MENU

Theology
Category

On June 5, 2015 By In Culture, Family and Children, Theology, Wisdom

God Is Not Enough: The Story of Christian Community

Guest post by Pastor Rich Lusk

God pic

The story of Christian community begins, as every Christian story does, in the Garden of Eden. Adam was created in knowledge, righteousness, and holiness. He was created in perfect covenantal fellowship with the Triune Lord. No sin stood in the way of their communion, as the Creator and creature loved one another in fullness. Moreover, Adam didn’t have to earn anything; God had freely and graciously blessed him. He had all the privileges of divine sonship. The Lord had, in the most intimate way, breathed life into Adam, imparting his own Spirit to the first man (Gen. 2; cf. Jn. 20). The Lord gave him access to the Tree of Life and a fatherly warning to avoid the Tree of the Knowledge of Good Evil until the time was right. The Lord gave him meaningful labor, as he was to serve and guard the garden the Lord had planted for him. He had abundant food and a beautiful environment in which to live, worship, and play. All of creation was his, as God’s vice-regent. And yet, the Lord evaluated the situation at the mid-point of the sixth creation day and said “It is not good that man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18).

Alone?! Adam was emphatically not alone at his creation. He enjoyed friendship with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. He was the son of God. He was included in the Triune family. What more could he need? We’d expect the text to read, in harmony with the rest of Gen. 1-2, “And the Lord God said, ‘It is good for man to be with me, to have me as his friend.” But that’s not what the inspired narrative says.

Apparently Adam’s pre-fall communion with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit was not enough. God made man for more than fellowship with himself. To be complete, to be satisfied, to be fully realized as a creature made in God’s image, the man needed fellowship with other humans. He was not only created, as Augustine suggested, with a Trinity-shaped void in his heart that only the Father, Son, and Spirit could fill; he was also created with a human-shaped void that only other people could fill.

This is part of what it means to be made in God’s image. God is not a single individual. He is a community of three distinct persons, bound together in an absolute oneness of love and fellowship. For man to image this kind of God required a plurality of humans in fellowship with one another. An isolated individual is not a full image of the plural Godhead. Thus, God is not enough. People need other people to be complete. We were made for each other.

Because we are made in God’s image, God is the model for humanity. The Father, Son, and Spirit mutually indwell one another’s lives (Jn. 13-17). The theological term for this is “perichoresis.” “Peri” is Greek for “around.” We get the word “choreograph” from “choresis.” The idea is that the three persons of the Godhead “dance around” or “dance within” one another. Their lives are totally intertwined. They move in lockstep with one another because they abide within one another. But this is precisely how we are to live in Christian community. We are to open our lives to others so they can indwell us, but we are also to seek to “move into” the lives of others, abiding in them. In this kind of community, as we indwell one another and live “perichoretically,” we image the life of the Triune God.

Obviously, the claim “God is not enough” is hyperbolic. This should not be understood in an idolatrous fashion. Obviously, in an ultimate sense, God is enough for man. We can and must still speak of the absolute adequacy of God. It is God, after all, who provided all Adam’s needs. It is God who created Eve and gave her to Adam as the crown of his other gifts. God stands back of all Adam’s satisfaction and joy. It is God who ultimately completes Adam.

But our point here concerns God’s creation design. God designed humans to live in community with one another. This is part and parcel of what it means to be imago Dei. God made us in such a way that vertical fellowship with the divine would be insufficient; we also need horizontal fellowship with other humans. God did not just make us for himself, he made us for each other.

Or, to look at things from another angle, God made the world in such a way that his presence would be mediated from one human to another. God dealt directly with Adam, but for the most part God deals indirectly with us. He speaks to us, disciplines us, molds us, and so forth, though the agency of others. God works through means, especially the means of humans made in his image.

Community is inescapable. Each one of us comes into existence only because two other people “communed” (so to speak) in just the right way. After birth, we would perish in days, if not hours, if others did not care for us. We learn every social skill we possess (or don’t possess) from others – language, manners, games, proficiencies, etc. And this need for others is not something we outgrow. It is more obvious in the case of infants, but just as real in the case of adults. No man is an island and no man is self-sufficient.

Thus, the pessimistic dictum of existentialist philosopher Jean Paul Sartre, “Hell is other people,” is exactly backwards. Hell is the absence, not the presence, of other people. In fact, in hell, the wicked will be utterly alone, apart from an all-too-personal, all-too-close relationship with the God they utterly despise. Contrary to existentialism, other people do not stifle our freedom or get in the way of our self-actualization. Rather, it is precisely in community that we are free to find and be our true selves. We are not self-made, but God- and others-made.

Heaven and the new creation are precisely what Sartre dreaded, but in a form he could not imagine. Heaven is, as Jonathan Edwards put it, “a society of love.” It is not the absence of other people, but precisely their presence that makes heaven so heavenly. The saved community is marked out even in the present by this mutual love (Jn. 13). Our love for one another shows that the power of God’s new creation is already at work in the world. This love will be perfected in the resurrection.

Ultimately, salvation itself must be understood in communal terms. Just as sin wrecked our fellowship with God and with one another, so in redemption that fellowship is restored. Psalm 133 spells out the connection between salvation and community in beautiful, poetic terms. Brothers dwelling together in unity is likened to the precious anointing oil flowing down Aaron’s beard to the edge of his garment. The priest’s body and robe become symbolic of the oneness of the community. The body of the priest is now the body of Christ (cf. 1 Cor. 12). The oil – usually symbolic of the Spirit in Scripture – covers the body from head to toe. The psalmist goes on to compare fellowship among the redeemed to the refreshing dew of Hermon flowing down Mount Zion. This is an interesting picture, since Hermon was in northern Israel and Zion in the south. The Spirit, now symbolized by the dew, unites things disparate in space and even culture. The conclusion is remarkable: “For there the Lord commanded his blessing – life forevermore.” That is to say, eternal life takes the shape of community life. The structure of the psalm itself makes the point: Just as the inner sections of the psalm match (oil and dew, priests and mountains), so the outer sections match (brothers dwelling together in unity and eternal life).

The gospel, then, is irreducibly social. Liberals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century used the label “social gospel” to refer to their program. They substituted salvation from poverty and ignorance through state-mandated welfare and educational programs for salvation from sin and damnation through the cross and Spirit. One theologian characterized the social gospel of liberalism as a God without wrath, bringing men without sin into a kingdom without judgment though a Christ without a cross. Obviously, that is a total distortion of the biblical teaching.

But in another sense, we could benefit from restoring and redeeming the label “social gospel.” The gospel is social through and through. Traditional Christian teaching claims that outside the church there is no ordinary possibility of salvation. That is to say, forgiveness from sin and incorporation into Christ’s body go hand in hand. Salvation includes a new status (justification) and a new community (the church).

