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Part 2 of Tchividjian’s Interview

Tullian Tchividjian is conducting a four part interview with Mike Horton on the distinction between justification and sanctification and the relationship of the law to the gospel. Part one is here. Part two is now available here.

Here’s a preview:

Mike, what are the three uses of the law?

Reformed theology embraces these “three uses”: (1) pedagogical or elenctic—to show us our sin and drive us to Christ; (2) civil (to curb vice with the threat of temporal punishment), and (3) didactic (to guide Christian living).

In order further to drive a wedge between Lutheran and Reformed approaches, I often hear Reformed brethren point to the “third use” as a Reformed distinctive that’s denied by Lutheran theology.  This too is simply inaccurate.  It was Luther’s sidekick Melanchthon who identified the “three uses” and the Antinomian Controversy in Luther’s circle provoked the sternest rebukes from the Reformer.  As a result, the Book of Concord staunchly affirmed the third use of the law—and gives more space to it than any of the Reformed confessions.  To be sure, there are differences.  As I point out in The Christian Faith, the principal difference in my view is the eschatology of sanctification—that is, the relationship between the “already” and the “not yet.”  When both groups go off the reservation, Lutherans usually wander into an under-realized eschatology (downplaying the “already” of the new creation) and we Reformed folks embrace an over-realized eschatology (downplaying the continuing struggle with sin).  However, that’s a difference in emphasis.  In terms of basic doctrine, there is no difference between our confessions.  It’s very helpful for people on both sides actually to read the others’ confessions!

When applying these three uses, it’s important to know our audience.  Our primary audience in preaching is the covenant community.  God has pledged his grace in Christ to his congregation.  They are baptized, hear the Word, make profession of faith, receive the Supper, participate in the communion of the saints in confession, song, fellowship, prayer, and gifts.  At the same time, as under the old covenant, not all physical descendants of the covenant (children of believers) are true children of Abraham.  Some, like Esau, sell their birthright for a cheap dinner.  In our preaching, we must use the law carefully.  We still need to use the pedagogical use: showing believers that they still, even in their regenerate state, do not have the kind of righteousness that can withstand God’s judgment and must flee to Christ.  We proclaim the law to the nations as well (civil use), testifying to God’s moral will for all of his creatures.  And we exhort believers to follow God’s commands (third use).   In all of this, we have to be careful that we do not give the impression either that by following God’s commands one can receive his saving benefits in Christ or that because we are saved by grace alone, apart from works of the law, that God’s commands are no longer obligatory.

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Is Steve Jobs Dying for Us All?

Like Thomas Edison or Henry Ford, the name Steve Jobs conjures the image of an era more than a product. After battling pancreatic cancer, the Apple co-founder has finally resigned from the company and has resigned himself to one thing over which he has no control: death.

In a penetrating essay in Esquire today, Tom Junod explores the life, lessons, and legacy of one of our era’s greatest inventors. The title itself is telling: “Steve Jobs is Dying for Us All.” Back in January 2010, Junod contributed another piece for Esquire titled, “Steve Jobs and the Portal to the Invisible”. Both are worth the read.

Prominent in both articles are the emphases on Jobs as an artist, a creative genius who “makes the invisible visible” and fits an even “messianic” profile. In last year’s feature, Junod observed,

There are several things that Steve Jobs isn’t. He isn’t, for one thing, democratic. “He isn’t utopian,” says Wozniak. He is messianic, and his life stands as an illustration of the difference between the two objectives. He was never driven by a vision of a better world; he was driven by a vision of himself as a person whose decisions guide the world. He wanted to build a device that moved the world forward, that would take people further. He wanted to build a reality that wasn’t there. He wanted to be one of the important ones. It makes sense, then, that he is not philanthropic, either. As one philanthropist who’s worked with him says, “A lot of the people who are getting into philanthropy now are trying to put their smarts into it, their creativity into it, so they can change the way philanthropy is done. I don’t get that feeling from him. I get the feeling that he’s so into doing what he’s doing that there’s no creativity left. He’s an artist, Steve. He either likes what he’s looking at or he doesn’t. He’s not concerned with what contribution he’s making. He wants to astound himself, for himself.

In today’s essay, Junod writes,

More than any other purveyor of technological products, Steve Jobs has seemingly translated his soul into machines meant to be immortal even when they are only as eternal as consumerist whim; now, at the very moment when the language of technological immortality is becoming most explicit — when he stands ready to translate himself and his company into “the cloud,” with its promise of digital files backed forever by technology that never goes out of date — he is stranded, like Moses, in the land of the body, and its inevitable swift transit. “And one more thing,” he says, except this time there is no iPod or iPhone or iPad or iCloud to follow. There is only this unspoken plea, as his body changes within its still unvarying uniform of black shirts and blue jeans: I’m dying.

Steve Jobs “gave us our toys back,” creating a paradigm shift from the dawn of the computer age as something primarily for engineers and mathematicians to a beautiful box that everyone had to own. He is “dying for us all,” Junod suggests, in the sense that his visionary leadership will be gone. It’s not so much Jobs himself that the public worries about right now, but what this means for the iPhone 5.

There is always a next thing, in technology. Steve Jobs has taught us that, trained us to expect and demand it. There is also always a next thing, in sickness and death. He is teaching us that, too. Of course, it is a lesson that has been taught just as well by every human being who has ever walked the planet. But Steve Jobs, who has done more than anyone to make the idea of a “digital life” possible, might have one last lesson for us, by letting us in on his digital death. The logic of technology has always been offered as an answer to the logic of mortality; as it turns out, it is the same logic — the logic of inexorable advance. The logic of Moore’s Law turns out to have its biological analogue in the logic of cancer, and so it still reigns. Steve Jobs, in his career at Apple, reminded us that technological progress is but a human invention, subject to human hopes and human dreams and human choice. In his resignation — terrible and moving both for what it admits and for what it leaves out — he reminds us that technology doesn’t answer death so much as it shares its preference for forward motion.

We’ve been talking a lot in the last couple of weeks about “enthusiasm”: the longing for stripping away every creaturely veil, every mediator, and every medium in order to discover a direct and immediate divinity within ourselves. Salvation comes not from an external redemption in history, by God becoming flesh to rescue us, but from inner enlightenment and progress from dependence on others to autonomous ascent. It’s spirit versus matter, the invisible versus the visible, the god within versus the God who comes to us from outside of ourselves.

