increasingly complicated, rules for righteousness. The LGBTQ world has its saints (e.g., San Francisco’s Harvey Milk) and its sacred sites (e.g., New York City’s Stonewall Inn). There are flags and chants with powers rivaling the ancient relics. There are symbols and sayings every good person must affirm. There are words that must be used and words that are strictly forbidden, and if the gods of political correctness are offended, a groveling penance shall be performed.

The (formerly) simple acts of eating food, driving a car, and throwing away our trash are now conscience impugning activities that demand the minutest forms of Medieval casuistry. Across the political divide, we must all be careful to signal the correct virtues, shame the correct vices, and stay away from friends and colleagues whose wrongdoings (or alleged wrongdoings) can destroy, in an instant, our hard-won righteousness.

The way of censoriousness (toward others) and meritorious rigor (for ourselves) is not something stuck in the past. The forms of the sacred change, but the underlying desire for self-justification remains. It’s the way of the world because it is the inclination of the human heart.

But praise God there is another way. It’s the way that Luther discovered five years after visiting Rome and then nailed to the door in Wittenburg two years later. It’s the way of the gospel, which reveals to us a righteousness that has been manifested apart from the law and comes to us by believing in Jesus Christ (Romans 3:21-22). We don’t need a secularized version of “sheer monkery.” We need the genuine good news of justification by faith alone.

The world in the West still knows guilt; what it seems to have forgotten is grace.

Does Christianity Transcend All Our Political Disagreements?

Mon, 21 Nov 2022 10:00:00 GMT

Right and wrong ways to think about Christianity and politics https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/does-christianity-transcend-all-our-political-disagreements/id1526483896?i=1000584202405

Americans are polarized by politics. Everyone recognizes that political differences in this country are deep and seem to be growing. The division is present everywhere, including in the church. Moreover, Christians don’t just disagree on political principles or on a number of political conclusions. Christians disagree on how Christianity and politics relate to each other in the first place.

In an essay, it’s impossible to even begin to sketch a proper answer to such a massive topic, but maybe we can set a few planks in place—playing off of Richard Niebuhr’s famous Christ and culture categories—by noting what is right and wrong with four common approaches.

1. Christianity-against-politics. Christians with this approach are usually happy to blast both parties (or all parties, if you have more than two). They may believe that politics is important and that voting matters and that certain issues really matter, but Christianity is largely seen as something that stands opposed to the messy, often idolatrous world of politics.

On the positive side, this approach understands that the gospel of Christ is not mainly about fixing the social order and that the Bible was not written to lay out a political system. The Christianity-against -politics approach is strong on warning Christians against putting too much hope in kings and in earthly kingdoms.

On the negative side, Christians with this approach are often uninterested in learning the intellectual contours of political science or in the long history of moral philosophy. They can also be unrealistic about how political and social change happens. Politics is about the art of the possible, which requires making the best out of a fallen world filled with sinful people and imperfect systems.

2. Christianity-above-politics. In this approach, Christianity is seen as the Truth that transcends all earthly systems. Christians with this approach are interested in the study of politics and in the various historical isms that have been tried in the political realm. These Christians believe that the gospel provides the proper critique to all manmade systems of political, economic, and social ordering.

On the positive side, this approach understands that Christianity is not to be identified with any particular political philosophy, political party, or intellectual tradition. On the negative side, the gospel critiques can often be superficial and lead to a sloppy moral equivalence. Thus, the “Christian” approach ends up being the supposed golden mean between conservatism and progressivism, or the imaginary midpoint between Marxism and capitalism. Every historical system—no matter how evil or how failed—gets presented with a few strengths and a few weaknesses, and none is really better or worse than another.

We need an approach to politics that is engaged but not idolatrous.

3. Christianity-as-politics. In this approach, the message of Christianity and the task of the individual Christian is seen as irreducibly political. For some Christians this entails a civil religion that blends elements of American history, democratic sensibilities, and national patriotism with orthodox Christianity. For others, Christianity-as-politics looks like a bold plan for social transformation, political conquest, and the exercise of power in an effort to bring about a truly Christian culture.

On the positive side, Christians with this approach understand that Jesus is Lord over all. They recognize that there is no domain called “politics” that can be (or should be) quarantined off from the rest of Christian discipleship. On the negative side, this approach often has too much “already” and too little “not yet.” Christians with this approach can also be dogmatic about policies and prescriptions that are prudential matters needing Christian wisdom and forbearance. This approach often neglects the doctrine of the spirituality of the church and can lose sight of the fact that the church’s power, competence, and mission are not unlimited.

4. Christianity-under-politics. In this approach, Christian ideas and Christian communities are seen as essential to a healthy political order. Christians with this mindset are often eager to defend Western civilization and the Anglo-American tradition of republican virtue and ordered liberty. Christianity is valued as foundational and indispensable for the human pursuit of the good, the true, and the beautiful.

On the positive side, this approach understands and appreciates the role Christianity has played in the development of Western culture and in the establishment of a free and prosperous people. There is also wisdom in recognizing that Christianity does not offer a full-blown political philosophy, but that the best moral philosophy will be built upon a Christian view of the human person and of human nature.

On the negative side, this approach can reduce the Christian faith to something of utilitarian value. The church—its mission, its doctrine, and its worship—often becomes secondary, while the nation state or a civilizational tradition becomes primary. There is a danger that Christians become more zealous for liberty, or social justice, or national greatness than for Jesus Christ, for the gospel, and for the glory of God.

So where does this leave us? I don’t have my own neatly-labeled approach to offer. But appropriating the insights in each approach, while avoiding the dangers, would be a good place start. We need an approach to politics that is engaged but not idolatrous; transcendent but not relativizing, culture shaping but also constrained, supportive of a broader Christianity-infused tradition while also insisting that Christ is our first love and not that tradition.

This is Part 4 of a multi-part series that will address six questions related to Christianity and politics. In Part 1 I asked, “Why is it so hard to talk about politics?” In Part 2 I asked, “Are Christians too focused on politics?” In Part 3 I asked, “Should Christians be engaged in the culture war?”

Request a 4-Lesson Sample of ‘The Biggest Story Curriculum’

Mon, 03 Oct 2022 17:26:26 GMT

Crossway is pleased to invite pastors and ministry leaders in the US to request a free 4-lesson sample of The Biggest Story Curriculum (with free shipping), in return for your feedback on the curriculum. Your feedback will help them know how we can better serve churches with this upcoming curriculum.The Biggest Story Curriculum (available summer 2023) includes 104 lessons designed to help children understand God’s plan to redeem the world through his Son, Jesus, by leading them through the overarching story of the Bible over the course of roughly two years. Created as a teaching companion to be used alongside The Biggest Story Bible Storybook, the curriculum features guided lessons that can be used in Sunday school, children’s church, or homeschooling contexts.

The first 3,000 people in the US who fill out the form in the link below by October 3, 2022 will receive a free 4-lesson printed sample as well as a complimentary digital copy. Once the 3,000 copies are accounted for, every additional person who fills out the form below by October 13, 2022 will only receive a free digital sample. After submitting the form, you will receive an email confirming your request, with your church’s free sample of the curriculum estimated to arrive in mid-October.

NOTE: Complimentary copy of the print edition only available to those with a US mailing address and distributed on a first come, first served basis. No PO boxes. The address you provide is the address your sampler will be shipped to. Limit of one complimentary sampler per church, while supplies last. All requests must be received by October 3, 2022. Complimentary samplers are not for resale. By filling out this form, you are agreeing to receive future emails from Crossway.

https://www.crossway.org/articles/request-a-free-4-lesson-sample-of-the-biggest-story-curriculum/

From Silence to Complexification to Capitulation

Thu, 20 Oct 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Why evangelical surrender on LGBTQ is almost never a surprise https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-case-for-kids/id1526483896?i=1000583326809

I don’t often agree with David Gushee, the liberal Christian ethicist whose “battles,” by his own description, have included “issues like climate change, torture, LGBTQ inclusion, and white supremacism.” But he spoke the uncomfortable truth when he observed years ago that when it comes to LGBTQ issues, there is no middle ground: “Neutrality is not an option. Neither is polite half-acceptance. Nor is avoiding the subject. Hide as you might, the issue will come and find you.”

I thought of those words, written way back in 2016, in recent weeks as I read of Michael Gerson’s tacit approval of gay marriage and of Dr. Bradley Nassif’s claims that he was expunged from North Park University because he upholds traditional views of sex, sexuality, and marriage. These aren’t the first cases of a self-described evangelical or evangelical institution moving into the revisionist camp, nor will it be the last. I hope I’m wrong, but I have my mental list of writers, thinkers, schools, and organizations that eventually will make the same move.

I almost wrote “jump” in the last sentence instead of “move,” but “jump” is not really the right word. Rarely do evangelical leaders and institutions leap all at once from the open celebration and defense of orthodoxy to the open celebration and defense of (what they once believed was) heterodoxy. In fact, when evangelical capitulation on LGBTQ issues makes the news it is rarely a surprise. There are almost always a series of familiar steps.

First, there is silence. The evangelical leader or publication or institution that used to be clear on matters of sexuality and marriage just doesn’t talk about those issues anymore. No matter what controversy erupts or what new cultural pressure cries out for clarification, nothing is said. It’s as if the sexual revolution ceased to exist.

Next, comes complexification. Even though the church around the globe, for virtually two millennia, had no trouble coming to settled and universal convictions about these issues, now questions about homosexuality and sexual differentiation become hopelessly complicated. The issues, it is said, demand multidisciplinary expertise such that the only humble conclusion is to be unsure of any conclusion.

Then, there is usually an explicit pivot to other issues. Sex and marriage are set aside as minor ethical conundrums or minimized as a distraction from more urgent concerns. The bigger concerns may be racial justice and poverty (for those left of center) or missions and evangelism (for the more conservative sort), but in either case there is a deliberate move to ignore the swirling sexual vortex threating to destroy everything in its path.

Evangelicals who set down the path toward LGBTQ acceptance rarely turn around and head back in the other direction.

In the next stage, we see more frustration with those pointing out the sin than with those committing the sin. This is often the telltale sign that a change in views has already taken place. The evangelical leader may still boast that he (or she) is a “conservative,” but it’s only the conservatives that are bothersome anymore. All of the sympathy now leans toward the revisionist side. There is great patience for the “sexual struggler” and nothing but disdain for those who speak of sin, judgment, and the need for repentance.

Along the way, a canon within a canon develops. This is where leaders will boast of being “red letter Christians.” Jesus is pitted against Paul. The Old Testament is shunted aside as irrelevant (at least) and probably benighted. Scripture no longer functions as an inerrant and unified whole. Careful exegesis disappears in the background as slogans and buzz words take center stage.

At the same time, the arguments become intensely personal and privatized. The public debate at this point is not really about Scripture or the catholic Christian tradition. The discussion is focused on friends we know and people we’ve talked to. We often hear of how traumatized, to the point of possible self-harm, people are in our midst, and how the orthodox position and orthodox churches are to blame.

Finally, the newfound enlightenment is acknowledged and celebrated. When formerly evangelical leaders, organizations, and institutions reach this point, there is much talk about how good it feels to finally be on the side of love and inclusion. Their old way of thinking is quickly dismissed as an unfortunate by-product of having grown up in a fundamentalist family or in evangelical purity culture or—worst of all, it seems—in the Bible Belt.

To be sure, you may not see each one of these staging areas, and evangelical leaders may not move through them in a fixed order by a steady progression. But the movement is unmistakable, and it is unidirectional. Evangelicals who set down the path toward LGBTQ acceptance rarely turn around and head back in the other direction. And once the revisionist jump—that really wasn’t a jump—is complete, the tolerance and inclusion don’t usually last long. Sex is too powerful a thing to allow for competing visions. And so Neuhaus’ Law almost always proves true: Where orthodoxy is optional, orthodoxy will sooner or later be outlawed.

“Judge Not”

Wed, 14 Sep 2022 15:32:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/judge-not/id1526483896?i=1000578918450

Matthew 7:1 is one of the most needed and one of the most abused statements in the Bible. It is not uncommon to meet people who seem to know only three verses from the Bible: “Judge not” (Matt. 7:1), “God is love” (1 John 4:16), and “Let him who is without sin . . . be the first to throw a stone” (John 8:7). These people—professing Christians or not—are not really interested in understanding the Bible on its own terms. They are happy to sloganize the Scriptures if it suits their purposes.

Yet just because people can misuse a verse does not give us a reason to throw out that verse. The fact is that Matthew 7:1 is a necessary corrective that many Christians need to hear. If we can first clear away the false claims, we will be in a position to let Matthew 7:1 shape us as Jesus intended.

A Misused Command

So what does this verse not mean? First, “judge not” does not mean that we suspend the rule of law. God has ordained officers in the state (Rom. 13:1–2) and in the church (Matt. 18:15–17; 1 Cor. 5:9–13) to exercise judgment when the members of each institution fail to do what is right. We do not judge in the sense of exercising individual vigilante justice because we trust that God will exercise His justice through the proper authorities (Rom. 12:17–21).

Second, “judge not” does not mean that we turn off our brains. Elsewhere in Scripture, we are warned not to believe every spirit (1 John 4:1). We must be a discerning people, judging with right judgments (John 7:24). There is simply no way that we can read the Bible and conclude that godliness entails accepting everything all the time and affirming everyone no matter what. The same Jesus who preached about not judging also rebuked the church at Thyatira for tolerating false teachers and sexual immorality (Rev. 2:20).

Third, “judge not” does not mean that we suspend all moral distinctions. The Sermon on the Mount does not forbid theological and ethical evaluation. Jesus does not prohibit harsh criticism when necessary. Think about it: the Sermon on the Mount is full of moral judgment. Jesus calls people hypocrites (Matt. 7:5). He tells the people to beware of false prophets (v. 15). Just a few sentences after the command to “judge not,” Jesus expects us to understand (and discern) that some people are dogs and pigs (v. 6). It’s as if Jesus is saying, “I don’t want you to be censorious, but neither do I want you to be simpletons.”

A Necessary Command

While it is important not to misappropriate Matthew 7:1, we must be careful that our safeguards don’t make Jesus’ command too safe. The injunction not to judge is a necessary warning for us all, not least the religious person who can easily be tempted to look down on those who seem less religious. So what does the verse mean?

One of the things we can do as Christians is to think about the measure we want for us and then use that for others.

First, “judge not” means that we should measure others the way that we would want to be measured. No one wants weighted scales to be used against them, or an unfair measuring stick that is too short or too long. We all want to be evaluated fairly and consistently. This is the point Jesus makes in verse 2. “For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.” Don’t assume the worst about people because of their skin color, how they dress, where they live, or who their parents were. Don’t rush to judgment before hearing from all sides.

In an age of tribalization and trial by internet, one of the most powerful things we can do as Christians is to think about the measure we want for us and then use that measure for others. How do I want people to judge me? I want people to look at every angle and not be quick to believe the worst about me. I want people to deal with facts, not gossip or speculation. I want people to give me a fair hearing and be open to changing their minds. I want people to speak respectfully to me and of me. Isn’t that how you want people to measure you? Is that the measure that you and I are using for others?

Second, “judge not” means that we should examine ourselves first. Jesus isn’t forbidding us from correcting or speaking the truth. But He wants us first to correct our own hearts and speak the truth to ourselves (vv. 3–5). Moral and theological criticism can be warranted, so long as it is accompanied by a serious self-criticism. We tend to exaggerate the faults of others and minimize our own. As John Calvin put it, “There is hardly any person who is not tickled with the desire of inquiring into other people’s faults.” Disparaging others is a cheap way of attaining moral superiority. We may see truth clearly, but what good is that insight into others if we don’t first apply it to our own lives?

Third, “judge not” means that we must remember who we are. Jesus would have us recall that He is the Judge and we are the judged. More than that, when it comes to Christians in the church, we are family. Notice the explicit language of “brother” in verse 3. Jesus is realistic about God’s family. There will be conflict. There will be specks to remove and logs too. Jesus says, in effect: “You will be tempted to get snippy with each other. But let Me show you a better way. Can you love as I have loved?”

Judge according to the Word of God, yes, but never indulge in self-righteous, hypocritical, hypercritical, prejudiced, merciless judgmentalism. That is never the way of Christ, and it should not be the way of Christians either.

A Lesson from Liz Cheney’s Loss

Tue, 27 Sep 2022 09:00:00 GMT

People know when their leaders no longer like them https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/a-lesson-from-liz-cheneys-loss/id1526483896?i=1000577446770

This is not going to be a deep dive into electoral politics. That’s not my lane. But I do want to reflect on one lesson from Liz Cheney’s 37-point defeat in Wyoming’s Republican primary. I don’t say the lesson, because there are many, but a lesson, because I believe this is one cautionary tale that many of us in leadership would do well to consider.

Here’s the lesson I have in mind: Don’t expect to be a leader among people you no longer consider your people.

Perhaps Cheney, as a Trump critic, was bound to lose in Wyoming, a state that voted 70 percent for Trump in the 2020 election. But by 37 points? Ben Sasse, the Republican senator from Nebraska, isn’t up for reelection this cycle. Maybe his impeachment vote would have done him in as well. Sasse has long been outspoken in his criticism of Trump, and yet, he won easily in 2020 in a deep red state, even outperforming Trump himself. Whatever you think of his politics, I think it’s fair to say that Sasse has managed to still give every impression that he is a down-to-earth Nebraskan, that he is eager to talk about all sorts of things that concern conservative Nebraskans, and that he respects and appreciates Nebraskans even when they disagree with some of his political convictions.

In politics, as well as in life, there is a fine line between speaking with courage, hoping to lead the people you love, and speaking with contempt, holding in derision the people you now find exasperating. As a father, I can rebuke my children from time to time, because they know that I love them and that rebuke is not mainly what I do. They can hear the hard things (I hope) because the dominant note from my mouth is not denunciation but laughter, warmth, and joy. Likewise, if I have to say something hard to my church, I believe they would be open to hearing it because they know I am with them, I am for them, and I am one of them.

One of the major problems I’ve seen over the past several years—and the problem cuts across institutions and networks on both the left and the right—is that the “prophetic voice” of rebuke, perhaps rightly needed at certain times when delivered in a thoughtful manner, can devolve from “I love you so much I need to speak up” into a constant harping on the same thing and a not thinly veiled disgust for the people you are ostensibly trying to correct.

As a father, I can rebuke my children from time to time, because they know that I love them and that rebuke is not mainly what I do.

There comes a point when the “family” or the “tribe” or the “team” (or whatever you want to call it) senses that you don’t actually like the family, that you are constantly embarrassed by the tribe, and that you seem much more at home among some other team. The “prophet” may still insist that he believes all the same things the family does, but when he can rarely see past the family’s faults, almost never celebrates the family’s gifts, and almost always talks negatively about his family to others—often to those who are eager to put the family in a bad light—then it is fair to wonder whether he really wants to be a part of the family any more.

It’s not automatically wrong to switch teams. Sometimes you change. Sometimes the team changes. Sometimes both. But then honesty demands that the change is acknowledged. I’m not thinking here so much about political parties as I am about voices in the church whose platform is predicated upon being an insider to something they are well on their way to stepping out of. There is nothing noteworthy about a PCUSA minister espousing progressive views on homosexuality or an ordained woman wailing against patriarchy, but swap PCUSA for PCA and the ordained woman for a self-described complementarian, and then the story has legs. That’s when the “prophets” need to decide if they want to influence their people or if those people are not really their people any longer.

If all this sounds quite complicated, it doesn’t have to be. We just need to be honest enough to ask ourselves some frank questions. What am I quick to celebrate? What sort of people am I quick to criticize? What would I publicly defend? What would I only privately critique? Who do I care to impress? Who do I find most impressive? Answer those questions, and others like them, and the picture will come into focus. Identifying the official party registration (or the official statement of faith) often matters less than recognizing what things someone won’t dare to utter and what things they won’t stop talking about.

In the end, you may choose to critique your former tribe from the outside. You decided you want to exert influence among a different constituency. Fair enough. Just don’t expect to lead people when you, and they, know you are no longer one of them.

Franciscus Junius, Old Princeton, and the Question of Natural Theology

Mon, 05 Sep 2022 09:00:00 GMT

A Response to Shannon’s “Junius and Van Til on Natural Knowledge of God”

This article first appeared in the Westminster Theological Journal Vol. 83, No. 2

Franciscus Junius (1545–1602) was one of the most influential theologians in the post-Reformation period. His Treatise on True Theology (1594) established many of the categories, and set in place the basic outline, that later systematicians would use in defining and delineating the nature of theology. Junius did not just shape later Reformed prolegomena, in many ways he established Reformed prolegomena in the first place. Not surprisingly, Junius is considered by some to be the quintessential Reformed theologian in the period of early Orthodoxy.[1]

Given Junius’s influence and stature, Nathan Shannon’s recent article “Junius and Van Til on Natural Knowledge of God” (WTJ 82 [2020]: 279-300) makes an important and provocative claim.[2] According to Shannon, assistant professor of systematic theology at Torch Trinity Graduate University in Seoul, “Junius and Van Til . . . agree that post-fall natural theology, unaided by special revelation, is not theology in any meaningful sense” (279). The singular thesis—and the most important claim of the article—is that for Junius, as well as for Van Til, “relational reconciliation is a necessary condition of true theology” (279). Or to put it even more bluntly: “Since true theology is determined by redemptive relation, natural theology, lacking this redemptive relation is not true theology, not in fact theology at all. Natural theology is in the end anti-theology” (279-80).

This is a bold thesis, as Shannon recognizes. The entire tradition of scholasticism affirmed the existence and importance of natural theology. And yet, according to Shannon, “Junius’s view of natural (as in unregenerate) theology marks a conspicuous point of departure from pre-Reformation scholasticism” (281). More than that, if Shannon’s argument is correct, Junius sounds a different note than virtually every orthodox Reformed theologian to follow in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and the tradition of Old Princeton theology that developed in the nineteenth century. Considering the debate in Reformed circles about the legitimacy (or not) of natural theology, to have Junius on the side of nein would be significant—not only for one’s view of the post-Reformation period but for the pedigree of more recent Reformed theology. “This thesis,” Shannon writes, “so far as it is true, enhances the historical credentials of Van Til’s characteristically neo-Calvinist view of natural theology and natural reason.” In other words, if Junius believed that genuine theology is impossible “apart from monergistic establishment of relational restoration” (281), that “the theology of the unregenerate is prolific idolatry” (287), and that “even falsa theologia is charitable nomenclature” for post-fall natural theology (298), then Van Til’s thought has found a significant historical precursor.

My argument, however, is that Shannon’s innovative thesis does not fit the facts. If “the unregenerate must, it would seem, either know God or know nothing at all,” Shannon commends Van Til for betting on the latter (294). But is this the choice early Reformed theologians would have made? For whatever useful elements there may be in Van Til’s apologetic method, his approach to natural theology was a departure from the larger tradition. Mainstream Reformed thought has consistently affirmed that post-fall natural theology can be true theology. The theology of the unregenerate—though marred by imperfections and never saving—cannot be reduced to “prolific idolatry.” Natural theology is, in the end, not anti-theology.

In the first half of this article (Parts I and II), I will focus on Junius, arguing that he did not consider natural theology to be falsa theologia, but rather that natural theology, as a means of divine revelation, could communicate truths about God. In the second half (Parts III and IV) I will focus on Reformed theology after Junius, arguing that the tradition of Old Princeton—from Turretin through to Warfield—also affirmed the possibility of meaningful post-fall, unregenerate natural theology.[3]

I. Reading Junius: A Confusion of Categories

The central problem with Shannon’s thesis is that he has misread Junius, confusing his rejection of the theology of the pagans with a rejection of natural theology itself. A careful reading of Junius demonstrates the opposite conclusion from Shannon’s; namely, that natural theology—while imperfect and unable to save—is nevertheless divine revelation and belongs in the category of true theology.

The first sentences of Shannon’s article lay out his main claim, and they also manifest the main area of confusion. “According to Franciscus Junius (d. 1602),” Shannon writes, “since the fall, true theology is possible only where a redemptive divine-human relationship is established ‘through the communication of grace.’ For Junius this relational reconciliation is a necessary condition of true theology” (279). After Shannon’s first sentence there is a footnote which quotes from the eighth thesis from A Treatise on True Theology. The quotation from Junius reads: “Ectypal theology, whether taken in itself, as they say, or relatively in relation to something else, is the wisdom of divine matters, fashioned by God from the archetype of Himself, through the communication of grace for His own glory.” To be sure, ectypal theology (i.e., the theology God fashions for his creatures) is established through the “communication of grace,” but nothing in Junius’s statement indicates that this language implies redemption or relational reconciliation. For Junius, natural theology is a communication of grace, even though the recipient has not been savingly reconciled to God.[4]

The next two sentences from Shannon are also problematic. He writes, “Outside of this relational establishment, theology—dubiously so-called—may be found, but it is necessarily theologia falsa. There is for Junius no activity of the natural man which may properly be called ‘theology.’” The footnote for this sentence points to pages 95–96, 143, and 145 of Junius’s Treatise on True Theology. But these two sections of the Treatise are not talking about the same thing. The earlier reference (95–96) is about the false theology of the pagans, which is not properly called theology. The latter references (143, 145) are about natural theology, which is not to be confused with the pagan philosophy categorized by Varro and Augustine as superstitious (i.e., mythical), natural (i.e., physical), and civil (i.e., political). Introducing the category of natural theology by revelation, Junius writes, “When we say natural, we do not want it in this passage to be understood by the same meaning as we showed in the first chapter above from Varro and Augustine, but rather by its own sense and taken in itself as we will soon (if God wills) define it.”[5] In other words, Junius uses “natural theology” in two different ways—in a narrow way referring to a branch of pagan philosophy (which is not, strictly speaking, theology at all) and in a more formal way referring to a branch of true theology which is communicated through natural grace as opposed to special grace.[6]

Granted, Junius says about natural theology that “this theology” cannot “be called wisdom according to its genus except equivocally.”[7] But notice, Junius does not say natural theology is not theology; in fact, he explicitly labels it as such. What he posits is that natural theology is not “wisdom” in the same way that supernatural theology is wisdom. The equivocation is not whether natural theology is genuine theology (it is). The equivocation is whether natural and supernatural theology are theology in the same way (they are not).

At the heart of my disagreement with Shannon’s article is his tendency to read Junius’s discussion of pagan theology into Junius’s discussion of natural theology. You can see this confusion in the article’s footnotes which bounce back and forth indiscriminately between page numbers in the 90s (the chapter on false theology) and page numbers in the 140s and 150s (the chapters on natural theology). Shannon collapses two categories that are distinct in Junius—pagan theology and natural theology—and interprets them (like Van Til’s theology does?) as the same thing.

II. Junius on Natural Theology

In order to better understand the confusion at the heart of Shannon’s thesis, we must understand the basic contours of Junius’s prolegomena. A Treatise on True Theology consists of thirty-nine theses expounded in eighteen chapters. These chapters outline a highly technical, but rather straightforward categorization of true theology.

According to Junius, theology—which can be of God (as its author) or about God (as its subject)—is commonly spoken of in two ways. One theology is true, the other is false and subject to opinion (Thesis 3). False theology is called theology only by equivocation (i.e., it is not genuine theology), for it “rests on opinion alone.” False theology consists of “unalloyed dreams and games in place of the truth, and idols . . .in place of the true God.”[8]

Further, there are two kinds of false theology: “common,” which is not disciplined by the cultivation of reason, and “philosophical,” which is aided by the development of reason (Thesis 4). This philosophical theology, which flourished in the centuries before Christ, was labeled by Augustine, Varro, and Seneca as superstitious, natural, and civil. All of this is labeled “false theology, which is nothing other than opinion and the shadow of wisdom grasping at something or another in the place of divine matters.”[9]

True theology, in turn, is either archetypal or ectypal (Thesis 6).Archetypal theology is the divine wisdom of divine matters (Thesis 7). It refers to God’s knowledge of himself.Ectypal theology is the wisdom of divine matters, fashioned by God from the archetype of himself and communicated by grace for His own glory (Thesis 8). The genus of true theology is wisdom, which includes “all principles both natural and supernatural.”[10] Ectypal theology can be known by the creature because of the capacity of the Creator (Thesis 9). In other words, God makes true theology possible.

Ectypal theology can be communicated, according to the capacity of the creature, in three ways: by union, by vision, or by revelation (Thesis 10). The first is the theology of Christ as God-man. The second is the theology of spiritual beings in heaven. The third is the theology of human beings on earth.[11] This last category is our theology, the theology of pilgrims (Thesis 13).[12]

Continuing with his careful distinctions, Junius posits that the mode of communicating revealed theology is twofold: by nature and by grace (Thesis 14). God is the author of both natural theology and supernatural theology: “The shared principle of nature equally as of grace is God.”[13] To be sure, supernatural theology possesses an entirely different kind of wisdom than natural theology.[14] Even before the fall, natural theology had to be nurtured by reason and perfected by grace (Thesis 17). After human nature was tainted by the fall, those first principles of natural theology remain in us, but they have been corrupted and quite confused (Thesis 18). As such, the light of natural theology after the fall has been rendered more veiled and more imperfect.[15] Natural theology cannot lead to perfection and cannot, in and of itself, be perfected by grace (Thesis 19). Nevertheless, we should not “ignore” or be “ungrateful” for “this grace, although it is natural.”[16]

Natural theology, for Junius, is that which proceeds from principles that are known by the light of human understanding (Thesis 15). Natural theology deals with things that are common (Thesis 16). The knowledge of natural theology and supernatural theology are imparted by the same mode (revelation), but they impart different kinds of knowledge.[17] Supernatural theology, because of its prominence in communicating divine truth, is sometimes called, narrowly, a theology of revelation, even though more broadly speaking natural theology is also given by revelation.[18] The false theology Junius repudiates at the beginning of his treatise refers to the idle musings of the pagans, not to the imperfect theology of the unregenerate man deducing principles from the light of nature.

Junius’s language can be ambiguous—using words like natural, grace, and revelation in different ways at times—but the overall structure of his argument is wonderfully organized. And within this organization we can see clearly that natural theology—though inferior to supernatural theology—is still true theology. Natural theology cannot save; it cannot (post-fall) be perfected; it does not impart the same kind of knowledge or wisdom as supernatural theology. But it is a species of revelation and of grace. In short, natural theology does not belong to the branch theologia falsa. It belongs to the category of true, ectypal theology communicated through revelation by nature.

Shannon’s interpretation of Junius fails to convince because of a fundamental misunderstanding that equates the false theology of speculative pagans with the natural theology of revelation. Writing in the tradition of Junius, Petrus Van Mastricht (1630–1706) insisted that “natural theology must be carefully distinguished from pagan theology as such, because the latter is false and the former is true.”[19] One could try to argue that Junius would have disagreed with Van Mastricht, but we must remember that Van Mastricht borrowed wholesale from Junius’s outline and from Junius’s categories, both of which had become standard Reformed fare by the first half of the seventeenth century.[20] For Van Mastricht to deviate from Junius on such a crucial point would have necessitated a lengthy discussion defending his more sanguine view of natural theology. The simple explanation is to see Van Mastricht’s careful distinction between false pagan theology and true natural theology as the same distinction Junius made at the end of the previous century. Consequently, in so far as Shannon is right that for Van Til true theology is impossible apart from the “monergistic establishment of relational restoration” (i.e., redemption and regeneration), Shannon is wrong to find an antecedent for this idea in Junius. For Junius, natural theology, always imperfect and never saving, is nevertheless a communication of divine grace and a species of true theology.[21]

III. Tracing the Tradition of Old Princeton

If the first half of this article argued that Van Til’s conception of natural theology does not find a precursor in Junius, the second half argues that Van Til’s entirely pessimistic view of post-fall natural theology is not resonant with the tradition of Old Princeton either. I should make clear that I am working from Shannon’s description of Van Til’s theology. In my estimation, Shannon gets Van Til right, but if someone were to argue that Van Til’s thought allows for a robust natural theology that would not undermine the more important point I am trying to make with respect to Old Princeton. My burden is not to repeat Shannon’s exploration of Van Til, but to argue that in so far as Van Til rejected the possibility of post-fall natural theology (as true theology) he is out of step with his own Reformed tradition.

For the purpose of this article, our theological focus must be necessarily constrained. I am not attempting a broad survey of Reformed thinking on revelation, reason, and the development of natural theology. Rather, I want to focus on the specific issue raised in Shannon’s article: Is natural theology true theology? According to Shannon, Van Til does not allow for this possibility: “For Van Til, therefore, natural theology post-fall, as theological reflection without the aid of special revelation, must be understood as unregenerate in principle, or in method or epistemic structure, and it is therefore in neither principle nor character—neither actually nor possibly—true theology” (289). To be clear, the failure of natural theology does not reside in the “endowment or natural grace of the natural principle” itself. The failure is due to the “the mode of creaturely cognition relative to that provision” (288). Van Til believed in natural theology (of a sort). The problem is that the unregenerate man does not have the ability to adequately receive and meaningfully reflect on natural theology. The witness of general revelation does not communicate theological propositions, but only that there is a God before whom the creature must give account (294-295). Thus, for Van Til, “post-fall natural theology, unaided by special revelation, is not theology in any meaningful sense” (279). To put it another way, true theology is determined by redemptive relation, so that “natural theology, lacking this redemptive relation, is not true theology, not in fact theology at all” (279-80). Van Til does not believe that true theology is possible apart from God’s unilateral work to affect regeneration and restore the redemptive relationship (281). In other words, “Natural theology is in the end anti-theology” (280).

Here, then, is the question that I mean to answer: Can the unregenerate man, marred by sin after the fall, come to any knowledge of true theology by natural grace apart from supernatural revelation? My answer is that according to the theological tradition that followed Junius and ran through Old Princeton, the answer is yes.

In making this case, I want to look briefly at seven representative theologians: Francis Turretin, Benedict Pictet, John Witherspoon, Archibald Alexander, Charles Hodge, A. A. Hodge, and B. B. Warfield. Although different in style and emphasis, these men together form a discernible theological tradition. Francis Turretin taught at the Geneva Academy until being succeeded by his nephew Benedict Pictet, whose Theologia Christiana (1696) was the basis for John Witherspoon’s theological education in Edinburgh.[22] Witherspoon, in turn, became the president at Princeton where he taught William Graham, who instructed Archibald Alexander, who, as Princeton Theological Seminary’s first professor, taught Charles Hodge. Hodge later became the Professor of Didactic and Exegetical Theology at Princeton until he was succeeded by his son A. A. Hodge, who was then followed in the same post by B. B. Warfield.[23] Remarkably, one can trace an unbroken theological tradition (and at many times a familial tradition as well) from Geneva to Scotland to New Jersey.[24] When Machen broke away from Princeton to form Westminster Theological Seminary in 1929, he could make the case, quite plausibly, that he was defending a discernible theological tradition that stretched not just across decades or generations but across the better part of three centuries.

1. Francis Turretin (1623–1687)

Turretin mirrored Junius’s theology closely, making the same distinctions regarding theology of God and theology about God; theology as true and false; true theology as archetypal or ectypal; ectypal theology as by union, by vision, or by revelation; and revelatory theology as either natural or supernatural.[25] Turretin, like Junius, also cites Varro in categorizing pagan theology as mythical, physical, or political. Turretin emphasizes, in opposition to the Socinians, that the orthodox “uniformly teach that there is a natural theology, partly innate (derived from the book of conscience by means of common notions) and partly acquired (drawn from the book of creatures discursively).”[26]

To be sure, the theology of revelation we call “natural” is “highly disordered in corrupted man.” Natural theology is never sufficient for salvation. And yet, it can communicate meaningful truth. “As there is a threefold school of God (that of nature, grace and glory), and a threefold book (of the creature, of Scripture, and of life), so theology has usually been divided into three parts: the first of which is natural, the second supernatural and the third beatific.” The third category belongs to the saints in heaven and the second category to believers in the church, but the first category (which apprehends knowledge from the light of reason) belongs to men in the world.[27]

Crucially, there is no indication that this “school of God,” by which mankind is instructed in divine things, is restricted to the regenerate.According to Turretin, there remains implanted in man, even after the fall, a natural faculty “which embraces not only the capability of understanding, but also the natural first principles of knowledge from which conclusions both theoretical and practical are deduced.”[28] Turretin argues that “the orthodox occupy a middle ground” when it comes to philosophy, neither placing philosophy over theology nor making philosophy opposed to theology.[29] Even though human understanding is dark, there remains in us some rays of natural light and certain first principles which establish the possibility of science, art, and certainty in the nature of things.[30]

2. Benedict Pictet (1655–1724)

Pictet’s influential Theologia Christiania marked a turning point away from the highly refined scholastic method of Turretin to something more widely accessible. By his own admission, Pictet’s aim was not to repeat “the controversial theology drawn up by my revered uncle and most beloved father in Christ, the illustrious Turretine,” but to give the youth “a system of didactic theology in which controversies were left out, and the truth simply and plainly taught.”[31] This means that Pictet does not follow Junius’s categories nearly so explicitly. But we find the same basic categories, with an even more pronounced role for reason and natural theology.

Pictet’s theology does not start with prolegomena but with the existence of God. Although the reality of God’s existence ought to be taken for granted, it can also be proved, so as to refute the arguments of “monsters” who say there is no deity.[32] According to Pictet, all men retain a natural knowledge of God that is both innate and acquired. Although this natural knowledge should lead man “to seek after a clearer revelation,” it is not without value in its own right, for it is “the source from which all civil laws have been derived.”[33] The two systems of revelation (natural and supernatural), far from being opposed to one another, are, in fact, in “strict harmony and render each other mutual service.”[34] Pictet insists that “there is a wonderful harmony between sound philosophy and divinity; for truth is not contrary to truth, nor light to light; only we must not imagine that the former is the rule by which the sense of Scripture must be tried and examined.”[35]

Pictet’s appreciation for natural theology is robust, going beyond what Junius and Turretin affirmed. According to Pictet, the Gentiles were able to ascertain from the “system of natural theology” an impressive list of theological propositions:

That there is a God, and but one God—that God is none of those things which are visible and corruptible, but some being very far superior to them—that he is just, good, powerful, and all-wise—that God is the creator of the universe—that the world is governed by his providence, as Cicero and several others acknowledged—that he is eternal and happy—that he must be worshipped and praised—that rectitude and honesty are to be practiced—that parents ought to be honored, and that we should not do to any one else what we would not have done to ourselves—that all men ought to endeavour to propitiate God’s favour—that the soul is immortal, and that there is a judgment to come (the Druids, according to Caesar, believed in the soul’s immortality, which also was the opinion of Plato)—that those who do evil actions are worthy of death.[36]

Importantly, the doctrines above are only “an abridgement” of the true theology that can be derived “from the dictates of reason and from the work of creation and providence.”[37]Clearly, Pictet does not consider natural theology, even for the unbeliever, to be devoid of knowable and meaningful theological truth.

3. John Witherspoon (1723 – 1794)

Although Witherspoon is remembered today for his political and philosophical contributions, in his lifetime he was considered an expert theologian.[38] And as a theologian, Witherspoon, like most eighteenth-century evangelicals in the Church of Scotland, stood squarely in the tradition of Turretin and Pictet. In his satirical Ecclesiastical Characteristics (1753), Witherspoon remarked tongue-in-cheek that Scotland’s professors of theology should lecture on the system of moderation instead of the “the antiquated systems of divinity, as Pictet or Turretine.”[39] Like his theological mentors, Witherspoon believed natural theology had a role to play in communicating religious truth and defending true religion.[40] Reflection on the natural world can teach mankind important truths about human depravity (because sin is rampant in every society) and about the need for a Savior (because sacrificial systems have been present throughout human history).[41] For Witherspoon, natural theology was first of all an apologetic tool, allowing him “to support the truth from evidence of scripture and reason.”[42] Marred by sin, we can view the faultless frame of nature in faulty ways.[43] And yet, the sciences can be “handmaids to theology” and “turned into a divine channel.”[44]

As president of Princeton, Witherspoon taught the capstone course on moral philosophy, an avenue of intellectual exploration that Cotton Mather derided as “reducing infidelity to a system” but which Witherspoon believed was an important exploration of the principles of natural religion.[45] “I confess it is agreeable to me,” Witherspoon wrote in his Lectures on Divinity, “to shew that the truths of the everlasting gospel are agreeable to sound reason and founded upon the state of human nature; and I have made it my business through my whole life to illustrate this remark.”[46] In his Lectures on Moral Philosophy, Witherspoon explained that there was “a stable foundation” for men to learn about God in nature and reason, even if the way in which, and the terms on which, God shows mercy can only be learned from revelation.”[47] Like Turretin and Pictet, Witherspoon utilized the category for natural theology as a separate (and ultimately subordinate) discipline guided by reason and rational observation. Throughout his ministry on both sides of the Atlantic Witherspoon believed there were meaningful truths that could be learned from natural theology, being convinced that whatever was “certain or valuable in moral philosophy” was “perfectly consistent with the scripture.”[48]

4. Archibald Alexander (1772–1851)

As a student, Archibald Alexander was deeply influenced by Rev. William Graham who had studied under Witherspoon at the College of New Jersey. Alexander attended Graham’s Liberty Hall Academy (later Washington and Lee University), where he was instructed in moral philosophy along the lines of Witherspoon’s curricular interests.[49] This emphasis showed itself in Alexander’s lifelong appreciation for the discipline of moral philosophy and the possibilities of natural theology. In the biography of his father, James Alexander said about Archibald, “While he was far from being a rationalist, he was never satisfied with the tactics of those reasoners who under the pretext of exalting revelation dismiss with contempt all arguments derived from the light of nature.”[50] It is little wonder, then, that Archibald Alexander published his own Outlines of Moral Science (1852).

Alexander’s lecture notes (as taken down by an impressive young student named Charles Hodge) evince an approach to prolegomena fundamentally at odds with the notion that natural theology is theologia falsa or anti-theology. In keeping with the longstanding tradition, Alexander divided the discipline of theology into true and false, true theology into that of vision and that of revelation, and revelatory theology into natural and supernatural.[51] Natural theology “consists in the knowledge of those truths concerning the being and attributes of God, the principles of human duty, and the expectation of a future state derived from reason alone.”[52] For Alexander, natural theology is far from perfect, being defective in certainty, authority, and motives. Furthermore, it cannot teach the true character of God, the method of reconciliation, or our destiny in a future state.[53] At the same time, mankind can learn much from natural theology. The dictates of natural theology demonstrate God’s unity, spirituality, omnipotence, wisdom, omnipresence, and goodness.[54] Natural theology teaches that God should be worshipped, that we should pray, that God is just, holy, and true, and that the wicked will be punished.[55] We can also learn that God exercises a moral government over the world and that the soul is immortal.[56] Of course, the insights from natural religion are not sufficient to save, but the nonbeliever can deduce many fundamental truths—like the existence of God and the infinite perfection of God—from the constitution of man and from the works of God in nature.[57]

5. Charles Hodge (1797–1878)

Not surprisingly, Charles Hodge understood natural theology in much the same way that Archibald Alexander did. At first glance, Hodge seems to limit the domain of theology to Scripture alone, asserting that all “the facts [of divine revelation] . . . are in the Bible.” But in the next sentence Hodge allows that some of these facts are also “revealed by the works of God, and by the nature of man.” Consequently, theology can be examined as “natural theology” or as “theology considered distinctively as a Christian science.”[58]

In examining natural theology, Hodge tries to avoid “two extreme opinions.” The one extreme opinion “is that the works of nature make no trustworthy revelation of the being and perfections of God; the other, that such revelation is so clear and comprehensive as to preclude the necessity of any supernatural revelation.”[59] Concerning the first extreme opinion, “those who deny that natural theology teaches anything reliable concerning God” base their opinion on “sophistical” arguments.[60] As an image bearer of God, man has the capacity, even after the fall, to know true things about God apart from supernatural revelation. This is why “the sacred writers in contending with the heathen appeal to the evidence which the works of God bear to his perfections.”[61] Thus Hodge concludes—just before recommending the works on natural theology by Christian Wolff, Joseph Butler, and William Paley—that it “cannot, therefore, be reasonably doubted that not only the being of God, but also his eternal power and Godhead, are so revealed in his works, as to lay a stable foundation for natural theology.”[62]

6. A.A. Hodge (1823–1886)

When it came to natural theology, Archibald Alexander Hodge walked the same middle path outlined by his father. On the one hand, the younger Hodge can write as if natural theology communicates nothing useful to the unregenerate. “The ultimate ground of our confidence, and source of all our theological knowledge, is solely the word of God, signified in the holy Scriptures.”[63] Moreover, Hodge argues that whatever we learn from natural theology in our modern age has the benefit of the light of revelation which has shaped the Christian world.[64] Hodge does not want to ascribe a potency to natural theology that would in any way detract from the superior revelation we find in Scripture.

And yet, we would be wrong to conclude that the younger Hodge did not affirm the epistemic potential of natural theology. In fact, of all the theologians in this survey, Hodge gives one of the clearest statements regarding the ability of natural theology to communicate theological truth even to the unregenerate. Using the same language as his father, Hodge writes about “an extreme opinion” that “has been held by some Christians, to the effect that no true and certain knowledge of God can be derived by man, in his present condition, from the light of nature in the entire absence of a supernatural revelation; that we are altogether dependent upon such a revelation for any certain knowledge that God exists, as well as for all knowledge of his nature and his purposes.”[65] Hodge “disproved” this opinion by citing “the direct testimony of Scripture,” by noting “the many conclusive arguments for the existence of a great First Cause,” and by observing that “all nations, however destitute of a supernatural knowledge of revelation they may have been, have yet possessed some knowledge of a God.”[66] In short, what Shannon argues is a critical contribution of Van Til’s epistemology—namely, that “post-fall natural theology, unaided by special revelation, is not theology in any meaningful sense” (279)—A.A. Hodge rejected as an extreme opinion that could be disproved by Scripture, by reason, and by observation.

7. B.B. Warfield (1851–1921)

Given the fact that Warfield’s doctrine of revelation is largely ad hoc (he never wrote a formal systematic theology) and polemical (arguing against liberalism’s denial of the supernatural), it is no surprise that the great defender of biblical inspiration emphasized the necessity of supernatural revelation rather than the merits of natural theology. General revelation was fitted for man as man, but special revelation is fitted for man as a sinner. To be sure, there is nothing inherently deficient in natural revelation. The problem is not with God’s communication, but with man’s fallen condition. “Sin,” writes Warfield, “has dulled man’s consciousness and blinded his perception of divine things: a special revelation of God to sinners, therefore, must needs include an immanent movement of God’s Spirit on man’s heart, restoring his capacity for the reception of divine knowledge.”[67] This statement sounds more like Van Til than what we have seen from the rest of the Old Princeton tradition.