Moreover, the whole Christian life can only be lived out in the context of the church community. The New Testament authors presuppose that followers of Christ will be discipled in the matrix of an ecclesial community (cf. Acts 2:42ff). Numerous apostolic commands only make sense in this light. For example, we are told to love one another, pray for one another, bear one another’s burdens, confess to one another, forgive one another, and so on. In other words, we’re to “one another one another.” But this can only happen in the environment of a church body. It can’t be done in isolation.

American Christians struggle with these things because of our heritage of individualism and dislike for authority (including church authority). Community means you give up some privacy, some of your rights. It means you sometimes have to accommodate yourself to things you wish could be done differently. You have to learn to “give a little,” and to be flexible. It means we have to learn that life together involves becoming vulnerable at times, admitting weaknesses and needs. It also means meeting needs and showing strength on behalf of others at times. Communal life means we are willing to submit to the brethren, especially those God has put in charge of us through ordained office.

But whatever the costs, it is imperative that we learn to live in community once again. We must learn to deal with our differences in a biblical manner (Phil. 2:1-11). We must learn to live under authority (Heb. 13:7, 17). We must learn work together on the common project of building God’s kingdom. We must learn to live as an organic body, in which every part of the community cares for every other part. We must learn what it means to be the communion of the saints, as we confess in the early church creeds. We must rediscover what it means to live shared lives of generosity, of mercy, of friendship, and of hospitality. Many of these virtues the ancient church excelled in have been lost on us.

American spirituality often treats church community as a “tacked on” extra to a personal relationship with Jesus. In other words, we often act as if God alone is enough, and other Christians were quite unnecessary. “Quiet times,” in which the individual gets alone with God, have replaced the church’s corporate gathering as the pinnacle of spiritual growth. But the Bible points us in a different direction. Remember Adam: life alone with God is not the divine plan for us. God alone is not enough, in a profound sense. We must live in fellowship as one body with other believers if we are to grow and mature as God’s people. As Augustine said, the essence of God’s plan for humanity is mutual fellowship with himself. We are called to share a common life with the Trinity and with one another.

So: Is God enough? Yes, we must insist that he is in an ultimate sense. God is our all in all. But how does God manifest his all-sufficiency towards us? Precisely through giving himself to us in one another. God meets our needs by giving us each other, and together we are called to mirror his life – the life of Triune, perichoretic community.

—

Rich Lusk has served as the Pastor of Trinity Presbyterian Church since December, 2004. Before that he served at Redeemer Presbyterian (PCA) in Austin, TX and Auburn Avenue Presbyterian (CREC) in Monroe, LA. He and his wife Jenny have four kids. Rich is a graduate of Auburn University (B. S. in Microbiology) and the University of Texas at Austin (M.A. in Philosophy). This article is used with permission, and originally appeared at the Trinity Presbyterian website.

Read more

On June 2, 2015 By In Theology, Wisdom, Worship

Choosing a Denomination for the Wrong Reasons

th

I recently had coffee with a friend who is seriously considering leaving one denomination for another. His reasons for seeking my advice had less to do with my wisdom and more to do with my experience. After growing up in a godly, Baptist home—after years of ministry in a healthy Southern Baptist Church—indeed, after graduating from an excellent Baptist college, I became a Presbyterian. To be sure, I left the SBC in a good mood. I wouldn’t trade my Baptist upbringing for the world, and I still reference my notes from Chad Brand’s Baptist History class on a regular basis—his brilliance is still awe-inspiring.  My transition from the SBC to the PCA felt more like a skip than a leap. Said differently, my conversion wasn’t motivated by any perceived weakness in the Baptist tradition. I left because of what I saw as the strengths of the Reformed tradition. This, I now believe, was a mistake.

Now, before you go questioning my Reformed bona fides, allow me to explain. I’m a committed Presbyterian. My denominational fate was sealed the moment I saw the most beautiful girl in the world wearing a shirt that read “Presbyterian!” God uses “means” to lead us, and sometimes those means wear perfume and have the whole of the Westminster Shorter Catechism memorized. In those cases, you marry the means! It was destiny—maybe even pre-destiny. But back to the point at hand, I’m a happy Presbyterian. I still hold to all of the theological positions and interpretations which motivated my realignment in the first place (and I’m still married to the beautiful Presbyterian!). What I believe was a mistake, looking back, was my optimism. I viewed the baptismal font as half-full, in other words. If I had it to do over again, I would have joined the PCA for her weaknesses, not her strengths.

If you only choose a denomination because of her “best practices,” you’ll always be disappointed. Calvin won’t be your Presbyter, Cranmer won’t be your Bishop, your church will likely not be on Wesley’s circuit. Joining a denomination because of her strengths has a way of making the convert somewhat grumpy. We view ourselves as second generation Israelites in exile, longing for a home we’ve never known. Depending on what you consider the “promised land,” the denomination is too rigid or too lax, too ingrown or too compromising, too modern or too post-modern, too traditional or too progressive. With this mindset, the pastor-brother who does things differently is viewed as a competitor at best, and mere rust on a ship at worst. Churches, further, are simply battle grounds to be won or obstacles to be overcome.

This “competitor” and “battle” mentality is the natural result of choosing a denomination based on “best practices.” After all, think of the theological cage fights which brought you to the denomination in the first place. The choice between Catholic and Protestant consisted of a 4th century theologian against a 16th century theologian. If the Protestant won, you then pitted representatives from various traditions against one another: Calvin v. Arminius, or Whitfield v. Wesley. All of this tussling and you still hadn’t landed on a denomination! Now you had to have Schaeffer v. Van Til, or Keller v. Hart, maybe. Each battle got more and more precise, moving from boxing matches, to basketball games, to chess tournaments.

Of course, the problem isn’t with the competitions themselves. If there is such a thing as “truth” it’s worth finding, and we shouldn’t expect to come to it without a busted lip or two. The problem is with the stakes of the fights: namely, denominational loyalty. If Keller beats Hart, you join the PCA instead of the OPC. However, there are people who sound more like Hart than Keller at General Assembly. Surely, this won’t do—after all, Keller won! Your job, then, is to reenact the “Keller v. Hart” match on the floor of GA and in the halls of your church. Again, in the mind of the arguer, the stakes are the same: denominational loyalty. The winner is “in” and the loser is “out.”

The alternative to choosing a denomination because of her “best practices” is choosing a denomination because of her “worst practices.” Then, your choice isn’t between “X 4th century theologian and Y 16th century theologian.” You can keep them both! Rather, you’ll decide between “X sin (praying to an icon, say) and Y sin (anemic view of the sacraments, say).” Choose the denomination because, at its worst, it still doesn’t command you to do something God forbids or forbid you from doing something God commands. Meticulously account for the “worst” in each denomination, all along the way asking: “can I live with this?”

If you can’t live with X in a denomination, then spare everyone the heartache and don’t join the denomination which consists of many who hold to X. However, if you’re able to live with the state of the denomination, even after evaluating what you perceive to be her “worst practices,” then by all means, join! This doesn’t mean you can’t debate serious theological issues with your brothers and sisters. It simply means that your brothers and sisters are just that, and neither the “winning” nor “losing” party will be excluded from the next family picture. 