Gnosticism expressses most radically this enthusiastic impulse. The Greek mind has always been scandalized by the biblical story of a good God who created a good material world and, when his image-bearer led it into corruption and death, became flesh to rescue and redeem our flesh forever. The second-century Gnostics invented a new gospel that would be more seeker-friendly to Greeks. The Christ—a cosmic spirit—is not identical with the man Jesus born of Mary. Christ only appeared to assume our humanity, only appeared to die, and the resurrection had no place in the scheme. After all, in the Greek framework, salvation was the liberation of the divine soul from its fleshly prison-house. Think Buddhism, or the dogma of Christian Science founder Mary Baker Eddy that evil and even death are illusions. Indeed, the whole external world is illusory; it’s mind over matter.

This is a dogma that is well-suited to the technological age, where the longing for virtual “community” and redemption from the drag of space-time embodiment can at last be fulfilled. Of course, it’s secularized and packaged in colorful boxes, but the impulse is deeply religious and ultimately pagan. That is in no way to demonize the inventions or their benefits, but it does show that even the most “secular” realm of technology is bound up with a particular religious world-view.

By contrast, when Scripture speaks of the invisible and the visible, it’s not talking about Plato’s two worlds, but the two ages: “this present evil age,” dominated by sin and death, and “the age to come,” where Christ reigns in righteousness and everlasting life. “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Heb 11:1). As that chapter unfolds, it is clear that the “things not seen” pertain to the realities that the old covenant saints longed for in the future. “And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect” (vv 39-40). In other words, they had to wait patiently for God to make good on his promise in the person and work of Christ. When Christ came, his disciples saw, heard, and touched the invisible God. The promises were literally enfleshed. It has nothing to do with Plato’s “upper world” known only within the inner spirit or mind, but rather with the transition from promise to fulfillment.

The Christian hope is not in escaping the limitations of embodiment, society, and history, but “the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.” The solution (resurrection) is as radical and real as the problem (death). From Genesis to Revelation, the Bible takes death seriously. It isn’t an illusion. We don’t transcend it in our inner, spiritual nature. Rather, it’s the penalty for sin. Once the penalty was borne by Christ, believers have confidence that they too will share in his resurrection.

Steve Jobs can’t really die for us. In fact, he is, like us all, a prisoner of sin and death. We may have better machines, but we will never emancipate ourselves from sin—and its penalty of death. By affirming death, Jobs proves himself not to be a very orthodox Buddhist. Now, we hope and pray, he will embrace the only solution. This gospel not only saves us from our sins; it saves us from the feverish and ineffectual striving to make something of ourselves, to be something, to become immortal at least in our legacy. Now, we can fulfill our callings—whatever their cultural magnitude—simply out of gratitude to God and love for our neighbors.

It’s not just that our erotic attachment to technology can’t deliver on its transcendent promises, but that even if it could, it wouldn’t really matter. We cannot escape our creaturely finitude—or our sin and death—by our own works or through our own gadgets. It has to come to us from outside, through the creaturely means employed by the Triune God. Cultural progress is great, but “salvation is of the LORD” (Jon 2:9). Death trumps the noblest achievements of our most exceptional neighbors. Even Junod concludes, “We hope and we dream; maybe we even change the world by getting people to hope and dream that the iPhone 5 will come out in September. But we don’t get to choose much of anything, in the end. We succumb.” However, for those who trust in Christ, death does not have the last word. Why? Because God loves this world he created—the real world of real people and real communities and real death and real redemption—more than we do.

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Tullian Tchividjian Interviews Mike Horton

Our good friend Tullian Tchividjian has been the subject of and a participant in a series of web conversations on the relationship of justification to sanctification. He recently posed a series of question to Mike Horton and has begun posting the answers on his blog. I’m sure that I’m biased, but I think there’s some good information here–especially for those who are new to the conversation and wonder what all the fuss is about.

Here’s a preview:

In what sense has the current conversation been merely a matter of different emphases, and in what sense are there genuine disagreements?

I have only had opportunity to read bits here and there. However, I can speak to your question more generally. Sometimes it’s no more than emphasis. However, faithful preaching includes the law and the gospel—never assuming that believers know either well enough that one can be heard without the other. Of course, we do have to be sensitive to different contexts of pastoral ministry, but every believer and therefore every church is simultaneously justified and sinful. Not only at the beginning, but always, every believer needs the law and the gospel.

It would be a lot simpler if we could say that congregations tending toward legalism need more gospel and those leaning toward antinomianism need more law, but I question that this is how it works.

In the first place, I’m not sure that “legalism” and “antinomianism” are the best categories for what seems to me at least to dominate contemporary “Bible Belt” religion in the U.S. today.  Sure, there are some antinomians (in theory) who believe that you can be justified without being sanctified—even without continuing in faith. Sure, there are some who say that the third use of the law (guiding believers) is no longer in effect. In their view, referring to the Ten Commandments as normative for how we should live would be going back “under the law” in the sense that Paul condemned. I’m also sure that there are legalists out there. But the portrait of the preacher threatening card-players with the fires of hell is a distant memory, replaced by the smiling motivational speaker telling you how you can have your best life now if you follow his seven easy principles.

That’s where I think it all gets so tricky. We’re using theological categories when one of the most transformative events in our churches has been cultural: namely, what Philip Reif called “the triumph of the therapeutic.” What we’re dealing with today in the majority of cases, I believe, is not accurately described as either antinomianism or legalism, but a pragmatic and narcissistic appeal to moralism. It’s not “stop going to parties or you’ll go to hell,” but “follow these ten principles and your life will be a party.” It’s “principles for living” on any number of life management topics, mining the Bible for quotes, but for the most part ignoring the interests of the text itself.

So you can’t really call this diet antinomian: it’s full of imperatives (rules, steps, principles, motivational tips—some kind of “To Do” list). But you also can’t call it legalistic, because the reference point isn’t really salvation or damnation—or even God,  but me and my happiness or unhappiness. God only makes a cameo appearance. The whole paradigm is what sociologist Christian Smith defines as: moralistic, therapeutic deism. Say what you will about the legalists and antinomians of yesteryear, but despite their heterodoxy, they were more interested in the Triune God and in interpreting and applying Scripture than a lot of what passes for evangelical preaching today.

Read the rest.

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Reformed and Charismatic?

Thanks for the healthy debate and interaction on the previous post. Obviously, those who believe that miraculous prophecy continues after the apostolic age should not be lumped together with radical movements like the New Apostolic Reformation.  Nevertheless, it does provide an occasion to think carefully about the compatibility of Reformation theology with Charismatic emphases.  This is especially the case when there have been renewed calls for a “Reformed Charismatic” synthesis in our own circles.

