Doesn’t it always seem that discussions of christian ethics are premised upon these epic, relatively cut and dry examples? For example, when talking about the use of force in conflict we almost instinctively resort to WWII. It has long been my opinion that this represents the human tendency to take the easy way out. Rather than building our views on these extreme and pretty much simple circumstances, shouldn’t our theories reflect the messy, complicated reality in which we all live? In my life I’ve probably heard more than a hundred conversations/debates about whether one should/would be part of an assassination plot against Hitler. OK, but who among us will ever actually decide whether or not to kill one of the most evil men in history? Doesn’t it seem like we spend an inordinate amount of time building our ethics upon these obscure hypothetical dilemmas that none of us will ever face, then reasoning backward? Wouldn’t it make more sense for our principles to derive from real ethical situations we face and apply those to the extreme circumstances rather than vice versa? I’m heavily critical of the whole KISS approach (Keep It Simple, Stupid). Let’s deal with this beautiful yet corrupted world in its most messy, convoluted expressions. In my opinion, to really understand sin’s insidious nature and deal with how we should respond, we should examine it in its most primitive, immature expressions. I specifically have in mind childhood conflict. (Isn’t this the reason Lord of the Flies is so powerful?) A college friend of mine recently put up a facebook status about how his kindergarten daughter defended herself by slugging a bully right in the eye on the playground. As a loving father, his gut response was to be delighted that she stood up for himself. “That’s my girl!” But he later got to thinking about whether or not it’s right to encourage that. He didn’t say it publicly, but I suspect he got to thinking about the incongruity of his response with this professed theological beliefs. Thus are the sorts of seemingly mundane but infinitely important situations I think we should be spending our time wrestling with.

PLEASE CLICK HERE FOR AN UPDATED VERSION OF THIS POST.

Three thoughts about Roger Olson’s forthcoming book, Against Calvinism:

1. The defensive/hostile posture is off-putting. Yes, I realize that the book is a companion to Michael Horton’s For Calvinism. Yes, I realize authors often don’t have as much creative control as they’d like, especially over titles. Yes, I realize publishers, in this case Zondervan, like controversial titles that are easy to market. Nevertheless, that doesn’t change the fact that the title and cover cast the work in such a way that little helpful discussion can take place. It’ll simply further calcify unhelpful bifurcations. To quote Scar 3D, “Ohhhh, goodie.”
2. The topic is worn out. Do we really need another polemical work for/against Arminianism and Calvinism? Yes, I’m quite certain that my own views heavily filter my perception of this book’s worth. Specifically, I think both systems are rather pathetic.  Yes, I realize Olson is the foremost contemporary Arminian theologian. Don’t care. This isn’t a book that needs to be written.
3. Olson is dropping like a rock on my list of favorite theologians. There was a time in which he ranked #1. His books How to Be Evangelical without Being Conservative, Reformed and Always Reforming: The Postconservative Approach to Evangelical Theology, The Story of Christian Theology: Twenty Centuries of Tradition & Reform, The Mosaic of Christian Belief: Twenty Centuries of Unity & Diversity, and 20th Century Theology: God & the World in a Transitional Age were deeply influential upon my faith, helping me not only salvage but restored my love of theology after it’d been decimated by the culture at two conservative Bible colleges. I shall forever be indebted to him for that, but his insistence upon writing books like Against Calvinism and Finding God in the Shack: Seeking Truth in a Story of Evil and Redemption keeps reinforcing the fact that he’s more of a pop thinker than a serious scholar. He’s simply not on par with the Stanley Hauerwases, Alister McGraths, N.T. Wrights, and Kevin Vanhoozers of the world. In my favorite movie, Finding Forrester, the villainous English teacher describes Sean Connery’s character as “an author who could have offered much more.” I’ve begun to think the same of Olson.

Do not rejoice when your enemies fall,
and do not let your heart be glad when they stumble,
or else the Lord will see it and be displeased,
and turn away his anger from them.
- Proverbs 24:17-18

You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.” But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax-collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
- Matthew 5:43-48

But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you. If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
- Luke 6:27-36

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’ No, ‘if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.
- Romans 12:14-21

By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things.
- Galatians 5:22-23

But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light.
- 1 Peter 2:9

First and foremost I would say that Dr. Saucy has offered a well-thought, well-articulated criticism with a corresponding helpful proposal. It seems to me that this article is deserving of heavy readership. That having been said, I would also note that I find the effort to extract the joint doctrines and worship practices of the patristic era from the ecclesiastical structures of the day to be scholastically irresponsible. Besides a brief description of Irenaeus as bishop of Lyons, Saucy fails to take into account or even reference the accepted episcopal oversight that played a central role in guiding and preserving the Church after the deaths of the apostles. If I may be candid, appealing to a “canonical tradition” as this external, conceptual authoritative standard without taking into account the bishops is ahistorical, biblicist nonsense. One may rightly appeal to Scripture’s teaching in arguing for widespread doctrinal corruption as has long been a Protestant habit, but he/she cannot rightly interpret the early church fathers through the lens of Protestant autonomy. That’s an anachronistic absurdity. Again, I respect Saucy and think he poses several legitimate points that deserve hearing, but these sorts of discussions must reflect a markedly historical approach. This essay is written in large part as a response to D.H. Williams and others in the paleo-orthodox movement. In my opinion, Williams is right to point us to the necessity of apostolic tradition and Saucy is right to nuance the issue with the priority of canonical tradition. Amidst their disagreement I can be gracious in commending both. Yet, in my estimate, neither has adequately taken into account the influence of ecclesiastical tradition upon ancient scriptural hermeneutics, which by the way is the same ecclesiastical tradition that canonized the biblical texts. The irony of this piece is that the author criticizes others for this ahistorical view of the christian faith that largely detaches it from the redemptive narrative begun in the OT, but he then seems to advocate another ahistorical view that implicitly suggests that the redemptive narrative ended with the closing of the NT canon. How is that any better?

Charge #1: Biblicism

Let’s get ‘er done.

Smith and McKnight agree that the main issues—ones they say we’ve avoided—are biblicism and pervasive interpretive pluralism.

In fairness to DeYoung, multiple conflicting interpretations ain’t a problem if you’re certain that your interpretation is correct and everyone else’s is wrong and/or misguided.

The problem in particular is that the presence of PIP makes biblicism impossible;

Sometimes the best way to understand a thing is through illustration, so here’s another way of stating the problem: Reformed, Lutheran, Pentecostal, Methodist, Baptist, Anabaptist, Restoration, Holiness, Free, Quaker, Emergent, Bible-churches, house churches… That list could go on for quite a well, and those are just broad categories that themselves are fragmented to the Nth degree.

hence, the title of Smith’s book.

I do like that title.

I don’t agree with the charge of evasion…

A most unexpected turn of events!

…(in particular, I don’t see how someone could read Gundry’s review and think he was avoiding the real issues)…

Eh, I wasn’t particularly satisfied by Gundry’s review but neither did I think it horrible.

But given the rejoinders it seems appropriate to deal with these two issues more explicitly.

K.

Let’s look at the charge of biblicism first.

K.

Smith defines biblicism as the constellation of ten assumptions and beliefs.

Interesting. I’m excited to read this.

Forgive the long block quote, but it’s best to read Smith’s definition in his own words.

Uh, that’s just being intellectually responsible. What’s he apologizing for?

1. Divine Writing: The Bible, down to the details of its words, consists of and is identical with God’s very own words written inerrantly in human language.

The issue Smith is pointing to is the biblicist tendency to emphasize the “God element” to the negligence of the “human element”–usually as a response to the Higher Criticisms. My own view, which is a direct rebuttal to both,  is that the Bible is the divinely-inspired word of God as communicated by human authors and editors living in precise historical-cultural contexts. Also, I affirm the Bible’s infallibility but usually not its inerrancy. (It usually comes down to one’s definition. There are some I’d embrace.) So I agree with the primary thrust of this criticism. In the game of biblicist baseball, I’m batting 0-1.

2. Total Representation: The Bible represents the totality of God’s communication to and will for humanity, both in containing all that God has to say to humans and in being the exclusive mode of God’s true communication.

This rings true as well. In my estimate the key words are “totality” and “exclusive.” Is it not possible that God worked in and through the Church in the historic development of such doctrines as the Trinity, for example? I don’t like the implicit biblicist view that God’s communication with humankind as well as His redemptive narrative ended in 96 CE. Yet I would say that the Bible is God’s most clear communication that makes us aware of our role in the aforementioned narrative, and nothing we believe or practice should conflict with its teachings in so far as they’re rightly interpreted and discerningly applied. 0-2.

3. Complete Coverage: The divine will about all of the issues relevant to Christian belief and life are contained in the Bible.

All biblicists are evangelicals (I think?), but not all evangelicals are biblicists. Let’s just assume that distinction for all my interaction with all subsequent comments… Yup. Don’t care much for Smith’s language, but I think he’s rightly pointing to a valid problem: Biblicists want to look to the Bible for God’s will on everything. Minor problem: The Bible is authoritative but not exhaustive. It simply doesn’t tell us everything we want to know even within the realm of explicit theology. Sure, there are overarching principles that apply to all areas of life, but I think we’d be foolish to consult the Bible regarding God’s will for, say, dairy farms in Wisconsin. That’s a silly example, but I tend to think the reasoning holds up for a lot of other areas/issues in where biblicists try to consult the Bible, which is effectively illustrated in the biblicist field manual. 0-3.

4. Democratic Perspicuity: Any reasonably intelligent person can read the Bible in his or her own language and correctly understand the plain meaning of the text.

Seems valid. By the way, my view is that the Bible is simultaneously so simple that even a child could read it and understand its basic themes/teachings so as to be saved yet so complicated that brilliant, devout theologians can spend their whole lives studying it only to feel like they’ve barely scratched the surface. 0-4. Rough day at the plate.

5. Commonsense Hermeneutics: The best way to understand biblical texts is by reading them in their explicit, plain, most obvious, literal sense, as the author intended them at face value, which may or may not involve taking into account their literary, cultural, and historical contexts.

Quite true from my experience. My questions: Explicit to whom? Something explicit to a reader from an Ancient Near Eastern context my not be so explicit to a reader in a modern, Western context. Plain? Same thing. Most Obvious? Same thing. Literal? It vexes my soul when biblicists appeal to the “literal sense” of the text. The text’s genre alone should determine whether reading it in a “literal sense” is appropriate. Face value? Same problem as before. As for the last part, the biblical text can never be responsibility extracted from its cultural context as though we’re in an historical vacuum. This represents a fundamentally flawed view of not only the Bible’s nature, but the whole essence of the christian faith… I’m going to move on before I start ranting. 0-5.

6. Solo Scripture: The significance of any given biblical text can be understood without reliance on creeds, confessions, historical church traditions, or other forms of larger theological hermeneutical frameworks, such that theological formulations can be built up directly out of the Bible from scratch.

Valid. The contemporary “Bible-only” view is a far cry from what the Protestant reformers actually meant by Sola Scriptura, though. And I say that as one who doesn’t affirm Sola Scriptura. Temporarily narrowing the discussion to DeYoung’s own Reformed tradition, nearly all Reformed Christians would affirm a historic Sola Scriptura, but in practice many (but certainly not all) are guilty of Han Solo Scriptura. 0-6.

7. Internal Harmony: All related passages of the Bible on any given subject fit together almost like puzzle pieces into single, unified, internally consistent bodies of instruction about right and wrong beliefs and behaviors.

Valid, but I’d nuance it with two points. First, biblicists emphasize the internal harmony of Scripture because of its shared inspiration by the Spirit. That’s legit. Second, certainly many biblicists treat Scripture as if it were an open pit from which the raw material of propositional truth claims should be mined, refined into doctrines, and finally used in the construction of systematic theologies. That’s just horrible, but there’s another biblicist treatment that is equally troubling. Specifically, when Scripture is treated as though it has this magical quality where personal devotions were a means of channeling the divine, in some ways reminiscent of a séance. Although, that’s certainly not a criticism unique to Protestantism. Many Catholic and Orthodox Christians have been guilty of this throughout history. Anyway, I think Smith is pointing to the second point. If so, I agree with him. 0-7.

8. Universal applicability: What the biblical authors taught God’s people at any point in history remains universally valid for all Christians at every other time, unless explicitly revoked by subsequent scriptural teaching.

Biblicists definitely do this. The difficulty is that there’s an important thread of truth within it. Many of the Bible’s teachings remain true in all contexts, e.g. the reality of Jesus’ bodily resurrection, while others do not, e.g. head coverings for women. The problem with the biblicist impulse is the tendency to ignore that complexity and downplay the necessity of discernment in biblical interpretation and application, which is a major theme in McKnight’s The Blue Parakeet. Like so many of these points, I really dislike the way Smith worded #8 but I think I agree with the point’s primary thrust. 0-8.