And yet, there are good reasons to read Warfield’s doctrine of natural theology in a more nuanced way. For starters, the context of the quotation above is Warfield’s insistence that special revelation is necessary to restore man’s natural communion with God. What Warfield means here by “divine knowledge” is more like saving knowledge than every kind of propositional knowledge about God. That is why earlier Warfield describes natural and supernatural revelation, respectively, as “cosmological” and “soteriological.”[68] Warfield does not believe in the absolute bankruptcy of all natural theology. “There are elements of human thought in the teachings of Christianity,” he writes, “and there are elements of revelation in all religions.” Warfield believed that there was still “discoverable” knowledge of God in the world, and that “however dim or degraded” such knowledge may be, it was still a revelation from God to his fallen creatures.[69]

While the accent for Warfield fell on the inadequacy of general revelation for the needs of sinful man, he nevertheless affirmed the existence of God’s “common grace” whereby “within the limits of Nature” men may be stirred up to accomplish great things and know something about God.[70] By natural revelation “men in the normal use of reason rise to a knowledge of God—a notitia Dei acquisita, based on the notitia Dei insita—which is trustworthy and valuable, but is insufficient for their necessities as sinners, and by its very insufficiency awakens a longing for a fuller knowledge of God and his purposes.”[71] For the fallen man, natural theology may be weak, inadequate, and in need of further revelation, but it can still communicate meaningful truth.[72]

IV. Conclusion

It would be too much to argue that a straight line of Reformed thinkers from Junius to Warfield all taught an identical version of natural theology. And yet, in disagreement with Shannon and Van Til, it can be fairly concluded that the entire tradition of Old Princeton stretching back to Geneva understood natural theology as a species of true theology. The theologians we examined all believed natural theology to be an important, separate, and complementary discipline to supernatural theology. They also expected that the “heathens” could learn important truths from natural theology and that natural theology was a valuable “handmaid” to supernatural theology. They believed in the apologetic and civic potential of natural theology. What’s more, many of them gladly employed the traditional proofs for God’s existence.

Most importantly, there is no indication in the broader tradition that post-fall natural theology for the unregenerate man must, as a matter of course, be nothing but theologia falsa and anti-theology. Over and over, the Reformed tradition makes clear that natural theology is imperfect, insufficient for salvation, and demonstrably less clear than supernatural theology. At the same time, the Reformed tradition reiterates over and over that by looking at the nature of man and by reflecting on the works of creation and providence, even the unregenerate man can come to meaningful and accurate propositions about himself, about the world, and about the existence and character of God. If the unregenerate man must either know God or know nothing at all, the Reformed tradition from Junius through Old Princeton—once all the necessary caveats and qualifications have been put in place—bets on the former instead of the latter.

[1] See Willem J. Van Asselt, Introduction to Reformed Scholasticism (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Books, 2011), 122-26.

[2] Throughout this piece, Shannon’s article will be cited parenthetically in the body of the text, while all other works will be cited using footnotes.

[3] Strictly speaking, of course, it is anachronistic to lump Turretin (from seventeenth century Geneva) in with Princeton (from nineteenth century America). And yet, as I will show, there is an undeniable intellectual and personal link between the two. I am using “Old Princeton” as shorthand for a tradition of Reformed theology, stretching back to Europe, that was defended and celebrated during the first hundred years of Princeton Seminary.

[4] Franciscus Junius, A Treatise on True Theology, Translated by David C. Noe (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Books, 2014), 142.

[5] Ibid., 143.

[6] Ibid., 142.

[7] Ibid., 145.

[8] Ibid., 95.

[9] Ibid., 97.

[10] Ibid., 113.

[11] Ibid., 119.

[12] Ibid., 138.

[13] Ibid., 142.

[14] Ibid., 143, 145.

[15] Ibid., 155. Summarizing early Reformed Orthodoxy (and quoting mainly from Amandus Polanus [1561–1610]), Muller argues that natural and supernatural theology differ in seven areas: genus, subject/object, efficient cause, material, form, end, and adjuncts. (Richard A. Muller, Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics: The Rise and Development of the Reformed Orthodoxy, ca. 1520 to ca. 1725, 4 vols., 2nd ed. [Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2003]), 1:287-88.

[16] Junius, Treatise on True Theology, 142.

[17] Ibid., 158.

[18] Ibid., 161.

[19] Petrus Van Mastricht, Theoretical-Practical Theology, Volume 1, Translated by Todd M. Rester, Edited by Joel R. Beeke (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Books, 2018), 78.

[20] Muller remarks: “Althaus correctly points to Franciscus Junius’ De theologia vera (1594) as the first work to employ this distinction [between theologia archetypa and theologia ectypa] and make a threefold division in the theologia ectypa: the theologia unionis, visionis, and viatorum. Junius was certainly the first major thinker to pose these definitions in a Reformed context and it was his treatise that was used consistently by the theologians of his generation and the next several generations of Reformed theology as the model for theological prolegomena” (Post-Reformation Reformed Dogmatics, 1:222). Elsewhere, Muller observes that Junius was particularly influential in the Netherlands (1:161).

[21] Summarizing the position of Reformed Orthodoxy, Muller concludes: “Theologia naturalis, despite all the problems inherent in its formulation and elaboration, is properly discussed as a form of theologia vera, under the category of theologia viatorum” (Ibid., 1:282).

[22] For more on the connections between Turretin, Pictet, and Witherspoon, see Kevin DeYoung, The Religious Formation of John Witherspoon: Calvinism, Evangelicalism, and the Scottish Enlightenment (London: Routledge, 2020), 34-38.

[23] For more on this history, see James H. Moorhead, Princeton Seminary in American Religion and Culture (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2012); James Garretson, “Introduction” in Archibald Alexander, God, Creation, and Human Rebellion, Edited by Travis Fentiman (Grand Rapids, MI: Reformation Heritage Books, 2019), xv-xxxix; Paul C. Gutjahr, Charles Hodge: Guardian of American Orthodoxy (Oxford: OUP, 2011); A.A. Hodge, Evangelical Theology: Lectures on Doctrine (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1990), ix-xli; Fred G. Zaspel, The Theology of B.B. Warfield: A Systematic Summary (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2010), 27-59.

[24] And this is to say nothing of the many other connections present in this lineage: that Turretin’s Institutes of Elenctic Theology was the primary theological textbook at Princeton Seminary until Hodge wrote his own systematic theology, or that Witherspoon passed on a love for Pictet to his disciple Ashbel Green who helped establish Princeton Theological Seminary in 1812, or that Charles Hodge named his son after his mentor Archibald Alexander and that Hodge was the formative theological influence for Warfield.

[25] Francis Turretin. Institutes of Elenctic Theology, 3 vols., Translated by George Musgrave Giger, Edited by James T. Dennison, Jr. (Phillipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian and Reformed, 1997), 1:1-6.

[26] Ibid., 1:6.

[27] Ibid., 1:5.

[28] Ibid., 1:6.

[29] Ibid., 1:44.

[30] Ibid., 1:29.

[31] Benedict Pictet, Christian Theology, Translated by Frederick Reyroux (Philadelphia: Presbyterian Board of Publication, 1834), vii.

[32] Ibid., 17.

[33] Ibid., 22.

[34] Ibid., 24.

[35] Ibid., 60.

[36] Ibid., 22.

[37] Ibid.

[38] After Witherspoon visited Yale in 1773, Ezra Stiles noted in his journal that President Locke of Harvard was the more learned of American college presidents, with the exception, he added, of Witherspoon in theology. See Varnum Lansing Collins, President Witherspoon, 2 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press), 1925, 1:155.

[39] The Works of the Rev. John Witherspoon, D.D., L.L.D. Late President of the College, at Princeton New Jersey, 4 Vols. 2nd Ed. (Philadelphia: William W. Woodward, 1802), 3:260.

[40] Thomas Ahnert argues convincingly that the “positions of Moderates and the orthodox on natural religion are, essentially, the reverse of what they are usually thought to be” (The Moral Culture of the Scottish Enlightenment 1690–1805 [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2015], 96). Evangelical ministers employed arguments from natural theology more often than their Moderate counterparts. Orthodox Presbyterians like Witherspoon saw reason and general revelation as preparing the unbeliever for the gospel and teaching the unregenerate enough about God to leave him without excuse (50, 94-95).

[41] Witherspoon made this point often in his sermons. See “Man in his Natural State” (Works of the Rev. John Witherspoon, 2:157-66); “All Mankind by Nature Under Sin” (1:273); “Obedience and Sacrifice Compared” (1:485); “The Happiness of Saints in Heaven” (1:555).

[42] Works of the Rev. John Witherspoon, 1:98.

[43] Ibid., 2:44.

[44] Ibid., 2:438. Cf. DeYoung, The Religious Formation of John Witherspoon, 123-26.

[45] Works of the Rev. John Witherspoon, 3:367.

[46] Ibid., 4:47.

[47] Ibid., 3:400.

[48] Ibid., 3:471. For more on Witherspoon’s theological and philosophical commitments, see DeYoung, The Religious Formation of John Witherspoon, 157-63.

[49] See Garretson, “Introduction,” xxiii.

[50] James W. Alexander, D.D., The Life of Archibald Alexander: First Theological Professor of the Theological Seminary, at Princeton, New Jersey (New York: Charles Scribner, 1854), 367.

[51] Alexander, God, Creation, and Human Rebellion, 13.

[52] Ibid.

[53] Ibid., 20-21.

[54] Ibid. 18.

[55] Ibid., 18-19.

[56] Ibid., 19-20.

[57] Ibid., 14-17. For more on Alexander’s views on “the right use of reason in religion” see Archibald Alexander, The Truth, Inspiration, and Authority of Scripture (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2017), 2-9, 25-46.

[58]Charles Hodge, Systematic Theology, 3 vols. (London, James Clarke and Co., 1960), 1:21.

[59] Ibid., 1:21-22.

[60] Ibid., 22.

[61] Ibid., 24.

[62] Ibid., 25.

[63] Archibald Alexander Hodge, Outlines of Theology, Edited by William H. Goold (London: T. Nelson and Sons, 1877), 43.

[64] Ibid., 41.

[65] A. A. Hodge, The Westminster Confession: A Commentary (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth Trust, 1998), 27.

[66] Ibid.

[67] Selected Shorter Writings of Benjamin B. Warfield, 2 vols., Edited by John E. Meeter (Nutley, NJ: Presbyterian and Reformed Publishing, 1970, 1973), 1:28.

[68] Ibid., 1:24.

[69] Ibid.

[70] The Works of Benjamin Breckenridge Warfield, 10 vols. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Book House, 1991), 1:9.

[71] Ibid., 1:45.

[72] For more on Warfield and prolegomena see Zaspel, Theology of B.B. Warfield, 97-108.

Just War and Our Cultural Conflict

Thu, 08 Sep 2022 09:00:00 GMT

We’re in a battle whether we like it or not, but how we fight matters https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/just-war-and-our-cultural-conflict/id1526483896?i=1000575741672

This is Part 3 of a multi-part series that will address six questions related to Christianity and politics. In Part 1 I asked, “Why is it so hard to talk about politics?” In Part 2 I asked, “Are Christians too focused on politics?” Today, I look at the third question: “Should Christians be engaged in the culture war?”

The answer to the question “Should Christians be engaged in the culture war?” is quite simple: You are whether you mean to be or not.

For starters, the Bible does not hesitate to describe the Christian life with warfare imagery. We do not wage war according to the flesh, but we are engaged in warfare (2 Corinthians 10:3). We destroy strongholds (v. 4), take prisoners (v. 5), and punish rebels (v. 6, a reference to discipline in the church, not churches wielding the sword). Christian discipleship is a battle.

More specifically, there is no doubt that the American people and American institutions are engaged in deep disagreement about the fundamental realities of human nature, sexual differentiation, the definition of marriage, the definition of personhood, the purpose of government, the role of natural rights, and the conception of the good, the true, and the beautiful. Talk to parents with children in our public schools, or talk to conservative Christians in academia, or talk to faithful believers in many of our Fortune 500 companies and see if we aren’t enmeshed in profound ideological conflict. James Davison Hunter was already writing in 1992 about Culture Wars and “the struggle to control the family, art, education, law, and politics in America.” And that was before Obergefell, transgender cabinet officials, and the global ubiquity of Pride Month. Helm’s Deep is under assault, whether we care to man the ramparts or not.

I understand the aversion to the language of culture war. It has only negative connotations to most people. And yet, the reality of the thing itself cannot be avoided. The Lord is a warrior, right? (Exodus 15:3). The opposite of culture war is not culture peace but culture capitulation. There is a conflagration of competing visions in this country, and, with apologies to Billy Joel, we didn’t start the fire. The cultural upheaval of the last 50 years has not been led by conservative Christians intent on reshaping America. So why is “culture warrior” an epithet only dished out to the right?

I understand the aversion to the language of culture war. It has only negative connotations to most people. And yet, the reality of the thing itself cannot be avoided.

When I was in college, I had to read Tom Sine’s Cease Fire: Searching for Sanity in America’s Culture War. It was a third way approach that aimed its weapons mainly at the political right and ended up with solutions that were mainly aligned with the political left. Likewise, Jim Wallis’s Bush-era bestseller God’s Politics: Why the Right Gets it Wrong and the Left Doesn’t Get It was all about how conservatives hijacked the language of faith and how a progressive social agenda mirrored the concerns of Jesus. I have no problem with Christians, or anyone else for that matter, making the case for progressive political principles and policies, but then let’s be honest that we are against “culture war” only because we’d like to see the other side stop fighting.

Of course, if Christians are to be engaged in the culture war, we must do so as Christians. The just war tradition has not only stipulated the reasons one may go to war (jus ad bellum), it has also stipulated how that war is to be fought (jus in bello). Even in a war, the ends do not justify every kind of means. There are a number of crucial commitments we must not forget.

Don’t forget to make arguments. Elections matter, but the aim must never be merely political. We believe in the power of the truth. Paul’s strategy was to destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and to take every thought captive to obey Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5). We must reason with our opponents, even if no one else does.

Don’t forget to fight in the right way. The principles of jus in bello remind us that our fighting must be proportional; we do not resort to scorched earth tactics. We must also distinguish between combatants and non-combatants, we do not fire at someone just because he lives in the country of our enemy. Likewise, we should remember that a war has many parts and is fought in many ways. There are supply lines. There is diplomacy. There are moments of rest when the troops eat ice cream and hear from Bob Hope. Culture war doesn’t mean a non-stop shootout at the O.K. Corral.

Finally, don’t forget that the culture is not ultimate. The cosmic battle is between the Snake Crusher and the serpent (Genesis 3:15), between the woman and the dragon (Revelation 12:1-6). We could win the culture war and still lose what really matters. Which is another way of saying, the church and its beatific message of Christ crucified and risen for sinners is ultimately more important than the culture. The one is not irrelevant to the other or disinterested in the other, but only the church will last forever, and only the church is promised to be built by Jesus himself. We cannot avoid the cultural conflict to which we are called. Truths about creation are in the crosshairs. Surrender and appeasement are not the way of Christian faithfulness. But neither is being a culture warrior if that means giving up on the centrality of Christ crucified or giving up on our own integrity.

Fight the good fight and be sure to keep the faith.

Theology for Ministry: How Doctrine Affects Pastoral Life and Practice

Tue, 09 Aug 2022 09:00:00 GMT

This collection of essays—learned, theological, pastoral, and doxological—serves as a fitting tribute to a friend and mentor (to me and many others) who has embodied and championed these very qualities. Theology for Ministry repays careful reading, not only as a celebration of Sinclair’s life and ministry, but as an exploration of the biblical and confessional truths that should inspire and anchor all our lives.

Death to the Patriarchy?

Fri, 19 Aug 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Complementarity and the Scandal of ‘Father Rule’ https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/death-to-the-patriarchy/id1526483896?i=1000574860218

What is the difference between patriarchy and complementarity — and which is the better term for capturing the full vision of Christian manhood and womanhood? Most complementarians steadfastly avoid the word patriarchy, wanting to distance themselves from any associations with oppression and prejudice. On the other hand, critics of complementarianism are eager to saddle their opponents with the charge of defending patriarchy. The terms often function as a way of communicating, “I’m not that kind of conservative Christian” — to which the reply is, “Oh yes, you are!” So what is the most accurate term for those who want to recapture a lost vision of sexual differentiation and order?

Defining, to everyone’s satisfaction, terms like patriarchy and complementarity is nearly impossible. I’ll do some definitional work in a moment, but I don’t want this article to become a tedious, academic inquiry into the usage and history of these terms. I also don’t want to define the terms so that complementarity becomes a convenient gloss for “good male leadership” and patriarchy ends up meaning “bad male leadership.” To be sure, that distinction isn’t totally misguided, but if that’s all I said, my argument would be entirely predictable.

And a bit superficial. As I’ll argue in a moment, there is nothing to be gained by Christians reclaiming the term patriarchy in itself. In fact, reclaim is not even the right word, because I’m not sure Christians have ever argued for something called “patriarchy.” Complementarity is a better, safer term, with fewer negative connotations (though that is quickly changing). I’ve described myself as a complementarian hundreds of times; I’ve never called myself a patriarchalist.

Yet there is something in the broader idea of patriarchy — no matter how sinister the word itself has become — that is worth claiming. If the vision of male-female complementarity is to be more than a seemingly arbitrary commitment to men leading in the home and being pastors in the church, we cannot settle for a proper interpretation of 1 Timothy 2. Of course, careful exegesis is absolutely critical. But we need more than the right conclusions. We need to help people see that our exegetical conclusions do not just fit with the best hermeneutical principles; they fit with the way the world is and the way God made men and women.

Complementarity and Patriarchy

The idea of complementarity — that men and women were designed with a special fittedness, each for the other — is not new. The term complementarianism, however, is relatively recent. In their seminal 1991 work Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood, John Piper and Wayne Grudem deliberately termed their recovery mission “a vision of biblical ‘complementarity’” because they wanted to both correct the “selfish and hurtful practices” of the traditionalist view and avoid the opposite mistakes coming from evangelical feminists (14).

No one committed to intellectual honesty and fairness should treat traditionalist, hierarchicalist, or patriarchalist as synonyms for complementarianism. In coining the term complementarian, Piper and Grudem explicitly rejected the first two terms, while the third term (patriarchalist or patriarchy or patriarchal) is never used in a positive sense in the book. “If one word must be used to describe our position,” they wrote, “we prefer the term complementarian, since it suggests both equality and beneficial differences between men and women” (14). Thirty years later, this vision of complementarity is still worth carefully defining and gladly defending.

The term patriarchy is much harder to define. Strictly speaking, patriarchy is simply the Greek word meaning “father rule.” There is nothing in its etymology to make the term an epithet of abuse. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are often called “the patriarchs” (Romans 9:5, for example). The spiritual leader of the Orthodox Church is the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople. In a generic sense, every Christian believes in patriarchy because we affirm the rule and authority of God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.

Despite these positive associations, as a sociological and historical category, patriarchy is almost always used in a pejorative sense. Here, for example, is the first sentence of the Wikipedia entry on patriarchy.

Patriarchy is an institutionalized social system in which men dominate over others, but can also refer to dominance over women specifically; it can also extend to a variety of manifestations in which men have social privileges over others to cause exploitation or oppression, such as through male dominance of moral authority and control of property.

In this one (long) sentence, we have a host of pejorative words: dominate, dominance (2x), exploitation, and oppression. No one is expected to read this definition and think of patriarchy as something good, or even something that could possibly be good.

In a recent longform article in The Guardian, Charlotte Higgins argues that at its simplest, patriarchy “conveys the existence of a societal structure of male supremacy that operates at the expense of women.” Higgins admits the patriarchy is virtually dead as an academic idea — too blunt and monolithic a concept to be useful — but in popular usage the term has experienced an unprecedented revival, one Higgins supports. “Only ‘patriarchy’ seems to capture the peculiar elusiveness of gendered power,” she writes. Higgins’s street-level definition is helpful insofar as it reveals that for most people, including most Christians (I suspect), patriarchy is shorthand for all the ways our world promotes male supremacy and encourages female oppression.

If that’s patriarchy, the world can have it. It’s not a term you’ll find in Christian confessional statements from the past. It’s not a term you’ll find employed frequently (or at all) in the tradition of the church as it defends biblical views of the family, the church, and society. As a conservative, Reformed, evangelical Christian, I applaud the vision of “equality with beneficial differences” and stand resolutely opposed to all forms of domination, exploitation, and oppression.

Cost of Dismantling Patriarchy

Why not end the article right here? Complementarianism is good; patriarchy is bad. Case closed. Enough said, right?

Not quite. We should be careful not to banish patriarchy to the ash heap of history too quickly. For starters, we should question the notion that patriarchy equals oppression. In his book Ancestors: The Loving Family in Old Europe, Steven Ozment argues that family life, even in the patriarchal past, is not wholly different from our own age. Parents loved their children, husbands performed household duties, and most women preferred marriage and homemaking to other arrangements.

History is complex and rarely allows for meta-theories and monocausal explanations. If women had fewer opportunities and rights in the past (almost everyone had fewer opportunities and fewer rights), women also lived enmeshed in stronger communities, and their roles as wife and mother were more highly honored. Accounting for differences in economic prosperity, it is entirely debatable (and, perhaps, ultimately unknowable) whether women are happier in the present than they were in the past. As Ozment puts it, “For every historian who believes that the modern family is a recent, superior evolution, there is another who is ready to expose it as a fallen archetype” (45).

Second, we should question the unstated assumptions that hold together the pejorative understanding of patriarchy. If sexual differentiation, subordination, and role distinctions are prima facie evidence of exploitation, then patriarchy, of any sort at any point in history, is going to be undesirable. Writing over forty years ago, Stephen B. Clark noted that feminist social scientists “apply liberally such terms as ‘dominance,’ ‘oppression,’ ‘repression,’ ‘inferiority,’ and ‘subservience’ to men’s and women’s roles.” These terms did not come from dispassionate historical observation. As Clark puts it, “This terminology, based on a political power model of social analysis derived from modern political ideologies, is designed to make all social role differences appear repulsive” (Man and Woman in Christ, 475).

The rhetorical deck has been stacked. To defend patriarchy, as presently and popularly understood, is to defend the indefensible. And yet, most complementarians do not realize that in rejecting patriarchy, they have, according to the contemporary rules of the game, rejected the very reality they thought they could reclaim by an appeal to complementarity.

Most importantly, and along the lines of the last point, we should be careful that in dismantling patriarchy we don’t end up kicking out the cultural ladder from underneath us and then hoping that people can reach the right conclusions by jumping to extraordinary heights.

One of my great concerns — which, sadly, seems to be coming more and more true with each passing year — is that complementarianism, for many Christians, amounts to little more than a couple of narrow conclusions about wives submitting to husbands in the home and ordination in the church being reserved for men. If that’s all we have in our vision for men and women, it’s not a vision we will hold on to for long. We need to help church members (especially the younger generations) see that God didn’t create the world with one or two arbitrary commands called “complementarianism” to test our obedience in the home and in the church. God created the world with sexual differentiation at the heart of what it means to be human beings made in his image. We cannot understand the created order as we should until we understand that God made us male and female.

Like and Unlike Adam

The creation story is so familiar to most of us that we overlook the obvious. God could have created human beings to reproduce on their own. God could have created every subsequent human being out of the ground, just as he created Adam. God could have created a group of male companions to hang out in Adam’s man cave so that Adam wouldn’t be alone. God could have given Adam a golden retriever or a gaggle of little Adams to keep him company.

But God created Eve. God made someone from Adam to be like Adam, and God made that same someone from Adam to be unlike Adam. According to God’s biological design, only Eve (not another Adam) was a suitable helper because only Eve (together with Adam) could obey the creation mandate. That’s why she was “a helper fit for him” (Genesis 2:18). Only as a complementarian pair could Adam and Eve fill the earth and subdue it. Different languages and cultures and peoples will come later in Genesis — and these differences will be, in part, because of sin (Genesis 11). But the differences between men and women were God’s idea from the beginning. To ignore, minimize, or repudiate the differences between men and women is to reject our creational design and the God who designed it.

“To ignore, minimize, or repudiate the differences between men and women is to reject our creational design.”

At the level of common sense, most people know to be true what social-science research and biology tell us is true: sex differences are real and they matter. There is a reason that humor regarding men and women has often been a staple of comedy — whether in sitcoms, in standup, or in informal conversation. Most people know by intuition and by experience that a host of patterns and stereotypes are generally true of men and women.

In his book Taking Sex Difference Seriously, Steven Rhoades argues that traditional patterns of male initiative and female domesticity have been constant throughout history because the most fundamental human passions — sex, nurturing, and aggression — manifest themselves differently in men and women (5). One-day-old female infants, for example, respond more strongly to the sound of a human in distress than one-day-old male infants. Unlike their male counterparts, one-week-old baby girls can distinguish an infant’s cry from other noise (25).

According to Leonard Sax, a medical doctor and PhD, no amount of nurture can change the nature of our sexual differentiation. In his book Why Gender Matters, he writes that girls can see better, hear better, and smell better than boys. Conversely, boys are hardwired to be more aggressive, to take more risks, and to be drawn to violent stories.

Sax — who is not a Christian (that I can tell) or even particularly conservative when it comes to insisting on traditional moral behavior — criticizes those who think sex differences are simply the result of prejudice. Sax chides gender theorist Judith Butler and her followers for showing no awareness of sex differences in vision, sex differences in hearing, sex differences in risk-taking, or sex differences in sex itself (283).

Moreover, these differences cannot be laid at the feet of environment and social engineering. “The biggest sex differences in expression of genes in the human brain occurs not in adulthood, nor in puberty, but in the prenatal period before the baby is born” (208). Or as Moses put it, “Male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:27).

Embracing Reality

Everyone can see that, on average, men are taller and physically stronger than women. Most everyone agrees that men and women have occupied different roles in the home, in religion, and in the world for most (if not all) of human history. Virtually everyone would also agree that boys and girls don’t play the same or develop in the same ways. And nearly everyone would agree that men and women — taken as a whole — tend to form friendships differently, talk to their peers differently, and manifest different instincts related to children, sex, and career. Almost everyone sees these things.

What we don’t see in the same way is how to interpret these phenomena. The question is whether we view these distinctions as reflecting innate differences between men and women — differences not to be exploited or eradicated — or whether the distinctions we see are the result of centuries of oppression and ongoing prejudice. This brief article is written in hope that Christians might consider the former to be truer than the latter.

In 1973, Steven Goldberg published The Inevitability of Patriarchy, a book he claims was listed as a world record in Guinness for the book rejected by the most publishers before final acceptance (69 rejections by 55 publishers). Building off that earlier work, Goldberg released Why Men Rule in 1993, arguing that given the physiological differentiation between the sexes, men have always occupied the overwhelming number of high-status positions and roles in every society (44). In other words, patriarchy is inevitable. Decades later, Rhoades said the same thing: “Matriarchies — societies where women have more political, economic and social power than men — do not exist; in fact, there is no evidence that they have ever existed” (Taking Sex Differences Seriously, 151).

We are told that dismantling patriarchy is one of the chief concerns of our time. Surely, Voltaire’s battle cry Écrasez l’infâme! (Crush the infamy!) is no less suitable for the ancient regime of father rule. Except that where patriarchy is already absent, dysfunction and desperation have multiplied. That’s because patriarchy, rightly conceived, is not about the subjugation of women as much as it is about the subjugation of the male aggression and male irresponsibility that runs wild when women are forced to be in charge because the men are nowhere to be found. What school or church or city center or rural hamlet is better off when fathers no longer rule? Where communities of women and children can no longer depend upon men to protect and provide, the result is not freedom and independence. Fifty years of social science research confirms what common sense and natural law never forgot: as go the men, so goes the health of families and neighborhoods. The choice is not between patriarchy and enlightened democracy, but between patriarchy and anarchy.

Observations like these sound offensive to almost everyone, but they don’t have to be. If patriarchy (as a descriptive rather than a pejorative term) reflects innate differences between the sexes, then we would do well to embrace what is — while fighting the natural effects of sin in the way things are — rather than pursuing what never will be. You can sand a piece of wood in any direction you like, but the experience will be more enjoyable — and the end product more beautiful — if you go with the grain. As Goldberg puts it, “If [a woman] believes that it is preferable to have her sex associated with authority and leadership rather than with the creation of life, then she is doomed to perpetual disappointment” (Why Men Rule, 32).

“Women were made to be women, not a different kind of man.”

Women were made to be women, not a different kind of man. The stubborn fact of nature, almost never mentioned, is that men cannot do the one thing most necessary and most miraculous in our existence: they will not nurture life in the womb; they will not give birth to the propagation of the species; they will not nurse an infant from their own flesh.

Deep down, men are aware of these limitations of manhood, which is why they feel the urge to protect women and children and why in every society, Goldberg writes, “they look to women for gentleness, kindness, and love, for refuge from a world of pain and force, for safety from their own excesses” (229). When a woman sacrifices all this to meet men on male terms, it is to everyone’s detriment, especially her own. Men and women are not the same, and if we want to acknowledge that in the home and in the church, we need to acknowledge it in all of life and in all of history. The biblical vision of complementarity cannot be true without something like patriarchy also being true.

The Pitfalls and Possibilities of Being “Political”

Tue, 16 Aug 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Where should Christians draw the line? https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-pitfalls-and-possibilities-of-being-political/id1526483896?i=1000570555844

This is Part 2 of a multi-part series that will address six questions related to Christianity and politics. In Part 1 I asked, “Why is it so hard to talk about politics?” Today, I look at the second question: “Are Christians too focused on politics?”

It’s already been 15 years since David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons published their widely cited book, unChristian: What a New Generation Really Thinks About Christianity … and Why It Matters. Based on research from the Barna Group, the point of the book was clear from the first sentence: “Christianity has an image problem.” Although the research was hailed as “groundbreaking” and “surprising,” I doubt many people were shocked to learn that 16- to 29-year-olds held negative stereotypes about the church. Among those negative impressions were that the church was hypocritical, judgmental, anti-homosexual, and too political.

Set aside whether Barna’s research told the whole story (a few years later, sociologist Bradley R.E. Wright published a book-length response titled Christians Are Hate-Filled Hypocrites … and Other Lies You’ve Been Told: A Sociologist Shatters Myths From the Secular and Christian Media). Let’s also set aside whether Christianity can (or should try to) manage its image in a hostile world. Let’s just focus on one of the most prominent knocks on the church: that Christians are too political.

On the one hand, the criticism is not without merit. Undoubtedly, some Christians and churches are too political insofar as they eat and drink and sleep electoral politics. Wherever politics becomes ultimate instead of subordinate, whenever it becomes the animating energy in a congregation, or whenever it becomes the actual glue that holds the church together, we are too focused on politics.

As a Presbyterian, I affirm the spirituality of the church. Although the doctrine was used in the South to excuse slavery, the doctrine came out of Scotland centuries earlier and had nothing to do with slavery. At its best, the spirituality of the church reminds us that the church’s mission is soteriological, its power is limited, and its expertise does not stretch into every area of human life. If a pastor is better known for his views on COVID-19 or for his analysis of the latest shooting than he is for his views on the Trinity, the person of Christ, and the gospel, then something is wrong.

There is no category called “politics” that can be safely quarantined from the category we call “religion.”

And yet, that’s not all we need to say about being “political.” For starters, the calling of the church is not identical to the calling of individual Christians. Surely, we need more serious, theologically minded Christians involved in politics, not fewer. And by politics, I don’t necessarily mean online punditry. Commenting on the 24-hour news cycle can be honorable work, and I’m glad we have some thoughtful Christians engaged in that effort. But we should not think that is the only way to “do something” or “get involved.” As a general rule, we could use less political punditry and more moral philosophy. We need Christian thinkers to take us back to first principles. We need theologians to apply the Bible and the best of the Christian tradition to today’s (seemingly) intractable problems.

We also should be honest that the charge of being “too political” is often code for “I don’t like your politics.” Most people are happy to have Christians passionately involved and vociferously commenting on the issues they care about. It’s when Christians come down on the other side of the political divide that we hear cries to “stay out of politics” or “stick to the gospel.” We would do better to object to the position itself if the disagreement is with the actual politics rather than with being “too political.” To this end, it would help to distinguish between explicitly Biblical positions (e.g., abortion is murder; partiality is a sin) and the policies that people draw from those positions. “God wants us to care for widows and orphans” is in the Bible. “God demands this specific government-sponsored entitlement program” is not.

Ultimately, even if we wanted to, we could not wash our hands of politics altogether. Yes, I would love to see Christians pontificating much less about complex matters they don’t understand. Yes, I would welcome a sharp decrease in the number of Christians being wishy-washy about the faith once delivered for the saints while they are dogmatic about prudential matters that do not allow for easy answers. But even if we did all that (and we should), we would not be free from politics. There is no category called “politics” that can be safely quarantined from the category we call “religion.” Most of the seminal thinkers in the Western political tradition of the last 500 years looked for the truth about politics (as they did in the broader category of moral philosophy) in the Bible and the natural law. Insofar as politics touches on human government, human nature, human flourishing, ethics, law, rights, duties, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, Christianity will be—in the ultimate sense—inescapably political.

So much of our politics is obsessed with small and petty things. On these matters, Christians should refuse to get sucked into the vortex of spite, stupidity, and manufactured outrage. But when it comes to the right ordering of our society, the right application of Biblical anthropology, and the right insistence on what leads to human freedom and human flourishing, the well-taught and well-formed Christian must not be silent.

When Roe Was Overturned

Mon, 01 Aug 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Christians should rejoice in the destruction of an instrument of death https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/when-roe-was-overturned/id1526483896?i=1000568974407

Do you remember the climactic scene from the original Star Wars movie?

Luke Skywalker is flying his X-wing starfighter through a maze of trenches along the surface of the Death Star. After narrowly escaping one attack after another from the Empire, Luke is about to be shot down by Darth Vader. But just in the nick of time, Han Solo and Chewbacca swoop down in the Millennium Falcon and bounce Darth Vader. Luke fires two torpedoes down the thermal exhaust port, and a few seconds later, the Death Star is blown apart. What had seemed impossible to almost everyone was now a reality. The Death Star was gone.

I’m sure you remember what comes next. As soon as Luke returned his X-wing to the hangar, he was greeted by muted celebration. One of the other pilots reminded Luke there was still a lot of work to do to make the galaxy safe for hurting people everywhere. A member of the Rebel Alliance asked Luke when he was going to subdue the violent Sand People on his home planet of Tatooine. Another friend advised Luke that many people in the galaxy were devastated by the news about the Death Star and that perhaps a time of listening was in order.

As you recall, Luke wasn’t the only one with questions to answer. Many friends of the Alliance questioned Han’s character. He was a smuggler and a cynic, and many wondered whether he was only motivated by the promise of a reward. Throughout the Rebel fleet, they gave thanks for the work R2-D2 and C-3PO had done, but they also said it would all be for naught if they didn’t do something about the oppressive Jawa droid ring they had left behind. Some concerned voices asked Princess Leia whether she thought the Rebels had the maturity to receive this victory or whether the problem in the galaxy might really lie with her own people. And Chewbacca? People weren’t sure what he was saying, but he seemed angry.

As we all know, the obliteration of the Death Star was not the happy event the Rebels thought it would be. To be sure, all of their energies had been directed toward this one end (there was something about removing an imminent threat to their very existence that concentrated their efforts). But when the time came to rejoice in the removal of the Death Star, wise leaders reminded the Rebels that the Death Star could always be rebuilt. Until the very idea of the Death Star became unthinkable, the Rebels had no reason to rejoice. Senior officials patiently explained to Luke and Leia that it was their responsibility to remove all conditions throughout the galaxy that might lead someone in the future to want the Death Star again.

Maybe the movie ends with the good guys smiling with grateful satisfaction, knowing that whatever failures lay in the past, and whatever dangers lie ahead, this was a day for celebration.

And so, do you remember how the movie ends? After Luke was welcomed back with tepid applause, he reunited with Han, Chewy, and the two droids. They sat down with Leia and reflected on their many failings. Luke was not yet an expert with the Force. Han had been selfish. Leia admitted that the annihilation of Alderaan was probably her fault. They gathered a large collection of counselors to help them process what had happened. They agreed that the Death Star was bad, but some quietly wondered if the Rebels had plans up their sleeves that were even worse. They talked at great length about the turmoil in the galaxy, about the bad behavior of some of the Rebels, and why being anti–Death Star was not enough.

It was the perfect ending to a great movie—a movie filled with unlikely and scrappy heroes. There was suffering and sacrifice along the way. The heroes had learned a lot and grown over time. By the end of the movie, they had won a great victory, a victory for life and freedom. And yet, what really made the movie resonate in so many hearts was the way the victory was met with many critical self-reflections and mild recriminations. Turns out the best way for the Rebel Alliance to commemorate the destruction of the Death Star was to remind everyone that many of the Empire’s criticisms were worth considering.

Or, wait. Maybe that’s not how the movie ended.

Maybe they all hugged and celebrated. Maybe the Rebels gathered for a solemn and joyful ceremony to honor their heroes. Maybe the movie ends with the good guys smiling with grateful satisfaction, knowing that whatever failures lay in the past, and whatever dangers lie ahead, this was a day for celebration.

Yes, that’s right. That was the real ending. The whole Rebel Alliance rejoiced because the instrument of death had been destroyed. The ones who didn’t smile either didn’t know what the Death Star really was or they weren’t really sure they wanted to be lumped in with the Rebels any longer. The war for truth and life and honor goes on, but thanks be to God for those who have seen this essential battle through to the end.

Pastoral Prayer – June 26, 2022

Mon, 27 Jun 2022 19:09:10 GMT

This past Sunday I used the pastoral prayer to thank God for the overturning of Roe and to pray for our nation. Several in the congregation asked for the transcript of the prayer, so I am posting it here—for them, and for others who may be interested.

We praise you, O God, for the Supreme Court decision handed down this Friday to overturn the legal fiction and the moral evil that was Roe v. Wade. What a remarkable instance of your grace. Many have long prayed for this day. We rejoice in your work to strike down an invented constitutional right which has allowed for the destruction of more than 60 million lives.

O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens. Out of the mouths of babies and infants, you have established strength because of your foes, to still the enemy and the avenger (Psalm 8:1-2).

We give thanks, gracious Father, for all the indefatigable efforts over the last 50 years to work for justice for the unborn–for the hundreds of peaceful marches and protests, for the thousands of crisis pregnancy centers, for the hundreds of thousands of articles, books, and opinion pieces, for the millions of volunteers, for the hundreds of millions of prayers. For every foster parent, every adoptive parent, every generous benefactor, for every pro-life political measure and appointment, for every textually faithful judge and justice, for every pastor and religious leader who has cultivated a culture of life, for courageous mothers who saw her baby to term, we give you thanks.

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate (Psalm 127:3-5).

We thank you for the gift of children, for the blessing of abundance and life. We pray for those who mourn the loss of children; comfort them. We pray for those who desperately want to have children; sustain and bless them. We pray for those who love choice more than children, have mercy upon then. Turn our hearts away from idols of convenience, from the devilish lie of human autonomy, from ruinous habits of the sexual revolution, from the cowardice of wayward fathers, from the confusion of pro-abortion mothers.

Heal our land. Strengthen your church. Empower your preachers. Comfort the downcast. Convict the wayward. Promote the cause of righteousness. Prevent the spread of evil. And protect those who cannot protect themselves.

We know that righteousness exalts a nation but sin is a reproach to any people (Prov. 14:34). Give courage to state legislatures to pass laws that will protect the unborn. Change the minds and change the hearts of those who glory in the destruction of life, who have worshiped at the altar of death, and have given themselves over to the sacrament of our age. Have mercy upon our nation, O Lord. We pray for safety, for peace, and for persuasion.

And have mercy upon us, O Lord. Forgive any species of pride within us. Give us tender consciences to any forms of hypocrisy or pomposity. Set us free from our temptations to fight as the world fights or hate as the world hates. May we not revile when others revile us, but let us pray for those who may count us their enemies.

Not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to your name be glory (Psalm 115:1). Heal our land. Strengthen your church. Empower your preachers. Comfort the downcast. Convict the wayward. Promote the cause of righteousness. Prevent the spread of evil. And protect those who cannot protect themselves. In the name of Jesus–the mighty Son of God who came to earth as the helpless son of Mary–we pray, Amen.

How to Think about Christianity and Politics

Mon, 18 Jul 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Having an important conversation on how to approach the conversation https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/how-to-think-about-christianity-and-politics/id1526483896?i=1000567229987

In a recent essay for First Things, Ross Douthat, a serious Catholic and a conservative columnist for The New York Times, begins with this question: “How should contemporary Christians react to the decline of their churches, the secularization of the culture, the final loss of Christendom?” Granted, we aren’t watching the literal sacking of Rome as in Augustine’s day, but Douthat’s pessimistic assessment of our age is not far from the mark. If the Christian foundations of the West have not been wholly eradicated, Christian assumptions certainly have been. The relationship between Christianity and Western civilization is now more antithesis than synthesis. It should come as no surprise, then, that Christians are talking and arguing a lot about politics. We are all trying to figure out what is going on, where we are headed, and how to respond.

No doubt, we need a lot of smart people reflecting on the intellectual principles and the practical priorities of our moral philosophy. That’s a crucial conversation. But that’s not the conversation most ordinary people are having online, in church, and around the dinner table. They (and I should say we) are having a messy—but if done right, a really important—conversation about how to approach the conversation itself. As Christians in an age dominated by politics, we are trying to think about how we should think about Christianity and politics.

This column begins a series of columns that will try to help us think about what we need to think about. To that end, I want to address six questions: (1) Why is it so hard to talk about politics? (2) Are Christians too focused on politics? (3) Should Christians be engaged in the culture war? (4) Does Christianity transcend all our political philosophies and disagreements? (5) Is the church the problem? (6) What is the need of the hour?

Christians are having a hard time thinking and talking about politics because almost everyone is having a hard time thinking and talking about politics.

Let’s start with the first question. Here are four reasons we are having such a hard time talking about politics.

1. The internet. There were probably just as many angry and crazy people in the world a generation ago, but they didn’t have the access or ability to tell the whole world their angry and crazy opinions. Long gone are the days of three networks and Walter Cronkite signing off triumphantly with “And that’s the way it is.” There is now no consensus on “the way it is.” There is no voice or institution that everyone trusts. The most influential platforms only need to attract a tiny segment of passionate followers to be a big deal. This incentivizes coming up with the hottest hot takes. And because we have access to more stories and more tragedies than ever before, there will always be vivid examples in the news to confirm the way we already see things.

2. Polarization. It’s not just that our two major political parties are more distinct than they used to be (in part because one party now clearly opposes abortion and one party now clearly celebrates abortion). People are more separated than they used to be. We are sorting ourselves digitally and geographically into like-minded hives. Humans are tribal creatures. With the decline of religion and family and the rise of a national (or global) culture at the expense of localism, we have gravitated toward ideological clans. And like clan loyalty of old, we can always find ways to defend our clan while defining ourselves based on being the opposite of the other clan.

3. Politics has become the lingua franca of our age. Walk through the airport and every television is showing either news or sports. These are two things we are all supposed to know about and care about. Everything has become politicized with commercials, corporations, education, entertainment, and sports itself deciding that everything should be about everything. Staying in your lane is seen as not doing your part in the great struggle of our age. Ironically, the one institution charged with being political—Congress—has become a platform for individual branding more than a place where political matters are debated and political compromises are reached.

4. Christianity has often struggled to find a settled, formal political philosophy. Just among Reformed Christians, we have quietists, theonomists, neo-Kuyperians, God-and-country types, and advocates of two-kingdom theology. What’s more, Christians with the same formal theology can have very different cultural instincts. For all the weaknesses of Richard Niebuhr’s Christ and Culture, we can see his five models—Christ against culture, Christ above culture, Christ of culture, Christ and culture in paradox, Christ the transformer of culture—as basic, and usually unstated, intuitions at work in the church. Even the label “conservative” as a political ideology is unsettled, with leading thinkers arguing for (or against) everything from populism to nationalism to republicanism to fusionism to classic liberalism to Catholic integralism.

Christians are having a hard time thinking and talking about politics because almost everyone is having a hard time thinking and talking about politics. We are not worse than others. But maybe with open hearts and clear heads, we can be a little better.

“Let the Little Children Come To Me”

Mon, 27 Jun 2022 09:00:00 GMT

The real monstrosity of Roe was not legal but moral https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/let-the-little-children-come-to-me/id1526483896?i=1000567699376

Roe v. Wade was always an embarrassment of contorted jurisprudence. Even many legal scholars on the left admitted as much. The Constitution never meant to enshrine under the right of privacy or the due process clause a right to abortion on demand. Indeed, as Justice Samuel Alito’s opinion points out, at the time of the 14th Amendment, three-quarters of the states outlawed abortion at every stage of pregnancy, and the remaining states soon followed suit. The Dobbs decision succeeds admirably in making the fictitious reasoning of Roe plain to see.

But as much as abortion has been indefensible on constitutional grounds, the real monstrosity of Roe was not legal but moral. For 50 years the two sides of the debate have been called “pro-choice” and “pro-life,” and those are accurate labels. The ability to freely terminate a pregnancy—at any point in the pregnancy and for any reason—is certainly about the right to make a choice. But that invented constitutional right has been, even more fundamentally, about the ending of life. Everyone with eyes to see the literal pictures of beating hearts and 4D ultrasounds, not to mention the gruesome photos of preborn children torn limb from limb, has known that we are talking about life. The newborn baby lovingly cuddled for the first time and welcomed into the world with tears of joy is the same child who has been denied a right to live a few inches away on the other side of the birth canal. Father, forgive us, for we know what we do.

No doubt, parents have always loved their children, but the world didn’t collectively protect children until the hitherto strange views of Jews and Christians became normalized.

If there was one dominant fact regarding children in the ancient world it was their high mortality rates, especially among infants. Many newborns were stillborn or died in labor. Those who made it safely out of the womb often went hungry. There were too many mouths to feed and too little food. As a result, children were often abandoned, exposed to the elements, and left on trash heaps to die. From 230 B.C. onward, the most common family in Greece was a one-child family. Families of four or five were rare. Some families might want two sons but rarely would they want two daughters.

Unwanted children were disposed of in various ways. Some were sold into slavery. Others were aborted in the womb. Many more were simply killed as infants. Newborns were not considered part of the family until the father officially acknowledged them and received them into the house through a religious ceremony. Consequently, ancient Greeks and Romans thought little of little babies and did not hesitate to get rid of them.

The newborn baby lovingly cuddled for the first time and welcomed into the world with tears of joy is the same child who has been denied a right to live a few inches away on the other side of the birth canal. Father, forgive us, for we know what we do.

In the ancient world, it was uniquely the Jewish people who prohibited abortion and infanticide, the latter of which was not outlawed until Christianity took on a privileged place in the empire (turns out Christendom wasn’t all bad). Christians have always opposed killing children, whether infants outside the womb or infants inside the womb. The two were the same crime. “You shall not abort a child or commit infanticide,” commanded the first-century church manual we know as the Didache. Opposition to abortion and infanticide is not one position Christians might want to consider, it is the Christian position.

Jesus welcomed children when others wanted to push them away (Mark 10:13–16). He said the measure of our love for Him would be measured by our love for children (Mark 9:36–37). He took the children in His arms as if to say, “Honor these little ones, and you honor me. Send them away because they are weak, socially insignificant, and bothersome, and you’ve demonstrated you don’t understand the values of the kingdom.” When the governor of Michigan says she will “fight like hell” to protect abortion access, she says more than she knows. The ruthless, relentless termination of human life was not heaven’s idea.

As a pastor, I’ve conducted funerals for newborns who lived but a few hours, I’ve visited with families upon the news that the pregnancy would not make it to term, and I’ve sat with numerous couples who grieved their miscarriage. My wife and I have known that pain ourselves. In every case, the tears tell us what we already know: The baby in the womb is not a mere fetus, a potential human being whose worth depends upon our choice, but a precious child ready to be nurtured, supported, and loved.

We will hear much over the next days and weeks about all those who are scared and hurt by the Supreme Court’s ruling. We will be told by even some of our friends that now is the time to be extremely sensitive and circumspect. True enough, rudeness is never in order. But sometimes celebration and thanksgiving are. We don’t need a thousand Michals telling David to stop leaping for joy. Every child is a gift, a heritage from the Lord (Psalm 127:3), and if by some supernatural intervention the children in the womb could learn that Roe is gone, they might just leap in the womb as well (Luke 1:41).

