social-justice-social-gospel-september-october-2011

JUSTIFICATION AND JUSTICE ❘ TRUE CHRISTIAN HOSPITALITY ❘ AN INTERVIEW WITH OS GUINNESS

MODERN REFORMATION

Social Justice, Social Gospel?

VOLUME 20, NUMBER 5, SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2011, $6.50

MODERN REFORMATION s e p t e m b e r / o c t o b e r

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Features 14

Justification and Justice: The Great Commission and the Great Commandment As Christians, we must reflect on ways in which our convictions, values, and actions follow the grain of the faith we profess, but do we tend to separate the Great Commission from the Great Commandment, looking at Scripture as a manual for cultural transformation? The author considers how good theology can create a horizon for reimagining our relationships to one another and to God.

By Michael S. Horton Plus ... “A New Commandment” and Mercy Ministry and Social Justice

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The Vocations of Christians and the Ministry of the Church Christians do many things every day that are morally permissible and honoring to God, but which of these activities are actually the work of the church? Where does the church’s true missionary task end and the individual believer’s work—simply as an individual believer—begin?

By David VanDrunen Plus ... Assessing Incarnational Ministry: A Brief Primer A Dialogue with J. Todd Billings

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Eschatology by Ethos: Why the “Optimism” vs. “Pessimism” Paradigm Doesn’t Work How did the use of the labels “optimism” and “pessimism” become a standard of evaluation within the Reformed/Presbyterian world of competing eschatological positions and as a way to determine how the church relates to culture?

By Kim Riddlebarger

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Analyzing the Social Political Activism of the Black Church in Light of the Two-Kingdoms Motif Many post-Civil Rights Movement churches define their purpose as a mediating and socializing vehicle for the black community, but how does this perception of the church’s role look within a theology of two kingdoms?

By Ken Jones

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The Dangerous Act of Hospitality Hospitality is literally “the love of strangers” and means we commit ourselves to the life and flourishing of a person who is without a place, without protection, or without the resources to survive—even if that commitment requires personal sacrifice. True hospitality is deeply Christian and at times dangerous.

By Tim Blackmon Plus ... The Guilt Commission

By Dan Borvan S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 1

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Marketing Director Michele Tedrick Department Editors Ryan Glomsrud, In This Issue & Reviews Michael S. Horton, For a Modern Reformation Staff | Editors Lori A. Cook, Layout & Design Elizabeth Isaac, Copy Editor Ann Smith, Proofreader

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Focus on Missions Reformation2Germany Bringing Reformation to a Country That Has Lost It

By Sebastian Heck From the Hallway: Perspectives on Evangelical Theology The Great Omission: Searching for Ecclesiology in Contemporary Missiology

By Jon D. Payne For a Modern Reformation Catechesis

By Michael S. Horton

The Latest Ideas Sweeping the Land…

Editor-in-Chief Michael S. Horton Executive Editor Ryan Glomsrud

Studies in Acts Acts 5: The Compassion of the Kingdom

By Dennis E. Johnson

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Generous Justice: How God’s Grace Makes Us Just

By Timothy Keller Reviewed by Brian Lee What Is the Mission of the Church? Making Sense of Social Justice, Shalom, and the Great Commission

By Kevin DeYoung and Greg Gilbert Michael Horton Dialogues with Kevin DeYoung Counsel from the Cross: Connecting Broken People to the Love of Christ

By Elyse M. Fitzpatrick and Dennis E. Johnson Reviewed by Debbe and Rod Mays For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care

By Steven Bouma-Prediger Reviewed by Matthew Barrett A Dialogue: In and Out of Our Circles “Let’s Be Civil About It” White Horse Inn Interview with Os Guinness Drawn to Freedom: Christian Faith Today in Conversation with the Heidelberg Catechism

By Eberhard Busch, translated by William H. Rader Reviewed by Sebastian Heck Point of Contact: Books Your Neighbors Are Reading The Pale King

By David Foster Wallace Reviewed by David Zahl COVER ART: ISTOCKPHOTO, COMPOSITE BY LORI COOK

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IN THIS ISSUE

“The Main Thing”

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n this issue we shift gears in our tour through the consecutive phrases of Matthew 28:18–20 in order to take up an important discussion of the gospel and social justice. This is a timely topic, as many readers know, and we are eager to help Reformation-minded Christians discern the difference between the Great Commission given by Jesus to the church and the Great Commandment to love our neighbor—a command similarly issued

by Jesus in the New Testament but also rooted in creation and therefore applicable to all people, believer and unbeliever alike. Distinguishing faith (the commission) and love (the commandment) without separating them is our goal. Further, we want to encourage readers to acknowledge the appropriate sphere for each, whether the church for the proclamation of the gospel or in the lives of individual Christians for love of neighbor.

We believe that a Reformation understanding of law and gospel, two-kingdoms theology, and the uniqueness of the task given by God to the church should be brought to bear on this sometimes controversial topic. First, we want to encourage pastors to remain steadfast in their mission and singularly focused on Word and Sacrament ministry.

Our editor-in-chief Michael Horton helps us recognize that the commission and the commandment each have their own logic, means, and application, and that these differences must be recognized so that each one can flourish as God intends. Typically the question arises: Should the church “do” anything other than preach and teach? Seminary professor David VanDrunen provides solid answers while explaining the difference between the church as an institution with offices and means of grace, and the church as an organism, or a community of faith and life.

But in this issue we also want to go on record and state our view of the importance of social justice of all kinds in the lives of Christian disciples, which is why VanDrunen reminds us of the Reformation teaching on “vocation.” We follow up with an article by Ken Jones, White Horse Inn co-host and pastor of Glendale Missionary Baptist Church, who offers a well-informed discussion of the black church and social justice. He explains the origins of the black church and its role as a vehicle for socialization in local communities, which led to the inevitable expansion of the Great Commission to include a variety of cultural initiatives. Jones fights against the notion that two-kingdoms theology will leave Christians unconcerned about justice in society, while challenging the emphasis on social issues in the black church.

Kim Riddlebarger, pastor of Christ Reformed Church in Anaheim and another White Horse Inn co-host, spells out the debates concerning eschatology—in particular, amillennialism—that frequently underwrite discussions about the role of the church in relation to culture. He criticizes the labels “optimistic” and “pessimistic” and proposes a better category, that of “biblical realism.” When it comes to realistic strategies for making a difference in this world and loving one’s neighbor, Tim Blackmon—a Christian Reformed minister who serves at the American Protestant Church of The Hague in the Netherlands—encourages us to recover the lost art of hospitality. This is a practical suggestion within reach of all of us that streams out of God’s own overflowing love for creation.

Looking in passages of Scripture at examples of Jesus’ miracles and service to the poor, Presbyterian pastor Jon Payne reminds us that these events function first as testimonies to Christ’s true status as God’s Messiah.

They provide glimpses of the coming kingdom where sickness, demon possession, sin, and death will be no more.

They point to Jesus’ divinity and role in redemptive history above all, and they are not essentially examples of how to unite Word and deed in ministry. Historically, churches that have pursued this latter interpretation have sometimes confused the difference between the Great Commission and the Great Commandment and therefore have been susceptible to mission creep, where a concern for social justice has been replaced by a social gospel. This is ultimately a tragedy for both the gospel and Christian charity.

As you peruse this issue, remember that the gospel alone is the power of God unto salvation. Christ’s liberality and merciful charity to us on the cross does indeed have the power to inspire us to grateful lives of service to the poor and the weak. But remember the words of Lee Iacocca where it concerns the mission of the church, “Keep the main thing the main thing.”

Ryan Glomsrud Executive Editor

NEXT ISSUES November/December 2011 The Great Assurance January/February 2012 Calvinism vs. Arminianism S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 3

STUDIES IN ACTS

Acts 5: The Compassion of the Kingdom

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he opening words of Acts sum up the contents of Luke’s “first book”—

works” (2 Cor. 12:12).

In addition to signaling his Gospel—as “all that Jesus began to do and teach” until his ascension God’s endorsement of his messengers, Jesus’ miracles, (Acts 1:1). These words imply, first, that the narrative in Acts will continue before his death and after his resurrection, also carried another message: they expressed the compassion of the the account of Jesus’ activity, as he now carries on his King for his suffering and sinful subjects.1 It was comwork from his heavenly throne through the Holy passion that moved Jesus to resurrect a widow’s only Spirit, who transforms, empowers, and deploys his son, recently deceased, and restore him to his grieving people as his ambassadors on earth. Second, Jesus’ mother (Luke 7:13–15). Compassion moved him to twofold ministry while on earth—doing and teaching— provide food for large crowds, lest they faint from will continue to be twofold as he reigns in heaven. In hunger (Mark 8:2). He healed the sick and freed those Acts we can anticipate an account both of Jesus’ words possessed by demons (Luke 4:40–41). He brought healand of his deeds. The Christ, who was “mighty in deed ing and release to suffering people on the Sabbath and word before God and all the people” (Luke 24:19) (Luke 6:6–11; 13:10–17), demonstrating God’s lifeduring his earthly humiliation, still ministers mightily restoring purposes for that holy day (see Mark 2:27–28). in both modes now in his heavenly exaltation.

