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On October 31, 2016 By In Theology

My Reformed Journey

My Roots

Growing up in independent Baptist churches and spending about 15 months in a Brethren Church, one could say that my theology had a distinctly non-Reformational flavor. I had always been around people that shared similar theology. One could say it was an incurious faith. Unfortunately, my theological heritage did not expose me to much beyond some basic Christian doctrines and an untiring fascination for the end of the world.

Back in 1999–when computers took longer to load a page than Guttenberg’s press to print a page–I was looking for information on Genesis 1 & 2. I was attending a college founded by Bible Presbyterians and was urged to write a paper on Creation. After searching on Google or Web Crawler (yes, the latter was a search engine) I came across an article on the meaning of the word “day” by a writer named Gary North. The man had impressive credentials, but I also noticed he had an impressive list of detractors. North was the first writer in my adult life that offered a coherent view of theology that was not embarrassed by the Biblical account of creation nor the biblical paradigm. In the article, he quoted Calvin and Luther and a vast number of Reformed scholars. The essay opened the doors to the Reformed world to me. While it did not convince me to embrace any particular school of biblical interpretation at the time, it left a profound impression. Those memorable 20 minutes of reading affirmed to that college freshman that theology can be rigorous and intelligent while at the same time conservative and unashamedly rooted in the text of Holy Scriptures.

Peculiar Voices

I had a friend in college who was fairly committed to the proposition that my theology was wrong. He often came into my room and brought literature. Lost of literature. Rushdoony, Gentry, Demar, Sproul, etc. He was persistently frustrating. One day he brought me a book called “Putting Amazing Back Into Grace” by Michael Horton. At the time I had grown increasingly skeptical of my Reformed friends. So the book sat unread and untouched for several months.

As I prepared to go to Pennsylvania for my Christmas break I decided to take the book with me. I don’t remember if I had the intention to pick it up or if it was simply an attempt to prove I could resist the grace of the book.

As the snow poured down slowly, but surely as the grace of God, I was left with many, many hours to read. And read I did. After exhausting the few books I had brought with me I was left with Horton’s book staring at me from the corner of my room.

I picked it up and began to read it. “Election,” he wrote, “does not exclude anybody from the kingdom of God who wants in. Rather, it includes in God’s kingdom those whose direction is away from the kingdom of God and those who would otherwise remain forever in the kingdom of sin and death.” I read and kept reading and before I could realize what I had read, several hours had gone by and the book was completed. I don’t know what had happened, but my former antagonism had disappeared in light of the multitude of texts and the sheer logic of the grace of God for sinners. The Reformation had reached my heart, soul and mind.

The Change

I remember coming back to college in the Winter of 2000 and feeling a tremendous relief both psychologically and theologically. I no longer had to attempt any hermeneutical gymnastics to explain away the simple meaning of Romans 9 or I Corinthians 1. The whole thing made sense: God was sovereign over my will and intellect. My salvation was not a transformation from sickness to health, but from from death to life.

My Greek professor couldn’t believe it. The once antagonistic anti-Reformed student was now speaking the language of grace. I actually remember apologizing profusely to some of my dear Reformed brothers for my pugilism and unkindness toward them and their theological positions. As I look back I believe that their kindness actually won me over. While we had several heated discussions I remember being flummoxed by their gentleness.

The striking element was not that my theological paradigm changed on one issue, it was that it changed everything else around me. My disposition towards my education increased in a positive way. My grades improved and so did my love for Christ. The changes, of course, happened gradually, but the greatest change occurred in my ecclesiastical experience.

I See That Hand

I had attended several Independent Baptist churches at the time. My Baptist bona fides were obvious. I was even awarded a scholarship from an anynomous donor because of my Baptist convictions in college. But all that was beginning to change. As my theology transitioned so did my ecclesiology. Interestingly, I immediately began to feel discomfort in church on my first Sunday back. The flippancy of preaching and the casualness of worship began to bother me greatly. I had only embraced a high view of God’s Sovereignty in salvation, but it was already affecting my understanding of reality and worship.

I began to read. Rushdoony, Schaeffer and Sproul began to destroy some previously cherished categories. The things that were so common in my early years like altar calls, emotionalism, lengthy pastoral appeals to come down the isle now seemed inconsistent and even irreverent at times.