My friend asked me to get coffee because he wanted advice. After much listening, I simply told him the following: view the baptismal font as half-empty. Sure, love the “best” that your tradition has to offer, but make sure your love is for the denomination you’re joining, not the one in your mind. After all, the utopian-denomination of your mind likely never existed in the first place! Don’t be so homesick for Eden that you fail to march on to the New Jerusalem. Make your peace with the church’s purity, and then do your best to preserve her purity and peace.

Read more

On May 30, 2015 By In Theology

Ten Quotes from Delighting in the Trinity

If you have haven’t read Michael Reeves’ wonderful book Delighting in the Trinity you should. With joy and wit, he introduces us to the Trinity and what that means for our Christian faith. He inserts numerous quotes from other men along with illustrations and pictures.  Tomorrow is Trinity Sunday so here are ten of my favorite quotes from the book.

Delighting in the Trinity

Christianity is not primarily about lifestyle change; it is about knowing God.

I could believe in the death of a man called Jesus, I could believe in his bodily resurrection, I could even believe in a salvation by grace alone; but if I do not believe in this God, then, quite simply, I am not a Christian. And so, because the Christian God is triune, the Trinity is the governing center of all Christian belief, the truth that shapes and beautifies all others. The Trinity is the cockpit of all Christian thinking.

It is not, then, that God becomes sharing; being triune God is a sharing God, a God who loves to include. Indeed, that is why God will go on to create. His love is not for keeping, but for spreading.

Even the most basic all to believe in the Son of God is an invitation to the Trinitarian faith.

As it is, there is something gratuitous about creation, an unnecessary abundance of beauty, and through it blossoms and pleasures we can revel in the sheer largesse of the Father.

Martin Luther picked up Augustine’s line of thought to define the sinner as “the person curved back in on himself,” no longer loving like God, no longer looking to God, but inward-looking, self-obsessed, devilish. Such a person might well behave morally or religiously, but  all they did would simply express their fundamental love for themselves.

Jesus’ self-giving love is entirely unconstrained and free. It comes, not from an necessity, but entirely out of who he is, the glory of his Father. Through the cross we see a God who delights to give himself.

A problem similar to Sadoleto’s happens when the Spirit is thought of as a force and not a person. Again it gives the impression of God up in heaven lobbing down tokens of his blessing (“the force”) while himself remaining all distant. And if that is how it is, then I can hardly have communion with this force (or with the Father or the Son):the Spirit must be a power I am to get a hold of and use as I get on with my life. Some do magic; others have money and the latest beauty products; I use the Spirit. And if I manage to use the Spirit more than other Christians, hurrah, for spiritual me.

As it is, because the Christian life is one of being brought to share the delight the Father, Son, and Spirit have for each other, desires matter…What we love and enjoy is foundationally important. It is far more significant than our outward behavior, for it is our desires that drive our behavior.

The anti-theist’s problem is not so much with the existence of God as with the character of God…In my own experience, talking with non-Christian students, again and again I find that when they describe the God they don’t believe in, he sound more like Satan than the loving Father of Jesus Christ: greedy, selfish, trigger-happy and entirely devoid of love. And if God is not Father, Son, and Spirit, aren’t they right?

And One

With this God, it is not as if sometimes he has love and sometimes he has wrath, as if those are different moods so that when he’s feeling one he’s not feeling the other…Like God’s holiness, then, his wrath is not something that sits awkwardly next to his love. Nor is it something unrelated to his love. God is angry at evil because he loves.

 

Read more

On May 13, 2015 By In Culture, Theology

No Adam, No Christ

Here are some quotes from J.P. Versteeg’s book Adam in the New Testament. 

In this first quote, he is addressing the argument that Paul thought Adam was historical, but now we know he was not. He shows that despite claims to the contrary, this idea unravels Christ’s work as a historical event. 

Therefore, if in the case of Adam the intention of Paul in his own time is divorced from its significance for us today, that must also have consequences with respect to Christ. For the redemptive-historical correlation between Adam and Christ entails that if what Paul says about Adam no longer holds for us [i.e. that Adam was a historical figure standing at the beginning of the human race], it is impossible to see why what he says about Christ in the same context must still hold for us. What is the sense of an antitype, if there is no type? What is the sense of fulfillment, if there is nothing to fulfill? The redemptive-historical correlation that Paul sees between Adam and Christ means that no longer honoring Paul’s intention when he speaks about Adam must entail no longer honoring Paul’s intention when he speaks about Christ…To no longer honor Paul’s intention when he speaks about Adam entails that the framework in which Paul places Christ and his work, collapses.

Versteeg again, quoting another author:

And suppose that Paul…did indeed believe in the historicity of the first Adam but that is this is no longer relevant for us…because we are only interested in the function of Adam as a ‘teaching model’ why should we…not take the same view regarding the last Adam?

Versteeg brings up an interesting point regarding the guilt of man if we deny a historical Adam. Christians have held that sin entered the world because our representative head, Adam, chose to eat of the fruit in the garden. In Adam, we all sinned. There has been debate about how this works itself out, but the basic structure is essential to Christian orthodoxy. What happens when there is no historical Adam (and Eve) to sin? Here is what Versteeg says:

If Adam only lets us see what is characteristic of everyone because Adam is man in general so that the sin of Adam is also the sin of man in general, and if on the the other hand Adam may no longer be regarded as the one man through whom sin has come into the world, it is apparent that in a certain sense sin belongs to man as such. Sin thus has become a given “next to” creation…In Romans 5 Paul intends to say how sin has invaded the good creation of God. The concept “teaching model” cannot do justice to [Romans 5]. If Adam were only a teaching model, he would only be an illustration of man in whom sin is inherent. The concept “teaching model” eliminates the “one after the other” of creation and fall, and leaves only room for the “next to each other” of creation and sin. In essence, then, one may no longer speak of the guilt of sin…Where evil thus becomes a “practically unavoidable” matter, sin loses its character of guilt. 

I had not thought of the historicity of Adam from this angle before. Normally, I think of Adam in reference to Christ and salvation, not man and sin. But of course, these cannot be separated. If we mess with Adam, we mess with Christ, sin, redemption, man, and—as Richard Gaffin argues in his foreword—the resurrection, in the process. Where do sin and guilt come from if there was no Adam? Have they always been? Is sin inherent in man? Did God create man sinful? How can man be guilty if sin has always been? If sin has not always been, when did it enter? Who/what brought it in? 

I am convinced that a denial of a historical Adam leads naturally and logically to heresy. As Versteeg says:

To be occupied with the question of how Scripture speaks about Adam is thus anything but an insignificant problem of detail. As the first historical man and head of humanity, Adam is not mentioned merely in passing in the New Testament. The redemptive historical correlation between Adam and Christ determines the framework in which—particularly for Paul—the redemptive work of Christ has its place. That work of redemption can no longer be confessed according to the meaning of Scripture, if it is divorced form the framework in which it stands there.