I’ve never been willing to die on the hill of cessationism: that is, the belief that the miraculous gifts such as prophecy, healing, and tongues have ceased.  I’m still not.  Nevertheless, I am convinced that non-cessationism is neither exegetically sound nor historically compatible with Reformed theology. Furthermore, the surprisingly widespread popularity of more radical views of ongoing sign-gifts, coupled with political ambition, pushes me into the unpleasant position of challenging the views even of far sounder brothers with whom I agree on so many important points.

As a Charismatic Calvinist, Wayne Grudem has been used by God to bring the doctrines of grace to many who would likely not have encountered these truths otherwise.  I have immense respect for his clear defense of many cardinal doctrines of Christianity.  At the same time, the Calvinism-Charismatic bridge goes in both directions and his view of continuing prophecy has contributed to a curious hybrid that in my view cannot survive in the long run.  Reformed theology is a system—not one imposed on Scripture, but one that arises from the self-consistent Word of God.

Mark Driscoll, a student of Grudem’s, has recently claimed to have regular visions of the sinful—usually sexual—behavior of people he encounters. “I see things,” he says, although the gift he describes is nowhere exhibited even in the apostolic era.  Also posted on his Mars Hill website is a critique of cessationism as “modernistic worldliness,” lumping this view with deism and atheism.  “Functional cessationism is really about the mind, but functional charismatic theology is really about the heart.”  He concludes with a plea: “…you Reformed guys, especially you who are more Presbyterian, you tend to ignore the Holy Spirit and attribute everything the Spirit does to the gospel.” Sovereign Grace Ministries, led until recently by C. J. Mahaney, has also followed Grudem’s path toward a synthesis of Calvinistic and Charismatic emphases.

There is much to admire in these men and their labors.  I am not targeting these friends and brothers, but pleading with them—and with all of us—to rediscover the ordinary means of grace, ordinary ministry, ordinary offices, and to long for a genuine revival: that is, a surprising blessing of God on his ordinary ministry in our day. The false choice between head and heart, the Spirit and the Word, has been a perennial polemic of the radical wing of Protestantism.  Mark Driscoll’s plea above reveals that dangerous separation of the Spirit from his Word.  Only by assuming such a cleavage can one argue that Reformed theology ignores the Holy Spirit.

We have had enough “apostles,” “prophets,” and “Moses-model” leaders who build ministries around their own gifts.  We need to recover the beauty of Christ alone upon his throne as the Priest-King of his church, exercising his ministry by his Spirit through preaching, sacrament, and discipline in mutually accountable communion with the wider body of Christ.  Reformed theology is not just the “five points” and “sovereign grace,” but a rich, full, and systematic confession.  It’s a human and therefore fallible attempt to wrestle with the whole counsel of God—in both doctrine and practice, soteriology and ecclesiology.  Until we rediscover this richness, “Reformed” will mean “whatever my leader or circle believes.”

Of course, the biblical case that must be made cannot be made well in this brief space.  However, I’ll focus on the question of whether the gifts of prophet and apostle have ceased.  In Ephesians 4:7-16, the apostle says that offices prophets and apostles as well as pastors, teachers, and evangelists are gifts of his heavenly ascension.

Against both Rome and the radical Anabaptists, the Reformers argued that prophet and apostle are extraordinary offices, for a foundation-laying era.  They are sent at key moments in redemptive history, and their writings are added to the canon of Scripture.  Like the distinction between a nation’s constitution and its courts, the biblical canon is qualitatively distinct from ecclesiastical interpretation.  The former is magisterial (normative), while the latter is ministerial (interpretive).

Particularly in the wake of the Pentecostal and charismatic movements, this question has divided Christians into two camps: cessationists (believing that the gifts of healing, prophecy, and tongues have ceased) and non-cessationists.  Non-cessationists find no exegetical reason to distinguish some of these gifts and offices from others in terms of their perpetuity.  However, cessationists hold that the New Testament itself makes a distinction between the foundation-laying era of the apostles and the era of building the church on their completed foundation (1 Cor 3:10-11).  Although the New Testament establishes the offices of pastors/teachers, elders, and deacons, it does not establish perpetual prophetic or apostolic offices with their attendant sign-gifts.  With this in mind, we must examine each gift in question.

Paul treats prophecy (prophēteia) as preaching, which although illumined by the Spirit is (unlike the scriptures) un-inspired and therefore must be tested (1 Cor 12:29; 1 Thes 5:19-21).  At Pentecost, the gift of tongues was a Spirit-given ability to proclaim the gospel in languages that one had not been taught.  The diverse crowd of visitors to Jerusalem for the feast asked, “And how is it that we hear, each of us in his own native language?” (Ac 2:8).  We should therefore understand “tongues” as synonymous with natural languages, which some were miraculously gifted to speak and others to interpret.  This served not only as a sign that Christ’s universal kingdom has dawned but as a practical way of disseminating the gospel from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth.  None of these gifts was given for the personal edification of believers alone, but for the spread of the gospel and the maturity of the saints in that Word.

Similarly, the gift of healing was a sign that Christ’s kingdom had arrived, bringing a preview of the consummation in all of its fullness at the end of the age.  Yet signs always cluster in the Bible around significant turning-points in redemptive history.  Like the temporary prophesying of the elders in Moses’ day, the extraordinary gifts of signs and wonders are given to validate the sacred ministry of human ambassadors.  Once that ministry is validated, it no longer requires further confirmation.  (For an excellent treatment of this topic, see Richard B. Gaffin, Jr., Perspectives on Pentecost  (P & R, 1979), especially 94-95, in relation to Wayne Grudem’s contention that “prophets and apostles” in 1 Corinthians 12:28 and Ephesians 4:11 refer to the same group.) It would seem, then, that the gift of prophets and apostles (along with the gifts of miracles, prophecy, and tongues) was given but fulfilled its foundation-laying function.  Just as Paul’s understudy Timothy is an ordinary minister, we find no evidence that his ministry was attended by extraordinary signs and wonders.

Some theologians, such as Wayne Grudem, recognize that the office of apostle has ceased, but are “unsure if this question” of the cessation of spiritual gifts “can be decided from Scripture.” [This and following Gruden quotes from his Systematic Theology, 906-912, 1031; cf. Wayne Grudem, The Gift of Prophecy in the New Testament Today (Westchester, IL: Crossway, 1988), 226-252.]

With Grudem I agree that 1 Corinthians 13:8-13, which speaks of prophecies and tongues passing away “when the perfect comes,” is inconclusive.  Paul is most likely referring to the consummation, when there will be no need for faith and hope and all that will endure into eternity is love (v 13).