There is no doubt I experienced the “cage-stage.” I wish some older men had come alongside me and helped me articulate my new-found convictions with greater grace. I needed a bigger cage because I always seemed to find a way out and make a mess out of things.

Still, God was gracious and forgave my lack of grace by showing me grace. Quickly thereafter, my ecclesiastical discomfort compelled me to leave my once cherished Baptist tradition to the waters of Geneva.

Decrees, Please?

In my Independent Baptist years we were somewhat imprisoned to a very narrow ideology: Southern Baptists are bad and liberal and Billy Graham is a compromiser. I never embraced these perspectives, though I am sure I looked with suspicion at all those “seeker-sensitive churches” (so 80’s, I know).

As I took my first step towards Geneva Road I realized that there were many ways to get to Geneva. I even discovered, to my surprise, that there were Baptists of varying Reformed persuasions. These folks were really bright. A few of these Baptists carried around the two-volume set of Calvin’s Institutues in their professorial looking bags. They were spiritually challenging and helped me increase my Spurgeon collection. While I was tempted at one time and even considered parking in that parking lot, I think I was looking for a stout Protestant experience. And as we know, Baptists only like sweet tea.

I remember being invited by a Presbyterian friend to visit his PCA church on a Sunday evening. It was the perfect invitation. My heart was ready to explore Presbyterianism. I had many reservations, among them was the fear that Geneva Road might lead me to that dreadful font where babies (fear, dread, scary) were sprinkled. “Man-made tradition,” I mumbled to my Presbyterian friend on my way to church that evening. My friend had a quiet demeanor and gently explained things in a way that quieted my anger. We walked into the church. They were meeting in a Christian school. I honestly did not know what to expect. “Where is the sacrificial lamb?” I asked my friend who simply smiled at my idiocy.

A man opened in prayer. It wasn’t a trivial prayer. It was bathed in Scriptural language, genuine; the kind of prayer that left me feeling humbled. “We’re continuing our study on the Westminster Confession of Faith, Chap. III on God’s Eternal Decrees,” he said. I had read the Confession before as an intellectual exercise. I read the Bible verses that come with each proposition. This teacher, however, explained this doctine as a comforting theology where I had only seen it as a necessary evil. It was fresh, biblically-saturated. I was almost speechless, if you can imagine a Brazilian without words to say.

I ran up to him to thank him. He seemed apologetic. “I hope I was clear. I really tried my best to explain this.” I was mesmerized with how this man had opened his Bible and here he was apologizing for lacking clarity. It was like Neymar apologizing for only scoring three goals in a match.

After that evening my objections seemed childish compared to the riches I was to gain in this congregation. “I will probably disagree with many things, but I know I will be fed in this Presbyterian Church,” I said to my friend on our way home. My Reformational journey was leading me somewhere concrete. I was fearful, but child-like in expectation.

The Lessons

As I look back I realize that how a community communicates her theology is as important as her theology itself. For the first time in my life I longed to be with God’s people. I never despised the Lord’s worship, the difference is that now I was eager to learn from ordinary people. I was pursuing a college degree in pastoral studies but I was the student.

It didn’t take long before I succumbed to the beauty of infant baptism and covenant theology. The whole Bible became a consistent story of redemption. The God of redemptive history covenanted with his people and drew us near by the blood of the covenant through the efficacious death of Jesus Christ for his people.

Almost 15 years have passed since that recognition. Since then my theology has “refined,” or as some of my old friends might kindly ask, “What in the world has happened to you?” I have learned, grown, and hopefully increased in knowledge and wisdom.

There are so many lessons, but I think a few come to mind as I celebrate 15 years of Reformed enculturation and as the world celebrates 499 years of the Protestant Reformation:

First, we begin living by affirming that our first identity is not Reformed, but Christian. While we believe that the Reformers were most faithful to the Bible and while we affirm that the theological system developed by the Reformers most reflect the reality of God and his salvation, we need to remember that our identity is first and foremost a Christian identity. We are Christians first, and Reformed second.

Second, we must remember that “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble.” If our Reformed heritage is causing us to love ourselves, our systems, our ways over everything and everyone, we have made an idol out of our theology, and we need to properly repent. Reformed theology is winsome theology which causes us to listen more carefully to those who disagree with us rather than lord over others because of our supposed superiority.

Finally, never forget that the Gospel of Grace is the beauty of what we believe. It is the gracious, marvelous, overwhelming gift of God that we should breathe when we deserved to die. It is his pleasure that we should be called sons and daughters of God. It is his perfect purpose that we should sing his praises in psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs.