Not all who deny the historical Adam become or are heretics, but given their framework, there is no reason they couldn’t be. To capitulate here is to begin unraveling the basics of Christian orthodoxy, and most importantly, to strip away the glory of Christ’s work in redeeming fallen man.

Read more

On April 28, 2015 By In Theology

This Is My Body Broken For You

Guest post by Michael Hansen

One of my deepest concerns with the way many churches now operate is in their exclusion of the Lord’s Supper from their services of worship. The reason this concerns me is because the Lord’s Supper is a place where the church is forced to look itself in the mirror. When Christ welcomes the congregation to the table of fellowship, we are confronted with the reality that he is far more welcoming and hospitable than we are.

Look around the congregation.

How many people can you count that you would invite to your table? There are great sinners in the congregation. There are people you don’t like. But all of these people are welcomed to the Lord’s table at the Lord’s invitation.

Jesus once told his disciples that he will draw all men to himself when he is lifted up (John 12:32). What happened to Jesus when he was lifted up? He was broken. What happens to the bread when the minister lifts it up before the congregation? It is broken. The Lord’s Supper is much more than an act of remembrance for individual Christians. The Lord’s Supper is a participatory event where all men find themselves drawn to Christ’s broken body.

When Jesus’ body was broken, the walls of separation between Jew and gentile, male and female, slave and free, black and white were broken as well (Gal. 3:28). This happens in the Lord’s Supper.

Look around the congregation.

How many people look just like you? Are they all white (let’s hope not)? Are they all black (let’s hope not)? Are they all republicans or democrats (let’s hope they’re libertarians)? No, there are people from all walks of life, all races, all socioeconomic classes and ideologies, being drawn to the broken body of Christ.

The church is a body of many members. Further, God’s word serves as a two-edged sword cutting to the hearts of his people (Heb. 4:12), who have become living sacrifices (Rom. 12:1). Throughout the service, God’s word has cut His church into pieces just as the Levitical sacrifices were cut into pieces. But the service does not end here. The church must learn that we are only broken by God’s Word because the Word of God was broken for us: “This is my body broken for you.” Moreover, as the body of many members (the church) partakes of the broken body of Christ, we are made whole again by our participation in the one loaf (1 Cor. 10:17).

Perhaps the reason there is so much strife in the church nowadays is because we are not communing with one another as we ought. Our ultimate allegiances need to be formed not by who we would invite to our tables, but by whom Jesus, weekly, invites to his.

(Originally published on Torrey Gazette)

Read more

On April 18, 2015 By In Family and Children, Theology

Is the Trinity Egalitarian?

Trinity Egalitarian

At Kuyperian Commentary we begin with the Trinity as the starting point for understanding our relationship to God and to one another. In this perspective, our understanding of the Trinity, informs our understanding of salvation (as against the Arian heresy) and our relationships with each other. Kuyperian Commentary’s founder Pastor Uri Brito explored these implication for the family in his book The Trinitarian Father.

Creedal Christianity has traditionally emphasized the equality of the persons of the Trinity through phrases like, “of one Being with the Father” (Nicene Creed) and “And in this Trinity none is afore or after another; none is greater or less than another.” (Athanasian  Creed) In attempting to understand the marriage relationship from a Trinitarian perspective, some scholars have suggested that similar language should be employed in the relationship between husband and wife. The result is a flattened view of the Trinity to emphasize an egalitarian view of marriage.

Recently Peter Leithart (Theopolis Institute) addressed this trend on First Things, identifying what he called, “Gender Arianism.” Leithart explains that:

“Feminists reject the Genesis account of creation as misogynist, but they do so only because they have assumed that to be second is to be subordinate. Whereas Trinitarian theology denies the premise. Eve comes second, not as lesser but as the glory of Adam; Eve is the woman without whom the man is ‘not good.’” (Gender Arianism, FirstThings.com)

RC Sproul Jr. also picked up on this theme on his podcast Jesus Changes Everything. In a short segment on Feminism, RC Jr. explains how the Godhead is understood in both its oneness and diversity, as is true for marriage.

“Now it is true that in the garden Adam and Eve are both made in the image of God; they both are equal in dignity, in value, and importance. But they take different roles. Husbands are called to lead their wives, wives are called to follow their husbands. This does not make husbands more valuable than wives nor wives less valuable than husbands anymore than the fact that God the Son submits to God the Father and God the Son and God the Holy Spirit submit to God the Father.

This is no more a denial of the equality of value than the reality that the Father is the authority over the Son and the Spirit. They submit to Him, they proceed from Him, they are equal in power and dignity though they fill different roles. And that is really at the end of the day where we need to come down. We need to recognize the absolute, complete, equal dignity of women. We need to embrace it, we need to celebrate it, and we do need to recognize that men and women are different for God’s glory.” (Feminism, Jesus Changes Everything)

Is marriage modeled after the Trinity egalitarian? As image bearers, our marriages express our view of the Triune God and His faithfulness. In this sense, our marriages are a picture of the Godhead. Husbands who refuse to lead, cherish, and honor their wives create a caricature of the Trinity with their marriages.

Read more

On April 9, 2015 By In Books, Theology

The Theological History of the Old Testament

david

When explaining a redemptive-historical approach to Scripture to those who’ve never been exposed to a “theological” or “typological” hermeneutic, I tend to spend most of my time emphasizing the Old Testament’s use of itself, leaving questions of the New Testament’s use of the Old for a later day. There are several reasons for this, ranging from pragmatic (people tend to be less familiar with specific OT passages, and are thus more open to new readings), to temperamental (I personally have more fun in OT discussions than NT bull sessions), to pedagogical. In regards to what I perceive to be legitimate pedagogical reasons, there are at least three: 

Firstly, I want people to be trained at the same hermeneutical boot-camp that the apostles attended. Peter and Paul were not “making it up as they went!” Rather, they were implementing the tools and skills which they learned from Jeremiah and Isaiah. To be sure, the apostles had new revelation which significantly changed the “things” they saw, but they were “seeing” in a way congruent with preceding revelation.  In other words, the flow of the Bible is set in Genesis; the rest of Scripture goes with that flow, even while adding greater specificity and nuance to the nature of God’s redemptive plan.  If people are firmly grounded in the way, say, Micah interprets early revelation; they won’t be as scandalized by the way in which John references the OT. Furthermore, they will feel free and equipped to read the Scriptures in an apostolic way. Said negatively, they won’t feel as free or equipped to utilize a hermeneutic alien to the Scriptures.

Secondly, I want people to draw richer, more textured typological connections. Often, a theological reading of Scripture will only connect a given type with either (1) Eden/Adam, (2) Jesus, or (3) the Eschaton.  Certainly, Protology, Christology, and Eschatology are the widest doors through which to enter the typological world of Scripture, but they’re far from the only access-points.  For example, as the quote below will point out, David is not only a “new Adam” and a pre-prefigurement of Christ, he’s also a “new Moses,” just as the temple is not only a “new creation” but also a “new tabernacle and alter.” If you go straight to questions of the NT’s use of the OT, you’re likely to miss the canonical-complexity of a given type.  However, if you’re familiar with the types drawn in the OT, you’ll see that the shadow of your substance also has a shadow; once both shadows are considered the substance becomes all the more substantive!