However, I do not find Grudem’s case for continuing prophecy persuasive.  He clearly distinguishes prophecy today from the prophecy that delivered the sacred oracles of Holy Scripture.  This is both the strength and the weakness of his position.  Grudem believes that the kind of prophecy that is ongoing in the church is distinguished from preaching and teaching by being “a spontaneous ‘revelation’ from God….” (Grudem, Systematic Theology, 1058)

So the distinction is quite clear: if a message is the result of conscious reflection on the text of Scripture, containing interpretation of the text and application to life, then it is (in New Testament terms) a teaching.  But if a message is the report of something God brings suddenly to mind, then it is a prophecy. (Grudem, Systematic Theology, 1058)

In my view, this interpretation introduces a definition of prophecy that is not consistent with its practice in the apostolic church.  Nowhere is prophecy distinguished by its spontaneous quality.  Furthermore, in spite of his salutary caution against raising such prophecies to the level of Scripture, this interpretation still raises the question as to whether the Spirit issues new revelations that are not already communicated in Scripture.  If prophecy is defined simply as Spirit-given insight into Scripture, then is this not synonymous with preaching?

Today, the Spirit validates this ordinary ministry of the gospel through preaching and sacrament: the signs and wonders that Christ instituted to confirm his Word.  If it is true that the apostles understood their work to be an extraordinary ministry of foundation-laying and their miraculous signs as its validation, then “no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ….If the work that anyone has built on the foundation survives, he will receive a reward” (1 Cor 3:11, 14, emphasis added).

While living stones are continually being added to the temple, the edifice itself is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone” (Eph 2:20).  As the person and work of the head is distinct from that of its members, the foundation-laying ministry of the apostles is different from the “up-building” ministry of their successors.

Where apostolic preaching became Scripture, our proclamation, faith, and practice stand in continuity with the apostles to the extent that they conform to that rule. To understand Scripture as canon, within its Ancient Near Eastern treaty background, is to recognize that, like the redemptive work to which it testifies, it cannot be revised by addition or subtraction (Dt 4:2; Rev 22:18-19).  While interpretations are always subject to change, the constitution has been given once and for all.

Similarly, the canon that witnesses to Jesus is the covenant that he ratified in his self-sacrifice.  In its appeal to this canon and its practice of its stipulated rites, the church participates in the heavenly reality as servant rather than Lord of the covenant.  Just as Jesus-history is qualitatively distinct from our own, the apostolic canon is qualitatively distinct from the subsequent tradition (or preaching) that interprets it.  One is magisterial, the other ministerial.  Just as the church does not extend or complete the work of redemption but receives, interprets, and proclaims it, the church does not extent or complete revelation.  The interim between Christ’s advents is not an era of writing new chapters in the history of redemption.  Rather, it is a period in which the Spirit equips us for the mission between Acts and the Apocalypse—right in the middle of the era of the ordinary ministry with its new covenant canon.  Just as the church cannot extend the incarnation or complete Christ’s atoning work, it cannot repeat Pentecost or prolong the extraordinary ministry of the apostles, but must instead receive this same word and Spirit for its ordinary ministry in this time between the times.

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The Politics of Enthusiasm

Just as the Iowa straw-poll concluded last Saturday, with Michele Bachmann and Ron Paul taking first and second place, Texas Governor Rick Perry announced his candidacy.  Happily, the kingdom of Christ is neither threatened nor furthered by the kingdoms of this age.  Nevertheless, the way in which not only the media but professing Christians distort Christianity in public should be of serious concern to all Christians—including those who support the political agenda of offending candidates.

Irresponsible Journalism
The media has had a feeding frenzy over Gov. Perry’s prominent role in a Houston prayer service.  Secularists will be unhappy with any political leader who exhibits strong religious convictions in public.  The furor over Michele Bachmann’s former membership in the Lutheran Church-Wisconsin Synod, which is confessionally bound to the view that the papacy is “antichrist,” points up the incomprehensibility of traditional churches (Catholic or Protestant) to many journalists.  The press hostility churned the already murky waters of religious and historical ignorance into a whirlpool of secularist bigotry.  No one in the press corps apparently Googled the fact that the confessions of 10 Presbyterian and 2 Dutch Reformed U. S. presidents said the same thing.

At the same time, why is it that so many public figures belong to strange churches or identify with extreme movements and leaders?  President Obama’s now estranged pastor, Jeremiah Wright, traced God’s hand in the September 11, 2001 terrorist attack to American sins against non-white and disadvantaged peoples.  “America’s chickens are coming home to roost,” he preached.  Of course, it’s wacky, but the only difference from a lot of right-wing sermonizing is the choice of targets (and reasons) for divine retribution.

In the last go-around, the media also pored over sermons from close supporters of Republican candidates.  Senator John McCain was embarrassed by the prominent endorsement of televangelist John Hagee.  In September 2008, Sarah Palin’s pastor, Ed Kalnins, of Wasilla Assemblies of God, had to apologize for extreme statements he made in sermons about John Kerry supporters going to hell and myriad identifications of particular natural and man-made disasters with God’s judgment on specific groups. [See Robert Stern’s USA Today article and Alexi Mostrous’s Times article.]

Front-Page Enthusiasm
This year journalists are watching tape from a lot of sermons and televangelist rants.  In spite of the astounding (and dangerous) religious ignorance of society’s fourth estate, there is a disturbing storm brewing in this campaign.

However much the press will get it wrong—and oddly declare the free exercise of religion somehow unconstitutional—U.S. politics seems more dominated than ever by what the Protestant Reformers called “enthusiasm.”  Meaning literally, “God-within-ism,” Luther and Calvin had in mind the radical Anabaptists who thought they were new apostles.  Hearing God’s voice directly within, they did not need an external Word (the Scriptures) or the external ministry of preaching, sacrament, and discipline.  Some of the early radicals even sought to take over civil government.  In the city of Mühlhausen, Thomas Müntzer succeeded, albeit briefly, until his violent, polygamous, and communist theocracy (“The Eternal League of God”) was defeated.  Like Müntzer, many political radicals since have appealed to the twelfth-century mystic Joachim of Fiore and his prophecy of a coming “Age of the Spirit” that will replace all external government and churches.  Everyone will know God by direct revelation and there will be no need for the law or the gospel, the state or the church.

The religious left and the religious right have roots in the Second Great Awakening, which in many ways carries on this radical Protestant impulse.  And while Charles Finney’s broad agenda of public justice and personal morality has split into two divergent streams (indeed, political parties), they are twin offspring of revivalistic Protestant enthusiasm.

Mormonism is a quintessential offspring of the millennarian, restorationist, and heretical impulse of radical Protestant sects in nineteenth-century America.  Although Mitt Romney professes deep commitment to his Mormon beliefs, he has shown no sign of taking his cues from the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in Salt Lake City.  Still, according to a Pew survey, 34% of evangelicals say they’re reticent to see a Mormon in the White House.