The Indelible Conscience and a Month of “Pride”

Mon, 13 Jun 2022 09:00:00 GMT

The LGBTQ quest to turn a moral argument into an emotive appeal for affirmation and acceptance https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/let-the-little-children-come-to-me/id1526483896?i=1000567699376

In case you haven’t heard, June 1 no longer marks the end of the school year or the unofficial beginning of summer. It’s the start of Pride Month. Initially conceived in 1970 to commemorate the first anniversary of the Stonewall riots, Pride Month has become a government-promoted, corporate-sponsored, 30-day celebration of LGBTQ acceptance and achievements. When rioters threw bricks and tried to burn down the Stonewall Inn in New York City’s Greenwich Village with police officers barricaded inside, even the most optimistic gay liberation proponent could not have dreamed that an illegally operated, Mafia-owned gay bar would eventually join the Statue of Liberty and the Grand Canyon on the select list of protected national monuments.

Pride Month is at once a brilliant marketing strategy and a striking reminder that the conscience is a terrible thing to waste.

By linking gay liberation to “pride,” LGBTQ advocates—and it’s worth mentioning, that the five letters only fit together in an uneasy alliance—hit upon an ethical and strategic coup. The rallying cry of “pride” transformed their quest for culturewide moral legitimacy (a daunting task) into a personal plea for therapeutic well-being (a much easier goal). The debate would not be a head-on, rational discussion about whether the sexual revolution was acceptable by the standards of God’s Word, natural law, or Western tradition. The debate would not be about what was good for children, good for the public, or even good for those drawn to LGBTQ behavior. Instead, “pride” made the debate about feelings of personal acceptance. Changing the culture is hard work and takes a long time (about 50 years, it turns out). Convincing people to stop making other people feel bad is a much easier sell.

Even today, “pride” can be difficult to refute on an emotive level. By marching for “pride”—instead of marching for gay sex or sex-change operations for minors—the public isn’t asked to affirm actions and appearances they often instinctively find distasteful. They are asked to affirm that people should not feel ashamed of themselves. Those who hold to Biblical standards of sex and sexuality are forced to play the entire game on their side of the 50-yard line. Do you really want people to feel bad about themselves? Do you want to make people suffer? Aren’t you concerned about suicide and self-loathing? How can anyone be against “pride” if the alternative is violent, morbid, relentless shame? Pride Month turns a moral argument—about which the Bible has clear and unequivocal answers—into a quest for personal self-acceptance, which is why many soft-hearted and muddle-headed Christians line up for the parade just like everyone else.

If you need the worlds of sports, entertainment, education, media, and government to celebrate your sexuality in order to feel proud, maybe your conscience is trying to tell you something.

But, of course, “pride” is not the only antidote to shame. There are other alternatives, like contrition, repentance, and chastity. Or Spirit-empowered struggle and victory. Or gospel-infused forgiveness and transformation. One way to deal with shame is to convince yourself it shouldn’t be there. The other way is to lay it at the foot of the cross.

In the end, as effective as this marketing coup has been, Pride Month also serves as a reminder that there are behaviors and desires about which we should not be proud. As fallen human beings, we are more rationalizing than rational. We know how to suppress the truth in unrighteousness (Romans 1:18). If we deceive ourselves long enough—two generations will probably do it—God threatens to withdraw His restraining mercy and give us up to dishonorable passions. And this includes women exchanging natural relations for those that are contrary to nature and men committing shameless acts with men (1:26–27). The punishment for these and other sins is sometimes death, not only for those who do them but for all who approve of those who practice them (1:32). Some deeds done in secret are too shameful even to speak aloud (Ephesians 5:12). The ubiquitous Pride parade may not be a march toward cultural suicide as much as it is a sign that we are already dead.

And yet, it’s also a sign that God-given moral reasoning is not so easily vacated. If you need the worlds of sports, entertainment, education, media, and government to celebrate your sexuality in order to feel proud, maybe your conscience is trying to tell you something. Might it be that deep down—behind the torrent of rainbow flags and the blitz of billionaire sponsors—God is speaking to us a different word? Maybe the perversity of the sexual revolution is desperate for one-twelfth of the year to convince all of us that darkness really is light. Maybe it takes the entire apparatus of cultural approbation to convince us that the unnatural is natural. Maybe we need the noise of a thousand parades to silence our collective memory of 2,000 years of Christian history in the West.

If it takes the entire world marching in unison to assuage the guilty conscience, perhaps “pride” is just a pretense.

Busyness and Rest

Wed, 03 Jul 2019 16:44:00 GMT

For years, this passage from Mark has boggled my mind:

And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed. And Simon and those who were with him searched for him, and they found him and said to him, “Everyone is looking for you.” And he said to them, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also, for that is why I came out.” And he went throughout all Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and casting out demons. (Mark 1:35–39)

Jesus amazes me. His incarnation, His resurrection, His ascension, His exaltation—these defy description. But I’m also amazed by the more mundane things about Jesus’ life, like the fact that He never uttered a thoughtless word, never spent a wasted day, never strayed from His Father’s plan. I have often marveled to think that Jesus was so terrifically busy, but only with the things He was supposed to be doing.

Many of us are so familiar with the Gospels that we fail to see the obvious: Jesus was a very busy man. One of Mark’s favorite words is “immediately.” For three years, Jesus and His band of disciples were a whirlwind of activity. One event immediately follows another. In Mark 1, Jesus begins His public ministry by teaching in the synagogue, rebuking an unclean spirit, caring for Simon’s mother-in-law, and then staying up late into the night healing many who were sick with various diseases and casting out many demons (1:14–34). At one point, Jesus is too busy even to eat, and His family thinks He is losing His mind (3:20–21). Jesus has crowds coming to Him all the time. He has people looking for Him, demanding His time and attention. The impression we get from the Gospels is that almost every day for three years, He was preaching, healing, and casting out demons.

Don’t think Jesus is some kind of esoteric teacher who spent His life solely in contemplation. If Jesus ministered in the flesh today, He’d get more emails than any of us. He would have people and the media clamoring for His attention. Jesus did not float above the fray, untouched by the pressures of normal human existence. Jesus was tempted in every way that we are, yet without sin (Heb. 4:15). And that includes the temptation to be sinfully busy.

But He wasn’t. Sinful, that is. He was busy, but never in a way that made Him frantic, anxious, irritable, proud, envious, or distracted by lesser things. When all Capernaum waited for His healing touch, He left for a desolate place to pray. And when the disciples urged Him to get back to work, He left for another town to preach. Jesus knew the difference between urgent and important. He understood that all the good things He could do were not necessarily the things He ought to do.

If Jesus had to be deliberate with His priorities, so will we. We will have to make it our mission to stay on mission. We will have to say no to good things. And we will have to work hard to rest.

Jesus knew the difference between urgent and important.

About five years ago, I rediscovered the importance of regular exercise. I’ve enjoyed running since I was a kid, and it’s something I did throughout high school and college. But as the years added up (and a few pounds too), exercise became something I did less and less frequently. But then a friend and I decided to sign up for a triathlon, something neither of us had ever done before. So I started swimming, biking, and running—pretty much every day of the week, except for Sunday.

And you know what? I really liked it. Still do. It’s been one of the best things I’ve done in the last five years. I’m sure that I get more done each week by stepping away from my to-do list and making time to exercise.

But I’ve learned that even though exercise is a kind of “rest,” you won’t benefit from exercise if you don’t actually rest. Since I’m a better student than I am an athlete, I’ve supplemented my new exercise routine with lots of reading about exercise. I’ve read more than two dozen books on swimming, biking, and running over the past few years. And they all say the same thing. The biggest inhibitor for people who are serious about exercise (and serious enough to read books about exercise) is not willpower or hard work. It’s rest. When you work out, your hearts and lungs are stressed; your muscles are put under strain and undergo microscopic tears. The exercise itself doesn’t make you stronger. It’s only when you rest that your body is strengthened. “Well, that was kind of hard,” your body says to itself. “We should build some more muscles there, burn some extra fat next time, send some more blood flowing, and make the lungs expand so they can get more oxygen.”

One magazine article I read had six training laws from professional athletes. Rules 1, 2, and 3: You are going way too hard. And rule 6: You need to sleep more. Just as it is with your physical body, so it is with your spiritual body: the capacity of your body, mind, and heart to face greater and bigger challenges will not be maximized when you push yourself to the max every single day. In exercise as in life, we will never grow if we never rest.

There is always the danger of falling into legalism when we talk about rest in general or Sabbath rest in particular. But surely, undue scrupulosity is not the danger for most of us. Neglecting God’s gift is the far greater danger. The first thing we have to remember about the Sabbath is what Jesus said: the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. Rest—on any day—is God’s gift to us, if only we trust Him enough to take it.

Praying to Our Father Is a Spiritual Privilege

Mon, 25 Jul 2022 09:00:00 GMT

A Family Affair

The first word of the Lord’s Prayer in our English translation is “Our” (Matt. 6:9), but the first word in Greek is pater, father. Sometimes you’ll hear the Lord’s Prayer called “Paternoster,” which comes from the first two words in the Latin version of the prayer. Interestingly, there is an old type of elevator called a paternoster that is found mainly in Europe. It has a number of wooden platforms that cycle up and down without stopping. In order to ride on the paternoster, you have to step on and step off as it moves. According to some people, the device is called a paternoster because the contraption resembles rosary beads. I was told the name came from people praying every time they dared to use the thing.

Matthew 6:9 is not about elevators (even if it is elevated speech!). Again, we are probably too familiar with the prayer to properly marvel at what it says. The God of the universe—the God who made the world out of nothing; the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; the God of the ten plagues and the Red Sea; the God of the glory cloud in the tabernacle; the God who shakes the cedars of Lebanon; the God who showed himself to Daniel as the great Ancient of Days; the God before whom no one can stand face to face and live—Jesus wants us to call this God “Father.”

To pray with intimacy to God as father is not a human right; it is a spiritual privilege. It is a privilege for the people of God who have been born again by the Spirit of God. “To all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God” (John 1:12–13). It is not our natural human birthright to call God “Father”; it is our born-again spiritual birthright.

Granted, there is a sense in which one could say that God is father to all, insofar as all people owe their existence to God (Acts 17:28–29). But that’s never how Jesus speaks of God the Father. One book I read made the old liberal argument about the universal fatherhood of God: “He is the father of all men.” As proof of that point, the author cites not a single Bible verse but quotes Rudolf Bultmann.1 There is no biblical warrant for thinking that God is father to all and that we are all his children in a spiritual sense.

God, Our Father

Only disciples get to call God “Father.” Even in the Old Testament, where the fatherhood of God is less clear than in the New Testament, we see that this intimate relationship of a father and his children is the special privilege reserved for God’s people. Fifteen times the Old Testament uses father in a religious sense. But in the New Testament it is used 245 times. What was occasionally present in the Old Testament has become central in the New Testament, namely, that by God’s initiative we can approach God as our father. “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God” (1 John 3:1).

Incidentally, but importantly, we cannot substitute “Mother” for “Father.” Yes, the Bible sometimes describes God with maternal characteristics, e.g., tender like a nursing mother (Isa. 49:15) or like a hen brooding over her young (Matt. 23:37). We don’t have to be embarrassed using those same sort of images, but that is not at all the same as naming God as mother. God is spirit, and he doesn’t have a body. He does not have a biological gender; he’s not male or female. Throughout Scripture he reveals himself as a king, a husband, and a father but never as a queen, a wife, or a mother. We have no warrant to pray to God in ways we may think sound better, are more culturally attuned, or our world thinks are more appropriate. The act of naming is an inherent act of authority (think of God naming Adam, and Adam naming Eve). We would be greatly presumptuous to think that we could give God a new identity and a new name without doing violence to revelation and usurping God’s divine prerogatives (Ex. 3:13). This is not about the superiority of men over women; it is simply the way in which God has chosen to reveal himself, with masculine pronouns and titles.

[God] delights to hear from his children, to know that we love him, that we want to be with him, that we trust him, that we believe he cares for us, that we know he can do anything about everything.

To call on God as father is a gift of the triune God. It may look like prayer involves only the first person of the Trinity, but Romans 8 tells us that it is the Spirit of God who enables us to cry, “Abba! Father!,” bearing witness that we are children, heirs of God, and fellow heirs with Christ (vv. 14–17). Anyone who truly prays the Lord’s Prayer from the heart is demonstrating the work of the glorious Trinity. In union with God the Son, God the Spirit works in our hearts so that we call out in faith to God the Father.

The biggest indicator of Christian prayer (because, after all, lots of people pray) is not the geographic direction in which we pray, or the body position while we pray, or even that we experience a certain feeling when we pray. What makes it Christian prayer is, first, an awareness of the one to whom we pray. God doesn’t want or need or delight in the mere repetition of words and phrases. He delights to hear from his children, to know that we love him, that we want to be with him, that we trust him, that we believe he cares for us, that we know he can do anything about everything. What we need when we pray is less awareness of ourselves and more awareness of God. When I get distracted or discouraged in prayer, I have to remind myself of the simple fact that someone is there, someone is listening, and not just anyone, but my Father who is in heaven. When I pray, I’m not going through a spiritual soliloquy, a ritual for the day, or something important to check off before I go to work; I am speaking to my Father and my God.

Remember who you are talking to in prayer. Jesus puts the prayer into the most intimate family terms. It’s not, first, about proper protocol; when we know to whom we are talking, the right approach will follow. He’s not your roommate or your butler or your girlfriend, so don’t be chummy or demanding or romantic. But neither are we told to pray to him as a dictator, a parole officer, or a harsh taskmaster, like we have to plead with him against his better judgment to listen to us. So don’t grovel, don’t squirm, and don’t be afraid. Come to him as a child, comforted that your Father loves you and confident that he wants to hear from you.

Notes:

Charles M. Laymon, The Lord’s Prayer in Its Biblical Setting (Nashville, TN: Abingdon: 1968), 85.

This article is adapted from The Lord’s Prayer: Learning from Jesus on What, Why, and How to Pray by Kevin DeYoung.

What Does It Mean to Pray “Your Kingdom Come”?

Mon, 29 Aug 2022 15:00:00 GMT

The Kingdom of God

What is meant by God’s kingdom and by God’s will in the Lord’s prayer? Let’s start with the word kingdom.

The Greek word for kingdom (basileia) occurs 162 times in the New Testament, so clearly this is an important biblical term. Although the Lord’s Prayer uses the word kingdom as a stand-alone term, it is obviously a reference to God’s kingdom. Any correct understanding of kingdom in the New Testament must emphasize that it is the kingdom of God. Matthew’s Gospel often calls it the “kingdom of heaven,” but that is simply a Jewish way of referring to the kingdom that belongs to the God who dwells in heaven.

A simple definition is to think of the kingdom of God as his reign and rule. Another way to think of the kingdom is as God’s redemptive presence coming down from heaven to earth.

It is important to say something here about the relationship between the kingdom and the church. The two are not identical, but they cannot be separated, and in this life, they largely overlap. We can think of the church as a kind of outpost or embassy of the kingdom. An embassy is a national outpost situated in a foreign land. The embassy, while it wants to dwell peacefully in the foreign land, exists to advance the interests of another country. Likewise, the church—dwelling on earth in various nations around the world—exists to advance the interests of another kingdom, a heavenly kingdom. The church is the place where you expect to see the values and rules of the kingdom honored and upheld. The church is supposed to be the outpost of heaven on earth, which is why the poor should be provided for in the church and why the wicked and unbelieving don’t belong in the church. The reason the church in its mission is not about societal transformation is the same reason the church does not throw sinners into the lake of fire. The heaven on earth we seek to create is the heavenly reality among God’s people in the church. Yes, we believe in a heaven on earth, but not in a utopian scheme of transforming society writ large. History is littered with bad example after bad example of people who thought they could create heaven on earth. Human attempts to create heaven on earth have killed millions.

Life in the church looks forward to the eternal life where God’s redemptive presence will be enjoyed to the fullest. In the age to come, the kingdom will no longer be something that has broken in here or there; it will be all in. Think of the good news from Revelation 11:15, which you may have heard in Handel’s Messiah: “The kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever.” That’s what’s coming. The kingdom of God is the heavenly world breaking into our earthly existence. Do not think of the kingdom as a realm to which we are going as much as a reality that is coming to us. The kingdom reveals both the meaning and the goal of history. From this brief survey of redemptive history, we can see that the kingdom is both present and future.

Already and Not Yet

In one sense, Jesus is already King. In another sense, he needs to become King. The kingdom of God can refer to the age to come:

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people from one another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” (Matt. 25:31–34)

That is the kingdom that is coming. It’s the age to come, the heavenly reward.

Similarly, in Matthew 13 Jesus says the Son of Man will send his angels to gather out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all lawbreakers and throw them into the fiery furnace. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father (Matt. 13:41–43). That’s the age to come. And Jesus says in John 18:36 that his kingdom is not of this world, meaning that he did not come to rule from an earthly throne and that his kingdom had not yet been established.

Clearly, then, the kingdom, in one sense, is coming. But in another sense, it has come. We won’t make sense of the New Testament until we get these two things in our head: the kingdom has come and is coming. Jesus says, “If it is by the Spirit of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you” (Matt. 12:28). It’s present. In Luke 17:21 Jesus tells the Pharisees they are looking for the kingdom in the wrong ways by expecting an observable king like they had experienced in the past. “The kingdom of God,” Jesus says, “is in the midst of you.” Now that’s an audacious thing to say. If I went around saying, “The kingdom is right here in the midst of you because I’m here,” that would be a good reason for my church to make me their former senior pastor. But Jesus can say it because it’s true. Where he is, where the King is, there the kingdom has come. And Colossians 1:13 says believers have been delivered from the domain of darkness and transferred into the kingdom of God’s beloved Son.

The kingdom comes when and where the King is known.

The kingdom is already and not yet. It is present and future. It is like the sun in the sky breaking through the clouds, but the rain has not fully passed and the brightness of the sun is not now experienced as it will be in the future. This is why Jesus tells so many parables with the same basic point: the kingdom looks small and unimpressive right now, but at the end of the age it will be unbelievably grand and glorious.

I’m belaboring this point because “kingdom” is one of those areas over which well-meaning Christians can get their theology sideways. We need to be on our guard against certain misunderstandings about the kingdom of God. Think about the apostles in Acts 1. Jesus has risen from the dead and is about to ascend into heaven. And as the disciples are gathered together, they ask one final question of Jesus: “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” (1:6). They say there are no bad questions, but this one came close. The disciples show once again that they do not fully understand what sort of messiah Jesus is and what sort of kingdom he brings.

They also misunderstand the timing of the kingdom. They think it is all present (“at this time”), when it is present and future. That is why the Acts passage concludes, “This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven” (1:11). They misunderstand the domain of the kingdom. They are still thinking of a national kingdom for Israel, when Jesus is talking about a universal kingdom. Membership in this dominion is not by ethnic heritage or geography. You enter by faith and repentance, and it is available and extended to all who will enter by faith and repentance. This is why Jesus again corrects their thinking in Acts 1:8, saying in effect, “It’s too small a thing for me to restore an earthly kingdom to Israel. You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” This is not a kingdom for Israel; it is a universal kingdom.

Most fundamentally, they misunderstood the nature of the kingdom. They thought it was political and earthly, when it was spiritual and heavenly. All throughout the Gospels, people were expecting Jesus to marshal an army, throw off the Romans, and establish a literal and obvious throne. But the good news of the kingdom would not be good news to Gentiles in Ephesus or Rome if it were a message about an earthly throne in Jerusalem. No, it’s about a universal, heavenly, spiritual kingdom. The violent tried to take the kingdom of heaven by force (Matt. 11:12), but Jesus said, no one can see the kingdom unless he is born again (John 3:3). Over and over, he’s correcting their misunderstanding about the nature of the kingdom. “You are thinking that this comes by earthly means; it doesn’t. It comes by the Spirit of God.”

We cannot bring about the kingdom by elections or education or humanitarian good works or environmental stewardship or by the cultivation of the arts. This is where we must not be confused. Yes, kingdom values should infiltrate our politics. Kingdom living should make a difference in our communities. But let us not misunderstand the nature of the kingdom. The kingdom does not advance when trees are planted, or unemployment lowered, or beautiful art is created, or elections go one way or another. Those may all be important things. They may reflect certain values of the kingdom. But the kingdom comes when and where the King is known. When Jesus is loved and worshiped and believed upon, there the kingdom of God is in the midst of you.

This article is adapted from The Lord’s Prayer: Learning from Jesus on What, Why, and How to Pray by Kevin DeYoung.

Justification and Regeneration: Practical Writings on Saving Faith

Fri, 03 Jun 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Healthy doctrines of justification and regeneration have always been essential to the Christian’s faith and knowledge of God. In the context of 18th century Great Britain and its American Colonies, few treatments were as highly regarded as John Witherspoon’s An Essay on Justification and A Practical Treatise on Regeneration, both reprinted in this volume.

Providing a careful summary of Witherspoon’s life and thought, Kevin DeYoung’s introduction and notes are an invaluable guide to these classic works. Justification and Regeneration is both milk and solid food for the Christian–an incisive study of the converted person’s standing before God, along with a pastoral exploration of the power of that conversion.

Our Hope in the Ascension

Thu, 18 May 2023 09:00:00 GMT

“We must place our hope in men,” said Gandalf.

“Men!” Elrond replied. “The race of men is weak, failing. The blood of Numenor is all but spent, its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of men that the Ring survives. I was there, three thousand years ago, when Isildur took the ring. I was there when the strength of men failed.”

This scene from J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy should remind us of the doctrine of the Ascension. Elrond was right, but Gandalf was more right. Yes, the race of men is weak. Yes, evil survives (and thrives) because one man took what he should not have taken. Yes, the strength of men failed thousands of years ago. But our hope in human flesh is not misplaced. In Tolkien’s story, there is a Man—Aragorn—to sit on Gondor’s throne. Just as because of Christ’s Ascension, human flesh now sits at the right hand of God.

Of all the aspects of Christ’s work in his state of exaltation, the Ascension is one of the most overlooked.

Of all the aspects of Christ’s work in his state of exaltation, the Ascension is one of the most overlooked. Every Christian knows something about the Resurrection. Most look forward to Christ’s coming again. But few could tell you much about the Ascension. To be sure, it’s there in the Creed, but most Christians—if they consider the Ascension at all—think of it as little more than a heavenly transit system. Jesus ascended into heaven; that’s how the Son of God got back home. Although Easter is a high point in the church calendar for most Christians, Ascension Day is virtually forgotten in many Protestant traditions, including my own Reformed tradition.

This has not always been the case. Even as Calvin and Bucer moved away from many of the Catholic calendar’s saint days and holy days, they still retained “Five Evangelical Feasts” in the church calendar: Christmas, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension Day, and Pentecost. The Palatinate Church Order of 1563 (an influential liturgical manual from the Heidelberg area of Germany) observed Easter, Ascension, Pentecost, Christmas, and New Year’s Day. The Church Order coming out of the Synod of Dort (1618–19) adopted what had long been the practice of Reformed churches in the Netherlands: the observation of several feast days (including the Ascension of Christ) in addition to Sunday. In the words of Daniel Hyde, for the Reformed tradition on the continent, these evangelical feasts were “not holy but helpful.”

More important than history, of course, is the Bible. And here we find that Christ’s ascension is more prominent in Scripture than many realize. Luke describes the Ascension in the most detail, first in his Gospel and then in Acts. Peter’s Pentecost sermon is, in part, about the Ascension and enthronement of Christ. Likewise, John’s Gospel is full of references to the Ascension of the Son of Man and the importance of Jesus returning to the Father.

The Ascension is not simply about getting Jesus to heaven. It matters how Jesus ascended. He ascended locally (a real geographic place), visibly (in front of many witnesses), and bodily (not some ethereal disappearance). The manner in which Jesus ascended will be the manner in which he descends at the end of the age. The blessed appearing of our Lord Savior will be an actual appearing—in the flesh, to the earth, witnessed by multitudes.

Just as important, the Ascension is a further fulfillment and vindication of the triumph of the Resurrection. It is no wonder that the Ascension is highlighted throughout the New Testament as a necessary precursor to a number of blessings in this age of the Spirit. The Ascension is linked to the giving of Messianic gifts (Eph. 4:8-10), to the intercession of our High Priest (Heb. 4:14-16), and to the subjection of all things under Christ’s feet (1 Peter 3:22). Because Jesus is our conquering king, he is positioned to gift us with the spoils of victory. Because Jesus is seated at the right hand of God the Father, he is able to plead his finished work on our behalf. And because Jesus is enthroned on high, he is able to rule over all things in heaven and on earth.

The Heidelberg Catechism mentions three ways that Christ’s Ascension benefits us:

First, he pleads our cause in heaven in the presence of his Father. Second, we have our own flesh in heaven—a guarantee that Christ our head will take us, his members, to himself in heaven. Third, he sends his Spirit to us on earth as a further guarantee. By the Spirit’s power we make the goal of our lives, not earthly things, but the things above where Christ is, sitting at God’s right hand.

Each of these points is worth pondering at length, but it’s the second benefit that is most shocking. The Ascension assures us that the Incarnation is perpetual. The God who, in the fullness of time, became man, will never, for all time, cease to be a man. The ascended Christ shows us what Adam was supposed to be and what we will one day become—not the natural Son of the Father, but kingly and priestly sons of our Father given to rule on the earth (Rev. 5:10). In some countries, Ascension Day is still a national holiday. It is a pity that most Christians in America do not know such a day exists, let alone why it might be important. Even if one is not enamored with the historic church calendar, surely the Ascension itself deserves to be remembered, taught, and commemorated. Christ’s resurrection cannot be separated from his ascension, which cannot be separated from his session and his second coming. Every aspect of his work in the state of exaltation must stand or fall together.

Christ will not be less exalted if we forget about the Ascension, but our appreciation for his exaltation will be diminished. As will our appreciation for the wonder that is a crucified King on heaven’s throne. Because the God-man triumphed, our hope in men is not wishful thinking. A man with our flesh reigns in heaven. A man from our race will return as King. A man sits on Gondor’s throne, and the race of men will reign once more (2 Tim. 2:12).

This article was originally published on May 26, 2022

The Power of the Two-Parent Home

Fri, 27 May 2022 12:03:05 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-power-of-the-two-parent-home/id1526483896?i=1000564790874

Editor’s note: The following essay appears in the Spring 2022 issue of Eikon.

Humanly speaking, there is nothing more important for personal well-being, positive social behavior, and general success in life than being raised by one’s biological parents committed to each other in a stable marriage. Over the past forty years, a vast body of research has demonstrated conclusively that children are deeply affected by family structure and that married parents are best for children. Any efforts — whether governmental, educational, or ecclesiastical — that mean to encourage human flourishing must take this reality into account as both an explanation for many societal ills and as a means to the end of hoped-for societal health and vitality.

Not a Myth

Family life in America has changed dramatically in a relatively short period of time. In 1960, 73% of children lived with two parents in their first marriage. By 2014, less than half (46%) of children were living in this type of family. Conversely, the percentage of children living with a single parent rose from 9% in 1960 to 26% in 2014. An additional 7% of children now live with cohabiting parents. Moreover, the increase in non-traditional family arrangements has coincided with the decoupling of marriage and childbearing. In 1960, just 5% of all births occurred outside of marriage. By 2000, around 40% of all births occurred outside of marriage (a percentage that has held steady over the last twenty years). As of 2014, 29% of births to white women, 53% of births to Hispanic women, and 71% of births to black women were out-of-wedlock. In the span of only 60 years, what were once considered exceptional family circumstances have become the norm.[1]

Given the changing portrait of the American family, it is not surprising that many people believe — or, given the uncomfortable prospect of implicitly judging others, feel compelled to say they believe — that there is no difference between one parent or two parents when it comes to raising children. According to one online survey, “more than 70% of participants believed that a single parent can do just as good a job as two parents.” Further, 60% of women “agreed that children do best with multiple adults invested and helping, but that two married parents are not necessary.”[2] Christina Cross, writing in the New York Times, went so far as to decry “The Myth of the Two-Parent Home,” citing evidence that black children in two-parent families still fare worse than white children in two-parent families.[3] But Cross’s argument fails to take into account how much better all children do in two-parent families compared to one-parent families of the same race. The percentage of white children living in poverty goes from 31% in families with only a mother, to 17% in families with only a father, all the way down to 5% in families with a married couple. The same percentages for black children go from 45% (mother-only), to 36% (father-only), to 12% (married couple). We can lament that black children in two-parent families are still 2.4 times more likely to be in poverty than white children (12% v. 5%), but we should also observe that white children raised by only a mother are 2.6 times as likely to be in poverty as black children raised by two parents (31% v. 12%). While there are still advantages to being white in this country, the much bigger advantage is being raised by two parents. It is better in America to be a black child raised by two parents than to be a white child in a one-parent home. The breakdown of the family is not a black problem; it is a problem wherever two-parent families decline and single-parent households become normalized.[4]

Family Structure and Child Well-Being

The conclusion that children raised by their biological, married parents do better, by almost every measure, has been proven in hundreds of studies over the last several decades.[5]

One of the best and most concise summaries of the academic literature comes from a policy brief published in 2003 by the Center for Law and Social Policy.[6] Citing a 1994 study by Sara McLanahan and Gary Sandefur, the 2003 brief notes that children who do not live with both biological parents were roughly twice as likely to be poor, to have birth outside of marriage, to have behavioral and psychological problems, and to not graduate from high school.[7] Another study found that children in single-parent homes were more likely to experience health problems, such as accidents, injuries, and poisonings.[8] Other research found that children living with single mothers were five times as likely to be poor.[9]

Importantly, not all types of single-parent households fare the same. Children of widowed parents, for example, do better than children in families with divorced or cohabiting parents.[10] Children of divorce are two-and-a-half times as likely to have serious social, emotional, or psychological problems as children from intact families.[11] Likewise, children in cohabiting families are at a higher risk of poor outcomes in a host of economic and emotional categories. Critically, these poor outcomes are not erased when the single-parent family is better off financially.[12] Marriage is the issue, not economics. In short,

Research indicates that, on average, children who grow up in families with both their biological parents in a low-conflict marriage are better off in a number of ways than children who grow up in single-, step- or cohabiting-parent households. Compared to children who are raised by their married parents, children in other family types are more likely to achieve lower levels of education, to become teen parents, and to experience health, behavior, and mental health problems. And children in single- and cohabiting-parent families are more likely to be poor.[13]

An updated analysis comes from the Fall 2015 issue of the journal The Future of Children.[14] In their introduction to the issue, Sara McLanahan and Isabel Sawhill take it as a given that “most scholars now agree that children raised by two biological parents in a stable marriage do better than children in other family forms across a wide range of outcomes.”[15]Even with this consensus, there is still disagreement about why marriage is so important. In his article in the same journal, David Ribar analyzes a number of possible mechanisms that make marriage so effective: economic resources, specialization, father involvement, parents’ physical and mental health, parenting quality and skills, social support, health insurance, home ownership, parental relationships, bargaining power, family stability, net wealth, borrowing constraints, informal social networks, and the efficiencies of married life. Ribar concludes that while these factors often play a role in the benefits of marriage, the advantages of marriage are hard to replicate by augmenting these factors alone. In other words, “the advantages of marriage for children appear to be the sum of many, many parts” and as such the best policy interventions are “those that bolster marriages themselves.”[16]

More recently, Katy Faust and Stacy Manning have summarized much of the primary source research in their 2021 book Them Before Us: Why We Need a Global Children’s Rights Movement. Again, we find that children reared in intact homes do best on educational achievement, emotional health, familial and sexual development, and delinquency and incarceration.[17] Children living with a mother’s boyfriend are about eleven times more likely to be sexually, physically, or emotionally abused than children living with their married biological parents.[18] And children separated from one or both of their biological parents are 1.5 times as likely to experience financial difficulty, six times as likely to have witnessed neighborhood violence, fifteen times as likely to have witnessed caregiver or parent violence, eleven times as likely to have lived with a caregiver or parent with a drug or alcohol problem, and seventeen times as likely to have had a caregiver or parent in jail.[19] In short, there is virtually no measurement of well-being in which it is not a significant — indeed, often life altering — advantage to be raised by one’s biological (and married) father and mother.

In Support of Children (and the Future)

As Christians, of course, our ultimate confidence does not rest in the findings of social science research. We know from the Bible that God created one man and one woman to enter into the covenant of marriage (Gen 2:18–25), and that from this conjugal union God desires children to be produced (Mal 2:15), and that these children are a blessing to their parents (Ps 127:3) and ought to be brought up by their mother and father in the fear and admonition of the Lord (Eph 6:1–4). Scientific research is valuable insofar as it can reinforce the truths of the Bible and principles of natural law; namely, that when we observe the way the world works (and does not work), it becomes abundantly clear that marriage matters for human flourishing almost more than anything else.

So what can we do to strengthen marriages and promote the well-being of children? Let me close with four brief suggestions.

First, pastors, Christian educators, parents, and church leaders need to do more to teach on this subject. I do not mean pre-marital counseling and marriage retreats, as important as those are. I mean we must teach more broadly about the crucial importance of marriage as both a personal and public good. Our culture promotes the message that every family arrangement is as good as another. That is simply not true. We need to help our people understand the reality and see what is at stake.

Second, we ought to encourage public policies that make pro-child marriages more attractive and less healthy family arrangements more difficult. So, for example, we should not penalize marriage by tying welfare benefits to singleness. We should make divorce harder, not easier (e.g., legislation that requires counseling before divorce can be finalized). We should consider tax benefits that reward marriage and childbearing. And we must dare to talk about fatherlessness as a leading factor (if not the leading factor) in the deterioration of cultural and family health among all races and ethnicities.

Third, we should consider how we have normalized behavior that harms children and does not lead to human flourishing.It may not be possible to change the wider culture in such a profound way, but we can start by looking at our own church culture. This may sound unloving at first, but we must re-stigmatize fornication and promiscuity, cohabitation, and no-fault divorce. Social approval for behaviors that used to be considered sinful (or at least inappropriate and unwise) has been a powerful force in changing the state of marriage in the West. Stigma often speaks louder than dogma. As Christians, we must find ways to lovingly help and forgive those who make mistakes, and especially those who suffer from the mistakes that others have made. I am not suggesting we stigmatize people, but we should stigmatize sinful behaviors. Everyone in the church today has been touched by divorce, sex before marriage, or out-of-wedlock births.[20]These are difficult subjects to talk about, but we must not bemoan the culture out there — with its sin-enticing, righteousness-denying, worldliness-normalizing ethos — while we are unwilling to deal with compromises in our own midst.

Fourth, unless called to singleness for kingdom purposes, we must encourage Christians to get married, have children, stay married, and raise those children in a stable two-parent family. Obviously, the ideal is not always possible. Divorce is not always our choice. Spouses sometimes die young. Marriage does not always come. Children do not always follow. That is why we believe in adoption, and second chances, and in God’s good plan in all things. But insofar as most people in the church will marry and have children, they need to hear that getting married, staying married, and raising children in the Lord is no small thing. In fact, it is one of the biggest and best things we can do — for the church, for the nation, and for the kingdom. After the gospel, there is no bigger gift you can give to the world than your children and no better gift you can give your children than to be raised by a mom and dad who love them and love each other.

[1] These figures were taken from Pew Research Center, December 17, 2015, “Parenting in America: Outlook, worries, aspirations are strongly linked to financial situation.”

[2] Cited in Alysse ElHage, “When it Comes to Child Well-Being, Is One Parent the Same as Two?” Institute for Family Studies (September 7, 2017).

[3] Christina Cross, “The Myth of the Two Parent Home,” New York Times (December 9, 2019).

[4] These figures and this rebuttal to Cross come from Ian Rowe, “The Power of the Two-Parent Home Is Not a Myth,” Flypaper (January 8, 2020). Rowe notes that the percentage of births to unmarried women has grown most rapidly in recent years among white women.

[5] The term “biological” is used to distinguish between adoptive parents and step-parents. Citing testimony from Nicholas Zill in 1995, the article referenced below from the Center for Law and Social Policy claims that “Adopted children have very similar outcomes to children raised by both biological parents” ( n1). A new study, however, authored by Nicholas Zill and W. Bradford Wilcox concludes that adopted children, despite being placed with highly educated parents who have above-average incomes, exhibit more academic, behavioral, and mental health problems than children raised by their married biological parents. The last paragraph from the study is worth quoting in full: “There is little question that adopted children are better off than they would be in long-term foster or institutional care. At the same time, the survey data reveal the complex challenges adopted children face in overcoming the effects of early stress, deprivation, and the loss of the biological family. It is vital that current and potential adoptive parents be aware of the challenges they may face, as well as the eventual benefits that will accrue to them and the child as a result of the love and resources they provide and the struggles they endure.” Nicholas Zill and W. Bradford Wilcox, “The Adoptive Difference: New Evidence on How Adopted Children Perform in School,” Institute for Family Studies (March 26, 2018).

[6] Mary Parke, “Are Married Parents Really Better for Children?” Center for Law and Social Policy (May 2003).

[7] Ibid., 2–3.

[8] Ibid., 3.

[9] Ibid., 7.

[10] Ibid., 3.

[11] Ibid., 4.

[12] Ibid., 5–6.

[13] Ibid., 8.

[14] “Marriage and Child Wellbeing Revisited” The Future of Children, 25:2 (Fall 2015).

[15] Sara McLanahan and Isabel Sawhill, “Marriage and Child Wellbeing Revisited: Introducing the Issue,” The Future of Children, 25:2 (Fall 2015), 4.

[16] David C. Ribar, Why Marriage Matters for Child Wellbeing,” The Future of Children, 25:2 (Fall 2015), 23.

[17] Katy Faust and Stacy Manning, Them Before Us: Why We Need a Global Children’s Rights Movement (New York: Post Hill Press, 2021), 31 (citing Ryan T. Anderson).

[18] Ibid., 37 (citing W. Bradford Wilcox).

[19] Ibid., 43 (citing a 2011–2012 study conducted by the CDC).

[20] Strictly speaking, Christians ought to stigmatize the behavior that leads to out-of-wedlock births (i.e., fornication, promiscuity), not the birth itself. When a woman becomes pregnant outside of marriage, the decision to have the child should be celebrated and encouraged.

The Biggest Story Storybook Bible: Free Printable Verse Cards

Wed, 25 May 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Crossway created a set of free verse cards from The Biggest Story Storybook Bible. Download them for free today.

Harry Emerson Fosdick and the Spirit of American Liberalism

Sat, 21 May 2022 09:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/harry-emerson-fosdick-and-the-spirit/id1526483896?i=1000563958681

On May 21, 1922, Harry Emerson Fosdick took to the pulpit of Old First—the historic First Presbyterian Church (est. 1716) located on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan—to deliver what would be his most famous sermon. The American church broadly, and the Presbyterian church specifically, were already divided into conservative and liberal camps. Fosdick’s sermon did not create this theological and ecclesiastical division. But his sermon that spring clearly exposed the division, and, more than that, it exemplified all the reasons for it. For as much as Fosdick thought of himself as irenic, moderate, and peace-loving, one does not entitle a sermon “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?” without meaning to pick a fight.[1]

A Sermon for the Times

The text for Fosdick’s sermon that morning came from Acts 5:38-39 where the esteemed Gamaliel, a leader of the Jewish Sanhedrin, counsels an angry mob to leave the apostles alone, for if their “work be of men, it will come to nought: but if it be of God, ye cannot overthrow it.” Whether Fosdick fancied himself Gamaliel or not, he considered the Pharisee’s words from the first century to be a model for the twentieth century. What the church needed more than ever was a spirit of liberality and tolerance. In particular, this meant a spirit of charity toward the “multitudes of reverent Christians who have been unable to keep this new knowledge [about science, history, and religion] in one compartment of their minds and the Christian faith in another.” In affirming the aphorism “cantankerousness is worse than heterodoxy,” Fosdick argued that “the worst kind of church that can be offered to the allegiance of the new generation is an intolerant church.”

At the heart of the sermon was an indictment of fundamentalists and their fundamentals. Ostensibly, Fosdick was simply making the case that no one has “a right to deny the Christian name to those who differ” on the disputed points of Fundamentalism, but it was also obvious that Fosdick looked on fundamentalist doctrines with incredulity. Fosdick questioned the historicity of miracles and the Virgin Birth, he denied the inerrancy of the Scriptures and the atonement as a propitiatory sacrifice, and he did not accept the second coming of Christ as a literal event to be looked for in the clouds.

Key to Fosdick’s theological hermeneutic was his conviction that religion was an evolutionary development, and that religious belief should evolve as well. Just as people in previous generations had to learn that the earth revolves around the sun, so our generation must find a way for “the new knowledge and the old faith” to be “blended in a new combination.” In Fosdick’s estimation, educated people were turned off by the staid doctrines of the past and were starting to look for religious answers outside the church. If the church did not offer new ideas for a new day, it would suffer embarrassment and sink into irrelevance.

In the sermon’s stirring conclusion, Fosdick stated adamantly, “I do not believe for a moment that the Fundamentalists are going to succeed.” Love would triumph over intolerance; that’s what mattered. “There are many opinions in the field of modern controversy,” Fosdick observed, “concerning which I am not sure whether they are right or wrong, but there is one thing I am sure of: courtesy and kindliness and tolerance and humility and fairness are right. Opinions may be mistaken; love never is.” That last sentence perfectly captures the spirit of Fosdick’s sermon and the spirit of the liberalism he did so much to promote. For Fosdick, it was a “penitent shame that the Christian church should be quarreling over little matters when the world is dying of great needs.” The fundamentalists were insisting on dubious theological theories and waging war for doctrinal idiosyncrasies when, in Fosdick’s words, “So much of it does not matter!” In Fosdick’s mind, there was “not a single thing at stake in the controversy on which depends the salvation of human souls.” The need of the hour was not theological wrangling, but laboring so “that men in their personal lives and in their social relationships should know Jesus Christ.” In short, Fosdick’s vision for the church was the expansive charity of liberalism instead of the cramped rigidity of fundamentalism. “God keep us,” he exhorted in the last line of his sermon, “intellectually hospitable, open-minded, liberty-loving, fair, tolerant, not with the tolerance of indifference as though we did not care about the faith, but because always our major emphasis is upon the weightier matters of the law.”

A Heretic for his Generation

Harry Emerson Fosdick was born in 1878 in Buffalo, New York into a family that Fosdick later described as both “deeply Christian” and possessing “a strong tradition of noncomformity.”[2] Although he readily embraced his parents’ faith—by contagion rather than coercion, he recalled—religion became the main source of his unhappiness as a child. In his autobiography, Fosdick reflected (sounding more like an adult than a child) that “some of the most wretched hours of my boyhood were caused by the pettiness and obscurantism, the miserable legalism and terrifying appeals to fear that were associated with the religion of the churches.”[3] As a sensitive boy, deeply religious and morbidly introspective, Fosdick recalled “weeping at night for fear of going to hell.” He agonized that he had committed the unpardonable sin and that he would suffer forever in the horrors described in the book of Revelation.[4] It is not hard to see how the young Fosdick (or at least as he remembered himself) would grow into the adult Fosdick: an earnest man committed to the uplifting power of religion, with an equal commitment to ridding religion of antiquated and unhelpful elements from the past.

In 1900, Fosdick graduated from Colgate University where his thinking was profoundly shaped by the liberal Baptist theologian William Newton Clarke (1841-1912). At Colgate, Fosdick became a firm believer in evolution and a skeptic toward orthodox Christianity. When he first felt a call to ministry in college, most of his classmates were surprised. By his own admission, as a college student, he was a better dancer than theologian.[5] In fact, so eviscerated was his faith, Fosdick wondered whether any church would want him for a pastor:

I was through with orthodox dogma. I had not the faintest interest in any sect or denomination. I could not have told clearly what I believed about any major Christian doctrine. I did not see how any denomination could ever accept me as its minister. But I did not care. I wanted to make a contribution to the spiritual life of my generation.[6]

In time, however, crowds would clamor for Fosdick the minister. After graduating with a Bachelor of Divinity from Union Theological Seminary in New York City in 1904, Fosdick was ordained to the Baptist ministry and took the pulpit of First Baptist Church in Montclair, New Jersey. After pastoring in Montclair for more than a decade, Fosdick crossed the Hudson and served in three different churches in New York City: First Presbyterian Church (1918-25), Park Avenue Baptist Church (1925-30), and Riverside Church (1930-1946), the interdenominational church whose 2500-seat gothic cathedral was conceived and financed by John D. Rockefeller, Jr. with the intention that Fosdick would be the senior pastor. Fosdick also taught homiletics at Union Theological Seminary from 1915 to 1946.

By all accounts, Fosdick was one of the most prominent preachers of the twentieth century. He wrote forty-seven books, numerous articles, and the well-known hymn “God of Grace and God of Glory.”[7] Martin Luther King, Jr., called Fosdick the greatest preacher of the century. Labeled as “modernism’s Moses,” Fosdick was a spiritual inspiration to some and a singular instance of spiritual declension to others. When Ivy Lee, a leading advertising executive and a member of Fosdick’s church, saw to it that “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?” was sent to every ordained Protestant minister in the country and that the sermon was reprinted in numerous liberal periodicals, there was bound to be a quick and vociferous response. For orthodox Presbyterians, Fosdick was everything they had feared and everything that was wrong with their denomination.

In Fosdick’s telling, “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?” was a plea for tolerance, a good faith petition for the church “to take in both liberals and conservatives without either trying to drive the other out.”[8] And yet, even Robert Moats Miller, Fosdick’s sympathetic biographer, acknowledges that “Fosdick was kidding himself” by characterizing the sermon in this way. “What were conservative Presbyterians to think when this Baptist declared himself from a Presbyterian pulpit belief in the virgin birth nonessential, the inerrancy of the Scriptures incredible, the second coming of Christ from the skies an outmoded phrasing of hope?”[9] Mired in denominational controversy and feeling the sting of criticism, Fosdick resigned his pastorate at Old Church in 1924. “They call me a heretic,” Fosdick said in his farewell sermon. “Well, I am a heretic if conventional orthodoxy is the standard. I should be ashamed to live in this generation and not be a heretic.”[10]

A Champion for True Liberalism

The purpose of this article is not to evaluate Fosdick’s ministry. Judged by historic Christian orthodoxy, let alone by the confessions of the Presbyterian church, Fosdick is a cautionary tale in how to end up on the wrong side of Machen’s “Christianity and Liberalism” divide. Judged by the internal logic of liberalism, Fosdick is a successful example—outdated though it may be—of how one man reached out to an unbelieving world with a message of Christian spirituality to those who might not have otherwise listened. “The idea of liberal theology,” writes Gary Dorrien, a professor at Fosdick’s alma mater, Union Theological Seminary, is the 300-year-old idea “that Christian theology can be genuinely Christian without being based upon external authority.” Liberalism is the belief that “religion should be modern and progressive from the standpoint of modern knowledge and experience.” It is the conviction that one can be a faithful Christian without believing in hell or in a universal flood, without believing that God commanded the extermination of the Canaanites, and without believing that God “demanded the literal sacrifice of his Son as a substitutionary legal payment for sin.”[11]

In all of this, Fosdick was one of liberalism’s most eloquent and effective spokesmen of the last century. Fosdick was not as radical as some of his followers would have liked. He was not a revolutionary. He valued the church or believed in the transforming power of Christianity (as he understood it). Like most mainliner Protestants of his age, Fosdick was anticommunist and an unapologetic supporter of democracy.[12] Later in life, under the influence of Swiss theologian Karl Barth, Fosdick insisted that the church had to go beyond modernism and that the world needed to rediscover the doctrine of sin. He was an “evangelical liberal” in that he took the Bible seriously—believed it contained old truths that needed to be expressed in new language—and wanted people to have a relationship with Jesus.[13]

And yet, even if Fosdick had an evangelical impulse to win the hearts of the masses, in any true theological sense of the word, he was a liberal. Indeed, Fosdick openly and unabashedly described himself as a liberal. And rightly so. When Fosdick preached about salvation from sin there was no clear doctrine of Christ’s atonement, no mention of divine wrath, only a vague sentiment that Jesus “came to save men from that inner wrongness that curses human life.”[14] Just as important, Fosdick did not believe in the divinity of Christ in any meaningful sense. “Wherever goodness, beauty, truth, love are—there is the divine,” Fosdick preached in a 1933 sermon. We can call Jesus divine if we mean “the divinity of his spiritual life,” but Jesus’s divinity differs from ours only in degree, not in kind.[15] In explicitly rejecting the Chalcedonian Definition—that Christ is the second person of the Trinity, eternal God, of one substance and equal with the Father, who took upon himself a human nature, so that the two distinct natures were inseparably joined together in one person—Fosdick argued that the historic church had “garbled [Jesus] beyond all recognition.[16] When Fosdick calls himself a heretic, we should take him at his word.