Jesus taught that there was a wideness in God’s Jesus’ teaching receives special emphasis in Acts, mercy, for the Most High “is kind to the ungrateful since so high a proportion of the book is devoted to and the evil” (6:32–36). As the Father’s beloved Son, recording samples of gospel proclamation in Jerusalem, Christ’s miracles of mercy likewise reached out Judea, and Samaria, and beyond. It is also true, howbeyond the circle of his followers and beyond the borever, that the ascended Lord’s words, delivered through ders of Israel’s covenant community. More than once his apostles, were accompanied and confirmed by deeds in his earthly ministry, this surprising Messiah exerted that demonstrated his power and compassion. During his kingdom power to deliver marginalized “outJesus’ earthly ministry, his awesome acts of might and siders” from suffering and sorrow as seen in the folmercy illustrated the good news of the kingdom, and lowing examples. they certified his authority as the promised messianic (1) A desperate mother, Syrian by birth and Greek King. Peter said to the crowd on Pentecost, “Jesus of by culture, despite her past in paganism relentlessly Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with mighty begged this Jewish Messiah to free her daughter from works and wonders and signs which God did through demonic torment. Though Jesus was sent (as he himhim in your midst” (Acts 2:22). self said) “to the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” this Now in the book of Acts the signs and wonders that Gentile outsider knew that Jesus could and would the risen Christ performed through his apostles conprovide such a feast of mercy and might that the firmed that he had commissioned them to be his “children” could eat their fill, and the crumbs that fell spokesmen: “And awe came upon every soul, and from their table would more than meet her daughter’s many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles” (2:43). “And with great power the aposneed (Matt. 15:21–28). tles were giving their testimony to the resurrection of (2) A Roman centurion showed more faith than the Lord Jesus” (4:33). Paul summed up the purpose those in Israel, and his servant was healed by Christ’s of miracles to certify God’s spokesmen when he word (Luke 7:1–10).

(3) A demonized madman in pagan Gerasa ran at rehearsed his own apostolic credentials: “The signs of Jesus not because he was drawn in faith but because he a true apostle were performed among you with was driven by dark spirits who tyrannized his tortured utmost patience, with signs and wonders and mighty 4 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

mind. He showed no glimmer of trust at first. How could he, so enslaved by evil? Yet Jesus set him free and drew him by grace into God’s kingdom (Luke 8:26–39).

(4) Jesus’ cleansing of ten lepers along the border between Samaria and Galilee demonstrated the breadth of God’s embrace of grace in two striking ways (Luke 17:11–19). First, of the ten who were cleansed, only one returned to praise God and thank Jesus. The Son had displayed his Father’s heart by extending healing mercy even to ingrates. Second, the one who did give thanks was a Samaritan, a “foreigner,” as Jesus rightly called him: the Messiah’s compassion was reaching beyond the borders of God’s covenant community.

Jesus’ teaching about kingdom compassion fit his practice. A scholar skilled in the law tried to make its second great commandment—“You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18)—more achievable, hoping to define “neighbor” in a way that would limit his neighborly obligation. But Jesus pushed in the opposite direction. The scholar should have expected as much. In the same chapter of the law as the command to love one’s neighbor are these words: “You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Lev. 19:34; see Deut. 10:18–19). So Jesus told a story of a mugging victim and his three potential rescuers: a priest, a Levite, and a Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37).

Each character in Jesus’ parable is identified in terms of his social circle, except one. Priest and Levite belong to Judaism’s honored elite, whereas the Samaritan is a despised outcast. But to whose circle does the victim belong? Whose neighbor is he? (Jesus does not say that the victim is a Jew, though his hearers may have assumed so.) Jesus’ point is that mercy that reflects God’s compassion does not focus on the boundary of its obligation but on the breadth of its opportunity: “Which…proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” (Luke 10:36).2 That is how God and his Messiah operate: moving toward, rather than shying away from, people in need—all sorts of people—to lavish rescue and restoration on people in pain. The compassion of the kingdom breaks beyond borders to embrace outsiders and to draw them in, to heal the hurting, to free the captives, and to bring the dead to life.

In the book of Acts, we see Jesus’ deeds of compassion carried over after his exaltation in his ministry of mercy through his church. At the temple, a crippled beggar sought only silver, not strengthened ankles to bear his weight, much less salvation from sin and death.

But Jesus’ name gave him more than he asked, by far: legs to leap for joy, and “perfect health” by faith in

Jesus’ name (Acts 3:1–11, 16; 4:10–11; see Isa. 35:5–7).

The parallels between the healing of this (presumably Jewish) lame man at the temple and another in (manifestly pagan) Lystra (14:8–18) show that the restorative mercy of the Messiah was bursting beyond the ancient covenant community to embrace the Gentiles.

In Jerusalem, people carried their sick into the streets, hoping that Peter’s shadow might fall across them (5:15). In pagan Ephesus, people grabbed Paul’s headbands and aprons, hoping that apostolic perspiration could cure sickness and expel evil spirits (19:11–12). Whatever blend of superstition and nascent faith motivated such practices, the lavish mercy of God flowed freely in both places: “The people also gathered from the towns around Jerusalem, bringing the sick and those afflicted with unclean spirits, and they were all healed” (5:16), “and their diseases left them and the evil spirits came out of them” (19:12).3 Less visible to the naked eye than the apostles’ signs and wonders was fruit that the Spirit began to bear in ordinary believers’ attitudes toward their possessions and their neighbors. The free gift of forgiveness through the crucified and risen Christ and life in his Spirit evoked a response of joyful generosity toward others: “And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need” (2:45). This was no compulsory communalism (5:4), but the reflex of hearts so captured by God’s compassion that they overflowed with generosity toward fellow believers, expressed in concrete and costly terms. Properties the affluent might otherwise have retained for their own security were liquidated to meet the urgent needs of destitute brothers and sisters in the family of God (4:34–35).

As the church grew, the challenges of distributing food to its many widows increased to the point that a second group of leaders, charged to administer ministries of mercy, was added alongside the apostles, whose focus remained on the Word (6:1–7).4 Christians continued to care for others in the family of God, even across geographic and cultural distance.

When the largely Gentile church in Antioch learned of an impending famine, “the disciples determined, everyone according to his ability, to send relief to the brothers living in Judea” (11:28–29). Later, carrying another offering from Gentile churches to relieve needy believers in Jerusalem,5 Paul bade farewell to the elders of Ephesus with a parting reminder of his own example of generous compassion: “In this way we must help the weak and remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive’” (20:35).

Although the need of the church’s Greek-speaking widows was the specific occasion for the recognition S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 5

of a distinct order of mercy ministers in Acts 6, it goes beyond the purpose of that passage to press this specific historical detail in such a way as to exclude the church’s ministry of mercy to orphans, to the poor, or to the new covenant equivalent of ancient Israel’s “sojourners”—suffering neighbors who do not (yet) belong to the community of the King.

The Law of Moses and the example and instruction of Jesus called God’s people to respond to his grace by reaching out, individually and corporately, in actions that display the King’s restorative compassion, as well as in words that proclaim the King’s redemptive mercy.

Followers of Jesus love neighbors in costly and caring ways, not confining their compassion within convenient “neighborhood boundaries.” Tabitha, for example, was beloved in Joppa for her good works and acts of charity (9:36), but Luke seems unconcerned to specify whether she had clothed only widows who were followers of Jesus. When she was raised to life, in fact, Peter presented her to “the saints and the widows” (9:41). We are left to speculate whether “the widows” were a subgroup of “the saints,” or represented a wider circle of those whose needs Tabitha’s kindness had met. Was not her King’s compassion shown as surely in her mundane services as a seamstress, as in the awe-inspiring resurrection by which Peter restored her to the church and the widows whom she had clothed?

Luke’s account of instances of kingdom compassion in the church’s early decades illustrates both the breadth and the focused priority expressed by Paul to the churches of Galatia: “As we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith” (Gal. 6:9). The overarching and comprehensive directive is to “do good to everyone,” as God’s providence supplies resources and opportunities to express his compassion in action.

Within that calling, our first priority is to meet need with mercy for believers within the kingdom community, the household of faith—whether Jesus’ suffering brothers and sisters live in our congregation or city, or across the world.

Maintaining the balance the apostle enjoins is no easy challenge. Jesus cared for his disciples and Israel’s covenant community, but he also extended his Father’s compassion to outsiders and even, on occasion, to the ungrateful. The early church likewise emerged as a community set apart by its mutual care for its helpless members, so that “there was not a needy person among them” (Acts 4:34), a sign of God’s blessing on his people (Deut. 15:4–5).

Meanwhile, their Lord’s generous mercy was shown in the apostles’ healings of those who approached with no faith or defective faith but who nevertheless 6 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

departed as citizens of God’s kingdom, having received so much more than they sought. We may find it a difficult and delicate balance, sometimes messy and frustrating, to minister mercy wisely to those outside the church as well as caring for Christ’s suffering siblings.

Yet Jesus’ words and deeds in Acts call his church to reflect both our Father’s wide compassion and his focused redemptive love.

Dennis E. Johnson is professor of practical theology at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido and author of The Message of Acts in the History of Redemption (P&R 1997).

The overwhelming majority of Christ’s miracles— whether he performed them directly during his years on earth or indirectly through his apostles—conveyed mercy, rescue, and healing, providing relief to the suffering and sorrow unleashed in the world through human sin, and offering limited previews of the ultimate reversal of the curse at history’s consummation. On a few occasions, Jesus’ miracles inflicted judgment rather than blessing.

The cursing of the fig tree near Jerusalem was a prophetic sign of the impending destruction to come on the leaders and residents of Jerusalem, who were about to repudiate their Messiah and the redemption he had come to provide (Mark 11:12–14, 20–21; see Luke 13:6–9). In the apostolic church, Ananias and Sapphira, like ancient Achan in the days of Joshua, were struck dead for despising the Spirit’s holy presence and omniscience (Acts 5:1–11; see Josh. 7:10–26). Saul and Elymas were blinded physically and temporarily, a sign of their spiritual blindness (Acts 9:8; 13:11; see Deut. 28:29; Isa. 42:16–20).

2Edmund Clowney comments on Jesus’ question: “Such love [imitating the Father’s ‘love of grace toward guilty and undeserving enemies (Mt. 5:44–48)’] does not ask what it must do as a minimum, but rejoices in doing unrequired good. The compassion of the Samaritan does not ask, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ Rather, it displays the free love of a neighbour, reflecting the compassionate love of God (Lk. 10:24–37). We are to be merciful as our Father in heaven is merciful.” Edmund P. Clowney, The Church (Contours of Christian Theology) (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1995), 161.