9. Inductive Method: All matters of Christian belief and practice can be learned by sitting down with the Bible and piecing together through careful study the clear “biblical” truths that it teaches.

Valid. Ah, the ol’ “biblical” stamp issue again. That is, biblicists feel this need to sanction/approve everything by declaring it to be “BIBLICAL” with no recognition that the world can’t be responsibility split up between just “biblical” and “unbiblical.” There’s also “non-biblical”, “extra-biblical”, etc. Anyway, that’s a much larger theme for another day. I’ll just say this: #9 seems pretty darn similar to #7. Feels like he had 9 points and needed to stretch it to an even 10. I wish he would’ve collapsed 7 and 9 together and split up 1, but I’m nitpicking. 0-9.

10. Handbook Model: The Bible teaches doctrine and morals with every affirmation that it makes, so that together those affirmations comprise something like a handbook or textbook for Christian belief and living, a compendium of divine and therefore inerrant teachings on a full array of subjects–including science, economics, health, politics, and romance. (4-5)

A-freaking-men! Seems a lot like #3, though… 0-10… Since this is the last point, I’ll just mention that I think this list is helpful in fostering discussion but flawed in providing definition. Do with that what you will.

Smith is to be commended for laying out such a clear explanation of what he means by biblicism.

My two cents: I agree that he ought to be commended, but I don’t agree that his explanation is clear. Helpful? Yes. Thoughtful? Yes. Clear? Not so much.

Unfortunately, it is not as clear how many of these “interrelated assumptions and beliefs” must be affirmed in order to be a biblicist.

Bingo. I’ve not read the book so I cannot intelligently speak to the issue, but if DeYoung is accurately representing Smith then I think this point is crucial in the discussion.

Smith acknowledges, “Different people and groups emphasize and express a variety of these points somewhat differently. Some may even downplay or deny particular points here and there…The point is not that biblicism is a unified doctrine that all of its adherents overtly and uniformly profess” (5).

Yeah, that’s a pretty darn ambiguous statement. Like “evangelicalism” I think this term might retain a great deal of value and helpfulness despite its nebulous nature, but I see the same problem as DeYoung.

Fair enough, but how many points must be professed to still be an adherent of biblicism?

Touché.

Smith and McKnight want to know whether we affirm biblicism or not.

Fair inquiry.

Well, that depends on what kind of biblicism you’re talking about.

Equally fair response.

For example, I agree with point 1 and would affirm points 2, 7, 8, and 9 with the right nuance.

This is why I’m not Reformed, Alan Noble. I’m definitively not a biblicist.

But I disagree with points 5 and 6…

Well, that’s something.

…and I am not comfortable with the wording in 3, 4, and 10.

Fair enough.

I am very interested in “rescuing” the inerrancy, clarity, necessity, and sufficiency of Scripture…

Well, at least he said “rescuing” rather than “defending.”

…but have no interest in promoting a biblicism that eschews church tradition, cultural context, and a christocentric reading of Scripture.

We theoretically agree there.

Does that make me a biblicist?

At the very least I’d say he’s biblicist-inclined.

Or maybe it means, like Smith concedes relative to J.I. Packer, that I am “no simple-minded biblicist,” not “a straight-out, hard-core biblicist” (180).

Yeah, that’s probably about right.

The problem in evaluating the charge of biblicism is that many of the biblicists Smith cites dislike many of the same points Smith dislikes.

Good point.

Are we really to think that “biblicist” institutions like Wheaton, Trinity, Covenant, Westminster, and Gordon-Conwell or “biblicist” …scholars like Carson, Beale, and Poythress want to defend all of Smith’s ten points just as he’s defined them?

From my experience with them: Wheaton? Usually not. Trinity? Sometimes. Covenant? Inclined that way. Westminster? More often than not. Gor-Con? Usually not. Of course, I’m making large generalizations that are hard to substantiate, so I’ll just avoid doing that with the theologians.

There may be everyday biblicists who like all of Smith’s points, but none of the informed biblicists I know would.

Points to the difference between “biblicist” and “radical biblicist” I made earlier. Perhaps we should see this as more a sliding scale. For example, I propose that “biblicist-inclined” should describe those who affirms 1-3 of Smith’s points, a “biblicist” is one who affirms 4-7, and a “radical biblicist” is one who affirms 8-10.

In many cases, Smith finds his notion of nefarious biblicism where it isn’t there.

Just learned a new word!

For example, he says, “biblicism pervades a large amount of ‘expository preaching’ from evangelical pulpits…

So far so good.

…which generally proceeds on the assumption that a minister can select virtually any passage of Scripture…

Gold Five: Stay on target.

and adduce from the text an authoritative, relevant, ‘applicable’ teaching to be believed and applied by the members of his or her congregation [4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10]” (11-12).

Weaker finish that I expected.

I would guess that most evangelical preachers would agree with that sentence.

As would I, although I’d acknowledge there are plenty of seemingly obscure scriptural passages that’d be tough to preach from.

But many of us would wonder why that sentence is the same as affirming points 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, and 10 in Smith’s list of definitions.

Eh, I see the link.

Evangelical preachers believe that all Scripture is God-breathed and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness (2 Tim. 3:16).

I sense an upcoming comment about the Bible’s relevance.

So we do believe that every passage of Scripture is relevant to our lives.

I didn’t cheat. I promise.

But this is not the same as saying we do not have to take into account context, genre, and historical formulations.

To my mind a central issue is the primacy of the biblical text to the negligence of the cultural-historical context, genre, historical formulations, etc. There’s a troubling video on the Gospel Coalition website in which John Piper advocates exactly this in a roundtable discussion with D.A. Carson and Tim Keller. Piper’s comments both confirm the existence of the problem Smith speaks to and disproves the belief that all conservative evangelicals suffer from that problem. Also, it’s worth noting that it’s the Reformed pastor who embodies the biblicist tendency and the scholar who hedges against it. That’s a trend I’ve see quite often within and without Reformed circles.

Or to take another piece of Smith’s evidence, let’s consider the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy…

Not a big fan of it myself. Certain points reflect this sense of Dispensationalist literalism, e.g. Youth Earth Creationism, that I dislike, including Point 4 and Article XII.

…what Smith calls “another example of biblicism” (14).

(pondering)

No doubt, this statement gladly affirms some of what Smith defines as biblicism.

Indeed.

But Smith also reads into the document affirmations that aren’t there.

This stuff gets tricky. On the one hand, I wouldn’t doubt that DeYoung’s criticism here is factually acccurate. On the other hand, a major problem we face in theology is that what’s subtly imbued is often more influential than what’s intentionally taught. For example, for a period in my teens I was probably a Modalist. No, it was never explicitly taught from the pulpit, but by downplaying Trinitarian language and talking about the Father in the OT, Jesus in the Gospels, and the Holy Spirit in the epistles, the implicit message seemed to be that one God had been expressed in three different forms. It’s that underlying influence that’s hard to quantify but definitely exists. Whether that’s the case here I won’t speculate.

When the Chicago Statement says, “Scripture is without error or fault in all its teaching” Smith sees an affirmation of Point 10.

But would those who crafted the Chicago Statement really be comfortable saying the Bible is a handbook on romance?

“What’s love got to do, got to do with it?” – Tina Turner

Again, Smith quotes from the Chicago Statement: “The authority of Scripture is inescapably impaired if this total divine inerrancy is in any way limited or disregarded, or made relative to a view of truth contrary to the Bible’s own.”

This sentence annoys me.

Smith sees this statement as an affirmation of his Point 6.

Odd.

But saying the truth of the Bible trumps all other claims to truth…

I hate when evangelicals frame the issue this way.

…is far from suggesting that biblical formulation can be built “from scratch” or that “any given biblical text can be understood without reliance on creeds, confessions, historical church traditions, or other forms of larger theological hermeneutical frameworks.”

Once more I think the general criticism has merit, but DeYoung is right that the citation doesn’t support the claim.

Likewise, the Chicago Statement explicitly states “Although Holy Scripture is nowhere culture-bound in the sense that its teaching lacks universal validity, it is sometimes culturally conditioned by the customs and conventional views of a particular period.”

Define “culture-bound.”

Chicago’s formal “biblicist” statement does not agree with much of Smith’s biblicist definition.

Okily-dokily.

At times Smith attacks the heart of mainstream evangelical scholarship and theology.

Define “mainstream evangelical scholarship.” My skepticism increases when I see comments like this because of the human tendency to interpret the world the the prism of self, thereby projecting oneself onto others as the perceived norm or ideal.

On other points, it seems that he can’t distinguish between center and fringe.

In fairness, that can be a difficult task within the evangelical sphere.

For example, on Point 5 (Solo Scriptura) Smith, in a footnote, provides one example of the “nuda scriptura” approach characteristic of biblicism.

What, Lorraine? What?

“Among popular evangelical writers on the Internet,” Smith notes, “one can find explicit praisings of ‘nuda scriptura,’ as with this gem offered by ‘Christian Fellowship Devotionals’” (181).

I’m lost.

The quote that follows is truly bad, but since when is “Christian Fellowship Devotionals” considered “among [the] popular evangelical writers on the Internet”?

Darn right. One point for DeYoung.

Go to the site and see for yourself.

I did. Rock on, 1996.

I have no doubt some evangelicals approach the Bible with a Solo Scriptura perspective, but most of the theologians, scholars, pastors, and institutions Smith criticizes do not.

These crackerheads keep criticizing one another’s oversimplifications, but in arguing their point they use more oversimplifications! These brothers in Christ are really intelligent morons. DeYoung is right on target till he uses the word “most.” Even if he’d said something like, “…but [it seems like] most of the theologians…” he’d probably be fine, but check out that Piper video I referenced above. If a Reformed pastor like Piper is doing this, it makes ya wonder about the prevalence of the problem among lesser known, lesser educated local pastors.

The point in all this is that it’s hard to know whether we should defend the word “biblicist” or not.

Huh. I really don’t think that’s the point at all, but I’m not one for defensive posturing.

If PIP overturns books on Christian diets and exegetical approaches that ignore Christ, context, and church history, then let biblicism be bashed.

We agree there.

But if Smith thinks PIP nullifies the belief in Scripture’s perfection, its relevance to all of life, and its internal consistency, then we have something to talk about.

Straw man.

Credobaptists and paedobaptists. The former hold to believer’s baptism. The latter affirm infant baptism. In nearly 500 years of Protestant history these two camps have engaged in gladiatorial-like combat over the doctrine/practice of baptism and its relation to the New Covenant. Have you ever stepped back and looked at just how similar their perspectives actually are, though? It’s like when a Minnesotan argues with a Wisconsan about whose state is better, and the California in the room  jests, “Western side of the Midwest. Cold. Lots of snow. Nasally accent. Relatively small population. Lots of outdoorsmen. Tends to be politically moderate to left-of-center. Brett Favre was your quarterback. So, what exactly is the difference?” Seriously, check out the parallels between these two historically antagonistic views.

On the one hand, credobaptists offer passionate criticism about how:

1. Being baptized doesn’t mean a person is saved.
2. The parents’ faith cannot count for their children.
3. It’s inappropriate to think one is part of the covenant community until he or she makes a personal profession of faith.

What’s comical is that they then turn around and dedicate babies, which emphasizes the parents’ and the community’s joint commitment to bring up their children up in the faith. Not only does this speak to the universal felt-need among Christians for a ceremony (or ritual) dedicating their children to God, but it covers two-thirds of their objection–leaving only the salvation issue.

On the other hand, paedobaptists offer passionate criticism about how:

1. Faith shouldn’t be seen as too cerebral.
2. The vital role parents play instilling their faith in their children shouldn’t be minimized.
3. The individual is emphasized to the negligence of the community.

The inadvertent comedy on this side lies in their performance of confirmation, which emphasizes the importance of understanding the faith and the insufficiency of merely having christian parents. This too speaks to a universal felt-need among Christians. In this case, it’s the necessity of taking personal ownership of one’s faith. Once more this addresses two of the three primary objections–leaving only the individualism issue.

It thus becomes evident that their mutual criticism almost perfectly mirrors one another. That is, credobaptists think paedobaptists presume too much about the salvific impact of the community while paedobaptists think credobaptists have gone way too far with the individualistic nature of salvation. That’s pretty darn close. And if that weren’t enough, have you ever noticed how early many credobaptists baptize their kids and how passionate many paedobaptists are about confirmation? C’mon, is there really much difference between baptizing an infant and baptizing a 6-year-old in terms of a real grasp of the faith? Be honest, is there really much difference between formally confirming a teenage and baptizing a teenager in making sure they’ve embraced the faith they were taught?

