Over at Desiring God, I have contributed an article called, “What Do We Do With Our Slavery-Affirming Theological Heroes?”

When I read the works of men like James P. Boyce and Jonathan Edwards, I am amazed at the depth of their biblical knowledge and the keenness of their personal application. At the same time, I am astounded that these theological giants could justify the owning of slaves, support slavery as a system, and conform to the racial prejudice common in their day.

John Piper is right: “One of the central cadences of the gospel walk is the breaking down of ethnic hostilities and suspicions, and the impulse of unity and harmony” (Bloodlines, 175). So how is it possible to believe the gospel and articulate so clearly the doctrine of justification by faith alone, yet miss how this doctrine severs the root of racism and ethnocentrism forever? Even more, how can one’s life be so out of step with one’s theology? Here are some things to keep in mind as we seek to learn from the good and the bad we see in our fathers in the faith.

Continue reading…

In June, the Food and Drug Administration announced that, beginning next year, cigarette packs will have graphic pictures plastered on them.

Rotting teeth and gums, people hooked up to breathing machines, a corpse, blackened lungs – these grisly images are the newest attempt by the government to curb smoking. Federal Law will require the warning labels to take up half of the pack, on both sides, by the end of 2012.

Are tobacco companies worried? Not really. Even though the FDA estimates that 213,000 people will stop smoking in 2013, the tobacco companies estimate that their loss of revenue will be less than one percent.

Who is right? The tobacco companies or the FDA?

I’m afraid the tobacco companies are right. Their leaders recognize something about human nature that the FDA does not: Unhealthy behavior cannot be eradicated by merely pointing to the consequences.

The problem of addiction goes much deeper than a warning label. And though the FDA is commendably seeking to put an end to a destructive habit that leads to the premature deaths of thousands of people each year, it is naive to think that grisly images will deter a large number of smokers.

The Church and the “Grisly Label” Approach

Too many times in our churches, when we talk about sin, we share the assumption of the FDA: that people, when given enough information, will make rational, healthy decisions.

Not so.

Sin is irrational. It doesn’t make sense. That’s the whole nature of sinfulness – it goes against the reality of the world we live in. It goes against the grain of our intended submission to the One who has created us.

We might be able to appeal to a person’s willpower to stop engaging in destructive habits. And through common grace, some people may indeed get up the nerve to stop a bad habit.

But we are foolish to think that most people are destroying themselves because they don’t know better. The truth is, we often do know better, and yet we continue on the road to destruction.

Though we know that sin is deep-rooted and irrational, we often act as if sin’s consequences will be the big deterrent to bad behavior. So in youth groups across America, we pass out nasty pictures showing the effects of STDs and tell kids, This is what will happen if you have sex. In marriage seminars, we tell the sad stories of men who lost their families because of a porn addiction, a sexual exploit, or a burst of anger.

We Are Silly Sinners

Now don’t get me wrong. I think we should remind people of sin’s consequences. It is crouching at the door. It has the desire to master us. Be sure your sin will find you out. And of course, we tell a little child to obey or else face punishment (a swift hand to the backside, a time-out, grounding, etc.). One of the ways we learn good behavior from bad behavior is by recognizing that our choices have consequences.

But we are foolish if we think that life change will be rooted in rationality. It’s simply not so. We are silly sinners, engaging in activities we know are destructive to our bodies and souls. Yet somehow we are deceived into thinking we are special, that we will escape judgment. And no matter how many friends die of lung cancer or how many friends contract sexually-transmitted diseases… no matter how many marriages break up because of porn or how many relationships end because of anger, we continue to sin, willfully and (worse) knowingly.

Scared by the Law; Changed by the Gospel

Speaking of the consequences of sinful behavior is good. It’s what the law of God does. It can scare us into temporary obedience. But even as it reveals sinful behavior, it can’t remove and replace a sinful heart.

Grisly images may warn us against the consequences of a bad habit, but they won’t change the heart of a smoker. Only the gospel can change a heart.

What the FDA doesn’t realize (and what many evangelicals forget too) is that sin is a worship-issue. Our destructive behaviors are not just behaviors. They are a symptom of a deeper problem, a root cause – idolatry. Our affections are elsewhere. Our behavior follows our affections. And only the gospel can change the affections to the point that behavior follows.

As I recently read through Crossway’s collection of the Letters of Francis Schaeffer, I was struck by how applicable Schaeffer’s insights are today, particularly in regard to evangelical movements, leaders, and doctrine. His counsel deserves to be heeded by those of us in the “gospel-centered” stream of evangelicalism.

With this in mind, I have selected some favorite excerpts from these letters and woven them together creatively. Using Schaeffer’s own words, I am imagining out loud what counsel he might give us today.

What Francis Schaeffer Might Say to the Gospel-Centered Movement Today

1. Make sure your loyalty to Christ supersedes any loyalty you have for the “movement.”

[Brothers and sisters,] I see the need for Christians across the face of the earth who are indeed brothers in Christ, standing on the fundamentals of the faith and separated from unbelief, to come into personal fellowship one with the other to the praise of our Lord. And yet how quickly such a thing can grow into that which is merely cold, formal, and dead. The cry of my heart is that God may have mercy on us.

I increasingly see the dangers involved in organization, and I do think that most of us get the cart before the horse. That is, we organize first and then go forward, rather than growing close to one another through spiritual and personal contacts and then letting whatever organization grow naturally out of that-as the tree puts forth the leaf and then the bud and then the flower as the Lord leads.

I don’t think [that the deeper spiritual walk is] in antithesis to an organization. And yet, I must say that it does seem to me that so often organization becomes a means to an end in itself. So often it takes so much energy to turn over all the machinery that the work never gets finished. And so often we put the machinery in the place of the Holy Spirit, feeling that if we can just get organized enough then the thing is sure to go on and be successful.

Of course, this is all very wrong, and not only wrong but wicked. We must realize that it is only the Holy Spirit who can give the power, and we must realize that the only motivation which pleases our dear Lord is our love for Him. Merely keeping machinery turning, and getting all mixed up in the self-aggrandizement that so often goes with a large organization, completely casts aside this primary motive of love to the Lord and a dependence then on the one source of true Christian power-the Holy Spirit.

The problem is not one of loyalty or lack of loyalty to a “cause” or “movement.” [The problem is that] loyalty to organizations and movements have always tended over time to take the place of loyalty to the person of Christ… We must urge each other not even to give final authority to principles about Christ, but only to the person of Christ.

2. Don’t let your orthodox doctrine be disconnected from a living relationship with the living Christ.

Doctrinal rightness and rightness of ecclesiastical position are important, but only as a starting-point to go on into a living relationship – and not as ends in themselves.

