On Institutions and Controversies About What Happens in Chapel

Awhile back, I spent several years in institutions that professed allegiance to expository preaching and a literal, grammatical, historical hermeneutic. Those were great years. I benefited immensely. But looking back, I sure do wish someone had granted me permission to walk out of chapel every time I was offended because those commitments were abandoned and preachers <i>said</i> God said something that God <i>never actually said</i>.

I do wonder what we reveal about what we love most when folks will bicker to no end over an institution's change (yes, change, I do believe!) in musical styles, though infidelity to the Word was tolerated for years.

Only a Bigot Would Discard Principles for Sentimentalism & Politics

When a Senator changes his stance on same-sex marriage because his son told him he's gay, it makes me wonder if he'd change his stance on balanced budgets if his son told him he was neck-deep in credit card debt. I realize same-sex marriage is a sensitive issue when it's intertwined with close personal relationships, but what does this sort of flip-flop say about a person whose sentimentalism trumps his principles?

But it helped me realize something: The people who ought to be most despicable on this issue aren't the people who hold fast to their convictions—rooted in foundational moral principles—even in the face of rising opposition, marginalization, and scorn. No, the real scoundrels are those who U-turn on same-sex marriage for sentimental & political reasons. They expose the ugly truth that the issue never really was a matter of serious principle to them. They were just going with the flow . . . until it became inconvenient. As it turns out, they were the real bigots all along.

Dear Gary Bauer, What's Really Uncharitable Is Dismissing People's Convictions As If They Don't Matter.

This article by Gary Bauer is dead wrong when it argues that Roman Catholics and evangelicals agree on the most essential issues. Here's the very center of where his error:

Doctrinal differences remain, of course, but the Catholic-evangelical alliance has reshaped American politics. In many cases, Catholics have provided the intellectual framework and vocabulary to discuss Christianity's vital role in our democracy, while Protestants have contributed fervor and youth. 

We do not agree on every issue. But on the essential ones -- those both faiths consider "non-negotiables" -- Catholics and evangelicals are allied. 

We both champion the idea -- the truth -- that there are reliable standards of right and wrong to which all institutions, including government, must adhere. We stand together in proclaiming that all human life has equal dignity and worth. And we stand together in defending the traditional and time-honored conception of marriage as a union of one man and one woman.

Of course he's right that objective truth and moral issues matter a great deal in the public square, and he's right to be grateful for the contribution of both groups in those issues. But he could not be more profoundly mistaken when he suggests that they're more important than doctrinal issues—unresolved disagreement (at least at the level of official RCC teaching) over the gospel of salvation by grace through faith in Christ *alone*.

Level-headed disagreement simply isn't disrespectful or uncharitable, as Bauer argues that it is. Serious evangelicals and Roman Catholics perceive that ideas and convictions matter. I actually respect and appreciate my Roman Catholics friends who recognize that fact far more than I respect Gary Bauer. And I respect them by taking their views seriously, not by dismissing them flippantly.

Not surprisingly, Carl Trueman addresses the same issues much more helpfully.

What Sort of Fruit Do Churches Reap When They Concentrate Authority?

Every now and then I read or listen to someone who's attempting to make the case that sole pastoral leadership and/or a qualitatively unique sort of authority invested in one man are perfectly acceptable options. By that I mean, despite the consistent NT pattern of plural eldership in local churches (reinforced by apostolic command), some commentators deny that plural elder-led congregationalism is an ideal we ought to pursue deliberately. They think it's merely a viable option; I understand it to be a biblical model. I believe the exegetical case is formidable, but let's assume for the moment that it's ambiguous.

Now, does this disgraceful affair emerge from a vacuum, or is it possible that the leadership culture and hero worship so endemic to churches in this stream facilitated the pastor's [and I use that term with clenched teeth] opportunity to abuse his authority? Is it possible that the church's Pastor-centered polity enabled his exploits?

Perhaps some might respond that this is an extreme example. I'd concede that it's an extreme example of power and influence concentrated in one man in a local church context. (I'm not so sure it's an such extreme example at all of the misuse of that power and influence.) I'd also concede that plural eldership has a distinct set of pitfalls. But if we believe anything about depravity, and if we understand anything about the storyline of the Bible, will we then be more or less inclined to centralize authority in one person? And will those understandings lead us toward a stronger or weaker commitment to identify and train faithful men who be able to teach others also?

Three Ways to Preach Biblical Truth in a Way that Makes It Seem Less Attractive

1. Use a consistently angry tone, not only at false doctrine, but also at your listeners.
2. Make yourself the hero of most of your stories (not Jesus).
3. Misrepresent the people that you agree with on the most important issues, but disagree with on secondary or peripheral issues.

What Might We Call a Baptist College that Undermines Baptist Principles?

Recent decisions and discussions raised some questions in my mind related to Baptist colleges and Baptist polity. Let's start here:

How might we expect a Baptist Bible College to relate to Baptist churches in its sphere of relationships? By that I mean, if a Baptist college professes allegiance to Baptist principles, the autonomy of local churches among them, what are some rudimentary ways that college might demonstrate deference to autonomous churches?