Those silly credobaptists and paedobaptists. They’re spitting images of one another!

This summer I’ve been taking a course in Anglican history through the Anglican School of Ministry. My final project is a historical-theological exposition of one of the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion. Here’s my tentative thesis:

The four-fold purpose of this paper is to summarize the doctrine of paedobaptism as expressed in Article XXVII of the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion, highlight the biblical evidence regarding baptism especially as it relates to the New Covenant, survey the baptismal practices in the first five centuries of Christianity through the critical lens of paleo-orthodoxy, and propose what a biblically faithful and historically informed view of baptism that allows for ancient differences ought to entail within the Anglican tradition.

In doing research this evening I had a realization that had previously escaped my notice. I’ve long known that those who affirm paedobaptism see baptism as something of a New Testament replacement of Old Testament circumcision as the sign and seal of God’s covenant people. What I hadn’t realized is that this issue points to a much larger issue regarding the nature of the New Covenant. In a recent commentary on the Articles entitled Essential Truths for Christians, bishop John Rodgers writes, “The ‘new’ Covenant prophesied by Jeremiah and declared by Jesus at the Last Supper is not new as a different covenant, but rather new as the fulfillment of the Abrahamic Covenant, so that there is but one Covenant of Grace expressed in two dispensations: the Old as type and anticipation of the New, and the New the fulfillment of the Old.” He then continues, “While the signs of the dispensation of the Covenant of Grace change from those of the Old dispensation to those of the New, the one Covenant remains for believers and their families. Since baptism is the sign of initiation into and membership in the Covenant of Grace in the New dispensation it replaces circumcision in the Old.” Maybe this was painfully obvious to others, but this presents a new twist for me.

It seems to me that we have two possible views of the New Covenant with two consequent views of baptism. Obviously there’s a significant degree of conceptual overlap such as both sides insisting that the New Covenant is a fulfillment, but for the sake of brevity I’ll paint them in broad generalities. On the one hand, if the New Covenant isn’t really “new” per se but is primarily a furthering of the old as paedobaptists hold, then the old “rules,” as it were, remain in place. That is, the requirement for circumcision may be gone, but there remains a need for an event early in a child’s life that brings entrance into the covenant community. On the other hand, if the New Covenant genuinely is new and is a culmination–I’m intentionally avoiding the word “replacement”–of the old as the credobaptists believe, then the old rules are no longer in place. In other words, baptism is still recognized as the event that, whether purely symbolically or is “real” in some tangible sense where something actually happens, marks/brings entrance into the covenant community, but the nature of things has changed such that a person cannot be seen as part of the covenant people until he or her makes a personal profession of faith. (In either case, it’s worth noting that there’s clearly a pattern in which people’s views regarding the nature of the New Covenant just so happens to support their view on the purpose of baptism, which I find most convenient. If you ask me it seems like theological/ecclesiastical self-justification, but that’s a rabbit trail I’d prefer to avoid just now.)

Since I’m doing this coursework online, I don’t have the opportunity to have a lot of intense, in-person theological discussions as one would on a seminary campus. So I was hoping some friends and mentors wouldn’t mind sharing their perspectives and/or interacting with this issue. Specifically, how do you understand the New Covenant and what do you see as its relationship to baptism? I’m hoping for a diversity of opinion. Lastly, if you’re dismissing this post too “intellectual” or you find yourself wanting to commit some doctrinal jihad, please go away. I’ve got nothin’ but love, but I don’t care to argue about the importance of gracious academia right now. If, however, you’re one of those special few who are devout in your faith, academic in your thinking, and civil in your communication, then I’d welcome your feedback. Comments are appreciated here or on facebook. Thanks!

I have in mind the remarkable new book on Nero by the Princeton professor Edward Champlin, in which he demonstrates in great detail, in parallel with the work of Zanker and others, the way in which the rich and varied mythologies of ancient Greece and Rome functioned in the minds and imaginations of ordinary people, so that even a small allusion to Aeneas, to Agamemnon or Orestes, to Oedipus and other characters, would at once present to an audience — for instances, when Nero took the stage in carefully chosen roles — an entire storyline which we have to reconstruct with difficulty, step by step, but which ordinary people in that world knew without difficulty.

I tried my hardest to read the book a couple years ago. Made it through precisely 14 pages before my brain melted, I threw the book across the room, and spent the next hour crying. This was an issue I really wanted to study, but my brain wasn’t up to the task. So I’ve decided to try again by listening to the audio while following along in a book. My hope is that the audio will speed me up and help with the pronunciation while having the text in front of me will bring out my visual learning. We shall see.

Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful. And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, 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. – Hebrews 10:23-25 (NRSV)

This passage makes clear that Christians aren’t to forsake gathering together, but are instead to encourage one another in faith, love, and good deeds. To that teaching I offer an emphatic, “Amen!” What troubles me, however, is the response of so many leaders in our contemporary context. For example, I’ve heard many make comments like, “If God is our Father, then the Church is our mother, and you can’t honor your father without also honoring your mother.” Through the pious overtones is a message of guilt rather than grace. That is, the not-so-subtle insinuation is that the problem is rebellion in people’s hearts, which manifests itself in a hermeneutic of charity toward corporate bodies, i.e. churches, and criticism toward individuals, i.e. Christians. Look, it’s certainly the case that many Christians violate the commandment of Hebrews 10 because of nothing more than laziness and/or rebellion. Let me be the first to say that these individuals need to be corrected in love. At the same time, the fact that we immediately assume that that’s the case is extraordinarily problematic. What about those persons who’ve been deeply wounded by the institutional church? What about the man who was molested by his priest as a child? What about the woman who was psychologically battered by the vicious gossip of the “prayer chain”? What about the college student who asked a sincere question about the Trinity and was publicly condemned as a heretic? These kinds of experiences occur far more often than any of us would like to admit. This tendency to berate these hurting people first and ask questions later is nothing if not horrible, and leads the Church to shoot many of its own. In the past year my heart has been broken time and again by Christians who’ve not only been chewed up and spit out by the institutional church, but have subsequently been accosted by well-intentioned believers for distancing themselves from those who caused their pain. As one friend wrote to me, “What ticks me off the most is that I get condemned for leaving after I was beaten up, but the people who beat me up were never rebuked. Something is terribly wrong with that picture.” In conclusion, I would offer this exhortation: When you as a Christian are interacting with a fellow believer who isn’t part of a local church community, be intentional, sensitive, and gracious in asking questions about what’s going on rather than assuming anything.

Read a few posts in this usual Anglican church series. You’re looking to break the mold, that’s for sure. Meeting in a house and valuing theological diversity. But as a priest my attention turns to practical matters. What I’m wondering is how will you provide Anglican theological and spiritual formation? If you’re so moving away from the norm, how do you plan to go about furthering Anglicanism? In other words, how will you produce more Anglicans?

I respect this priest a great deal, but his comments reveal a massive difference between our beliefs, thought processes, pastoral methods, and the like. As a cradle Episcopalian–that is, one born and raised in The Episcopal Church (and now having joined the Anglican Church in North America)–he has this tremendous sense of loyalty. A chief concern of his is protecting and furthering the Anglican tradition. I understand his perspective, but don’t share that objective nor that outlook.

It has been my experience that most Christians try to identify a given standard and then mold themselves around it. It could be the Westminster Confession, Wesley’s Arminian theology, Catholic Catechism, ecumenical counsels, etc. Virtually all would argue that their beliefs stem from or align with the biblical text, but there seems to be this felt need for an extra-biblical foundation that guides, informs, and comforts during one’s spiritual development.

In my case, I grew up believing in “the baptism of the Holy Spirit with evidence of speaking in tongues.” My presupposition was that this was true, so I interpreted 1 Corinthians 12 and 14 accordingly. It was a spiritually and psychologically tumultuous time in my life when it dawned on me that this plumb line was just one of many conflicting (implicit) canons in the diverse world of Christianity. Conforming to such an external standard was a habit broken once and for all when I ceased to be Pentecostal. I decided then that I could not in good conscience conform my faith to the standard of some theological system or tradition.

In applying that decision to the context here, I’ve never sought to be Anglican nor have I made an effort to align with the Anglican tradition. Rather, I’ve continually studied and wrestled for nine years now. Call it “working out my faith with fear and trembling,” if you want to use biblical language. The result has been beliefs that, while steadily maturing–hopefully that’s the correct verb–just so happen to fit under the big umbrella of Anglicanism. From my human perspective, it’s almost an accident. I remember reading the “Anglicanism” wikipedia entry a few years ago and thinking, ‘Wait just a darn second. That sounds like me!’

Previously in this series I wrote that I like to describe myself as “humbly Anglican.” By that I mean that I genuinely don’t believe Anglicanism comprises “the one true church.” I don’t even think it’s necessarily even the best tradition. Clearly I agree with it more than any other and think it to be, by and large, an excellent expression of the christian faith. Why else would I be Anglican? Moreover, I’m convinced that God has led me to this tradition and enabled me to finally feel at home. Yet for me it provides no sense of identity, which I acknowledge is unusual.

To my mind, Anglicanism is merely the particular expression of Christianity of which I’m a part. While I’m firmly committed to it, I make an intentional effort to be charitable and ecumenical toward all other historically orthodox traditions. In John 14 our Lord prayed that the Church would be one so that the world would know that the Father sent the Son. I take that incredibly seriously. While there are tragic fissures in the Body of Christ, I strive for as much unity as possible. That is to say ecumenism for me isn’t merely an abstract theory but a deeply held conviction that practically influences my faith and will guide my future ministry.

I have no patience for denominational snobbery. That’s not only between Christians and churches, but also within traditions/denominations and local bodies. To quote Jerry Seinfeld, “It’s that extra little bit of condescension that I think we could all do without.” It’s kind of like my view of people who love their particular town, state, or region. There exists the possibility for a healthy sense of connection to the land, the people, the culture, etc. I think we can all recognize that there’s a certain value in that. Trouble arises, however, when the person arrogantly presumes his own way of life is superior. Likewise, I have no problem with appreciating or even loving one’s particular ecclesiastical affiliation, but the moment it morphs into pride is the moment things get ugly.

A great bit of advice I’ve heard repeated from several wise pastors and professors is that we should major in the majors and minor in the minors. It’s in that pattern that I say that I’m a follower of Jesus, not Anglicanism. My allegiance is to Christ and His Kingdom alone. I don’t have loyalty to any tradition besides The Great Tradition. I love the Anglican tradition, but remain leery of those whose driving motivation seems to be preserving or furthering it. That simply is not nor will it ever be my goal.

There’s no getting around the complexity (if not difficulty) of this issue. Again, Christ’s will is that the Church be one, but that tragically isn’t a possibility in this fallen world. What we’re left with is doing the best we can in a less-than-ideal scenario, trying to use broken parts to make something that works. That’s not easy. It’s within that conceptual framework that I acknowledge my love and appreciation for the Anglican tradition. I’ve written extensively on the subject. There’s no question that Anglicanism is my preference. Yet let me be equally clear that my goal as a priest will never be to produce more Anglicans.

My intention will be to make disciples who are followers of Christ. Nothing more. Nothing less. While I hold specific beliefs, opinions, perspectives, and convictions regarding adiaphora, I genuinely treat those doctrines as secondary. Consequently, it wouldn’t bother me if someone I discipled came to alternative conclusions. Whether he or she ended up Baptist, Presbyterian, Catholic, Anabaptist… whatever… I’d be encouraged because I believe God leads people to all those traditions. Naturally I’d give him or her endless good-natured crap, but that would only be a sign of my affection.

Of course, this church will be definitively Anglican in its theological commitments, worship practices, ecclesiastical structures, and so forth. It’d be foolish to suppose that Christians discipled in that context won’t tend to be/become Anglican. Just as my baseball-loving father raised two baseball-loving sons, so I as a pastor/priest/presbyter (we’ll just call that “P” and have it stand for everything) will likely “raise” Anglican Christians. As in any area of life, not only do birds of a feather flock together but the things people love, value, and have a passion for tend to be instilled in those around them. Yet, while it’d be an honor if my ministry led people to find a home within the Anglican tradition, it’s only appropriate to keep coming back to the main things.

As a church planting P, I’ll have three interrelated aims:

1. Disciple-making: Help make disciples who practice a holistic worshiping lifestyle where they love the Lord their God with all their hearts, souls, minds, and strength and love their neighbor as themselves.
2. Church-nurturing: Help nurture a community that revolves around and embodies the biblical, orthodox, Trinitarian, and historical Church.
3. Kingdom-building: Help build the already/not yet Kingdom of God in such a way that furthers the Bible’s redemptive narrative, creates citizens of Heaven, and prepares the way for our returning King who will set all to rights.