According to Miller, Fosdick’s ministry can be summed up with a single line: “though astronomies change, the stars abide.”[17] This was Fosdick’s conviction throughout his pastoral career. In one of his later sermons, he described religion as akin to courtesy: an inward spirit that expresses itself in many forms.[18] Preaching from Joshua 7:6 about Joshua falling on his face before the ark, Fosdick argued that “arks pass away, but religion remains.”[19] For many Christians, Fosdick explains, their “ark” is a special doctrine or specific denomination, some bit of ritual, some miracle in history, a special theory of the atonement, a belief in fiat creation or the Virgin Birth. “Such things may have been very precious in your experience,” Fosdick allows, but we must not confuse keeping the faith with keeping the ark.[20] Christians are too easily separated by creeds and rituals, when we can find common ground in our prayers and hymns.[21] That was the essence of Fosdick’s message and the essence of twentieth-century liberal Christianity. “If, then, you ask what a true liberalism is, I should say that it is one that pays little attention to the arks that divide, but cares with all its heart about the religion that unites.”[22]

[1] Harry Emerson Fosdick, “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?” Christian Work 102 (June 10, 1922), 716-722.

[2] Harry Emerson Fosdick, The Living of These Days: An Autobiography (New York: Harper and Row, 1956), 15, 19.

[3] Fosdick, The Living of These Days, 33.

[4] Fosdick, The Living of These Days, 35-36.

[5] Fosdick, The Living of These Days, 57.

[6] Fosdick, The Living of These Days, 57.

[7] See Gary Scott Smith, “Fosdick, Harry Emerson (1878-1969)” in American Religious History: Belief and Society Through Time, Volume 2: Reconstruction to World War II, Ed. Gary Scott Smith (Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO, 2021), 145-47.

[8] Fosdick, Living of These Days, 145.

[9] Robert Moats Miller, Harry Emerson Fosdick: Preacher, Pastor, Prophet (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 116.

[10] Fosdick, Living of These Days, 176.

[11] Gary Dorrien, The Making of American Liberal Theology: Imagining Progressive Religion, 1805-1900 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2001).

[12] See, for example, Fosdick’s sermon “A Religion to Support Democracy” (1955) in Answers to Real Problems: Selected Sermons of Harry Emerson Fosdick, Ed. Mark E. Yurs (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2008). “Democracy has done for us Christians an incalculable service, and now in her hour of need democracy asks us what we can do for her. What kind of religion ought ours to be if it is to support the democratic faith and practice?” (216).

[13] Mark Yurs calls Fosdick “an evangelical liberal” in his Introduction to Answers to Real Problems, viii.

[14] From Fosdick’s sermon “The Modern World’s Rediscovery of Sin” (1941) in Answers to Real Problems, 140.

[15] From Fosdick’s sermon “The Peril of Worshiping Jesus” (1933) in Answers to Real Problems, 32.

[16] Fosdick, “The Peril of Worshiping Jesus”, 33.

[17] Miller, Harry Emerson Fosdick, viii.

[18] From Fosdick’s sermon “Conservative and Liberal Temperaments in Religion” (1955) in Answers to Real Problems, 208.

[19] Fosdick, Answers to Real Problems, 208.

[20] Fosdick, Answers to Real Problems, 212.

[21]Fosdick, Answers to Real Problems, 214.

[22]Fosdick, Answers to Real Problems, 215.

The Good News of Limited Atonement

Tue, 05 Jul 2022 09:00:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-good-news-of-limited-atonement/id1526483896?i=1000562469475

The doctrine of limited atonement — the L in TULIP — teaches that Christ effectively redeems from every people “only those who were chosen from eternity to salvation” (Canons of Dort, II.8). As Ursinus explains in his commentary on the Heidelberg Catechism, Christ’s death was for everyone “as it respects the sufficiency of satisfaction which he made, but not as it respects the application thereof.” In other words, the death of Christ was sufficient to atone for the sins of the whole world, but it was God’s will that it should effectively redeem those and only those who were chosen from eternity and given to Christ by the Father.

Particular redemption is often considered a more favorable term, because the point of the doctrine is not to limit the mercy of God, but to make clear that Jesus did not die in the place of every sinner on the earth, but for his particular people. This is why John 6 says Jesus came to save those the Father had given to him, and why Matthew 1:21 says he died for his people, and John 15:13 says for his friends, and Acts 20:28 says for the church, and Ephesians 5:25 says for his bride, and Ephesians 1:4 says for those chosen in Christ Jesus.

The doctrine of particular redemption is worth defining and defending because it gets to the heart of the gospel.

The doctrine of particular redemption is worth defining and defending because it gets to the heart of the gospel. Should we say “Christ died so that sinners might come to him”? Or “Christ died for sinners”? Did Christ’s work on the cross make it possible for sinners to come to God? Or did Christ’s work on the cross actually reconcile sinners to God? In other words, does the death of Jesus Christ make us save-able or does it make us saved?

If the atonement is not particularly and only for the sheep, then either we have universalism — Christ died in everyone’s place and therefore everyone is saved — or we have something less than full substitution. “We are often told that we limit the atonement of Christ,” Charles Spurgeon observed, “because we say that Christ has not made a satisfaction for all men, or all men would be saved.” On the contrary, Spurgeon continued, “We say Christ so died that he infallibly secured the salvation of a multitude that no man can number, who through Christ’s death not only may be saved, but are saved, must be saved, and cannot by any possibility run the hazard of being anything but saved.”

Christ does not come to us merely saying, “I’ve done my part. I laid down my life for everyone because I have saving love for everyone in the whole world. Now, if you would only believe and come to me, I can save you.” Instead he says to us, “I was pierced for your transgressions. I was crushed for your iniquities” (Isaiah 53:5). “I have purchased with my blood men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation” (Revelation 5:9). “I myself bore your sins in my body on the tree, so that you might infallibly die to sins and assuredly live for righteousness. For my wounds did not merely make healing available. They healed you” (1 Peter 2:24).

Praise be to our Good Shepherd who didn’t just make salvation possible, but sustained the anger of God in body and soul, bore the curse, and laid down his life for the sheep (John 10:11).

The Epistle to the Romans by John Murray

Thu, 12 May 2022 15:27:44 GMT

I am thrilled to see this new edition of The Epistle to Romans. Murray’s commentary is not only an erudite and incisive exposition on one of the most important books in the Bible, it’s one of the best theological commentaries on any book of the Bible. This re-published volume will have a prized position in my library. I know I will open the pages of this classic work with regularity and with delight.

The Biggest Story Storybook Bible: Free Printable Coloring Pages

Wed, 11 May 2022 17:35:28 GMT

Crossway created a set of free coloring pages from The Biggest Story Storybook Bible. Download them for free today.

Seven Principles for Cultivating a Christian Posture toward the World

Thu, 09 Jun 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Important lessons to learn as we deal with negativity and hostility https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/seven-principles-for-cultivating-a-christian/id1526483896?i=1000560982885

Tim Keller recently tweeted about abortion and politics, then James Wood wrote a piece for First Things respectfully critiquing Keller’s approach to politics and cultural engagement, which prompted David French to defend Keller and critique Wood. By now, someone has probably offered an article criticizing them all.

Rather than responding to the specific arguments in particular, I’d like to zoom out and ask a broader question: What should the Christian’s posture be to a hostile world? Not surprisingly, the question does not allow for a simple answer. The message and model of the New Testament cannot be reduced to a single attitude or strategy. But there are important lessons to learn.

Here then are seven principles for cultivating a Christian posture toward our “negative” world.

1. Set an example of godliness for the unbeliever.

We should live demonstrably different lives, keeping our conduct honorable so that outsiders might give Christianity a hearing (1 Peter 2:12) or at least be put to shame for slandering us (1 Peter 3:16). This means we refuse to repay evil for evil. It also means we bless those who do not deserve it (1 Peter 3:9).

2. Be prepared to suffer.

Even those who do good may suffer for righteousness’ sake (1 Peter 3:14). We should not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon us (1 Peter 4:12). Winsomeness is often a desirable aim, but it is not by itself a sufficient cultural strategy. If the world hates the church, perhaps it’s not the church’s fault but the fulfillment of what Jesus promised (John 15:18). We can care for the poor, love one another, and get our tone right, but still, the world will hate those who are not of the world (John 15:19).

3. Build attractive bridges to welcome the curious in.

Although the application of 1 Corinthians 9:19–23 can be debated, the big idea is clear: We should be eager to remove barriers to the gospel. Coming to Christ takes a miracle of the Holy Spirit to regenerate the fallen human heart. We should not make the Holy Spirit provide a second miracle to overcome our stupidity. When someone wants to learn more about our faith, we should respond with gentleness and respect, not with boorishness (1 Peter 3:15).

We can care for the poor, love one another, and get our tone right, but still, the world will hate those who are not of the world

4. Build sturdy walls to keep false teachers and false teaching out.

The same Peter who counseled gentleness when making a defense of the faith also called the sexual libertines of his day “irrational animals” (2 Peter 2:12), “blots and blemishes” (verse 13), and “accursed children” (verse 14). The difference in Peter’s tone has everything to do with what or whom is trying to get into the church. The faithful minister builds both bridges and walls. Jesus didn’t rebuke the seven churches because they weren’t nice enough to the Nicolaitans. He rebuked them for tolerating that woman Jezebel who thought herself a big shot but was leading Christians into sexual immorality and idolatry (Revelation 2:20).

5. Do not think that one size fits all.

If we are to be wise in our posture toward the world, we must discern whether that creature in the distance is a lost sheep looking for home (Luke 15:3–8) or a pig ready to trample pearls under its feet (Matthew 7:6). Jesus patiently taught Nicodemus the Pharisee because he came looking for help (John 3:1–21), while John the Baptist denounced the Pharisees as a brood of vipers because they came looking for trouble (Matthew 3:7). If outsiders only get from us sunshine or thunder, we are probably living out our personalities more than we are trying to discern the sort of person in front of us and what message he needs to hear.

6. Approach cultural and ethical polarities on a case-by-case basis.

Some issues that divide Christians are adiaphora, matters left up to our consciences and guided by the goal of mutual edification (Romans 14:13–23). But sometimes there is no middle ground and no third way (1 Corinthians 5:1–13). When Jesus was asked about divorce, he sided with the more restrictive Shammai school over the Hillel school of interpretation. When asked about the resurrection, Jesus defended the resurrection in agreement with the Pharisees over against the Sadducees. In one sense, Jesus transcended those debates—He was, after all, calling people to Himself—but He didn’t act like both sides of the controversy were equally right and equally wrong or that the best answer was some of Column A plus some of Column B.

7. When people give you a hearing, don’t lead with a hard edge, and don’t leave the hard stuff out.

Think of Paul in the book of Acts. He begins his speech to the men of Athens with commendation and common ground, but he goes on to correct their worship, call them to repent, and proclaim the (hard-to-believe) resurrection. Likewise, Paul speaks respectfully to Felix, Festus, and Agrippa, but he does not avoid the doctrines and ethical demands he knew they would find disagreeable. In this, Paul is a model for us as we face an increasingly hostile world: courtesy wherever possible, clarity at all costs.

Lessons From Mainline Decline

Wed, 01 Jun 2022 09:00:00 GMT

The PCUSA is literally dying https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/lessons-from-mainline-decline/id1526483896?i=1000559553029

I grew up in the mainline church, and it won’t be until I’m nearly 80 years old that I will have spent more of my life outside the mainline church than inside it. I was born, baptized, confirmed, and ordained in the Reformed Church in America, a smallish (originally) Dutch denomination that, with its roots dating back to 1628 in New Amsterdam, boasts of being the oldest Protestant denomination with a continuing ministry in the United States. I am thankful for the many good people, good churches, and good pastors in the RCA. I met Jesus in the RCA, so there will always be reasons for gratitude.

But somewhere in my college years (at an RCA school), I realized that the denomination I grew up in was considered a part of the mainline tradition. So named for the affluent suburbs along Philadelphia’s main railroad line, the term “mainline Protestant” came to be synonymous with the old denominations that broke toward modernism (instead of fundamentalism) and often wore the label ecumenical (even if some of them still claimed to be evangelical).

If you aren’t a baby boomer or a student of religious history, it can be hard to fathom the cultural influence and social cohesion that once resided in mainline Protestantism. At its height in 1965, mainline Protestant churches counted 31 million members out of a U.S. population of less than 200 million. Most Protestants were in the mainline denominations, and the country’s cultural norms were set, for better or for worse, by the old school Protestant establishment.

Almost 60 years later, all of that has changed. In its recently released demographic report, the Presbyterian Church (USA) announced it lost another 51,584 members. From a membership peak of 4.25 million in 1965, the PCUSA rolls are now down to 1.19 million. And that membership decline hardly conveys the severity of the situation. In the last reporting year, the denomination dissolved 104 congregations and dropped four presbyteries. More than 40 percent of the congregations have fewer than 50 members. Almost a third of the denomination is more than 70 years old, and another 26 percent are older than 55. Keep in mind that only 16 percent of Americans are 65 or older. The PCUSA is literally dying.

Relevant Christianity doesn’t stay relevant for long.

While my denomination, the conservative Presbyterian Church in America, has hardly been growing by leaps and bounds over the past few years, it is a model of health compared to its mainline counterpart. Even though the historic PCUSA has almost 9,000 churches and more than a million members, and the denomination-come-lately PCA (founded in 1973) has only 1,600 churches and not quite 400,000 members, the PCA has almost half the income of the PCUSA, nearly as many ministerial candidates, and in 2020 had more infant baptisms (which probably starts with having more infants). Congregations in conservative denominations (like the PCA) are, on the whole, bigger, younger, and multiplying in ways the mainline is not.

Of course, we must not think that conservative churches and denominations always grow (or at least hold their ground) and liberal churches and denominations always shrink. Evangelical churches face plenty of their own challenges. But two factors make the decline of the mainline noteworthy as a cautionary tale.

First, the mainline church, despite its emphasis on diversity, equity, and inclusion, has been spectacularly unsuccessful in appealing to minorities. The PCUSA has tried to do all the right “progressive” things on race for decades (like including the category “Latinx” in its report), and yet, the denomination is more than 88 percent white, only 1.61 percent Hispanic, and only 4.39 percent black (and that includes Africans). The gospel of diversity does not bring various peoples together nearly as well as the gospel of the cross.

Second, theological liberalism is, by definition, supposed to be attuned to the times in which we live. As Gary Dorrien puts it in The Making of American Liberal Theology, “Since the eighteenth century, liberal Christian thinkers have argued that religion should be modern and progressive and that the meaning of Christianity should be interpreted from the standpoint of modern knowledge and experience.” In other words, if any ecclesiastical tradition should be relevant for people today, one would think it should be the mainline. Here, for example, are the headlines that The Presbyterian Outlook had (at the time of this writing) listed on its Current Affairs page before its article about the PCUSA statistical report: “The climate crisis is increasingly a refugee crisis,” “Finding diversity and equity in investing decisions,” and “We’ve got to move Earth Day to 12 months a year.” That’s one way to “reinterpret” Christianity for modern people. It’s just not a Christianity that’s going to compel new people to give up their Sunday mornings.

And that’s the rub. Relevant Christianity doesn’t stay relevant for long. Reinterpreted Christianity may appeal to the deconstructing, but it does not win the hearts and minds of the lost. We have no guarantee that faithful churches will thrive. But after almost 60 years of constant mainline decline, we have a pretty good idea of how churches die.

5 Questions on a Pastor’s Piety

Tue, 28 Feb 2017 20:29:00 GMT

1. Do you see the need in our day for a renewed emphasis upon the pastor’s personal piety and godliness? Is legalism or libertinism the main problem among ministers today?

We’ve become so scared of inauthenticity that we barely insist on godliness anymore. Of course, pastors aren’t perfect. We don’t want to pretend to be what we’re not. And yet, we must strive to become what we are in Christ. Whether legalism or libertinism is the main problem will depend on our own context. Certainly both are anti-gospel problems which must be guarded and preached against.

2. Does the minister’s spiritual growth and piety play a significant role in the congregation’s spiritual growth and piety? How about the leadership?

That’s a great question. It makes me examine my own heart and my own spiritual progress. Surely the answer is yes. I wouldn’t go so far as to say the congregation can never grow up taller than its leaders, but in most cases a church is going to reflect the theology, the character, and the piety of its pastor.

3. How do you cultivate and maintain personal holiness as a busy pastor?

Normal things like the word and prayer. I also think I have good people around me (like my elders, like my staff, like my wife) who encourage me in the best ways and keep me humble too. I try to establish good accountability structures too (e.g., letting my wife see any text, letting a team of elders overlook my finances, letting my friends and fellow pastors ask me tough questions).

4. What are some clear and present dangers to a pastor’s sanctification and walk with God?

Besides the usual temptations involving sex and money, I think pastors are prone to self-pity, people pleasing, and pride. We can also get into unhealthy habits when it comes to eating, exercise, and our own personal devotions.

5. In regard to personal holiness, what advice would you give to young ordinands training for the gospel ministry?

Sound theology is not enough. Being smart is not enough. Being bold in preaching is not enough. Your people need you to be holy. The pursuit of Christlikeness is never wasted in the care of God’s people.

An Example of the Fear of God

Tue, 03 May 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Exodus 1:15-22

15 The king of Egypt also spoke to the Hebrews’ midwives, whose names were Shiphrah and Puah. 16 He said to them, “When you give birth to the Hebrews’ wives and see them on the seats, if it is a boy, kill him; if it is a girl, let her live. 17 But the midwives feared God, and did not do as the king of Egypt had said to them; they let the children live. 18 Then the king of Egypt called the midwives and said to them, “Why did you do this and let the children live?” 19 The midwives said to Pharaoh, “Because the women of the Hebrews are not like the Egyptian women; they are strong and give birth before the midwife comes. 20 God did good to the midwives; and the people multiplied and became very numerous. 21 Because the midwives had feared God, God made their houses prosperous.

22 Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, saying, “You shall throw every boy that is born into the river, and you shall let every girl live.

Pharoh’s edict

Verse 15 presents a strange juxtaposition: on the one hand, the king of Egypt, whose name is not even mentioned; on the other hand, two modest midwives whose names are preserved forever: Shiphra and Puah. Throughout the ordeal of the people of Israel in Egypt, Pharaoh is never named; he is only an instrument in the hand of the Lord for his glory. But these two women are named so that we can remember them forever.

Shiphra and Puah were probably not the only midwives of all the people of Israel. It would have been too much to handle all the births; they were probably two of the chief midwives.

They were ordered by Pharaoh himself, “When you give birth to the women of the Hebrews and see them on the seats, if it is a boy, kill him; if it is a girl, let her live.” (1:16) Why kill male babies who would provide the labor to build cities and pyramids? Effective birth control would have led to the killing of the girls instead. But Pharaoh wanted to eliminate potential soldiers first (see 1:10).

It is likely that several years passed between the command in verse 16 and the appearance of the midwives before Pharaoh (1:18). His underground plan to eliminate Israelite boys had turned out to be a failure: many Israelite boys were alive.

An acceptable lie?

So Pharaoh brought Shiphra and Puah back and asked them the question they had perhaps long feared being asked: “Why did you let the boys live?”

The Hebrew of their answer is difficult to translate. They seemed to be saying that Israelite women were more vigorous than Egyptian women, that they were too active so that the midwives did not arrive until after the birth.

This may have been partly true. But it was also certainly a deceptive cover-up, a kind of lie to Pharaoh. This raises the question: were they wrong to lie? The classic example is the Nazis during World War II asking, “Are you hiding Jews?” What was the right answer to give? Preserve their lives by lying? Was it mandatory to tell the Nazi officer the truth? Were Schiphra and Pua obligated to tell the truth? By answering a half-truth (at best), did they commit a sin?

Calvin, like many other commentators, thought that Schiphra and Pua had sinned: “In the answer of the midwives, two vices are to be observed, since they did not confess their piety with candor, and, what is worse, got away with lying.” Calvin goes on to say that it was only because of God’s fatherly indulgence that he passed over their iniquity and nevertheless rewarded them for their faith.

But I find no indication in the text that they did anything wrong. In fact, what emerges from the text is that they are to be praised for their actions:

– Their names are given, so that they will be remembered as heroines of the history of Israel (1:15).

– It is noted that they feared God (1:17).

– God did them good” (1:20).

– God gave them families (1:21).

Four verses explicitly state that God was pleased.

Theologians distinguish three types of lies:

1. The malicious lie serves one’s own interests and harms one’s neighbor. It is always evil.

2. Humorous lying is joking or entertaining with lies. It can be good or bad, depending on the context. For example, it is not a sin to throw a surprise birthday party. On the other hand, there may be jokes or practical jokes that, even though they are meant to be fun, are still harmful. Proverbs 26:18-19 warns, “As a furious man that casteth flame and arrows and death, so is a man that deceiveth his neighbor, and saith, Was not this in jest?” The image is clear: a joke can hurt deeply.

3. The third type is the controversial one: the lie of necessity. Is it ever appropriate to lie in order to serve and protect one’s neighbor?

I’m not talking about a lie that just makes things better, like the lie of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis. Both are afraid that Abimelech will kill them if he knows that the beautiful women with them are their wives. So they pass them off as their sisters so that they will be left alone. This is a bad lie, simply to make things easier for them. Worse, it puts their wives in great danger, through their cowardice.

I (and many others) would argue, however, that in extreme circumstances it is appropriate to lie, as the midwives did.

The ninth commandment explicitly states, “You shall not bear false witness.” (20.16) The implied context is that of a court of law, where, because of your slander and malicious intent, you inflict a punishment on someone else that they may not fully deserve.

Midwives are praised in this passage – just as Rahab, later, is praised as a woman of faith when she hid the spies in Jericho (Heb 11:31). Everything in these verses leads us to the conclusion that what the midwives did was right because they feared the Lord.

God’s blessing and difficult circumstances

God blessed Israel: “The people multiplied and became very numerous.” (1:20b) Pharaoh doesn’t understand:

– First, he wanted to make the Israelites work very hard to eliminate them. But they continued to multiply.

– Then he asked the midwives to help him eliminate them. But they continued to multiply. God blessed them in spite of Pharaoh’s plans, for he had promised, “I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse those who curse you.” (Gen 12:3)

Pharaoh finds out the hard way that God keeps his promises.

The blessing does not only multiply for Israel. It also multiplies for the midwives. Most of them were elderly women who had never had a family. Now they have their own offspring.

The blessings increase, but so do the difficult circumstances. Pharaoh moves on to the third phase of his plan, “You shall throw every boy that is born into the river.” (1.22)

It is surely no coincidence that the first plague on Egypt was to turn the Nile into blood: “Do you want a river of blood?” the Lord asks. “I will give it to you.” God has a way of giving his enemies what they want in a way they don’t want.

Who do you fear?

On both sides there is fear: the midwives fear God. Pharaoh fears the people.

Our lives are marked by fear: of being sick, of being alone, of losing a loved one, of disappointment… You may fear strangers, crowds, the unknown, death… Yet the Bible says that the smartest way to live your life is to fear God. This is the beginning of wisdom (Prov 9.10).

What does it mean to fear God? Here are some examples:

Just before laying hands on Isaac, the angel of the Lord said to Abraham, “Now I know that you fear God, and that you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.” (Gen 22:12) In other words, God said to him, “You have considered obedience to God more important than your own sense of security and well-being.”

When Joseph wanted to convince his brothers that he was telling the truth and that they should leave one of their brothers behind, he reassured them by saying, “Do this, and you will live. I fear God.” (Gen 42:18) In other words, “You can trust me, for I know that I will have to give an account to God.”

Jethro (Moses’ father-in-law) would later advise him, “Choose able, God-fearing men from among all the people, men of integrity, enemies of greed.” (Ex 18:21)

To fear God is to be honest and upright, because you know that God is watching you, even if there is no one else. It is believing that there is a God, and that he is very interested in what you are doing. When we fear God, God’s presence and plans weigh on us more than the world, the flesh and the devil.

The fear of God is not a slavish fear, as if God could hate and condemn us, even though we are his children and have put our faith in Christ. This kind of fear can only be cast out by faith in Jesus (1 John 4:18). But for those who follow Christ, there is a healthy fear of a holy God. Many so-called Christians live in practice as atheists, going about their business as if God did not exist, as if he had made no promises to them, and as if they had nothing to fear from his judgment or discipline.

Do you live your life as if God really exists? The midwives did. They might have feared the majority, because even though the Israelites multiplied, they were still a foreign people in a foreign land – a minority people within the majority Egyptian culture. As believers, we are part of a cognitive minority. Because we believe in the Bible, love Jesus, and are his followers, we will believe certain things that the rest of the world finds absolutely crazy.

These women could have feared for their lives and livelihoods. They had a lot to lose: their jobs, their families, their security – even their heads! In the ancient world, only the Jewish people prohibited abortion and infanticide. Infanticide was only definitively outlawed when Christianity became dominant in the Roman Empire, 1500 to 2000 years later. Christians and people of the Judeo-Christian tradition have always opposed the killing of children, whether outside or inside the womb. The constitution of the Church in the first century said: “You shall not kill children by abortion or after birth”.

Let verse 17 sink into our hearts, “But the midwives feared God.” On the one hand, there was their work, security, prestige and life itself. On the other hand, there was uncertainty, probable suffering and potential death. Which would you have chosen? Healthy fear tipped the scales.

What has influence over you? The cover of a magazine? What everyone around you seems to be saying? For Schiphra and Pua, it was the fear of God and reverence for His holy name. To get people to fear him, God sometimes has to use the hard way.

In one of the most influential books I have read, David Wells writes, “The fundamental problem in the evangelical world today is that God’s presence in the church is inconsequential. His truth is too remote, his grace is too ordinary, his judgment is too benevolent, his gospel is too easy, and his Christ is too common.”

What is your God like? Anyone who has had a truly good and godly father understands this. The father’s authority was not taken lightly. If you did wrong, you were afraid he would come home because there was discipline to come. Yet, at the same time, you knew you could run into his arms, because he was your father and he loved you. These two sides – the love of God and the fear of God – must be foremost in our hearts, minds and affections, or we will have a God whose presence in the church is of no consequence.

Should we fear God? Or have we recreated a god in our own image – a god of unconditional approval, who simply pats us on the back and says, “Good for you, well done!” This god does not look like the God that Pharaoh will meet in all his sovereign power. This God led Shiphra and Puah to say no to the most powerful man in the world.

What you believe and how you live is largely shaped by who you fear. God is a far better teacher than Pharaoh. His service is far better than the slavery the world can offer. You don’t have to marry the spirit of the age. You can stop being self-centered. You can adopt a moral code that is based on divine authority instead of just being authentic.

The good news is that the God we fear is the God who will cast out fear. The God of a holy presence is also the God we want at our side. The God who is strong enough to judge is also gentle enough to forgive if you come, bow, submit and fear. The story of the Exodus is the story of your life: there is no lasting freedom without the fear of God.

This article was produced for the TGC Conference Evangile 21 Conference in Geneva, Switzerland.

The Story of Us All

Mon, 30 Mar 2026 08:39:00 GMT

https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-story-of-us-all/id1526483896?i=1000557682937 We are sinners in need of a Savior

The story of Holy Week reminds us of the story of the world. And as the Passion of Christ tells the story of the world, it reminds us of our story as well.

We are sinners in need of a Savior.

Not theoretical sinners. Not “nobody’s perfect” sinners. Not “we all make mistakes” sinners. Real sinners—inside and out. Dead in our sins and trespasses (Ephesians 2:1), desperately sick (Jeremiah 17:9), enslaved by passions and pleasures, being hated and hating one another (Titus 3:3)—that kind of sinner.

In need of a real Savior. Not a myth or a metaphor. Not a better version of ourselves. Not a hero of our own making. We need a man like us, and we need a God utterly unlike us. We need a genuinely historical person who transcends history. An eternal Son born in the fullness of time. A dying sacrifice who does not stay dead.

That’s the story of Holy Week. That’s the story of the world. That’s our story—yours and mine. At bottom, the gospel is a simple story, which is why so many simply reject it. We like the hope and joy of the resurrection, but before we get there we have to look squarely at the betrayal, the denial, the abandonment, the jealousy, the hatred, the jeering, and the unbelief that culminated in the crucifixion of Jesus the Christ. Behind the veil of our self-aggrandizement and our self-regard, we are sinners capable of inventing a thousand academic ideas and a million personal excuses so as not to admit we are sinners in need of a Savior.

Ye who think of sin but lightly nor suppose the evil greatHere may view its nature rightly, here its guilt may estimate.Mark the sacrifice appointed, see who bears the awful load;’tis the Word, the Lord’s Anointed, Son of Man and Son of God.

If we want to make much of the cross, we must never make light of our sin.

You may proudly wave the rainbow flag, you may protest racial injustice and gender inequality, you may see yourself on the right side of history and be an advocate for all the right causes—but what will you do with your sin?

You may decry the intolerance of fundamentalism and lament the conservative church of your youth, you may be proud of your deconstruction and newfound enlightenment—but what will you do with your sin?

You may stand opposed to the ways of the woke, you may reject Marxism, socialism, and liberal cancel culture, you may know for certain that a man is a man and a woman is a woman—but what will you do with your sin?

You may embrace middle-class values and sing the national anthem with a lump in your throat, you may work hard to provide for your family, you may be happily religious, even a member of a church—but what will you do with your sin?

Who was the guilty who brought this upon thee?Alas, my treason, Jesus hath undone thee.’Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee:I crucified thee.

The tough pill to swallow is that those words should be on our lips. The God-denying treason, the ashamed-of-Jesus denial, and the Christ-hating crucifixion—we can’t keep them safely in the first century. They exist in every human civilization and reside in every human heart. The story of your life, and my life, is irreducibly a story of sin and rebellion.

But that doesn’t have to be the end of the story. Faith is believing that we were born one way but can be born again another way. Anyone can be found, if only he will admit that he’s lost. Christianity is the hope of the world for those who have no hope in themselves. The fundamental story of the world is not the story of good guys and bad guys, or of oppressors and the oppressed, but of sinners and a Savior.

That’s the story we must tell to ourselves and tell to the world, because that’s the song of the redeemed and the song of the ages.

Bearing shame and scoffing rude,in my place condemned he stood,sealed my pardon with his blood:Hallelujah! what a Savior!

Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church (PCA) in Matthews, North Carolina and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary.

Two Cheers for Religion

Mon, 11 Jul 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Religion is one of those words that has undergone a decisive transformation in recent years. Religion used to be a generic category or even a positive synonym for the Christian faith, but now many Christians speak of religion as something harmful and destructive of true Christianity. For many evangelicals, religion is about trying to earn God’s favor. Or, more broadly, religion is about a stultifying system of rituals, dogmas, and structures.

In short, religion is bad, the gospel is good, and following Christ is positively not a religion.

Obviously, if the choice is between the gospel and religion, I’ll take the gospel. But what if by relentlessly denigrating “religion,” we are creating as many problems as we are trying to solve?

If I can be so bold, I’d like to put in a good word for religion — if not three cheers, then at least two. Toward this end, consider the following observations:

1. Castigating “religion” is a relatively new way for Christians to speak. John Calvin wrote “The Institutes of the Christian Religion.” Jonathan Edwards wrote on “Religious Affections.” Pastors and theologians, especially in the age of awakening, often wrote about “revealed religion” or “true religion” or “real religion.”

What if by relentlessly denigrating “religion,” we are creating as many problems as we are trying to solve?

Our forefathers were well aware of religious hypocrisy, but they did not equate “religion” with works-righteousness. If we teach our people that religion is be avoided, they will have a hard time understanding why most Christians throughout most of history did not use “religion” in such a negative sense.

2. The word “religion” occurs five times in the Bible (ESV) and is, by itself, a neutral word. Religion can refer to Judaism (Acts 26:5) or the Jewish-Christian faith (Acts 25:19). Religion can be bad when it is self-made (Colossians 2:23) or fails to tame the tongue (James 1:26). But can be good when it cares for widows and orphans and practices moral purity (James 1:27). There is no biblical ground for making religion a uniformly negative phenomenon.

3. In undermining “religion,” we may be undermining more than we realize. People tend to equate commands, doctrines, structures, and rituals with religion. That’s why people want to be “spiritual but not religious.” And yet, Christianity is a religion that believes in commands, doctrines, structures, and rituals. As a Jew, so did Jesus. Jesus did not hate religion.

On the contrary, Jesus went to services at the synagogue and operated within the Jewish system of ritual purity (Mark 1:21, 40-45). He founded the church (Matthew 16:18) and established church discipline (Matthew 18:15-20). He instituted a ritual meal and called for its perpetual observance (Matthew 26:26-28). He told his disciples to baptize people and teach them to obey everything he commanded (Matthew 28:19-20). He insisted that people believe in him and believe certain things about him (John 3:16-18; 8:24). If Jesus never affirmed being “spiritual but not religious,” neither should we.

I understand why we might want to distance ourselves from religion, but it would be better to redeploy the word than to reject it. We risk giving people the wrong impression about Jesus and affirm unbiblical instincts about true spirituality when we dismiss “religion” as antithetical to the gospel.

3 Ways Men Can Love Their Wives in Real Life

Mon, 30 May 2022 09:00:00 GMT

1. Lead

These three verbs describe freely given love: lead, sacrifice, and care. Let me speak directly to men with each of these words.

Husbands, lead your wives. I remember hearing John Piper say on more than one occasion that the husband should be the one who most often says, “let’s.” That simple piece of advice has always stuck with me. “Honey, let’s go on a walk.” “Let’s pray together.” “Let’s get the kids ready for bed.” Take the initiative, men. This isn’t about making every decision or believing that listening to your wife is a sign of weakness. John Witherspoon puts it well: “I therefore take the liberty of rescuing from the number of hen-peckt, those who ask the advice, and follow the direction of their wives in most cases, because they are really better than any they could give themselves.”1 Good leaders sometimes follow, and insightful followers sometimes are given the opportunity to lead. The point about “let’s” is the man’s posture, his eagerness to make plans, take risks, and be fully engaged in the marital relationship.

This is especially true when it comes to spiritual leadership. Christian husbands can be aggressive and assertive when it comes to making money, tackling problems at work, or pursuing their hobbies, but when it comes to loving leadership in the home, too often they’re doormats. They take zero responsibility for the spiritual well-being of their household.

And yet God holds men accountable for the spiritual welfare of their wives. “Love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish” (Eph. 5:25–27). I have a responsibility for my wife’s holiness. Trisha’s marriage to me should be an instrument of edification, purification, and sanctification.

Being a spiritual leader means taking the initiative to repair the breach when the relationship has been damaged. If Christ loves the church, his wayward bride, and continually woos her back from her spiritual adulteries, how much more should you woo back your wife after a disagreement when half the time it will be your fault anyway? It is always 100 percent the church’s fault. And it is never 100 percent your wife’s fault. Husbands ought to take the first step toward reconciliation when the marriage has grown cold with hurts and disappointments.

2. Sacrifice

Husbands, sacrifice for your wives. Perhaps the most important thing for your marriage is that you understand the doctrine of the atonement. Jesus died for the church. Your leadership as a husband is a self-sacrificing leadership.

This can mean little things: coming home early, taking care of the kids, participating joyfully in something she likes to do, overlooking an offense, running errands, fixing something around the house, cleaning up the house. Loving your wife can also entail bigger sacrifices. You may need to forfeit climbing the corporate ladder in order to be a decent husband. You may be called upon to give up your hopes and dreams in order to take care of your wife after she falls ill or is injured. You may sacrifice the big house or the best neighborhood and live at a lower lifestyle so your wife can stay home with the kids. Chrysostom was right as he exhorted husbands to lay down their lives for their wives: “Yea, even if it shall be needful for thee to give thy life for her, yea, and to be cut into pieces ten thousand times, yea, and to endure and undergo any suffering whatever,—refuse it not. Though thou shouldest undergo all this, yet wilt thou not, no not even then, have done anything like Christ.”2

3. Care

Finally, husbands, care for your wives. Cherish her as your own body (Eph. 5:28). She is not merely your partner. She is your other half, your own flesh and bone. You don’t abuse your body; you build up, protect, and nourish it. Likewise, cherish and care for your wife. “Husbands, love your wives, and do not be harsh with them” (Col. 3:19). You should just as easily treat your wife harshly as you should punch yourself in the face. “The man who does not love his wife,” Calvin says, “is a monster.”3 Take care of her needs for food, clothing, and security. There is no law which says the wife cannot make more than the husband, but there is this command for husbands to feed and care for their wives.

God holds men accountable for the spiritual welfare of their wives.

Your wife should feel secure in your provision and protection of her. As Edgar Rice Burroughs wrote in Tarzan of the Apes when the title character first saw Jane Porter, “He knew that she was created to be protected, and that he was created to protect her.”4 Such a sentiment will strike many today as quaint, if not outright sexist. But there are worse things than men feeling deep within themselves that women are to be protected, not exploited, defended, not demeaned, and treated with special honor instead of nothing special whatsoever. In fact, Mary Eberstadt argues that the sexual revolution—with its laissez-faire attitude toward sex and its insistence that men and women are the same when it comes to sex—has left women vulnerable and frustrated. “The furious, swaggering, foul-mouthed rhetoric of feminism promises women what many can’t find elsewhere: protection.”4 Women, more than ever, need to know that men will treat them by a different set of rules and will seek the well-being of women above their own

Maybe there is something right in all those chivalry stories about the man fighting for the honor of the woman, defending her to the last, treating her like a queen. In the book A Return to Modesty, Jewish author Wendy Shalit comments on the quaint etiquette rules from the past—rules like “a man always opens a door for a woman,” or “a man carries packages or suitcases for a woman,” or “a man rises when a woman comes into the room,” or “if a woman drops her glove in the street, you’d certainly pick it up,” or you never “race a woman, young or old, for a vacant seat.” Shalit acknowledges that “one can certainly criticize these rules as sexist, and many have.” But she continues, “The simple fact is that a man who observed all of the above rules was a man who treated a woman with respect, a man who was incapable of being boorish.” Women were not to be treated like men; they were to be treated differently, like women. Consequently, “in the old view, if you weren’t considerate to women, you weren’t really a man.”5

If men in general ought to treat women with special care and kindness, how much more so for our own wives. D. L. Moody once remarked, “If I wanted to find out whether a man was a Christian, I wouldn’t ask his minister. I would go and ask his wife. . . . If a man doesn’t treat his wife right, I don’t want to hear him talk about Christianity.”6 Would you feel comfortable putting your wife down as a reference on your Christian resume? Throw out all the ways our culture confuses love with feelings and euphoria; could your wife look you in the eye and say with all sincerity and tenderness, “Honey, you love me well, like Christ does the church”?

Notes:

John Chrysostom, Chrysostom: Homilies on Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, Thessalonians, Timothy, Titus, and Philemon, vol. 13, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (Peabody, MA: Hendriksen, 2004), 144.John Calvin, Commentaries on the Epistle of Paul to the Ephesians, vol. 21, Calvin’s Commentaries, trans. W. Pringle (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 1993), 322.Edgar Rice Burroughs, Tarzan of the Apes (New York: Modern Library, 2003), 143.Mary Eberstadt, Primal Screams: How the Sexual Revolution Created Identity Politics (West Conshohocken, PA: Templeton Press, 2019), 75.Wendy Shalit, A Return to Modesty (New York: Free Press, 1999), 144–45.D. L. Moody, The Overcoming Life and Other Sermons (Chicago: Bible Institute Colportage Association, 1896), 13–14.

This article is adapted from Men and Women in the Church: A Short, Biblical, Practical Introduction by Kevin DeYoung.

A Biblical View of Homosexuality

Sat, 25 Jul 2015 21:11:00 GMT

Answering the most frequent objections Christians face. An excerpt from a WORLD Book of the Year runner-up

When church members ask a pastor, “I want to read one book spelling out the biblical view of homosexuality. What do you recommend?” I hope the pastor says, “Kevin DeYoung’s What Does the Bible Really Teach about Homosexuality?” (Crossway, 2015). DeYoung lays out the basics but then has succinct chapters answering the most frequent objections Christian face, including: There are only eight verses in the Bible criticizing homosexuality … The Bible doesn’t take into account loving long-term relationships … You’re on the wrong side of history … It’s not fair … Why can’t we just love each other?

Here’s a chapter, by permission of the publisher, from DeYoung’s book, a runner-up for WORLD’s Book of the Year in the Accessible Theology category. —Marvin Olasky

Chapter 6: “The Bible Hardly Ever Mentions Homosexuality”

The first step in delegitimizing what the Bible says about homosexuality is to suggest that the Bible hardly says anything about homosexuality. As I mentioned in the introduction, in one sense this is true. The Bible is a big book, and the rightness or wrongness of homosexual practice is not at the center of it. If you read through the 1,189 chapters in the Bible and the more than 30,000 verses, you’ll find only a dozen or so passages that deal explicitly with homosexuality. We looked at most of them in part 1 of this book.

So does this mean the traditional view of marriage is based on nothing more than a few fragments? Is it fair to say that just six or seven passages have for centuries prevented those engaged in homosexual activity from finding acceptance in the church? Are denominations and families and friendships and organizations and institutions being torn apart because of a small handful of disputed texts concerning a minor issue about which Jesus never even said anything? Or to ask the question another way: if the Bible says so little about homosexuality, why do Christians insist on talking about it so much?

A Fair Question with Plenty of Answers

Let me make six points by way of response.

We need to remember that this controversy was not dreamed up by evangelical Christians.

(1) If traditionalists are writing blogs and books by the dozens, it’s because revisionist leaders first wanted to have the conversation. The reason there is so much discussion about issues like abortion, euthanasia, and same-sex marriage is because many have sought to legalize and legitimize actions that were until fifty years ago considered immoral and illegal. When it comes to the cultural flash points of our day, it hardly seems wise to avoid talking about what everyone else is talking about.

(2) The reason the Bible says comparatively little about homosexuality is because it was a comparatively uncontroversial sin among ancient Jews and Christians. There is no evidence that ancient Judaism or early Christianity tolerated any expression of homosexual activity. The Bible says a lot about idolatry, religious hypocrisy, economic injustice, and pagan worship because these were common sins for God’s people in both testaments. The prophets didn’t rail against homosexual practice because as a particularly obvious and egregious sin it was less frequently committed in the covenant community. The Bible talks about bestiality even less than it talks about homosexuality, but that doesn’t make bestiality an insignificant issue—or incest or child abuse or fifty other sins the Bible barely addresses. Counting up the number of verses on any particular topic is not the best way to determine the seriousness of the sin involved.

(3) Having said all that, it’s not like the Bible is silent on the issue of homosexual behavior. It’s explicitly condemned in the Mosaic law (Leviticus) and used as a vivid example of human rebellion in Paul’s most important letter (Romans). It’s listed among a host of other serious vices in two different epistles (1 Corinthians and 1 Timothy). It’s one of the reasons God destroyed the most infamous cities in the Bible (Sodom and Gomorrah). And that’s not even mentioning all the texts about marriage in Genesis, in Proverbs, in Song of Solomon, in Malachi, in Matthew, and in Ephesians. When the Bible speaks in a single verse—as an aside, with no agreed upon historical interpretation—about people being baptized on behalf of the dead (1 Cor. 15:29), we are right to think this is not a matter that should detain us long and one we should not be too dogmatic about. The biblical witness concerning homosexual behavior is not at all this obscure or this isolated.[1]

(4) Furthermore, there is nothing ambiguous about the biblical witness concerning homosexual behavior. Even many revisionist scholars acknowledge that the Bible is uniformly negative toward same-sex activity. The gay Dutch scholar Pim Pronk, after admitting that many Christians are eager to see homosexuality supported by the Bible, states plainly, “In this case that support is lacking.”[2] Although he doesn’t think moral positions must be dependent on the Bible (which is why he can support homosexual behavior), as a scholar he recognizes that “wherever homosexual intercourse is mentioned in Scripture, it is condemned. … Rejection is a foregone conclusion; the assessment of it nowhere constitutes a problem.”[3] Pronk recognizes that wherever the Bible speaks on this issue, it speaks with one voice. Likewise, Dan O. Via, in arguing for the revisionist view opposite Robert Gagnon, acknowledges, “Professor Gagnon and I are in substantial agreement that the biblical texts that deal specifically with homosexual practice condemn it unconditionally.”[4] No positive argument for homosexuality can be made from the Bible, only arguments that texts don’t mean what they seem to mean, and that specific texts can be overridden by other considerations.

(5) It cannot be overstated how seriously the Bible treats the sin of sexual immorality. Sexual sin is never considered adiaphora, a matter of indifference, an agree-to-disagree issue like food laws or holy days (Rom. 14:1–15:7). To the contrary, sexual immorality is precisely the sort of sin that characterizes those who will not enter the kingdom of heaven. There are at least eight vice lists in the New Testament (Mark 7:21–22; Rom. 1:24–31; 13:13; 1 Cor. 6:9–10; Gal. 5:19–21; Col. 3:5–9; 1 Tim. 1:9–10; Rev. 21:8), and sexual immorality is included in every one of these. In fact, in seven of the eight lists there are multiple references to sexual immorality (e.g., impurity, sensuality, orgies, men who practice homosexuality), and in most of the passages some kind of sexual immorality heads the lists. You would be hard-pressed to find a sin more frequently, more uniformly, and more seriously condemned in the New Testament than sexual sin.

(6) To insist that Jesus never said anything about homosexuality is not really accurate. Not only did he explicitly reaffirm the creation account of marriage as the one-flesh union of a man and a woman (Matt. 19:4–6; Mark 10:6–9); he condemned the sin of porneia (Mark 7:21), a broad word encompassing every kind of sexual sin. The leading New Testament lexicon defines porneia as “unlawful sexual intercourse, prostitution, unchastity, fornication.”[5] Likewise, New Testament scholar James Edwards states that porneia “can be found in Greek literature with reference to a variety of illicit sexual practices, including adultery, fornication, prostitution, and homosexuality. In the Old Testament it occurs for any sexual practice outside marriage between a man and a woman that is prohibited by the Torah.”[6] Jesus didn’t have to give a special sermon on homosexuality because all of his listeners understood that same-sex behavior was prohibited in the Pentateuch and reckoned as one of the many expressions of sexual sin (porneia) off limits for the Jews. Besides all this, there’s no reason to treat Jesus’s words (all of which were recorded by someone other than Jesus) as more authoritative than the rest of the Bible. He affirmed the abiding authority of the Old Testament (Matt. 5:17–18) and understood that his disciples would fill out the true meaning of his person and work (John 14:25–26; 16:12–15; cf. Luke 24:48–49; Acts 1:1–2).