[Take the Reformation, for example.] The Roman Catholic Church had come to teach the wrong doctrines. And I feel that most of the Reformation then let the pendulum swing and thought if only the right doctrines were taught that all would be automatically well. Thus, to a large extent, the Reformation concentrated almost exclusively on the “teaching ministry of the Church.”

In other words almost all the emphasis was placed on teaching the right doctrines. In this I feel the fatal error had already been made. It is not for a moment that we can begin to get anywhere until the right doctrines are taught. But the right doctrines mentally assented to are not an end in themselves, but should only be the vestibule to a personal and loving communion with God.

The danger of orthodoxy, even true orthodoxy, is in falling off the other side of the knife blade: that is, in stating the intellectual position and then placing a period. What we must ask the Lord for is a work of the Spirit . . . to stand on a very thin line: in other words, to state intellectually (as well as understand, though not completely) the intellectual reality of that which God is and what God has revealed in the objectively inspired Bible; and then to live moment by moment in the reality of a restored relationship with the God who is there, and to act in faith upon what we believe in our daily lives.

3. Live in a way that demonstrates the holiness and love of God.

We must exhibit simultaneously the holiness of God and the love of God. Anything else than this simultaneous exhibition presents a caricature of our God to the world rather than showing him forth.

We are in a day when evangelicals tend to let down the absolutes in the Word of God in doctrine and in life, and we must be careful not to contribute to this. On the other hand, we are in a day when other evangelicals are becoming more and more heartless, and we must be careful not to contribute to this as well.

The problem is in being those who insist upon the absolutes of God and yet show forth beauty to the world, which is strangling for the need of both absolutes and beauty. These things are beyond us in our own strength, but not in His strength as we allow Him to bring forth His fruits through us in this sinful and ugly world and generation.

May the Lord lead you that you not deny His existence through lack of faith, nor deny His character in either His holiness or His love.

4. Rely on the Spirit as you grow in your love for God.

[Remember that] the decisions of a growing work demand that the One who directs be constantly at hand.

It brings me increasingly to my knees – to ask that the Holy Spirit may have His way in my life; that I may not think just of justification and then the glories of Heaven (with merely a battle for separation between). [But that I may also think of] all the wonders of the present aspect of my salvation, and that they may be real to me in my life and ministry.

What a wonderful Lord we have, and how glorious it is to indeed have God as our Father, and to be united with Christ, and to be indwelt by the Holy Spirit. Oh, would to God that our ministry could be under His full direction, and in His power without reservation.

God really is there. He really does exist, and He made us for Himself. Knowing that He is there, and therefore that we do not live in a silent universe, changes everything. To know that we can speak and that there is Someone who will answer fills the vacuum of life that would otherwise be present. And then, when we realize His love for us as individuals – that Christ really did die for us as individuals, for us personally – life is entirely different.

You need not be afraid to enjoy God. The beautiful thing is that He uses us, but never in the way a soldier would use a gun only to throw it down and take another. He uses us, but He always fulfills us at the same time.

The mission of the church is a hot topic these days, and I am glad to see that pastors and church leaders are sharpening each other’s understanding of how to address this topic biblically and how to lead our churches to respond faithfully.

Last week, I posted five nagging questions I had after reading Kevin DeYoung and Greg Gilbert’s book on the mission of the church. Within a few hours I had an inbox full of messages from people saying that they had read the book and had some of the same questions. By the end of the week, Kevin and Greg had offered some helpful clarifications that move the discussion forward. I’m grateful for their friendship and for the tone of this conversation.

Since last week, Ed Stetzer has written an extensive review of What Is the Mission of the Church? for The Gospel Coalition’s journal Themelios. Ed is an evangelical missiologist who has spent significant time studying this issue and encouraging churches to engage their communities biblically with the gospel. In his review, he expresses his appreciation for Kevin and Greg’s interaction with key passages in Scripture, their insistence on keeping the cross and resurrection at the center of the gospel, and the way they differentiate between the mission of God and the mission of the church. And yet, Ed believes that the way they unpack their definition is too narrow. He writes:

With their definition, they underplay the relationship of secondary ministries to those in the community that are not immediately didactic and explicitly gospel revealing. In arguing that God’s mission for the church does not include caring for the poor or intervening on behalf of those who are oppressed (good, God-honoring, and God-commanded), but making disciples through the proclamation, they overlook the role of work and example in discipleship. Rather, they equate “making disciples” with evangelism. Making disciples includes evangelism, but in “teaching everything Jesus commanded,” love and good deeds are also a part of the disciple-making process.

Ed’s concern is very similar to mine, which is why I would like to revisit my five questions in light of Kevin and Greg’s response from last week.

1. “Can we reduce ‘making disciples’ and ‘teaching Christ’s commands’ to the delivery of information?”

I agree with Greg and Kevin that the gospel is never merely “the delivery of mere information.” It is the explosive message of grace that powerfully secures our salvation. I also agree that verbal proclamation is vitally important. Here’s what Kevin and Greg say:

And yet, in the Great Commission texts the disciple making work is described as teaching, testifying, or bearing witness. And in Acts we see the mission of the church described not as Christians faithfully living out their vocations but as the word being verbally proclaimed. When Jesus sent his disciples into the world, it was to speak.

Agreed. But again, Kevin and Greg are defining words like “teaching,” “testifying,” and “bearing witness” as exclusively verbal events. I agree that these words are primarily about verbal proclamation, and yet there are elements of teaching, testifying, and bearing witness that are caught, not taught. I am not downplaying verbal proclamation but leaving room in our definitions of “teaching all that Christ has commanded us” for modeling and mentoring as well. Mark Horne provides some additional biblical support for the view I’m putting forth.

2. “If we agree that there is a zoom-lens and wide-lens view of the gospel, can we also agree that there is a zoom-lens and wide-lens view of the mission?”

To this, Kevin and Greg respond:

We passionately believe that the church should proclaim the gospel with words and promote the gospel with good works. But this is different from suggesting the mission of the church is to rebuild communities or build the kingdom. We hear Trevin asking, “Aren’t good works necessary to corroborate the message we are proclaiming?” Yes and Amen.

I am not denying that Greg and Kevin have a place in their book about obedience and the necessity of good works. My point is that our promotion of the gospel with good works is part of the mission. In other words, I want to include the corroboration of the gospel as part of how we conceive of mission, whereas Kevin and Greg insist on good works, but don’t want to call those good works “mission” because of their desire to keep the priority on evangelism.

3. “Isn’t there a sense in which worship is expressed through our life in the world, not just our corporate worship services?”

To this, Greg and Kevin respond:

We tried as hard as we could in the book to stress that good works and loving others matter, that they are essential, they are not optional, and they glorify God. The confusion may be that Trevin hears us saying worship is the mission of the church and then wonders why we don’t include all-of-life-worship in our definition. But we are careful to say mission is what we are sent into the world to accomplish. Therefore, we speak of worship as the goal of missions. Christian mission aims at making, sustaining, and establishing worshipers (247).