My first thought is that we must be careful with this reclamation business lest we act and sound just like the militants whom we [are not happy with]. Model another way. That’s the first and easily most important thing.

Second I’d say is to challenge assumptions one conversation at a time. I don’t say this with condescension, but historical ignorance is a big problem. Quite often people don’t realize that there’s any other way of thinking, nor do they know about the beautiful legacy of evangelicalism. So we must humbly and graciously teach them.

Third, I point critics to key figures and institutions as a means of broadening their horizons. Al Mohler and Mark Noll are both Reformed, but even the most staunch conservatives I’ve met would agree it’s absurd to say the former is a truer evangelical than the latter. The same holds up between John Piper and Tim Keller, Mark Driscoll and Jim Belcher, D.A. Carson and Peter Enns. When they zig, I zag. When they bring up Ken Ham, I bring up Philip Yancey. When they point to Liberty U. and Pensacola, I balance the picture with Fuller and Wheaton. When they aim for a Boo-ya! with World Magazine, I inquire if they’ve ever read Christianity Today. That sort of thing.

Fourth, the key problem in my estimate is a misrepresentation by the media where, when we think of evangelicals, we focus on the kooks and ignore the saints. That’s horse crap. As much as anything, it’s about how you conceptually and temperamentally frame the issue. Don’t get me wrong. You’re hosed if you try to switch from pessimism to optimism because there’s no avoiding the existence of Pat Robertson, but our pessimism should be equally doomed by the existence of Richard Mouw. Or, to put it more favorably, there’s also reason for hope.

Fifth, be careful not to argue for an evangelicalism that conveniently reflects yourself because then we’re back to acting just like the fundamentalists. Rather, point to an evangelicalism that is a big umbrella encompassing, for example, not only Calvinists but also Armininians and Open Theists. You don’t have to agree with a view to respect it. Resist the human tendency to interpret the world through the prism of oneself whereby we project our beliefs, opinions, and perspectives onto all others as how the world ought to be. The christian faith requires that we always be keenly aware of our finitude and fallenness.

As for my general attitude of hope, trust me that it’s kept in tension with frustration. Honestly, it’s just that I’m stubborn (or principled, if you want to put a positive spin on it) in refusing to let the fundamentalists win. I’m not going to fight them, but I am committed to simply being a faithful presence–striving to represent the best of what evangelicalism can and should be. Oh, and depending upon a person’s attitude, sometimes I go after ‘em quite critically. I’ll say, “How dare you define the movement for all evangelicals worldview based upon our narrow American context. That’s ecclesiastical colonialism all over again!” If nothing else, it’s fun to watch them squirm. There’s really no good answer to that because people are hyper-sensitive to perceived Western cultural hegemony… as they should be.

If we live in response to all the needs, we will always be miserable and exhausted because there will never be an end to that. But if we begin at another point–like, what does a healthy, balanced lifestyle of Shalom look like in which we are giving to people from a place of health and strength and rest?–that’s just a different way to orient yourself. – Rob Bell

Whatever you think about Bell, here he offers some transparent perspective on his own struggles with the burdens of ministry as well as valuable insight for pastors. As I hope to be planting a church in about 18 months, these are good things to be considering even though the church context will be vastly different than his.

Hat tip, Kurt Willems at The Pangea Blog.

‎The church—be it Catholic, Orthodox, or Protestant—has long debated the role of creeds and councils without reaching full consensus.”

Really? I thought the Catholics and Orthodox had pretty well determined their view on that one. Now Protestants on the other hand…

Evangelicals care about sound doctrine…

Well, ideally. But point well taken.

… and we would be wrong to think it didn’t exist until the Reformation.

Amen.

So what’s an appropriate emphasis on creeds and councils for evangelicals in particular? What authority should they have in our life and doctrine?

Good questions.

In his first letter to the Corinthians, after exhorting them to do all things for the glory of God (10:23-33), Paul sets himself apart as an example when he says, “Follow me as I follow Christ” (1 Cor. 11:1).

K.

Notice, though, he doesn’t set himself apart as a perfect guide.

Amen.

He has a very important qualification: “as I follow Christ.”

K.

In other words, Paul wants his readers to recognize where Paul’s life is that of Christ’s (I would say, where it is biblical) and therefore follow him in that way.

Don’t understand the need to sanction/approve everything with the “BIBLICAL” stamp, but the larger point is quite good.

This is an easy paradigm to remember how Protestants have thought about creeds and councils: follow the creeds and councils as they follow the Bible.

Don’t like the way he paints a monolithic brush stroke of “Protestants,” but, yeah, the larger point is again good.

Bruce Demarest, in an older Themelios article, “The Contemporary Relevance of Christendom’s Creeds”… makes the same point rather well:

Never heard of it.

[T]he creed is not only a rule; it is also a rule that is ruled.

Nicene, I presume… I appreciate the tension in his thought.

As human formulations the creeds are subordinate to Scripture, the supreme rule of faith and practice.

WHY??? Why must Protestants generally and Reformed Protestants specifically insist upon pitting tradition against Scripture in this anachronistic manner?

However majestic its language, however moving its assertions, however closely it purports to approximate apostolic doctrine, the creed is a human and therefore potentially fallible document.

FYI – If this is setting up the ol’ “human creed” vs. “divine scripture” false dichotomy then I’m going to spaz.

Ultimately the creeds must be checked and ruled by the Word of God.

*twitches*

Christendom’s creeds are worthy of honour to the degree that they accord with the teaching of the Word of God.

OK, got it. Good point. BUT the Word of God was canonized according to its alignment with apostolic tradition, which is the same standard that produced the Nicene Creed. I mean, seriously, the Protestant view on this is historically untenable.

Since we’ve concluded that the creeds and councils don’t have ultimate authority, which is ascribed only to Scripture, do they have any authority at all?

Moving on…

There’s a cavalier spirit in evangelicals that is quick to say, No!

True fact.

But that’s a tough line to plow since our evangelical understanding of the gospel is built upon the orthodox formulations of the creeds and councils.

Cue the hallelujah chorus.

Even the most rogue, “no-creed-but-the-Bible” evangelical still uses words like orthodox and heresy.

Ah, no he di-ent!

These aren’t biblical words…

Correct.

…so to speak…

?

…but Christian words that depend upon some sort of agreement as to what our spiritual ancestors have claimed to be good and right beliefs and what is damnable…

Well said.

… according to the Bible.

BIBLICAL stamp!

So for Protestants…

General rule of mine: Anytime the word “Protestants” is used in the context of overarching doctrinal unity/cohesion, be skeptical.

…creeds and councils are viewed as norma normata, which is a fancy Latin phrase for “a rule that is ruled.”

Like the general spirit. Don’t like the conceptual framework. Ya win some, ya lose some.

Creeds and councils are rules ruled by Scripture.

Yes, Scripture is the plumb line, but who brought it to the top of the metaphorical building?

But note, that it is still a rule.

K.

Again, Demarest gives some explanation:

Note in the first place that the creed is a rule.

K.

If we desist from divinizing the creed, neither do we depreciate its intrinsic worth and relevance.

Thought: Is it so crazy to think that God sovereignly guided–even inspired–the writings of the creeds? I’m not saying that’s my view, but it seems to me these sorts of thoughts as well worth consideration.

We acknowledge that the creeds reflect the overwhelming faith-consciousness of the early church.

Excellent. That’s progress.

The Apostles’ Creed, the Nicene and Chalcedonian Creeds, and the Athanasian Creed affirm those core truths of the gospel embraced by the church from the beginning.

Chalcedonian Definition, actually. Or maybe a confession. Definitely not a creed.

Some may smirk at Demarest’s statement that “the creeds reflect the overwhelming faith-consciousness of the early church,” as if it’s an overstatement.

Radical biblicist morons (among whom I used to be the chief offender) smirk at that.

But, conspiracy theories aside, it’s a difficult argument to disprove, seeing the three major corners of the Christian world (Protestant, Roman Catholic, and Orthodox) judge the councils—aside from a filioque clause here and there—as authoritative rules of doctrine.

He’s stretching his own Protestant argument to say that, but I appreciate the sentiment… Also, what does he mean by “councils”? If he’s talking all seven ecumenical councils, that opens up Pandora’s Box with icons and all sorts of other fun stuff. Precision of language is gonna be important here.

So the question, then, is this: If the creeds and councils are less authoritative than the Bible, but more authoritative than, say, me, what about compared to my pastor or, even, someone like John Calvin?

Calvin was inerrant.

Oliver Crisp has a quick and helpful explanation in a dense and difficult book on “weighting authority.”

I do like those Fuller guys.

His hierarchy looks this way:

Don’t think a hierarchy is a good way to frame this issue, but I’m beating a dead horse.

Holy Scripture—It is normative for all matters of faith and practice.

… in so far as it’s rightly interpreted and discerningly applied. Stupid Erasmus. Also, define “normative.” Does this mean all faith and practice must have explicit BIBLICAL justification, or that it simply can’t conflict with the Bible? Hopefully the latter. If so, I agree with the point but not necessarily it’s place in a hierarchy.

Creeds and confessions—They are authoritative but derivative and dependent on Scripture.

Ballsy for a Reformed guy to write that.

Christian theologians—While individual theologians can be authoritative and have an enduring significance, they can only offer a perspective or represent a school of thought.

Sooo… in what sense is the theologian “authoritative” if he/she (<– scandalous!) merely represents a school of thought? These two ideas seem to conflict.

On the other hand, creeds and confessions offer a “collective” conclusion of what the universal church believes as it relates to biblical doctrine.

Don’t understand why he used “quotation marks” (reminds me of the Chris Farley Bennett Brauer skit), but I agree with the point.

So evangelicals who stand on the full authority of the Bible and hold to God’s providence and faithful presence with his church should take seriously the creeds and councils.

I’d probably nuance that a bit, but I understand and agree with the general spirit behind the statement.

Our impulse should be to assume their truthfulness as we continue to test their biblical fidelity.

Again, using Scripture to test the creeds is problematic since the same apostolic tradition that produced the biblical canon also produced the creeds. As for the councils, that’s another ball of wax.

If this generation takes seriously its value of community, then we won’t neglect this great community of saints spanning 2,000 years.

A-freaking-men! Walk-off home run.

Schaeffer was many things–including an excellent intellectual missionary–but a good philosopher was not one of ‘em. Same goes for being a historian, political philosopher, etc. He’s well-known, for example, to not have read much at all, let alone primary source documents. Schaeffer never got the simple fact that the best (and only) way to practice fidelity to a biblical worldview is through excellence in the various academic disciplines.

It’s said that Schaeffer cared more about the forest than the specific trees. That is, he was so busy constructing the overall framework that he might have gotten some of the minutia wrong. This reasoning misses the point that, if I may employ an alternative metaphor, you can’t build a functional engine with broken parts. This is especially so in the last 5-7 years of his life when Schaeffer was preoccupied fighting for ideological causes. Look into his petty feud with (fellow Reformed) scholars Mark Noll and George Marsden as a particularly troubling instance. Granted, a great many top-notch christian academics were impacted and inspired by How Shall We Then Live?, but there’s this remarkable trend of those persons then cringing at Schaeffer’s assertions once they’ve been trained in their respective fields. Schaeffer’s factual blunders are immense.

In echoing a criticism leveled against Schaeffer in the early ’80s, it was said that the scholar cannot endure exaggeration, hesitates to praise or condemn, and is tentative and skeptical whereas the thinker  thrives on exaggeration, hates indecision, is at home in a world of clearly demarcated categories, and works toward decisive action. Schaeffer was a thinker (and a popularizer) who his fans held as a scholar, which was and is problematic. Here are a few quotes from Barry Hankins’ Francis Schaeffer and the Shaping of Evangelical America:

So often, Schaeffer’s analysis of western history was compelling in its broad outlines, but problematic in its details.

The idea of writing history without political agenda–that is, merely to get the story correct–was difficult for Schaeffer to appreciate.

Of course, on the big stage, the temptation to fudge a bit on detail to make an overarching point can be overwhelming. And in fact, this is precisely what Schaeffer had been doing with ideas throughout his career. He was not, as we have seen, a master of detail–he was far more interested in the big picture. But he was also rarely accountable to anyone, so his ideas and arguments were only rarely challenged. Apart from two workers in their fifties, the oldest people at L’Abri for many years leading up to the film projects were in their mid-thirties, and most at L’Abri were much younger than that. While they would debate Schaeffer occassionally, he was the authority in most of his contexts. Perhaps as a result he was unprepared to take the kind of criticism offered by Walford and others.

