Another Thought on the Federal Vision and the PCA: Despising a Confessional Birthright

The Presbyterian Church in America is a confessional church. This does not mean that it has created a document it places on par with Scripture, which can never be improved upon or amended, nor does it mean that every minister and elder must submit to every particular of its creed.

It does, however, mean that every minister and elder agrees that the sum and substance of that confession is a faithful and accurate statement of the faith delivered to us in the Word of God.

In the history of the Reformed world, many ministers have found adherence to a confession to be a theological straightjacket. The history of denominations seems to indicate that, with time, confessions themselves become mere relics, without any sort of binding authority.

I can appreciate that some men would not want to be bound by our confession, particularly in the way we have chosen to make it binding. Our denomination is a voluntary association, and such men probably would rightly find a more amenable home in a less conservative denomination, of which there are many.

As it is, ministers in our denomination vow to uphold the Westminster Confession of Faith and its two Catechisms. One might hope that we do this because we love it, and esteem it, not because we deem it perfect in the way Scripture is perfect. I don't think a man has to own every aspect fleshed out in the Westminster Standards, but we do have to subscribe to them as containing the system of doctrine.

In my last post, I highlighted the case of a man who, in the estimation of myself, and at least 28 other PCA pastors, members, and elders, does not do that. The presbytery of which he is a member found differently --they have exonerated the man, and we await the full report. In the meanwhile, the same court, without any sort of process whatsoever, determined that we who signed the letter are all liars. I ask you to judge for yourself.

The aforementioned man, in 2008, publicly stated this:

When will modern Presbyterians admit that this 500-year-old document is no longer sufficient? Man, everybody in conservative Presbyterian circles talks as if Westminster was the high-point, and therefore the end-point of Reformation era creed-writing. But it often strikes me to be exactly the opposite—a sterile document that signaled the end of creative theological reflection in the Reformed churches. And what do we think? This 17th-century scholastic document will be enough for the next 100 years? 500 years? Silly. Just silly.

Notice the language: Not only does he think that our confession is sterile, and signaling the end of creative theological reflection in the Reformed churches.

Now, it did nothing of the kind, of course. There has been all sorts of creative theological expression in Reformed churches, much of it unfaithful to Scripture, but much of it within the bounds of orthodoxy. It is hard to see how any scholar of the history of the Reformed faith could read such a statement without laughing, if he considers for a moment names like Edwards, Warfield, Bavinck and Kuyper.

Yet, that is not the main issue. Let us grant that the Confession is as he says it is: sterile. Let us grant that the document will not be "enough" (enough for what is left unsaid) for the next 100 or 500 years. Let us grant that it is silly of us to think so.

How, then, could this man, in good faith, own this confession? Why, then, does he not find another voluntary association which is more open to theological development than he perceives his own to be? Why, instead, does he continue to say to certain groups of people that he loves the confession and is quite happy laboring under its dictates, and then, in open forums, goes on to deride not only the confession to which he has subscribed, but all who hold it dear?

I have been instructed by his court to treat his words charitably. That is, of course, a judgment call, and an implicit judgment that, in the past, I have not done so. Judge for yourselves. Put the most charitable interpretation on these words that you can. What is your thought?

Yearning...

How many great Christians have said memorable things on the subject of yearning. We suspect (and in some cases know) that this was because of profound personal experience with it: at once wonderful and awful, sometimes overpowering longing for something beyond.

Augustine said it, "Lord, thou hast made us for thyself, and our hearts are restless till we rest in thee."

Luther spoke of sehnsucht --the intensity of longing.

Lewis said it in many ways, among them "“The experience is one of

intense longing ... this desire, even when there is no hope of possible

satisfaction, continues to be prized, and even to be preferred to anything else

in the world, by those who have once felt it.” One might argue that all of Narnia was the unfurling of this sentence.

No question that Augustine was talking about the soul coming to know God in this present world, but those of us who know God experience longing too. We long for the place where we finally fit, finally feel at home, finally have rest from our worries, happy fellowship with no tension, productive labor --when we finally and completely are able to fulfill that for which we are created.

As believers, we know that this longing is never fulfilled in this life. Yet, we keep looking for it here. We look for it in an irretrievable past --trying to "go home again." We look for it over the next hill of human notoriety or achievement, or the next geographic locale, or the next house, or the next amount added to our portfolio. We reach that particular place, and, like a mountain range, discover that there is another, higher peak beyond, the seeing of which creates even more longing.