At the risk of talking past one another, I understand that Kevin and Greg have a robust view of our obedience in the world and our worship as consisting of all of life. And yet, I want to include that obedience within the wide-lens definition of “mission,” whereas Kevin and Greg want to make a sharp distinction between the two. Worship is not merely the goal of missions; it’s also the means. Our worship (whether gathered corporately or lived-out individually) is one way that the gospel is promoted and the mission moves forward.

4. “Even if we recognize that the verbs related to the kingdom are passive (receiving, bearing witness to, etc.), does this necessarily preclude us from speaking of ‘work for the kingdom’?”

I won’t rehash this point because Kevin and Greg agree with the way that I and others use the phrase “work for the kingdom.” We’re on the same page here, although I think we need to be careful to keep our theological discourse from devolving into the tendency to police people’s language. Parsing of words and phrases can be a helpful exercise, but it can also lead to a sort of insider-lingo wherein we recognize who’s “on our team” by the way they use or refrain from certain phrases. I don’t think Kevin and Greg are guilty of this, but some Reformed-types do go overboard in language-policing. (For example, I’ve heard people talk about how misguided the phrase “obey the gospel” or “live the gospel” is, even though Peter and Paul specifically use the first and preachers like Spurgeon were happy to use the second.)

5. “Is our representation of Christ not part of the mission?”

Following up their initial response, Greg and Kevin penned an additional blog post on how good works and the mission relate to one another. Interestingly enough, I agree completely with what they say here, quoting from Eckhard Schnabel:

We like the way Eckhard Schnabel puts it in his massive work Early Christian Mission. Schnabel argues that “expansive proclamation” is “the centrifugal dimension of mission” and “attractive presence” is the “centripetal dimension” (1:11). Our words ring out; our deeds draw people in. So the “elements of mission” include not only the ministry of the word but also “charity” and “ministry of grace.” But this is not the same as saying missions is charity or that a missionary is anyone who serves others in good deeds. According to Schnabel, “missionaries” are “envoys sent by the risen Jesus Christ to proclaim the good news” (1:11-12). Just as important, he clarifies what mission is striving for. “The result of mission is conversion: people accept and adopt the message proclaimed by the missionaries, they are integrated into the new community of faith, and they start to practice a new way of life with new behavioral patterns” (1:12).

I nearly did a double take when reading this paragraph because it struck me as saying exactly what Kevin and Greg do not say in their book: that the mission has two dimensions – “expansive proclamation” and “attractive presence” – both geared toward conversion of the lost. The book narrows “mission” to expansive proclamation only, with good works being a matter of obedience but somewhat disconnected from the mission of the church. I agree with Schnabel that the ultimate goal of mission is conversion, while the means toward that goal can also be included in how we speak of the church’s mission.

Conclusion

Let me end by saying how much I appreciate Kevin and Greg’s critique of what passes for “mission” in many segments of evangelicalism. Simply being a nice person and doing good things in the world are not mission, since there are non-Christians who engage in the same types of work. Verbal proclamation is priority; it’s our ultimate goal and it is vital. When they critique the “social justice” crowd, I “amen” them the whole way.

My big concern is that in their stalwart defense of evangelism as the mission of the church, they have narrowed the idea of “disciple-making” more than Scripture does. Ed Stetzer sums up the basic point of contention here:

Gilbert and DeYoung have a different view than the prevailing approach in evangelical missiology.They believe the missio ecclesia is making disciples (X), with other actions and deeds (Y and Z) remaining distinct from X. Others (including most evangelical missiologists) see the missio ecclesia as YXZ, keeping X at the center but seeing Y and Z as essentially part of the mission. Gilbert and DeYoung, in my estimation, get the center of the mission (X), but have not properly worked out Y and Z’s relationship to the fulfillment of the church’s mission.

I used to believe a heresy.

No, I was never excommunicated. No one ever threatened me with pitchforks and fire. In fact, no one was more surprised to learn about my heresy than I was.

I discovered the error of my ways during my first year of theology classes in Romania. Our systematic theology professor was helping us understand Christology. He spent significant time in the Bible pulling out relevant texts that pointed to Christ’s humanity and divinity. So far so good.

Then the professor began listing heresies of the Trinitarian variety. Eventually, he came to Apollinarianism, which he described as “the teaching that Jesus had a divine soul in a human body.” As he continued teaching, I felt like someone had suddenly punched me in the gut. Though this heresy had never been taught in my church or in my family, it had somehow wormed its way into my mind as the most logical way to hold Christ’s divinity and humanity together. I’d just assumed that Jesus as “God in the flesh” meant a divine mind/spirit wrapped up in a human body.

Logical or not, it was wrong. My professor was telling us that a guy named Apollinarius had thought the same thing and that the early church had condemned him as a heretic in 381.

So here I was, a closet heretic, and I didn’t even know it! What did this mean? Was I not truly converted? Was I an apostate? Up until this point, was I unsaved?

No, not at all. I was a child when God replaced my little heart of stone with a heart of flesh. I had been seeking to faithfully follow Jesus for years, which is why I wound up studying theology in Romania in the first place. My understanding of Christ’s nature was in error, but I was a genuine believer. Once my error was contradicted by the testimony of Scripture and the witness of the church through the ages, I corrected my understanding and never looked back.

So here I am, a former Apollinarian filled with immense gratitude that the Triune God saved me even when I didn’t have a correct understanding of His Tri-unity. By God’s grace, I am reminded that it’s not my perfect knowledge of Christ’s nature and person that saves me but Christ Himself.

Orthodox Teaching Does Not Save…

I believe this story is a good reminder that orthodox theology, while vitally important, is not what saves. Don’t get me wrong. We need to be firmly rooted in the Scriptures as we embrace and proclaim the full counsel of God. The church needs the guardrails provided by our creeds and confessions. Far be it from me to ever diminish the need for clarity and consistency on doctrines of first importance, of which the Trinity is a classic example. A non-Trinitarian god cannot save. Likewise, unless Jesus is both God and man, we are doomed.

At the same time, we need to remember that one can be saved by the Trinity without a complete and exhaustive understanding of the Trinity. It’s quite possible to be muddled in our thinking and still be gloriously cleansed of our sins. That’s why Martin Luther, John Calvin, and Richard Hooker, though standing solidly against the doctrines of the Roman Catholic Church, could affirm that there were Catholics who were justified by faith alone, even though they didn’t have a firm grasp on the doctrine of justification by faith alone. In other words, we are justified by faith in Jesus, not justified by our faith in the right articulation of doctrine.

In the circles I run in, we believe this is a day for firm conviction, not flabby compromise. We seek to be clear on who God is and how He has saved us. That’s why we point out errors that creep into our churches (Counterfeit Gospels anyone?) and why we warn people of bad theology. But in our right emphasis on right thinking, we need to guard against somehow concluding that orthodoxy itself is what saves. After all, the demons have their systematic theology down, but they are still demons.