The mighty fortress of Luther’s pen is our mighty fortress. Were we to trust in our own strength, the Reformation would have been a temporary movement that would have died with the showers of a Wittenberg afternoon in Germany in 1517. But the grace of God knew that history needed more than some showers to cool the day, but a storm to shake the world of lethargy. Indeed the world continues to shake and may it continue to stir for the Reformation did not die with an Augustinian monk, it continues in all of us who believe that the sovereignty and grace of God in the hearts of sinners and history is a message worth telling and singing:

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;
Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,
And He must win the battle.

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On October 27, 2016 By In Books, Theology

Antimodern Presbyterianism: Challenging the Spirit of the Age

dabney-2

After writing my piece comparing Mercersburg Theology with Neo Calvinism, my online-friend Gregory Baus pointed out that the tenets I was describing can be found in the best, if not the whole, of the Presbyterian tradition. As an example, he pointed to Sean Michael Lucas’ definitive biography of Robert Lewis Dabney, specifically his chapter dealing with Dabney’s public theology. Below is a short excerpt from that chapter, of interest to those Presbyterians concerned with cultivating an ancient, “antimodern” faith:

dabney“Dabney’s strong adherence to an older faith placed him closer to antimodernists, who were discovering ancient religions such as Buddhism or rediscovering Catholicism, than to New South Presbyterians, who downplayed their creeds in order to influence Southern Culture….

In a gilded age that made the seemingly impossible possible though unprecedented technological manipulation, antimodernists sought a refuge in otherworldly faiths, which proclaimed a transcendent deity who was shrouded in mystery.

Though most scholars have failed to recognize the possibility that Old School Calvinism—as maintained at Princeton Seminary or defended by Dabney—could be as antimodern as Buddhism or Anglo-Catholicism, for Dabney it appeared that the older faith in a transcendent, sovereign deity both put him out of step with the prevailing modernist spirit of the age and provided resources to challenge the modern age of the Spirit.”

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On October 20, 2016 By In Theology

On The Babylonian Captivity of the Church, A Review

As we approach the 500th anniversary of the Reformation, Martin Luther’s 95 theses remain the most revolutionary document in Western History. Luther’s attempt to begin a conversation about indulgences provoked an ecclesiastical and sacramental revolution. This revolution reverberated through the last 500 years and will continue to do so for many centuries to come. But Luther’s theses served the purpose, unbeknownst to him, of catapulting this Augustinian monk to the center of the church’s disputes of the day. Spurred by a prolific genius, this trilinguist sought comfort in the liberating power of God’s revelation.

Luther wrote on a host of issues, but particular to his concerns, was a hunger to recover proper worship in the Church. Martin Luther’s On the Babylonian Captivity of the Church[1] is a biblical examination of the seven sacraments of the medieval church. The Luther-revolution began as he opened his Bible and examined the practices of the Church in light of scriptural teaching. The reformer was compelled “to become more and more learned each day” implying a continual testing[2] of these practices in light of his voracious commitment to the Scriptures.

For Luther, the Papacy is a “kingdom of Babylon,” twisting the clear articulation of Holy Scriptures.

In his treatise, he begins by addressing the Lord’s Supper. In direct fashion, Luther viciously attacked the church, claiming its “tyrants” were denying the laity reception of both elements. Luther argues from Paul and the Gospels that the Lord’s Supper belongs to the entire Church. (more…)

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On October 7, 2016 By In Theology, Wisdom

An alternative to therapeutic theology

There are many books designed to help Christians deal with issues such as anxiety, depression, alcoholism, loneliness, (lack of) fulfilment, bereavement, grief, marital struggles, addiction, low self-esteem, and so on. Many of them are very good – I’ve read a good handful myself. However, it seems to me that there might be a more fruitful way of addressing the issues underlying these symptoms.

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On August 2, 2016 By In Theology

Reading the Fathers

An increasing number of people in the evangelical and Reformed tradition are becoming aware of the importance of engaging with the writings of the early church Fathers. The Reformers themselves would of course have taken this for granted, a point regularly made, for example, by students of Calvin – notice the huge number of quotations from the Fathers in his Institutes and elsewhere. In a similar vein, if we turn to Cranmer on the Lord’s Supper or Jewel’s Apologia for the Church of England, once again we find not only a heavy dependence on the writings of the church Fathers, but also a deep-seated conviction that a theological (and indeed historical) continuity with the Fathers is a vital part of what it means to hear the truth of God in the Scriptures.