3God later extended mercy through Paul to the hospitable residents of Malta, who kindly cared for shipwreck survivors. In response to Paul’s prayer, the Lord healed the father of the island’s “chief man,” whereupon “the rest of the people on the island who had diseases also came and were cured” (Acts 28:8–9).

4Stephen, Philip, and their five colleagues were appointed to “serve” tables. The verb used (diakoneo) belongs 1

(continued on page 8)

FOCUS ON MISSIONS

Reformation2Germany Bringing Reformation to a Country That Has Lost It

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hinking back to the momentum that the Reformation generated in its early decades, who would have thought that this upcoming decade of quincentennial celebrations would take place in countries that are now

all but bereft of the gospel?

The Western European decline of almost all recognizable expressions of the Christian faith has become proverbial. In particular, in Germany—“the Land of the Reformation”—the familiar-looking steeples and church bells sounding forth into the night are but tragic reminders of an all-toodistant past. “Luther Festivals” and “Reformationfests” are often organized by those who are less convinced of the utter irrelevance of the Reformation as they are of the opportunity for commerce.

What happened? What caused this transformation of Western Europe from the erstwhile cradle of the Reformation to one of the most secular places on earth within just over two centuries? Many reasons could be listed. Among them would have to be a number of developments preceded by the adjective “German”: German Enlightenment, German higher criticism of the Bible, German liberalism, and finally, not entirely disconnected, the havoc of two world wars. These all go a long way in explaining the current climate in much of Western Europe, especially in Germany.

Today in Germany, we are faced with the challenging combination of an aggressive New Atheism, constant Muslim immigration, negative population growth, and a dwindling Christian presence. The Lutheran and Reformed (or United) “state churches”— that is, the officially recognized and tax-funded Protestant church bodies—apostatized and morphed into sub-Christian social institutions long ago. Even those churchly groups who have left the sinking ship decades ago are now deteriorating. According to most statistics, evangelical believers comprise less than one percent of the total German population, with no recognizable growth. And most of these would-be evangelical believers have little or no actual connection

with the Reformation faith and history. In the midst of these circumstances, we have partnered together and launched a renewed endeavor at bringing Re-

formation to Germany.

Reformation2Germany is a churchly and concerted endeavor to establish a Reformed church in Germany, spearheaded by German pastors and ordained missionaries, and with the help and advice of ministers and the support of churches from different Reformed and Presbyterian denominations both in Europe and in the United States. The goal is simple and straightforward: (1) plant confessional Reformed churches in strategic locations in Germany that build on a robust Word and Sacrament ministry and will eventually form a denomination; (2) publish Reformed resources, both popular and academic, contemporary as well as classics; and (3) facilitate the training of pastors/church planters. We believe all these things need to happen for a work of the Reformation to be sustained. Since there is currently no confessional Reformed denomination in Germany, with the first church plants we are laying the ground work for a new Reformed denomination that stands in continuity with the old Reformed church of Germany that gave us the Heidelberg Catechism.

As I write, we are looking back with thankfulness on the first year of our church-planting effort in Heidelberg, Germany. The Lord has provided a small but steady group of believers who meet regularly for public worship in a rented facility downtown. We have seen the firstfruits of the labor, received the first members, and are hoping soon to train the first officers. Simultaneously, there are a number of potential candidates for ministry in other cities in Germany: German pastors-in-training whom we hope to see ordained in the next few years, if the Lord so leads, as well as candidates for full-time missionary service in Germany.

What a joy it is to preach God’s unmerited grace for sinners in the gospel of justification by faith alone, the S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 7

same message that Luther so ably rediscovered. What a joy it is to teach the Heidelberg Catechism by which our Reformed forebears so ably summarized the Reformed faith as the Christian faith, and to do it in the City of Heidelberg. What a joy it is to celebrate the rich Reformation history and heritage we have here, by appropriating it for the present. But how sad that so few are doing it!

Please join us in bringing another Reformation to Germany. We are looking for churches with concern for Western Europe to partner with us in finances and prayer.

Let us partner together and pray fervently that in another hundred years—Deo volente—there would be a decade of the six-hundredth celebration of the Reformation in Germany by many vibrant churches!

Soli Deo gloria!

Sebastian Heck (PhD student at the Theologische Universiteit Apeldoorn in the Netherlands) is a German national, born and raised in the Black Forest of southern Germany.

He is the initiator of Reformation2Germany (www.reformation2germany.org), and is an ordained minister in the PCA with a call to labor in church planting in Germany.

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Studies in Acts (continued from page 6) to the word-group from which the English word deacon is derived. The noun diakonoi appears elsewhere designating church officers whose supportive role complements the teaching and governing labors of overseers/elders (Phil. 1:1; 1 Tim. 3). Many theologians see in Acts 6 the institution of the ongoing office of deacon, yet the Seven may have filled an extraordinary, transitional role in mercy ministry, anticipating the later, continuing office of the diaconate in a way analogous to the apostles’ ministry of Word and rule, ministries that were later carried on (without the gifts of new revelation and confirming miracles) in the ordinary office of overseer/elder. After Stephen’s martyrdom and the dispersion of many believers (including, presumably, the rest of the Seven), when the church at Antioch later sent an offering to relieve poor Christians in Jerusalem, it was entrusted to the church’s elders (not deacons) for distribution (11:30). In any case, Acts 6 illustrates the general distinction between word ministry and deed/mercy ministry (see 1 Pet. 4:10–11).

5Although Luke does not explicitly mention this offering, he lists the representatives of the Gentile churches who accompanied Paul (Acts 20:4). Paul discusses the Gentiles’ offering for the poor in Judea in his letters (1 Cor. 16:1–4; 2 Cor. 8–9; Rom. 15:25–32).

FROM THE HALLWAY p e r s p e c t i v e s

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The Great Omission: Searching for Ecclesiology in Contemporary Missiology acquaintances? How is the resurrected and ascended Lord Jesus Christ building and missionary agencies are looking for better methods. God, his church throughout the world? Has he ordained a however, is looking for better churches. Because churches are particular strategy for the gathering and nurturing of the elect from among the nations, or are we encourGod’s method.1 aged to create our own? I believe the answers to these Regrettably, many seem to have developed bibliquestions will help our churches to be more biblical cal amnesia concerning God’s appointed method and and faithful when it comes to the missionary mandate. means for missions—namely, the going forth of ordained missionary-pastors for the express purpose A Convoluted Recipe for Missions of establishing (and strengthening) biblical churches While living in Edinburgh, Scotland, my wife and through the proclamation of Christ’s efficacious I became soup connoisseurs. Partially due to the Word, the faithful administration of the sacraments, dreary, bone-chilling weather, a bowl of soup (and a and the making of mature disciples through comcup of hot tea) was a common part of the cuisine. prehensive biblical instruction.2 Traditional Scottish soups such as Cock-a-Leekie Instead, the growing trend has been for churches (chicken, prunes, leeks), Cullen Skink (smoked had(or just as often agencies) to send out laypeople to be dock, potatoes, milk), and Carrot and Coriander engaged in all manner of activity such as leadership became some of our favorites. These traditional soups, training, art shows, economic reform, coffeehouses, however, would no longer be favorites if seventy-five medical clinics, education, and sports. But do these ingredients were added to them. In the modern misthings really constitute biblical missions? While not sionary movement, the simple, straightforward recipe questioning the good intentions of those who give found in the Great Commission has turned into a vast their lives to such endeavors, often with great sacrisoup of endless, and frequently surprising, ingredients. fice, it still must be asked, do these activities fall under For many there seems to be no standard, traditional the Great Commission or the Great Commandment, recipe for missions. If there is a standard recipe—or or even the Cultural Mandate? In other words, should definition—it is often so broad as to include everythese kinds of activities be viewed as fulfilling our Lord’s parting words in Matthew 28:18–20, or should thing from community development to Pilates classes. they more accurately be seen as a response to the In the opening chapter of his classic and influential Lord’s command to “love thy neighbor” and “fill the work Christian Mission in the Modern World (1976), earth and subdue it”?3 John Stott describes the Great Commission as a comPerhaps in our zeal to share the love of Christ with bination of evangelism and social action. He conthe nations, we have unwittingly blurred important fesses that he formerly adhered to a more traditional biblical distinctions, thus fostering confusion regarding view of missions that “concentrated on verbal proclathe true nature and goal of the Great Commission. Can mation.”4 He has since, however, grown to “see more we really say that the church is fulfilling Christ’s preclearly that not only the consequences of the ascension mandate when our “missionaries” are not Commission but the actual Commission itself must be exercising the means of grace for the planting and understood to include social as well as evangelistic watering of biblical churches? Are missiology and responsibility, unless we are to be guilty of distorting ecclesiology married in Scripture, or merely casual the words of Jesus.”5

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hen it comes to the Great Commission, Christian churches

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We must also remember that Christ’s miracles of healing were not a pattern for future, ongoing ministry. Rather, they served to testify of Christ’s true status as God’s Messiah.

Stott continues by asserting that the “most costly” form of the Great Commission is actually set forth in John’s Gospel, not Matthew’s. He points to the high priestly prayer where Jesus states, “As you sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world” (John 17:18). In addition, Stott highlights Jesus’ postresurrection words, “As the Father has sent me, even so I send you” (John 20:21).