A Third Way

When the Bible uniformly and unequivocally says the same thing about a serious sin, it seems unwise to find a third way which allows for some people to promote this sin. Of course, there could be a third way if the other two ways are “perform same-sex weddings” or “be an obnoxious jerk and shun those who disagree.” No doubt, many on the traditional side must grow in asking questions, listening patiently, and demonstrating

Christlike love. But those advocating for a third way usually mean more than this. They want churches and denominations and institutions to come to an “agree to disagree” compromise. They want a moratorium on making definitive pronouncements until we’ve all had the chance to mull things over a good deal longer. With so many emotions and so many things to learn, shouldn’t we keep talking to each other?

Talking is not the problem. The problem is when incessant talking becomes a cover for indecision or even cowardice. As one who has pastored for more than a dozen years in a mainline denomination, I have seen this far too often. It’s death by dialogue. The conversation never stops after reaffirming the historic position. There will always be another paper, another symposium, and another round of conversation. The moratorium on making pronouncements will only be lifted once the revisionist position has won out. Every doctrine central to the Christian faith and precious to you as a Christian has been hotly debated and disputed. If the “conversation” about the resurrection or the Trinity or the two natures of Christ continued as long as smart people on both sides disagreed, we would have lost orthodoxy long ago.

All of these third ways end up the same way: a behavior the Bible does not accept is treated as acceptable. “Agree to disagree” sounds like a humble “meet you in the middle” compromise, but it is a subtle way of telling conservative Christians that homosexuality is not a make-or-break issue and we are wrong to make it so. No one would think of proposing a third way if the sin were racism or human trafficking. To countenance such a move would be a sign of moral bankruptcy. Faithfulness to the Word of God compels us to view sexual immorality with the same seriousness. Living an ungodly life is contrary to the sound teaching that defines the Christian (1 Tim. 1:8–11; Titus 1:16). Darkness must not be confused with light. Grace must not be confused with license. Unchecked sin must not be confused with the good news of justification apart from works of the law. Far from treating sexual deviance as a lesser ethical issue, the New Testament sees it as a matter for excommunication (1 Corinthians 5), separation (2 Cor. 6:12–20), and a temptation for perverse compromise (Jude 3–16).

We cannot count same-sex behavior as an indifferent matter. Of course, homosexuality isn’t the only sin in the world, nor is it the most critical one to address in many church contexts. But if 1 Corinthians 6 is right, it’s not an overstatement to say that solemnizing same-sex sexual behavior—like supporting any form of sexual immorality—runs the risk of leading people to hell. Scripture often warns us—and in the severest terms—against finding our sexual identity apart from Christ and against pursuing sexual practice inconsistent with being in Christ (whether that’s homosexual sin, or, much more frequently, heterosexual sin). The same is not true when it comes to sorting out the millennium or deciding which instruments to use in worship. When we tolerate the doctrine which affirms homosexual behavior, we are tolerating a doctrine which leads people further from God. This is not the mission Jesus gave his disciples when he told them to teach the nations everything he commanded. The biblical teaching is consistent and unambiguous: homosexual activity is not God’s will for his people. Silence in the face of such clarity is not prudence, and hesitation in light of such frequency is not patience. The Bible says more than enough about homosexual practice for us to say something too.

Taken from What Does the Bible Really Teach about Homosexuality? by Kevin DeYoung, © 2015, (pp. 71–77). Used by permission of Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers, Wheaton, IL 60187, www.crossway.org.

ENDNOTES

[1] How many verses in the Bible speak directly to the issue of homosexuality? Robert Gagnon provides the following list: Gen. 9:20–27; 19:4–11; Lev. 18:22; 20:13; Judg. 19:22–25; Ezek. 16:50 (possibly 18:12 and 33:26); Rom. 1:26–27; 1 Cor. 6:9; 1 Tim. 1:10; and probably 2 Pet. 2:7 and Jude 7. Texts referring to homosexual cult prostitution could also be added: Deut. 23:17–18; 1 Kings 14:24; 15:12; 22:46; 2 Kings 23:7; Job 36:14; and possibly Rev. 21:8; 22:15. The Bible talks about homosexuality more than we might think (Robert A. J. Gagnon, The Bible and Homosexual Practice: Texts and Hermeneutics [Nashville, TN: Abingdon, 2001], 432).

[2] Pim Pronk, Against Nature? Types of Moral Argumentation Regarding Homosexuality (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1993), 323.

[3] Ibid., 279.

[4] Dan O. Via and Robert Gagnon, Homosexuality and the Bible: Two Views (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), 93.

[5] A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature, Third Edition, rev. and ed. Frederick William Danker, based on Walter Bauer’s lexicon (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 854.

[6] James R. Edwards, The Gospel According to Mark, Pillar New Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2001), 213.

How The Sixth Commandment Speaks To Our Culture

Sat, 21 Jan 2017 21:42:00 GMT

‘You Shall Not Murder’ Includes Suicide, Abortion, and Euthanasia

WORLD twice—once in 1994, once in 2014—studied the reluctance of many evangelical ministers to preach about abortion. Reasons for not doing so included a desire not to discomfort church members, not to “politicize” the pulpit, or not to move off expository, exegetical preaching. But Kevin DeYoung, pastor at University Reformed Church in East Lansing, Mich., gave a fine sermon last Nov. 13 on Exodus 20:13: “You shall not murder.” Instead of speaking in generalities, he asked, “How does the Sixth Commandment speak to our culture?” He explained concisely that the commandment prohibits suicide, abortion, and euthanasia.

Please read the following—and if you’re a pastor, I hope you’ll also show how we should not only read the Bible and apply it to our individual lives but also to our cultural battles. —Marvin Olasky

A Cup of Wrath Poured Out

Oh Lord, your word is a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our path. Shine into the dark places in our world and our own hearts. Give us grace to receive your Word, and then to be doers of the Word, not hearers only. It’s in Christ’s name that we pray. Amen.

This morning, we’re returning to our series on the book of Exodus. In the next few weeks, we’ll be moving through the second half of the Ten Commandments. The texts will all be short passages about big topics.

Today, we come to the Sixth Commandment

“You shall not murder” (Exodus 20:13).

There it is. That’s the entire Sixth Commandment. In Hebrew, it’s actually even shorter—just two words, in fact: “lo” (the negation—the “not”) and “ratsach” (“murder”). It seems like an obvious, uncontroversial commandment. If there was anything that could go unstated—which we would all, as human beings and good neighbors, assume to be the case—perhaps it would be this one. Surely people from all times and places could agree that we shouldn’t murder.

There are many ways that I am not an exemplary husband, but one of the ways in which I am truly commendable is the number of Jane Austen movies I’ve watched. There was a new one that came out early this year, called Love and Friendship. It was based on Jane Austen’s little-known novella Lady Susan. The movie was quite clever. As many of Austen’s stories do, it has a lot of rich, foolish people. One character in particular is the suitor of this woman’s young daughter. He’s wealthy and very goofy. The part is played terrifically.

In one scene, he’s trying to impress all of the people in the parlor with his knowledge of the Bible. He says, “This reminded me of many such accounts one learns in childhood. Perhaps the most significant in forming one’s principles is that of the old prophet who came down from the mount bearing the Twelve Commandments, which our Lord has taught us to obey without fail.” There’s a small murmur, and someone says, “Excuse me, I believe there were only 10.” Then he says, “Really? Only 10 must be obeyed? Excellent. Well then, which two to take off? Perhaps the one about the Sabbath. I prefer to hunt. After that, it becomes tricky. Many of the ‘Thou shalt nots’—don’t murder, don’t covet thy neighbor’s house or wife—one simply wouldn’t do anyway, because they are wrong, whether the Lord allows us to take them off or not.”

It’s performed admirably in the movie, and it summarizes how many of us today think about the Ten Commandments. If we were to take one off, I think he speaks for many when he calls for removing the Sabbath. And if there’s one which we would assume is certainly to be obeyed, whether we take it off or not, it’s “Thou shalt not murder.”

Have you ever wondered why murder is wrong? Even if it’s universally assumed to be wrong in the Western world, why is that the case? You could probably go out and talk with anyone here in East Lansing, and 100 out of 100 would agree that murder is wrong. If you asked them why, they would probably say something like, “It’s just not right.” “Why not?” “Well, it’s not a very nice thing to do. We should treat each other like we want to be treated.” That’s true. There’s Biblical precedent for that. They might even go a bit further and say, “If our society is really to function—if we’re to feel safe and flourish as human beings—we can’t just go around killing each other willy-nilly. We have to be protected from that.” When it comes down to it, most people would defend the rightness of this commandment by some form of utilitarian ethics. “Why is murder wrong? Because that’s just the way that things work best.”

Of course, that begs another question: who decides whether your life or mine is worth protecting? Who’s to say that your life being snuffed out wouldn’t make the world a better place? Most people think about this commandment utilitarianly, if they think about it at all. But, as Christians, we understand that the inherent worth and dignity of every human being is the foundation that this commandment is based upon. We see that in Genesis 9:5-6. It’s because the inherent worth and value of the image of God is present in each of us—marred by the Fall, but nevertheless still present—that murder is wrong. No matter their race or ethnicity, how they vote, their health or disabilities, their age or infirmities, or whether they are bothersome to you, every person in your life has inherent worth and dignity, since they are created in the image of God.

Only with Biblical anthropology can the commandment to not murder be based on something deeper than utilitarianism. Only then can it be more than simply good advice on how we care for one another, and be something truly rooted in an inalienable right.

This morning, I want to ask three questions:

What does the Sixth Commandment prohibit? How does this commandment speak into our cultural context? How did Jesus deepen and transform this commandment?

What Does the Sixth Commandment Prohibit?

Simply put, the Sixth Commandment prohibits taking innocent human life. The word that’s given in the ESV (“murder”) is a good translation. It’s more accurate than the phrase “to kill.” The Hebrew word is “ratsach,” which mostly occurs in the few passages in the Pentateuch which talk about cities of refuge—places where those who had committed unintentional manslaughter could flee to before vengeance fell upon their heads. Outside of those few passages, ratsach does not occur very often. But the word “qatal” (“to kill”) occurs hundreds of times. So there’s a distinction between the two words.

As we see in the Old Testament, the Sixth Commandment does not prohibit self-defense:

“If a thief is found breaking in and is struck so that he dies, there shall be no bloodguilt for him, but if the sun has risen on him, there shall be bloodguilt for him” (Exodus 22:2-3).

In other words, if you had no other choice, and you had to defend yourself from an intruder as a last resort, you were not guilty. But then it says “if the sun has risen”—meaning that if you could see for yourself what was going on, and if there was any other way of doing this, you were guilty. Self-defense, then, is not a violation of the Sixth Commandment.

We see in Genesis 9 that capital punishment was also not considered a violation of this commandment:

“Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for God made man in his own image” (Genesis 9:6).

Capital punishment for murder was not considered an assault on the image of God, but a defense of his image. Human life is so precious that the taking of it was to be punished severely.

The famous principle of “lex talionis”—“eye for eye, tooth for tooth, wound for wound,” stated in Exodus 21—was not cruel and unusual punishment. Gandhi once said, “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” and we think, “Oh, that’s right. That’s not a very good law.” But within the context of the ancient Near East, this was quite a humane law. It said “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a wound for a wound” instead of “Your head for an eye, your family for a tooth, and your tribe if you offend me.” It set the precedent that the punishment must fit (and not exceed) the crime. Life for life—no less, and no more.

Even the New Testament says:

“[Governing authorities are] God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer” (Romans 13:4).

Capital punishment was not considered a violation of the Sixth Commandment.

Neither was war, in certain circumstances. Peace is always the goal, of course, but war is sometimes necessary to defend peace. The Old Testament clearly did not prohibit warfare, since God sent Israel into battle and claimed to be a warrior God who fought for them. Again, we see in Romans 13 that the duly appointed state is to be the agent of God’s wrath and to protect the innocent.

As you may recall, when Jesus encountered the centurion, he did not tell him, “Go and sin no more—and, if you’re really going to follow me, quit being a centurion in the Roman army.” In Acts, Cornelius (the head of a regiment) was called a God-fearer. When some soldiers asked John the Baptist what they needed to do to repent, John did not say, “Resign from the evil Roman army. You can’t be a soldier and be part of the people of God.” Instead, he said, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusations. Be content with your wages. Be an honest, honorable soldier,” even in an army that often did repugnant things like the Roman army. So the Sixth Commandment did not prohibit that sort of killing: self-defense, capital punishment, and just wars.

But it did prohibit premeditated, intentional murder. We see this several times in the Old Testament, like the murder of the Levite’s concubine or wife, or the murder of Naboth for his vineyard. It prohibited intentional, but unpremeditated murder—what we would call voluntary manslaughter. It prohibited reckless homicide, or involuntary manslaughter—like someone who’s driving drunk and kills someone. They don’t set out to kill anyone, but do through their recklessness. There was a distinction in Israelite law between death that came by accident and death that was motivated by hatred. You can read about that in Deuteronomy 19. The Old Testament was wise in considering the intention behind the death.

This commandment forbid negligent homicide:

“When you build a new house, you shall make a parapet for your roof, that you may not bring the guilt of blood upon your house, if anyone should fall from it” (Deuteronomy 22:8).

“When an ox gores a man or a woman to death, the ox shall be stoned, and its flesh shall not be eaten, but the owner of the ox shall not be liable. But if the ox has been accustomed to gore in the past, and its owner has been warned but has not kept it in, and it kills a man or a woman, the ox shall be stoned, and its owner also shall be put to death” (Exodus 21:28-29).

At first, these laws sound sort of strange. Most of us don’t go out in fear of oxen chasing us when we are on a walk. We’re not worried about having parapets on our roof. But we have laws in Michigan that say that you must have a fence around below-ground pools. You must protect people from falling into this, just like they protected people back then. In that day, the way to get cool at night was to go out on your roof. It was another living space. So God said, “Look, you have to care about your neighbor. You can’t just say, ‘Well, you fell off the roof. It’s your own fault.’ No, you are commanded to care about the well-being of your neighbor by putting a parapet around your roof.”

It’s similar with the ox. God says, “Look, if your ox goes ox-wild some day and just starts going after people, then that’s an accident. But if you knew that this was a crazy ox, and then he goes out and gores someone, you haven’t been doing your part to care for your neighbor. You will be put to death.”

In other words, the Sixth Commandment prohibited much more than just cold-blooded, pre-meditated murder. It prohibits killing or causing to be killed by our direct action or inaction any legally innocent person. That’s the answer to the first question.

How Does the Sixth Commandment Speak to our Culture?

Certainly, the Sixth Commandment applies to us in all the same ways that we just saw. We still care about homicide, involuntary and voluntary manslaughter, and all of these technical terms. In addition, though, let me highlight three related areas that are particularly relevant (and sometimes controversial).

The Sixth Commandment Prohibits Suicide

There is almost no topic more painful than suicide for those who have experienced it with their family or friends. Suicide is a sin—not the unforgivable sin, but a sin. Of course, that’s not what I would lead with as a pastor going to visit a family who just lost a loved one to suicide. I’m not talking about my pastoral care strategy at the moment, but giving you the doctrinal foundation.

There may be extreme cases where a suicidal person has clearly lost control over his or her faculties, such as certifiable dementia or closed-head injuries. Such a person doesn’t have any sort of capacity for rational decision-making. But in the majority of cases, we are right to see suicide, as tragic as it is, as a morally culpable and blame-worthy choice. For centuries, the church has consistently viewed suicide as a violation of the Sixth Commandment, since self-murder is still murder.

There are five instances of suicide in Scripture: Judges 9, 1 Samuel 31, 2 Samuel 17, 1 Kings 16, and Matthew 27. All of them are in the context of shame and defeat. Likewise, when more noble characters ask God to take their lives (like Jonah or Job), God clearly views their self-destructive requests unfavorably.

It seems like we hear far too often of famous movie stars, athletes, or entertainers who have committed suicide. Many people were understandably upset and saddened by Robin Williams’ death. There was much conversation and punditry, and people said things in a perhaps unhelpful way or with unhelpful timing. But one of the recurring themes was that there was no moral responsibility: “We all have our demons. We all have to face this. We shouldn’t put any sort of ethical blame upon suicide.”

For a moment, that sounds like a very compassionate thing to do—but it isn’t. Listen to a woman named Julie Gossack, who wrote in the Journal of Biblical Counseling 10 years ago. She’s a wife and a mother who has suffered through the suicide of a family member five times. I can scarcely imagine that. She said this:

“Suicide is not a genetic trait nor is it a family curse. Suicide is a sinful choice made by an individual. This statement is neither unloving nor disrespectful. It is the truth. I dearly loved my family members that committed suicide, but their choices were sinful and not righteous.”

She goes on to say that she’s saying that precisely to be loving—that other people who might be considering taking their lives in such a dark place would, if there are no other restraints, perhaps be restrained by the law of God. Suicide might feel like the only way out, but Scripture tells us that God will never lead us into a situation where violating His commandments is the only option. We do not help struggling saints by refusing to tell them that suicide is displeasing to God. Lovingly spoken, in the right time, that may be one of the ways in which God jolts the suicidal soul back to better, saner, more righteous thinking. Your life is precious to God, even when you have concluded that it’s pointless.

The Sixth Commandment Prohibits Abortion

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13).

This psalm is speaking of this nascent life (which is truly life) within the mother. A few moments ago, I mentioned a law from Exodus 21: “An eye for an eye.” If you read the context there, it has to do with injuring a pregnant woman’s baby in the womb. There were punishments for doing so, because that life was considered life. Until very recently, the church has universally opposed abortion. There was a first century church manual called “The Didache” (“The Teaching”). It says, “Do not murder a child by abortion or kill a newborn infant”—two practices which were common in the ancient world. It was chiefly in the Judeo-Christian worldview, particularly in the early church, that children were valued and considered to need protection.

John Calvin says:

“[F]or the fetus, though enclosed in the womb of its mother, is already a human being, and it is almost a monstrous crime to rob it of the life which it has not yet begun to enjoy. If it seems more horrible to kill a man in his own house than in a field, because a man’s house is his place of most secure refuge, it ought surely to be deemed more atrocious to destroy a fetus in the womb before it has come to light” (Commentary on Exodus).

Life begins at conception. That’s a scientific fact. Any embryology book will tell you that the life of each one of us traces back to the zygote—to the moment of conception. We didn’t become something different. We’ve all been formed from that original life, which is still us.

The only way to think that ending life in the womb is appropriate is to think that personhood begins at some other time than the beginning of biological life. Peter Singer, the infamous ethicist at Princeton, at least has consistency in his opinions. He’s argued that even after a child is born, it doesn’t become a human person until a certain number of months or years. Only then does it have the rights that are afforded to all of us as humans.

The Bible teaches—and, until very recently, everyone in the Western world agreed—that there is a profound and organic unity between body and soul, such that personhood exists wherever biological life exists. The ancient heresy gnosticism posited a dualism which said that you have a soul which is trapped in the prison house of the body—that your physical body and soul are two very different things which don’t have an organic unity. One is trapped inside and needs to be freed from the other. But we understand from a Biblical anthropology that, though they are two things, the body and the soul have an organic union. When your biological life begins, you also exist as a person made in the image of God, created to honor God, and with a life that deserves to be protected.

The Sixth Commandment Prohibits Euthanasia

In recent weeks, an assisted-suicide law passed in Washington, D.C., Many, particularly among African-American church leaders, spoke out against the law, considering that the net result will be elderly African-Americans in the district having their lives ended. Colorado also overwhelmingly passed an assisted-suicide law this past week. There are many problems we could mention with the laws themselves. They require a diagnosis of a terminal disease or illness that will end your life in six months—but we could all tell stories of people who received such a diagnosis and lived far beyond it. Many of these laws don’t require notification of family members. They don’t specify which kind of doctor must diagnose you. An EMT could give you this six months estimate. They also allow you to pick up your suicide drugs at your local pharmacy and administer them on your own. There are all sorts of problems that could be pointed out.

More important are the ethical problems with these laws. How can we try to prevent suicide among teenagers and young people and encourage it among the sick and elderly? Whenever I walk into East Lansing High School, I see signs in the hallway: “Say No to Suicide” or “Thinking about Suicide? There is help.” How can you say that to a certain group of people and then put forward to another group of people that this is an option to consider? We are to do what we can to preserve and protect innocent life. We must not let our definitions of compassion cloud our thinking. This is very key, because that’s how the moral argument works. It gets confused.

I’m not talking about the termination of treatment, but the termination of life. Sometimes people hear that spiel about suicide and say, “Look, I don’t want to be put on a respirator. I don’t want to have a machine do my life for me.” That’s not what I’m talking about.

My grandfather passed away a couple of months ago at 91 years old. He went downhill very quickly. When he was in hospice care, they said to him, “Look, there are some things that we can do. We can force you to get up and move around and give you some further treatments, and it might preserve your life for another four or five months. Or we can keep you comfortable, give you palliative care, and you can rest in your bed. You may not live more than a week or two.” He said, “I’m 91. I’ve lived my life. I want to rest. I don’t need to do all of that to preserve my life for four or five more months.” Many of us face those decisions, and we know loved ones who’ve had to face them. Those decisions are not wrong by any means. No, I’m not talking about the termination of treatment, but rather the direct termination of life.

The Netherlands, for example, was the first nation to allow for legal assisted suicide. What has happened over time is that voluntary euthanasia becomes involuntary. Why? Because when it becomes an option for you to end your life, insurance companies say, “Well, we aren’t going to pay for that to extend your life another six months or a year. You can just take these pills and end your life.” You become a burden to insurance providers, to the state, and to your family. We’ve seen that more and more requests in the Netherlands for assisted suicide have come from family members, not from the patients themselves.

During the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands, Dutch physicians refused to obey orders by Nazi troops to let the elderly and the terminally ill die. In 2001, Holland became the first country to give legal status to doctor-assisted suicide. As Malcolm Muggeridge noted, it took only one generation to transform a war crime into an act of compassion.

Psalm 41:1 (NIV): “Blessed are those who have regard for the weak. …” Not killing them, but providing comfort, help, and care for however long God would give them to live. The human person, created in the image of God, no matter their quality of life, their diagnosis, their age, their position in or out of the womb, the number of chromosomes they have, or their unique challenges or special needs, are deserving of life, and we should protect that.

How Did Jesus Transform the Sixth Commandment?

I want to finish by moving from cultural analysis to heart analysis. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says:

“You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire. So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are going with him to court, lest your accuser hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you be put in prison. Truly, I say to you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny” (Matthew 5:21-26).

Jesus deepens and transforms this commandment, helping us to understand its true significance. The Sixth Commandment not only prohibits violent acts of murder, but all violent emotions and intentions of the heart. David Powlison has a new book that’s very good called Good and Angry. Chapter 2 is titled “Do You Have a Serious Problem with Anger?” It’s very clever. “Do you have a serious problem with anger?” “Yes!” Then turn the page to Chapter 3. That’s all of Chapter 2. You and I do have an anger problem.

The Heidelberg Catechism (Q&A 105) says:

Q: What is God’s will for you in the Sixth Commandment? A: I am not to belittle, insult, hate, or kill my neighbor—not by my thoughts, my words, my look or gesture, and certainly not by actual deeds—and I am not to be party to this in others; rather, I am to put away all desire for revenge.

That makes the Sixth Commandment considerably more difficult. When I say, “Do not murder!” you’re thinking, “Yes, I’m glad I showed up this morning. I am good to go. I don’t murder. Bring it on, pastor!” Well, what about your thoughts, words, looks, and gestures? Have they ever belittled, insulted, or hated? Have you given party to those who do so?

The catechism (Q&A 106) also asks:

Q: Does this commandment refer only to killing? A: By forbidding murder God teaches us that he hates the root of murder: envy, anger, vindictiveness. In God’s sight all such are murder.

Here in the Sermon on the Mount, in Verse 22, Jesus gives three deeper root causes of murder. First, He says everyone who is angry; then, whoever insults; and then, He speaks of denunciation—whoever says, “You fool!” The word in Greek is “moros,” from which we get our word “moron,” or “worthless person.” He’s saying, “You may be innocent of physical, outward murder, but what about your heart? What about anger? What about insults? What about denunciation?

To each of those, he gives three corresponding forms of judgment: “everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire.” I don’t think we should read too much into these punishments, as if Christ were giving increasing punishments for increasingly vile offenses. Rather, I think He’s making one big point: You can be 100 percent murder free but still face the wrath of God if your life is marked by anger, bitterness, invective, insult, and rage.

Notice that Jesus goes even further. He gives two illustrations. What’s striking is that these illustrations don’t have to do directly with anger. He says, “What about your brother, when you go to the temple? You need to get right with him. Or what about your adversary in court?” He’s not speaking of everyone who might dislike us or is offended by us in life. If Jesus tried to be reconciled with everyone who didn’t like Him, He wouldn’t have done anything else. He had lots of enemies. No, He’s talking about people who legitimately have something against us.

Jesus says that anger is so serious that you should not only do what you can to eliminate it in your heart, but also do what you can to prevent and alleviate it in others. The Sixth Commandment doesn’t just forbid physical murder, or even simply prohibit murder of the heart. It positively enjoins us to seek reconciliation.

Later in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus will say that we are to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. Socio-demographic categories are all we hear about during the election. Everyone is a category: white evangelicals, African-Americans, Asian-Americans, uneducated, or working-class. Everyone gets a little category. If anything, this past week has shown us that none of us like to be put into a category and have people in another category think they know everything about us and our category. But we all get placed somewhere. Jesus says that if you only love the people who like you, dress like you, root for the things you do, and vote for the people you do—well, everybody does that! But what about your enemies? What about the people who mistreat you? What about the people who don’t understand you? By condemning envy, hatred, and anger, the catechism says that God tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves, to be patient, peace-loving, gentle, merciful, and friendly to them.

We hear so much about tolerance, which is really a very weak virtue. Next time someone says something about tolerance, say, “Look, I’m a Christian. God calls me to much more than tolerance. He calls me to positively love my enemies—to be friendly toward them, protect them from harm as much as I can, and to do good to them.”

Did you notice what Jesus said at the end of Verse 26? “If you are this sort of angry fool, you will not get out until you pay the last penny.” If you insist on pouring out the cup of your wrath, there’s another cup for you to drink. As He is apt to do, Jesus makes the one commandment which we would have thought we were all going to feel pretty good about into one of the commandments that we all feel pretty bad about. Which one of us hasn’t been unrighteously angry this week? There is a way to be righteous in anger, but that’s not the way that most of us are angry. We show it in the way that we speak to our spouses, when we silently judge, when we explode to our children over the simplest things, and when somebody drives in front of us and goes too slow, and you would think that they had cursed your whole family for all time. Jesus says that you will not get out until you pay the last penny. That’s how serious anger is.

So what do we do? We’ve all had this cup of wrath at some point in our lives—if not so that others can see it, then in our hearts. We were fuming, scheming, steaming mad, drinking our bubbling, exploding cup of wrath. So what do we do? We look to the Garden of Gethsemane and find Jesus there with another cup. As He is facing his death on the cross, He says, “Father, if possible, take this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will but yours be done.” What’s the cup? It’s not the cup of our wrath, but of God’s wrath for sinners like us. It’s His righteous, perfect anger, directed toward people like us, who have so often displayed such unrighteous, unholy anger. And Jesus says, “If this is the only way, Father, I’ll take it.” We deserve that cup, but He took it upon Himself. The only one who never violated any of the commandments and never committed murder in the least degree in His heart was murdered for angry murderers like us. We have all poured out the cup of wrath on one another, but only Jesus drank from that cup for us.

Let’s pray. Father in heaven, convict us of sin. Show us how we have fallen short of this and all your commandments. Lead us to the cross, where we can find mercy and grace from the one who lived the perfect life we could not live and faced the punishment we could not endure, so that in Him we might know forgiveness, health, and newness of life. We pray in His name, amen.

Critical Race Theory Doesn’t Go Far Enough

Sat, 16 Oct 2021 09:00:00 GMT

Real Power Doesn’t Always Follow Intersectional Theories

As Americans continue to debate critical race theory (CRT) and its place in our schools and our national self-understanding, the discussion in some Christian circles has turned to questions about possible similarities between a Reformed doctrine of sin and CRT’s emphasis on the pervasiveness of oppressive systems and structures.

For example, in a new book, Reformed Public Theology, one contributor argues that “Reformed theologians describe the pervasive effects of sin while using comprehensive terms strikingly similar to CRT.” The author then quotes from the famous Dutch statesman and theologian Abraham Kuyper:

“The stronger, almost without exception, have always known how to bend every custom and magisterial ordinance so that the profit is theirs and the loss belongs to the weaker. Men did not literally eat each other like cannibals, but the more powerful exploited the weaker by means of a weapon which there was no defense.”

I have already seen these lines cited many times on social media, to the effect that, like CRT, a Reformed doctrine of sin leads us to believe in the near inevitability of systemic injustice. What should we make of this argument?

An initial response is to admit that powerful people often do bend customs and ordinances to favor their interests. The weak often are mistreated by those who have the connections and influence to get away with it. In American history, this has meant that whites too often protected their power by mistreating those who were not white. Even in a country deeply influenced by Christianity, oppression is more common than we would like to think.

So far, so Reformed.

But there are problems with connecting the ideology of CRT with the doctrine of the Reformed tradition.

For starters, it’s strange that Kuyperians—who talk so much about redeeming culture, transforming the city, and renewing the arts—can sound so defeatist when talking about the systems and customs of Europeans and their descendants. If the leading proponents of CRT are to be believed, centuries of profound Christian influence in the West have produced little more than a stream of atrocities and injustices. So much for Christ the transformer of culture.

But there is a larger concern: the anthropology of CRT doesn’t go nearly far enough. If Reformed theology reminds us that the powerful often oppress the weak, it also reminds us that all of us “have a natural tendency to hate God and [our] neighbor[s]” (Heidelberg Catechism Q/A 5). What CRT locates in certain races, sexes, classes, and sexual orientations, the Reformed tradition locates in every human heart.

Recall the quotation above. Here’s what Kuyper goes on to say in the very same paragraph:

“This [oppression of the weak] was not because the stronger class was more evil at heart than the weaker, for no sooner did a man from the lower class rise to the top than he in his turn took part just as harshly—yes, even more harshly—in the wicked oppression of those who were members of his own former class. No, the cause of evil lay in this: that men regarded humanity as cut off from its eternal destiny, did not honor it as created in the image of God, and did not reckon with the majesty of the Lord, who alone by his grace is able to hold in check a human race mired in sin.”

In other words, the story of oppression cannot be told with reference to one race, one sex, one class, one nation, or one civilization. The problem of injustice goes deeper, past the identity obsessions of our age, all the way to our identity as fallen human beings.

Imperfections aside, the American experiment is built upon a more accurate understanding of human nature. James Madison understood that we do not have angels to govern us, and therefore ambition must be made to counteract ambition (Federalist 51). The Founding Fathers would have readily agreed with the notion that people in authority tend to abuse their power. But they would have insisted that popular passions can also be dangerous, which is why they constructed a system dependent upon checks and balances, the rule of law, and the recognition of natural rights outside the reach of majority opinion.

The fundamental problem with CRT is not its assumption that worldly systems often favor the powerful. The fundamental problem is limiting “power” to the one axis of race, class, and sex, when power does not always work according to an intersectional spreadsheet. Power can be conferred by education, by money, by skin color, by victim status, by intellect, by beauty, by fame, by having the right opinions, by signaling the right virtue, and by a thousand other things. Sometimes people use their power for good; often, they do not.

Reformed theology tells us to be on the lookout for the sinful use of power, and it tells us to find it—even as we look for redemption—far as the curse is found.

What To Do With Christian Nationalism

Sat, 18 Dec 2021 10:00:00 GMT

We Should Critique Beliefs and Behaviors Instead of An Ill-Defined Ism

Of the many potential problems with Christian nationalism (more on those problems in a moment), two foundational problems need to be addressed before getting to the others. The first problem is that no one agrees on what Christian nationalism is. The second problem is that no one seems to argue for something they actually call Christian nationalism.

Let’s start with the first problem first. What exactly is Christian nationalism? One influential article earlier this year defined Christian nationalism as “the belief that the American nation is defined by Christianity, and that the government should take active steps to keep it that way.” Andrew Whitehead and Samuel Perry, in their oft-cited book on the subject, summarize Christian nationalism in six statements: (1) The federal government should declare the United States a Christian nation. (2) The federal government should advocate Christian values. (3) The federal government should not enforce the strict separation of church and state. (4) The federal government should allow religious symbols in public spaces. (5) The success of the United States is part of God’s plan. (6) The federal government should allow prayer in public schools.

More polemically, Russell Moore has denounced Christian nationalism as an idolatrous and heretical religious impulse that degrades the credibility and witness of the church. Similarly, David Scott of the United Methodist Church argues that “Christian nationalism gives moral cover for actions, even unseemly ones, taken in pursuit of national or political goals.” David Koyzis describes nationalism (of which “Christian” is one type) as “a political arrangement in which people deify the nation, viewing the nation as the Savior that will protect them from the evil of being ruled by those who are different from them.” And then there is the National Council of Churches (NCC) which claims that Christian nationalism is associated with racism, white supremacy, and political violence, and ignores issues of poverty, healing the planet, and international peace.

So what are we talking about? Is Christian nationalism about influencing the country with Christian beliefs and values, or is it a retrograde movement hellbent on overthrowing the government, demonizing infidels, deifying the nation, and reintroducing Jim Crow? By Whitehead and Perry’s definition, most Christians in America—of any color—are some sort of Christian nationalist. But if everything in the NCC definition is correct, we’d be hard pressed to find such a nefarious lot of Christians in many of our churches.

Which leads to the second big problem: where are the people actually advocating for Christian nationalism? Granted, it’s not always wrong to find shortcuts for labeling a complex and connected set of commitments. But it is hard to miss the fact that there are vastly greater numbers arguing against something called Christian nationalism than there are people arguing for it. Presently, if you Google “What is Christian Nationalism?” the first page yields one generic Wikipedia entry and nine articles denouncing Christian nationalism. We can argue about what constitutes Critical Race Theory, but no one can deny there is such a thing as Critical Race Theory. There are decades of books and articles defining, refining, and commending the concept. There is no similar body of literature on the subject of Christian nationalism. In the case of Christian nationalism, it is much easier to find critics defining what they don’t like and warning others against it than finding people explaining why they are Christian nationalists and why you should be too.

Does this mean we are wrong to criticize Christian nationalism? Not necessarily. But it would be better to critique the beliefs and behaviors we find objectionable instead of employing an ill-defined ism and projecting its existence into every nook and cranny of the evangelical church. There are real problems with the way some Christians think about and practice politics. We ought to reject all manner of conspiracy theories, racial partiality, demagoguery, and the syncretistic blending of Christianity and Americana. Further, we must not give in to hating their side, deifying our side, and looking to politics to solve our deepest problems and give us meaning in life. If this is Christian Nationalism, the only Christian position is to be steadfastly against it.

For all that “Christian nationalism” might justly warn against, the label can also function as a convenient dismissal of conservative concern over an ascendant and aggressive liberalism. I’d rather not be in a culture war either, but sometimes the opposite of war is not peace and quiet; it is surrender and loss. Surely there must be some way to seek Christian influence in the political realm that falls short of heresy and idolatry. Surely it is not wrong to speak about the Christian underpinnings of our Founding and desire to see our country guided by Christian principles and undergirded by Christian truth. Surely we do not wish to denounce every Christian praying Proverbs 14:13 or 2 Chronicles 7:14 (even if the latter was a promise made to Israel). There must be some middle ground between a theocratic Christian nationalism and a culturally-acceptable Christian nothingism. I think most Christians are seeking to avoid both nationalism and national destruction.

Postmodernism’s Revenge

Fri, 31 Dec 2021 10:00:00 GMT

It Didn’t Go Away After All

I am a Gen Xer. Born in the late ’70s and coming of age in the ’80s and ’90s, I remember when I was a part of the “next” generation, the troubled Kurt Cobain generation, the cohort of young people who would spell doom for the church, if not for the entire country. When I was in college, we read Douglas Coupland’s Generation X, we pondered the possibility of moral absolutes, and we talked a lot about postmodernism.

As a young Christian eager to defend the faith and learning to think for myself, I devoured all 600 pages of D.A. Carson’s award-winning book The Gagging of God: Christianity Confronts Pluralism (1996). It was just the book I needed as I thought for the first time about hermeneutics, contextualization, and these French philosophers named Derrida and Foucault. I graduated from college in 1999, taught a Sunday school class on relativism at my church that summer, and headed off to seminary.

Strange, though, the kerfuffle over postmodernism didn’t last as long as many feared. True, people were still talking about it and publishing about it through the first decade of the new millennium, but the ism was losing its ability to draw a crowd. Derrida and Foucault were old news in the academy, and by the 2010s Christian complaints against postmodernism sounded quaint, yesterday’s news, the sort of thing church people started talking about when no one else did anymore. Postmodernism was dead.

Until it wasn’t.

Here is Carson talking about “radical hermeneutics and deconstruction” in The Gagging of God. See if his imaginary description of college life rings true.

Miss Christian goes off to the local state university, full of zeal and the knowledge of a few fundamental truths. There she will not find lecturers who will devote much time to overturning her truths. Rather, she will find many lecturers convincing her that the meaning in her religion, as in all religion, is merely communal bias, and therefore relative, subjective. Truth, whatever it is, does not reside in an object or idea or statement or affirmation about reality, historical or otherwise, that can be known by finite human beings; rather it consists of fallible, faulty opinions held by finite knowers who themselves look at things that certain way only because they belong to a certain section of society. (36)

Replace “local state university” with “Christian liberal arts college,” add words like “white” or “Western” or “southern evangelicalism,” and the world of 1996 sounds much like contemporary evangelicalism right now. The quickest way to discredit one’s theological views or ecclesiastical practice is to engage a fallacy of C.S. Lewis called “Bulverism,” where one reduces those beliefs and behaviors to Whiteness or patriarchy or Western hegemony or anything else that seems bad enough not to be defended and big enough not to be falsifiable.

Of course, the basic claim of Carson’s lecturer—that all of us speak and think and act out of our experiences and social location—is, on one level, undeniably true. None of us are infallible. We are finite human beings with finite knowledge. Our beliefs and behaviors are shaped by a host of factors—not just by sex and skin color, but by where we grew up, where we went to school, what our parents were like, what we fear, and whom we want to impress. It’s not just conservative evangelicals who speak out of a particular culture or moment in time. The same is true for egalitarians, progressives, and everyone else. We must all be careful lest the things we believe are less about the Bible and the historic Christian faith and more about our country, our class, and what our peer group deems acceptable. Chastened epistemology has its place.

But it must stay in its place. Looking for blind spots is one thing. Acting as if we are blind is another. We don’t have to let sociological fads and ill-defined ‘isms’ set the agenda when we have the necessary theological categories already. The point is the same: we can know things truly even if we don’t know things exhaustively.

To be sure, we must always be open to correction. But if God has not been gagged, and if the Spirit has been at work in the history of the church, let us not relegate and relativize the greatest theologians, preachers, and practitioners of the past based on our twenty-first century obsessions with race, gender, and sexuality. Texts have meanings (Matthew 9:12-13), and teachers are given to God’s people that they might authoritatively explain those texts (Nehemiah 8:5-8; 2 Timothy 4:1-2). When Paul reasoned from the Scriptures (Acts 17:2, 7), reasoned in the hall of Tyrannus (Acts 19:9) and reasoned with Felix (24:25), Paul believed he was teaching God’s truth, not his male, Jewish, Roman Imperial interpretation of things.

We may belong to a certain section of society, but God does not. And He knows how to make Himself heard.

A Theological Stress Test

Sat, 09 Jan 2021 10:00:00 GMT

When We Change Our Views On Sex, That’s Never All That Changes

We live in a day when the biblical sexual ethic is considered by many in the West to be not just outdated or benighted but maliciously harmful. In Finland, for example, a Lutheran pastor and a Finnish member of parliament are being charged with “hate speech” for writing and publishing a 2004 booklet that explains basic Christian theology about sex and marriage, specifically that marriage is between a man and a woman and that sex is reserved for that marriage covenant. When it comes to the conclusion that same-sex sexual intimacy is sinful—a belief held at all times and in all places in church history until very recently, and a biblical conviction still held by virtually all Christians outside the West—the pressure to capitulate is immense.

For most of us, the pressure is not (yet) about fines or jail time, but the pressure is real, and it will only keep growing. For some, the pressure will come from a genuine desire to make sense of their own sexual feelings or to affirm sexual strugglers in their lives. For others, the pressure will be formal and external, coming by way of educational attainment or the desire for career advancement. For many, the pressure will be more organic, but no less forceful—we will feel pressure from family, friends, and peer groups, or from the general cultural expectation that good, normal people can’t possibly believe the things the church has believed for two thousand years.

The temptation for the Christian is to convince oneself that changing one’s views on homosexuality is relatively inconsequential, like taking a new position on the millennium or deciding that it’s okay to eat out on Sundays. And yet, sexual sin is never considered adiaphora, a matter of indifference, an agree-to-disagree issue like food laws or holy days (Romans 14:1-15:7). To the contrary, sexual immorality is precisely the sort of sin that characterizes those who will not enter the kingdom of heaven (1 Corinthians 6:9-10; Galatians 5:19-21). There are at least eight vice lists in the New Testament (Mark 7:21-22; Romans 1:24-31; 13:13; 1 Corinthians 6:9-10; Galatians 5:19-21; Colossians 3:5-9; 1 Timothy 1:9-10; Revelation 21:8), and sexual immorality is included in every one of them, usually multiple times and often at the head of the list. You would be hard-pressed to find a sin more frequently, more uniformly, and more seriously condemned in the New Testament. Sexual immorality has always been a proving ground for whether we will take God at his word. As Wheaton professor Doug Moo points out, “In Paul’s day, as well as in ours, sex was an area in which biblical standards clashed especially harshly with contemporary mores” (631).

Most Christian ministries and Christian leaders will not change their sexual ethics right away. The process of capitulation usually follows a certain, now-predictable pattern: first, we hear how complicated the issue is and how we need more time to study, then there is the phase of intellectual agnosticism and indecision about which way to go, next comes total affirmation of homosexual behavior, followed finally by frequent vituperation against those who have not embraced the new morality.

To be sure, there are conservative Christians who get their sexual ethics right while getting all sorts of other things wrong. Holding to orthodox views on sexuality is not a sufficient ground for doctrinal fidelity across the board. But more and more it appears to be a necessary ground. What one believes about sex and marriage usually tells you a lot about what they believe in other areas. How many open and affirming churches and church leaders are resolute champions of inerrancy and penal substitutionary atonement? How many would defend soteriological exclusivism and the reality of hell as eternal conscious torment? Or, to think about the Reformed tradition, how many Christians waving rainbow flags also preach the hard doctrines of election, reprobation, and particular redemption? Might it be that the same contra mundum impulse required to affirm the church’s historic position on marriage is also necessary if we are to teach other angular and (often) unpopular doctrines of the faith?

There is a name for the opposite impulse: it is called liberalism. I don’t mean that as a swear word, but as an identifiable theological tradition that argues, according to Gary Dorrien (one of its leading scholars), “that religion should be modern and progressive and that the meaning of Christianity should be interpreted from the standpoint of modern knowledge and experience.” Liberals believe they are making Christianity relevant, credible, beneficial, and humane. Evangelicals in the line of J. Gresham Machen believe they are making something other than Christianity. That was the dividing line a century ago, and that division—seen most clearly today in the area of sexual ethics—still remains.

The Temptation of the Jeremiad

Fri, 15 Jan 2021 10:00:00 GMT

Critiques of “White Evangelicals” Express Annoyance Rather Than a Desire to Persuade

Over the last five years, a specific type of political and sociological complaint has emerged. We might call it the “here’s what’s wrong with white evangelicalism” jeremiad. If a typical jeremiad denounces a community “for its wickedness” and laments the morality of that society “in a serious tone of sustained invective” then scarcely a week goes by in which white evangelicalism is not subject to a sustained jeremiad, often by those who count (or once counted) themselves a part of white evangelicalism.

A case in point is David French’s recent article “Deconstructing White Evangelical Politics.” Before I register some disagreements with French’s article, let me gladly acknowledge that David (if I may) is a fellow believer and a fellow Presbyterian who has served bravely his country and the cause of Christian liberty at many times and in many ways. David is a brother, not an enemy.

Let me also acknowledge that I agree with many of French’s complaints. I, too, am grieved by those who beclowned themselves in minimizing Trump’s sins and in following him with Messianic fervor. I, too, am concerned that conspiracy theories can easily take hold of good, churchgoing people. I, too, lament that many Christians are more deeply catechized by their preferred political pundits than they are by their own church’s confessions.

And yet, there are serious problems with the white evangelicals are ruining everything jeremiad I’ve seen often from French (and several other writers).

For starters, the genre often assumes conclusions instead of reaching them. French, for example, decries the fact that white evangelicals are less likely than other groups to think that poverty, inequality, and racism are extremely serious threats to the country. “This is not the result,” French writes, “you’d expect from a community whose politics is centered around biblical justice.” French’s conclusion begs the question. Maybe evangelicals don’t care about biblical justice. Or maybe they have a different assessment of how bad each problem is and what biblical justice entails.

The jeremiads are also vexing because they are so broad as to be non-falsifiable. In tweeting his article, French argued that the politics of evangelicals are “an often-destructive artifact of a culture that is not always just and sometimes rejects the truth of the scriptures they seek to protect.” The qualifiers in that sentence do a lot of heavy lifting. By the time you get past “often” and “not always” and “sometimes,” the statement cannot be gainsaid. It’s like when Peter Wehner wrote about the nefarious effects of Southern culture, while also admitting that “these cultural attitudes are hardly shared by every southerner or dominant throughout the South.” So is the problem Southern culture and white evangelicalism, or is the problem that Southerners and white evangelicals, like everyone else, are sinners?

If the jeremiads simply lamented bad behavior and bad ideas that would be one thing. There are plenty of both in the church. But the complaints go a (big) step further and mean to indict an entire ism and deconstruct an entire movement. The arguments are less about what white evangelicals have gotten wrong (that is assumed) and more about why they believe such bad things. This is where theories about Southern culture or political partisanship—or, from other writers, patriarchy and toxic masculinity—come into play. Of course, the why questions are not entirely off-limits, but they are much harder to prove and degenerate quickly into markers of out-group and in-group identity. “White evangelical” functions for one side in the way that “Cultural Marxist” or “blue checkmark” or “evangelical elites” function for the other side. It’s a way of communicating, those people are like that because they are those kind of people.

And this is my biggest complaint with the white evangelical jeremiad. It has the same head-shaking “you people” vibe that prompted the “deplorables” to embrace Trump in the first place. It’s one thing to object to an idea or to a set of propositions. It’s another to object to a class of people. Even if French is right, and evangelicals should not have supported (voted for?) Trump and evangelicals should not be skeptical about many of the Covid protocols, there is little sympathy for trying to understand why evangelicals might have behaved in these ways. There is no persuasion, only pique and annoyance.

At the risk of seeming biased toward my own profession, I can’t help but notice that the leading voices decrying the moral bankruptcy of white evangelicalism are not pastors but professional writers, academics, and full-time commentators. Given the nature of these vocations—valuable, honorable vocations—it is easier to produce frequent jeremiads against the church than to produce a positive vision for the church. If your natural rhythm is not the whole counsel of God Sunday after Sunday, but another critique of the church in your inbox on Sunday morning, that should tell you something. The Lord knows there is much to criticize in the church, but I doubt that relentless, unsympathetic, exasperated censure against one specific people is the best way to convince them of your criticisms, let alone build them up in Christ.