Tim Keller is on to something when he points out the way in which reliance on right doctrine can become idolatrous:

“Idolatry functions widely inside religious communities when doctrinal truth is elevated to the position of a false god. This occurs when people rely on the rightness of their doctrine for their standing with God rather than on God himself and his grace. It is a subtle but deadly mistake. The sign that you have slipped into this form of self-justification is that you become what the book of Proverbs calls a ‘scoffer.’ Scoffers always show contempt and disdain for opponents rather than graciousness. This is a sign that they do not see themselves as sinners saved by grace. Instead, their trust in the rightness of their views makes them feel superior.” (Counterfeit Gods, 131)

It’s quite possible to be muddled on doctrine and still belong to Jesus. It’s also possible to have all your doctrinal dots and iotas in line and one day hear Jesus say, “I never knew you.”

It’s not orthodox theology that saves but the God whom orthodox theology describes. It’s the reality that saves us, not our knowledge of that reality.

And thank God this is the case! After all, who can fully comprehend the intricacies of Trinitarian reality? Who can plumb the depths of our justification before God? Who can completely understand the Person and work of the Holy Spirit?

Thanks be to God that in this postmodern world of uncertainty, the Bible gives us real knowledge of God. And thanks be to God that the real God chooses to save us even when our knowledge falls short.

…But Persistent Denial of Orthodox Teaching Reveals the Heart

So we’ve established that orthodox theology is not what saves us. But what do we do with those who espouse unclear or untrue teachings regarding doctrines of first importance?

First, we are patient. We consider their background, their testimony, and their views on other matters. We do not immediately assume that the person must be unsaved. We must also make sure that our zeal for representing God correctly does not lead us to misrepresent our friend. Slanderous assumptions and false accusations against a brother are serious. It matters little how well we represent the truth about God if we are guilty of misrepresenting our brother.

But since truth does indeed matter and since the Bible offers us a robust portrait of salvation and the gospel, we cannot ignore or downplay essential teachings that are contrary to the Scriptures. So we seek to gently bring the person in line with the church’s understanding of biblical truth.

Should the person resist, we persist – again, not because orthodox theology is what saves but because truth really does matter. God cares deeply about how He is represented. That’s why we seek clarity. That’s why we want to make correct affirmations.

If a person espouses heretical teaching and continues to maintain the error in spite of clear Scriptural teaching and the witness of the church, then we must eventually conclude that their resistance to the revealed truth of God is evidence of an unconverted heart, not merely a mistaken belief. So we treat them as unbelievers, praying for them and their redemption.

Conclusion

In a time when many people are plagued with postmodern uncertainty and aversion to religious dogma of any sort, it is increasingly difficult to maintain both of these truths – that assenting to orthodoxy does not save and yet denying orthodoxy reveals an unconverted heart. So in our zeal for biblical truth, we must be careful not to assume that everyone who unknowingly accepts a false teaching is lost and hellbound. But neither must we let the truth that a person can be wrong and still be saved lead us to downplay or denigrate the vital importance of truth as we seek to proclaim the full counsel of God.

Yesterday, I wondered out loud about the role of September 11 in the rise of New Calvinism. Today, I’ve invited several well-known pastors to reflect on doing ministry in a post 9/11 world. The question I posed to these men was: “How does living in a post-9/11 world influence the way you preach and do ministry?” Here are their responses:

Matt Chandler:

9/11 created some legitimate seriousness in what I perceived in 2001 to be a general silliness among a bulk of younger evangelicals, a comfort with the shallow end of the pool.  This manifested itself in a concentration on what we should or shouldn’t be doing that was driven by moralism and wasn’t flowing from  transformed hearts.

The grief, fear and shock of that day revealed that for all of the comfort in the shallow end there was a need for transcendence, greater depth, we needed deeper water.  Depth that could help us understand how such things could happen, could show us where God was that day.  Depth that could help us worship when everything was going wrong not just when everything was going right.  An understanding of God that went beyond our personal safety, bank accounts and health.  We need an understanding of the nature and character of God and how He interacts with His covenant community, how He interacts with the fallen world and where our hope should be placed.

Kevin DeYoung:

I was just starting my last year of seminary on September 11, 2001. My theology of preaching was already pretty well set. After reading Calvin, Edwards, the Puritans, and lots of Lloyd-Jones I knew that I wanted to be a preacher that would try to give people a big picture of a big God.

9/11 didn’t change my convictions about ministry or about preaching. But it certainly confirmed that pastoral ministry could not skirt past the hard issues of life. I didn’t want a God, a theology, a view of eternity, or an approach to ministry that would look trite next to the rubble of the Twin Towers.

Thabiti Anyabwile:

When 9/11 occurred, I was waking from a comfortable night’s sleep in an upscale San Antonio hotel.  While dressing, I watched the news footage like most people—dumbstruck.  After I gathered a good sense of what was happening, called to check on my wife and daughters in D.C., I joined my coworkers gathering in a hotel conference room for a discussion of public policy and improving the life outcomes of children and families.  When I arrived, I found a room heavy with confusion, sadness, and fear.  We were a collection of policy professionals from around the country—lots of us with family and friends in Washington, D. C. and New York.  In the silence, confusion, and sporadic telephone connections with family were the questions, “What’s going on?”  and, “Who is in control?”  A few dared ask, “Is God involved in any of this?”

I was the lone evangelical Christian in a group of committed political and social progressives.  I wasn’t in the room 3 minutes before everyone was looking to me for an answer and for prayer.

That scene reminds me that everyone needs to answer some basic, deep questions about life.  Is God involved in my life?  Who is in control?  How do I explain this pain?  It also taught me that, at bottom, we all need to encounter the majestic, glorious, merciful, and awesome God of the Scripture.  He’s the only God there is.  And when we really need Him, we need Him in all His bigness and splendor.  Suffering people hardly settle for a puny god.

So, I want to preach in such a way that recognizes that the God that truly is and the God we truly need holds all things in His hand.  He rules and reigns with no rivals.  And when the world seems to come undone, the sovereign God of the Bible is who we need.  In truth, we need that God all the time and the purpose of preaching in a post-9/11 world is to simultaneously reveal Him in sovereign glory while stripping away the mundane to expose our deep need for Him.  Most of us live in a routine-induced daze that distracts us from ultimate matters.  Preaching is the audible interruption of that daze to ask, “Do you see this great God?  Come and love Him!”

J.D. Greear:

9-11 of course did not introduce tragedy into our world, but it certainly elevated it in our public concsciousness. In a tragedy-less world, simple, practical, ‘how-to’ messages seem relevant, but in the midst of deep pain and troubling questions, “3 ways to fix x in your life” is less so. Deep calls unto deep, and a God who is better than the pain and deeper than the questions is the only thing relevant.