…From his older letter, Marsden anticipated that Schaeffer would accuse him, and by extension other scholars, of quibbling over find points rather than standing together for the cause of evangelical Christianity against a hostile humanist culture. In anticipation of such an argument, Marsden told Schaeffer that the role of the scholar is different from that of the evangelist, and that one thing Christian scholars needed to do was to establish ‘complete credibility academically and intellectually, as Christians had done before the twentieth century.’ Marsden was trying to persuade Schaeffer that quibbling over facts was necessary for Christian scholars to get the story straight and to be taken seriously in the academic community. Marsden held up Schaeffer’s fundamentalist hero J. Gresham Machen as one who was a model of such scholarly accuracy.

Right on cue, Schaeffer responded exactly as Marsden had anticipated. He told of being criticized for speaking at a conference of dispensationalists in San Diego. Although Schaeffer was not a dispensationalist, he told Marsden, he was willing to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with dispensationalists for the cause of Christ and culture. The implication was that Christian historians like Marsden should stop quibbling and get on board with Schaeffer and the Christian Right. This, after all, was what Schaeffer had done with Falwell and the Moral Majority. Moving to the specifics of Marsden’s letter, Schaeffer insisted that American’s founding fathers did hold to a Reformation base, because they acknowledged God and His creation. Schaeffer went so far as to say that even men such as Benjamin Franklin were working more from a Reformation base than from the secularized views of Lock.

… Noll explained to Schaeffer why he told Woodward that Schaeffer was not a scholar: ‘[Y]our work does not take advantage of the crucial technical studies (often by Christians) which illuminate the past.’ Indeed, Manifesto was based on the research of Whitehead, a lawyer with little training in history, rather than the findings of a professional historian.

But even at L’Abri, Schaeffer’s agenda was not to explicate carefully the nuances of history. Rather, he was calling Christians to the important task of worldview formation, which is perhaps his signal achievement and lasting influence. To do this he engaged in a lot of cultural analysis, and here his influence has been at times damaging. The argument that American culture is nearly monolithic in its secular humanistic base leaves too much explained to be helpful; interpreting American’s founding as Christian-based does likewise. But even his detractors among evangelicals recognize the good he has done. For all of Noll’s criticisms of Schaeffer’s Christian Right activism and interpretation of American history that facilitated it, Noll to this day believes that, on balance, Schaeffer’s influence has been mostly positive within evangelicalism, because he called Christians to think in Christian ways about all of life and culture.

Anyway, I don’t know which is worse: For a serious U.S. presidential candidate to still trump How Shall We Then Live? as a profound influence upon her worldview or for conservative evangelicals to still hold said book/film as genuinely expressing the biblical worldview.

From all selfish desires;
from pride, vanity and hypocrisy;
from envy, hatred and malice;
and from all evil intent,
in your mercy…
Lord Jesus, deliver us.

From laziness, worldliness and love of money;
from hardness of heart and contempt for your Word and your laws;
from seeking our own aims and glory rather than your Kingdom;
in your mercy…
Lord Jesus, deliver us.

From sins of body of mind;
from deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil;
in your mercy…
Lord Jesus, deliver us.

It’s humbling each and every time.

Retraction: From this point forward this post digresses into one of the worst I’ve written in quite some time. A couple commenters have been rightly been critical, and I thank them for that. It’s the ol’ iron sharpening iron. While I still think some of my points have merit, the fact remains that I emphasized the unifying elements in the theological development to the negligence of the differences. That’s just plain shoddy work on my part. I wrote the post before I’d properly gotten my mind around the issues. Sorry. I would only hope this is perceived as an outlier. Rather than editing the piece or taking it down, I thought it better to publicly own my mistake.

Contrasting this is the Pentecostalism in which I was raised. It’s a 20th century theological descendant of the 19th century Higher Life movement, which was itself built upon 18th century Methodism. (For our purposes here, let’s we’ll call the unifying doctrinal thread the “purity movement.”) Upon the foundation of John Wesley’s “entire sanctification” was added the “second blessing,” which resulted in the “baptism of the Holy Spirit.” Regardless of the nomenclature, all three players in the purity movement have in common an emphasis upon a post-conversion experience/crisis that enables/facilitates Christian Perfectionism. In other words, some sort of miraculous encounter with God can (or will) virtually eliminate the stain of sin from a Christian’s life. While I wholeheartedly commend the seriousness with which these traditions take Christ’s command to holiness, I find this doctrinal point impractical and dangerous.

None of us have ever met a Christian who has stopped sinning. Why? Because such a full conquest over known sin just isn’t possible this side of eternity. Not even Paul could pull it off! The reality we face is living in the already-not yet tension between Christ’s first and second coming. Though Christ is the first fruits of the full restoration that will take place, we remain in a fallen world that has not yet been set to rights. It’s not difficult to then imagine the problems that are created when church leaders tell their congregations that full sanctification is not only the ideal, but ought to be the norm.

How many sincere believers within the various purity movement traditions have polarized either to the extreme of spiritual snobbery or spiritual destruction? It’s with joy that I acknowledge that, by God’s grace, believers can increasingly win more battles than they lose, but it’s always going to be a war and there will always be defeats. To teach deliverance from that is to foster willful self-deception (and arrogance) about one’s “sinless state” or spiritual plight (and depression) because of one’s inability to attain that state. Whichever the direction, it’s with firsthand experience of both polarities that I write that the psychological trauma caused is severe.

I dearly love my brothers and sisters in the purity movement. From Methodist to Nazarene, Christian & Missionary Alliance to the Assemblies of God, by and large I’ve found them to be good folks. But on this specific issue I couldn’t be more critical. It has often been my contention that Christianity’s numerous expressions have things to learn from one another. It’s a two-way street. On this point, however, I would suggest that those in the purity movement could stand to learn from Anglicans, Presbyterians, and Lutherans.

1. How quick so many Christians are to proclaim God’s providential purposes during times of tragedy and unrest. It’s about time for Pat Robertson to make a fool of himself, isn’t it? I for one am keenly aware of my finitude and fallenness, having no prophetic insight that grants me the ability and/or authority to definitively declare God’s purposes. It seems to me that a much more appropriate response would be humility, grace, compassion, and somber prayer.
2. My favorite author, Mark Noll, once quipped, “Philosophers rush in where historians fear to tread.” If philosophers rush in, then pastors beam in Star Trek-style. Personally, I appreciate the historian’s route. More to the point, I cannot help but notice the parallels between these new jeremiads and those offered by Christians during the English Civil War. Seems like Christians are always bemoaning the eminent collapse of society, but when was this supposed spiritual Utopia from which we’re digressing? And please don’t bring up the Schaefferian idea of a “Reformation base” because the German Peasants’ War suggests otherwise.
3. I get nervous when Christians haphazardly apply prophetic Old Testament passages about the destruction of Israel to our present socio-political and religious context. In light of the fact that most people who read this blog live in Western democracies and none will live in an Ancient Near Eastern theocracy, I’m immensely skeptical of those who brazenly ctrl+c, ctrl+v those passages to our own cultural-historical context–the goal of which is to prescribe God’s will. Certainly there are some general principles that can be gleaned from throughout the biblical narrative, but we must be careful in not being too specific in speaking for God in our current post-canonical circumstances.
4. Even assuming for the moment that Western society generally and English society specifically is failing, it seems to me that too often we confuse correlation with causation as regards human sin and God’s activity. Clearly I affirm that sin corrupts and corrodes societal moors. That’s the human side. That I see. What I’m unwilling to declare is God’s purpose or role in this. That I cannot see. Is God passively letting go or actively bringing punishment? I have no clue.

What’s God’s purpose in the UK riots? I have suspicions. We all probably do. But, quite honestly, when it gets right down to it I simply don’t know and neither does anyone else. Anyone who says otherwise must either be a prophet or is some unfortunate combination dumb, foolish, and arrogant. It seems to me that we should be humbly praying that God would help the unrest peacefully come to an end rather than dishonoring Him with misrepresentation. The need of the moment is restrained discernment in regards to God’s providence and bold proclamation in regards to the Gospel, for there we know God’s will.

1. Why I’ll Never Swim the Tiber
2. No More “Age of the Earth” Debates. Thanks, John Walton.
3. Homosexuality, Society & the Church: A Moderate Perspective (Part II of II)

Tonight’s topic: I’m weary of Reformed Christians assuming that I have some vendetta against them, misunderstand their system, speak out of my butt because I haven’t read their authors, and am unfairly critical of their leaders. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld, “I’m telling you for the last time”:

1. I’ve already written a blog post documenting my great love, respect, and appreciation for certain Reformed Christians. Here’s the link: Contrary to Popular Belief, I Don’t Hate All Reformed Christians. Let’s be clear that just because I don’t affirm Calvinism or Covenant Theology doesn’t mean I have an axe to grind. One can be critical of a thing without holding a grudge.
2. I really do grasp the Calvinist system. Not only have I taken three classes in systematic theology and one in historical theology, but I studied the heck out of these issues on the side. For two years I even identified myself as Reformed. Plus I’ve studied the Reformed tradition in-depth from theological, historical, sociological, economic, and political perspectives. I know this can be difficult to understand for those who affirm the system, see it as painfully self-evident, and think it’s the truth–trust me, I’ve been in your shoes–but just because one doesn’t affirm a thing doesn’t mean he or she doesn’t understand it.
3. I’ve read just about all the big shooters from the Reformed tradition. In fact, I’ve read far and away more Reformed pastors and theologians than those of any of other tradition. Off the top of my head, that list includes John Calvin, Jonathan Edwards, George Whitefield, Friedrich Schleiermacher, Charles Spurgeon, A.A. Hodge, B.B. Warfield, Abraham Kuyper, Martyn Lloyd-Jones, J. Gresham Machen, Karl Barth, A.W. Pink, Francis Schaeffer, J.I. Packer, R.C. Sproul, John MacArthur, Millard Erickson, Al Mohler, John Piper, Tim Keller, Wayne Grudem, D.A. Carson, C.J. Mahaney, Michael Horton, Peter Enns, and Jim Belcher. Oh, and I’ve also read some Augustine for those who see him as being a “pre-Calvin Calvinist.”
4. I’ve consistently made an effort to maintain tension in my comments about Reformed figures and their writings. Yes I’ve been critical of them, but I’ve also praised them. For example, compare the tone and content between “Mark Driscoll: Commendations, Concerns, and Criticisms” and “A Moderate Evangelical’s Assessment of [Rob Bell's] ‘Love Wins.’” Neither post fits into the categories of “advocate” nor “critic.” I sought to commend that which is commendable and critique that which ought to be critiqued.

Ah. I feel better.

On the one hand, credobaptists offer passionate criticism about how:

1. Being baptized doesn’t mean a person is saved.
2. The parents’ faith cannot count for their children.
3. It’s inappropriate to think one is part of the covenant community until he or she makes a personal profession of faith.

What’s comical is that they then turn around and dedicate babies, which emphasizes the parents’ and the community’s joint commitment to bring up their children up in the faith. Not only does this speak to the universal felt-need among Christians for a ceremony (or ritual) dedicating their children to God, but it covers two-thirds of their objection–leaving only the salvation issue.

On the other hand, paedobaptists offer passionate criticism about how:

1. Faith shouldn’t be seen as too cerebral.
2. The vital role parents play instilling their faith in their children shouldn’t be minimized.
3. The individual is emphasized to the negligence of the community.

The inadvertent comedy on this side lies in their performance of confirmation, which emphasizes the importance of understanding the faith and the insufficiency of merely having christian parents. This too speaks to a universal felt-need among Christians. In this case, it’s the necessity of taking personal ownership of one’s faith. Once more this addresses two of the three primary objections–leaving only the individualism issue.

It thus becomes evident that their mutual criticism almost perfectly mirrors one another. That is, credobaptists think paedobaptists presume too much about the salvific impact of the community while paedobaptists think credobaptists have gone way too far with the individualistic nature of salvation. All things considered that’s pretty darn close. And if that weren’t enough, have you ever noticed how early many credobaptists baptize their kids and how passionate many paedobaptists are about confirmation? C’mon, is there really much difference between baptizing an infant and baptizing a 6-year-old in terms of a real grasp of the faith? Be honest, is there really much difference between formally confirming a teenage and baptizing a teenager in making sure they’ve embraced the faith they were taught?

Those silly credobaptists and paedobaptists. They’re spitting images of one another!

I have to make a confession. People semi-regularly tell me that God uses my writings, video links, or whatever at just the right moment in their life. They say it facilitates this intimacy with God. One girl wrote, “Your posts are like this divine appointment. I hear exactly what I need to hear when I need to hear it… I admire you. You must be close to God to be used in such a way.” While that’s tremendously humbling, it seems like a mere coincidence. I rarely have the sort of intimacy with God these people describe, and it’s not for lack of effort. Honest truth? I feel like a phony.