That’s ironic, because the other Republican front-runners not only believe that the extraordinary office of apostle is still in effect (as Mormonism teaches), but apparently share the hope of their closest religious advisors that they will be emissaries of the Spirit to bring a decadent nation back to God—through the political process.

First, Michele Bachmann.  Though she used to belong to a conservative Lutheran church, Bachmann’s faith seems to have been shaped more by the Pentecostal-theonomist synthesis of “dominion theology.”  (See Ryan Lizza, “Leap of Faith: The Making of a Republican Front-Runner,” The New Yorker, Aug 15 2011, p. 54-63).  She has spoken openly of having had a vision of the person she was to marry, while he was having the same vision of her.  Influenced initially by Francis Schaeffer’s “A Christian Manifesto,” she eventually enrolled in the Oral Roberts University Law School and then moved to Virginia Beach, where her husband took a degree in counseling at Pat Robertson’s Regent University.  Serving on the school board of a charter school led by Christian activist Dennis L. Meyer, she says she admired his philosophy of governance: “Denny encouraged the board to do things and move forward not because we ‘think’ it should be done a certain way, but because God wants us to.”  She also became interested in the writings of David A. Noebel, founder of Summit Ministries in Colorado.  (Having visited the “Summit” for a week during my college years—even giving a lecture, I can only say that it is as close to an indoctrination camp as anything I’ve seen.)  Noebel, a longtime member of the John Birch Society, links the Beatles to Communism in extraordinarily creative ways.  Going on to serve on Summit Ministries’ board, Bachmann then entered politics to try to turn America around.

Second, Rick Perry. First, a little background—sorry in advance for the autobiography.  I edited two books in the 1990s—The Agony of Deceit (1990) and Power Religion (1997).  The first one investigated the theology of then-prominent prosperity evangelists, such as Kenneth Hagin, Kenneth Copeland, and the coterie of televangelists especially connected to the PTL and Trinity Broadcasting Network (including Joel Osteen’s father).  Along with R. C. Sproul, J. I. Packer, C. Everett Koop, Walter Martin, and others, my goal was to search beneath the televangelism scandals in the news to examine the heart of prosperity theology itself.  After a TIME magazine story on the book and its charges, a firestorm of controversy ensued—including letters from the lawyers of some prominent televangelists.

The theology that undergirded many of the televangelists’ ministries was shared by other men and movements like C. Peter Wagner, the Vineyard movement, the “Toronto Blessing,” and the “Kansas City Prophets.” Together they were the self-styled “Next Wave,” a Third Great Awakening.  Behind this movement lay the “Latter Rain” (a.k.a. “Shepherding”) movement of the 1970s: a bizarre aberration all its own that continues in the New Apostolic Reformation movement I mention below.

Through many of these leaders, the radical fringes of Pentecostalism found their way into more mainstream evangelicalism.  Wayne Grudem, who defended John Wimber and the Vineyard movement, published a rebuttal of D. A. Carson’s excellent chapter in Power Religion, where Carson offers a careful exegetical argument against continuing prophecy.  (I interact with Prof. Grudem’s argument below.)

More radically, many “Third Wave” Pentecostals linked up with R. J. Rushdoony’s “Christian Reconstructionism,” radical defenders of the antebellum South, and other assorted enthusiasts.  Popular versions of dispensational premillennialism (waiting for the Rapture while the world gets steadily worse) gave way to an extreme—and highly politicized—postmillennialism (preparing the way for a golden age of Christian dominion before Christ returns).

That’s where the New Apostolic Reformation (NAP) comes into the picture.  C. Peter Wagner, Fuller Seminary professor and pioneer of the church growth movement, was the theologian of the Vineyard movement.  He also launched the phenomenon of  “spiritual mapping,” where various cities or regions were identified with specific demons to be bound by international prayer warriors.  I met with some of these leaders years ago and I don’t question their sincerity, but I do question their orthodoxy.  Until recently, I had assumed that the whole thing was just another revivalistic movement that had come and gone like an Arizona monsoon.  Not so, evidently.  Enthusiasm never goes away, it just keeps reinventing itself.

According to Wagner and the NAP circle, the office of prophet and apostle, moribund for centuries, was restored in 2001—with Wagner and his associates as the chief candidates.  While most Pentecostals have been somewhat a-political and the Assemblies of God (a Pentecostal denomination) has consistently repudiated the succession of movements leading to the NAP, this group is radically postmillennial and politically engaged.  Its “Latter Rain” roots are on many points theologically heterodox, its discipline verges on cultic, and now it seems that it wants political power.  The “New Reformation” such groups envisage is more like the radical Anabaptist theocracy of Thomas Müntzer that Luther thundered against in “Against the Fanatics” and Calvin excoriated in “Against the Anabaptists.”

Why all of this background?  Reportedly, Governor Perry has close ties with the New Apostolic Reformation group.  Rather than rehearse the reports, you can read and evaluate them for yourself, especially the Texas Observer story and the recent Rachel Maddow report.  I’m not suggesting that we should uncritically accept the claims of journalistic neutrality from either source, but this movement—and similar yet less defined sub-groups—will no doubt bring greater disgrace to the cause of Christ in the minds of a biblically illiterate society.  You’ll hear more about it in coming months.  Regardless of how one judges the merits of the candidates’ political positions, the close identification of evangelical Christianity with radical enthusiasm (a direct, unmediated, extraordinary work of the Spirit in charismatic individuals) will only become more justifiable in the minds of many of our neighbors.  Its politicization will only make it more difficult to have serious conversations with our friends and co-workers not only about the common good of civil society but the gospel.

UPDATE8.19.11 10:30am PDST
Although the famous orthodox Presbyterian J. Gresham Machen voted for Democrat Al Smith, the first Roman Catholic presidential candidate, evangelicals created a massive phalynx against John F. Kennedy’s bid in 1960. The public concern at least was that the Pope would run America, since Kennedy was obliged to an infallible magisterium. To many thoughtful Protestants, the worry was hardly far-fetched. The Vatican had repeatedly branded the First Amendment to the U. S. Constitution, particularly the doctrine of separation of church and state, as “the Americanist heresy.” In an 1895 encyclical Pope Leo XIII made this stand officially binding on all Roman Catholics. In a 1906 encyclical Pope Pius X called such separation “a most pernicious error,” as did Pius XI in 1922. Even by mid-century, John Courtney Murray was treated as a firebrand in his defense of compatibility between Roman Catholic teaching and U.S. democracy. It was Murray who finally won, his hand being evident in the Second Vatican Council’s softened position. Times have changed indeed. Gary L. Bauer, who was a leading conservative evangelical activist and presidential candidate, told USA Today in 2005, “When John F. Kennedy made his famous speech that the Vatican would not tell him what to do, evangelicals and Southern Baptists breathed a sigh of relief. But today evangelicals and Southern Baptists are hoping that the Vatican will tell Catholic politicians what to do.”