Since 9-11, I have found that the distinction between preaching relevantly and preaching deeply has vanished. Deep is the new relevant. (Unless, of course, by “deep” you mean parsing tenses of inconsequential, obscure Greek words or minute dimensions of theology. That is neither deep nor relevant.) If by depth we mean “depth in gospel”– showing how the God of the gospel is a superior trust than all other false idols, and how the wisdom displayed at the cross is deeper than the questions asked, then there is nothing more relevant to the modern audience than that. It sounds ironic to say, but I find the “traditional seeker sermon” to be no longer very relevant. Silly, shallow sermons may attract bored, cultural Christians from other churches, but that number is rapidly shrinking.

Increasingly our society is made up of  true skeptics and fervent believers; both want, and need deep, gospel-saturated preaching. Indeed, in my observation, both are turned off through light, personality-driven entertainment.

In 2007, Mark Dever wrote a series of blog posts titled “Where’d All These Calvinists Come From?” He listed 10 reasons for the blossoming of Reformed theology’s Tulip within evangelicalism, including influential pastors like Spurgeon, Lloyd-Jones, Piper, and MacArthur. He also referenced the inerrancy controversy within the Southern Baptist Convention, authors like J.I. Packer, and publishers like Banner of Truth. From this wide range of sources, Dever unearthed the roots of the recent Reformed Resurgence.

I agree with all of Dever’s choices. But I wonder if there is a significant cultural event that could be added: September 11, 2001. It may be true that a variety of practices, preachers, and publishers laid the groundwork for the recent swell of Reformed theology. But why has the greatest growth of the movement taken place only in the past decade? What role has September 11 played in the Reformed Resurgence?

In speaking of September 11, I am referring not only to the terrorist attacks, but also the events set in motion by the terrorists. Two costly wars. Terrorism scares. The Great Recession. These related events compounded the cultural change initiated by the hijackers.

Furthermore, the past decade has delivered a number of horrible disasters (two massive tsunamis, Hurricane Katrina, earthquakes in Asia and Latin America, tornadoes in the Southeast). Though not related to September 11, perhaps these tragedies have also played a role in the New Calvinism by forcing Christians to wrestle with difficult doctrines. For many of us, the result has been an increased appreciation for the sovereignty of God in the midst of human suffering.

There is no way to measure the impact of September 11 on evangelicalism. At best, we can see hints here and there as to its theological repercussions. Other than the people who were there and experienced the horror, it’s unlikely that many people would attribute any sort of theological shift to the events of that dreadful day. I doubt that many of the Young, Restless, and Reformed would consider September 11 to be an important moment in their turn toward Reformed theology.

But sometimes, it’s not our personal journeys that carry the most influence. It’s the cultural air that we breathe. Is it possible that September 11 and its cultural aftershocks “changed the air” so to speak, so that a wide segment of evangelicalism began entertaining questions that didn’t seem as pressing before?

Let’s look at a few ways in which the post-9/11 culture may have created an environment conducive to the rise of New Calvinism:

1. September 11 forced “the problem of evil” to the forefront of theological reflection.

Terrorism brought the concept of “evil” back from a purgatory of positive thinking and practical theology. Politicians started using the term again. Preachers began sermon series on the reality of evil and suffering. Our society’s aversion to words like “evil” and “sin” suddenly appeared like an ostrich trying to avoid the truth.

But many young people went beyond mere recognition of evil’s existence. We began working through questions related to God’s sovereignty and human responsibility. The classic problem of evil (“If God is good and all-powerful, why does evil exist?”) came roaring back as a topic of intense discussion.

Before September 11, my beliefs about evil and suffering had always bowed to the reality of free will:
God wants to be loved.
Love cannot be forced.
Therefore, God gives us free will.
Anything bad that happens is a result of humans using their free will.
God cannot be blamed.

After September 11, this standard line of argumentation crumbled. Having witnessed the carnage of the terrorist attacks, I questioned whether free will was worth the trouble. Is it worth it having free will just so God can be loved without force? Isn’t there something bigger than our love for God?

I also realized that the free will response didn’t get God off the hook; it just pushed His presence into the distance a little further. I remember thinking: With a word, He could have altered the plane’s direction to miss the building. In an instant, He could have alerted security screeners’ eyes to the terrorists and exposed them before they ever got on the plane. He could have empowered the passengers of United 93 to not only burst into the cockpit but also take control of the plane before it crashed. Could, could, could. But He did not. Why not? Does choosing not to stop a tragedy you could prevent make you, in some way, partly culpable?

2. September 11 created an environment in which the easy answers of pop evangelicalism were no longer satisfying.

The typical evangelical response to “9/11 problem of evil” questions was to shrug them off and take comfort in the “God-moments” that occurred on that day. Emails circulated telling the story of the woman who narrowly escaped the tower before it fell, or the two beams forged together in the heat as a makeshift cross, or the Bible that was preserved in a smoldering section of the Pentagon. Rather than wrestle with the big questions, many Christians took comfort in the kindness of a providential God who kept the worst from occurring.

But I remember how these responses seemed so inadequate. The towers fell. Some people survived. Praise God! But others died. Do we still praise God? If God were involved in a person’s survival, was He not also involved in the life that perished? 

Then, there was the sentimental response. “Where was God on 9/11?” He was there, in all the heroic acts of that day. God was in the firefighters who plunged to their deaths with the towers. God was in the rescue workers treating people on the scene. God was in the volunteers who spent days trying to rescue people from the rubble.

But this response was inadequate too. It merely drew attention away from the bigger and more intense questions: Where was God when the hijackers took over the planes? Where was God when it really mattered? The vision of God put forth by many evangelicals was that of a doting grandfather who arrived too late to stop the tragedy, but in time to help us put the pieces back together again.

3. The post 9/11 culture was ripe for a generation of young people to dig into the Bible for answers to some of life’s most perplexing questions.

The typical evangelical responses were superficial, and I rejected them. They offered temporary comfort by pushing aside the hard questions. Judging from conversations I’ve had with many friends, the sentimental response didn’t resonate with them either. And the next few years only intensified the problem. The schmaltzy, family-friendly banter of Christian radio and books didn’t tell us why our friends were coming home from the Middle East in body bags.

September 11 did more than rock the foundations of the Twin Towers. It changed the cultural ethos and rocked the theological foundations of many younger evangelicals. We started questioning things we had always assumed. Many of us started digging deep. We wanted answers. And Reformed theology didn’t shy away from the hard questions.

When I think about the Christians I went to school with and the friends I had in my church youth group, I see two directions. Some of us wrestled with these issues and then stepped back, staying in the safe, sentimental view typical of evangelical responses. But the majority wound up becoming Reformed or at least Reformed-leaning. They found John Piper and the depth of his insight related to human suffering. They found other pastors and teachers who were not afraid to tackle the hard questions. My brother, who returned from Iraq last year, told me that the books being read by his fellow soldiers were written by men like Piper and Sproul, not Rob Bell and Donald Miller.