From my familiarity with Baptist college admission procedures, I understand that they inquire about the prospective student's church membership, typically requiring a letter of recommendation from the church's pastor. Obviously, Baptist colleges admit scores of students each year whom they don't know, contingent largely on their trust in the prospective students' pastors.

I'd like to suggest that when a college admits one of those students, that student remains under the pastoral oversight of his home church as long as he maintains his membership there. I'm not sure why a college would object. The school trusted the church's leadership enough to admit the student. Why should it not trust the church enough to care for and counsel the student so long as his membership commitment to the church remains? For that matter, which is more fundamental—dare I say, more Baptist—the student's commitment to his church, or his commitment to his college?

Here's where the rubber meets the road: Baptist colleges regularly screen local churches and pass judgment on which churches their students may attend. This screening process may even delve into such "vital issues" of Baptist identity as pretribulational rapture, Sunday school, and midweek prayer meeting. (One wonders where the slippery slope might take a church that uses its Sunday evening service as a prayer meeting instead.) And yes, these are verbatim examples (right down to the designation "vital issues") from a real local church partnering agreement from two school years ago. I'm unaware whether these vital convictions have been maintained to the present.

This sort of school reserves the right to override the counsel of their students' pastors (and parents) and may even threaten dismissal if a student follows his pastor's counsel in opposition to the school's administration. And this is where the recent controversy related to an Iowa school and church isn't precisely equivalent. So even though I've disagreed with Faith's decision, I understand the piece of the decision that applies to college staff to be a bit different from what applies to college students who maintain membership in their home church. Their case is a bit more complex.

I find this latter policy to be utterly indefensible and contradictory to the very distinctives of Baptist polity that such an institution proclaim (market?) that it believes. Ironic, no? And yet I wonder if it might not be characteristic of some streams in the Baptist world, which happily abandon principles in exchange for control, under the guise of maintaining principles.

So I guess my question is, what might we call a school that functions this way? Maybe, "Barely Baptist College"?

Killing "The Gospel Isn't for Christians" with Simple Exegesis

Every now and then a really bad idea sends roots down into influential people's minds and gets propagated by their ministry platforms. Every now and then a really good book doesn't get the promotional buzz that it deserves (and that poorer books often do). And every now and then one of those under-recognized books deftly drives a stake into the heart of one of those really bad ideas. I'd like to tell you about one of them: Milton Vincent's A Gospel Primer for Christians.

I've never read a book like this before. Vincent writes with clarity and brevity that seldom appear in tandem. Page after page is sprinkled with gospel nuggets that made my heart brim with joy. Vincent unpacks what we might think of as exhausted gospel truth and shows how believers can apply the gospel to ourselves—and why we must. As much as I appreciated Mahaney's Living the Cross-Centered Life, this is better.

Now here's that stake I was talking about:

The New Testament teaches that Christians ought to hear the gospel as much as non-Christians do. In fact, in the first chapter of Romans the Apostle Paul tells the believers in the church that he was anxious "to preach the gospel to you who are in Rome." [Romans 1:15] Of course, he was anxious to preach the gospel to the non-Christians at Rome, yet he specifically states that he was eager to preach it to the believers as well. 

To the Corinthian Christians who had already believed and been saved by the gospel, Paul says, "I make known to you the gospel, which you have believed...." He then restates the historical facts of the gospel before showing them how those gospel facts apply to their beliefs about the afterlife. This is actually Paul's approach to various other issues throughout the book of 1 Corinthians. 

In most of Paul's letters to churches, sizeable portions of them are given over to rehearsing gospel truths. For example, Ephesians 1-3 is all gospel, Colossians 1-2 is all gospel, and Romans 1-11 is all gospel. The remainder of such books shows how to bring those gospel truths to bear on life. Re-preaching the gospel and then showing how it applied to life was Paul's choice method for ministering to believers, thereby providing a divinely inspired pattern for me to follow when ministering to myself and to other believers. [p.13]

What's In a Name? On Baptist Identity and Mission

A wise man once wrote, "It seems to me that what they separate over tells you what’s really important to them."

This recent episode involving the GARBC, Faith Baptist Bible College & Seminary, and Saylorville Church has offered us another enlightening scenario to test that hypothesis and examine the values of various groups and individuals. It's been a complex scenario, perhaps with more ways to handle it poorly than wisely.

Several matters related to Baptist identity and polity are quite reasonably in play—local church autonomy, connectionalism, soul liberty, and the role of the parachurch ministry. And of course, church names.

As it happens, I'm a pastor in what must be one of a very few churches in the nation that reinserted "Baptist" into its name after having removed it. Though I wasn't a party to that decision, I believe it was a good one. But I also believe that the mission of a local church is not primarily to maintain "Baptist Identity." I'd argue that the church's mission is far more closely related to proclaiming the Word in such a way that the gospel's power transforms pagans into disciples. The biblical principles that shape "Baptist Identity" are related to the mission—perhaps even advance the mission—but maintaining that identity is not the zenith of the mission. At most, it's a servant to the mission.