Lastly, I want people to see that the God of history is a poet, and the God of poetry is historic. This point is most easily shown through the creation account. Evangelical Interpreters generally line up on the side of “theological/literary” or “historical.” Theological folk tend to insist that the literary connections they see between the creation of the world and the temple, or other Ancient Near Eastern literature, make any historical claim about God’s creative act invalid. Meanwhile, the historical folk are so busy asking the questions proposed by science and archeology that they never get around to asking literary questions of the literature.  

The solution must not lie in a total rejection of both parties. Rather, the solution lies in a rejection of the bifurcation fallacy imbedded in the presuppositions of both arguments. The very historicity of the creation account is theological, just as its theological implications are historical. Once one begins reading the historical books of the Old Testament with eyes to see the typological connections throughout, one finds the insularity of the “historical” and “theological” parties intolerable. The historical accounts recorded in Scripture invite the reader to make literary connections we typically associate with literary theory. Why? Because history isn’t a random series of events. No, history is a beautiful, epic comedy being told by the great Poet-Redeemer.

Perhaps the easiest OT book in which to see these typological connections is Jonah, which I’ve written on here. However, what Jonah has in ease, Chronicles has in rich-complexity! What the Chronicler is doing, which could be called “theological history,” is the hermeneutical heartbeat of Scripture.  While I’m uneasy with some of Scott Hahn’s arguments in his self-described “Theological Commentary” on 1-2 Chronicles, I do think he does a generally good job of situating the Chronicler in his canonical context. What Hahn says below about Chronicles is equally applicable to most of the Old Testament. Indeed, if one spends adequate time considering the story, structure, and hermeneutic of the OT, the NT can be read for what it is: the climax of Israel’s history.  Says Hahn of the Chronicler:  

“Like any good historian, the Chronicler provides a record of past figures, places, and events; but his accounting is written in such a way that these figures, places, and events often appear as types—signs, patterns, and precursors—intended to show his readers not only the past but also their present reality from God’s perspective. David is sketched as both a new Adam and a new Moses; the temple is a new creation and a new tabernacle and alter. In the Chronicler’s account, the faithlessness and failures of Israel’s first king, Saul, are replayed by kings centuries later. Saul is more than a failed monarch: he becomes the type of the unrighteous king who leads God’s people to ruin and exile. In the same way, good kings in Chronicles do the things that David did—because David is a prototype of the righteous king.

Acknowledging this intensely inner-biblical and typological narrative technique is not to deny the historical reliability of the Chronicler’s account. Rather, I am suggesting that reporting history ‘as it happened’ is not the Chronicler’s sole interest. What happened in the past is crucial for the Chronicler, but only because in the what of history he sees the patterns of divine intention and intervention revealed—the why of history.  The why of history is the reason for the Chronicler’s work, which seeks not only to document past events but also to interpret these events in light of his readers’ present needs for guidance and hope in the face of an uncertain future.

The way the Chronicler comes to understand, interpret, and explain the why of salvation history is through typology. As an intensely typological work, Chronicles gives us a typological interpretation of history (Hahn 2005c: 19-25). Typology for the Chronicler is a way to shed light on the unity of God’s plan in history and to show the meaning of people, places, and events in light of God’s covenant promises and redemptive acts. “[i]


[i] Hahn, Scott. The Kingdom of God As Liturgical Empire: A Theological Commentary on 1-2 Chronicles. Grand Rapids, Mich: Baker Academic, 2012. Pg. 6-7.

Read more

On April 4, 2015 By In Theology

What Happens the Day Before Easter?

The Passion Week provides vast theological emotions for the people of God. Palm Sunday commences with the entrance of a divine King riding on a donkey. He comes in ancient royal transportation. The royal procession concludes with a Crucified Messiah exalted on a tree.

The Church also celebrates Maundy Thursday as our Messiah provides a new commandment to love one another just as He loved us. We then proceed to sing of the anguish of that Good Friday as our blessed Lord is humiliated by soldiers and scolded by the unsavory words of the religious leaders of the day. As he walks to the Mount his pain testifies to Paul’s words that he suffered even to the point of death. But hidden in this glaringly distasteful mixture of blood, vinegar, and bruised flesh is the calmness of the day after our Lord’s crucifixion.

After fulfilling the great Davidic promise in Psalm 22, our Lord rests from his labors in the tomb. Whatever may have happened in those days prior to his resurrection, we know that Christ’s work was finished.

The Church calls this day Blessed Sabbath or more commonly, Holy Saturday. On this day our Lord reposed (rested) from his accomplishments. Many throughout history also believe that Holy Saturday is a fulfillment of Moses’ words:

God blessed the seventh day. This is the blessed Sabbath. This is the day of rest, on which the only-begotten Son of God rested from all His works . . .(Gen. 2:2)

The Church links this day with the creation account. On day seven Yahweh rested and enjoyed the fruit of his creation. Jesus Christ also rested in the rest given to him by the Father and enjoyed the fruits of the New Creation he began to establish and would be brought to light on the next day.

As Alexander Schmemann observed:

Now Christ, the Son of God through whom all things were created, has come to restore man to communion with God. He thereby completes creation. All things are again as they should be. His mission is consummated. On the Blessed Sabbath He rests from all His works.

Holy Saturday is a day of rest for God’s people; a foretaste of the true Rest that comes in the Risen Christ. The calmness of Holy Saturday makes room for the explosion of Easter Sunday. On this day, we remember that the darkness of the grave and the resting of the Son were only temporary for when a New Creation bursts into the scene the risen Lord of glory cannot contain his joy, and so he gives it to us.

Read more

On April 3, 2015 By In Theology

The End of the Serpent’s Sting: A Good Friday Meditation

There is a venomous snake in the garden. While the great Messiah and his disciples enter the garden, a certain snake-like figure named Judas knows precisely where the faithful are. He enters the garden knowing that this was a place of constant fellowship and peace. But Judas is not a man of peace and his fellowship with the Messiah has been broken. He is now a man at war and his loyalty is with the darkness.

In the Garden of Eden, the Great Serpent entered the garden to bring about chaos; to tempt the first Adam. Indeed he was successful. The first Adam failed in his loyalty to Yahweh, being deceived by the serpent in the garden, and thus, thrusting all mankind into a state of sin and misery. Now in John 18, the New Serpent enters the garden. He is possessed by the same devil that possessed the serpent in Genesis. It is this precise battle that is unfolding before us in this text. The question is: “Who owns the garden?”

Does Judas with his new found commitment to darkness and evil own the garden or does Jesus own the garden? As the text reveals to us we see that Judas, the son of perdition, seems to have the upper hand in this sacred dispute. In verse 12 we read:

So the band of soldiers and their captain and the officers of the Jews arrested Jesus and bound him.