In a post 9/11 world, shallow evangelicalism didn’t have the answers that many younger evangelicals were longing for. Many of us eventually came to grips with a majestic, ferocious, and irresistibly attractive God who burst all the boxes we had wanted to keep Him in.
God was in control.
The evil of 9/11, though not approved by God, is somehow part of His master plan.
The cross reminds us that God can bring the greatest good from the greatest evil.
No pain is therefore senseless.
And God will one day defeat evil forever. 

Reformed theology gave a younger generation a vision of a God who is big enough to have unknown reasons for allowing evil acts to take place and big enough to defeat evil for good. The doctrine of God’s sovereignty wasn’t about scoring debate points with theological nerds, but a haven of rest and assurance in the midst of turbulent times.

4. September 11 has marked the ministry of a younger generation of pastors.

Many of today’s young preachers and teachers have different sensibilities than the baby boomer generation that proceeded them. Listen to Matt Chandler and David Platt and you won’t hear messages filled with practical tips to bettering your life today. Instead, you hear men with distinctive styles addressing some of the toughest questions of life. Chandler preaches through Habakkuk while recovering from brain surgery for a tumor. David Platt leads his church to reflection (theology) and action (service) on behalf of a Birmingham ravaged by tornadoes. The preaching ministry of many younger pastors has been significantly shaped by the reality of life in a post-9/11 world.

Yes, health and wealth teaching continues to rise unabated. The Emerging Church burst onto the scene and then faded. Some have found answers in Open Theism. Joel Osteen is America’s most influential pastor, and he is about as far from preaching about real pain and sorrow as any pastor could be. And yet, there is a large number of younger evangelicals who aren’t impressed with any of these other options. The post-9/11 culture indirectly shaped the questions and issues of younger evangelicals. Those of us who went looking for answers found help from the people and publishers mentioned in Mark Dever’s series.

I’m not sure we can connect the dots from September 11 to the rise of the New Calvinism in a way that makes sense of all the data. Still, when asking “where did all these Calvinists come from?” it’s interesting to note that in the 1990′s, there was a Reformed rumbling. But only after September 11 was there a Reformed resurgence.

Guest Blogger: Joel is a graduate of Reformed Theological Seminary and is preparing for ordination in the Presbyterian Church of America. His ministry focus is the Arabic-speaking world, and he writes about life, the gospel, and the books he’s reading at http://joelws.com.

“Everyone looks for an area into which he can throw himself completely, in which what is unique in his life can come to its own” (Johan Herman Bavinck, The Riddle of Life, 58).

Johan Herman Bavinck was a Dutch missionary to Indonesia who lived from 1895-1964. After his 20-year missionary career, he returned to the Netherlands to teach theology, but throughout both of those aspects of his ministry, he constantly reflected on how it is that people simultaneously are surrounded by God’s revelation and yet rebel against it. What is perhaps surprising is that when we see his diagnosis of the problems of the human heart in his own day—a century ago—we may recognize something of the problems that afflict the human heart in our own times.

He wrote The Riddle of Life to address exactly that issue. In chapters 9-11 he addresses the idols of the human heart. He begins his discussion of that topic with the quote above, which argues that built into the human heart is the desire to serve something, to “throw himself completely” into something. I realized the truth of this when I found myself screaming—sometimes in anger, sometimes in frustration, sometimes with joy—at my television as I watched my team play in the NBA playoffs this year. We want to be “all about” something. But of course, while God made us to serve himself, we twist that desire into service of the things that he has created. He highlights three areas in which we commonly create idols for ourselves: money, honor, and pleasure.

Money

“Money,” Bavinck says, “has a romantic glow about it” (62). Money gives such great possibilities—of a better life, of finer things, of more dazzling places—and great security in the face of a changing world. Even beyond that, though, “money is not merely something that you have, but something that you are” (61). When these things come to characterize our attitude towards money, we have fallen into what Bavinck describes as a “narrow desire” for money—an idolatrous desire—as opposed to a “broad desire” for money—the simple desire to have what is needful to feed one’s family and take care of the responsibilities that god has given us.

Now certainly, we all recognize that money is ultimately nothing that important. A green version of Ben Franklin is basically just paper to which society has given value. But because of the possibilities and security it represents, we tend to make it into something more. We make it into a god, but “it is a false god” and “in its deepest essence it is a liar” (64). It is when we come near to Jesus that we recognize our desire for money to be what is—a desire for God that has been twisted into something of our own making.

Honor

The second idol that Bavinck discusses is that of honor, the desire for praise from men. There’s a sense in which this is quite natural. We are made for relationships, for community, and encouraging words are an integral part of our relationships. Indeed, there are many honorable causes for us to work for in this life, and we want to do well in them. But Bavinck illustrates how easy it is to turn that desire from a desire that is ultimately aimed at the message, the mission, or the cause into a desire for approbation for ourselves.

Certainly, different people succumb to this in different ways. Some people are extremely confident, exuding an air of nonchalance toward the opinions and praise of others. But hidden within that very confidence is the assumption that people will generally love what one has to say. Others are not confident at all, and they are constantly wishing for the praise of others, timidly doing only what will gain them acceptance. But both can recognize the idolatrous desire for honor at one particular moment: when they grow jealous upon hearing someone else do or say something better than themselves in the service of the same cause. That is a dead giveaway that the desire for honor has grown into idolatry.

Pleasure

The final idol that Bavinck mentions is that of pleasure, by which he means the enjoyment that we may receive from any number of activities in life. However, he makes a very perceptive note: in his day (the early to mid-20th century), work and pleasure were increasingly divorced from one another. Whereas at many times the enjoyment one received from work was a real pleasure, more and more pleasure has been conceived of as gratification from something into which we must put no effort (participation in sports being a notable exception to this). The sad result of this is twofold. First, work is viewed as a horrible monotony with no real purpose, and secondly, pleasure, because it is divorced from what God has called us to do, can rarely be increased. “In the world of gratification,” Bavinck says, “1 plus 1 is never 2, but always less than two” (78). Pleasure is always limited and never satisfying, and yet it is a great idol of the human heart.