Since becoming Anglican I’ve inadvertently become a bit more mystical. I’m thankful for that, but it’s not by any stretch of the imagination what I’d describe as “intimacy” with God, if I may distinguish the two. It doesn’t feel like mild detachment, but rather utter abandonment. God quite regularly speaks to me through people. That helps. I’ve had mentors tell me that I have a kind of “prophetic discernment” as my foremost spiritual gift, which I know can only comes through the Spirit. That helps. I have an absurd number of Eureka! moments that I know can only be through the Spirit’s guidance. That helps. More than anything, however, I wish I had that direct sense of connection with God.

I feel… huh, I don’t know what the emotion is… ummmm… OK, how about this: It’s like two cups of frustration, one cup of sorrow, and a half cup of loneliness with a teaspoon of shame and dashes of anger and guilt all stirred together. Take that concoction and slowly baking in the malfunctioning oven–in this metaphor, that’s the American church–for about 10 years. Whatever you’ve got at the end of that, that’s pretty much my emotional state as pertains my sense of spiritual detachment.

One of my buddies recently told me he’s impressed by my discipline. Two thoughts:

1. That’s so off it borders on comedy. I pray for and struggle with discipline all the freaking time. This year has been particularly difficult on that front. I’m goal-oriented. That’s what keeps me focused and working hard. This year I’ve felt like I royally suck at life. Whether it’s my lack of employment, ongoing imperfection in my church situation, problems on the home front, estrangement from my brother… yada yada yada… I feel like a hardcore failure. Nearly all of my relatively short-term goals have crumbled, leaving me struggling big time to remain disciplined. I feel like I just wasted a year of my life. How’s that for discipline?
2. It seems that for the vast majority of people you get to their head by way of their heart. Particularly in their faith, they start with their heart and that flows into their mind. I’m the inverse. That is, I’m one of those weirdos who feels closest to God when I’m intensely worshiping Him with my mind. As a general rule, those “Eureka!” moments I just alluded to are the only occasions that I catch these faint wiffs of God’s presence–that I feel close to God–and even those are rare. That’s why I work so dang hard to consistently have meaningful conversations, read books, and keep writing. It’d be like a naturally lazy person whose pain is only alleviated when he’s running having everyone tell him he’s such a dedicated athlete. No, actually. It’s a sign of desperation more than anything. Whatever perceived discipline people think I have stems from these sort of spiritual pangs.

I was trying to think of how I could describe this dynamic of my relationship with God. The best I could come up with is that God has been like an absentee landlord. I saw Him when I signed my lease, but ever since then the office hours have been anything but regular. I seldom see Him at all. I know He still works here because all my rent checks get deposited right away. My maintenance orders rarely get addressed in a timely fashion, but with steady follow-up they’re usually they’re taken care of soon or later. I get various notices posted on my front door telling me about inspections, pest control, pool hours, and so forth. That’s about it. The whole thing is kinda creepy, actually.

In conclusion, a few weeks ago another friend sent a facebook message asking about my spiritual and psychological state. He inquired, “Are you struggling with trust or patience? Do you feel like you’re in spiritual turmoil? Are you at peace? Do you experience joy? Are you anxious? How about contentment, or fulfillment? Do you feel like God will use what you’re doing through?” Here’s what I wrote back:

Turmoil? Not so much anymore. I’ve had more than my share of spiritual crises, but I’ve been pretty solid on that front for several years now.

Trust? Surprisingly, no not really. I’m more than a little ticked off at God right now because of the job thing, but I trust that He will provide. I wouldn’t say the skies have cleared, but the thunderstorm has definitely passed.

Patience? Yes. I always have and likely always will struggle with this.

Peace? Define what you mean. I don’t think my peace is like most people’s. For most people peace seems like this state of serenity, relaxation, or comfort. That’s just not me. I inherited this angry streak from both my grandpas. After much prayer, about six years ago God seems to have supernaturally converted it that into raw angst. The degree of passion remains the same, but it’s been re-channeled, if that makes sense. I’m an oddity in that I experience peace in the process of wrestling with God and working through things. For example, when looking into a new theological issue it seems like most people feel this peace only when they’ve concluded the process and pretty confidently determined what they believe, but for me the process itself is the rewarding part. That’s a big part of why I don’t ever have a “Case Closed” with any issue. To employ a basketball metaphor, I get more enjoyment from playing the game than celebrating the victory in the locker room, which is probably why I refuse to leave the court.

Joy? Yeah. As a general statement, I’d say I have joy. Again, it looks different than most people. When I think of joy I tend to think of these bubbly, optimistic personalities. I’m incapable of that, but I’d say I know joy in my own way.

Anxious? Yes and no. When you’ve been as sick as I’ve been throughout my life, it adds a certain sense of gravity or weightiness. That’s good in that I cherish the moment and really try to savor life. It’s bad in that I’m, well, anxious. But I’m in a much better place than I was before leaving Toccoa a year ago. My degree of anxiety was almost off the charts. That bastion of Southern fundamentalism was murdering my soul. Waco and Baylor have been great for me in that regard. Thanks to be God, I still haven’t met a fundamentalist.

Contentment? No. I’m having trouble thinking of a single area in life in which I feel truly content, which is weird for me because this hasn’t really been a problem over the years.

Fulfillment? No.

Will God use this? No doubt. I’m never going to be a good pastor/priest to your typical church full of happy-go-lucky Christians. Nothin but love for ‘em, but that ain’t me. But I can relate with Christian and non-Christian who struggle mightily with angst, doubt, unanswered questions, wounds (especially those inflicted by the institutional church), broken relationships, sickness, depression, etc. I empathize with those who feel beat down by life. I just wish that I could get to this church plant already.

hey, carson. u asked what started my journey to agnosticism. sipmle. gettin my head fuckin ripped off by my priest every time id ask a touch question or say any that wasnt straight conservative. it wasnt even the trinity or inerrancy or any of that shit. it was stuff like maybe rich shud pay more taxes to help the poor or how does a omnipotent loving god send people to eternal hell? tried to work out my damn faith with fear and trembling like ur always talkin bout but he called me a socialist and liberal and bible abuser. literally. finally has to block his sorry ass. you believe that? had to block my priest!!!!! aint they sposed to love people? weird thing wuz he was never like that in person. ever. but soon as he sat down at a comp he just got all passiveaggressive. he did this to a lot of my friends too. finally got so mad i emailed the bishop. his response: “I know [edited] well and he wouldn’t do that unless provoked.” that was it. thanks a lot, dbag. unbelievable. knew right then and there i wasnt anglican no more. as they ay the rest is history…

Being the Body of Christ in a fallen world is an infinitely difficult task that would be utterly impossible were it not for the grace and leading of the Holy Spirit. There’s always more issues to address, problems to fix, wounds to heal, etc. I can only imagine the daunting task that our leaders have in guiding the church. The issue I have in mind today is directed primarily to the leaders of my tradition, i.e. Anglican bishops, but is certainly applicable to all christian leaders.

The concern I’m raising regards the online behavior of clergy under bishops’ authority. To be clear, I’m not talking about pornography or that sort of thing–though I do think there should be a standardized policy requiring all clergy to have accountability software installed on their computers–but rather their conduct in the online world of social media. This technological development has truly created a brave new world full of opportunities and challenges, both of which the need much thoughtful and prayerful consideration.

Let me cut too the chase: Tragically, I’ve seen numerous Anglican pastors/priests who seem incapable of resisting the cultural impulse toward online ranting, raving, attacks, and baseless accusations. (By the way, this problem is magnified by the fact that they openly if not proudly declare themselves to be clergy through their online names, e.g. FrJohn Doe, and profile pictures, e.g. decked out in full priestly attire.) Most of these individuals would never say such things were they face to face, but the implicit sense of anonymity and social peculiarities of online discussion result in frequent hostility and condescension.

A pastors/priest’s responsibility is to compassionately shepherd the flock, but how many of my friends have left or have stayed away from the faith because clergy beat the metaphorical crap out of them? Seriously, this has become a major stumbling block. Why? Because on the prevailing culture of the internet causes them to care more about fighting ideological wars than loving those who for whom Christ died.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting that there’s not a time for correction, nor that a pastor/priest must always pussyfoot around in online interactions. What I am saying is that, especially in the realm of social networking, these shepherds need to be reminded that they’re dealing with real people. They need to be intentional how they act on facebook, twitter, google+, and all the rest. To honor Christ, the rigorous pursuit of truth must be moored in love, grace, humility, compassion, and civility as well as experienced in community. Plus there’s a bunch of other issues like the permanence of online activity.

What’s my proposal? As most ecclesiastical bodies now require sexual abuse prevention training, so they need to require online abuse prevention training. I have no quantifiable evidence to back this up, but my gut tells me the latter is a far more prevalent and insidious problem. I know far too many sexual abuse victims, but thankfully they’re still the minority. It is with the utmost sorrow that I report that, among those who frequent social media sites, I rarely meet someone who hasn’t been the victim of online abuse by a pastor or priest. A standard requirement for some basic netiquette education could potentially go a long way.

Quite often I’ve heard conservative Christian rail against their liberal counterparts. The accusation is that they’ve abused the faith, if not having abandoned it altogether. Yet it seems clear to me that conservatism within Christianity is quite often equally as problematic as its liberal counterpart.Sure, conservatives technically maintain right doctrine, but their conduct speaks otherwise. They don’t get the whole orthodoxy-orthopraxy tension. It’s like they’ve missed the whole spirit of what it means to be a follower of Christ. Many conservatives I’ve known believe all the right things, but are straight up fundamentalist (I use that in a historic descriptive sense rather than a pejorative sense) pricks (I use that in the pejorative sense). Trust me, I say that with firsthand experience as one who used to be fundamentalist. Their legalism, militancy, condescension, self-righteousness, and utter lack of love, grace, humility, compassion, mercy, civility, benevolence, and the like completely contradicts their espoused faith. It’s like they’ve never read the book of James, or Jesus’ parables in the Gospels for that matter. In my experience, conservatives tend to be better (although not great) with doctrine, i.e. knowing the faith, while liberals tend to be better (although not great) with action, i.e. living the faith. What is more, for both sides the other’s weaknesses and vices are fully publicized, but a tragic epidemic of Plank-in-Eye disease prevents them from even being aware of their own errors and pitfalls, much less repenting of them. I’m reminded of Charles Williams’ comment that “Many promising reconciliations have broken down because while both parties come prepared to forgive, neither party come prepared to be forgiven.” Sigh. If only these conservatives and liberals could together have their blinders removed so that they could learn from one another.

Lastly, McGrath’s lecture reminds me of this quote by Mark Noll:

People are in a hurry to get out of the university and start earning money or serving the church or preaching the Gospel. They have no idea of the infinite value of spending years of leisure in conversing with the greatest minds and souls of the past, and thereby ripening and sharpening and enlarging their powers of thinking. The result is that the arena of creative thinking is abdicated to the enemy.

• Most of my childhood was spent playing sports or sports video  games.
• I played basketball in high school and college.
• I actively follow basketball, baseball, and football.
• I have a passing interest in others–golf, tennis, hockey, etc.
• Every single day I click over to ESPN.com and Foxsports.com.
• I usually listen to a couple sports podcasts each week.
• On average I probably attend 3-5 college or professional games each year.
• I regularly wear team paraphernalia ranging from hats to (nameless) jerseys.
• On my office’s walls hang 5 childhood posters: 3 baseball, 1 basketball, 1 professional wrestling.

I readily acknowledge that sports are no longer my #1 interest or passion. I simply don’t invest the kind of time needed for fantasy sports and I’m not the sort of guy who calls into local AM radio programs. Basically, I consider myself a run-of-the-mill fan. Sports are part of my life, but they’re not my life. My point? The following criticisms are being offered from an insider in the sports community. That having been said…

I’m upset by the media and football fans. The coverage and hysterics surrounding the NFL lockout has been nothing short of disturbing. Last night ESPN.com captioned their front story with “The lockout, like the lingering national debt debate, is making hostages of us all.” That’s it. They’ve officially crossed the line. This is petty, self-absorbed, juvenile, and melodramatic. I don’t care that football is far and away the most popular sport in the land. Don’t liken it to the potential societal devastation we face with the debt ceiling. The possibility that this country may default on its loans is a national crisis in the truest sense of the word. The football lockout is not.