Jesus is arrested and bound. They take him out of the garden bound like a defeated enemy. Now, in every conceivable scenario, this would be the historical determination that Jesus has lost. But if the Messiah is to bring this unshakable and unmovable kingdom with his coming, then how does this binding, this apparent defeat in the garden connect with this glorious kingdom? The answer to this question is: paradoxically. The coming of the kingdom is paradoxical. The kingdom does not come in the way and in the expression that many expected.

Now if the kingdom of God comes paradoxically, in a way unknown to the first century, then there may be a different way of understanding this garden scene. In this text, Jesus is not being bound because of defeat; he is being bound because of victory. Jesus’ arrest is his release. His arrest is not his binding, it may appear to be, but it is ultimately the binding of the evil one, the father of lies, Satan himself. This is why the gospel of Matthew tells us that Jesus is the One who bound the strong man. He is the One who arrested the Serpent and dragged him out of the garden. Jesus owns the garden, not Judas or His master, Satan.

This arrest and this binding of Jesus in the garden is not a plan gone awry, it is exactly what has been planned. In one sense, this arrest is the cosmic Trinitarian conspiracy against the kingdoms of this world. When evil leaders and governments think they have the Son of Man trapped, he fools them. As Psalm 2 says, “God laughs at their plans.” The conspiracy of the cross is that the cross is Christ’s sword to defeat evil. But the serpent does not know this. He is virtually blinded to the Messianic plan and nothing will stop Jesus from conquering evil and bringing in a new world, a new creation. The garden belongs to him, because the garden is where his people gather, and eat, and fellowship. The garden is the sacred space, the place of peace. Make no mistake, we are a warring people, but we war against the enemies of Messiah. In the garden, the King, Master, and Messiah says, “the gates of hell shall not prevail. Death dies once and for all and victory will come and we will celebrate it this Sunday. Today, though we fast, it is only a prelude to our coming feast. Jesus’ death marks the end of the serpent’s sting of death.

Read more

On March 19, 2015 By In Culture, Family and Children, Theology, Worship

Thomas Chalmers and the Recovery of the Parish

Chalmers 09 Sepia

By guest contributor, Dr. George Grant.

The great Scottish pastor, social reformer, educator, author, and scientist Thomas Chalmers was born on March 17, 1780 at Anstruther on the Fife coast. His father was a prosperous businessman in the town and Thomas grew up as the sixth in a large family of fourteen children—he had eight brothers and five sisters.

Showing early signs of prodigy, at the age of three, he went to the local parish school to learn the classical trivium of grammar, logic, and rhetoric in English, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. His parents were people of strong Calvinist conviction and keen that their family should grow up to bear witness to a lively and relevant Christianity. Piety and intellectual rigor marked their daily lives.

Before he was twelve, he had sufficiently mastered language, literary, and philosophical skills that he was recommended to advance his studies at the University of St Andrews. His brother, William, who was just thirteen, accompanied him. At the time, Thomas was the second-youngest student at St Andrews and widely recognized as a student with extraordinary promise. Although a great part of his time in the first two sessions at the university were apparently occupied in boyish amusements, such as golf, soccer, and hand-ball—in which he was remarkably expert, owing to his being left-handed—he had already begun to demonstrate the great intellectual power which was to be one of his chief characteristics throughout adult life. For mathematics he developed special enthusiasm and to its study he gave himself with great energy and dedication. Ethics and politics were also themes of special interest to him as he sought to integrate his life and faith with the evident woes of the world around him.

In 1795, now fifteen years-old, he sensed a call into the ministry—though as yet still quite immature in his faith—and so he was enrolled as a student of Divinity. That session, he actually studied very little theology because having recently taught himself sufficient French to use the language for study, he pursued his researches into theoretical mathematics with renewed vigor. Nevertheless, towards the end of the session he was deeply stirred by the power of the writings of Jonathan Edwards and came to an intellectual grasp of the magnificence of the Godhead and of the providential subordination of all things to His one sovereign purpose.

During these years another part of his great talent began to come into prominence. On entry to the University his expressive proficiency in English grammar and rhetoric was at best immature, but after two years of study, there was a perceptible change. The gifts of powerful, intense and sustained expression revealed themselves with freedom, spontaneity and beauty. Student Debating Societies, class discourses, and daily prayers in the University were all enriched by his tasteful, capable and eloquent participation.

By 1798, having just reached the age of eighteen, he had completed his course of studies at the University of St Andrews. The foundations were laid for his future development. As his biographer Hanna would later assert, “The intensity of his nature, the redundant energy that hardly knew fatigue, the largeness of his view, the warmth of his affection, the independence of his judgement, and the gushing impetuosity of his style, were already manifest from these college days.”

In July 1799, he was licensed to preach after a special dispensation exempted him from the qualifying condition of having reached the age of twenty-one. At the same time, he became a teaching assistant at the University of Edinburgh in the widely varied disciplines of Mathematics, Chemistry, Natural and Moral Philosophy and Political Economy.

During the winter of 1801, he was offered a post as Assistant in the Mathematics Department at St Andrews as well as the pastorate of the small parish church in Kilmany. And thus began his remarkable dual career as an ecclesiastic and an academic. Over the next forty-four years Thomas Chalmers gave himself to public service. Twenty of these years were spent in three parishes: first at Kilmany and then later at, the Tron Church and St John’s Church, both in Glasgow. The remaining twenty-four years were spent as a professor in three different chairs, Moral Philosophy in St Andrews, Professor of Divinity in Edinburgh, and Principal and Professor of Divinity in the Free Church Theological Institution, Edinburgh, later known as New College. Often, he served both church and university simultaneously, evoking the wonder of the entire world.

As a teacher, he aroused the enthusiasm of his students. One of them later commented, “Under his extraordinary management, the study of Mathematics was felt to be hardly less a play of the fancy than a labor of the intellect—the lessons of the day being continually interspersed with applications and illustrations of the most lively nature, so that he secured in a singular manner the confidence and attachment of his pupils.” Likewise, his parishioners found his sermons to be both erudite and winsome, aimed at both orthodoxy and orthopraxy. His reputation was soon spread throughout Scotland.

The years of work given to parish ministry were extremely significant in the life of Thomas Chalmers. The mental capacity that he had shown in academic pursuits and his youthful strength of spirit were now brought to the test of service to rural and urban communities at a time of extremely significant social change, and the ever transforming power of the Gospel was to prove itself in and through his life and service.

Family bereavements brought Chalmers to reflect more seriously about a dimension of life which, on his own confession, he had not fully considered. His brother, George, three years older, and his sister, Barbara, some five years older, both died within the space of two years. George had been the captain of a merchant ship, but succumbed to tuberculosis and returned home at the age of twenty-nine to die. He awaited the end calmly, his trust resting firmly in Christ. Each evening he had read to him one of John Newton’s sermons and obviously derived especial comfort therein. His quiet and assured faith challenged his younger brother. Barbara, likewise, suffering the same disease, showed great fortitude and confidence in the face of death. The nature of these circumstances brought him to question his previous conceptions.