Wouldn’t it be a little ironic if it turns out that, when it comes to invoking direct authority from living apostles for policy, the Republican candidate who will end up posing the least cause for alarm at least on that score may be a Mormon?

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The Business of the Church

I’m sitting in South Barrington, Illinois (in the western suburbs of Chicago) taking a break from the Willow Creek Association’s Global Leadership Summit, an annual event hosted by Willow Creek Community Church and its pastor, Bill Hybels.  I joked to my facebook friends that I was undercover this week and that’s partly true. I’m the guest of a national corporation who—through a friend—paid for my registration and my nametag says I’m an employee of theirs! Well, no harm done. Not many people here read Modern Reformation or listen to White Horse Inn anyway…at least not yet!

The two-day conference is an intentional effort to combine the wisdom of business leaders with the wisdom of ministry leaders, with the hope that these two different kinds of leaders could learn from one another. The difficulty of that enterprise was demonstrated yesterday when Bill Hybels had to announce that Howard Schultz, the CEO of Starbucks, had cancelled his scheduled appearance at the summit because of an online petition by a gay rights groups upset by Willow Creek’s prior relationship with Exodus, Intl, which advocates that gay people can change their sexual orientation. Business leaders have different agendas than ministry leaders and that difference is spelled out in quarterly profit reports, reports that depend on keeping many different segments of the marketplace happy with your product. I wonder if many of the thousands of registrants here and at dozens of sites across the country watching by live video feed caught that lesson.

The product that the Summit is offering is enticing: success. The first day was spent listening to speakers (and even people who introduced the speakers) who were highly successful in their fields: Bill Hybels, who helped launch the megachurch movement; Len Schlesinger, a successful businessman and now president of Babson College, the top-ranked business school for entrepreneurship; Corey Booker, the young mayor of Newark, New Jersey; Brenda Salter McNeil, a writer and speaker on issues facing African-American Christians; Seth Godin, bestselling business author; and Steven Furtick, a young pastor of a brand new megachurch in North Carolina.

The unmistakable message is that applying leadership principles that are common to all leaders (no matter what “industry” you might be part of) will result in that most powerful of aphrodisiacs, success. To be fair, the session that I’m missing right now features the stories of difficult ministries, specifically foreign ministries in India and Egypt, where success may not be immediately visible. In fact, one speaker from Egypt is, as I write this, receiving a standing ovation for her mostly unnoticed work among the poorest children of the minority Coptic Christian community there. But it is striking to me that the Summit went outside of the country to find those “difficult callings.” The message, to me at least, is that if you are in the States you should be successful: big churches, lots of baptisms, or at least audacious entrepreneurial goals to give your life and church to. If you’re not successful, the failure resides in you and your unwillingness or inability to apply the leadership principles that have so clearly worked for so many others.

Do the kind of leadership principles that are necessary for a business to be successful belong in the church? The assumption here is that the church and the business are variants on the same kind of thing and so the principles that work in one should work in the other and the leadership that exists in one should exist in the other. That assumption is naïve and I’m surprised by the number of business leaders over the years who have spoken at the Summit, giving credence to that view. Businesses have customers; churches have disciples. Businesses want their customers to consume their products (whether that is a physical thing, a service, or an experience); churches want their disciples to attend to the means of grace (as humble as they might seem in the great religious marketplace). Businesses will change according to the ebb and flow of the market; churches cannot change their mission or vision and still lay claim to being the church.

What business is the church in? Bill Hybels said yesterday that the church is in the life transformation business. I’m glad to say that the Bible doesn’t support that view though it does seem to be a fairly common misconception today. We all want Jesus to come alongside us and improve us, our marriages, our children. We want to go to sleep at night confident that we have taken several steps forward, getting a little better every day. We want to reach the end of our lives and see that we have accomplished something of lasting significance and worth, to know that we were worth something. In all of these scenarios, however, Jesus is a means to an end (a very personal, therapeutic end: feeling better about ourselves). As one new acquaintance said at dinner last night, the problem isn’t that we need to align our hopes and dreams with Jesus; it’s that Jesus upends our hopes and dreams, intruding into our lives with such force that what we thought was important actually dies and new life is born in its place. As the great Episcopal preacher Robert Farrar Capon puts it, “Jesus came to raise the dead. He did not come to teach the teachable; He did not come to improve the improvable; He did not come to reform the reformable. None of those things work.” As long as the church thinks it is in the life business instead of the death business, it will constantly clamor after every tool to improve life and it will judge its success in the way that bookkeepers and accountants judge success.

So what does success look like in a church? Success looks a lot like faithfulness, or as Eugene Peterson puts it, a long obedience in the same direction. But can a church ever learn that discipline if it is constantly changing its ministry plan in an effort to pack more people into its $80 million dollar auditorium? Success can never be small in America. The same spirit that launched MTV’s “Cribs” and relishes in the material excess of celebrities pervades our churches and infects even the ministers. I’ll admit, I had to check myself several times from being swept up into the “more is better” attitude that was celebrated and encouraged this week. I had to remember that my success as a pastor must be different than the success a business leader looks for and is judged by. My success is judged by my faithfulness to the marks of the church and the ministry that God has called me to: a ministry of Word and Sacrament, a ministry of foolishness in the eyes of the world, a ministry of life and light to those dead and in darkness, a ministry not of myself and my dreams or even my leadership, but a ministry of Christ by His Spirit.