With reference to these two verses, Stott parallels Christ’s mission with our own. Jesus, according to Stott, is our model for missions. “Therefore,” he says, “our understanding of the church’s mission must be deduced from our understanding of the Son’s.”6 He rightly qualifies this idea by stating, “Of course the major purpose of the Son’s coming into the world was unique...for the Father sent the Son to be the Savior of the world, and to that end to atone for our sins and to bring us eternal life.”7 Indeed, Stott is correct in underscoring that Christians cannot imitate Christ’s mission to redeem sinners. Nevertheless, he believes that we can and should imitate our Lord’s mission insofar as it pertains to service. Moreover, Stott has persuaded the next generation of evangelical pastors and leaders of the same. Service to our fellow human, therefore, becomes for Stott an integral part of the Great Commission.8 One of the most important influences on contemporary evangelicalism today is Tim Keller, arguably one of the biggest influences on modern missions, who follows Stott’s line of thinking when he writes: Exactly what did Christ commission his church to do, under the government of her officers?

Most people turn to the Great Commission in Matthew 28:18–20 which seems to put all the emphasis on preaching and making disciples.

However, Jesus not only commissioned his disciples on the mountain. John tells us that in the Upper Room, after his resurrection, Jesus also commissioned his disciples saying, “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you” (John 20:21; cf. 17:18)....This is surely a more comprehensive statement than Matthew 28:19–20.

As we have seen above, Jesus was “powerful in word and deed” (Luke 24:19). He preached 10 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

the good news of the kingdom, but he also healed the sick, comforted the afflicted, and raised the dead. We have seen that we do not expect ordinarily to follow Christ in a miraculous deed ministry, but we also are to go “into the world” with both words and deeds.9

In their quest to make Christ-like service an essential ingredient of the Great Commission, and not a consequential fruit of it, both Stott and Keller fail to mention Christ’s declaration that the specific “purpose” for which he “was sent” by his heavenly Father was to “preach the good news of the kingdom of God” in all places (see Luke 4:42–44). Even as the crowds were lining up at Peter’s door, presumably to receive the kind of healing and demon expulsion that occurred the night before, Jesus did not go to them.10 Rather, he expressed to Peter that he must go to the next towns to preach the Word, “For I was sent for this purpose” (v. 43). We must also remember that Christ’s miracles of healing were not a pattern for future, ongoing ministry. Rather, they served to testify of Christ’s true status as God’s Messiah. They would also provide us with a marvelous glimpse of the coming kingdom of God where sickness, demon possession, sin, and death would be no more. Christ’s miracles demonstrate, in part, what will happen, in full, at our Lord’s second coming. They are not meant, therefore, to be understood as a part of the Great Commission.

Social action is the Great Addition to the Great Commission, thus confusing our Lord’s specific mandate in Matthew 28:18–20.

The mission of Christ to “preach the good news of the kingdom” in all places was clearly a purpose he passed along to the disciples—and all future ministers—in the Great Commission (Luke 4:42–44; Mark 1:15; 35–39; Rom. 10:14–17; 2 Tim. 4:1–5). Indeed, it would be through the proclamation of the Word, not social action, that Christ would advance his kingdom throughout the nations. The authoritative, powerful, and efficacious Word of Christ is not only sufficient to build his church, but this is also its singular purpose and goal—that the Word might “increase and prevail mightily” in the lives of his people (Acts 19:20; c.f. Isa. 55:10–11; Ezek. 37:1–10; Acts 2:42).

However, Stott and others would include other means and ends as well, revealing a broader interest and secondary motivation, namely, that of cultural transformation. For example, Stott concludes his chapter by stating, “If we can accept this broader concept of mission as Christian service in the world comprising both

evangelism and social action—a concept which is laid upon us by the model of our Savior’s mission in the world—then Christians could under God make a far greater impact on society, an impact commensurate with our numerical strength and with the radical demands of the commission of Christ.”11 Stott’s burden to see Christians love their neighbors through good deeds, whether next door or across the world, is a commendable one.

Even so, his “broader concept of mission” blurs important biblical distinctions and adds countless ingredients to a divine recipe for missions that is meant to be easy to remember, even if difficult to execute.

Christian missions, properly understood, therefore is the establishing and strengthening of visible, biblical churches by Christ’s ordained ambassadors through Christ’s appointed means. Those divinely chosen means are the Word, sacraments, and prayer, “all which are made effectual to the elect for their salvation.”12 Befriending people at the local pub in Ireland, feeding a homeless person in the Bronx, and building a new hospital or school in Africa are all honorable tasks, even when done by unbelievers! And when done by Christians, these pursuits may serve as a kind of platform for evangelism. Even so, they should not be viewed as fulfilling the Great Commission, but rather as fulfilling the commandment to “love God and your neighbor.” To be sure, loving your neighbor by sharing the gospel with him in the cul-de-sac may be viewed, in a sense, as a wider application of our Lord’s commission and fulfillment of every Christian’s general call to be a witness. Nevertheless, we should not allow this wider, less central application to marginalize or diminish the primary one.

In Stott’s view, the Great Commission and the Great Commandment eventually collapse into one.

This is arguably what has happened in many of our churches, denominations, and missionary agencies where social action and mercy ministry have overshadowed the ministry of Word and Sacrament. Over time this causes evangelicals to look alarmingly similar to mainline liberals in their response to the Great Commission—that is, placing deed ministry on the same level with (or, in many cases, above) the ministry of the Word.

When we negotiate the Great Commission, adding our good works or service to the equation, the gospel too easily becomes what we do for others rather than an announcement of what Christ has done for us. We are not the gospel, no matter how many good works we may do before a watching world. Therefore, carefully heeding the Great Commission for the advancement of his kingdom, we must pay closer attention to the unambiguous command to send forth—and support—called, qualified, and trained missionary-pastors

to do the not-so-dazzling work of establishing and strengthening biblical churches through the unadorned means of grace.

The Great Commission: Christ Will Do It! Just before our Lord ascended into heaven he declared that “all authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” With that preeminent authority he commanded his ordained ambassadors (present and future) to go forth into all the world announcing the good news, the good news that Jesus has purchased redemption for sinners with his precious blood. They are then called to baptize those who, by grace through faith, believe this good news. Baptism, replacing circumcision, is the new covenant sign of initiation into the visible church for believers and their children (Acts 2:38–39; 16:15). Lastly, these appointed ambassadors are commanded to make disciples of the baptized. This disciple-making is neither quick nor easy. On the contrary, it takes place through lifelong attendance to the means of grace. This is why God’s missionary-pastors should not “shrink from declaring the whole counsel of God”—that is, “teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you” (Matt. 28:18–20; Acts 20:27). The Lord concluded his command with the wonderful promise that he would always be with his church as they carry out this mission, even “to the end of the age.” Perhaps even more comforting than the knowledge of Christ’s presence in mission is the knowledge of his involvement in the work itself. In fact, Jesus will accomplish the task of world missions. He will do it! “I will build my church,” he says, “and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matt. 16:18). This should be no surprise to us since God has always promised to sovereignly build his church.

God promised Abraham that he would be the “father of a multitude of nations,” and that he would establish an unconditional, everlasting covenant with him, to be God to him and to his offspring after him.

In addition, God promised him land as an everlasting possession, and that through his seed “all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen. 12:1–3; 17:1–8).

In Galatians we learn that the “sons of Abraham” are those who are justified by faith in Christ (Gal. 3:7–9).

These true sons and daughters of Abraham, who are also by faith in Christ sons and daughters of God, will inherit an everlasting possession of land, namely, the “new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells” (Gal. 4:6–7; 2 Pet. 3:13). All of this, even the faith to appropriate it, is a divine gift (Eph. 2:8–9).

The Old Testament is teeming with glorious reminders that God will be faithful to his covenant promises and therefore he will build his church. One S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 11

example is found in Ezekiel 36:26–28 where God declares: “I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.

And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules.

You shall dwell in the land that I gave to your fathers, and you shall be my people, and I will be your God.” Notice how many times in these verses God refers to himself as the initiator and primary cause of salvation.

He will do it. He will save his people. He will build his church. Peter later writes, “According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead” (1 Pet. 1:3). The fact that Christ will sovereignly build his church does not negate the use of secondary causes or objective means to accomplish it, but rather establishes and certifies those causes and means. In the Great Commission our Lord reveals what those divinely appointed means are and who is to go forth employing them.

A Great Commission Metaphor After toiling all night and catching nothing, Luke 5:1–11 reports that Peter, Andrew, James, and John were washing their nets by the lake. After Jesus had finished teaching the large crowds from Peter’s boat, probably around noon (a terrible time to fish), he said to Peter, “Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.” Peter’s initial response was one of doubt and hesitation. Perhaps he thought, “What does a carpenter’s son know about fishing anyway?

I’m the professional. Besides we’ve already begun cleaning our nets, and any fisherman knows you cannot catch fish at this time of day.” But faith in the Word of Christ won out over his fallen reason in the end. Peter said, “At your word I will let down the nets.”

When Peter and the others obeyed the Lord and let down their nets in the deep water, they caught so many fish that their nets were breaking and their boats began to sink. Suddenly Peter was struck with a deep sense of his own unworthiness before the holy Son of God and he said, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” Jesus responded, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.” In other words, “Peter, you’ve spent your life casting fishing nets into the sea to catch fish, bring them into the boat, and kill them for food. But now you will cast the net of the gospel into the world in order to catch sinful mankind, bring them into the church through baptism, and give them abundant life in me through my Word.”

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reminds us that ecclesiology should never be divorced from our missiology. The fisherman (Christ’s ordained ministers) are called to cast out their nets (preach the gospel) into the sea (the world) in order to catch fish (humanity). Once the fishermen catch some fish they do not throw them back into the sea, but rather they bring them into the boat (the visible church). Christ will build his church. But he will do it using external, objective, divinely appointed means and instruments.

Like Peter, we often doubt Christ’s Word. We struggle to believe that Christ really wants to build his church through preaching, water, and bread and wine. It seems counterintuitive. There must be better methods and more effective means for missions than what we read in Matthew 28:18–20. After all, this is the twenty-first century. We know better. Surely our approach to missions must adapt to more contemporary strategies. At least in some global contexts, social action must take priority, right?