After Barbara’s death, Thomas, who had been commissioned to write several articles for the Encyclopaedia Britannica on mathematical subjects, wrote to the editor and asked that the article on Christianity should also be allocated to him. Before finishing the article and just after he had made his maiden speech in the General Assembly of 1809, he himself fell gravely ill. Ill-health dogged him for months—at one point being so severe that his family despaired of his very life. The combination of his illness and the loss of his siblings signaled a profound change in his life. He wrote to a friend, “My confinement has fixed on my heart a very strong impression of the insignificance of time—an impression which I trust will not abandon me though I again reach the heyday of health and vigor. This should be the first step to another impression still more salutary—the magnitude of eternity. Strip human life of its connection with a higher scene of existence and it is the illusion of an instant, an unmeaning farce, a series of visions and projects, and convulsive efforts, which terminate in nothing. I have been reading Pascal’s Thoughts on Religion: you know his history—a man of the richest endowments, and whose youth was signalized by his profound and original speculations in mathematical science, but who could stop short in the brilliant career of discovery, who could resign all the splendors of literary reputation, who could renounce without a sigh all the distinctions which are conferred upon genius, and resolve to devote every talent and every hour to the defense and illustration of the Gospel. This, my dear sir, is superior to all Greek and Roman fame.”

Yet another influence on his spiritual development at this time was the reading of William Wilberforce’s Practical View of Christianity. Again, he wrote, “The deep views he gives of the depravity of our nature, of our need of an atonement, of the great doctrine of acceptance through that atonement, of the sanctifying influence of the Spirit—these all have given a new aspect to my faith.”

Chalmers now had his priorities set in order before him. He gladly recognized God’s claim to rule the affections of his heart and command his life’s obedience. The remainder of his ministry in Kilmany was profoundly affected by the experience of a vital Christian walk. His preaching had new life and concern, proclaiming what he had formerly disclaimed. His pastoral visitation and his instruction in the homes of his parish showed greater ardor than ever before. From outside the region many came to hear the Word, and heard it gladly. There were innumerable converts to this living Christianity.

Chalmers became an earnest student of the Scriptures and also set aside one day each month when, before God, he reviewed his service to Him and sought, with confession and thanksgiving, the blessing of God on his work and on the people entrusted to his pastoral care. These years were also those of the Napoleonic Wars and Chalmers joined the volunteers, holding commissions as a chaplain and lieutenant, though he was never deployed on the continent.

He completely abandoned himself to the covenantal community there at Kilmany. He married and had his first children there. He established a classical school at the heart of the parish. He set about a reform of the ministry to the poor, the widows, and the orphans. He established a pioneer missionary society and a Bible society. In addition, Chalmers began his prodigious and prolific publishing career.

It was inevitable that a man of such gifts would not long be underutilized in the small environs of the Fife seacoast. In July 1815, when news of the victory at Waterloo was scarcely a month old, he preached the last sermon of his twelve-year ministry in Kilmany. His final exhortation was: “Choose Him, then, my brethren. Choose Him as the Captain of your salvation. Let him enter into your hearts by faith, and let Him dwell continually there. Cultivate a daily intercourse and a growing acquaintance with Him. O you are in safe company, indeed, when your fellowship is with Him.”

Thomas Chalmers went to Glasgow at the invitation of the Magistrates and Town Council of Glasgow. He served first in the Tron Church until 1819, and then, by the election of the Town Council, he was transferred to the newly-created parish of St John’s, a poorer parish with a very high proportion of factory a workers, a parish in which he had the freedom to develop the ideas which he had long been maturing.

In the later years at Kilmany, Chalmers had made conscience of his work as a parish minister and had come to know the problems of working a rural parish. Now with his newly expanded duties in Glasgow, he came to grips with the difficulties of work in a city parish and applied his intelligence and strength to new problems.

From the beginning of his ministry in the city his preaching was fully appreciated, and many attended from throughout Glasgow, but Chalmers was concerned that his ministry should first and foremost be to the parish—where some eleven or twelve-thousand people lived and worked. He commenced a program of visitation from house to house which took two years to complete. He organized the eldership to co-operate in this task and developed Sabbath evening schools. Commencing with thirteen children, the schools grew until within two years they had twelve hundred children under instruction. His awareness of the situation of the people gave him an acute understanding of the problems of illiteracy and poverty in the parish and he could not rest until he had found some means of remedying these. His interest in the working-man furthered his reflections on the economic situation; his interest in the sciences led to the Astronomical Discourses, a series of Thursday afternoon sermons delivered once every two months during 1816. Many businessmen and others left their place of work to hear these and during 1817 nine editions of some 20,000 copies were published.

In 1816, the University of Glasgow unanimously conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. The Lord High Commissioner at the General Assembly in the same year invited him to preach in Edinburgh at the time of the Assembly. Hard work and new-found fame were joined in the experience of Chalmers, but he was dissatisfied.

He was convinced that the Christian church had as yet unfulfilled responsibilities to all those who lived and worked in the local parish, not merely to those who attended the local place of worship. In the development of Sabbath School work Chalmers discovered that many children had great difficulty in reading. He resolved to remedy the defect by setting up classical schools throughout the parish—especially for the poor and neglected. Provision for the needs of the poor was also made, not from the poor-rate levy, but from funds administered by the church of the parish through its deacons who were given special training for this work. Relatives of the needy were encouraged to assume responsibility and the government’s poor relief costs for the parish were reduced by more than eighty per cent within three years. And as if all this were not enough, by correspondence he maintained a ministry with many others beyond the bounds of Glasgow, writing on average some fifty letters a week—and they were for the most part, letters of great substance.

The years of his ministry in Glasgow were very significant. There was no class of persons untouched by his labors. Before his time many had fallen away from all Christian belief and observance, but under his ministry public sentiment turned decisively to evangelical liveliness. By his labors living faith in Christ was restored and many men and women throughout the city gave themselves for Christian service.

When he was invited to return to his former University, St Andrews, as Professor of Moral Philosophy, he accepted because he saw it as a position of wider usefulness and also because he felt that the pressure of life in Glasgow which had progressively increased was making excessive demands on him. But his concerns for the urban parishes remained undiminished. His interest for instance, in dealing with the problem of poverty led to an invitation to London by the Parliamentary Committee on the Irish Poor Law. In 1840 he gave a paper at the British Association for the Advancement of Science recommending the system of voluntary assistance to the poor. He was well informed on the major public issues of his day—Roman Catholic Emancipation, the Reform Bill and the Corn Laws and his opinion was valued by great and small alike on all of these problems. In 1832 the Bishop of London recommended the President of the Royal Society to invite Dr Chalmers to prepare a treatise in proof of the wisdom and benevolence of God shown in the works of creation. It was published in the following year with funds from the legacy of the Earl of Bridgewater and was known as the Bridgewater Treatise.