Good News of Great Joy

Fri, 28 Jan 2022 10:00:00 GMT

The Glory of the Incarnation and the Temporality of Today’s Headlines

The danger in closely following the news and frequently commenting on the news is that we start to believe that the headlines give us the most important information. To be sure, we need Christians involved in the public square, Christians engaged in the battle of ideas, Christians committed to understanding the events of the day from a Christian perspective. If I didn’t believe in those things, I wouldn’t have started blogging 13 years ago, and I wouldn’t be writing these columns today. Quietism in the face of cultural upheaval is no virtue.

Paying attention to the news is salutary, as long as we don’t let it distort our sense of what the world is really like. The headlines tend to exaggerate the extent of disaster in the world and entices us to overreact to the 24-hours news cycle. Bad news travels faster than good news. Spectacular failure grips us more than steady faithfulness. The (seemingly) urgent stirs up our passions more than the (truly) important.

This means that a Christian approach to the news must never lose sight of the eternal in the midst of so much that is ephemeral. It is no pious platitude to be reminded that daily Bible reading is more important than the daily news. The sermon is more important than the Twitter scroll. The songs we sing on Sunday are more important than the chyron that screams at us every other day of the week.

The only truly Christian way to understand the news of today is to understand it in light of the news from 2,000 years ago. “Fear not,” the angel said, “for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people” (Luke 2:10). And what was that good news of great joy? It was about a seeming irrelevance. Another baby in a nothing town born to two nobodies. But the angel knew what the world now knows: that the seeming irrelevance was the revelation of something heaven-crashing and earth-shattering. “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (v. 11). The Lion of Judah was ready to roar, even if at first he sounded strangely like a baby crying.

Years ago, I read a book called Everything Must Change. It wasn’t a good book, and it wasn’t a good title. A better title would have been: Everything Has Changed. In our zeal to accomplish great things—justice things, kingdom things, gospel things—let us not forget the far greater things that have already been accomplished. Christmas will never be, for us, good news of great joy unless it is good news every day of the year. The mystery of the incarnation is that the eternal one was born, that the Creator came into the world through one of his creatures, that the Ancient of Days walked among us in the fullness of time. Seems like kind of a big deal.

The biggest news of 2021 is not inflation, Omicron, or Adele’s new album. The biggest news is not Joe Biden, Joe Manchin, or Joe Rogan. The biggest news is not what Harry and Meghan said to Oprah or what happened at the Capitol on Jan. 6. The biggest news of this past year is that Jesus is still Lord. The tomb is still empty. And Christ is still coming again. The Snake Crusher has arrived (Genesis 3:15). The star of Jacob has shone (Numbers 24:17). The stump of Jesse has bloomed (Isaiah 11:1). The sun of righteousness has risen with healing in its wings (Malachi 4:2). The one whom Simeon blessed and Anna longed to see can finally be seen. Born of a virgin in the armpit of the Roman Empire, the little child whose coming forth was from of old, from ancient days, is King of kings and our Prince of Peace.

The world is not the same. The news is not the same. And Christians, by God’s grace, are not the same either.

The Dangers of Digital Discourse

Tue, 19 Apr 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Understanding genres can help our expectations in communicating online

It’s no secret that the digital world can be rough. The way we talk about each other and to each other online is not often a model of careful reason and good faith. But maybe a little literary theory can help.

We’ve all heard the term “genre” before. It’s a French word meaning “kind” or “sort.” We use it as a designation for any type of communication—often written or spoken—with agreed-upon features and norms. We see, for example, that the Bible contains different genres of literature: narratives, laws, poems, prophecies, epistles, and apocalypses (just to name a few). Each genre follows certain loose but noticeable patterns: common constructions, repeated phrases, standard templates, and the like. If we read the Psalms like Leviticus, or Romans like Revelation, we are likely to misinterpret some passages and miss the meaning of others altogether. Knowing what sort of thing we are reading or hearing is critical if we are to read and hear that thing correctly.

What’s true for the Bible specifically is true for communication more broadly.

Take Twitter, for example. (The late comedian Henny Youngman might say, “Take Twitter—please!”) By definition, a tweet is extremely brief—often devoid of context. We should not expect a tweet to deal with all the “yeah, buts” or “what abouts.” To be sure, it is still incumbent upon those writing tweets to say what is true and edifying, but it is also incumbent upon readers to understand what sort of discourse they are reading.

Think about other kinds of communication. An official statement of faith or a yearlong study committee’s work on a contested issue can be expected to anticipate objections and to speak with maximum nuance. Amendments from the floor of a denominational assembly will usually not be as careful. A local church sermon is likely to be more hortatory and tied to a specific people at a specific time. A personal conversation with a friend or mentor or counselor is bound to be more intimate, have more give and take, and use language that encourages maximum rapport and mutual trust. A 1,000-word blog post will not be as comprehensive as a 250-page book. You get the point.

Or at least I hope we do.

In an age where digital immediacy can be confused for personal intimacy, we often forget that public communication will not have all the features of private communication.

Too often, we pay little attention to genre and expect a specific type of communication to do what it wasn’t meant to do. An essay is not a letter. A journal article is not a Sunday school lesson. A blog post is not an exercise in active listening. With different genres come different expectations. If you talk to your friend on the phone like you are preaching a sermon or issuing forth a doctrinal pronouncement, you probably aren’t being a very good friend. A different type of communication is called for. We understand that personal communication should not sound like public communication.

But the opposite is also true, and this is where the internet has fostered a lot of bad habits in people who should know better. In an age where digital immediacy can be confused for personal intimacy, we often forget that public communication will not have all the features of private communication. Again, this is not an excuse for the writer to be rude, uncareful, and unclear. But it does mean that the fair-minded reader will keep the genre in mind. Public writing, especially in shorter forms like blogs and articles, cannot be expected to deal with every caveat and everything that needs to be said on a given topic.

Likewise, public communication will not normally sound the same as a counseling session or a conversation with a hurting friend. When someone objects, “Well, is that how you talk to someone crying in the chair across from you?!” the honest, healthy answer should be, “No, of course not.” We shouldn’t speak to crying friends like we are reciting the Nicene Creed, and we shouldn’t be expected to write book reviews like we are praying with a hurting church member. A writer will be mindful that all sorts of people might be reading his material. But by the same token, a good-faith reader will be slow to personalize what was meant for public consumption.

Reclaiming some common sense when it comes to genre can teach us to write better and to read better. It can also remind us that public and private are legitimate (and necessary) categories. I don’t talk to my wife like I’m drafting a blog post, and I don’t write blog posts when what I really need is to talk face to face with my wife. It’s OK to have a personal voice and a public voice. As long as the two voices aren’t at odds, the presence of the public you and the private you is not hypocrisy, it’s maturity. If we have something to say about a book or blog or big idea, the internet might be the place to go. But if what we really need is some gospel encouragement or a listening ear, I’d suggest that you go on a prayer walk, phone a friend, schedule a dinner date, and stay far away from Twitter.

We Live In Confusing Times

Thu, 28 Apr 2022 09:00:00 GMT

Progressives can’t keep their story straight on sex and gender https://embed.podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/we-live-in-confusing-times/id1526483896?i=1000556152736

Follow me in the following intellectual exercise:

Gender is a social construct. Period.

At the same time, it’s always good when women can break glass ceilings. We should celebrate all the firsts that we see women do because women are certainly not men.

By women, of course, I mean anyone who identifies as a woman, including people we used to know as men. Sex is a socially derived category that assigns certain physical differences and then labels those differences as “male” or “female.” There are no immutable distinctions between men and women. We are all on a spectrum. We can all change.

Unless we are talking about sexual desires. Coming out as gay or lesbian is something we should all be proud of because people can’t change the way they were born. In fact, it should be illegal for doctors and counselors and religious leaders to try to change people who were born a certain way.

But some people definitely should be able to change the way they were born in terms of gender—and doctors and counselors and religious leaders should do everything they can to encourage this change. Sometimes our bodies don’t align with our true selves. Never forget: Your self-identity is your genuine identity.

Except when it comes to race and ethnicity. You should never claim an ethnic or racial identity that isn’t yours. Be very careful what you eat and what you wear; you can’t just appropriate someone else’s culture.

But you can appropriate someone else’s gender. Or go with no gender at all. We have all been socialized into a gender system that tells us how to think and how to act. The sooner we do away with the notion of a gender binary altogether, the better.

But just remember, women have been held back by the evils of patriarchy. Women are oppressed; men are oppressors. That’s a fact.

Not that “women” or “men” are anything more than fluid and culturally conditioned modes of self-identification. Obviously.

Still, we shouldn’t do away with women’s sports. It’s essential that every college have as many sports for women as for men. We must have equal opportunities for both sexes. Sports for women, sports for men. Those categories are absolutely critical.

I know, it’s complicated. But don’t worry, the less you think about it the more it will make sense.

But if men want to participate as women in women’s sports, that’s also really good because the sexual differences upon which the existence of men’s and women’s sports rest—those differences don’t really exist.

But don’t get me wrong, women have it a lot harder than men, trying to balance being a mom and pursuing a career.

Just to be clear, though, men can also be mothers. Birthing persons come in all genders.

Not that gender is anything more than what our culture tells us it is. Don’t forget that.

And don’t forget that women get paid less than men in the workplace. And women are underrepresented in Fortune 500 companies. And we’ve still never had a woman president.

Or at least not a president that we took to be a woman. It’s hard to say what a woman is without biologists weighing in.

Not that being a man or a woman is rooted in biology. That goes without saying.

Well, whatever a woman is, we know this much for sure: Women have a right to do what they want with their bodies. Reproductive freedom is the most important women’s issue of our time.

But I’m not saying that only women reproduce. Men can menstruate too.

Being a woman has many challenges. That’s why it’s important we protect women and make them feel safe.

Except in restrooms, in locker rooms, and in prisons. Then it’s OK for women to feel unsafe around men because everyone knows those men are really women.

It’s also worth remembering that men and women don’t have to look a certain way. But if a man becomes a woman, he should definitely pick a woman’s name and try not to look masculine anymore.

I mean, if there were such a thing as masculinity. Because obviously there isn’t.

But sometimes there is, and then it’s completely toxic.

Here’s the bottom line: Gender is a social construct. Period.

I know, it’s complicated. But don’t worry, the less you think about it the more it will make sense.

A Call For “Enlightened Patriotism”

Thu, 10 Mar 2022 22:00:00 GMT

Old Princeton professor Samuel Miller’s version of “Christian nationalism”

For several months, I’ve been reading a few pages a day during my devotional time from The Pastor: His Call, Character, and Work by faculty and friends of Old Princeton. Banner of Truth published the book last year, and all the addresses are well worth reading. The chapter from Samuel Miller, “Holding Fast the Faithful Word,” is especially striking. Miller was an Old School Presbyterian and was one of the first professors hired at Princeton Theological Seminary in 1813. Miller’s sermon, delivered on Aug. 26, 1829, at the installation of William B. Sprague at Second Presbyterian Church in Albany, N.Y., is a detailed analysis of the importance of sound doctrine. The seventh point, in particular, is worth examining in that it provides a powerful and, dare I say, salutary form of what some might call “Christian nationalism.”

Let me state clearly that I am not jealous to reclaim the term Christian nationalism. In fact, “reclaim” is not even the right word. As I’ve noted before, virtually the only people talking about Christian nationalism are those most steadfastly opposed to it. I’m not looking to defend a term I’ve never been in the habit of using.

What is worth defending, however, is Miller’s vision of “enlightened patriotism.” He begins his seventh point by asserting that “the diffusion of sound religious doctrine through all classes of the community is one of the surest means of establishing and perpetuating our national privileges.” Miller believed America was a land of God-given liberty.

“We often, my Friends, congratulate ourselves on the free constitutions of government under which we are so happy as to live,” Miller wrote. “That our lot is cast in a land where the people, under God, are supreme; where we are not called to bow to the will of a crowned despot, or to the oppressions of privileged orders: where we have no ecclesiastical establishments; but where, under governments of our own choice, and laws of our own formation, all enjoy those equal rights to which the laws of nature, and of nature’s God entitle them. And we may well congratulate ourselves, and be thankful for these privileges. The great Governor of the world hath not dealt so with any other nation.”

The dream was not a Christian takeover of government, but a nation founded on God-given freedom, shaped by Christian values, and filled with Christian teaching.

Of course, we can fault Miller for overlooking the plight of enslaved African Americans when it came to the enjoyment of equal rights. (Princeton recently removed Miller’s name from its main chapel because, although Miller did not like slavery and desired its eventual demise, he sadly owned slaves at one point in his life.) But don’t miss Miller’s larger point: He believed (and knew his audience also believed) that the United States was a nation uniquely blessed by God. The question, then, was how Christians and patriots should pass on those blessings to future generations and how we may “rationally hope that these blessings will be preserved inviolate and transmitted to a distant posterity.”

Although newer voices of “infidel fanaticism” wanted to reject the religion of Christ and throw off the restraints of a religious and moral code, Miller insisted that without sound doctrine, Americans could not truly be moral, and without morality they would be miserable. In making this argument, Miller was not much different from George Washington or John Adams or most of the Founders, who believed that a free people required virtue and that the inculcation of virtue required (some basic version of) the Christian faith. Miller called upon “enlightened patriotism, as well as piety,” to labor unceasingly to impart sound doctrine to all classes of people for the sake of “our beloved country.”

Miller’s prescription for America would not have been controversial in Albany, in the Presbyterian church, or in almost anywhere in early 19th-century America. Miller’s evangelical audience was not hoping for a reunion of church and state. At the same time, neither was his audience nervous about a full-throated appreciation for the inestimable blessings of American self-government and constitutional liberties. Miller’s “Christian nationalism”—to use the contested term—was not a political platform as much as it was the widely shared assumption that (1) Christians had good reason to be thankful for America, (2) Christianity has been instrumental in the founding of America, and (3) Christianity had a key role to play in preserving and passing on the privileges that belonged to free Americans.

The dream was not a Christian takeover of government, but a nation founded on God-given freedom, shaped by Christian values, and filled with Christian teaching. “Christians! Ministers of the gospel! Here lies our country’s fairest, best, only hope!” Miller enthused. “To those who love the cause of Christ, is committed, under God, her precious destiny. Spread Christian knowledge in every direction.”

Wasn’t he right?

Don’t Let the Culture Train Up Your Children in the Way They Should Go

Tue, 29 Mar 2022 10:00:00 GMT

The World’s Catechesis

Our family loves to watch the Olympics. As we’ve watched the last several years, we’ve been noticing how different each Olympics have been even from the last time they were held. It seems more and more like every commercial has a rainbow flag or two men holding hands or someone who looks like a woman but has a beard. All of the sexuality is right there in your face as if this has been around forever and is wonderful. This made me start reflecting on how our world is catechizing us.

No matter how many limits you put on screen time, if your kids are living in this world, I can guarantee that the world is catechizing them. This doesn’t happen in a formal way where the world is giving questions and answers, and kids memorize it. That would actually be easier. You could simply tell them, “Don’t read the world’s catechism.”

Instead, it does it through commercials. It does it through music. It does it through memes. It does it through YouTube clips. David Wells said that worldliness is whatever “makes sin look normal and righteousness seem strange.”1 And that’s what our world does. It doesn’t give us a discursive argument. Here’s why you should accept this sin. What it does instead is normalize it. That’s a type of catechesis (which is just an old word that means training or discipleship or instruction). The question is not whether our children are being catechized or not. It’s whether we are going to catechize them ourselves, or if we are going to let the world do it. Even if you homeschool your kids or send them to a Christian school, they’re getting the world’s catechesis. So we need to be intentional about catechizing them with what is truly good, truly beautiful, truly life-changing, and life-saving, and God-glorifying.

We need to understand that mainstream culture is pushing in one direction. Whether you watch ESPN, your favorite sports team, Avengers movies, or the Olympics, you’re going to be pushed in that one direction. The culture is not going to push you to greater clarity or biblical fidelity, especially on issues related to sex and gender.

The Bubble

Where is the line between seeking to protect our kids from this worldly catechesis and naively trying to shelter them in some kind of Christian bubble? The first issue to understand is that children have the right to be children. On the one hand, my 8-year-old should be able to be an 8-year-old and shouldn’t have to know what problems are for 18-year-olds or 28-year-olds. So that’s a good kind of bubble. Especially when they’re younger, I want my kids to feel like the world is relatively safe and makes sense. I want them to have that kind of bubble that allows them to be a child.

On the other hand, by the time kids are teenagers, I want them to interact with the very best of secular ideologies within the safe space of their church and family. My 18-year-old is graduating from high school and going off to college and shouldn’t be sheltered from any of those questions. I want my kids to understand that there are hard things people are going to say about Christianity. It starts by being explicit about those things. The ideal is that they’ve already heard some of the hardest things they could hear about their faith before they run into them elsewhere. Today those issues are becoming less about the reliability of the Bible or arguments for the resurrection and more about the ethics of Christianity. It used to be that people said, “Christians are dumb. They don’t believe in science.” Now it’s more often, “Christians are bad. They’re hateful. They’re bigots. They don’t love other people.”

Deconstructing the World

In terms of teaching our kids, I think churches and families actually do a fairly good job of giving the right conclusions. What I think we do a poor job of is giving the reasons for those conclusions. Let’s say my kids graduate from Christian school and leave home, and they’ve been taught that marriage is between a man and a woman. They have the right conclusion, but they don’t have some of the superstructure that leads to that conclusion. They have not been taught the objections to that conclusion or been prepared to meet the sort of people who seem to bely that conclusion. Then they’re going to go out into the world, and they will hold to biblical truth for a time, but it will sit very uneasy alongside everything else that inhabits their worldview. And eventually, when it’s one biblical conclusion against a thousand cultural assumptions, those cultural assumptions are going to win out.

The world is always deconstructing Christianity. We need to deconstruct the world. I did a talk in a school chapel not too long ago on the slogan “love is love.” There are a lot of people who are really confused about this. They’ll say they believe one thing, but when you look on their Instagram page, they’re liking the same stuff that everybody else is, which seems to contradict what they say they believe. So we need to unpack cultural ideas such as “love is love.” What does our world mean by that? What’s true about that? And what’s horribly misleading about that?

The culture is not going to push you to greater clarity or biblical fidelity, especially on issues related to sex and gender.

Establishing a Safe and Loving Environment for Questions

We want our kids to feel like the best place to go with their questions is to their parents. We hope they can trust their mom and dad more than a Google search. But that only comes with an atmosphere of love, trust, respect, and fun in the household.

I was once that kid who had questions, and I would take them to my parents. What my parents thought of me was important. When I had influences pushing me one way, there was always part of me thinking, I know my mom and dad love me, and what they think matters to me. That wasn’t a result of any one thing they did. We weren’t memorizing the catechism every night. But it was the cumulative effect of their love for one another and for their children throughout the ordinary stuff of life that catechized me.

How do we create an environment filled with intentional discipleship and catechesis? First, plan to have formal times of family worship. In our family, we share about our day at the dinner table. We encourage one another. We pray together. We read books. We’ve done all sorts of these things. But I’d be lying if I said we did something formal every night. We don’t. It’s a struggle for us to do that, but we do try to have formal times of family worship. For instance, there is the formal aspect to the routine of praying with our kids every night as we put them to bed.

Second, be ready for all of the informal times of catechesis. Recall the old adage that “more is caught than taught.” As your kids are teenagers in particular, you can’t plan for when you want to have a really great gospel conversation. You’ve got to be ready. It may be the middle of the night. It may be in the middle of shooting baskets outside. It may be a conversation in the car. At some point they will ask one of these questions. What you’re hopefully building in your child is a sense of trust. I trust my mom and dad, and I love them, and I know they love me.

Lastly, don’t neglect the fact that the best habit you can give your kids is that they go to church every Sunday. Our kids should not have to ask us, “Are we going to church this morning?” They should know that this happens every single Sunday. Of course there are reasons to miss church, but we need to send our kids a message about our priorities. And if we are implicitly teaching our kids that soccer is more important than church or that Sunday sports come first, and church fits in when it can, that’s a powerful message we’re sending.

You don’t need to lay it out as a catechism question. But you’re teaching those values and catechizing your kids.

Notes:

David F. Wells, Losing Our Virtue: Why the Church Must Recover Its Moral Vision (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 4.

This article is adapted from The Crossway Podcast: If You Don’t Catechize Your Kids, the World Will with guest Kevin DeYoung.

A Civilization, if You Can Keep it

Sun, 03 Apr 2022 10:51:00 GMT

Will we pass it on to future generations?

I was born in the middle. I came into this world in 1977 as a middle child (two out of four, anyway) in Middle America in a middle-class family. The ordinary life I’ve lived has been the experience of tens of millions of people in this country and hundreds of millions more around the world. To be sure, I’ve benefited from several advantages that many people don’t get: a loving family, good schools, and a safe neighborhood. Since becoming an adult, I’ve realized that my “normal” was not normal for all sorts of people. And yet, there is a “normal” that almost all of us in the West have experienced over the past 40 years, or if not quite 40 years, at least since the end of the Cold War.

Even with all the turmoil of contested elections, a global pandemic, and patterns of economic upheaval, virtually everyone reading this column gets up in the morning assuming a host of givens. Even the poorest Americans by and large enjoy material comforts—cars, air conditioning, cell phones, big-screen TVs—that would have been luxuries (or unheard of) not that long ago. We can go to the grocery store and get food. We can own property and have it secured against the encroachment of others. We can appeal to an imperfect but functioning legal system for justice. We can gather for worship freely and try to persuade others of our faith. We don’t worry about warring clans burning down our village. We don’t lose sleep wondering if Viking raiders will pillage our town. And we don’t worry about world war.

Or at least we didn’t.

The great privilege of growing up in relative peace and prosperity—whether narrowly in a healthy family or more broadly in a nation guided by the rule of law and rooted in God-given rights—is that the world seems more or less safe and it kind of makes sense. Let us give thanks for this experience wherever it exists. The danger, however, is that we begin to think it always has existed and always will exist. When our Founding Fathers spoke of securing “the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity” they used the word “blessings” for a reason. They knew that liberty was not the normal condition of human society. They understood that freedom was a divine gift and a fragile accomplishment. The thing about civilizations is that persons and peoples aren’t always civilized.

While I do not wish to add my voice to the alarmists who think the West is certain to collapse under a weight of bureaucratic bloat and cultural decadence, I do believe that most of us have lost sight of the blessings we uniquely enjoy.

Vladimir Putin is a wicked tyrant hellbent on a wicked path of maniacal self-aggrandizement and imperial usurpations. Thankfully, the world is not full of Putins. But the world is full of danger and the potential for disintegration. While I do not wish to add my voice to the alarmists who think the West is certain to collapse under a weight of bureaucratic bloat and cultural decadence, I do believe that most of us have lost sight of the blessings we uniquely enjoy. Even a cursory look at the sweep of human history reminds us that the default condition of human society—not for all, but for most—has been poverty, not plenty, violence, not peace, bondage, not freedom. Rousseau got it exactly backward. Civilization is not the curse that twists the noble human heart. The fallen human heart is what makes the accomplishment of civilization so necessary and so precarious.

Generally speaking, there are two ways one can think about the purpose of government, and these two ways have everything to do with our moral philosophy and our anthropology. These two ways can be framed by two very different questions. Question No. 1 asks, “What is the best we could accomplish together and how do we pursue this?” Question No. 2 asks, “What is the worst that could happen and how do we avoid this?” Our Founding Fathers were animated by the second question. The American experiment is not so much about pursuing some grand objective through government as it is about protecting something precious and threatened. God gives rights. Government protects those rights. That’s the fragile logic of freedom. As Benjamin Franklin famously quipped when asked what sort of government the constitutional delegates had created, “A republic, if you can keep it.”

The prosperity and freedoms we take for granted had to be won in days past, which means they can be lost in the days ahead. If you look at the world gross domestic product per capita over the past two millennia, you’ll see that economic well-being was virtually unchanged for 1,800 years, at which point it shoots up like a hockey stick. Jonah Goldberg calls it “the Miracle.” Others refer to our experience as WEIRD (Western, educated, industrialized, rich, and democratic). Whatever you call it, the life most of us enjoy today is not normal—not normal in history and not normal for millions of people around the world. The more we recognize its abnormality (and our blessing), the better equipped we are to preserve this civilizational inheritance for ourselves and pass it on to our posterity. If we fail at this task, future generations will never know these blessings.

The Manly Virtue of Magnanimity

Tue, 22 Mar 2022 10:51:00 GMT

We should attempt great things while enduring great hardships

John Witherspoon was the president of Princeton (then called the College of New Jersey) from 1768, when he arrived from his native Scotland after a career in pastoral ministry, until he died in 1794. Twice during his presidency—in 1775 and again in 1787—Witherspoon preached a message before commencement on a theme we don’t hear a lot about today. “My single purpose from these words at this time,” he told his students, “is to explain and recommend magnanimity as a Christian virtue.” In a day when presidents (from both parties) have been known to berate their opponents with foul language, in a cultural context where courage is often in short supply, and in an online world where offendedness is promoted next to godliness, we could all use a fresh exhortation to magnanimity.

The title of this article calls magnanimity a “manly virtue.” By that, I don’t mean that magnanimity is unique to men or that women are not also called to this trait. After all, Witherspoon calls it a Christian virtue. But I do think magnanimity is a virtue particularly befitting to manhood, and that manhood bereft of magnanimity is especially lamentable. When the Apostle Paul enjoined the Corinthians to be strong, to stand firm in the faith, and to “act like men” (1 Corinthians 16:13), he was calling men and women to courage, but he was also embracing the notion that fortitude in the face of opposition is what we associate with manliness.

According to Witherspoon, magnanimity entails five commitments: (1) attempting great and difficult things, (2) aspiring after great and valuable possessions, (3) facing dangers with resolution, (4) struggling against difficulties with perseverance, and (5) bearing sufferings with fortitude and patience. In short, the magnanimous Christian is eager to attempt great things and willing to endure great hardships.

Witherspoon took for granted that the world approves of magnanimity. His concern was that some might conclude that calling men (like his Princeton graduates) to strength and valor and ambition does not fit with the tenor of the gospel. Even today, if you hear the word “masculinity” at all, it is likely to come after the word “toxic.” Christians have often struggled to know how godliness and manliness mesh. But virtues, Witherspoon insisted, can never be inconsistent with each other. He noted that while the gospel would have us mourn for our sin and cultivate a humility of spirit, we are also “called to live and act for the glory of God and the good of others.” This means that the truly pious man, in striving for greatness, will seek to gain possessions more valuable than earthly riches. “The glorious object of the Christian’s ambition is the inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and that fadeth not away,” Witherspoon preached to his students.

The magnanimous person does not bear grudges, does not wallow in self-pity, does not demand penance, and does not stoop to settle every score.

Christianity is not opposed to ambition, but ambition will look different for the Christian. “Everyone must acknowledge,” Witherspoon said, “that ostentation and love of praise, and whatever is contrary to the self-denial of the gospel, tarnish the beauty of the greatest actions.” True greatness does not lie in self-promotion, endless bravado, and passing along our own praise. Likewise, manliness does not mean we must be larger than life gunslingers and gladiators who swagger into town ready to kill or be killed. There is more than one way to be brave and many ways to be strong. Not everyone will be gifted with brains or brawn. Not everyone will have the opportunity for world-altering heroism. “But,” Witherspoon noted, “that magnanimity which is the fruit of true religion, being indeed the product of divine grace, is a virtue of the heart and may be attained by persons of mean talents and narrow possessions and in the very lowest stations of human life.”

If magnanimity calls us to attempt great things, it also compels us to endure great suffering. Merriam-Webster defines magnanimity as “loftiness of spirit enabling one to bear trouble calmly, to disdain meanness and pettiness, and to display a noble generosity.” Would that this describe our political leaders, our intellectual leaders, and Christian men more generally. While we all should disdain pettiness, there is something particularly discomfiting when a man feels the need to advertise the offenses against him and swing at every offender. The magnanimous person does not bear grudges, does not wallow in self-pity, does not demand penance, and does not stoop to settle every score.

Trying to See Things Their Way

Thu, 17 Feb 2022 11:36:00 GMT

How should Christians think about the past?

Many of the fiercest battles in today’s culture wars are about history. We may think that the hot-button issues are all about theology, politics, sociology, ethics, and economics—and all of these are controversial too, of course. But more often than not, the issues lurking behind these issues—whether we are talking about critical race theory or the role of Christianity in politics or the toppling of statues or the toppling of patriarchy—are, at least in part, about how we understand history.

Which prompts the question: How do we interpret the past?

That’s a big question, one that would take a long book or semester-length course to answer in full. But here’s the start of an answer: In dealing with texts and people from the past, we should—in so far as possible, and as the first and most important line of intellectual inquiry—endeavor to see things their way.

That last phrase was made famous by Quentin Skinner, one of the chief architects of the Cambridge School of intellectual history. Opposed to the reductionistic historiography of the 1960s, Skinner tried to steer a middle course between the materialist school (which crammed everything into Marxist or Freudian categories) and the idealist school (which tended to put Great Thinkers in supposed conversations with other Great Thinkers). Skinner’s conviction was that the historian’s first job was to make every effort “to see things their way,” or, as historians John Coffey and Alister Chapman put it, “to understand past agents on their own terms in their own contexts, rather than framing the ideas of the past in familiar modern (or postmodern) categories.”

To be sure, historians are not prohibited from criticizing texts and persons from the past, but prior to criticism, they should seek to understand historical agents as they understood themselves. David Bebbington, reflecting on Skinner’s historical method, calls this the test of acceptability: “Only if the agents are content that their intentions have not been misrepresented can the account stand.”

If someone someday wants to write about your life, your ideas, or your church, wouldn’t you want them to be as fair as possible?

Even if the historical onlooker may know more than the agent from the past, still we must always start with the point of view of the historical agent in his or her own time. This means we should be slow to impute unstated motives to people in the past and hesitant to think we have uncovered the “real” reasons for their ideas and actions. Again, Coffey and Chapman put it well: “Some historians are still inclined to explain religious belief as a mask for more fundamental social, economic, or political interests, or as a reflection of psychological needs. Such approaches are deeply problematic because they allow historians to ignore what their subjects actually say.”

If the problem with Christian historians used to be hagiography (making our religious heroes into uncomplicated saints), the danger today is hamartiography (making our religious opponents into unmitigated sinners). Too many historical reconstructions—either on the academic level or of the more casual journalistic variety—are adept at highlighting the worst things someone has said or done and then using those sins and mistakes to deconstruct an entire movement, era, tradition, theology, or people group. The problem is not that we are made to reckon with the failures of the past. The problem is with any historical approach that traffics in monocausal explanations, judges the past by the concerns of the present, and applies its own method unevenly. When our people are in the dock, we want nuance, caution, carefulness, and precision. When our ideological opponents are being evaluated, however, we are quick to make unflattering connections, assume motives, and make the evidence fit the story we want to tell.

More important than following any approach to history, the Christian must be committed to treating our neighbors (dead or alive) as we would hope to be treated. I think of George Marsden’s aim in his magisterial biography of Jonathan Edwards “to make Edwards intelligible to widely diverse audiences by first attempting to depict in his own time and in his own terms.” This strikes me not only as good history but as a Christian way to do history.

Of course, doing history in this way does not mean that everyone will agree with our interpretations. But careful criticism (where necessary) mingled with genuine appreciation (where appropriate) is not the same as quick, constant, and vituperative denunciation. If someone someday wants to write about your life, your ideas, or your church, wouldn’t you want them to be as fair as possible? To understand you on your own terms instead of assuming the worst? To deal with you not as a cartoonish villain but as a complicated person?

Christian writers, historians, and scholars would do well to set the bar high for themselves in this regard, and in so doing set an example for others.

Toward a Better Discussion about Abuse

Tue, 25 Jan 2022 22:08:14 GMT

Abuse, of any kind, is an egregious sin by those who commit it and an immensely difficult and heavy burden to bear by those who are victims of it. As with any sin, abuse is, worst of all, an offense against a holy God. Those who perpetuate abuse must be confronted in their sin, called to faith and repentance, and offered the one true hope that can be found in Christ alone. Those who are sinned against must be comforted in their suffering, helped to put away misplaced shame, and offered the one true hope that can be found in Christ alone.

So far, I trust that every Christian is in agreement with these affirmations.

But beyond these foundational truths, the current discussion about abuse—as it is being played out online, in articles, in books, and in churches—gets quickly twisted and tied up in knots. To some degree, this is simply what happens when emotionally charged issues get talked about online (especially on Twitter). Social media has not been known to foster a spirit of charity or cultivate an intellectual atmosphere interested in careful distinctions and patient deliberation. The other difficulty is that depending on a whole host of factors—one’s personality, position, experience, or context—we tend to see the present dangers leading in different directions. For some, the most pressing concern is obviously that abuse is perpetrated, minimized, and covered up in the church. For others, there is another concern, that abuse is becoming a totalizing category and that even the accusation of abuse takes down everyone and everything in its path.

I admit I am concerned that correcting the church’s failures when it comes to abuse has given way in some places to an unhealthy overcorrection. Of course, in one sense, you cannot correct an error too much. And yet, you can correct one error in a way that produces new errors. That’s what I see at times in the current discussion about abuse.

I realize there are important points that need to be made on both sides. I have several points below warning against the overcorrection, but I don’t want to minimize the need there has been (and continues to be in many places) for the initial correction. So let me do my best to sincerely voice the correction and warn against the overcorrection.

What Needs to Be Said

Here are five things we need to say about abuse.

One, abuse is in the church. As much as we strive to be different from the world, there is still worldliness in the church. Children have been abused by adults. Wives have been abused by husbands (and sometimes the other way around). Congregants have been abused by leaders. Subordinate staff members have been abused by senior staff members. We in the church have not always done a good job protecting the vulnerable or holding the powerful to account. Predators, narcissists, and sinners of various stripes have too easily found the church a place to hide, and sometimes a place to flourish, in their deeds of darkness.

Two, the church has not always handled abuse well. Even when church leaders have not been guilty themselves of abusive behavior, and have not sought to cover up abusive patterns, they have sometimes failed to handle abuse situations with biblical fidelity, pastoral sensitivity, and Christian grace. These failures may include: failing to put proper safety measures in place, failing to act in a timely manner, failing to warn others and share information with pertinent parties or assemblies, failing to include women (when appropriate) in matters of domestic abuse, applying Matthew 18 in a wooden fashion, treating abuse situations as straightforward matters of personal reconciliation, being slow to listen, and being ignorant of proper reporting procedures.

Three, there are many devastating ways we can sin against one another. We should all know by now that “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is a lie. We can be deeply hurt by words as well as actions, by emotional pain as well as physical harm, by subtly manipulative leaders as well as by obviously tyrannical ones.

Four, victims need our help. Victims often deal with misplaced shame and need to be reassured of their innocence and of God’s grace. The cries of victims have sometimes gone unheard; they need people in positions of influence to listen to them and to speak for and with them. Often they need people in power to step in and protect them from harm.

Five, the first instinct of Christian leaders should be to help genuine victims. There can be a sinful tendency in those who are in positions of authority to view abuse victims as threats to be neutralized rather than sufferers to be helped and comforted. Of course, institutional boards and presidents and pastors cannot cease to be wise, responsible leaders. But being a good steward of the organization is no excuse for treating situations of abuse as strictly legal matters or as public relations disasters to be mitigated. We must think about victims before we think about our own institutional liabilities.

What We Need to Be Careful About

All of the points above are important. They cannot be assumed. They should not be minimized. I lead with these five points because they need to be said.

At the same time, there are other things that need to be said, lest in our zeal to care for victims we end up making new victims. Let me, then, make five additional points.

One, there is almost no room to say anything besides the first five points without some people accusing you of not really caring about the first five points. At times, the topic of abuse gets put into a category by itself where—unlike other pastoral or theological topics—any efforts at nuance or dispassionate analysis are completely off limits. As a result, people are often pushed to opposite sides: You either get it and are 100% on the right side, or you are an oppressor and part of the problem.

Along with this all-or-nothing mindset comes an unrealistic expectation that every discussion of abuse must proceed as if one was in an intimate counseling setting. That is, no matter the platform (book, blog, tweet) and no matter the genre (scholarly article, theological inquiry, cultural analysis, exegetical exploration), the writer or speaker must communicate with a commitment, seemingly above all else, that the most aggrieved person or eager critic could not possibly misunderstand or misappropriate what is being said. Too often there is an unrealistic expectation that every internet article or podcast comment or pulpit sermon must speak as you would in a one-on-one counseling situation. We do not produce balanced thinking by making the internet a counseling office, nor will victims be helped in the long run by giving them the expectation that the care they need can be found from strangers online.

Two, sometimes there is an unwillingness to distinguish between the abuser and anyone else in “the system.” It’s true, the system—and those in it—can fail victims and cover tracks for the abuser. And yet, we should be cautious about charging “the culture” with producing iniquity—a charge that is usually impossible to prove or disprove. We must not impute guilt to anyone and everyone who is somehow connected to “the system.”

Likewise, we must be careful to distinguish between high handed sin, unintentional sin, honest mistakes, and simply being connected to a sinful person or a tragic situation. It is far too easy—whether from a sincere zeal to ameliorate injustice or from a desire to seem virtuous—to malign others without evidence or due process. A commitment to helping victims should not necessitate second-degree (let alone third- or fourth-degree) separation from anyone deemed “controversial” or from those who have been accused of abuse without due process. “Guilty until proven innocent” is not a Christian way to pursue justice, nor is it loving our neighbors as we would want to be loved.

Three, abuse has become an ever-expanding term. Because “abuse” is such an explosive term, bringing shame to the accused and bringing power to the offended, we must not throw around the word haphazardly. Not too long ago, if you said “abuse” everyone would have assumed you meant physical harm or the sexual exploitation of a minor. As I said earlier, it is important to realize that there are ways we can be powerfully sinned against that don’t involve anyone laying a finger on our bodies. The problem is not in recognizing the many ways we can sin and be sinned against. The problem is in forestalling further questions and conversations by simply mentioning the word “abuse.” The danger of verbal inflation is real. The language of violence and trauma are now used for everyday interactions. When hurt feelings, gruff personalities, ill-conceived jokes, run-of-the-mill staff disagreements, and the ordinary misunderstandings of life get labeled as “abuse,” we not only run the risk of slandering the accused, we also make it more difficult for the genuinely abused to get the help and attention they need.

Four, when it comes to allegations of abuse, it is sometimes communicated (implicitly or explicitly) that the only acceptable stance is immediate and unquestioned advocacy. Again, let me try to make clear what I am not saying. I am not saying that advocacy is wrong. There are certainly many times where the most helpful, most courageous, and most Christian thing to do is to make sure the victim knows, “I am on your side, and I will fight for you.” What I am saying is that we should not expect that immediate and unquestioned advocacy is the only appropriate response—indeed, it may sometimes be the wrong response—when serious allegations are made. No matter how much we want to listen to and sympathize with people in their pain, there must be a place for fact-finding, for hearing from both sides, and for objective analysis—whether from journalists, boards, pastors, investigators, or whomever.

We are all capable of misinterpreting the facts—even the facts that form our story. None of us passively experience life. We actively interpret what happens to us, and sometimes we interpret our experiences incorrectly. Abusers can be blind to their abusive behavior, and those who consider themselves victims can misread what actually transpired. We must allow for the possibility that sheep can mislabel as “abuse” what is, in fact, necessary pastoral correction and oversight. After all, “for the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Heb. 12:11).

Five, the abuse discussion can forget that all of us are both sufferers and sinners. There are real oppressors and real victims. People don’t all suffer the same amount. People don’t all sin in the same ways or to the same degree. And yet, we must remember that hurting people often hurt people. They may not mean to. They may be trying to deal with genuine pain as best as they can. We must be patient with those who have been egregiously sinned against. But the sinned against are still sinners. Suffering does not make us sovereign. Our pain does not make us infallible. Sometimes our sense of trauma is misplaced. Sometimes we are less fragile than we think.

And finally, and somewhat controversially I know, we must acknowledge that even when we were sinned against, we are still responsible for the sins we commit. The existence of a power disparity, for example, does not automatically eliminate personal agency. Clearly in some situations—when dealing with minors, for example, or when one is physically overpowered—there is complete exoneration of guilt. But in other situations, the one with lesser power can still bear moral responsibility, even if the one with greater power is guilty of a much more heinous transgression (see Westminster Larger Catechism 151). If Joseph had slept with Potipher’s powerful, conniving, and threatening wife, she would have had the greater sin, but Joseph’s actions would still have been a great wickedness and sin against God (Gen. 39:9).

Conclusion

We have heard a lot in the last couple years about the danger of authority, and understandably so. We have seen some utterly terrible abuses of power in the Christian world. Power dynamics are real. Narcissism is insidious. Siding with the gifted abuser and ignoring the oppressed victim happens. Authority is sadly, tragically, too often used for diabolical ends.

But the response to a fire in the kitchen must not be to burn the whole house down. All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Jesus, so we must not be suspicious of all authority. The abuse of authority is a profound distortion of God’s own character, for He is the one who sovereignly rules over all things. In my experience over twenty years of ministry, I believe most pastors deserve the benefit of the doubt. Most are doing their imperfect best to lead and serve and teach in increasingly difficult days. To help people see God for who he is, we must correct abuse where it exists, without overstating the problem, without calling all authority into question, and without damaging the reputations of those who don’t deserve to be pilloried.

Christ and Caesar, Not So Fast

Sat, 07 Feb 2009 05:00:00 GMT

It has become popular in recent years to argue for, and in many cases assume, a strong anti-imperial agenda in the New Testament. From popular teachers like Rob Bell to serious scholars like N.T. Wright (also popular), it’s not unusual to see the New Testament interpreted in light of Augstus, Pax Romana, and the imperial cult. Words and phrases like “savior”, “son of God” and “gospel”–words the New Testament shares in common with the Roman political world–should, it is argued, be read as an attempt to purposefully subvert the Roman Empire, it’s aims, and its authority. One is, of course, from here free to draw all sorts of contemporary political applications.

The New Testament is all about Christ and Caesar, right? Not so fast says Seyoon Kim, a professor of New Testament at Fuller Theological Seminary, who tries to temper the recent enthusiasm for an anti-imperial hermeneutic in his book Christ and Caesar: The Gospel and the Roman Empire in the Writings of Paul and Luke (Eerdmans 2008).

Kim objects to an anti-imperial reading of Paul on several grounds: inappropriate parallelomania, the strong support for imperial authority in Romans 13 and elsewhere, incorrect assumptions about the breadth of the imperial cult, unwarranted proof-texting, the lack of an anti-imperial understanding interpretation in the early church fathers, Paul’s confidence before Roman tribunals (why did he always expect to be exonerated if deep down he understood one of his main objectives to be the taking down of the whole empire?), and the dubious appeals to hidden “coding” where an anti-Roman agenda does not seem to be present. Kim summarizes:

Thus, there is no anti-imperial intent to be ascertained in the Pauline Epistles. All attempts to interpret them as containing such an intent, as shown above, are imposing an anti-imperial reading on the epistles based merely on superficial parallelism of terms between Paul’s gospel preaching and the Roman imperial ideology, while the texts themselves clearly use those terms to express other concerns. Several attempts have turned out to suffer from grave self-contradiction. Some have betrayed their arbitrariness or desperation by appealing to the device of “coding,” that Paul coded his real anti-imperial message in politically innocuous language or in anti-Jewish polemic (68).

Similarly, Luke’s writings (his Gospel and The Acts of the Apostles), while aware of the evils of the Roman Empire, are not, strictly speaking anti-imperial. The Lukan message is one where the diaobolical nature of the empire is recognized (because every human system is fraught with evil), but is nevertheless coupled with a willingness to cooperate with the Roman Empire and use its facilities (190). The point, as Kim argues, is that empire is not the main problem in the world of the New Testament. Instead, “The fundamental problem for human beings and the world is the reign of Satan in sin and death (Luke 11:14-23; 13:16; Acts 10:38; 26:18; etc.)” (191).

Even in Revelation, where an anti-imperial agenda is clearly evident, there are still no calls for revolution or plans laid out for this-worldly liberation. The real enemy is Satan and human sinfulness and both are overcome by faith and the witness of the gospel.

However, in spite of his fervent critique of the beastly Roman Empire and his explicit interpretation of Christ’s work in the category of the messianic war, the seer John does not envisage the church as actively engaged in political subversion and military campaign. Nor does he show what concrete political changes in the present are entailed in the conversion of the nations to be brought by the Spirit-empowered church’s faithful witness to the true God and the Lamb slaughtered. Instead, John prophesies conversion of the nations as constituting the ultimate victory of Jesus Christ and ushering in the consummation of the Kingdom of God, and therefore as something that will take place at the parousia of the Lord Jesus Christ. With this apocalyptic prophecy, John is interested only in assuring the believers of the victory of Jesus Christ and his imminent parousia for the eschatalogical judgment and redemption and calling them to “conquer” (Rev 2:7, 11; 12:11; etc.) the “Beast,” the Roman Empire, in the same way that Jesus Christ, the Lamb slaughtered but now enthroned on God’s throne, conquered (Rev 5:5): namely, by maintaining faithfully “the testimony of Jesus” unto martyrdom (195).

I couldn’t have said it better myself (though I would have said it with smaller words and shorter sentences).

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 05:00:00 GMT

The third of the three standards of unity is explicitly about defining Reformed theology, especially Reformed soteriology.

Jacobus Arminius lived from 1560-1609. He began his teaching career thoroughly Calvinistic. After studying for a time in Geneva (1582-87), Arminius moved to Amsterdam to pastor a prominent church there. As a pastor, he was called upon to defend Calvinistic teaching against Dirck zoon Koornheert. In preparing his defense of traditional Calvinist doctrine, Arminius became convinced of his opponent’s teaching.

In 1603, Arminius was appointed professor of theology at the University of Leiden, where he was strongly opposed by his colleague, Francis Gomarus. Both Arminius and Gomarus believed in predestination, but they differed over the meaning of the word. At the heart of the disagreement was whether predestination was based solely on the will of God (Calvinism) or based on foreseen knowledge of belief (what would later be called Arminianism). The two met for a public debate in 1608, but the issue was no closer to being settled. Both men thought of themselves as Reformed, as Calvinists, but they were not saying the same thing.

Following Arminius’ death in 1609, the movement continued under the leadership of Janus Uytenbogaert, a court preacher at the Hague. In 1610, the Arminian party issued a document called the Remonstrance, setting forth the “Five Articles of the Arminians.” Gomarus and others formed a Contra-Remonstrance party (Gomarists) to oppose the Arminians. Things continued to heat up when Arminius’ successor at the University of Leiden was named–-a man by the name of Vorstius, who was practically a Socinian. When the Arminian Simon Episcopius was named Gomarus’ replacement at Leiden, it looked like the tide had turned in favor of the Remonstrants. The Remonstrance party was further supported by the statesman John van Oldenbarneveldt and the jurist/theologian Hugo Grotius.

Political IntrigueThe Netherlands had recently won its independence from Spain. Some were still leary of the Spanish, while others welcomed a closer relationship. In general, the merchant class, for economic and trading reasons, desired improved relations with Spain. The clergy, on the other hand, feared that more contact with Catholic Spain would taint the theology of their churches. The lower class sided with the clergy for theological reasons, for national reasons (anti-Spain), and for class reasons (anti-merchants). Thus, merchants saw Arminianism as favorable to their desire for improved relations with Spain, while the clergy and lower class sided with Gomarus.

The Remonstrance of 1610 was issued to Oldenbarneveldt, Advocate-General of Holland and Friesland. Oldenbarneveldt, who was working to secure a better relationship with Spain, wanted toleration for the Arminians. The Contra-Remonstrance from Gomarists was submitted to the States of Holland in 1611. Oldenbarneveldt and the States of Holland decided on toleration. But the Gomarists wanted an official theological pronouncement to settle the issue once and for all.