The apostles could have spent the bulk of their time involved with social action. There were as many needs then as there are now. However, when we read the book of Acts (and the New Testament Epistles) what we find is a faithful response to the Great Commission. Indeed, the apostles went forth into all the world establishing and strengthening biblical churches through preaching, teaching, discipleship, administering the sacraments, appointing elders, exercising discipline, and shepherding God’s people.13 To be sure, deeds of love and mercy always trail in the wake of faithful ministry, “especially to those in the household of God” (Gal. 6:10). Our faith is dubious at best if we do not show sincere love to our neighbor. But these good works are not the Great Commission; they are the fruit of it. If we confuse these categories, we will end up not only negotiating the Great Commission, but eventually also the gospel.

Let’s Go Fishing Recovering a healthy ecclesiology for our missions by heeding the words of the Great Commission will change the way we approach missions as laypeople, ministers, and churches. Some may conclude from this article that there is no role for Christian laypeople in the Great Commission. But this is light years from the truth. All believers, if able, are called to faithfully support the Great Commission through their earnest prayers, sacrificial giving, and steadfast encouragement. And these things should not be minimized. They are the fuel for world missions. The fact is, if Christian laypeople failed to carry out these crucial tasks, missions would be nonexistent. In light of this, we should ask ourselves what we are personally doing to help fuel the Great Commission.

Second, ministers of Word and Sacrament should be personally challenged to respond more faithfully to the Great Commission, and not just view it as someone else’s job. It’s not. If you are a lawfully ordained minister, it is your responsibility to preach the gospel, baptize, teach, and make mature disciples of all nations. Of course this starts in our own churches, but it does not stop there. As a minister, how can you be more involved in the work of the Great Commission, helping to establish and strengthen churches around the world? There is much work to be done. Is it obvious that you are participating? Perhaps you could commit to one overseas missions trip a year to help plant and strengthen the church. Perhaps you could go long term. Are you willing? Could it be that, as ministers, our reluctance to respond to the Great Commission has fostered much of the confusion mentioned earlier?

Third, a proper view of the Great Commission impacts our sessions, consistories, and mission committees. Churches are always hearing from a long line of “missionaries” who need financial support.

From personal experience, these “missionaries” are raising money to do everything under the sun, from childcare to secondary education to computer networking.14 How then should we prioritize our missions giving? The answer is easy if we rightly interpret the Great Commission. Our priority for missions giving should be in support of those ministers who are called, qualified, trained, and seeking to labor in response to the specific criteria of the Great Commission.15 The Great Commission becomes the Great Omission when the God-ordained kingdom-advancing means of grace, and the missionary-pastors who administer them, are no longer the priority. So let’s go fishing. But let’s fish the way our Lord commanded us to—on his terms, not our own.

Rev. Dr. Jon D. Payne is minister at Grace Presbyterian Church (PCA) in Douglasville, Georgia.

John Stott, Christian Mission in the Modern World (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1976), 26.

5Stott, 37 (emphasis added).

6Stott, 38.

7Stott, 38.

8Ironically, in order to support his point, Stott quotes Mark 10:45, which states that Jesus “came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many”—a plain reference to the mission we cannot do.

9Tim Keller, Ministries of Mercy (Philipsburg, NJ: Presbyterian & Reformed, 1997), 87. In a footnote on page 91, Keller directs his readers to Stott’s interpretation in Christian Mission in the Modern World. Thanks to my friend Dr. Bill Schweitzer for pointing this out.

10A similar occurrence took place in the following chapter when the crowds were gathering to be healed (Luke 5:15–16).

11Stott, 54 (emphasis added).

12Westminster Larger Catechism Q/A 154.

13See Acts 2:14–42; 6:4, 7; 13:44; 14:7; 15:35, 41; 16:5; 19:10, 20; 20:25–27; 1 Cor. 1:21; 2:1–5; 5:3–5; Gal. 3:1; Col. 2:28; 1 Tim. 5:17; 2 Tim. 4:1–5; and Titus 1:5.

14It is interesting to note that these kinds of jobs are understood to be secular vocations only until an individual begins raising loads of kingdom money to carry out these things on the “mission field.” A healthy two-kingdom view helps to remedy this kind of category confusion. See David VanDrunen’s Living in God’s Two Kingdoms: A Biblical Vision for Christianity and Culture (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2010).

15Our congregation supports gifted, ordained church planters in Peru, Germany, England, Albania, Myanmar, and America. These ministries, while unmistakably Word driven, are full of wonderful diaconal ministry to the poor and needy.

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Modern Reformation is a bimonthly magazine discussing theology, apologetics, and cultural issues.

Since 1992 we have been helping Christians “know

This is an adaptation of a statement I heard Sinclair Ferguson make several years ago.

2See Matt. 28:18–20; Acts 2:42; 13:1–4; 1 Cor. 1:21; Acts 18:23; and Col. 1:28–29.

3Faithfully carrying out the Great Commission is always “loving your neighbor.” However, loving your neighbor does not always mean you are carrying out the Great Commission. Diaconal ministry, when done by the church (even overseas), is a fruit of the Great Commission, not an element of it.

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what they believe and why they believe it.” We intentionally include voices from across the reformational spectrum: Anglican, Baptist, Congregational, Episcopal, Lutheran, Presbyterian, and Reformed. Modern Reformation is more than just our name—it’s our mission.

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SOCIAL JUSTICE, SOCIAL GOSPEL?

Justification and Justice: The Great Commission and the Great Commandment

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had an extraordinary experience in my junior year of college when I was a student at the International Institute of Human Rights in Strasbourg, France. Already enthralled by the world-affirming aspects of Reformation theology, I was amazed at the cultural impact of the Reformation. While the rise of “universal human rights” theory cannot be attributed exclusively to the Reformers and their heirs, it was decisively shaped by them. I discovered Reformed thinkers such as Theodore Beza (1519–1605) in Geneva, Philippe Duplessis-Mornay (1549–1623) in France, and Samuel Rutherford (1600–61) in Scotland, who were among the first to lay out a rigorous case for the right of resistance to tyrants. They all opposed the rising tide of royal absolutism with a rigorous defense of the rule of law. In addition to several defenses of Reformed theology, Duplessis-Mornay developed theories of political liberty and human rights and drafted the Edict of Nantes (1598), modern Europe’s first bill of religious toleration. As the leader of the French Reformed (Huguenots), he implemented his theories as an ambassador to various European courts. I also found Johannes Althusius (1563–1638), a pioneer of constitutional law who applied federal (covenant) theology to civil polity, articulating the first sophisticated case for political federalism.

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MICHAEL S. HORTON

J U S T I F I C A T I O N

Yet when I came to Strasbourg that summer, I was quite shaken. Even more distressing than the lectures and reports from human rights leaders (including the UN General Secretary) were the late night conversations with activists from all over the world. Many of them related atrocities, some of which they witnessed, perpetrated at times by regimes supported by the United States. As coheirs with Christ in the blessings of the new creation, believers are especially obliged to reflect on the ways in which our convictions, values, and actions follow the grain of the faith we profess. I had not realized just how much of the myth of America as the “redeemer nation” still clung to me, and God used that experience to bring my theory of total depravity to bear on national identity. Eventually, I leveled off and recognized also the hand of God’s common grace in American history, but without the aura of “the shining city upon a hill,” which is actually what Jesus calls his church (Matt. 5:14).

Although God’s Word is not a manual for culture transformation, good theology creates a horizon for reimagining our relationships to one another as well as to God. And toxic theology, or even good theology perverted in the service of empire and ideology, has had disastrous cultural effects. Social justice is not a conversation that anyone can opt out of: every day we are engaged in secular rituals that either support or threaten the good of our neighbor. Evangelicals score high marks for charity (giving what we do not owe), but, in comparison with other traditions, evangelicalism has lacked the depth of theological reflection on justice (giving what we do owe). I believe that part of that is due to the tendency sometimes in the church’s history to separate the Great Commission given to it from the Great Commandment given to all human beings. Some culture warriors on the right have claimed recently that “social justice” is code for secular humanism; its very mention should raise “Red” flags. Today, however, the pendulum is swinging in the other direction, toward collapsing the former into the latter or the Great Commission into the Great Commandment. Both of these extremes exhibit a tendency to undervalue the distinct importance of both callings, as if everything that is worthwhile for Christian engagement must somehow be subsumed under the church’s commission and ministry.

There is therefore no better time to explore the relationship between making disciples and living as disciples in the world, or the Great Commission and the Great Commandment. In the great debates over the Trinity and the person of Christ, a crucial formula emerged: “distinction without separation.” The Father, the Son, and the Spirit are one God yet distinct persons, and Jesus Christ is one person in two natures.

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This formula has wider purchase across the whole field of theology, and in this article I want to apply it to evangelism and justice.

The Great Commandment and the Great Commission t their simplest levels, the Great Commandment and the Great Commission follow the distinction between law and gospel. A young lawyer asked Jesus, “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets” (Matt. 22:36–40). Jesus was simply repeating Moses (Lev. 19:18; Deut. 6:5). The second is like the first not only because it summarizes the second table of the law (love for neighbor), but because love for God is inextricable from love of fellow image-bearers.

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Distinction without Separation The Cultural Mandate Key Verse: Genesis 1:28 “And God blessed them. And God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.”

Activities: Family, Culture-Making and Renewal, Art, Music, Commerce, Politics The Great Commandment Key Verse: Matthew 22:37–40 “And he said to him, ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.”