Amongst the honors that had come his way in the same year was his election as Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. He had previously formed part of a delegation on William IV’s accession in 1830 and had been named as one of His Majesty’s Chaplains in Scotland. He was later to present a loyal address on behalf of the University of Edinburgh to Queen Victoria on her accession in 1837. In January 1834, Dr Chalmers was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh and the following year became one of its Vice-Presidents. The Royal Institute of France honored him with the title of corresponding member and four years later, in 1838, he visited France and read a lecture on the “Distinction both in principle and effect between a legal charity for the relief of indigence and a legal charity for the relief of disease.” His many books and sermons were invariably best-sellers for years on end.

Thus, his reputation was well-established, his contribution to the life of Scotland, England and Ireland fully recognized, and his fame spread around the world when he found himself not only involved in, but leading, a movement that was to divide the Church of Scotland, and to set him in apparent disregard of the authority of the highest civil court in the land.

With the disappearance of the Roman Catholic Church in Scotland as a spiritual force in the sixteenth century, the Presbyterian Church had assumed the right to be the Church of Scotland. Its struggle for spiritual independence had been a long and costly one under the leadership of John Knox, Andrew Melville and Alexander Henderson amongst others. At long last, in 1690, the Presbyterian Church was legally recognized by the crown as the established Church of Scotland, but in this recognition by the state there was no question of the church surrendering any aspect of its independence. It was free to follow the guidance of the Divine Head in every aspect in which He had expressed His will.

Patronage, or the right of landowners to bring to a parish a minister who might or might not be acceptable to the elders and members of it, had been brought in by Act of Parliament in 1712. But in 1838, in two cases in particular, those of Auchterarder and Marnoch, ministers were forced on congregations opposed to their settlement and the Court of Session and the House of Lords ratified these decisions. Many in the church were seriously perturbed.

There were other areas of concern as well. It was decided that the Church did not have the power to organize new parishes nor give the ministers there the status of clergy of the Church. She had no authority to receive again clergy who had left it. And perhaps worst of all a creeping liberal formalism was slowly smothering the evangelical zeal of the whole land. Alas, despite repeated requests, the Government refused to take action to deal with the threat of spiritual atrophy. After a ten year long struggle to regain the soul of the church, the evangelical wing, led by Chalmers and others laid a protest on the table of the Assembly some four hundred ministers and a like number of elders left the established Church of Scotland on May 18, 1843, to form the Free Church.

When the General Assembly of the Free Church was constituted that grave morning, Thomas Chalmers was called to be its Moderator. He was the man whose reputation in the Christian world was the highest; he was also the man whose influence in directing the events leading to what would eventually be called the Disruption had been greatest.

The ministers who left the Established Church with Chalmers that day sacrificed much. In the personal sphere their houses and financial security were set aside, their work had to be reorganized and new centers for preaching found. Chalmers, in this respect, also suffered loss. He was no longer Professor of Divinity at the University of Edinburgh and the influence and prestige of that position went to another. But the Church realized that, without continued pastoral training, its future was bleak. A center for theological study, the Free Church Theological Institute, was opened and Chalmers was appointed Principal and Professor of Divinity.

A few years before, when Chalmers had completed his sixtieth year, he looked forward to a “sabbatical decennium,” a seventh decade of life that would be spent as “the Sabbath of our earthly pilgrimage—as if on the shore of the eternal world.” The years before 1843 had brought him little of the rest and peace that he hoped for and, of course, after the Disruption, he had even more to do.

His lectures continued, but there was also the concern of finding a site and constructing a building to house the New College. In 1846, after much personal sacrifice and intense labor, Chalmers laid the foundation-stone of the new building. “We leave to others the passions and politics of this world, and nothing will ever be taught, I trust, in any of our halls which shall have the remotest tendency to disturb the existing order of things, or to confound the ranks and distinctions which at present obtain in society. But there is one equality between man and man which will strenuously be taught—the essential equality of human souls; and that in the high count and reckoning of eternity, the soul of the poorest of nature’s children, the raggedest boy that runs along the pavement, is of like estimation in the eyes of heaven with that of the greatest and noblest of our land.”

The means for supporting the ministers of the church following the Disruption had to be found and Chalmers dedicated much of his time and energy to the setting up of a Sustentation Fund. By the end of 1844 it was clear that the cost of maintaining spiritual independence would involve foregoing any financial assistance given by the State. It was under his leadership that this problem was confronted and resolved. In addition, new sites for some 700 churches and manses had to be found for the congregations that were formed, and there were difficulties with several landowners in getting sites. In many cases Chalmers was able to give assistance through his personal influence. His own home in Morningside was used as a place of worship for years afterward.

All this effort was not dedicated simply to perpetuating an idea, for Chalmers had a vision of Scotland in which all her people from those of highest to those of lowest rank would know and love the Lord Jesus Christ. Perhaps the dearest example of the outworking of this vision is seen in the West Port experiment in Edinburgh, “a fourth part of the whole population being pauper and another fourth street beggars, thieves and prostitutes.” The population amounted to upwards of 400 families of whom 300 had no connection with the Church. Of 411 children of school age, 290 were growing up without any education. The plan of Chalmers was to divide the whole territory into twenty districts each containing about twenty families. To each district a discipler was appointed whose duty was to visit each family once a week. A school was provided. By the end of 1845, 250 scholars had attended the school. A library, a savings bank, a wash-house and an industrial school had been provided, and there was a congregation served by a missionary-minister. Chalmers often attended the services there and would take part as a worshipper alongside the people of the district.

Thomas Carlyle said of him “What a wonderful old man Chalmers is. Or rather, he has all the buoyancy of youth. When so many of us are wringing our hands in hopeless despair over the vileness and wretchedness of the large towns, there goes the old man, shovel in hand, down into the dirtiest puddles of the West Port of Edinburgh, cleans them out, and fills the sewers with living waters. It is a beautiful sight.”

At the end of the College Session in 1847 Chalmers, by now exhausted in his ceaseless labors, went to London on the business of the Church. He returned to his home in Morningside to prepare for the General Assembly on the following Monday. It was after family worship on Sunday evening May 30 that he said goodnight. He went to sleep in Morningside, but he awoke in Heaven.

The funeral was held on the following Friday, June 4. The Magistrates and Town Council, the members of Assembly, the Professors of New College, ministers, probationers, students, the Rector and Masters of the High School and many thousands more joined the funeral procession, paying their tribute, as they followed the cortege to Grange Cemetery. According to Carlyle, “There was a moral sublimity in the spectacle. It spoke more emphatically than by words of the dignity of intrinsic excellence, and of the height to which a true man may attain. It was the dust of a Presbyterian minister which the coffin contained, and yet they were burying him amid the tears of a nation, and with more than kingly honors.”

 

George Grant is the author of more than five dozen books, serves as pastor of Parish Presbyterian Church, and is the founder of King’s Meadow Study Center, the Chalmers Fund, New College Franklin, the Comenius School, and Franklin Classical School. This post originally appeared on his blog, Grantian Florilegium.

Read more