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.
Well written. The “Battle” has already been won!
Roger, in biblical categories we speak of “already, but not yet.” In other words, he has won the battle (Hebrews 2:14), but he is bringing the nations under his feet (I Corinthians 15:24-26).
Thanks, Uri! I have picked up bits and pieces of your story, but it was great to see it all in one place. Praise God for your spiritual growth by God’s grace and your continuing humble spirit. Mickey Schneider