Activities: Hospitality, Visiting the Sick, Feeding the Poor, Caring for the Needy The Great Commission Key Verse: Matthew 28:19–20 “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Activities: Preaching, Word and Sacrament Ministry, Discipline, Discipleship, Catechesis

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Of course, the Great Commission is also a command, but it differs from the Great Commandment in several ways. First, they differ in their subjects. The Great Commandment is given to all people in every time and place, while the Great Commission is given to the church alone. Second, they differ in their mandate. The Great Commandment calls all people to love God and neighbor, while the Great Commission calls the church to make disciples of Christ. Third, they differ in their methods. The Great Commandment is natural, inscribed on the human conscience in creation as part of the image of God, and these natural precepts are codified and enforced by social institutions (the family, various voluntary associations, and the state). The gospel, however, is not something that all people know inwardly and innately; it’s a surprising announcement that must be proclaimed. Unsupported by the regimes of this age, the kingdom of Christ advances by Word and Spirit, through preaching and sacrament. While social justice has the divinely ordained power of the sword to back it up, the church’s mandate refuses all appeals to temporal power.

Finally, these mandates differ in their goals. In its fallen condition, the human race is incapable of fulfilling its original vocation. There is no perfect society.

Nevertheless, the moral law that resounds in the human conscience cries out for specific legislation

and enforcement in civil societies. There are better and worse societies, and Christians work alongside nonChristians to improve the common good. Eschewing utopian illusions of grandeur, Christians nevertheless respect civil authority because it is ordained by God. Even if constitutions, laws, and enforcement cannot create the City of God, they can preserve a relative justice and peace in the corrupt regimes of this age.

However, the goal of the Great Commission is not simply the restraint of public injustice and violence, but also the justification of sinners that establishes peace with God and reconfigures our relationships in the communion of saints. As the blessings of the covenant of grace are greater than those of creation and providence, so too are the responsibilities. In our common society, we may be obliged to exercise coercion (especially as soldiers or police officers) and demand repayment of loans (especially as bankers), but in the communion of saints our recourse must be to church courts for reconciliation, and we are to share our goods with one another. This is not social justice in the City of Man, but the new kind of fellowship that can spring only from union with Christ.

Yet the former is still taken seriously by God and indeed has serious implications, especially for those who suffer injustice.

“A New Commandment”

By Michael S. Horton

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istinction without separation” will be the formula in this article. The law and the gospel, the Great Commandment and the Great Commission, the church as Christ’s institution entrusted with his ministry and the church as the people brought into being by this ministry: these are to be distinguished and simultaneously affirmed. God’s moral vision for his world has not changed.

The substance of the moral law is inscribed on the conscience in creation itself. The gospel does not obliterate the law, but is the only means by which love of God and neighbor can be truly realized in a sinful world. As we have seen, Jesus’ summary of the law is the same as Moses’. The commandment itself does not change. What has changed is the transition from “this present age” (under sin and death) to “the age to come” (bringing righteousness and life), and that makes all the difference. This transition is recognized in 1 John 2, where the apostle calls the saints to love one another: “Beloved, I am writing you no new commandment, but an old commandment that you had from the beginning. The old commandment is the word that you have heard. At the same time, it is a new commandment that I am writing to you, which is true in him and in you, because the darkness is passing away and the true light is already shining” (vv. 7–8, emphasis added). Hearing this commandment “in Adam,” under the reign of sin and condemnation, leaves us without any hope. It only tells us what we haven’t done. But hearing this commandment “in Christ,” under the reign of justification and eternal life, we are summoned to a new way of existence.

In our culture especially, we often pit law against love, but in the Bible law is simply the stipulation of love’s duties. The command to love is just as damning—more damning, in fact—than the command simply to refrain from acts of violence. Jesus demonstrated in the parable of the Good Samaritan and elsewhere that the genuine fulfillment of the law (viz., love) is far more demanding than outward conformity to a system of rules.

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The Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5), as well as instructions in the Epistles (especially 1 Corinthians), does not provide a blueprint for civil society but for the new society that the Spirit has planted as embassies of grace in the midst of a passing order. In short, the goal of the Great Commission is to proclaim God’s justification of sinners, not to reform society.

Each commission creates its own covenantal bonds: the one temporal and grounded in the original creation; the other eternal and grounded in the new creation. Even the best of societies belong to this fading age, while in its worst periods the church participates in the age to come.

With clear scriptural warrant, the Protestant Reformers taught that the moral law (summarized in the Ten Commandments) is, in Calvin’s words, “nothing other than the natural law given in creation,” while the civil and ceremonial laws of the Old Testament were given uniquely and exclusively to Israel as God’s holy nation. In the same way, the Sermon on the Mount is a new constitution, no less restricted to the same covenant community that had received the benediction from God (the Beatitudes, with which the sermon begins). In this sermon, Jesus contrasts the old covenant polity (defined by Israel as a holy nation, engaging in holy war against God’s

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enemies) with the new covenant polity (defined by the true Israel united to Christ, witnessing and suffering persecution for the cause of Christ).

Together with unbelievers, Christians may hold a variety of offices in society: as neighbors and citizens, as volunteers and taxpayers as well as recipients of public goods and services, as teachers as well as students, as employers and employees. In every family, too, parents hold an office that, in the case of believers, is both civil and spiritual. Yet only in the fellowship of Christ are all members baptized into the general office of prophets, priests, and kings. And only in this communion are there pastors and teachers, elders and deacons ordained to care for the saints in their earthly pilgrimage. It is this ministry that Christ instituted in the Great Commission, with its fuller articulation in the Epistles where the nature and qualifications of each of these offices is set forth.

Through the office especially of pastors, the Great Commission is fulfilled by the proclamation of the gospel and the administration of the sacraments.

Neither in the Great Commission itself, nor in the many passages in Acts and the Epistles that unpack it, is there any mention of making disciples by community service projects, political protests, or other good works that belong to the vocations believers and

The point in 1 John 2, then, is that the promised era of the new covenant has dawned, when the Spirit would give us new hearts to love God and neighbor—on the basis of the forgiveness of sins (Jer. 31:31– 34). With his resurrection as the firstfruits, the age to come broke into this present evil age, and even those who are only outwardly members of the covenant community participate in these previews of coming attractions through the Word and Sacraments (Heb. 6:4–8).

For believers, the command to love deepens in its summons and intensity. That is why the Sermon on the Mount is even more demanding than the giving of the law at Mount Sinai. Love our enemies?

Pray for those who persecute us for our faith? Share our worldly goods with our less prosperous brothers and sisters, as if our belongings were God’s gifts rather than our own possessions? Show hospitality to strangers, with no expectation of anything in return—even if we too might be carried off by the authorities? Freely share our material resources with our brothers and sisters as God’s gifts rather than our own treasure? Yes, this is not only the pattern for super-saints and monks, but for every believer. But it is not a burden, because the threat of judgment for failing to execute this calling is no longer hanging over us.

We love and serve our neighbors now as those who have been justified and are being renewed day by day, conformed to the image of our Savior. So the Great Commandment is an old commandment, but in another sense it is new. It comes to us now as those who share in Christ’s resurrection life.

Although the command to love remains, for believers who find their justification in Christ’s righteousness, it no longer comes with a threat. It is not the precepts of the law that are cancelled, according to Colossians 2, but “the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands” (v. 14). Freed from the guilt of sin and bondage to this fading age, we are finally free also to love our neighbors. Through the Great Commission we are liberated after all not from the demand of love’s law, but for the just summons of our neighbor through whom God makes his own rightful claim on our lives. (continued on page 18)

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Faithful Presence As new creatures in Christ, we are born again by God’s Spirit and, as we read in 1 Peter, we “are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1 Pet. 2:5). For we are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for [God’s] own possession,” that we might “proclaim the excellencies of him who called [us] out of darkness into his marvelous light” (1 Pet. 2:9). Therefore we rejoice with a worship-centered form of life and daily existence; our priestly vocation before the throne of God’s mercy is foundational for our life in Christ. Explained in terms of our citizenship in the kingdom of God, this priestly mission of God’s people in the present age comes to expression, as Meredith Kline relates, by way of being built up by God into a “living people-temple.”

But what does this entail with respect to our citizenship in the common City of Man? Positively, Kline explains, “It must be recognized that the whole life of God’s people is covered by the liturgical model of their priestly identity. All that they do is done as a service rendered unto God. All their cultural activity in the sphere of the city of man they are to dedicate to the glory of God.” This “sanctification of culture” is subjective, meaning that it happens within the inner man, it “transpires within the spirit of the saints” as we become this people-temple by the weekly ministry of Word and Sacrament.

Negatively, Kline continues, “It must be insisted that this subjective sanctification of culture does not result in a change from common to holy status in culture objectively considered. The common city of man does not in any fashion or to any degree become the holy kingdom of God through the participation of the culture-sanctifying saints in its development. Viewed in terms of its products, effects, institutional context, etc., the cultural activity of God’s people is common grace activity. Though it is an expression of the reign of God in their lives, it is not a building of the kingdom of God as institution or realm. For the common city of man is not the holy kingdom realm, nor does it ever become the holy city of God, whether gradually or suddenly. Rather, it must be removed in judgment to make way for the heavenly city as a new creation.”

All quotations are taken from Meredith G. Kline, Kingdom Prologue: Genesis Foundations for a Covenantal Worldview (Two Age Press, 2000), 201 (emphasis added).

unbelievers share in common. Far from the “deeds, not creeds” approach to “missional witness” these days, these biblical passages reveal explicitly that Christ’s mandate is fulfilled through proclaiming the gospel, baptizing, and teaching.

Collapsing the gospel into the law and the Great Commission into the Great Commandment, many Christians today speak of our “living the gospel,” even “being the gospel,” with gratuitous appeals to participate with God in his redeeming and reconciling activity through their good works. However, this rhetoric is in danger of advancing another gospel, which is no gospel but rather the summary of the law. Many who speak in this way appeal to 2 Corinthians 5, where Paul refers to “the ministry of reconciliation” (v. 18).