Fleeing Idols

Having identified the idols, Bavinck offers some encouraging words on how to fight idolatry, and it is with these thoughts that I will conclude:

Struggling one, you can live only if you begin with a quiet trust that you are living in a meaningful universe which was conceived and made by the eternal Father. It is possible only if you repose yourself on the confidence that He has given you your existence, your talents and your abilities, and that you have nothing more to do in the place where He has put you than quietly to shine and to serve. If you thus believe that the Father is behind everything and in everything, then you no longer need these three—money, honor, pleasure. Then you can go on your way like a child. Then you have the only true and high ideal of life that is worth the trouble to live for, namely the purpose which the Father has granted you the capabilities to complete. (81)

Yesterday, I wrote the first of a two-part series that summarizes and explores the essays collected in Jesus, Paul and the People of God: A Theological Dialogue with N. T. Wright (IVP, 2011). We’ve looked at the critique of N.T. Wright’s teaching on Jesus. Today, we look at the second half of this book, which deals with Wright’s “new perspective” on Paul.

N.T. Wright and the Apostle Paul

The first essay on N.T. Wright’s “Paul” is written by Edith Humphrey, “Glimpsing the Glory: Paul’s Gospel, Righteousness and the Beautiful Feet of N.T. Wright.” Humphrey’s contribution is unique in that she approaches Wright’s work from the angle of Eastern Orthodoxy. She sees similarities between Wright’s view of righteousness and her own, but she rejects Wright’s interpretation of 2 Corinthians 5:21:

Consider the lack of congruity: Christ was made sin – simply so that [hina] the apostles could show forth God’s righteousness! In such a construal the shock of the first part of the sentence (Christ made sin) does not match the functional quality of the second. No, if Christ was made sin it could hardly be for the purpose of the apostolic charism. Instead, Paul indicates a miracle that makes its impact on all in the new creation… It is the God-man who assumes death and sin in order to win life and righteousness for God’s people. It is this one who stands as judge, as advocate and as defendant. (168-9)

Regarding Wright’s view of apocalyptic symbols, Humphrey writes: “I want to affirm what Bishop Tom affirms, without denying what he denies.” (172) This refrain is repeated throughout these essays on Paul, and it sums up much of my own thought regarding Wright in general.

As a side note, there’s a humorous moment when Humphrey chides Wright for his Protestant position on Scripture. Quoting from my interview with Wright in 2008, she says:

At the foundations our friend remains a Protestant. In his own words, “My only agenda is to be as close as I can possibly get to what Paul actually says. And I really don’t care too much what different later Christian traditions say.”

Wright’s response:

“Here we meet once more with the problem of Scripture and tradition. It’s rather fun to be accused, for once, of being a Protestant… Tradition is important, but I will drink to Paul first and to tradition afterward.” (182)

—–

Jeremy Begbie in “The Shape of Things to Come? Wright Amidst Emerging Ecclesiologies” explores the puzzling fact that N.T. Wright’s theology (though delivered from an Anglican bishop in a bureaucratic, top-down hierarchical structure) is so attractive to young, emerging church leaders (who eschew the type of authoritative framework within Wright serves). Begbie’s summary of Wright’s eschatological vision is worth reading, and his critique of emerging church ecclesiology from Wright’s vantage point is also helpful. But I want to give more time to the next two essays, so I will refrain from summing up too much here.

—–

Markus Bockmuehl contributes an essay titled “Did St. Paul Go to Heaven When he Died?“. Bockmuehl critiques Wright’s vision of the afterlife, particularly Wright’s insistence that we think in terms of embodied resurrection and not the intermediate state. Bockhmuehl’s essay fails to persuade because he argues against the soundbite version of Wright’s view of the afterlife, not the expansive vision laid out in Wright’s many books. Wright does not deny that Christians “go to heaven” when they die; he merely insists on placing the intermediate “heaven” within the context of God’s promise of the final resurrected state.

Bockmuehl’s essay rightly leads to this response from Wright:

“I did not fully recognize the presentation of my views in Markus Bockmuehl’s paper… I have never rejected, as Bockmuehl says I do, the traditional Christian believe that the faithful ‘go to heaven’ when they die. I don’t regard that expectation as a ‘corruption of the hope of bodily resurrection.’ I have said repeatedly that ‘going to heaven’ is fine as a description of what happens when the faithful die. The point is that it isn’t the final destination.” (231-2)

(For an explanation of how Wright’s view of “heaven” has changed throughout the years, read this post.)

—–

Kevin Vanhoozer’s paper, “Wrighting the Wrongs of the Reformation? The State of the Union with Christ in St. Paul and Protestant Soteriology” stirred up quite a bit of conversation after it was first delivered. Vanhoozer enters this debate as an observer from the field of systematic theology. He accurately lays out the issues at stake, particularly the fact that Wright is pressing the formal principle of the Reformation (biblical authority) into service against its material principle (justification by faith). (241) Vanhoozer writes:

“By and the large the perceived problem with Wright’s position is not what he affirms but what he denies. His affirmations are important and exciting… What lands Wright in hot Reformed water are the denials.” (241-2)

What problem Reformed critics have is not so much with the affirmation (“faith is the badge of covenant membership”) but rather the denial (“faith is not the port of entry into the company of the saved”). (246)

Vanhoozer then seeks to bridge the gap by appealing to Calvin’s doctrine of “union with Christ” and in particular, the doctrine of adoption.

“Adoption is an especially rich metaphor that involves both confessing family membership and conferring legal status.” (255)

He then critiques Wright by saying, “He needs to win not more battles, but more allies… The Reformed need to accept the ecclesiological implications of being declared in Christ; Wright needs to retool his understanding of the law court and develop a fuller understanding of our union with Christ.” (259)

—–

The book ends with an essay by Wright entitled “Whence and Whither Pauline Studies in the Life of the Church?” This essay sums up the reasons why, for me, reading Wright is so fruitful and frustrating at the same time. Wright’s exposition of the ecclesiological implications of justification is masterful. He glides through text after text, harking back to Old Testament truth, pulling out ethical implications (including a belief in traditional man-woman marriage!), and spotlighting the beauty of the covenant community united by the cross.

But Wright’s summary of Paul’s theology is almost exclusively horizontal. It’s all about the reconciliation of humanity and very little about how that new humanity is first reconciled to God (or why we need to be reconciled in the first place). Perhaps the intent of this essay was merely to provide a study of Paul’s ecclesiology. Maybe, but I don’t think so. This approach characterizes much of what Wright has said in other contexts.

To be fair, some of Wright’s Reformed critics do indeed marginalize the church in their systematization of theology. But I fear that Wright goes to the other extreme. In pointing out the reductionism of his opponents, Wright engages in reductionism of his own. So, at one level, I am thankful for what Wright affirms, but I am constantly perplexed by what he denies (or simply ignores).

Conclusion

Jesus, Paul and the People of God is a helpful addition to the discussion surrounding N.T. Wright and his theology. May this book aid all who are interested in finding out what Jesus and St. Paul really said!

Whenever I finish a book by James K. A. Smith, I feel encouraged, puzzled, and provoked. Perhaps that’s one reason I continue to read Smith’s books. I like when writers force me to think. Good books shift categories and reframe discussions in ways that shine light on truth from different angles.