Everyone is talking about the duration of this thing, how it’s gone on for FOUR!!! months. How will we ever survive?!? Hey, morons, this whole thing has been during the off-season. I repeat: Off-season. No fan has missed a single Sunday afternoon of sitting on his ass eating potato chips. And even if a game or two was canceled, it’d be during the pre-season when they don’t count anyway. Yes, I understand that from a business standpoint the NFL risks losing $200M each week that’s canceled. That’s not insignificant, but, seriously, gain some perspective already.

Back on 9/11 I remember being truly impressed by the journalistic integrity of ESPN in particular. That day the somber message was, “It’s moments like this that bring us back to reality, reminding us that in the grand scheme of things sports are not what life is all about.” It kept them grounded there for a while. That’s a message they could stand to be reminded of. Having a passion for sports is one thing. Putting them on the same level of importance of as our current political and economic crisis is nothing if not ignorant, shallow, and offensive. To ESPN and football fans alike I say, “Get over yourselves.”

It’s no secret that I’m not a “program guy.” Still, it’s easy to see their value. I don’t care much for the confines of programmatic Bible study courses, prayer meetings, and small groups, but I do affirm the value of Scripture, prayer, and community. Those things should always be central, so in that I offer a tip of the cap to all those working hard at those things. Yet we desperately need to realize that these things are supposed to be a means unto an end, not the end itself. These things no more make me a disciple than reading a history books makes me a historian. As it has come to be used, the word “discipleship” has little to do whatsoever with the actual biblical concept of disciple-making.

As a history guy I strongly emphasize the necessity of interpreting the biblical text in light of its original cultural-historical context. Concerning this issue of disciple-making, Ray Vander Laan has been hugely impactful on my thinking. There’s so much that needs to be said on this, but for now I’ll limit myself to this: In the Jewish context of Jesus’ day, to be a disciple meant not just to be a fan or some sort of generic follower, but to practice a specific, intense cultural custom of living with a rabbi.

Disciples were supposed to trail so closely that they’d be metaphorically covered by the dust of the rabbi’s feet. That’s close. The goal wasn’t spiritual instruction, but life transformation. They weren’t just learning from the rabbi. They strove to be just like the rabbi–to, in some real sense, become the rabbi. (This concept works a lot better if you affirm the doctrine of theosis, which was held by many of the early church fathers and still is held by the Eastern Orthodox.) There simply is no modern English equivalent that does it justice. No word conveys the strength of the meaning. No concept captures the devotion. We’ve taken this extraordinary word in “disciple” and Westernized it, watered it down, and utterly lost its profundity.

When I get talking like this many people get upset that I’m rocking the boat. Even though my tone is respectful, church leaders often feel it’s an attack against their entire life in ministry. They tell me to settle down and get real. One pastor came right out and said, “You know, for a ‘hardlining moderate’ you sure aren’t compromising. You’re being a idealistic radical. I know from experience that doesn’t square with the hectic lifestyle and individualism of our society. Like it or not, you’ve got to incarnate the culture. Working within it as it exists.” Excuse me? Sometimes when I’m trying to decide if what I’m thinking is nuts I’ll rephrase it as a prayer. Let’s try that here: “Lord, We’ve got to talk. I’m sorry, but the sort of disciple-making you called us to doesn’t jive well with our way of life. You see, we’re busy and people prefer to march to their own beat. I’m afraid you’re being a bit impractical.” Yep, that’s nuts.

If I may go on a rabbit trail for one paragraph, what bothers me most about this sentiment is their often misplaced countercultural impulse. The same people who are combatants in the culture wars–resisting secularism, fighting sexual immorality, crusading against “Xmas” every December, teaching traditional values, etc.–then insist, if implicitly, that the church needs to adapt to the culture when it comes to making disciples, worshiping, etc. Sounds more like conforming than incarnating. They need to learn the word “insidious.” They fight where they shouldn’t fight and compromise where they shouldn’t compromise. The sheer lack of historical perspective and discernment is stunning. Anyway…

Look, I get it. There’s many periods where rigorous, biblical discipling may not be possible. Off the top of my head, I’m thinking of students desperately trying to keep their head above water in graduate school or couples (or single parents!) with small kids. Spending hours upon hours becoming a disciple simply may not be possible. And you know what? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. A worshiping lifestyle doesn’t look the same in every phase of life. Sometimes the intensity varies or shifts to different areas. Look at Jesus’ own disciples. They weren’t fishing full-time and then following Jesus in their spare time. They set down their nets and followed Him. For three years they became disciples and were discipled. Tying back into the Great Commission thread of the previous post, then and only then did they go out. That’s the model we see in the Bible.

My question for American Christians is this: Where is the point in our lives where that intense discipling occurs? It’s not as children. It’s not in our teenage years. Most people graduate high school and immediately go to college. Then they get married and have kids. This leads to them working to provide for 40+ years. Finally they retire, which is followed by death. At no point does the typical American Christian set down his or her net to follow Christ. We try to build discipleship around our lives, never having an opportunity conform our lives around life as a disciple. That in my view is the problem. We spend our whole lives doing this half-ass discipleship and no one ever feels like they’ve truly been a disciple, which is why no one has disciples, which is why our churches look remarkably dissimilar from Christ’s model. It reminds me of that Far Side where the cow realizes, “Hey, wait a minute! This is grass! We’ve been eating grass!” We’re completely oblivious to what we’re doing because it’s all we’ve ever done.

This is why I’m so committed to this idea of establishing a L’Abri-like ministry within the church I feel called to help plant. The whole goal can be summed up in two words: Making disciples. I’ve got another post in the works explaining this further, but the idea is to have this place where people go for a season. It will be premised around the idea of loving the Lord your God with all your heart, sould, mind, and strength and loving your neighbor as yourself. In a context of hospitality and community they will spend time reading Scripture, praying, studying, talking, struggling, healing, reaching out, creating, etc. They will be loved, exhorted, helped, encouraged, challenged, stretched, corrected, and occasionally rebuked. It won’t just be a place for spiritual growth, but a holistic lifestyle of living one’s faith in thought, word, and deed. And the goal isn’t staying there long-term–although I hope some will to be part of the congregation–but to go out, serve the Kingdom, and make disciples.

Right around that time Matthew 28:18-20 came to mind. That’s the Great Commission passage where our Lord says, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” This passage has weighed unnaturally heavy upon my spirit. As I thought back on the bazillion exhortations I’ve heard from pastors and Bible college professors about the necessity of sending out, I had what I can only describe as a Spirit-led epiphany: Not once have I heard someone point out that Jesus was speaking to a specific group of individuals who’d been following Him for three years. Once again our American emphasis upon doing rather than being is to our detriment. We’ve forgotten that the word disciple is a noun before it’s a verb; one must be a be a disciple before he or she can disciple. I’ve often heard it said that the lack of discipleship is the single biggest problem in the American church today. I beg to differ. Allow me to suggest that this touches upon the right issue, but from the wrong perspective. The problem isn’t the lack of discipleship, but the lack of disciples. (In case you’re wondering, I don’t believe this is a chicken and the egg scenario. People can’t give what they don’t have.)

When I survey American church culture what I see is an adventure in missing the point. We run ourselves into the ground doing discipleship, but most say they’ve never been a disciple. We profess to be all about creating disciples, but few have disciples. As Spock would say, “Curious.” In my mind the problem stems from the business model of the American church. Our pastors are more CEO rather shepherd. We care about attendance instead of transformation. We turn to marketing before prayer. We care more about entertaining people than challenging them. Church discipline is a foreign concept because “the customer is always right.” We value demographics over discernment… The point is made. The reality in most American churches is that our pastors are so busy “doing ministry” that they forget, or don’t have time, to actually have disciples. Then, like a sort of spiritual Reaganomics, there’s this trickle down effect with nobody having disciples because no one has been discipled.

This brings me to the unusual Anglican church I feel called to plant. (Reminder: It’ll be an aesthetically high church Anglican church that meets in a house and has a built-in L’Abri-like ministry.) This church will be vastly different than your typical church/parish. Like the University Church in Athens, GA that it’ll be roughly patterned after, it’ll be intentionally non-programmatic. We’re stripping it down. No gimmicky names. No marketing plans. No evangelistic campaigns. No designated programs. None of that stuff. It’s going to be a simple community of people who are the local Body of Christ without all the capitalistic trappings and overtones. We won’t get bogged down doing discipleship. It’s an entirely different framework that focus on simply having and being disciples.

My heart aches for all those Christians who’ve spent their life in church but never had the opportunity to truly be a disciple. Not only is it a tragedy nearly beyond words, but it puzzles me. Seriously. If we’re not making disciples, then what the hell are we doing?? All I can say is that you’re not alone, I’m praying for you, and someday when this church gets going you’ll always be welcome.

Every once in a while I get this nagging feeling. It says, ‘Maybe I have been too harsh on American church culture… I mean… It can’t really be that bad…Can it?’ I then convince myself that I must’ve pulled a Clemens and misremembered. Then I’ll see a video like this. Just painful. If I hadn’t seen this sort of thing happen firsthand, I wouldn’t believe how pervasive it is.

I’ve attempted to make it through 6 times. My record is 1:06/1:42. This is like evangelical flagellation.

PLEASE CLICK HERE FOR AN UPDATED VERSION OF THIS POST.

Preface

I dedicate this post to TFC’s Vena the Younger and Archdean Shelton, who were my professors, mentors, and friends. It’s with a grateful heart that I say, “Thank you!” for the time and energy they invested in my life. My beliefs are in many ways a synthesis of not only what they taught me, but also where they pointed me. Perhaps the greatest “tip of the cap” I can offer is to say that their guidance taught me to see theology not as a platform for intellectual sparring, but as the pursuit of God–both knowledge of and relationship with Him.

Introduction

When I’m discussing theology with people I’ve never met before, there’s always that moment when they find out that I’m not a Calvinist, egalitarian, or some other popular, easy-to-use category. Next comes convincing them that I’m not the annoying, pseudo-rebellious, thinks-he’s-mysterious guy–the one who doesn’t want to be labeled even though the label fits perfectly. Finally comes the “so what the heck do you believe, anyway?” comment. Generally this is where the conversation dies.

For some time I’ve been telling people that I embrace both paleo-orthodoxy and postfoundationalism. This is inevitably met by one of three facial expressions:

1. The most frequent one is this puzzled look that says, “Could you please use English, good sir?” I imagine it was the look on my face the first time I watch the Architect’s speech in Matrix Reloaded when he kept saying stuff like “vis-a-vis”, “ergo”, and “modalities.”  Even if I explain the gist of it, they don’t care to take the conversation further.
2. The other common response says, “You think you’re better than me?!?” like The Mandelbaum Seinfeld episode. It doesn’t matter if I try to humbly define the words and explain what I mean. The conversation comes to a shrieking halt because there’s this presumed sense of arrogance since I had the audacity to use technical terms in ordinary conversation.
3. Occasionally I’ll get the academic snob look like from the Harvard grad student in the Good Willing Hunting bar scene. That look precipitates a broad dismissal on the grounds that either a) I’m using big words to sound smart without having any idea what they mean or b) I’m confused because I’m claiming beliefs that are illogical and contradictory. Well, isn’t that lovely? Jackass.

Since I can’t seem to have a meaningful face to face discussion about this, I thought I’d write an post surveying the positions, explaining their relationship, giving my perspective, and suggesting resources.

A Primer on Paleo-Orthodoxy

Paleo-orthodoxy is a broad, “ancient-future” theological movement within evangelicalism. The term literally means “ancient correct beliefs,” indicating a perceived consensus of belief prior to the Great Schism of 1054. Practically, it emphasizes the importance (or necessity) of church history and tradition.

Within the movement there’s a significant degree of variance. On one extreme are those who’d say tradition should be authoritative or even binding. They’d point to the seven ecumenical councils as a truly unified representation of the Church (universal), suggesting that they should be understood as authoritative for all subsequent traditions. On the other extreme are those who’d say tradition should simply be much more respected and valued. They see the widespread ignorance of laity and clergy alike concerning the ancient church as problematic, creating a situation where Protestants affirm the necessity of such Patristic developments as the canon of Scripture and doctrine of the Trinity without knowing or appreciating the institutional church’s role in how those things came to be. All are critical of the underlying restorationist impulse of Protestantism, seeing the anti-tradition tradition as antithetical to the intensely historical nature of the biblical faith.

Paleo-orthodox Christians believe that God has sovereignly guided His people in and through culture and history. More to the point, they reject the radical biblicist tendency to see church history as helpful but ultimately superfluous. They believe Christians ought not leapfrog 2,000 years from the New Testament to the present, but see an almost artistic beauty in that period. It’s the continuation of the Bible’s redemptive narrative; the tale of Christ’s protecting and guiding His bride; a seamless extension of Scripture’s plot, motifs, and themes. They see church history as the Bible’s epilogue, explaining what happened after the New Testament cliffhanger.