Prince Maurice, the son and heir of William of Orange, eventually took the side of the Gomarists (perhaps for theological reasons, but perhaps in an attempt to garner more control of the Netherlands for himself). After Maurice had Olderbarneveldt and others imprisoned, the Estates-General called for an assembly to end the conflict.

The SynodAn international synod convened in Dordrecht from 1618-19. Of the approximately 100 members present, 27 were from Britain, Switzerland, and Germany, while the rest were Dutch. The Dutch contingent was comprised of roughly an equal number of ministers, professors, laymen, and members of the Estates-General. The Remonstrants were soundly defeated at Dort, leading to one of the greatest theological formulations of the Reformation. Unfortunately, Maurice, a product of his times (and not a very nice man it seems), condemned Barneveldt to death and had some Arminian pastors imprisoned. When Maurice died in 1625, measures loosened considerably, and in 1631 Arminians were officially tolerated in the Netherlands.

As everyone reading this blog probably knows, the Canons of Dort, in rejecting the five points of Arminianism, outlined five points of their own: Unconditional Election, Limited Atonement, Total Depravity/Irresistible Grace, and Perseverance of the Saints. Since Dort, TULIP, or ULTIP in the original order, has been a short-hand definition of Reformed theology. The Canons do not pretend to explain everything about Reformed theology, or about the Bible for that matter, but they do argue that this is real Reformed theology, not the inventions of the Remonstrants.

Oh, and one more thing. The Canons are important not just because they are Reformed, but because they are biblical. To God be the glory.

Start Your Family

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 05:00:00 GMT

Start Your Family: Inspiration for Having Babies is a surprisingly good book. I say surprisingly not because I expected a bad book, but because I expected an overly-sentimental, “children are so awesome”, lightweight kind of book. But this book is much better than that.

Steve and Candice Watters, founders of Focus on the Family’s webzine for young adults, Boundless.org, have written a careful, readable, very helpful book on starting your family. My wife and I have always been advocates for having children sooner than later. At the very least, we urge young couples getting married to think through the decision and not just assume you need three to five years to get adjusted and build up a nest egg. My wife was pregnant nine months after we were married. We have never regretted welcoming Ian into the world 18 months into our marriage, and I bet you would be hard pressed to find many Christian couples who regret having children right away, though you could find many who wished they hadn’t waited so long.

The Introduction leads off with the Watters’ main thesis:

You just got married and now it’s time to enjoy your husband.You’re starting grad school.You just got your dream job.You want to buy a house.You finally dropped a dress size.You have a low pain threshold.You like sleeping through the night.You think you’re too immature to care for another person.Your friends who did it never call anymore (and they don’t have much sex, either).Your sister did it and traded her job for what seems like mindless babysitting.Stranger is the mall who did it look haggard and irritated.

There are a thousand reasons not to have a baby.

But in deciding against children, or even in just deciding to wait a little longer, you risk missing out on a miracle–a larger-than-life, inexpressible joy. Some women will have to take extra measures to conceive, but the rest of us have a marvelous opportunity regardless of income, education or background (19-20).

What I really liked about Start Your Family is that it manages to argue for having children, without resorting to shame and manipulation. The Watters marshal plenty of facts on declining fertility (female fertility starts going down at 27, really goes down after 35 and plummets after 40) and the risks involved with pregnancy the older you get. But yet they are sensitive to those who have waited or are now having a hard time conceiving. As parents of four children, the Watters are obviously pro-children, but not unrealistic about the challenges. The book offers enough Scripture and other evidence to be compelling, and enough personal vignettes to be interesting. The book is a quick read, but not fluffy.

The Watters make a strong case for staring your family earlier rather than later, without making you feel like you need to be pregnant all the time and pump out 18 kids in order to be spiritual. In a 150 pages they simply make the argument that God is good. Kids are good. And the longer Christian couples wait to have kids, the harder it can be to start.

If you or someone you know is newly married or about to get married, they would do well to pick up this wise, encouraging book.

Martyn Lloyd-Jones: What is an Evangelical? (1)

Tue, 03 Mar 2009 05:00:00 GMT

Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones (1899-1981) was one of best preachers in the twentieth century. He was expositional, experiential, God-centered, dogmatic, and full of passion. Think John Piper with a Welsh accent.

Lloyd-Jones was a leader among evangelicals, especially in Britain. As such, he often spoke about the right and wrong kind of unity. In 1971, he gave a series of three addresses in Mittersill, Austria on the theme “What is an Evangelical?” The talks were later published by Banner of Truth in the book, Knowing the Times (1989).

Here’s a summary of the Doctor’s first address:

We must be sure and certain we know exactly what we mean by “evangelical” (300). It is easy, and historically common, for subtle changes to slowly erode the meaning of our terms. We are not discussing what is a Christian. Of course, we are Christians, but evangelical is a limiting term that describes us a certain kind of Christian. Evangelical is chiefly a doctrinal term that should be defined and defended to our very “latest breath” (306).

There are two dangers that face us in defining the term “evangelical.” The first danger is to be too narrow and detailed in our definition. If we define the term so that those who are agreed about the centralities of the faith are separated from each other we are guilty of schism. We must always beware of setting up denominations “not in terms of vital truth but in terms of matters which are not even secondary, but of third-rate, fourth-rate, even perhaps twentieth- or hundreth-rate importance” (309).

The second danger is that we would be so broad and wide as to include those who do not agree with us on the fundamentals of the faith. There were several factors which, in Lloyd-Jones’ estimation, were promoting an overly loose definition of “evangelical” and causing confusion as to what made someone an evangelical. (1) Billy Graham’s crusades which brought together groups of people who disagreed on core issues of the faith. (2) Trying to claim non-evangelicals as our own (e.g., Malcom Muggeridge, and C.S. Lewis). (3) The charismatic movement’s tendency to put the baptism of the Holy Spirit before doctrinal integrity. (4) Assuming that non-evangelical opponents of the ecumenical movement must be evangelicals because they oppose ecumenicity.

Tomorrow we’ll look at the second (and more interesting) lecture where Lloyd-Jones outlines four guiding principles and several core characteristics of evangelicals.

Martyn Lloyd-Jones: What is an Evangelical? (4)

Fri, 06 Mar 2009 05:00:00 GMT

Alright, now the fun begins (long fun at that, sorry). I’ve tried to give the blow-by-blow account of each lecture, but haven’t yet said much about what I think (not that what I think should be treated with more sanctity than what Lloyd-Jones thought). Anyway, I’m not going to do anything fancy here, just list several positives and a few negatives I see in Lloyd-Jones’ answer to the question “What is an Evangelical?”

What I Like in Lloyd-Jones’ Answer1. I appreciate his stress on the importance of doctrine and definition. “Evangelical” must first of all (though not solely) be a theological category. Going to a traditionally evangelical school does not make one an evangelical. Neither does writing with an “evangelical” publishing house. Nor does a present or prior affiliation with some evangelical organization or parachurch ministry. An evangelical is nothing if not someone who believes certain things.

2. Along these lines, Lloyd-Jones is spot on with his insistence that we state negatives as well as positives. The orthodox party at Nicea objected to earlier compromise solutions, not because they disagreed with the confession being offered, but because the Arians could agree with it to, and they knew they didn’t mean the same thing as the Arians. In a world of linguistic slipperiness and doctrinal indifferentism, we owe it to others and ourselves to state not only what we believe, but what we reject.

3. Continuing this train of thought, I really liked Lloyd-Jones’ warning against additions and subtractions. Rarely are false teachers all wrong. They usually get a lot right. The problem is they leave central elements out (like talking about the atonement without mentioned penal substitution) or add new elements in (like making justification according to the whole life lived).

4. Lloyd-Jones’ constant concern for evangelism and lost souls is encouraging. As we argue about doctrine, we must never do so for the intellectual sport of it. We have no right to defend and define doctrine unless we are broken-hearted over the devastating effects of poor doctrine on the souls of men and women (and children for that matter).

5. Lloyd Jones is right to emphasize the doctrine of regeneration. One of the main problems with the emergent understanding of the kingdom is the stunning absence of any talk about repentance and new birth. It isn’t enough to tell people to go live like Jesus. We need to tell them: ye must be born again. And amazingly, by God’s supernatural grace, some people will be.

6. I’ve always admired Lloyd-Jones for his passion for revival. In other writings he makes clear that by revival he means the sovereign outpouring of the Spirit (ala the First Great Awakening with Edwards and Whitefield), and not manmade revivalism (ala Finney and the Second Great Awakening). More of us should pray, as Lloyd-Jones did, for the powerful, surprising work of the Spirit in our day to reform the church, renew our country, and regenerate hearts.

7. Lloyd-Jones reminds us that ss evangelicals, our attitude and our piety matter as well as our doctrine.

8. I am challenged by the Doctor’s warnings against being schismatic. Conservatives tend to worry about compromise more than unnecessary division, but both are sins. Reformed evangelicals in particular need to consider, from time to time, if we are being too rigid. Lloyd-Jones’ use of Calvin and Philippians 3:15 should convince all of us that some doctrines are simply not as essential as others. Those of us in love with the truth (which we should all be!) would do well to recognize that there is a difference between denying the truth and honestly misunderstanding a text of Scripture. Of course, there’s a danger here too, because almost everyone tries to make their case from Scripture. But Lloyd-Jones (and Calvin, and Paul) are right: on this side of paradise we will not always see clearly, nor will we always see things the same way. The thoughtful, serious evangelical who differs with us on baptism is not a truth-hater or a rebel to God’s word, he is simply mistaken.

9. Lloyd-Jones’ list of essentials hits on the most important doctrines of our faith and the ones that most define us as evangelicals: scripture, justification, regeneration, atonement, and original sin. Indeed, these are essential matters of our faith.

10. I’ll say more about this one in a minute, but I liked Lloyd-Jones’ bit about using “evangelical” as a prefix and not a suffix. I think what he means is that the essentials of our faith–the gospel, the Trinity, the person of Christ, the cross, heaven and hell–should excite our passions more than the secondary matters. If millennial debates get our motor running more than the death and resurrection of Jesus, something in us needs to be re-calibrated.

A Few Concerns with Lloyd-Jones Answer1. While I agree in principle with Lloyd-Jones’ distinction between essential and non-essential doctrines, the whole discussion left me feeling a little uncomfortable. Of course Arminians can be saved. Predestination is not a salvation issue in that way. But “non-essential” seems a little too tepid. Whether or not God is completely sovereign in saving us is very, very, very important, affecting how we look at God, ourselves, and almost everything else.

I think we need a few more categories besides essential and non-essential (like “darn-near essential,” “pretty much essential,” “kind of essential,” “not essential,” “sort of interesting,” “not worth talking about,” etc.). Otherwise most of our doctrines will quickly get sidelined by “you don’t need to believe this in order to be saved.” I can’t imagine that Lloyd-Jones would want us to treat doctrine that way, but at times it felt like he was veering in that direction.

2. Some of Lloyd-Jones’ analysis reflects too much of his particular bent and situation. For example, Lloyd-Jones was a Welsh, low-church, independent who (it seems) never quite made up his mind on baptism, living in a country of baby-baptizing, high-church Anglicans. I think this colored his view of liturgy and the sacraments (owing in no small part to the dead formalism around him, no doubt). If evangelicals are marked by their freedom in worship, as Lloyd-Jones says, why can’t that freedom include the freedom to use forms? Likewise, I understand opposing sacerdotalism, but why do evangelicals have to have a “low view” of the sacraments? And I’m no fan of a state church, but is opposition to a state church really an essential of the faith? If so, most of our forefathers were not evangelicals!

3. Lurking behind Lloyd-Jones’ address was his desire to see evangelicals leave their denominations and form a new evangelical denomination in Britain. Leaving aside the question of whether the evangelicals should have left or not, the whole business about creating a new evangelical denomination seems far-fetched. An association (like the Gospel Coalition) or a gathering (like Together for the Gospel) sure, but not a church. How would you settle issues like election, baptism, and church polity? You wouldn’t. Or if you did, you would have an “every church for itself” policy. And how would that be much different than an association of like-minded churches?

Moreover, I disagree with Lloyd-Jones that the existence of different denomination implies division. In my opinion, denominations allow for the free exercise of conscience. I don’t consider myself estranged from my Baptist brethren in other churches and denominations. I can have unity with evangelical Baptists by praying for them, partnering with them, and enjoying fellowship with them, all without being in the same official church with them. I’m thankful for them, and thankful that we can each worship God according to the dictates of our conscience as informed by the Word of God.

4. Lastly, I think you could make a case for putting evangelical as a suffix, not a prefix. As I said above, we should all be most passionate about the essentials, but what if by “Presbyterian-Evangelical” you meant “I am not a nondescript evangelical, but an confessional, reformed evangelical”? Would this be so bad? In our day where evangelical means a thousand different things, at least Baptist or Presbyterian or Anglican means only a hundred different things. I am not sympathetic with those who despise evangelicals, but I do sympathize with those who want to be more than just an evangelical.

The bottom line, one I think Lloyd-Jones would agree with, is that we should be thankful for all who hold to the essentials with us. With those essentials in head and heart, go to your local church and preach the Bible as best as you understand it. Conduct your church according to your convictions from Scripture, all the while loving and sometimes working with those who disagree with you on the non-essential matters of the faith.

So here’s the paradox about church unity: we can have it without agreeing on everything, but we can never have it without the truth.

The Cross of Christ

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 05:00:00 GMT

Several years ago I started the habit of beginning my devotional time each morning by reading from a spiritual classic for 10-20 minutes. This has been a great way to read through longer, denser books. With this method, I’ve managed to learn from men like Athanasius, Gregory the Great, Calvin, Edwards, Bavinck, Lloyd-Jones, Sibbes, Owen, Baxter, Chesterton, and Machen. And in learning from them I’ve been better prepared each morning for the word of God and prayer.

Currently, I’m reading through a more recent book, John Stott’s The Cross of Christ. It is truly a modern day classic. How anyone could read this book and not be convinced, from the Scriptures, of the validity, centrality, and glory of penal substitution as the heart of the gospel is beyond me.

Here are two of the best paragraphs you’ll ever read on the atonement. Meditate on them. Pray through them. And don’t go to a church that doesn’t preach them.

We strongly reject, therefore, every explanation of the death of Christ that does not have at its center the principle of “satisfaction through substitution,” indeed divine self-satisfaction through divine self-substitution. The cross was not a commercial bargain with the devil, let alone one that tricked and trapped him: nor an exact equivalent, a quid pro quo to satisfy a code of honor or technical point of law; nor a compulsory submission by God to some moral authority above him from which he could not otherwise escape; nor a punishment of a meek Christ by a harsh and punitive Father; nor a procurement of salvation by a loving Christ from a mean and reluctant Father; nor an action of the Father which bypassed Christ as Mediator. Instead, the righteous, loving Father humbled himself to become in and through his only Son flesh, sin and a curse for us, in order to redeem us without compromising his own character. The theological words satisfaction and substitution need to be carefully defined and safeguarded, but they cannot in any circumstance be given up. The biblical gospel of atonement is of God satisfying himself by substituting himself for us.

The concept of substitution may be said, then, to lie at the heart of both sin and salvation. For the essence of sin is man substituting himself for God, while the essence of salvation is God substituting himself for man. Man asserts himself against God and puts himself where only God deserves to be; God sacrifices himself for man and puts himself where only man deserves to be. Man claims prerogatives that belong to God alone; God accepts penalties that belong to man alone (158-59).

Amen and Amen.

All Aboard the Jargon Express!

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 04:00:00 GMT

I have to confess to a certain annoyance with buzz words–warm fuzzy jargon words like“dialogue” and “inclusion.” I’m sure at times the annoyance has been of my own creation. They can be perfectly good words after all. But at some point on the I’m-ok-you’re-ok train these words picked up some unwanted baggage.

Take the word “dialogue” for example (or “conversation” if you like). It’s a fine Christian word if it simply indicates a willingness to take others seriously, speak to them humbly, and consider their ideas responsibly. But “dialogue,” in contemporary parlance, usually means far more. It implies a disdain for monologue. One-way proclamation is just too self-assured, too settled, and too propositional. For many postmoderns, truth is a journey. Consequently, we are suspicious of those who claim to have arrived at some destination. No one is supposed to know anything for certain and certainly no one knows they’re right. So, of course, dialogue is the only way to truth. Dialogue, in the end, may be truth itself.

The call for dialogue among Christians often comes from those with inter-faith sensibilities. Now, hopefully, it is obvious that talking respectfully and intelligently with people of other religions is a good thing. It may not be as obvious, however, that in many circles dialogue serves as an antidote to evangelism. Instead of hoped for conversion, the goal is open-minded conversation. In fact, believing too strongly in the rightness of one’s convictions is considered dangerously closed-minded and a barrier to genuine dialogue.

If our goal is persuasion–which ought to be at least one of the goals for Christians talking to non-Christians–I’m simply not convinced that dialogue is the way to go. For starters, the doctrinal edges of Christianity are often smoothed over in inter-faith dialogue so as to be non-distinct. In the book Buddhists Talk about Jesus–Christians Talk about the Buddha, Grace Burford, a practicing Buddhist scholar wonders aloud about her Christian counterparts in the book. She asks, “If they were so taken by Buddhism, why did they hang on to Christianity?” Sadly, the Christianity presented in inter-faith dialogue is rarely historic orthodoxy, and more frequently a secularized, syncretized version of Jesus-appreciation plus Western-style tolerance. Maybe this explains Burford’s title to her chapter: “If the Buddha is So Great, Why are These People Christians?” (quoted in Timothy C. Tennent, Christianity at the Religious Roundtable, 9-10).

Even for the committed Christian who holds to historic Christian orthodoxy and is a little less enthusiastic about the Buddha, dialogue, sometimes a good foot in the door, can only go so far. A few years ago I asked a retired missionary who spent many of his years in ministry facilitating Christian-Muslim dialogue how many Muslims he saw come to know Jesus from their inter-faith dialogue. “None,” he told me. Then I asked if he ever saw any Christians convert to Islam. “Sure,” he said, “a few.” Hardly a ringing endorsement for reaching the unreached by dialogue.

Intra-Christian debates are just as overrun by dialogue–the tool of choice for resolving (read: delaying) denominational conflicts, especially those having to do with homosexuality. The plea is always for more talking. But do we ever call an end to the meeting of the minds and simply make up our minds? Do we ever declare, ala Martin Luther, “Here we stand”? Are there any issues so clear and so important that to spend time in dialogue would not be a sign of patient discernment but of cowardly equivocation? Does there come a time when the need to rest on the side of truth means we resign ourselves to the fact that there are going to be “winners” and “losers”? When do we swallow hard and admit that it’s fruitless to dialogue for the sake of unity when both sides don’t agree on anything except the most nebulous, ambivalent, watered-down expressions of Christianity?

I think the Apostle Paul would be truly exasperated by our endless conversation. No doubt, he was willing to continue teaching and “dialoguing” with people who wanted to know more about Jesus. But for deserters and false teachers, he had little patience. He called them out by name–Alexander, Hymenaeus, Philetus, Demas, Phygellus, Hermogenes–and warned his fledgling flocks, “Be on your guard against them.” So much for dialogue.

And then there’s the word “inclusion.” Another fine word in its own right. Considering the church’s spotted past in excluding people for the wrong reasons–too poor, too black, too awkward–inclusion can sound awfully good. And it is, when by “inclusion” we mean something like “welcome.” The church, of all places, should be an inviting haven for any sinner-come-lately and any socio-category that treasures Jesus in faith and repentance, or is simply looking for spiritual guidance.

So what’s the problem? The problem is one of boundaries. I am convinced that most of our wrangling in churches and denominations is over where to put up fences. What are the boundaries for fellowship? Membership? Leadership? What does one have to believe, say, or do in order to be counted as one of us? Where inclusionists have gone wrong is in removing theological and ethical boundaries that are essential in defining what it means to be Christian.

Picture a wide open field with a fenced-in square in the middle. The fence posts are doctrines, behaviors, and affections. The area inside the fence is Christianity. Outside the fence is not Christianity. If we put the fence somewhere else or remove it entirely, we no longer have anything definably Christian. If we take down all, or most, of the key fence posts in the name of inclusion, we may have included more people, but not in any meaningful way. In all the hubbub about inclusion, the irony is that it cannot exist without exclusion. Caroline Westerhoff writes:

If anyone and everyone are too easily included, we are saying in effect that anything goes. We are disclaiming boundaries. And as our membership is more and more made up of those who will not or cannot confirm some measure of adherence to the core practices and values of the defined community, that community as we have known it will disappear…if even initial membership is without qualification, then we stand for little other than being nonsensically “inclusive.” If belonging is without obligation and accountability, then we finally have not joined much of anything at all, and any significance that community might have held for us evaporates like mist” (Good Fences: The Boundaries of Hospitality, 29).

It should be commonsense when you stop and think about it. What is the great humanitarian feat in having all kinds of people join some inclusive institution, when the institution itself has no boundaries to define what it means to be a member? It’s kind of silly to speak of joining a group that doesn’t stand for anything and doesn’t turn anyone away. What, then, have you really joined?

Of course, in the end, inclusive churches and other institutions do have boundaries. Even the most wildly accepting community draws the line somewhere and excludes some people, usually those who are less wildly accepting of the same things they are.

In other words, every institution, if it is any kind of discernible community, has its own creed and convictions. Some are published, publicly recited, and rooted in Scripture. Others are unwritten, but no less powerful. Every group that can be meaningfully joined stands against some other group. Inclusive churches are inclusive of gays, lesbians, and doctrinal innovation. But they are exclusive (though it won’t be written down in any by-laws) toward those who cannot tolerate homosexuality in the church and advocate doctrinal standards. For inclusionists, nonjudgmentalism does not usually extend to those who put up their fences a little closer in.

If inclusionists–be they emergents, inter-faith gurus, or social gospel acolytes–draw their boundaries to exclude evangelicals, fundamentalists, traditional Catholics, and others they deem theological nit-picks, that is their perfect right. It would be nice, however, if they realized they were exclusive like the rest of us.

Who knows, with a little dialogue, maybe they will.

Why Johnny Can’t Preach (1)

Fri, 13 Mar 2009 04:00:00 GMT

I’m always a sucker for a good jeremiad. So I couldn’t resist ordering T. David Gordon’s new book Why Johnny Can’t Preach: The Media Have Shaped the Messengers. Like every good book-long complaint there are parts here and there they I don’t agree with. But on the whole, I found Gordon’s butt-kicking to be well-deserved and well-stated. This is a very good book and I recommend it highly.

What makes the book compelling is Gordon’s passion for preaching. If you don’t know, Gordon is a professor at Grove City College (and formerly at Gordon-Conwell, though not when I was there). So his passion for preaching is not as a preacher, but as a listener. Also noteworthy is that Gordon wrote most of this book in 2004 while undergoing cancer treatments. At the time, Gordon didn’t know if he would live. This book was the last thing he wanted to say to the world if he only had one last thing to say. That’s how passionate he is about sounding the alarm on the woes of contemporary preaching. Thankfully, his cancer is in remission now. But he remains unapologetic in his critique.

The substance of Gordon’s complaint is pretty simple: the overwhelming majority of those ordained to Christian ministry cannot preach even a mediocre sermon. And lest we think he’s railing on some seeker-sensitive strawman, Gordon makes clear that he is speaking from his own experience running in conservative evangelical and conservative Reformed circles. This is not their problem, he argues, this is our problem. Sure, we may have some great preachers with large followings. But does the average Christian family in the average pew in the average church on the average Sunday get a decent sermon? Gordon thinks not.

Gordon gives several pieces of evidence for his negative conclusion.

1) Anecdotally, he estimates that only 15% of the sermons he’s heard in the past 25 years had a discernible point. And of those 15%, less than 10% had a point based on the text of Scripture.

2) Most churchgoers wants shorter sermons, not because they have short attention spans, but because their preacher, God bless him, can’t preach very well.

3) Gordon looks at Robert Dabney’s Lectures on Rhetoric from the 19th century and concludes that Dabney’s “seven cardinal requisites of preaching” are missing from most of our pulpits: textual fidelity, unity, evangelical tone (is the minister eager to bless the congregation or scold them?), instructiveness, movement, point, and order. These are not subjective measures, mind you. These are basic fundamentals. No one in the history of homiletics has encouraged disunity in the sermon. These are things we can all agree on. And yet, they aren’t there.

Why are these qualities missing? Gordon says it’s not mainly from laziness on the part of the preacher (though that can be part of it). It’s not the fault of our seminaries either. The two reasons Johnny can’t preach are because Johnny can’t read and Johnny can’t write.

We have been trained by a image-based, sound bite, attention span deficient culture to skim books and fly past arguments. In other words, we don’t read carefully. We don’t read literature. And we surely don’t read poetry. We aren’t used to thinking deliberately, meditatively about texts. So preachers come to the text each week with general ideas about what the Bible says and then once they find those same ideas again, they preach on the same thing again. We are not learning, growing, or being changed by the text. Preachers are simply coming to have their banal assumptions and cliche-level understanding confirmed for yet another week.

And preachers can’t write. We don’t write letters anymore. We talk on the cell. We IM. We write a quick note on somebody’s Facebook wall (about something really important, like the kind of oatmeal we just ate or our favorite Smurf). And when we write at all, it’s in an email, where we ignore punctuation and rely on emoticons to do the hard work of telling people how we feel.

All of this makes preachers and preaching disorganized, sloppy, and trivial.

Ministers [in our culture] are not at home with what is significant; ministers whose attention span is less than that of a four-year-old in the 1940s, who race around like the rest of us, constantly distracted by sounds and images of inconsequential trivialities, and out of touch with what is weighty. It is not surprising that their sermons, and the alleged worship that surrounds them, are often trifling, thoughtless, uninspiring, and mundane…The great seriousness of the reality of being human, the dreadful seriousness of the coming judgment of God, the sheer insignificance of the present in light of eternity–realities that once were the subtext of virtually every sermon–have now disappeared, and have been replaced by one triviality after another (58-59).

Ouch.

I told you it was a good book. Tomorrow I’ll finish my review and provide some more pain.

The Rise of Christianity

Tue, 24 Mar 2009 04:00:00 GMT

If you’ve never read anything by Rodney Stark you are really missing out on a lot of provocation. Stark’s arguments are always intriguing. I don’t agree with everything he says and I wish he would do more to allow for supernatural explanations, but on the whole I find him full of good sense and delightfully iconoclastic.

I just finished reading one of his earlier and best known books, The Rise of Christianity. Stark, in debunking a number of historical myths, tries to explain from a sociological perspective “how the obscure, marginal Jesus movement became the dominant religious force in the western world in a few centuries.”

Here are some of his salient thoughts:

Christianity drew from the worldly, accommodated religious communities of the time. It is hardest to find converts among the serious religious, easiest to get them from those who are most secular or nominal in their commitment.Christianity probably drew its converts, in large part, from the upper class. Privileged classes tend to be the most skeptical about God and most unaffiliated. Thus there are more of them to be won to new religions. If, that is, they are dissatisfied with what they have found in the world.Christianity spread because the Christians cared for each other in times of sickness and disease. Their communal compassion both staved off death and served as an example to outsiders of the transforming power of the Christian faith.The first Christians also cared for outsiders, which won them a hearing.Women were more honored in Christianity. Baby girls were not killed. Women were to be protected. Husbands, not just wives, were expected to be chaste.Christians had more babies than non-Christians, and abortions were considered anathema. The early Christians simply out-birthed the pagans.Christianity grew when it remained an “open network” with connections into the lives of non-Christians.Christians were over-represented in cities, which made them more influential than their numbers because culture tends to flow from cities to the countryside.Christianity gave much needed dignity to human beings. They welcomed strangers, provided community, and offered a refuge from a brutal world.Christian martyrs galvanized and inspired the faith of the early Christians.Christianity in the first few centuries required great sacrifice and entailed a significant stigma. This process of sacrifice and stigma scared off free-riders and made Christianity a more virulent, vibrant faith.Membership in the church was “expensive” and a “bargain” at the same time. That is, following Christ cost you something, but by becoming a Christian you also gained physical support, relational attachments, and shared emotional satisfaction with other believers.Christianity promised rewards to its followers, the reward of being virtuous and the reward of eternal life.

Of course, the simple answer to the question about the rise of Christianity, and the one that Stark (as a sociologist) doesn’t talk about, is simply this: God caused the church to grow. He saved souls. He converted hearts. It was God’s will to cause the church to prosper.

Though having said this, I still think we can learn from looking at the social factors that God often (not always) uses, along with his word, to accomplish these results. The bullet points above may not seem very revolutionary. But that’s probably because I haven’t really done the book justice. Read Rodney Stark and I guarantee he’ll get you thinking.

Concerning the True Care of Souls

Fri, 27 Mar 2009 04:00:00 GMT

I think it was in college when I realized that I could actually read the famous authors that I was used to just read about. To read Calvin or Augustine or the Didache on my own was a thrilling discovery. Primary sources are sometimes harder, but almost always better. So I always enjoy reading old, dead saints.

Over the past week I’ve been working through Concerning the True Care of Souls by Martin Bucer. Kudos to Banner of Truth and translator Peter Beale for giving us this never-before-in-English treatise from the great Strasbourg Reformer (with a fine historical introduction from the late David F. Wright I might add). Bucer (pronounced Butzer), is best known nowadays as a mentor and formative influence for John Calvin, but he was an important Reformer in his own right. Born in 1491, Bucer spent most of his ministry in Strasbourg, Germany and finished his life teaching at Cambridge. His passion as a Reformer comes through in the (very) full title (aren’t you glad we have dust jackets today?) of this 1538 work:

Concerning the true care of souls and genuine pastoral ministry, and how the latter is to be ordered and carried out in the church of Christ: Here you will find the essential means whereby we can escape from the present so deplorable and pernicious state of religious schism and division and return to true unity and good Christian order in the churches. Knowledge which is useful not only to the congregations of Christ, but also to pastors and rulers.

This book was Bucer’s effort to reintroduce church disipline, establish multiple-elder rule, and maintain the practice of evangelical penance in Strasbourg. Not everything in the book is especially helpful. Bucer doesn’t write particularly well (lacking the passion of Luther and the precision of Calvin) and the place he gives to magistrates in the affairs of the church marks him as a man of his times. But Bucer’s concern for the church and his conception of pastoral ministry are historically important and personally challenging.

This paragraph captures the spirit of the book.

From this it is evident that there are five main tasks required in the pastoral office and true care of souls. First: to lead to Christ our Lord and into his communion those who are still estranged from him, whether through carnal excess or false worship. Secondly: to restore those who had once been brought to Christ and into his church but have been drawn away again through the affairs of the flesh or false doctrine. Thirdly: to assist in the true reformation of those who while remaining in the church of Christ have grievously fallen and sinned. Fourthly: to re-establish in true Christian strength and health those who, while persevering in the fellowship of Christ and not doing anything particularly or grossly wrong, have become somewhat feeble and sick in the Christian life. Fifthly: to protect from all offense and falling away and continually encourage in all good things those who stay within the flock and in Christ’s sheep-pen without grievously sinning or becoming weak and sick in their Christian walk (70).

I find several things noteworthy in this paragraph.

1. Bucer’s emphasis on evangelism. He comes back to this time after time in the book: the work of the pastor is to seek the lost. Sometimes we are led to believe that no one thought about evangelism in Christendom, but Bucer clearly did.

2. Bucer’s five-fold description of those under our charge. The pastor (and anyone engaged in pastoral ministry Bucer would say) must seek the lost, bring back the wandering, restore the fallen, strengthen the weak, and encourage the strong. Let me suggest this is a mighty helpful way to look at your congregation before you preach, or your kids as you parent, or your “flock” (whatever it might be).

3. Bucer’s focus on people. I’m struck by the fact that his definition of pastoral ministry is all about the people to whom we minister. The focus is not on administration (though I’m sure he did some of that), nor on programs (though I’m not against them), nor on meetings (though we all have them), but on the people that need our help.

Concerning the True Care of Souls is not a difficult read. The layout is nice and there are plenty of headings to keep you on track. Elders and pastors will especially benefit from Bucer’s heart and wisdom. Nothing earth-shattering here, but solid.

So let me say it one more time: read old books.

A Clear and Present Word (1)

Tue, 31 Mar 2009 04:00:00 GMT

Of all the classic doctrines under assault in our day, the one that is most often questioned by the most number of people with the most far reaching implications has to be the doctrine of the perspicuity of Scripture. Simply put, the perspicuity of Scripture means that the essential teachings of the Bible are clear and accessible. The main things are the plain things, and the plain things are the main things.

Sadly, perspicuity has fallen on hard times. In my “dialogue” with emergents I have found the one recurring theme to be their claim that there is not a “plain sense” of the text, that Scripture has been interpreted a thousand different ways and does not lend itself to one correct, ascertainable meaning. Non-Christians too are quick to point out: “People use the Bible to say all sorts of things. You’re just giving me your interpretation.” The meaning of Scripture, it is argued (or just plain assumed), is anything but clear.

In light of these (and many other) objections, I commend to you Mark Thompson’s excellent work A Clear and Present Word: The Clarity of Scripture (part of the New Studies in Biblical Theology series edited by D.A. Carson). Thompson, Academic Dean and lecturer in theology and church history at Moore Theological College in Sydney, Australia, has written a clear and accessible book on, well, the clarity and accessibility of Scripture. The issues he covers are so important that I’m going to take the time to blog through the book’s five chapters over the next five days.

*****Chapter one, entitled “Oh sweet obscurity: The absurdity of claiming clarity today”, begins by noting five traditional objections to the doctrine of the clarity of Scripture. I’ve encountered every single one of these objections several times over the past few years. You can find them in any number of popular Christian books and probably from many of your friends.

1. “The doctrine fails to take account of the transcendent mystery that is the subject of Scripture.” Erasmus charged Luther with reducing God to a series of doctrinal assertions, arguing that human language cannot adequately express the reality of God. God is bigger than any propositions about him. The best we can say about God is that we can’t really say anything about God.

2. “The doctrine fails to acknowledge the God-given role of the church as the interpreter of Scripture.” For the Catholics, this means “it takes a Magisterium.” For the postmodern, it means “it takes a community.”

3. “The doctrine fails to take seriously the nature of the word of Scripture.” In other words, the Bible is a human book, written in human words, translated by fallible men. The claim of clarity doesn’t do justice to just how human this book really is.

4. “The doctrine fails in practice given the reality of diverse interpretations.” Historically, Christians have been all over the map in their interpretations of Scripture. So how clear can it really be?

5. “The doctrine fails by its own criterion, since Scripture confesses its own obscurity.” Aren’t we claiming more for the Bible than it claims for itself when we argue for its perspicuity?

Thompson explains that these five traditional objections have only been magnified by postmodern philosophy. “Modern epistemology”–where, it is argued, we thought we could adequately apprehend reality by objective reason–has been thoroughly discredited. No one comes to the text with a blank slate. We never hear God straight up. We always read through our own situation, culture, and finitude. As James K.A. Smith puts it, “Even when someone purports to deliver to us the unadorned voice of God, or ‘what God meant’, we always receive only someone’s interpretation, which is wearing the badge of divinity.”

Thus, we don’t have authoritative “this is right, that is wrong” interpretations, only “interpretative communities.” Granted, many postmoderns acknowledge that this does not mean every text has a limitless number of interpretations, but at the same time there is certainly no single plain meaning. The bottom line, we are told, is that today’s Christian ought to have the humility and honesty to admit that the meaning of Scripture is not as clear or readily understandable as Christians once thought.

These are not frivolous arguments. We don’t do ourselves or our opponents any favors when we think we can dismiss out of hand postmodern epistemology just because it comes with the word postmodern. Serious people (and some not so serious) are making serious arguments (and some silly arguments too) against the clarity of Scripture.

In the days ahead I’ll unpack Thompson’s response to these objections. But just so I don’t leave you thinking all hope is lost for the perspicuity of Scripture, let me finish with a quote from J.B. Webster that leads off the book.

We can cloak our own darkness by calling it the obscurity of the text; we can evade the judgment which Scripture announces by endless hermeneutical deferral; we can treat Scripture not as the clear Word of judgment and hope but as a further opportunity for the imagination to be puzzled, stimulated and set to work…That is why the promise of claritas scripturae is inseparable from the prayer: ‘Open my eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy law’ (Ps. 119:18).

Unpacking Forgiveness

Tue, 07 Apr 2009 04:00:00 GMT

One of the thorniest, most practical problems any pastor or Christian will deal with is forgiveness. Every Christians knows forgiveness is a good thing, but what does it mean? How do we do it? Is it always necessary no matter the circumstances?

For answers to these questions (and many others) I highly recommend Chris Brauns’ book Unpacking Forgiveness: Biblical Answers for Complex Questions and Deep Wounds. Chris is a pastor in western Illinois, and, I discovered, used to be just down the road from my current church. He was kind enough to answer some of my questions for a blog interview.

1. Tell us a little about yourself. Where are you from? Do you have a family? Where are you serving now? Why does your book reference the Lansing State Journal?

Originally I am from the cultural center of Keosauqua in the GSOI (Great State of Iowa) –though, I’m very disappointed about last week’s court decision about marriage.

I pastor a church in a small town (Stillman Valley, IL). My wife, Jamie and I have four children (ages 15,13,11, 6). You can read more about me than you want to know here.

As for the Lansing State Journal, I was the senior pastor at Grand Ledge Baptist for 6 years which is just west of Lansing, MI. I collected a lot of forgiveness illustrations during that time and they ended up in the book.

My sermon illustrations are not the only thing we took from Lansing. Our dog still has a Michigan State collar, and my wife picked MSU to win it all in March Madness. Go Spartans.

2. Your book “Unpacking Forgiveness: Biblical Answers for Complex Questions and Deep Wounds” is very good. Thank you for it. How did you get interested in the topic of forgiveness?

As a pastor, I repeatedly encountered situations where people in my church needed to work through forgiveness issues and were not following biblical teaching. I began to study and preach about forgiveness because there was such a need in my church.

Once I began to really study forgiveness, I discovered that a lot of what was written was not biblical. So, it was that combination, the need of people in my church, combined with unbiblical teaching.

3. What are some of the common misconceptions about forgiveness?

Many people do not understand what a serious matter it is to be unwilling to forgive those who ask for forgiveness. If someone reading this is unwilling or unable to forgive they should read and meditate on Matthew 18:21-35.

I think another misconception is that we can unpack forgiveness on our own. All Christians must be part of a local church. The need for a church home is even more pronounced when working through a deep wound. The church is God’s plan for this stage in redemptive history. As much as Noah and his family needed to be on the ark, we need to be truly connected to a local church if we are going to unpack forgiveness. If someone feels themselves drowning where a forgiveness issue is concerned, the first question they should ask is, “Am I really connected to a Christ-centered, Bible preaching local church?”

The most common misconception is that of “therapeutic forgiveness,” which we get to in the next question.

4. You talk a lot about therapeutic notion of forgiveness. What is this and why is it so dangerous?

“Therapeutic forgiveness” insists that forgiveness is at its core a feeling. Our culture has picked up on this in a big way. When most people say that they forgive, they mean that it is a private matter in which he or she is not going to feel bitter.

Borrowing a line from Boston’s, “Don’t Look Back,” album. I argue that forgiveness is, “More Than a Feeling.” Biblical forgiveness is something that happens between two parties. When God forgives us, our relationship with Him is restored. That is why Calvin said that the whole of the Gospel is contained under the headings of repentance and forgiveness of sins (Institutes 3.3.19).

Once people make forgiveness therapeutic, you have all sorts of non-biblical things happening. For instance, some say it is legitimate to forgive God. This is a heretical idea because God has never done anything which requires forgiveness. But, “therapeutic” forgiveness needs to forgive God so bitterness is no longer felt.

Therapeutic forgiveness also diminishes the necessity of two parties working out there differences. If forgiveness is simply how I feel, there is no need to worry about the relationship.

The tragedy of therapeutic forgiveness is that in making individual feelings the center of everything, I think it ultimately leads to bitterness and the wrong feelings.

5. Probably the most provocative aspect of your book is the repeated assertion that forgiveness is conditional. What do you mean by this? What don’t you mean?

Start with the most basic biblical principle about forgiveness. We are to forgive others as God forgives us (Eph 4:32). The Bible clearly teaches that God does not forgive everyone.

That being the case, Christians are always required to have an attitude of forgiveness. Just as the Lord prayed on the Cross that his murderers would be forgiven, so we should pray for those who persecute us.

However, forgiveness doesn’t happen until the other party is repentant. When Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them,” he wasn’t granting absolution. Unless those who crucified Him repented and accepted God’s grace, then they weren’t forgiven.

6. As you’ve talked about this topic in different places, how do people respond to the message? Have you changed your mind on any aspect of the book? Have certain areas been reinforced even more strongly?

The fun part of preaching and teaching on forgiveness is that people are always interested. In a fallen world, everyone is unpacking forgiveness one way or another. And, there are always plenty of case studies to consider.

I haven’t changed what I believe the Bible teaches. The messages have been reinforced. I see more than ever that people need to carefully think about how justice fits with their beliefs about forgiveness.

If I was going to add to the book, I think I would put in a section about holding to forgiveness ideals in a fallen world. The reality is that many forgiveness wounds will never heal completely this side of eternity. I did include one chapter about what Christians should do when they can’t agree. But, there needs to be more said about that.

7. Are you working on any more book projects?

Yes, I have several things in the early stages. In response to the individualism that is so rampant, I am working on something about the need for Christian community in the church.

8. What books are your reading right now?

I have been reading a number of different books by Wendell Berry. I just finished a historical fiction book by Bernard Cornwell, Agincourt. I am preaching through Hebrews so I’m reading lot on Hebrews. And, honest, your new book, Just Do Something is on my desk.

9. What are some of the unique challenges and blessings of being at a rural church?

God called us here so we tend to notice the blessings more than the challenges. Ministry is much more local here. When we lived in more suburban areas, we only saw our church family at church. But, here we attend church with the same people who play football with our sons or softball with our daughter. It is a wonderful place to build relationships.

There are opportunities we wouldn’t otherwise have because it is a small town. For instance, our church decided not to have a library. We are cramped for space and libraries require a lot of resources. Instead I am on the local library board. I helped oversee the donation of a collection of books to the library. I’ve been able to pick out many, many books to make sure that there is a good basic collection of Christian books in the library. Those books are now available to our whole community, not just the people who come into our church.

I suppose that the tough part of being a pastor in a small town is that there are no breaks for me or my family. Pastoral matters often come up when I am at a ball game or some other activity for my children. There are no boundaries here.

Our High Places (1)

Tue, 14 Apr 2009 04:00:00 GMT

1 Kings 22:43 [Jehoshaphat] walked in all the ways of Asa his father. He did not turn aside from it, doing what was right in the sight of the LORD. Yet the high places were not taken away, and the people still sacrificed and made offerings on the high places.

Most of the kings in Israel and Judah were wicked. Only a few kings were good. And even the ones that were good, still were blind. Several times in Kings and Chronicles we are told that so-and-so did what was right, except…except for the high places. This little bit of pagan influence, this little capitulation to the culture was too ingrained in their thinking to be seen. Or if it was seen, it seemed too normal to think of doing anything about it. The good kings didn’t extend wickedness. They actually did much to curb it. They didn’t build or promote the high places like the bad kings did and the nation did under those kings (2 Kings 17:7-12), but neither did they destroy the high places like they should have. They were good kings with blind spots.

I have often wondered what are our high places? Of course, it is hard to see our own blind spots. If we could, they wouldn’t be blind spots. But even though we may not be able to notice every error, it’s still worth thinking and praying about what mistakes we are making without realizing it. And I’m not talking about current theological controversies. These are critically important, but we see the issues at stake, at least many of us do. Moreover, in asking what are our high places I’m not asking what are our biggest sins or the most important issues of our day. What I’m asking is this: what are the issues we aren’t even talking about or the unhelpful patterns and pressures most of us don’t even recognize?

In other words, what will future generations be surprised to see that we missed? It’s easy for us to see how previous generations of Christians were blind to the sin of racism or how it was a bad idea to kill each other over theological differences (even if some of the differences had eternal consequences). But if good Christians in the past—even heroic, admirable Christians—could miss something so obvious (to us), it begs the question: what obvious sins are we blindly committing and what obvious areas of obedience are we neglecting?

Over the next several days I want to highlight six areas that may be high places for us. Obviously, the fact that I’m bringing them up means they aren’t complete blind spots. In fact, I’m not the first person to talk about any of these areas. But still, I consider them “high places” because they are so prevalent (or missing) in the evangelical church in North America. Even when we see the issues and are talking about them, we still can’t seem to do much about them. When the cultural current flows us against with sustained force, we usually just settle for being decent Christians who do what is right but never take down the high places.

So what are some of our high places? Here’s one:

1. The lack of Psalm singing in our churches. Now listen, I’m not a Psalms only guy. I don’t find that position scripturally convincing nor historically necessary. I love old hymns, new hymns, Sovereign Grace music, Townend and Getty, even a good Spanish chorus or two. We have drums and guitars (and an organ) in our church. I’m not pining away for a straight-up Genevan liturgy with robes, an unchangeable order of worship, and unsingable metrical tunes. So, just to repeat, I don’t think the Bible restricts our singing to the Psalms. But you could make a better scriptural and historic case that we should sing only the Psalms than you could make a case for singing everything but the Psalms.

And yet that’s the practice in many of our churches. Is there a command of Scripture we disobey more frequently, and with so little shame, as the injunction to sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs (Eph. 5:19; Col. 3:16)? I mean, seriously, it’s right there in black and white. We are supposed to sing psalms. As far as I can tell, the exegetical debate is not about whether these three terms refer to something other than biblical psalms, but whether they might all refer to different kinds of biblical psalms. Either way, God wants us to sing psalms does he not?

Jesus sang the Psalms (Matt. 26:30). The early church sang the Psalms. The Reformers, especially in the tradition of Calvin, loved to sing the Psalms and labored mightily to restore them to the church. The Bay Psalm Book was the first book printed in America. The Psalms—150 God-breathed songs—have been the staple of Protestant (and especially Reformed) worship for 500 years. And yet how many of our churches sing a Psalm even once a month? I know there are exceptions, but by and large the evangelical church is bereft of Psalm singing. We might unknowingly stumble into one every now and again through Isaac Watts, but for the most part we don’t think about singing Psalms; we don’t plan to sing Psalms; and we don’t sing Psalms.

Assuming we haven’t started an irreversible trend, I imagine future generations will be puzzled by our avoidance of the Psalms. “Why did they give up on the Psalms?” they may ask. “Didn’t they know God wrote them? I suppose they were worried that no one would like singing Psalms. I guess they assumed young people wouldn’t stomach it. But why didn’t they try? Why didn’t they come up with new music for the Psalms? Why didn’t they teach their people about the emotional depth and Christological richness and the gritty honesty of the Psalms? And if they couldn’t think of any other reasons to sing the Psalms, why didn’t they just do it because the Bible told them to?”

You know, they ask pretty good questions in the future, if I do say so myself.

Lincoln’s Legacy and the Unborn

Tue, 28 Apr 2009 04:00:00 GMT

Going through the public school system in Illinois and Michigan I can’t recall ever hearing a negative word about Abraham Lincoln. The closest anyone came to criticism was to suggest that Lincoln took too long to emancipate the slaves. I simply took it for granted that Lincoln was a great man and America’s greatest president. As I learned more about the Civil War and read more on Lincoln, including Allen Guelzo’s masterful book Abraham Lincoln: Redeemer President, I came to see Lincoln in a more nuanced light, but my respect only deepened.