It’s therefore very encouraging to see the self-identified heirs of Calvin, Cranmer, and the rest following in their footsteps in this matter, since working hard at this connection with the early church is really the only way to ensure that we acquire a vision of the Christian faith with the deepest possible roots in the (small-c) catholic tradition of which we rightly consider ourselves to be a part.

Yet the enterprise of reading the Fathers is not always as easy as it seems.

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On July 25, 2016 By In Theology, Wisdom

How not to miss opportunities in theological and ministerial education

I was chatting with a friend recently about ministerial and theological training, and I had a couple of thoughts about some of the ways in which the whole experience can go awry.

It strikes me that one of the problems that sometimes arises when people go to seminary or theological college is that they are frankly a little suspicious of their lecturers (whom they don’t know very well, after all), and about the books they’re asked to read (many of which are written by people they’re never heard of), and they therefore approach their studies with an attitude of rather unconstructive criticism. They adopt a “personal theological position” on a whole range of matters about which they profess sufficient knowledge to make pretty final-sounding judgments, and then proceed to assess what they read and hear on the basis of whether it agrees with what they already think they know.

As a result, their theological training is characterised by two major disappointments. First, they experience only the slightest incremental growth in theological understanding during their training, because they have innoculated themselves anything new, and it’s quite hard to have your world rocked by someone who is saying stuff that’s basically pretty familiar. Second, on the (rare?) occasions that they happen to encounter something genuinely new (perhaps by accident, or perhaps because it’s forced upon them), they respond with an unhealthy dose of critical-spirited-ness, because, after all, this stuff contradicts my “personal theological position.” It’s all pretty sad.

At the risk of causing offence – a risk worth taking in this instance – I’ll be blunt.

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On June 14, 2016 By In Theology

What do we receive in the Lord’s Supper?

The debate about what exactly we receive at the Lord’s Supper, and how we receive whatever it is that we receive, is a long and complex one. Normally, it gets bogged down pretty quickly in some fairly flaky metaphysics from Roman Catholics and Lutherans, facing off against strident denials of almost everything from evangelicals, with the Reformed types sitting somewhere in the middle, uncertain quite which way to jump. One wonders whether there might not be a better way of approaching the question.

Fortunately, there is.

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On May 16, 2016 By In Theology

In Praise of Klaas Schilder

The work of Klaas Schilder (1890-1952) is not very well known in North America, but I hope that will change soon. He was a brilliant theologian—a courageous voice for Calvinist orthodoxy in the Netherlands for over four decades—who, while upholding the “cultural mandate” perspective that provides the basis for Dutch neo-Calvinist thought, disagreed with Abraham Kuyper on some key points. He sets forth his overall case in a concise manner in his little book, Christ and Culture, which has been available to the English-speaking world since 1977. Now, however, the folks at the Canadian Reformed Seminary in Hamilton, Ontario, have produced a much more readable translation, with helpful explanatory notes, which deserves careful attention from those of us in the Kuyperian camp. (Full disclosure: I wrote the Foreword to this new edition.)

As a Kuyper devotee, I do have some serious disagreements with the way Schilder makes his case. But on several key points he offers helpful words of caution to those of us who follow Kuyper. He rightly observes, for example, that Kuyper makes more than one “rather large leap” in claiming a biblical basis for the idea of sphere sovereignty. Even though I am convinced that a biblically sound Kuyperian-type case for diverse creational spheres can be developed, Schilder rightly pushes me to exercise considerable care in making the proper biblical moves.

For all of his criticisms of Kuyper, though, Schilder does not lose sight of the kinds of foundational emphases that Kuyper drew upon from the Reformed tradition. Schilder has his own criticisms of Anabaptist and Barthian perspectives, insisting—in formulations that any Kuyperian will find inspiring—that Christ is indeed the Lord of culture, and his followers must submit to his Lordship in all aspects of life. And while Schilder is not fond of the notion of common grace—such a key theological concept for many of us—Schilder nonetheless insists that we must not lose sight of the reality that all human beings, elect and non-elect, share a created “being together,” a sunousia, that has not been erased by the radical effects of the Fall. (more…)

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On May 5, 2016 By In Theology

The House and the Ascension

Long ago, our Father in Heaven had a plan. His plan was to create the world as a theater to display his glory. The world was to be a house that reflected his name. The Shekinah glory was to remain there forever. And through many dangers, toils, and snares, the house was little by little losing the purpose the builder had for it.