The movement tends to be ecumenically-inclined, looking to pursue as much unity as possible not only among Protestants but also with Roman Catholics and the Eastern Orthodox. This explains the ecclesiastical diversity of its major writers, including Thomas Oden (Methodist), Alister McGrath (Reformed Anglican), Christopher Hall (Episcopalian), D.H. Williams (Baptist), Robert Jenson (Lutheran), Geoffrey Wainwright (Methodist), Andre Purves (Presbyterian), and the late Robert Webber (Episcopalian).

In sum, the spirit behind this movement can perhaps best be described by Christopher Hall’s comment that, “The church does not thrive in the first century, fail in the second, and then revive in the sixteenth. The Spirit never deserts the church.”

A Primer on Postfoundationalism

Postfoundationalism is a broad, postmodern philosophical movement that has been carried into the theological realm and is gaining clout among segments of evangelicalism. It’s a chronological term that literally means “after foundationalism.” Practically, it’s a response against the philosophical principles and aspired rational certitude of the Enlightenment, which are denounced as having failed. 

The epistemological engine propelling postfoundationalism is Critical Realism, which trumps a perspectivist alternative to pure objectivism and sheer relativism. If the objectivist says, “Absolute truth exists and is thus knowable. Through our empirical senses and mental faculties we’re capable of understanding” and the relativist says, “Absolute truth is a myth and is thus unknowable. Everything we think is a product of our limited senses and perceptions,” then the perspectivist says, “Neither option is adequate. Truth exists as that which corresponds to reality, but we can only know it partially and never grasp it fully.” I’ll refrain from calling it a moderate or “middle-way” because most postfoundationalists are highly critical of the two-dimensional, ideological spectrum intellectual framework, but I will say that it’s an alternative path forward.

Evangelical postfoundationalists overlay the perspectivist alternative with a theological grid, suggesting that all truth points to and derives from God, who is Truth, but we’re incapable of knowing truth perfectly because of our finitude and fallenness. Consequently, for a postfoundationalist theologian the task of theology is never complete. There’s always more facts to consider, insights to explore, perspectives to integrate, complexities to grasp, errors to fix, etc. That is, the task of the theologian isn’t merely to repackage old truths in order to effectively communicate them to an audience in ever-new cultural-historical contexts, but an ongoing process of nuance, clarification, refinement, and overhaul of old theology as well as actually building new theology. It’s more a creative task than a repetitious task; more like painting than building something on an assembly line.

Nearly all self-describing postfoundationalist evangelicals would strongly advocate respect and appreciation for tradition and history, but they would ultimately affirm that all doctrines should potentially be up for revision as merited by new evidence. Among the most well-known postfoundationalist theologians are Kevin Vanhoozer (Presbyterian), Roger Olson (Baptist), John Franke (Presbyterian), Scot McKnight (Baptist), LeRon Shults (unaffiliated), and the late Stanley Grenz (Baptist). These thinkers tend to be quite vocal in their criticism of a cerebral faith that’s detached from practical life, preferring a much more holistic spirituality.

In sum, the spirit behind this movement can perhaps best be described by Roger Olson’s comment that “Christians can admit that, like every other set of truth claims, what they believe is open to correction and revision while they continue to believe and worship and practice their faith.”

Why the Conflict?

As you can see, these movements share little in common. In two years of study I’ve only found four major points of convergence. First and foremost, they’re both a direct response to the failure of Modernity. Second, they’re both minority positions under the big umbrella of evangelical theology. Third, they’re both increasingly popular among younger evangelicals who are dissatisfied by the doctrines and practices they learned growing up. Fourth (and seemingly coincidentally… although I’m certain there’s a link), both seem to value art and appreciate a rich, aesthetic liturgy. Other than that, they’re generally moving in opposite directions.

Here’s a list of contrasting features of the movements:

• Paleo-orthodoxy is more historical; postfoundationalism is more philosophical.
• Paleo-orthodoxy emphasizes the past; postfoundationalism emphasizes the present and future.
• Paleo-orthodoxy tends to be conservative; postfoundationalism tends to be moderate to progressive.
• Paleo-orthodoxy leans heavily upon our fore-bearers; postfoundationalism says we lean too heavily upon them.
• Paleo-orthodoxy is more institutionally-driven, e.g. Anglicanism; postfoundationalism is more relationally-driven, e.g. emerging church.
• Paleo-orthodoxy offers a challenge to Sola Scriptura; postfoundationalism is almost a new wave of Sola Scriptura.
• Paleo-orthodoxy favors historical and systematic theology; postfoundationalism favors exegetical and biblical theology.
• Paleo-orthodoxy opposes Protestant liberalism; postfoundationalism opposes Protestant fundamentalism.

This past fall I joined a group of Presbyterians at their pub night. At two separate points of a conversation on contemporary theologians I mentioned liking Roger Olson and D.H. Williams, both of whom are professors at Baylor University. “Wait, wait, wait… You said Olson and Williams??” shot back the other guy. “They’re like oil and water. Virtually the only thing they share in common is that they’re Baptists, and even then that just points to the troublesome ambiguity of the term.” Touché.

Neither of these camps get along particularly well with mainstream conservative evangelicalism because they challenge the status quo. But even more so they don’t get along with each other. Reason: They’re advocating contrary visions for the future of evangelical theology. Nevertheless, as Philip Yancey once wrote, “Truth is not found in one extreme or the other, but in both extremes together.” In that spirit, I claim to be both paleo-orthodox and postfoundationalist.

How I Reconcile the Two

A basic knowledge of my spiritual journey is crucial for understanding how and why I reconcile paleo-orthodoxy and postfoundationalism. To make a convoluted story as concise as possible, after leaving my fundamentalist Pentecostal background I spent the next decade as something of an evangelical vagabond exploring numerous ecclesiastical bodies—Catholic, Orthodox, Baptist, Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian, Reformed, Restoration, Holiness, Free, Covenant, Anabaptist, Emergent, non-denominational Bible-churches, and house churches—before committing to the Anglican tradition. So while I’m part of one tradition, I pretty much consider myself a mutt of Christendom. In that process, I came to a perspective that was principally neither Protestant nor Catholic (nor Orthodox).

I was thoroughly confused before coming to the Anglican tradition. On the one hand, I was critical of Protestant appeals to Sola Scriptura given their endless disagreements and contradictions. Yes, theoretically the biblical text should be authoritative (in so far as it’s rightly interpreted and discerningly applied), but Erasmus was correct. In practice, this will never be so. If nearly 500 years of Protestant fragmentation has taught us anything it’s that the Bible cannot be the sole standard on matters of doctrine and practice. On the other hand, while I couldn’t accept the full elevation of tradition nor exclusivity found in Catholicism and Orthodoxy, these traditions profoundly impacted my theological conceptions. They taught me that the essential teachings of Jesus were:

• Passed to His apostles.
• Transmitted as apostolic tradition.
• Considered authoritative before the Bible was available.
• Maintained by the early church fathers.
• Responsible for warding off destructive heresy.
• Instrumental in establishing the biblical canon.
• And, in retrospect, represent a historic consensus of belief.

But what about those areas outside of apostolic tradition where there is no clear apostolic belief nor ecclesiastical consensus? It seems to me that where no such historic unity exists a diversity of belief must be allowed. In this way, my theological conceptions became starkly divided between orthodoxy, i.e. “right beliefs,” and adiaphora, i.e. “things indifferent.” (Thus my affinity for Richard Hooker.) Orthodoxy is where my faith is rooted. Adiaphora is where I get truly excited about the creative task of theology.

Some might be thinking, ‘Cut the jargon and give it to me straight. What does this mean?’ Concerning orthodoxy, I consider myself definitively paleo-orthodox. Concerning the adiaphora, I consider myself passionately postfoundationalist. Tangibly, I have an unwavering grasp on essential doctrines like the Trinity but consider all secondary–but still very important–doctrine, e.g. justification, potentially eligible for revision as merited by new evidence.

To be completely transparent, I’m not aware of any theologian who explicitly shares this hybrid perspective. I suspect that N.T. Wright is close, though. I say this because he’s a bonafide evangelical who’s claimed by postfoundationalists like Roger Olson as their own, but he’s also a former Anglican bishop, which causes me to think he’d probably have a great deal of affinity for Alister McGrath’s paleo-orthodox perspective. Of course, it’s always troublesome to claim a theologian for your perspective who doesn’t self-identify in that way.

Lastly, I never set out to reconcile paleo-orthodoxy and postfoundationalism. I’m not guilty of the fallacy “argument to moderation.” These beliefs were already pretty congealed in my head before I studied the theological movements. All I’m doing is accepting that both terms are accurate, if imperfect, descriptions of my beliefs. I’ve simply embraced what seems to be the truth wherever I’ve found it.

Recommended Works

Paleo-orthodoxy

• Introduction: Thomas Oden, The Rebirth of Orthodoxy: Signs of New Life in Christianity
• Evangelicalism: D.H. Williams, Retrieving the Tradition and Renewing Evangelicalism: A Primer for Suspicious Protestants
• Postmodernism: Robert Webber, Ancient-Future Faith: Rethinking Evangelicalism for a Postmodern World
• Collection of Essays: Kenneth Tanner & Christopher Hall, Ancient & Postmodern Christianity: Paleo-Orthodoxy in the 21st Century–Essays In Honor of Thomas C. Oden
• Systematic Theology: Thomas Oden, Classic Christianity: A Systematic Theology
• Subject Specific: D.H. Williams, Evangelicals and Tradition: The Formative Influence of the Early Church

Postfoundationalism

• Introduction: Leron Shults, The Postfoundationalist Task of Theology
• Evangelicalism: Roger Olson, Reformed and Always Reforming: The Postconservative Approach to Evangelical Theology
• Postmodernism: Stanley Grenz & John Franke, Beyond Foundationalism: Shaping Theology in a Postmodern Context 
• Collection of Essays: Wentzel van Huyssteen. Essays in Postfoundationalist Theology
• Systematic Theology: Stanley Grenz, Theology for the Community of God 
• Subject Specific: Kevin Vanhoozer, The Drama of Doctrine: A Canonical Linguistic Approach to Christian Doctrine

We all know that the easiest way to increase a blog’s popularity and drive up traffic is to weigh in on popular conflict. If you’re interested in the media’s ideological perspective, write something about John Stewart vs. Fox News. If evangelicalism is your thing, put the words “Mark Driscoll” or “Rob Bell” in your title and you’ll double your traffic that day. Throw in the word “criticism” and you might quadruple your hits. If you’re into politics, just accuse Obama of being a socialist or insinuate that Republicans are racist. And if you’re a sports fan, “LeBron” is your keyword. On and on these examples go.

When standing behind a woman who was griping about coupons at a check-out, my brother-in-law noted, “This isn’t a woman who wants a life without problems.” For this sort of person, the primary form of communication is complaint. The problem isn’t the acknowledgement of problems or voicing of frustrations. That’s part of being human. The problem is that, way down deep, they actually enjoy it. It’s what drives them. As a friend of mine once put it, “It’s the sort of people who wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if they weren’t bitching and moaning about something.” Poignant. While acting like they hate these reasons for complaining, they actually relish them.

I share this general sentiment about so many of these posts written by Christians. Not only do these bloggers (and their readers) get their jollies from getting incensed, but they see it as a quick and easy way to further their writing aspirations. That’s why these posts are a dime a dozen with few offering much creativity or unique insight. Fact: It requires very little talent or discernment to add to the cacophony. Shoot, even many of the bloggers I appreciate most fall prey to this. I wish they’d get the importance of staying above the fray. By that I don’t mean the avoidance of hot button issues, but the way they write about them. On principle they should refuse to post cheap, inflammatory, and uninspired garbage just because it gets readers. My exhortation to my fellow christian bloggers is this: Dare to be different. Be accountable. Be intentional. Take ownership. Live your faith in thought, word, and deed.

I conclude with some 10 practical suggestions:

1. If it’ll be an overall detriment to the Body of Christ, don’t post it.
2. If it’s devoid of respect and/or civility, don’t post it.
3. If it reflects a lack of personal integrity, don’t post it.
4. If it’s an irrational rant, don’t post it.
5. If it’ll reinforce petty hostilities, don’t post it.
6. If it supports simplistic categories, don’t post it.
7. If it makes strong claims about things you don’t know enough about, don’t post it.
8. If it’s a “defense of” something, don’t post it.
9. If it’s a thought everyone is already thinking, don’t post it.
10. If it’s all about getting hits, don’t post it.

Grace & Peace,

Carson
- Your fellow blogging Christian