Smith’s shortest book to date is Letters to a Young Calvinist: An Invitation to the Reformed Tradition (Brazos, 2010), a collection of letters that Jamie writes to a younger version of himself. The book is designed to respond to the Reformed Resurgence among young people in recent years. Jamie wants to help young Calvinists avoid the pitfalls of Reformed theology and instead embrace the promise of the wider Reformed tradition. And just as I expected when reading Jamie’s work, I was encouraged, puzzled, and provoked.

Encouraged

I’ve counseled lots of guys who (1) grew up in typical evangelical churches, (2) went to college where they asked deep questions about their faith, (3) found in Calvinism some clear, seemingly biblical answers, and (4) came home ready to share their nuggets of wisdom with the rest of their congregation. I could probably put together my own collection of emails I’ve sent off to young Calvinists. (I should say younger Calvinists, since I still fancy myself as young!)

Much of Smith’s book overlaps nicely with the counsel I’ve given others. Most helpful is the warning against the sin of pridefulness. Humility should be the primary Calvinist virtue. Jamie writes:

“How strange that discovering the doctrines of grace should translate into haughty self-confidence and a notable lack of charity.” (xi)

“The way you talk in this most recent letter seems more concerned with pointing out what’s wrong with all the other Christians around you – especially our friends at church. I’ll be honest with you: it sometimes sounds like you think you’ve achieved some new secret knowledge, which somehow gives you license to mock those who don’t have it.” (6)

Right on. The last thing we need is a bunch of neo-Gnostic Calvinists impressed by their ability to read between the lines of Scripture until they can rightly discern all the ways of God.

Particularly helpful in Jamie’s warning against pride is his communal focus. He constantly prods his young Calvinist conversation partner toward the local church. Friends matter. The church matters. The church you grew up in, even if it is decidedly not Calvinistic, is the church God used as the instrument in your life to bring you to faith and shape your Christian character. You were loved into the kingdom. Jamie is right to remind us of our need to serve the church. I especially like this line of advice:

“What should you be doing to become a Reformed theologian? That’s easy: teach third-grade Sunday School.” (30)

Another positive aspect of this book is Jamie’s decision to begin his brief exposition of Reformed theology by emphasizing that everything is a gift, including our existence. “To be is to be graced.” (15) By speaking of grace that “goes all the way down,” he effectively reframes Calvinism as more than the doctrines of election and predestination. Instead, one must adopt a God-centered view of the world that widens the lens of Calvinism to all the earth, not just tulips.

Puzzled

As the book progressed, I found myself scratching my head at times, not quite sure regarding the direction Jamie wanted to take us. For example, in his letters about the wide scope of God’s redemptive work, Jamie writes:

“To say that God is concerned with more than the salvation of individual souls is not to say that he’s interested in less than the salvation of individuals.” (65)

He goes on:

“The you of God’s dealings is always an ‘us’. The gospel is always already a social gospel.” (68)

I think I agree with Jamie here, but I question the language he uses. Jamie prefaces his remarks about corporate salvation by insisting that individual salvation cannot and should not be undermined. I say something almost identical in Counterfeit Gospels.

But I don’t think it’s wise to call this a “social gospel.” Even if Jamie’s point is that God’s salvation incorporates us into the covenant community, the term “social gospel” has too many negative connotations for it to be a helpful description. There’s not enough room in this book for Jamie to further explore what he means here, which is why “social gospel” will throw up unnecessary red flags to conservatives on guard against last century’s liberal “social gospel” theology.

Another point that puzzles me is the way Jamie describes the storyline of the Bible. Granted, he traces the plot line in a way that emphasizes the covenant community (which is the subject of the letter this storyline appears in). But I fear this way of reading the Bible’s story is reductionistic:

The basic lineaments of the narrative are simple and unchanging: the Creator of the universe establishes norms and standards for his creatures (“the law”) and requires them to obey. In the face of their original disobedience, he doesn’t suspend those norms or standards; rather, he keeps calling humanity to that standard while at the same time graciously enacting countermeasures. But the call is the same: humanity, created in God’s image, is called to bear his image as Yahweh’s ambassadors, his vice-regents in the territory of creation, by continuing to unfold and unpack all the potential that has been folded into creation. And he calls us to do that well, in ways that accord with his norms and desire for the final flourishing of his creation “to the praise of his glorious grace” (Eph. 1:6). The core of the covenant remains the same. Unfortunately, our covenantal infidelity also remains constant – until the climax of the covenant when a Son of Mary lives up to the calling on our behalf, and then makes it possible for us, by grace, to live up to the covenant.” (74)

There’s nothing untrue in this summary of the Bible’s plotline. But the emphasis on the creation mandate appears to overshadow and even eclipse the weight of biblical testimony upon how the cross resolves our sin problem. If this is the major plot line of the Bible’s grand narrative, one wonders why so much of the covenant story deals with bloody sacrifices, the temple as the place of God’s presence, and the exile that is only ended when the Jesus – the true Israelite – lives, dies, and rises on our behalf.

Provoked

And then there is the underlying irony of this book that makes it difficult for me to recommend it to my young Calvinist friends. Despite his advocacy for a wider view of Reformed theology, Jamie takes an adversarial stance toward the young, restless, Reformed from the Westminster tradition.

While his desire to widen our view of Reformed theology is admirable (I too prefer the Heidelberg Catechism over Westminster), Jamie jabs at the Calvinists who want to “get people to toe the party line.” Included in this group are the Baptists (like myself) who lean Reformed in certain aspects, and yet who are unashamedly Baptist in ecclesiology.

Jamie wants people to embrace Reformed theology as a full package, which includes infant baptism and Reformed ecclesiology. That simply won’t do for guys like me, and it’s the Reformed principle of sola Scriptura that keeps me from going there. I am beholden – not to Westminster, Heidelberg, or even the Baptist Faith and Message – but to Scripture above all. Jamie would surely agree with this conviction, but then he targets Westminster:

“The Westminster stream diminishes the catholicity of the Reformed tradition, so the ‘Calvinism’ that it articulates is just the sort of slimmed-down, extracted soteriology that can be basically detached and then inserted across an array of denominations.” (61)

The irony here is that – even as he assumes the role of peacemaker and advocate of big-tent Reformed theology – Jamie is actually narrowing “Reformed” in a way that excludes, rather than includes. He criticizes Westminster for diminishing catholicity, when it appears to me that Westminster-influenced Baptists, at least in this instance, have a greater understanding of the catholicity of the Christian church than he does. For all his talk against the party line and drawing lines about who’s in and who’s out, Jamie’s book is – at least at some level – an attempt to draw lines.

Conclusion

Encouraged, puzzled, and provoked. But overall, I believe Letters to a Young Calvinist contains good, pastoral insight into the pitfalls and promise of Reformed theology, even if I disagree with Smith in some of the particulars.