Longing waxes and wanes, but its right target is the eternal kingdom of God. Our longing ought to cause us to cry out "Maranatha --come quickly, Lord Jesus." The whole creation longs for the revelation of the sons of God. We need consciously to target our longing in the right place, and work to cultivate contentment here in our present circumstances. When I figure out how that's done, I'll fill the rest of you in. The Puritans seemed to get it --they wrote some great and helpful little books. But, I am not yet where Paul was, content in every circumstances.

One of my chief sins, I think, is discontent. God help me. There is no pleasure in that particular sin, and yet I indulge it. Buddhism builds content by the destruction of yearning, and the acceptance of circumstance. To me, that is bleak beyond words. The Christian builds contentment by finding his joy in the source of all joy --communion with Christ. Yet, this is a cultivated discipline, and one which I need to pursue more diligently.

Those are my rambling Monday thoughts...

Our Legalistic Definition of Legalism

First, a clarification. I am not among those who think that legalism is the worst bugbear out there in the culture or in the church. I think it's a pretty big one, but it's not the only one. I don't think every sermon we preach ought to be against legalism. There's a lot of antinomianism out there, too.

That said, legalism is fresh on my mind because I am preaching through Matthew 23 and 24.

So, the legalistic syllogism goes something like this: Legalists believe in salvation by works. I don't believe in salvation by works. Therefore, I am not a legalist.

I would argue that is a legalistically narrow definition of legalism. It appears to me to be a far narrower definition than Jesus himself gives.

And, I would argue, it is not an accurate understanding of the scribes and Pharisees at all. It is misleading. Almost nobody fits that definition precisely. Therefore, I am safe in my semi-legalism.

As Sinclair Ferguson once pointed out, the Pharisees were not Pelagians. They did not believe they were saved by unaided good works. They were, rather semi-Pelagians --the God helps those who help themselves crowd. Want proof? What does Jesus' parable Pharisee say? Lord, I thank you that I am not like other men are..." He credits God, then credits himself. How savvy of him. God made him who he was. It was God who spared him from being like that publican. There, but for the grace of God, go I. I know better. I obey, by the grace of God. You don't...

Jesus' definition of legalism is straining at gnats and swallowing camels. It is hypocrisy. It is tithing without mercy and faithfulness. It is loving long flowing robes and greeting in the marketplaces. It is long public prayers. It is the seat of honor at banquets. It is a love of titles. It is phylacteries and tassels.

It is putting burdens on people that are too heavy to be borne.

In short, legalism is robbing people of the joy of relationship with God by the imposing of rules. Rules that take Scripture's grand principles and convert them into minute expectations. Rules that convince me that I am doing a better job at living this Christian life than you are. Rules that show me how good I am, and, incidentally, how bad you are. Legalists did not so much add to Scripture whole new lists of requirements as they did take the spare Law of God and codify it into a bazillion provisos, caveats, whereases and heretofores. We can grant that they did it with the best of intentions --they were serious about obedience to God. They were so serious they couldn't keep their own rules, so they made loopholes to ease the burden of them.

Before long, the rules became stuff that, if I do, makes me one of the "in," and you, if you don't, one of the "out."

Conservative evangelicalism of the Reformed type seems rife with these sorts of well-intentioned unwritten rules. Rules about education, about holidays, about childrearing, etc etc. Often we confuse the wise choices with the iron-clad right choices. We deny mitigating circumstances; we deny Christian liberty. We substitute legislation for counsel. Wisdom, however, takes into account mitigating circumstances --that there is not always one "right" answer, for everyone at all times, about all matters. Wisdom skillfully takes God's truth and applies it to one's own life.

Let me give you an example. My children go to public school. At one time, I thought I would never send my children to public school. I knew there were good Christian teachers in public schools, but I wanted my children in fine Christian schools or home schooled. God gave us an eldest daughter with special needs. Christian schools can't meet all her needs. In our judgment, at this point in her life, home school couldn't meet all her needs.

Public schools here aren't hostile to Christianity. God broke my legalism about public school, and it has been a blessing. I still commend Christian schooling and home schooling to parents. They can be very wise choices, sometimes the wisest choices. But they aren't "Thou shalt" obedience issues. They are wisdom issues, and liberty issues. I don't feel superior to parents who make other choices. Yet, there are churches in our own denomination I could not pastor because I choose to let my children go to public school. There are people in our denomination that think I have made an evil choice; I've met some and they've told me.

Legalism kills joy. Legalism kills community. Legalism is excessively concerned with the business of other people. God, show us our lingering legalisms, and help us to put it to death.