Yet, upon closer inspection, the apostle teaches the opposite to this Pelagianizing interpretation. First, he is defending his apostolic office, which centers on proclaiming Christ rather than ourselves. Second, he says that the inauguration of the new creation and God’s reconciliation of the world in Christ is a completed event. “All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself” (v. 18). Third, when Paul adds, “and gave us the ministry of reconciliation,” 18 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

he explains, “that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation” (v. 19). The reconciliation of which Paul speaks is not social justice: the duty that all people owe to God and to one another according to the moral law.

Rather, it is the gospel that announces the fact of God’s completed work for sinners in his Son. God in Christ is the subject of the reconciling action; the apostles are the subject of the proclaiming action. To be sure, this is an important ministry—even participating with God—but it is qualitatively different from the work of God in Christ that they proclaim. They are not saviors and lords, but official messengers. “Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us” (v. 20).

The gospel does not relieve us of the duty to love God and neighbor. Again, “distinction without separation” is our rule. From eternity to eternity, the moral law reveals God’s will for our lives. The law, however, cannot save. Far from reconciling sinners to God and to one another, the law condemns us before God; and even though it may restrain injustice and violence to some extent between sinners through

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ordained coercion, it cannot create that city whose builder and maker is God. Our good works as believers receive their direction from the law, but can draw their strength only from the gospel. Confusing these good works with God’s work of reconciliation and redemption comes as close as anything could to Paul’s famous anathema in Galatians 1:6–9. After all, “if justification were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose” (Gal. 2:21).

It is through the gospel that the Spirit creates, grows, and expands Christ’s church. That is why the churches of the Reformation confess that the true church is visible wherever the Word is truly preached and the sacraments are properly administered according to Christ’s institution. And, I would argue, the third clause of our Lord’s mandate (“teaching them to observe everything that I have commanded”) justifies the Reformed addition of a third mark, namely, church discipline. Already in Acts 2 we see the Great Commission playing out on the ground. At Pentecost, the Spirit empowers Peter to proclaim Christ as the fulfillment of the Scriptures, convicting many of their sin and opening their hearts to receive the good news.

Those who believe are baptized (with examples in Acts of whole households being baptized along with a believing parent). “And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (Acts 2:42). Any program for missional outreach that omits these elements—or even makes them subordinate to humanly crafted initiatives—is a mission different from the one Christ ordained for his church.

Christians are free, however, to take up vocations that are not given to the church as a special institution but still ordained by God. The Great Commission doesn’t call us to be parents—or even to marriage. In

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fact, the examples of Jesus and Paul underscore this point! Nevertheless, marriage and the family are divinely ordained institutions. The Great Commission does not provide a roadmap to peace in the Middle East or domestic economic policy. Yet even as it is written on the conscience, the Great Commandment and the institutions God established in creation retain their divine authorization. Salvation—redemption and reconciliation—cannot be achieved by our good works, but we were saved for good works; and since God does not need them, the only place for them to go is out to our neighbors who do.

We have to struggle against the notion that in order for something to be honorable and divinely ordained it must be holy rather than common. I am called to love and serve my neighbor not because in doing so I am extending the kingdom, or even as a pretext for evangelism. Ultimately, I am called to do this because my neighbor is created in God’s image. As God’s image-bearers, especially those whose voices are ignored or marginalized, these neighbors are God’s own claim upon me and my life. Through their cries, I hear God’s call, “Adam, where art thou?” And I dare not generalize or deflect this summons, replying with Cain, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

All believers participate in the holy vocation as prophets, priests, and kings. Through their witness to Christ and the mutual admonition, instruction, and service through diverse spiritual and temporal gifts, all members exercise this holy office. Some are also called to particular offices as pastors, elders, and deacons.

However, all believers are also called to common offices, instituted in creation and the Great Commandment rather than in redemption and the Great Commission.

When we are fulfilling our daily callings that con(continued on page 26)

The Spirit of the Law In his commentary on the eighth commandment in the very first edition of the Institutes of the Christian Religion (1536), John Calvin highlighted not only the command’s negative prohibition, “Thou shalt not steal,” but also its positive implications: The commandment means: Since God is to be feared and loved by us, we are not to filch by fraud or seize by main force what belongs to another....But, if there is in us any fear or love of God, we are rather to press with every effort to aid either friend or foe, as much as we can with advice and help, to hold onto his possessions, and we are rather to give up our own than take away anything from another. And not this alone, but if they are pressed by any material difficulty, we are to share their needs and relieve their penury with our substance.

As Calvin and the other Reformers believed, the “do not” form of many of the Decalogue commandments also carried with them—with force—what we ought to do constructively to seek the love and well-being of our neighbor.

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Mercy Ministry and Social Justice

By Michael S. Horton

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emember, “distinction without separation.”

Although the Great Commission itself does not include social justice as part of the church’s mandate, “teaching everything I have commanded” includes the New Testament’s moral instruction as essential to that substance that the church communicates in making disciples. Although Scripture does not tell us which causes or political candidates to support, its gospel brings renewal as well as forgiveness, and its law guides us, corrects us, and provides wisdom for relating to our neighbors and the wider creation. In other words, through Scripture, God gives us the corrective lenses through which we view ourselves and the world. Through the ministry mandated in the Great Commission, we all become better equipped not only to use our spiritual gifts in the body of Christ and to share the gospel with others, but also to glorify and enjoy God in our worldly stations.

Like two great continental plates, the Great Commandment and the Great Commission converge at various places, sometimes provoking tremors and even the occasional earthquake. One such fault line is mercy ministry.

There is little controversy over the diaconal care of the saints in their temporal needs. The ordained office of deacon was created for this very purpose (Acts 6:1– 6), and its qualifications are delineated in 1 Timothy 3:9–10. As an extension of his ministry of proclamation, Paul was particularly preoccupied with a collection for relief of the Jerusalem saints. He includes lengthy references to it in 1 Corinthians 16:1–4, Romans 15: 14– 33, and again in 2 Corinthians 8:1–9:15.

This official mercy ministry of the church has become somewhat anemic in our day. As with other aspects of the church’s commission, the slack is often picked up by parachurch organizations. Much is lost in the process, however, particularly the essential connection between the spiritual and physical reality of Christ’s church in the world. After all, the church is not Christ’s soul but his body, his visible organization and society. Sharing in Christ, we necessarily share in one another, feeling one another’s aches and pains as part of our own flesh. But this personal intimacy—our physical as well as spiritual interdependence—is increasingly threatened by an individualism that surrenders bodies to impersonal bureaucracies and market forces. As the importance of physical presence becomes increasingly undermined by a nearly Gnostic enthusiasm for technological disembodiment, disguised somewhat ironically as “social media” and “connectivity,” a reformed and revived diaconate could 20 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

make a big difference not only in the lives of believers but also in the church’s witness to the world.

I wonder if we take this seriously enough today. It’s estimated that two hundred million Christians are under the threat of arrest, imprisonment, mutilation, and death right now. (Not to downplay early church persecution, but the highest scholarly estimates place the total martyrdoms under the Roman emperors at one hundred thousand, while a couple of million Christians have been martyred in recent years alone.)

Are our resources being pooled sufficiently, like Paul’s collection, to serve as a witness to the power of the gospel? Are we really caring for the household of God? Are families of martyrs in northern Nigeria being assisted by gifts from churches in Southern California? When one part of our body is injured, the rest of the body compensates, sending blood to the weakened part—and that’s the analogy Scripture uses for Christ’s body: “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together. Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Cor. 12:26–27). If one part of the body is devastated by a natural disaster or by persecution, the rest of the body should rush to its support—not only spiritually but materially. It’s easy to talk about social justice. Championing a cause doesn’t exact as much of my time and energy as caring for actual neighbors right under my nose. If the church is not fulfilling its diaconal obligations, which are ordained by Christ, then it should not indulge in triumphalistic announcements about ushering in the kingdom through social justice and political policies.

The Debate While mercy ministry for the saints is generally acknowledged at least in theory, the tension—sometimes the epicenter of quakes—occurs over the question of whether (or to what extent) mercy ministry is a form of social justice. In other words, is the church commissioned to change social, political, and economic structures? Is it even called to alleviate suffering beyond its pale? Is the church commissioned to own and operate hospitals, schools for general education, and recreational centers? What are its qualifications, much less authorization, for such mandates?

First, I believe that confusing mercy ministry with social justice is crippling for both. Again, we have to ask what Scripture mandates. Reformed Christians have historically affirmed what’s called the “regulative principle.” This principle holds that the church’s authority is restricted to that which is explicitly taught

in Scripture or can be deduced from Scripture by good and necessary consequences. Beyond this, Christians have liberty. The church has biblical warrant to expect its members to support the local ministry, missions, and diaconal care. However, the church risks usurping Christ’s magisterial position in binding the consciences of Christians beyond his Word. Christians must love their neighbors through a variety of callings, but the Great Commission is a very specific ministry.

When it comes to mercy ministry, Scripture teaches that the church as Christ’s embassy of grace is to care for the saints. Its diaconal ministry should be deeply invested in this enterprise, not only locally but also in the wider body of churches. The same catholicity expressed in the covenantal connection of local churches at the level of pastors and elders in broader assemblies should also be evident in diaconal ministry, as I’ve suggested above. Broadening this mandate (“mission creep”) not only undermines diaconal ministry, it also weakens the genuine claims of social justice. On many issues—such as abortion, euthanasia, racism, environmental stewardship, poverty, stem cell research, cloning, and the contemporary slave trade—Christians can make common cause with nonChristian neighbors. Where Scripture addresses questions of life and justice, the church must speak. But when we try to turn the church into the vehicle for these important causes and specific policy agendas, we divide Christ’s body into political action committees for Republicans and Democrats.

Second, the texts that are often adduced to support this confusion of mercy ministry with social justice are often misunderstood. Paul says, “So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith” (Gal. 6:10). Hebrews 13:16 exhorts, “Let brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares….Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God” (Heb. 13:1–2, 16). Entertaining angels unawares is probably a reference to Abram’s unwitting hospitality to strangers who were actually angels sent to save him and his family from the destruction of Sodom. In any case, the reference to strangers here, like the prisoners mentioned in verse 3, is most likely to believers who were showing up on doorsteps of fellow saints seeking a hiding place from the authorities.