It would appear that God’s building project had become an abysmal failure. But God’s construction plans are not like our building projects. His ways are not our ways. He had a plan. He had a restoration project. He was going to restore, rebuild, and reclaim his own house. This time, the house was not going to be built on spiritual adultery or religious idolatry. It would be on the Rock, which is Christ. The builders rejected him, but the new humanity composed of men and women, and children united to the Rock, will no longer deny him.

In the life of Jesus, the foundation was poured on the earth. In his death, the wall and roof were placed to cover the world and give it shade. In his resurrection, fresh, clean water is available. Come and drink of the river that never runs dry. But there is one part of this earthly construction that is missing. There is a foundation, a roof to protect you from the storms, running water to shower and be replenished, but now we need to turn it on. We need electricity! We need the power to turn the refrigerator, stove, microwave, air conditioner, heater, fan, laptops, cell phones, etc. We need to activate the house so that everyone can live with a purpose. I propose that the Ascension of Jesus is that singular event in history that gives life to everything; that sets everything into motion. It is the electricity that the Church needs to disciple the nations.

Without the Ascension, we are living in an almost finished property. The Ascension means that the house/world is ready to be inhabited once and for all. The power is on. We can now move in together as a Church and take care of it. The workers can all go home. Our only task is now maintaining the house. Now, this house is the world. And the world is a big place. It needs to be energized by the Ascension. The Ascension is God’s way of saying: “My Son’s work is done! Now it’s your turn!” (more…)

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On April 25, 2016 By In Family and Children, Theology

The Radical Nature of the Ordinary

There is an incredible investment in the evangelical community in the word radical. There is nothing inherently sinful about the word, but its common usage has turned into a marketing scheme. For instance, well-known author David Platt in his book Radical observes:

“Radical obedience to Christ is not easy… It’s not comfort, not health, not wealth, and not prosperity in this world. Radical obedience to Christ risks losing all these things. But in the end, such risk finds its reward in Christ. And he is more than enough for us.”

Whether or not we are comfortable with Platt’s conclusion is a different question. But crucial to this discussion is the use of the word as an accentuation of the Christian faith. Ordinary faith+radical faith=authentic faith. But is this how the Bible portrays the Christian life? In other words, why do so many authors and speakers find the need to insert the word radical into the clear commands of the Bible? Is “love your neighbor” not a pure example of a kind of life that is diametrical to the human experience? Is radical faith a kind of secret life that only few can find through a consistent impulse to abandon wealth and prosperity and the American dream? Simply put, are we making Jesus’ yoke hard and his burden heavy? Are we creating a sub-culture of radical Christians who do the risky thing for Jesus while the others are left in this trite category of non-radical?

Part of the genius of the Christian Bible is that the ordinary is radical. Forcing an alliance of radical Christians into the Scriptures makes the ordinary unnecessary. Certainly the impetus of such move is to offer the evangelical world a more robust expression of Christian living. But my assertion is that creating a radical platform to encourage people to do their ordinary work is not an encouragement, but a detriment to pursuing the ordinary work of Christian living. Who, after all, feels radical after a long bout of chemotherapy? You feel ordinary. In fact, you feel incapable of being anything more than ordinary. In fact, your calling at this point is to be as ordinarily Christian as you can as your body decays from within.

Ordinary Christian living is different from radical Christian living. It does not feel shame in the comfort of a hammock at the lake or in the luxury of an afternoon game at the stadium or the perfectly grilled steak. Ordinary Christian living does not negate the good, it gives thanks for the good. It does not negate the routine of a mother’s third diaper change of the day, it exalts the role of motherhood. I do not doubt many in this movement would affirm these assertions, but the reality is that the kinds of disciples these authors and speakers are producing are either misunderstanding the message of Radical proponents or they are using this message as a way of escaping the ordinary.

We live an age where we need less radical things and more ordinary things lived out daily in the Church. We need more bread and wine, more hugs, more encouragement, more connection with one another, more good night kisses and more tickling of babies. We need more ordinary. Jesus accomplished the radical. Let’s live out the radical nature of the ordinary in faithful obedience.

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