Now, I don't have a dog in the fight as to whether it is fruitful for the cause of Christ for FBBC&S students and faculty members to be members of Saylorville Church. There may well be reasons why it is not. I also don't know whether Saylorville's name change will help or hinder its fulfillment of its mission. I strongly suspect that this sort of decision will vary according to individual church context. Saylorville Church may make a bad decision on that point (or many others), but I'm not sure who or what institution is in a better position to make that decision than the church itself. My understanding of Baptist distinctives had led me to believe that Baptists would universally affirm that notion. Perhaps I was misinformed.

I was struck by this sentence in Faith's official statement [PDF]:

"We stand with our gospel-loving Baptist forebears of past centuries who loved all the brethren yet celebrated their unique Baptist identity."

As I reflected on our forbears who embodied that description, one of the first who leapt into my mind was Charles Spurgeon. No big surprise, right? Gospel-loving? Who was more so? Loved all the brethren? Not all professing brethren, but all who held fast to the Word! Celebrated unique Baptist identity? Well, there's a reason that such diverse strains of contemporary Baptists claim him as one of their number. And yet he pastored . . . "The Metropolitan Tabernacle."

Now, isn't it rather typical of fundamentalism to attach more weight to an individual or institution's public identification, rather than the substance of its identity and theology? It's been argued that Faith's decision is "reflective of who they are." I suspect that's true. But "who we are" is at least in part a reflection of "what's most important to us." And I'd suggest that's part of our problem.

The Deadly Dangers of Subtle Media Messages

In a panel discussion with Greg Beale, Carl Trueman offers a provocative analogy at the end of a longer conversation on media and materialism. The entire panel is worth a listen. The concluding minutes are particularly pastoral. This particular quote begins at the 1:21:19 mark:

Pornography and violence—it's like the guy running down your street wielding a chainsaw wearing a ski mask. You see him coming. You get into your house. You lock the door. You phone the police. Commercials, things like that—it's like sitting in your house and the chimney's blocked, and the house is slowly filling up with carbon monoxide. And by the time you realize the deadly dangers there, it's too late. You're already dead.

Two Carl Henrys?

So far as I know, I never met Carl Henry, but posthumously he had substantial impact on the last ten years of my life—not so much because of what he wrote or believed, but because of whom he influenced. I've lived those past ten years between two worlds. In one, Henry is lionized, and in the other—something more like demonized. Perceptive leaders in both worlds understand that few people shaped the present landscape of evangelicalism more than Henry.

Those who published their reflections on his influence earlier this week recognized that fact. Two of the most notable reflections were from Albert Mohler and Russell Moore, President and Dean at Southern Seminary. What struck me about these two is that both accurately captured essential elements of Henry's ideas and influence—but at the same time it seemed to me as though they could have been writing about two different men with drastically different primary concerns.

Moore focused on the young Carl Henry and one of his early books, The Uneasy Conscience of Modern Fundamentalism. Moore called Uneasy Conscience his best work, in direct contrast to Henry's six-volume magnum opus, God, Revelation, and Authority. Uneasy Conscience painted a picture of a Church that preaches a gospel of the kingdom by speaking "to the whole person, to spiritual lostness, to physical sickness, to material poverty, to the need for community." Moore takes the opportunity to criticize "the ongoing efforts to divide concern for evangelism from a concern for justice, the mission of the church in caring for people’s souls from caring for their bodies." If you're keeping up with that discussion, that reference might seem thinly veiled.

Mohler writes more broadly, acknowledging the influence of Uneasy Conscience among other pivotal aspects of Henry's life and ministry. But nearly half of his essay bears down on the need for and effects of Henry's God, Revelation, and Authority, completed in Henry's 70th year. In those volumes, Henry had attempted to present "a magisterial defense of Christian truth against the challenges of liberal theology, modern secularism, and contemporary philosophy."

I've read and heard enough from Moore and Mohler to sense that these distinct aspects of Henry's theology are the very aspects that have most gripped and shaped Moore and Mohler, respectively. But Henry expressed concerns late in life about the state and trajectory of the evangelicalism that he had helped create. I wish we could ask him today for deeper reflections on a number of points, Uneasy Conscience among them. But then I stumbled across a provocative and perhaps enlightening little snippet from Henry in the "Part 4" video at this link, quoted at the bottom:

“The important thing right now is for Evangelicals to learn what the church truly is. Because if we are unsure of the nature and purpose of the church, we can get involved in all sorts of tasks trying to save the world or the culture that can miscarry us into a distortion of what Evangelical Christianity ought to be.”

That's all he said. Discussion turned to another topic. I don't know how to read that comment as anything less than a qualification of Uneasy Conscience, and perhaps something more. At the very least, it sounds like something these guys might have said.