Advent Thoughts

It can be challenging to come up with fresh approaches to the Advent Season year after year. Yet, the Glorious Event is so significant that it bears a fresh sounding of every note. In previous years, I have done the songs of Advent (Zechariah's, Simeon's, the Angels', Mary's etc), and the prophecies of Advent.

This year, my series focuses on the various reactions to Advent by the affected parties. I am fascinated by those God chose to be witnesses to the obscure event. One can see God's plan of salvation clearly revealed in whom he chooses to witness and announce the birth of his Christ.

The shepherds, for instance --the unclean people of the land, beloved in Scripture but derided by the establishment of Jesus' day. God loves the outcast and came to cleanse the unclean through his Great Good Shepherd. Shepherds, like women, could not testify in court. They were considered unrealiable. God chooses shepherds to bear witness to his incarnation, and women to bear witness to the empty tomb. God values what man despises.

Then, the angels, who speak of God's dual, intertwined purpose in the Incarnation: Glory to God, and peace among humanity. In the incarnation, God will vindicate his glorious purposes by setting into motion the reclamation of both humanity and his creation. God's glory and his creation's good are intertwined purposes.

Then, Herod. The kings of the earth rise up, rulers take counsel together against the Lord and against his anointed. Yet, God in Christ came to displace the wicked reign of the powers that be with the peaceable reign of his son. This troubles all the Herods of the world in Christ's time and ours --and it should, because Christ will one day assert his crown rights....

Then, the Magi. The Gentiles shall come to thy light... Christ's saving purposes extend to the nations.

Then, Mary herself. Her soul magnifies the Lord and rejoices in God her savior --exaltation and humility, submission and contemplation. Who is she that God should choose her? She is no-one, yet she bears the Son of God. Like her, we "carry" the Son of God, despite our low status. We bring God's glory into the world by the power of the Spirit.

The Advent of Our Lord was one of the signal events in God's work of redemption, and indeed in all human history. Let us rejoice!

Good Stuff from Mark Driscoll

This

On churches and how they ought to be like families, and why sometimes they don't feel that way.

This, of course, is one side of the story. There are other sides. Sometimes churches haven't quite learned to function like families, sometimes they have cliques that function like families whilst leaving others out, and sometimes they are a bunch of people collected around a particular style, set of doctrines or a personality.

There are things that can be done, both from the side of the individual and the side of the church, to bring about the family Christ intends, whether the church is small, medium or large.

How Heaven Is Like an Idealized City

Okay, so Tim Keller's comment on my last post got me thinking....

In Revelation, the vision we are given of the eternal kingdom is that of a resplendent city. John, in recounting his vision, strains at the limits of his understanding and of human language to describe what he sees, "The wall was built of jasper, while the city was pure gold, clear as glass. The foundations of the wall of the city were adorned with every kind of jewel...and the twelve gates were twelve pearls, each of the gates made of a single pearl, and the street of the city was pure gold, transparent as glass...and the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light and its lamp is the Lamb...and there will be no night there. (Rev 21).

One wonders how a first century man, as John was, would describe a modern city. How would he describe the Chrysler Building or the Hancock Building in Chicago? What would he think of street lamps --ancient cities were dark, and today's cities are permanently alight? No night in the modern city. Concrete and asphalt would seem a wonder compared to streets of dust. I am not arguing that John saw twenty-first century Manhattan, I simply find the thought intriguing.

How is heaven like an idealized city? Not the modern, cookie cutter oversized inconvenient office park cities of recent vintage, but the grand old industrial and financial center cities. Think Chicago, Pittsburgh, New York, or Detroit in its glory days. How might heaven be like those, shorn of avarice, crime, sexual sin, and corruption?