There’s not enough time to comment on the rest of the event, so I’ll just quickly bullet point a few things:

  • We started yesterday with an American Idolized “Awake My Soul,” the beautifully spare song from the British band Mumford and Sons.  I knew that I recognized it while the band was singing, but it was so over-produced that I couldn’t place it until I Googled the lyrics. I had to listen to the real version several times last night just to remember how wonderful the song is in its simplicity. Sadly, the band used it as the beginning of a medley of praise songs but the audience couldn’t figure out when to start singing along, at what point did performance give way to participation?
  • Anytime the band performed, the stage and auditorium exploded into a light show strong enough to induce seizures. I hasten to add that I’m a GenX’r and am supposed to like all of this. But I don’t think my problem is Presbyterian curmudgeoness; there was a disconnect between what everybody assumed they were doing and the environment in which they were doing it.
  • Along the same lines, highly produced videos intruded into every presentation. There were even commercials for different products related to the various speakers and presentations.
  • I wish that this had been a straight leadership/management conference. I think that Bill Hybels is in the wrong business. He is obviously a gifted leader and CEO. I learned quite a bit from him and the other secular presenters about business. The “Jesus” side of things was weird and whenever one of the secular speakers tried to include a little “Jesus” in their presentation, the result was always a mess (see Mayor Booker’s remark in the “theological fails” below).
  • [this point has been changed in response to a good pushback from a commentator] Steven Furtick, the young pastor of the new megachurch in Charlotte, North Carolina had a rousing message from 2 Kings 3, but I felt that he based the main point of his message on a part of the verse that isn’t universally attested to, at least in English Bibles. Preaching from 2 Kings 3:16, Pastor Furtick enjoined the crowd to have audacious faith by digging ditches in the desert, waiting for God to bring the rain. Rhetorically, this was a powerful message. But, in several English versions, there’s nothing in there about digging ditches. Instead, the text says that God will fill the dry stream beds. One could understand why ditches might be substituted for stream beds in different English translations, but where’s the verb?
  • Willow Creek is the epicenter of that kind of evangelicalism that the British newspaper, the Guardian called “unrecognizable” as Christian houses of worship, wrappers “round some mixture of superstition and advertising.” That was on full display these last two days. Thankfully, as the Boomers age that form of ministry seems to be dying off, too. I just hope the church in America can recover from it.

And to conclude, three theological fails:

  • Newark mayor Corey Booker needs to go back to Sunday school: we do not have divinity within each of us, as he claimed during his presentation. In fact, our drive to do good isn’t internal at all, it is borne out of two things: gratitude to God and seeing our neighbor’s need.
  • Mama Maggie Gobran, an Egyptian Coptic Christian told the crowd that they must choose to be either a sinner or a saint. Great illiteration but terrible theology not to mention absolutely contrary to Ephesians 2:1-10, which states that we were dead in our trespasses and sins and made alive by God.
  • In a crowd of thousands of pastors, neither statement elicited even a murmur. The judgment of charity can only extend so far, folks.

Update:

Many of you have asked me if there was anything beneficial that I gained by being at the Summit, or if I went in with an agenda to merely criticize. As I mentioned above, I came hoping to learn leadership and management skills for the nonprofit organization I lead. I didn’t come as a pastor, but as an executive. To that end, there were quite a few good things:

  • I really liked Bill Hybels’ first session on Thursday. He set up four flip charts and identified four big issues facing leaders: the level of their current challenge at work, plans for dealing with challenging people, a challenge to address problems as problems, and reexamining the core of organizational mission. I took a good two pages of notes on his presentation.
  • The one take away I got from Len Schlesinger’s presentation (I was out of the room for part of it), was that big problems are solved by small steps, not big steps. That’s good to remember.
  • I also really enjoyed Seth Godin’s presentation: engaging, quick, funny. The big take away is that organizations can’t be all things to all people: who is your tribe (a fancy word for an audience or market)? Appeal to them and make yourself indispensable to them.
  • I enjoyed Jim Mellado’s interview with Michelle Rhee. She’s always been someone I admired and now I have even more reason to do so. I also really appreciated her honestly about her own process in becoming an “aspiring Christian.”
  • Henry Cloud is outstanding and his presentation on the three categories of people was excellent.

I had to leave at that point to catch a flight, so I can’t comment on anything else.

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Enough About Us Already: Our American Protestant Obsession with Being Loved by the World

“They like you,” according to Christianity Today‘s latest cover story (August 2011), by Bradley R. E. Wright, a University of Connecticut sociologist. Wright challenges the alarmist rhetoric of some in recent years who have created the impression that our fellow Americans hate us and we need a public relations makeover. Taking issue with George Barna among others, he argues that we have a persecution complex-or at least an almost pathological need to be loved. Actually, when asked to register their feeling in terms of warm or cold, the weather report for evangelicals is “generally sunny and mild”-somewhere between Jews, Catholics and mainline Protestants at one end and Muslims, Buddhist, and Mormons at the other.

Admittedly, this could be the worst news of all. It’s like the anxious teenager who asks a group of peers, “What do you think of me?”, only to hear a nearly unanimous reply, “We don’t, actually.” As they say, no publicity is worse than bad publicity.

Introducing this issue, CT managing editor Mark Galli said he hoped that Wright’s article might help us to move on from self-obsession (“Inside CT,” page 7): “A movement that casts anxious glances to see how it’s doing in the eyes of others is in either childhood or adolesence…It’s time for evangelicals to put away childish things….The fact is that in the end, people don’t care if we are cool. They don’t think it an improvement to call ourselves ‘Jesus followers’ instead of ‘Christians,’ let alone ‘evangelicals.'”

There’s a long history of American Protestants wanting the approval of their neighbors. For a good part of our nation’s history, respectable denominations with roots in the Reformation surrendered their confessional peculiarities for a generic evangelical witness. A lot of this had to do with evangelism: wanting to reach the population of declining practicioners of the faith. Churches, with their distinct catechism, forms of worship, and government, were eager to reach nominal members as well as Native Americans and Africans, slave and free. Yet a lot of it had to do with cultural hegemony. Having fought off the Leviathan of Rome, the new Christendom would come only with the stripping away of doctrinal distinctives that divide activistic Protestantism. Especially after the Second Great Awakening, “deeds, not creeds” became the mantra.

Well, we know where this has led. The mainline churches are really sideline bodies. In numerical terms alone, they are a shadow of their former selves: each coalition partner reduced by at least half over the last 30 years. Still, it takes a while to get used to one’s marginal status. As a quip attributed to veteran sociologist Peter Berger has it, “Puerto Ricans, Jews, and Episcopalians each form around 2 percent of the American population. Guess which group does not think of itself as a minority.”

In “The Death of Protestant America” (First Things, Aug/Sep 2008), editor Joseph Bottum offers insightful analysis of the obsession of mainline Protestantism with cultural clout and respectability. Bottum relates that the United Church of Christ website celebrates its cultural influence, beginning with John Winthrop’s vision of “the shining city upon a hill” to the adoption of the first non-patriarchal (read: non-trinitarian) hymnal. “That’s a curious admission for a major American denomination,” notes Bottum.

By its own account, the church’s intellectual life has come to an end. And as its numbers catastrophically decline, the ordinary practice of its members has ceased to influence the culture. The United Church of Christ is left little except its putatively prophetic voice-and a strikingly unoriginal voice, at that. All the issues on which the church opines, and all the positions it takes, track the usual run of liberal American politics. The key, however, is not the mostly uninteresting politics of the church bureaucracy but the astonishing lack of influence those political statements have. With no deposits into the account of its prestige by accommodating the other props of the nation-and no influence on the culture from the everyday practices of its congregants-the prophetic demands of the United Church of Christ cash out to nothing. No one listens, no one minds, no one cares.