So I’m always taken aback when people dog our sixteenth president. I suppose I was just ignorant not to have heard the criticisms before: Lincoln the tyrant; Lincoln the duplicitous; Lincoln the father of big government. I’m neither a Lincoln scholar nor the son of a Lincoln scholar, so I can’t pretend to have the final word on these debates. Obviously, some of us have too rosy a view of Honest Abe. But others, I think, have missed what used to be obvious: Lincoln is still our greatest president (I know non-Americans read this blog too, so forgive the “our”).

Vindicating Lincoln: Defending the Politics of our Greatest President by Thomas L. Krannawitter of Hillsdale College is a robust attempt to one-by-one turn back the charges of the anti-Lincolnites (a curious mix of liberals, paleo-Confederates, and Libertarians). Thus, Krannawitter gives us chapters on “Was Lincoln a Racist?” “Do States Possess a Constitutional Right of Secession?” “Was Lincoln’s Goal to Preserve the Union or End Slavery?” And “Was Lincoln the Father of Big Government?”

I admit that I haven’t read every chapter yet. I also admit that for the most part I find Krannawitter’s arguments persuasive–not always unassailable, but persuasive nonetheless.

Chapter 2, “Was the Kansas-Nebraska Act Pro-Choice or Pro-Slavery?” is particularly powerful. From 1820 to 1854, the tempest over slavery in the United States was mitigated by a piece of legislation called the Missouri Compromise. The Compromise allowed Missouri to enter the Union in 1820 as a slave state, but prohibited slavery in the rest of the land of the Louisiana Purchase that lay north of the latitude line that extended from Missouri’s southern border. This compromise fell apart in 1854 with the passage of the Stephen Douglas-backed Kansas-Nebraska Act, which eliminated the restrictions of 1820 in favor of a “popular sovereignty” approach whereby every new state (regardless of its location) could decide for itself whether to allow slavery or not. What could be more reasonable? Let everyone choose. If a state wants slavery, so be it. If most of the people in the territory think slavery is wrong, they don’t have to allow slavery.

But Lincoln, guided as he was by his belief in natural rights, did not applaud Douglas’s logic.

[The Kansas-Nebraska Act] is wrong; wrong in it direct effect, letting slavery in Kansas and Nebraska–and wrong in its prospective principle, allowing it to spread to every other part of the wide world, where men can be found inclined to take it. This declared indifference, but as I must think, covert real zeal for the spread of slavery, I can not but hate. I hate it because of the monstrous injustice of slavery itself…[and] because it forces so many really good men amongst ourselves into an open war with the very fundamental principles of civil liberty–criticizing the Declaration of Independence, and insisting that there is no right principle of action but self-interest.

Lincoln understood what many politicians hope we will miss, that “declared indifference” is often “cover real zeal.” “Don’t like slavery? Then don’t own one” is not a nice morally neutral position. Such bumper sticker logic gives implicit approval to the appropriateness of slavery and the legitimacy of those who seek its expansion. Popular sovereignty is a beautiful philosophy, but only when we are acting as sovereigns over ourselves. “When the white man governs himself,” aruged Lincoln, “that is self-government; but when he governs himself and also governs another man…that is despotism.”

The connections with the pro-slavery argument and the pro-abortion argument should be obvious. Both argue for choice. Both, at least in their more civilized forms, pretend moral neutrality. And both rely for their inner logic on strikingly similar propositions: blacks are not human persons with unalienable rights; and neither are the unborn. To quote from Lincon’s 1864 speech in Baltimore with only a slight tweak, subsituting ‘choice’ for ‘liberty’: “We all declare for choice; but in using the same word we do not all mean the same thing. With some the word choice may mean for each man to do as he pleases with himself, and the product of his labor. While with others the same word may mean for some men [and women] to do as they please with others, and with other men’s labors. Here are two, not only different, but incompatible things, called by the same name–choice. And it follws that each of the things is, by the respective parties, called by two different and incompatible names–choice and tyranny.”

Unfashionable

Thu, 30 Apr 2009 04:00:00 GMT

They say you can’t tell a book by its cover, but with this book you can. Unfashionable: Making a Difference in the World By Being Different, besides having a catchy cover, is exactly what you think it is, a book about the Christian’s call to be unlike the world in order to change the world.

Tullian Tchividjian is the grandson of Billy Graham, the founding pastor of New City Church outside Ft. Lauderdale, an author, a conference speaker, and as of a few weeks ago, the pastor at Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church (which merged with New City so Tullian could pastor both congregations). In addition to these claims to fame, Tullian is a friend of mine.

Unfashionable is divided into four secions: The Call (be different), The Commission (be agents of renewal), The Community (different looks like this), and The Charge (go big or go home). My favorite section is the first. Tullian makes a compelling case for the attraction of transcendene, irrelevance, and truth. The story of how the Lord brought Tullian back to the fold is the perfect example of the book’s main point. “I was a seeker being reached, not by a man-centered, trendy show, but by a God-centered, transcendent atmosphere. I was experiencing what Ed Clowney, the late president of Westminster Theological Seminary, used to call ‘doxological evangelism.’ It was, quite literally, out of this world. Here, finally, was the radical difference I’d been longing for.” Elsewhere Tullian adds, “Younger generations don’t want trendy engagement from the church; in fact, they’re suspicious of it. Instead they want truthful engagement with historical and theological solidity that enables meaningful interaction with transcendent reality. They want desperately to invest their lives in something worth dying for, not some here-today-gone-tomorrow fad.” Amen and Amen. This certainly rings true in my heart and in the hearts of the twenty- and thirtysomethings I run into.

Unfashionable is well organized, attractively laid out, and clearly written. Tullian sprinkles in a number of good quotations from other authors and livens the book with personal anecdotes. If there is anything I disagree with it’s that I may have a little more “two kingdom theology” and a little less “Christ the transformer of culture theology” in me than Tullian. I completely agree with his main point that we should be engaged in culture and seeking to make a difference in the world, but transforming our communities for Christ seems to be more of an implied New Testament teaching than something that gets top billing. I don’t think Tullian and I would disagree with much in practice, but we may want to put our emphasis on a different syllable.

Having said that, Tullian is very careful to strike the right balance, explaining that re-creation is individual and cosmic, that the kingdom has come and is coming, that we are rescued from a problem and for a purpose, that we change the world by persuasion not coercion, that we must have both purity and proximity when it comes to culture. All in all, I welcome Tullian’s reminder to create what is Christ-honoring in the finance, academic, fashion, entertainment, and political centers of the world. I’ve known enough Christians who care little for the world’s problems and attempt little to make the world more God glorifying, that I appreciate Tullian’s challenge to get out there and just do something (to coin a phrase).

Unfashionable would be ideal for use in small groups. The study guide at the back is thorough and the book’s subject matter lends itself well to group discussion.

The vision Tullian casts for us is biblical and bold. The church and the world will be better if we listen to his advice and start making a difference in the world by being different.

Exegetical Oops (Matthew 16:18)

Wed, 06 May 2009 04:00:00 GMT

How often have we heard (or preached!) dramatic sermons on Jesus’ words from Matthew 16:18? “And I tell you,” Jesus explains to the impetuous one, “that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” At this point, the preacher (or Bible study leader or author) lets the imagination run wild with the thought of Christ’s church storming the gates of hell. “Who ever heard of gates attacking anyone?” we are asked. “Gates are for defense, not offense. The Church is the one on the attack.” So we are enjoined, “Come on, brothers and sisters, it is time to storm the gates of hell. It’s time to put the devil on the run. We have souls to save and demonic strongholds to destroy. The gates of hell will not prevail against us. It’s time to do some battle, Church. It’s time to reclaim this world for God.” Or something like that.

Of course, who can fault the zeal or the desire to save souls or fight the good fight? The only problem is this way of teaching Matthew 16:18 is almost entirely incorrect. The phrase pulai hadou (gates of hell) is a Jewish expression meaning “realm of the dead.” The same Greek phrase appears in the Septuagint version of Job 38:17 (“gates of deep darkness”) and Isaiah 38:10 (“I am consigned to the gates of Sheol for the rest of my years”). In both passages, pulai hadou is a euphemism for death. The gates of hell represent the passageway from this life to the grave.

Consequently, Jesus’ promise to Peter is not about storming Satan’s lair and conquering demonic powers. In fact, the repeated injunction in Ephesians 6 is “to stand.” Christ defeated the devil (John 16:11). Our responsibiltiy is simply to stand, hold fast, and resist. The promise, therefore, in Matthew 16 is not for venturing out on some Dungeons and Dragons spiritual crusade, but that the church will not be vaquished by death.

This is why the defensive imagery of gates can be used in an offensive way. Truly, with intense opposition and persecution, the early church was under attack from the gates of hell. But just as Jesus conquered the grave, so the gates of hell–death itself–will not prevail against those who belong to Christ. Those who believe in Christ, though they die, will yet live (John 11:25).

Why They/You/We Don’t Like the Church

Fri, 08 May 2009 04:00:00 GMT

Ted Kluck and I have a new book coming out July 1. It’s called Why We Love the Church: In Praise of Institutions and Organized Religion. In my first chapter I try to explain why Christians are fed up with church.

*****

There are plenty of reasons people offer for their disillusionment with the church. These reasons can be grouped into four categories:

The Missiological. Many Christians feel like the church just doesn’t work any more. They are just sick and tired of the church’s failings and impotency. They recognize that most churches are not growing. No one is getting baptized. Our young people aren’t sticking with the church after high school. We have simply lost our way. Related to this concern, but somewhat distinct, many Christians criticize the church for losing sight of its mission. There are a host of problems in society that we are ignoring. The church has turned a blind eye to the community around her and is making no impact on the world. Face it, many people say, the church tried and failed.

The Personal. Personal objections to the church are frequently voiced by both insiders and outsiders. The church, in the eyes of many outsiders, especially the young, is filled with hypocritical, anti-women, anti-gay, judgmental, close-minded, bubble-dwelling, acolytes for the Republican Party. “Christianity,” as one popular book puts it, “has an image problem.” And until we fix our image, the argument goes, more and more people will stay away from our churches and others will leave out of sheer embarrassment and frustration.

Many church insiders have an equally negative impression. They feel personally wounded or let down by the church. They find the church legalistic, oppressive, and hurtful. The leaders are controlling; the people are phony, and the ministry is programmed to death. The church is just another club, protecting their own and laying down a bunch of rules that only instill a sense of self-loathing and a fruitless desire to be good enough for God. Many in the church silently, or not so silently, feel like the Sunday services are a drag, the sermons are fluffy and uninspiring, and the music is pre-packaged. The whole thing is, for some, a big, repetitive, soul-shriveling show. Who needs it?

The Historical. According to some disgruntled Christians, the church as we know is an unbiblical, historical accident at best and a capitulation to paganism at worst. All that we think of as “church”—sermons, buildings, pastors, liturgy, offerings, choirs, and just about anything you else you want to mention—are the result of the church falling from its pristine state in the first century into the syncretistic, over-institutionalized religion that now passes for Christianity. Whether this fall from grace came in the second century after the last Apostle died, or in the first few centuries where Greek thinking overtook Hebraic thinking in the church, or in the fourth century with Constantine and all the accompanying evils of Christendom, the fact remains the same: the church as we know it in the West has been corrupted beyond recognition. And on top of this, we have the record of atrocities committed by the church over the centuries. Surely history demonstrates that the church has, for the most part, been an embarrassing failure. Let’s say we’re sorry and move on to some other way of building the kingdom.

The Theological. Most serious of all these important concerns are the biblical and theological critiques leveled against the church. Most Christians will acknowledge that “church” is an important New Testament concept and that Jesus loves the church and shed his blood for it. But for many, “church” is just plural for Christian. All you need for church is two or three people who worship Christ to be together in the same place. To be a part of a church means nothing more than that we love Jesus and love other people. The organizational, institutional, hierarchical, programmatic, weekly services view of church, it is said, is completely foreign to the Bible. Jesus came to put an end to religion, not to start a new one. He came to bring the kingdom, not our little empires we call churches. The more we can move away from all the man-made doctrines, rituals, and structures of church as we know it, the closer we will be to truly knowing God in all his unconditional, untamed, mysterious, relational love.

*****

Now that we know the problems, over the next couple months, I’ll occasionally post excerpts from the book and give you a taste for how we respond to these objections.

Death by Dialogue

Tue, 19 May 2009 04:00:00 GMT

I don’t often post my sermons because (1) sermons don’t usually make for good blog posts, (2) the people from my church reading my blog already heard the sermon, and (3) I don’t usually have a sermon manuscript anyway. But for several days this week (starting tomorrow) I’m going to post the sermon I preached on Sunday (May 17) from Leviticus 18. Leviticus 18, as you may know, is about holiness and sexuality. I didn’t single out this text to preach about sex. But I’ve been doing a series on Leviticus for several months now. So when the next chapter comes you preach on it.

The reason for posting the sermon over several days is because the issue of sexuality is so controversial in our day and in need of clarity. In particular, the issue is hotly debated in my denomination, the Reformed Church in America. Most of you aren’t a part of the RCA or even familiar with it, which is fine. But some of my readers are from the RCA. If so, I encourage you to follow these few blog posts carefully and even consider passing them on to others in your church, classis, or RCA networks.

A Little HistoryThe RCA has consistently affirmed that homosexual behavior is sinful. In 1978 the General Synod approved a paper entitled “Homosexuality: A Biblical and Theological Appraisal.” The paper was not perfect, but it did make statements like “Paul’s rejection of homosexual activity is beyond question” and “we cannot affirm homosexual behavior.”

In 1990 the General Synod adopted R-11: “To adopt as the position of the Reformed Church in America that the practicing homosexual lifestyle in contrary to scripture, while at the same time encouraging love and sensitivity towards such persons as fellow human beings.”

In 1995 the General Synod approved that a faithful summary of the RCA position on homosexuality includes, among other statements, that “Homosexual behavior is not God’s intended expression of sexuality.”

In 2004 the General Synod adopted R-92: “To affirm that marriage is properly defined as the union of one man and one woman, to the exclusion of all others.”

And in 2005, in an unprecedented trial before the whole General Synod, three charges were heard against a Minister/Professor of Theology who had performed a “wedding” ceremony for his lesbian daughter. The charges were upheld by a 2-1 margin and Synod voted to depose Rev. Dr. Kansfield as a Professor of Theology and suspend him as a Minister of Word and Sacrament.

But the issue of homosexuality in the RCA has not gone away. Following the 2005 General Synod, the denomination entered into a three year process of dialogue. In 2006 there was confusion and some consternation about who would provide supervision and pastoral care for Rev. Dr. Kansfield. In 2007 controversy erupted again when the woman chosen to preach three times at Synod was found to be an outspoken advocate of gay marriage. This June, the General Synod will gather for its annual meeting and get a report from the dialogue coordinator and steering committee.

The Conversation to NowhereIn one sense the dialogue report doesn’t do much, at least not on an official level. But the longer we dialogue around an issue, the more legitimacy is given to both sides of the issue. The report bears this out. The report reads, in part:

The dialogue also worked in the sense that it revealed the great complexity of RCA members’ views on homosexuality. Widely scattered views emerged as the steering committee and coordinator listened to the ways in which RCA members talked about homosexuality and about their lives in the church. These many views were treated as “voices” within the RCA that are speaking, as it were, around a table, concerning homosexuality and church life.

Additionally, the dialogue succeeded in the sense that it equipped participants to engage each other more sensitively and charitably on future issues that may threaten to be divisive. A dialogue experience yields a set of skills that the church can use, perhaps primarily at the local-church level, whenever an emotionally loaded issue must be addressed.

In the matter of homosexuality, no consensus emerged among RCA members as a result of the dialogue program. Therefore no policy recommendations to the General Synod appear in this report. The church’s ability to handle its deliberations regarding homosexuality has improved, at least among those who participated in the dialogue’s events. This ability was among the purposes which the General Synod Council (GSC) specified when it authorized the program in 2005.

Notice how dialogue has served to undermine the frequently states position of the RCA. Several times over several years, the RCA has affirmed that marriage is between a man and a woman. True, there is a sizeable minority that disagrees with this stance. But now through dialogue the majority opinion has been marginalized as just another voice at the table. The point of dialogue in mainline denominations is never to decide anything, but rather to share stories and “perspectives”. The process of dialogue predetermines its outcome. There will be no resolution, except the resolution not to resolve anything. The “can’t we all just get along” crowd always wins in this kind of dialogue.

Thus: “The dialogue coordinator and steering committee recommend that the General Synod postpone further policy deliberations regarding homosexuality and that the materials developed in this program be made available in appropriate form for future use by the church.” Several overtures to Synod this year urge a similar approach: to refrain from any legislative and policy decisions and instead to engage in further dialogue. Dialogue, the reports argues, “does not yield policy decisions—except in the instance in which a consensus emerges from the dialogue process.” And as you might imagine, “In the matter of homosexuality, no consensus emerged in the RCA as it engaged in the dialogue program.”

Here’s how it usually happens in mainline denominations: a biblical position regarding homosexuality is on the books, it gets reaffirmed several times even as opposition to it grows, the opposition party is not the majority but they are loud so everyone decides to talk things over for a few years, it is discovered (surprise!) that people don’t agree on the issue, then more dialogue, then those opposed to the official denominational position ask for tolerance or for everyone to “trust the system” of checks and balances, the “system” at the local level refuses to uphold the denominational position, more pleas for everyone to get along and not let this “secondary” issue divide us, more deviation from the official position, further dialogue, official tolerance for the unofficial position, conservatives are labeled as divisive, judgmental troublemakers, a call for denomination wide healing is made, followed by urgent pleas to move on to more important matters, and finally people move on feeling glad this “difficult chapter in our life together” is over, the official position–whether officially or unofficially–is no more.

Three’s a CrowdWhat everyone needs to see is that there are three positions on homosexuality any given denomination can take: 1) Homosexual behavior is sinful. 2) Homosexual behavior is to be celebrated. 3) We can allow for both positions. Denominations never get to 2 except by going first to 3. If people in the RCA had to vote between 1 and 2, I’m convinced two-thirds would vote for 1. But what happens is that position 3 gets advertised as they sane, wise, loving, above-the-fray position perfectly positioned between two extremes. Conservatives lose their resolve, get tired of fighting, and get cow-towed into thinking “Maybe this doesn’t really matter. Maybe we should just get on with church planting. Why not keep talking about this for another three years?”

Postponing hard decisions always feels good, but it not always best. My hope and prayer is that the RCA will reject any recommendations for more dialogue and quickly (perhaps voting on something definitive at the next General Synod) give constitutional permanence and weight to the previous actions of Synod.

At the very least, I hope the RCA will stop hesitating among three opinions. If the denomination is to ever move on from this issue, a firm decision needs to be made. I say, make it soon and make it clear. Then give everyone grace to decide if the RCA still feels like home.

Money, Greed, and God: An Interview with Jay Richards

Thu, 28 May 2009 04:00:00 GMT

When I’m not reading history or theology I am often reading economics. I find the interplay between Christian commitment and economics fascinating, and filled with misunderstandings. If you’ve ever had questions about capitalism, and in particular whether or not a generous Christian can really support capitalism, I would encourage you to read Jay Richards’ new book Money, Greed, and God: Why Capitalism is the Solution and Not the Problem. Whether the title makes you say “Amen” or makes you want to roll your eyes into the back of your head, I would recommend this book as the best, most easily accessible, defense of capitalism from a Christian perspective.

Here is an interview with Jay Richards I conducted by email.

1. Tell us a little bit about yourself. Where are you from? What is your current vocation? Are you married? Do you have children?

I was born and raised in Amarillo, TX. I am married to Ginny (we just celebrated our eighteenth anniversary), and we have two lovely daughters, Gillian (10) and Ellie (6).

I worked full time at Discovery Institute for 7 1/2 years (in Seattle) and at Acton Institute for three years. We attended a CRC Church in Grand Rapids. At the moment, though, we’re out in the Seattle area while my wife finishes some course work for a masters degree. I’m getting to write full time as a Visiting Fellow at the Heritage Foundation. We’re writing a series of booklets on economic topics for ordinary, non-wonkish, people. I’m also editing a collection of articles designed to bridge the growing divide between social and fiscal conservatives. It’s scheduled to be released in late summer.

2. How did you become a Christian? What is your current church like and how are you involved?

I attended a mainline Presbyterian Church in Amarillo, and was a more or less conventional, mainline, Christian. In college, I had a crisis of faith, but was brought back from the brink through the writings of C.S. Lewis.

3. You didn’t always see the benefit to a market economy. Tell us a little bit about your story as you moved from strong opposition to capitalism to seeing the Christian virtues on the free market.

In college, I fell for many of the socialist-left ideas popular at the time (and which are regrettably making a comeback). Happily, I happened to read some good economics, including a terrific book on Marxism by Thomas Sowell. I also read Ayn Rand, which destroyed the vision of collectivism. By the time I was a senior in college, the luster of socialism had worn off. But it will still several years before I thought a Christian could defend capitalism. I suppose I had accepted Rand’s argument, but rejected the idea that greed was a virtue. I thought capitalism “worked,” but was still morally problematic. Once I read George Gilder’s Wealth and Poverty, and Michael Novak’s The Spirit of Democratic Capitalism, I changed my mind. This was actually when I was at Union Seminary in Virginia, and having to read Gustavo Gutierrez’s Theology of Liberation for the third time. I went looking for a counterbalance, and discovered Gilder and Novak.

4. In your book, you unpack eight mistakes Christians make with economics. I don’t want to make you rewrite the whole book for this interview, but could you give a one sentence description of each myth?

Here’s how I summarize the eight myths in my book:

The nirvana myth (contrasting capitalism with an unrealizable ideal rather than with its live alternatives)The piety myth (focusing on our good intentions rather than the unintended consequences of our actions)The zero-sum game myth (believing that trade requires a winner and a loser)The materialist myth (believing that wealth isn’t created, it’s simply transferred)The greed myth (believing that the essence of capitalism is greed)The usury myth (believing that charging interest on money is always exploitative)The artsy myth (confusing aesthetic judgments with economic arguments)The freeze frame myth (believing that things always stay the same—for example, assuming that population trends will continue indefinitely or treating a current “natural resource” as if it will always be needed)

I linked the myths to eight corresponding questions:

Can’t we build a just society?What does God require of us as Christians?Doesn’t capitalism foster unfair competition?If I become rich, won’t someone else become poor?Isn’t capitalism based on greed?Has Christianity ever really embraced capitalism?Doesn’t capitalism lead to an ugly consumerist culture?Do we take more than our fair share? That is, isn’t our modernlifestyle causing us to use up all the natural resources?

I struggled with this taxonomy for a while, but I do think the vast majority of bad thinking on economics among Christians can be placed in one of these eight categories.

5. Do you recommend that churches offer fair trade coffee?

In general, I don’t think fair trade coffee makes sense economically (see pages 39-42), although I also don’t think it’s as problematic as many coercive strategies, such as wealth redistribution. I’ve recently learned that there is some diversity among fair trade organizations, especially among Christian ministries. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want to speak too harshly of fair trade without nuancing, since it is normally an expression of a charitable impulse, and it appears, at least on the surface, to be a market-oriented way of dealing with third world poverty.

6. On page 35, you write “Spiritually you’re better off a little mixed up about economics than indifferent to human suffering. Economically, though, only what you do is important, whatever your reason.” This seems to be a very important point for the book. What are you trying to say in these two sentences?

When I wrote: “Spiritually you’re better off a little mixed up about economics than indifferent to human suffering. Economically, though, only what you do is important, whatever your reason,” I was trying to balance but capture Gilson’s “Piety is no substitute for technique.” To me, this is one of most important points I’ve tried to make. Motivation IS important when we’re considering our spiritual state before God. It’s just that our motivation for a policy has nothing to do with the real world effects of the policy. I think that Christians often weight our (and others’) motivations far too heavily on economic matters. It’s as if we think feeling bad about poverty is more obligatory than actually doing something that helps the poor. For instance, several times in churches I’ve pointed out why minimum wage laws don’t really help the poor in the long run. I’ve never had anyone try to debunk the argument, but several times I’ve received the complaint that my argument shows that I’m not really concerned about the poor. It doesn’t of course. But even if it were evidence that I weren’t concerned about the poor, the argument’s validity (or lack thereof) would remain the same.

7. I’m sure that you will get some feedback from libertarians for your critique of Ayn Rand. Some might be surprised that you would criticize Rand in a book promoting free market capitalism. What, in your opinion, does Rand get wrong?

My criticism of Rand is central to my argument. In my view, she rightly defended free markets, limited government, and the importance of entrepreneurs, but she located those arguments in a deeply flawed atheistic philosophy. Without going into all the problems with Objectivism, I criticize her defense of greed, as well as her identification of greed with capitalism. I also argue that she confuses Adam Smith’s arguments about self-interest with selfishness. If Rand is right about capitalism, it seems to me, then it would be very hard for Christians to be capitalists. That said, as I mention in the book, Rand actually was important in helping me to purge my socialist sympathies.

8. You finish the book with “Ten Ways to Alleviate Poverty; or, Creating Wealth in Ten Tough Steps.” Why are the rule of law (number one) and a formal property system (number three) so important to the alleviation of poverty?

Rule of law is a prerequisite for a free market even to exist. A free market is not anarchy, as some critics who talk about “unbridled capitalism” seem to imply. For a market to be free, exchanges must be voluntary, which means they must be perceived as a benefit for all participants. This is what makes a free market a positive-sum game by definition. If the strong can steal from their weaker neighbors with impunity, in contrast, they have little motivation for looking for win-win exchanges. Rule of law encourages participants in a market to seek out exchanges that are mutually beneficial, even if the participants have immoral motives. That’s a good thing.

In arguing for the importance of private property and titling in raising people out of poverty, I’m following Hernando de Soto’s important arguments in The Mystery of Capital. These laws and methods allow land to become assets, to become property, to be compared with and traded with other assets. This opens up all sorts of wealth-creating activities that the first world takes for granted, but which is still lacking in much of the developing world.

9. You go out of your way to argue that the universe is divinely ordered and purposeful. What difference does this make for our approach to economics?

I think that a culture’s general beliefs about the nature of reality can have significant economic consequences. For instance, if one believes that the world is orderly and designed for a purpose, one is more likely to look for, and discover, aspects of that order. Moreover, these beliefs can encourage optimism, delayed gratification and a motivation to make the world a better place. Finally, it prevents one from reducing economics to materialism. The most important truths of economics emerge from the reality of the human person. That reality requires a theological/philosophical framework that can accommodate it.

Of course, to offset utopian tendencies, these beliefs are best tempered with a healthy realization of our flaws. In the Christian worldview, original sin fulfills this function.

10. What advice would you give pastors as they preach on money?

I would have two main words of advice for any pastor who wants to preach about money. First, look carefully at the what Scripture and the Christian tradition actually say about money. Second, get acquainted with some basic truths of economics. There are empirical realities in economics, just as there are in chemistry and physics. It’s not all hopelessly laden with ideology. And it doesn’t require advanced degrees in economics. If a pastor shows that he understands some economics, he’s much more likely to be taken seriously when he speaks prophetically about money to his parishioners. I suppose I wrote the book, in part, to help pastors do just that.

A Praying Life

Fri, 29 May 2009 04:00:00 GMT

Of the writing of Christian books on prayer there is no end. I’ve read many of them and this one is right up there with my favorites (tied perhaps with anything Ben Patterson writes on prayer). Paul Miller, the son of Jack and Rose Marie Miller (of the Sonship courses and World Harvest Mission), has written a wonderfully helpful book called A Praying Life: Connecting with God in a Distracting World.

Rather than trying to explain a book on prayer (hint: it’s about praying), I thought I’d give a few selections I found helpful or provocative.

The quest for a contemplative life can actually be self-absorbed, focused on my quiet and me. If we love people and have the power to help, then we are going to be busy. Learning to pray doesn’t offer us a less busy life; it offers us a less busy heart. In the midst of outer busyness we can develop an inner quiet (23).Because cynicism sees what is “really going on,” it feels real, authentic. That gives cynicism an elite status since authenticity is one of the last remaining public virtues in our culture (78).David has been off by himself, separated from the current of unbelief dominating his culture, developing a rich walk with the Shepherd. David’s obscurity has protected him from the cynical spirit of the age. His public faith and private practice are in harmony. His normal is experiencing God’s presence in the valley of the shadow of death, where he has killed both lions and bears with his sling. Goliath just looks like a big bear. The result? Israel’s unbelief feels odd, out of place (94).Individualism goes back to the Judeo-Christian heritage (144).That’s why I prefer the biblical term wisdom to our more common term guidance. Guidance means I’m driving the car and asking God which way to go. Wisdom is richer, more personal. I don’t just need help with my plans; I need help with my questions and even my own heart (145).God takes everyone he loves through a desert. It is his cure for our wandering hearts, restlessly searching for a new Eden. Here’s how it works. The first thing that happens is we slowly give up the fight. Our wills are broken by the reality of our circumstances. The things that brought us life gradually die. Our idols die for lack of food (184).

Read the book. I found in it much wisdom, honesty, and hope. The best thing I can say about it is that after reading the book I not only want to pray more, but feel like I can.

Learning to Love: Encouragement

Tue, 02 Jun 2009 04:00:00 GMT

This past Sunday night I started a new sermon series (prompted by Alexander Strauch’s book Leading with Love) called “Learning to Love.” The first sermon was on encouragement from Romans 16. I don’t usually write a manuscript for Sunday evening, but I thought the basic outline might be helpful. These definitely aren’t all my notes for the sermon–I cut out the introduction, most of the exegetical material, and greatly compressed the rest–but this give the basic gist.

I. My definition of Christian encouragement: “highlighting the work of God’s grace evident in the gospel or in a gospel-centered person to the glory of God.”

II. This definition helps to distinguish between encouragement and flattery. Encouragement is not flattery because:

II.A. Encouragement is based on what is true.II.B. Encouragement is kept in proportion.II.C. Encouragement has no ulterior motive.

III. Four observations about the divinely inspired encouragement in Romans 16.

III.A. Paul recognized others publicly.III.B. Paul was tender in expressing his affections.III.C. Paul’s encouragement was rooted in his love for the gospel.III.D. Paul doesn’t just encourage his friends and co-laborers as individuals, he cultivates an atmosphere of appreciation and affection in the whole church.

IV. Encouragement is a mark of the mature Christian because God is the great encourager.

Here are a few paragraphs from the actual sermon:

The hard part about Christian encouragement is that as Christians we also know the danger of pride. So we must be humble in our receiving of encouragement. The humble response is not always to deny it, but to receive it and pass it on to God. Don’t put your hands out to always stop it (unless the encouragement is patently false). Don’t pull your hands in to hold on to it with all your might. Keep your hands moving to receive it and pass it along to God. Receive the flower of encouragement, take a look at it, and then put it in a vase for God. Or as I heard Alistair Begg say once, “a compliment is like perfume: sniff it, don’t ever swallow it.”We probably don’t think of Paul has a great encourager, more of a champion of the gospel or defender of the faith, but the only reason we don’t see him encouraging others is because it happens so frequently. Could you find ways to build up those you love in front of others? We tend to put people in their place more easily. We mention the two things that bother us instead of the ten things we appreciate. Or we give a compliment so that we can tear them down (“He’s a good friend. Nice guy. But…” or “Bless her heart…”). Again, God isn’t asking us to be fake. He isn’t telling us to be mindlessly positive about everyone and everything. But frankly that’s not the problem for most of us. We could use the practice–in emails, letters, in everyday conversation –of building people up with encouraging words. How do you publicly talk about your spouse? Your church? Your pastor? The people in your church? Your parents? Your kids? Your co-workers? Are their legitimate opportunities to sincerely encourage them directly or affirm them before others?Some of us do not show affection easily. And without the encouragement of tender affection, marriages grow cold, family dynamics get strained, churches become unbearable. You may not think you are discouraging or intimidating, but without any warmth from time to time, you will be. And don’t make your praise perfunctory. Some people are too emotionally stilted to ever say “Greet Rufus, chosen in the Lord; also his mother, who has been a mother to me as well.” This is tender affection. There’s a difference between saying “Thanks” and saying “Your work in the Lord is not in vain.” A difference between calling someone “a nice guy” and “beloved.” A difference between saying “your in my thoughts” and telling someone “I hold you in my heart.”Paul isn’t just commending people for being really good at something. He is holding them up for honor because God’s work has been evident in them and the work they have done has been for God’s sake. These are fellow workers, fellow servants, brothers. These are fellow converts and fellow saints. Paul’s heart beats with gratitude for God for saving these people. And his heart overflows in encouragement because of the work for the gospel and by the power of the gospel that he sees in them.The strongest bonds in our friendships should be gospel bonds. The deepest affections ought to be stirred in us, not just because we like the same movies as someone else, or we appreciate the same foods, or we have the same sense of humor, or we share the same academic discipline, or we root for the same sports teams–these things are common graces to us and we can be thankful for them, but the deepest affection should be stirred by gospel ties and gospel friendships and a shared passion for the gospel.Paul wanted the church to be quick to encourage, not quick to condemn. He wanted them overflowing in praise, instead of overflowing in criticism. He wanted the church to be warm and invigorating, not cold and life-quenching. He didn’t want a church of boasters or flatterers. But he wanted a congregation where the members sought to honor one another above themselves, where culturally appropriate displays of physical affection were shared, a place where God’s grace was noticed and lifted up for the glory of God.I’m not suggesting you just smile all the time and act like everything is just fine. Love does not rejoice at wrongdoing. But it does rejoice with the truth. Are you making known your rejoicing in the truth that you see in others?It may sound kind of soft to call God the great encourager, but think about it: God is constantly highlighting his own works of grace. He is always rejoicing in the truth. He says about Jesus “this is my beloved Son with whom I am well pleased.” He calls us beloved, little children, new creations. He made us in his image, and has crowned us with steadfast love and mercy. Because of the work of Christ, God accepts us instead of condemns us. And by this same work–making us humble lovers of truth and making others fruitful in the truth–we can encourage those who belong to Christ.

The Dangers of Mysticism

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 04:00:00 GMT

I’ve noted before that I like to begin my devotional time in the morning by reading either a classic or a book by someone dead. Recently I’ve been working my way through Herman Bavinck’s Saved by Grace: The Holy Spirit’s Work in Calling and Regeneration. This work, which is separate from his four volume Dogmatics, focuses on the controversy in his day surrounding immediate regeneration and presumptive regeneration.

Since I have Anabaptists on the brain, I thought it would be worthwhile to quote Bavinck’s discussion on Anabaptist mysticism (which I’m not equating with the Neo-Anabaptists). After noting that the Anabaptists often referenced an internal light or inner Word as their authority, Bavinck comments more broadly about mysticism.

Its fundamental idea, although modified in a Christian way within Christian circles, is essential to all mysticism, wherever it has appeared–whether in India or Greece, in Persia or Egypt. Simply stated, it is this: in order to find truth or life or salvation–in a word, to find God–a person need not go outside of himself but need only descend within himself. God dwells within a person, making His abode within the person either through nature or through a special, supernatural descent into the person. After all, religion does not involve doctrine or activity, thinking or doing, but religion involves living in God, union and communion with God, which can be enjoyed only in the depths of one’s psyche, in the immediacy of one’s consciousness (72).

Bavinck disagrees with this kind of mysticism, but he does not think it is without any short-term positive results.

When this notion has been expressed at any time in history by a person of deep seriousness and firm conviction, finding warm and enthusiastic agreement within any circle small or large, it frequently give birth to exuberance, courage, enthusiasm, and deep and glorious mysticism. This was the case at first with the Anabaptists as well. At that time there were many upright believers among them, many genuine children of God. Whatever one might say about the Anabaptists, one must never forget that in large numbers and with remarkable courage of faith, they sacrificed their goods and their blood for the cause of the Lord (73).

Having given this warm commendation, Bavinck goes on to state the danger of Anabaptist mysticism.

But the principle soon manifested its mistaken implications. First, people came to be satisfied with the internal Word alone, despising Scripture and church, office and sacrament, appealing to private revelations and becoming guilty of various excesses. Second, when the initial exuberance was past, gradually the internal Word was robbed of it special, supernatural character, coming to be more and more identified with the natural light of reason and conscience. Abstract supra-naturalism was followed by rationalism…The internal light came gradually to be identified, as with the Quakers, for example, with the light of nature. In both instances, however, Scripture contained nothing other than what a person had already learn by God’s Spirit (73).

The pattern has been repeated many times. People start to pay less and less attention to Scripture, saying it has errors or it can’t be understood or it’s less spiritual than the Spirit within us. Exuberance, courage, and activity follow as people feel alive and less shackled by “tradition” and fixed propositions. With their new found inner truth, these people grow dissatisfied with sermons, notions of authority, and Church-as-we-know-it. More exuberance. But eventually the excitement wears off. The activity dies down. What’s left is the internal Word, which, it turns out, is no different from our own opinions, convictions, and desires.

Without an outer, objective Word, the internal Word always gives way to rationalism, because in appealing to our inner sense of things, we end up just appealing to our own reason. Over time, then, Scripture is increasingly silenced, as we continue doing and thinking what we want, and Scripture is consulted only to confirm what we already “know.” The result is a cold, lifeless church, without the power of God or the truth of God’s word.

Perhaps I’m Just Sick of Revolutionaries

Tue, 09 Jun 2009 04:00:00 GMT

Why We Love the Church should be released by the end of the month. In the past month I’ve given a couple excerpts from the book. They’ve been from my chapters. Ted Kluck wrote the other half of the chapters. Ted is a gifted writer and I’m so thankful to have worked with him on another project.

Here’s a few paragraphs from Ted’s chapter “Turn the Page.”

*****

Perhaps I’m just sick of revolutionaries. I am thirty-two years old, and am a part of the generation that has probably purchased more Che Guevara posters than any other generation in history. You know the poster. It’s the one that shows Che bearded, in his beret, looking larger than life. It is often accompanied on the wall by a Bob Marley poster, or the John Belushi poster in which he wears a sweatshirt emblazoned with the word “College.” We’re big on revolutionaries. We’re big on changing the world. We’re big, also, on not being ordinary.

A search on a popular Christian bookseller’s Web site revealed no less than sixty-two items with the word manifesto in the title and hundreds containing the term revolutionary. There are revolutionary books for teens. Ditto for stay-at-home moms. There’s a book about how Jesus was a revolutionary communicator, and how you can use His revolutionary communication skills in your home/business/church. The question then becomes, If we’re all revolutionaries, are any of us an actual revolutionary? Being a revolutionary used to mean that you overthrew a government; now it means that you’re a courageous enough visionary to have church on a golf course or in someone’s living room.

My point in all of this is not to make not-so-subtle jabs at revolutionary culture (maybe a little bit); rather, it is to encourage the scores of nonrevolutionaries in our midst, of which I am one. I want to encourage those of us who try really hard to pray for our families and friends, try to read our Bibles consistently, and share the gospel with those around us. Those of us who aren’t ready to chuck centuries worth of church history, and years of unglamorous but God-glorifying growth in the name of revolution.

I’m also a part of the generation that has produced more memoirs before the age of thirty-five than any other in history. We’re crazy about Christian narrative nonfiction, especially those “on the road” stories, no matter how trite or contrived they may be. We’re journeyers. We’re wanderers. We still haven’t found what we’re looking for. Jack Kerouac’s (or Donald Miller’s…or Lauren Winner’s) wayward children are all over the Christian book landscape.

These narrative titles all follow a similar pattern, in that in them experiences are had (a cross-country road trip, a self-finding excursion through Europe, a documentary chronicling the lameness of American Christians, a chronicle on how the author dropped out of church and subsequently “found” Jesus), and then those experiences are shared in book form. Many of these books are supposed to tell us that “community” is the answer, and individualism is bad, but at the end of the day these books are largely about the individual and his or her discoveries.

2112 Antietams

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 04:00:00 GMT

There are two books I’d recommend for bolstering a pro-life apologetic. Francis Beckwith’s Defending Life: A Moral and Legal Case Against Abortion Choice is the best scholarly, pro-life defense written in recent years. It’s only 296 pages, but filled with the latest science and devastating logic. For a more user-friendly book (Beckwith is pretty readable too), I recommend The Case for Life: Equipping Christians to Engage the Culture by Scott Klusendorf. The book is still dense with arguments, but they are presented with a few less footnotes and a few more illustrations. You can’t go wrong with either book.

There are so many good points in The Case for Life that I can’t repeat (or remember!) them all. But a few points stand out.

It isn’t enough to feel pity for the unborn. We must act on behalf of the unborn. The Good Samaritan was not praised for feeling sorry for the man on the side of the road, but for stopping to help (9).Simplify the issue. Bring the issue back to the central question: is the fetus a human person? To bring this point home, ask if a particular justification for abortion also works as a justification for killing toddlers (25).Use the acronym SLED. Size: are big people more human than small people? Level of Development: Does self-awareness make us human? Are older children more valuable than infants? Are those with dementia less valuable? Environment: Do your surroundings determine your humanity? How can a journey eight inches down the birth canal change the essential nature of the child? Degree of Dependency: Does viability make us human? Are newborns or those who need dialysis not deserving of human rights? (28)Embryology textbooks uniformly state that new human life comes into existence upon completion of fertilization. This is scientific fact, not a theological belief (49).The claim that 5000-10,000 women died a year from botched abortions prior to Roe is “unmitigated nonsense” (to quote a statistician featured in Planned Parenthood publications in the 60s and 70s). A total of 45,000 American women of reproductive age die each year of all causes. A better estimate is that 500 women died annually from illegal abortions in the years leading up to Roe (160).

Like I said, there are plenty more arguments and responses. In fact, I bet every objection pro-lifers have ever heard (at least in popular discourse) is addressed in this book. Buy it. Underline it. Take it to heart. Communicate its ideas confidently and winsomely.

This is no time to fight murder with murder (there is no time for that). But neither is this the time for pro-lifers to slacken in their efforts from fetus fatigue. Between 1973 and 2005 American women procured an estimated 48, 589, 993 abortions. The bloodiest single-day battle in American history was at Antietam in 1862, where 23,000 Americans lost their lives. It was an mind-boggling loss of life. Now imagine another Antietam every five or six says for 32 straight years. That’s how many unborn children died from 1973 to 2005. And they died not for the abolition of slavery, nor for the preservation of the Union, but for choice.

Thoughts on Evangelical Superstardom

Fri, 12 Jun 2009 04:00:00 GMT

I was very interested to read, and very helped by, John Piper’s article on Hero Worship v. Holy Emulation. It got me thinking about a number of related, if not coherently organized, thoughts about the possibilities and pitfalls of evangelical celebrity culture.

1. We ought to give thanks for the men and women in our lives who have taught us the Scriptures and helped us see more of God. I’ve often thought when at a big-time conference, “I am incredibly blessed to sit under this teaching.” Not only are these men gifted communicators and intellectually and theologically sharp, they are also, by God’s grace, mature, godly men. We are privileged to have men like John Piper, R.C. Sproul, D.A. Carson, Jerry Bridges, J.I. Packer, John MacArthur (I could go on with the names of other men, and women too) who have been examples to the church in word and deed for more than a generation.

2. I doubt church celebrities are new. The internet has sped up communication and flattened our world in tremendous ways, but are we really to think Chrysostom wasn’t a big deal in his day or Whitefield wasn’t in his? And do we really think this just happens in North American evangelicalism? I’m sure there are lots of “big men” in Africa with big followings too. There will always be famous people in the church (even if they are only famous in our circles) and we’ll never escape the dangers of hero worship and self-exaltation.

3. God works through great men and women. There’s no way of knowing whom God uses more–the famous author or the homebound prayer warrior. So I’m not making a case that the well known people are the most important. But if we look at church history God has always done great things through great leaders, great minds, and great preachers–Luther, Calvin, Wesley, Edwards, and on and on. Moreover, it’s not wrong that we would feel a deep personal affection for those who have taught us so much about the gospel. For example, I know dozens and dozens of men and women who would drive through the night just to shake Piper’s hand and say thank you. Does this mean they are celebrity stalkers or that they are “of Piper”? Well, perhaps in some cases. But most of the folks I know simply want to convey their deep gratitude for the work God has done in their lives through one of his servants.

4. We should pray for “evangelical superstars.” The higher they rise, the harder they fall. So let’s ask God to give them wisdom in discerning priorities, grace to overcome their sins, courage in the face of opposition, and humility in the face of affirmation. Let’s pray that the older generation of leaders finishes well, without rancor or bitterness, without compromise, without distraction from what matters most.

5. Learning from a great teacher does not eliminate the need to think for ourselves. We need to make sure we are really convinced of the things we espouse, that we don’t simply believe what the men and women we respect believe. Don’t make the “celebrities” into a new magisterium. Respect their wisdom and experience, but always go back to the Scriptures. And don’t expect them to settle all your issues, because they haven’t faced all your issues. And besides, the men we look up to don’t always agree with each other on how to tackle certain issues.

6. Remember that famous people are still people. We all have clay feet. If our “superstars” have an ounce of humility, they will be the first to say, “I’m not everything you may imagine me to be.” I remember doing the panel discussion at Next with Mark Dever, C.J. Mahaney, Sinclair Ferguson, Justin Taylor, and Joshua Harris. The whole time I was up there I was thinking, “Don’t be overimpressed with us. At least not with me! A year ago I wouldn’t have imagined being up here. And now that I am, I can tell you I’m not a whole holier than I was a year ago! A year ago none of you would have thought to talk to me, now a bunch of you will wait in line to talk to me. I wasn’t really a loser a year ago, and I’m not all that special right now!” No matter how holy or fruitful our heroes may be, they will always be more like us than they are like God.

7. While it’s true that God blesses godly, gifted, humble servants of Christ with fruitfulness in ministry, always keep in mind that becoming a ministry “success” is a weird deal. I have thought about this often in the past year or so. Just because I wrote a book doesn’t mean I’m a better writer or thinker than all the people who haven’t. A couple people at Moody really liked Why We’re Not Emergent, while a whole bunch of other publishers didn’t. If those two people at Moody (thanks Dave and Tracey) weren’t sold on the book, most of you wouldn’t be reading this blog right now. There are a lot of bad books that get published, and good books that don’t. Some bestsellers are terrible and some tremendous books never make a blip. I guess what I’m saying is that even if we could measure success (and we know we can’t), there would still be no way to figure out why some get it and some don’t. Am I worse pastor than every pastor with more than 400 people on a Sunday and better than every pastor who has fewer than 400? God works in mysterious ways, the causes of “success” are impossible to determine, and influence is hard to quantify.

8. Don’t let others’ passion be a substitute for your own. Sometimes we preach or teach more than we really feel. We admire the intensity of others and make it our own. But it never really is our own. Or if it is, we haven’t figured out how to make it true to our personality.

9. Even with the proliferation of blogs, twitter, and iPods, the people in your life still need real live people in their lives. The most important pastor is the one in your local church. The most important teacher is the one raising your kids. The most important mentor is the one who meets with you for coffee every week.

10. This is my final thought, and maybe sums up all the others: don’t like someone just because others do, and don’t dislike someone just because others like him. Both are dangers in a celebrity culture. Some people wait on the corner just looking for bandwagons they can hop on. Others–the too cool for school crowd–have a dire fear of being a part of something popular. These folks decide to dislike an author or pastor or speaker or band or movie just because all their friends rave about them. I understand the reaction, but you don’t have to be a groupie to be edified. Don’t like Calvinism or Piper or Driscoll or whatever because it’s cool. And don’t be the cynical I-hate-labels, why-are-Christians-such-lemmings person either. Give thanks for godliness where you see it, the gospel where you hear it, and good examples when you can find them.