• Cities are beehives of productivity. In the same building, you will find CEO's who command multi-million dollar salaries and fast food workers making minimum wage, and all of them are busy, busy, busy, making the economy of a city hum. Heaven is not a place of indolence --my father works, and I work. Part of being in the image of God is being productive.
• Cities are multi-cultural. Since the late nineteenth century, the nations have poured in to North American cities. The mix of languages and cultures at the same mingling together and retaining their distinctiveness, add zest to the city. Heaven will be the gathering place of the redeemed of all the nations.
• Cities are built to impress. I love Chicago, because it got a chance to "do over" after a great fire, and they did it right. Chicago is built on a swamp. After the fire, the city fathers elevated the city, so now all utility and garbage collection happens on lower level streets, below the sidewalks. You don't share the street with garbage in Chicago. They reversed the flow of the Chicago River away from Lake Michigan out of sanitary concerns: they drank Lake Michigan water. Brilliant. City of Big Shoulders indeed. Steel girders and human ingenuity gave us the skyscraper, and skyscrapers convey wealth, beauty, and ingenuity. Many of them are iconic: Pittsburgh's Cathedral of Learning, the aforementioned Hancock and Chrysler buildings, etc. Heaven is clearly built to impress us with the ingenuity and wisdom of God.
• Cities are cultural centers. They are repositories of the best of cultural artifacts. Go to Chicago and see their incredible Monet collection. The Guggenheim Museum in New York is itself a work of art. There are public art installations, and theaters on every corner. Great symphonies reside in great cities. Great temple-like building are built to house them. Everything is lavish and done well. Heaven is the abode of he who does all things well, the Author of beauty and music.
• Cities are endlessly interesting. There are always new diverse neighborhoods to explore. My wife grew up in Pittsburgh, and yet we are still discovering new neighborhoods and new things to do --and Pittsburgh is certainly far from the largest of cities. Heaven will have an infinite number of fascinating things to explore.
• Cities gather up impressive people. Imagine what it takes to build a building in a city, with its maze of regulations, unions and challenging property. Then, think of Donald Trump. The Donald is a master of self-promotion, and I am sure there are better real estate minds, but he is the one that everyone knows. The brain flow goes toward the cities --they are places of great universities, and great minds, and great things happen there on a massive scale. Heaven will be full of impressive people --not those that impressed the eyes of the world when they were here, but those through whom God did great things, often in secret, while they were here.
• Cities provide for every human need. Imagine the massive amounts of water needed for a city. Imagine what is needed to eliminate rainwater from the streets of a city. Imagine the emergency services needed. Imagine the amount of food that must flow into a city, the amount of electricity and other forms of power. Imagine the information superstructure that flows through cables --the massive interconnection of computers and telephones. Transportation, sustenance, sanitation, rescue, entertainment are provided by the city in spades. Heaven will be the fulfillment of all our needs, and all our sanctified wants.

Much more could be said. We are looking for a celestial city, and I am longing to see it!

How Heaven Is Like a Small Town

There is a tendency to idolize both one's upbringing and the small town, and it is not my intention to do that. I know full well the ugly side of small town life: the provincialism, the petty infighting, the divisions, etc. I also know that the small town itself is dead or dying in many places. It is the rare small town today that is a self-contained society, with a vibrant communal life and commercial and career opportunities.

When I was younger, I could not wait to get away from the small town. I grew up in a small town not too far from Grand Rapids, a mid-sized city. My parents had moved away from the city before I was born, seeking a smaller town in which to raise their family. My cousins and grandparents lived in Grand Rapids, and I was always curious about that life. Everything was so convenient. My cousin and I could ride our bikes to a convenience store. There were restaurants and movie theaters. As I got older, I discovered the cultural life there. I loved trips as a young child to the big downtown department stores, which have since perished.

Being from a small town, and now living in a suburb, I have discovered they are two very different things. Small towns are far enough from cities to have their own community life, while the suburb leeches off the city. No, heaven is not like a suburb. We live in one of the best suburbs I could ever imagine, and yet I profoundly hope that heaven is different than the suburb.

It is hard to imagine heaven being like a megalopolis either. We are told to look for the city that has foundations, which is a new Jerusalem...Jerusalem, like a city that is compact together. Even Rome, the largest city of the ancient era, was scarely larger than Grand Rapids. I'm with Jacques Ellul on this one --cities can dehumanize, as much as I love to visit them and experience them. Probably community used to happen in cities, but I sense that probably met its demise with the death of self-sufficient neighborhoods, which were like small towns within cities.

Being from a small town gives one a sense of place. You knew who you were in a small town, and other people did, too. You were somebody's child, who want to this or that church, and had this or that teacher. All the spheres of your life overlapped: some of the people you saw at church were those you saw at school, you worked for people who knew your parents, life centered on family, church, school and community events. You had a sense of place, a feeling of belonging. There was life there, and it was lived, not in isolation, but community.

My graduating class had about 65 people. We were not all friends. We did not all get along. There were pecking orders and popularity contests. It all seems so petty now --because it was. Yet, you knew everyone, for good and bad, you were bound together.

This is how heaven is like a small town, though shorn of sin and pettiness: everyone there stands in intimate, unbroken community forever. They all go to the same places. They all do things together. You know and are known. There is no anonymity, no isolation.

Lewis said heaven felt more like home than any earthly home. I'm looking forward to that.