As Methodist theologian Stanley Hauerwas quipped, “God is killing mainline Protestantism in America, and we @#% well deserve it.” Global evangelicalism has enormous strengths, especially when compared to other head-line capturing Christian movements. Yet is its preoccupation with itself and with worldly approval the harbinger of a similar death wish?

Something like this question was asked just yesterday in the Guardian, a leading UK newspaper. Here’s an excerpt:

It’s obviously full of people who call themselves Christians; and certainly full of religious believers in a way difficult for many Europeans to understand or to accept. But is what modern Americans believe actually Christianity at all? When the mainstream churches went into an apparently irreversible decline towards the end of the 20th century, this was interpreted as a decline of liberal Christianity, and its replacement by fundamentalism. But is the church of Rick Warren anything more than vaguely therapeutic moralistic deism?

The question is hardly a new one. It was raised as least as long ago as the late 19th century by Henry Adams, who wondered whether the American faith in progress and in self-improvement was really the same thing as traditional Christianity. But it’s still an interesting one. Has the evangelical movement turned itself into an entirely new religion, unrecognisable to “orthodox” European Christianity: a reinterpretation of the Christian myths almost as strange as Mormonism? Consider the Youtube video video of a NASCAR chaplain praying for all the sponsors of the event, from Toyota to Sunoco, and then thanking God for his “hot wife” before finishing with the doxology “Boogity boogity boogity. Amen”. Is this really anything that traditional theologians could recognise as Christian? Or is it just a wrapper round some mixture of superstition and advertising?

Whatever the “media elites” (a perennial bogeyman) say otherwise, evangelicalism is probably more politically and culturally powerful than so-called “mainline” Protestantism. Yet already evangelicalism suffers from the same desire to be loved as the mainline denominations that are now irrelevant. Both are obsessed with cultural clout and approval, although mainliners crave the attention of “high culture” (art, science, education, etc.) while evangelicals court popular culture. Think symposia vs. rallies, NPR or The New York Times vs. FOX and USA Today, opera vs. Christian pop concerts. In either case, we’re sure that we are having a cultural impact, when it’s mostly we who have moved. [See W. Robert Godfrey’s article, “The Myth of Influence,” in the Sept/Oct 1998 Modern Reformation]

As Joseph Bottum points out, churches that retained their confessional identity-Roman Catholics, Lutherans, Reformed, and Mennonite-actually had a disproportionate influence on culture in ways that were not even calculated. Strong Christian families, churches, and schools have been enormously successful in passing the faith on from generation to generation. Of course, the danger in these groups was its own kind of cultural hegemonies. They weren’t thinking about how to be successful, relevant, or attractive. That has been its strength and its weakness. In fact, oblivious to a fault, they did not even realize when they were being gradually reshaped by the forces of modernity. For a while, the Christian Reformed Church stared American Protestantism in the face, declaring, “In isolation is our strength.” It’s no wonder that eventually you have a generation that finds the environment more of a stifling hot-house rather than a flourishing arboretum.

Both tendencies-isolationism and accommodationism-are driven mostly by fear: fear of being absorbed, and fear of being left out. There has to be something in the middle here, driven by something from God (the gospel) rather than something from ourselves (either conservative or progressive instincts).

Enough about us, already. Either the church is a witness to the Triune God, revealed consummately in the incarnate Son, clothed in his gospel; or it has no right to exist, whatever its impact, usefulness or relevance on other points. On the horizon of mass movements at least, evangelicalism still has considerable strengths. Nevertheless, we do well to ponder the line from Newsweek religion editor Kenneth Woodward in 1993: “The mainline denominations may be dying because they lost their theological integrity. The only thing worse, perhaps, would be the rise of a new Protestant establishment that succeeds because it never had any.”

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A Confessionalist Piety

The Gospel Coalition has released another video discussion involving Mike Horton. In this installment Mike talks with Ligon Duncan and Kevin DeYoung about whether or not pietism and confessionalism need to be mutually exclusive–or if that is a false dichotomy to begin with in the history of Reformed churches.

Piety and Confessionalism: Friends or Enemies? from The Gospel Coalition on Vimeo.

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Horton Interviewed about Breivik on Issues, Etc.

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Our good friend Todd Wilkin from Issues, Etc. called Dr. Horton on Tuesday to talk about his recentblog post on Anders Behring Breivik, the Norwegian “fundamentalist” and cultural crusader who murdered eighty people at an Oslo camp. Listen to the audio below for Dr. Horton’s take on Breivik’s “mission” and why the confusion of culture and Christendom can lead to violence.

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Dropping Out (of the Faith) in College

One question I’m often asked is, “Do you have any advice about a good college?” They’re especially interested (both parents and high school seniors) in finding a school where their faith will be strengthened rather than undermined.

According to a recent study, it doesn’t really matter. College students drop out of the church at astonishing rates at religiously-affiliated as well as secular institutions.

The way I usually answer the question is to change the subject from college to church. In my experience, it’s far more important to find a good church than to expect a college to buttress one’s faith. Of course, it’s important to find a good church when you’re raising kids in the first place. Churches and families that fail to immerse young people in the covenant of grace place an awful burden on a college—even a solid Christian one—or a good church in a college town. Nevertheless, I’ve seen terrific examples of faithful churches that evangelize, teach, and incorporate even shaky believers into the body of Christ while there in college. The college doesn’t matter. It could be Harvard, Biola, or Cal State, or wherever.

My own experience at a Christian college has something to do with my thinking on the subject. There were a lot of rules, daily (mandatory) chapel, spiritual life conference, and on and on. University meets summer camp. It was hard to find a parking space on Sunday morning, because who needed church? The college was a kind of surrogate church. Tough questions that you’d be asked on a secular campus weren’t pressed here. Everybody sort of nodded to the right answers, though not always sure why. Spiritually, it was pretty dull, routine, and mindless. Yet everyone got into it when the praise band did its thing in chapel and a great motivational speaker talked about how to surrender more of our lives to Christ.

A lot of those friends today are unchurched. Some are bitter—the last person they want to talk to is a conservative Christian, much less an evangelical. I don’t blame the college, but the whole religious sub-culture that shaped these young people and then provided a few extra years of moralistic, therapeutic deism.

This article by Marybeth Hicks at Townhall.com is well worth the read. I hope the statistics will jar us out of the false assumption that our young people “get it.” They don’t—unless our homes and churches give them grace.

“College Students Need to Keep Their Faith” by Marybeth Hicks

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