Jesus had already prepared his disciples for this scenario. One place is Matthew 24–25, where he speaks of what will happen in between his ascension and return in glory. There will be persecution. Believers in Christ will be cast out of the synagogues, their own relatives will hand them over to the authorities, and

there will be wars and rumors of wars, until the gospel is preached to every nation. And then Jesus speaks of the last judgment when he separates the sheep from the goats: Then the King will say to those on his right, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.” (Matt. 25:34–36) What is especially striking is the righteous answer: “‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you and thirsty and give you drink?’...And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me’” (vv. 37–40, emphasis added). Meanwhile, the reverse happens in the case of the goats: Jesus indicts them for turning their back on the saints—and therefore on him—while they protest the charge and defend their righteousness (vv. 41–45).

The bond between the head and his body is so inextricable that when the ascended Jesus appeared to Saul on the Damascus road, he asked, “‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?’ And he said, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ And he said, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting’” (Acts 9:4–5). Paul would never forget—and would only grow in his understanding— of the significance of this bond of union between Christ and his church.

Third, the confusion of mercy ministry with social justice assumes that whatever callings Christians have in the world are to be done by the church. This confuses the church-as-institution with the church-aspeople. The church is where Christ makes disciples; the world is where he sends them throughout the week.

Christians (and non-Christians) are called by the Great Commandment to be good spouses, parents, friends, relatives, and neighbors. Alongside nonChristians, with deeper grounds and eschatological motivation, believers care for God’s creation. They defend the common good and the rights, health, and dignity of fellow humans. However, the church as an institution is not called to raise children, repair streets, or transform economic structures.

Both the ministry of the Word and the ministry of mercy were so important to the church’s mission that Christ, through his apostles, established the office of deacon so that the apostles could dedicate themselves to the (continued on page 61) S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 21

SOCIAL JUSTICE, SOCIAL GOSPEL?

The Vocations of Christians and the Ministry of the Church

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y God’s grace I am a member of the church of Jesus Christ. As such, I have a share in the church’s life, work, worship, and fellowship. I am blessed by them and contribute to them. Yet I cannot put an equal sign between the church and me.

The church is and does far more than I can ever be or do. But does it work in the other direction as well? In other words, is it also the case that many things I am and do are entirely lawful but cannot be identified with the church and its work?

Let’s think about this more concretely. Christians do many things every day that are morally permissible and honoring to God. They go to work, they take piano lessons, they play with their children, and they eat meals. When engaged in such activities, are they doing the work of the church? Put in these terms, most Christians would probably answer no. But if the question is how far the church’s work extends or how far the church’s work should extend, many Christians would struggle to give an answer.

Christians seem to know instinctively that it’s rather silly to claim that weeding one’s backyard is the work of the church, but it is not at all easy to explain exactly where the church’s work ends and the individual believer’s work—simply as an individual believer— begins. Could the church claim my weeding as its own 22 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

work if it so wished, or is there something about the nature of the church that makes it not only silly for the church to do so but also impermissible?

This is not merely a theoretical question but one with concrete practical implications. Every church must wrestle with what it ought to be doing.

Churches devoted to Reformation Christianity know that they must, for example, call worship services and proclaim the gospel. But how much more should they do? It is good for Christians to stay in shape, so should the church sponsor aerobics classes? It is good for Christians to work and thus to contribute to the financial well-being of society, so should the church run economic development programs in its community? It is good for Christians to vote and contribute to their nations’ political life, so should the church embrace a social justice ministry?

In this essay, we will briefly consider the nature of Christians’ vocations in this world, and then turn to the nature and responsibilities of the church. I argue that Scripture does not simply leave questions about the church’s proper role to the discretion of believers, but provides clear direction about what the church’s ministry should be. God has given the church unique

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responsibilities and the church must be content to leave other (important!) tasks to individual Christians and other social institutions. By maintaining proper distinctions between Christians’ vocations and the church’s ministry, both the individuals and the corporate body are protected and allowed to flourish in ways they cannot if these categories are confused.

The Vocations of Individual Christians ny suggestion that the church might not be properly equipped to pursue a broad range of cultural endeavors risks raising suspicion that an anticulture, retreat-from-society mentality lurks below the surface. But such an agenda is foreign to Reformation Christianity and is antithetical to the concerns of this essay. Christians today are often presented with a false dilemma: either have a dim view of Christian cultural involvement, or promote a holistic vision of ecclesiastical cultural activism. This is a false dilemma in part because of the Reformation doctrine of vocation. God calls individual Christians to a variety of vocations in the world. Even if Scripture compels us to conclude that the church itself must limit its activity to certain unique responsibilities, the doctrine of vocation displays that Christians ought to have an affirmative view of human culture broadly conceived.

The Reformation doctrine of vocation teaches that God has called each person to a variety of tasks in this world (vocation is derived from a Latin word for “call”).

The Reformers recognized—over against much of the emphasis in medieval Christianity—that all lawful occupations are honorable and can be pursued for God’s glory and our neighbor’s good. God not only calls some people to the full-time work of gospel ministry, but also to a wide variety of productive human tasks. Martin Luther promoted this idea forcefully, as did Calvin, the Puritans, and many others in the Reformed wing of the Reformation.

One of Luther’s most powerful ideas with respect to vocation was that vocations are not so much what we do but what God does through us. God is the one who ultimately heals the sick, feeds the hungry, and brings children into the world. Yet he is ordinarily pleased to do so through physicians, farmers, and parents. Our work, however mundane it feels, is noble because through it God himself cares for his creation and advances his wise purposes.1 It is no wonder that Scripture speaks highly of hard work at a multitude of tasks. From the beginning, God made human beings in his image to exercise dominion in the world and to be fruitful and multiply (Gen. 1:26–28), commands he echoed in revised form after the fall into sin (see Gen. 9:1–7).

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Bearing and training children is lauded and honored throughout Scripture. Godly men such as Daniel served in political office, even in a pagan court. The book of Proverbs frequently exhorts hard work, with the expectation that financial gain will follow, which should in turn be used to help the needy. Even Ecclesiastes, wrestling with the vanity of life under the sun, found wisdom in enjoying work as its own reward and “casting one’s bread” widely, seeing where God will give fruit (9:7–10; 11:1–4). When military officers—in the Roman army, no less—turned to Christ, they were not instructed to abandon their posts (Acts 10; see also Luke 3:14). Paul urged New Testament Christians to be content in whatever station of life God had placed them (1 Cor. 7:20–24). And Paul warned strongly against any idleness in this world, even as we wait longingly for the second coming of our Lord (2 Thess. 3:6–12).

Long before establishing the New Testament church, God established marriage and family (Gen. 2:24; 9:1, 7), the state (Gen. 9:5–6; Rom. 13:1–7), and implicitly many other institutions that support various human vocations. Christians, who have become citizens of a kingdom not of this world but have not yet been taken out of this world (John 17:14–16; 18:36), continue to be called of God to serve him and their neighbors through these noble callings.

What Is the Church? What Is It Supposed to Do? hristians, through their divine vocations, should be actively involved in a wide variety of activities and institutions in this world. But does this imply that the church itself should be actively involved in these same cultural endeavors? In order to answer this question we must explore what Scripture says the church is and what the church ought to be doing. I argue that the answer to the question must be negative.

First, what is the church? Scripture speaks of the New Testament church as a community specially established by Christ himself, which is the gathering of the new covenant people and the present-day manifestation of the kingdom of heaven Christ proclaimed. Especially important here is Matthew 16:18: “I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” Jesus did not have to establish the family or found the state. God had already ordained such institutions long before. But the New Testament church was something new that could appear only in the wake of Jesus’ redemptive mission. He announced the coming of his kingdom and indicated that though this kingdom is ultimately a heavenly and everlasting realm, its life and power is made manifest here and

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now in the church. As Jesus proceeded to tell his disciples, “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Matt. 16:19; see also 18:15–20). Life in the church offers a foretaste (however imperfectly) of life in the new heavens and new earth. By entering the humble gates of the church, we enter the magnificent portals of the heavenly kingdom.

At the same time, it is crucial to recognize that the church is not something entirely new. God had given covenant promises to his chosen people throughout the Old Testament and gathered them into communities of various shapes (as an extended household under Abraham, as a theocratic nation under Moses).

The New Testament church is the community of the “new covenant,” gathering its citizens from families and nations all over the world. The church today is one people with the saints of old. As Paul explains, members of the church become no longer “strangers to the [Old Testament] covenants of promise” (Eph. 2:12; see 2:11–3:12), for in Christ believers are the children of Abraham and heirs of the promises made to him (Gal. 3:29; see 3:7–29).

The Bible explains what the church is from another angle as well. The church is a body of believers governed by ordained officers and united in corporate activities. In Ephesians 4:1–16, Paul speaks of the unity of the “one body” of Christ and states that the ascended Christ gave gifts to men. Specifically, Christ established various offices of ministry for which he raises up qualified men to serve—apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers—and these officers instruct, protect, and edify the church. The larger New Testament story demonstrates these truths. In the Great Commission, Jesus commissioned his apostles to make disciples of all nations (Matt. 28:19–20), a task they carry out through the book of Acts. These apostles, with the “whole gathering” of the church, appointed godly men “to serve tables” in acts of mercy to the needy (Acts 6:1–6). This was probably a first glimpse of the office that would come to be known as “deacon.” Later, as they planted new congregations, the apostles “appointed elders for them in every church” (Acts 14:23), men who were “to care for the church of God” (Acts 20:28). Though there are good reasons for believing that the offices of apostle and prophet were designed for the temporary task of laying the foundation of the church (see Eph. 2:19–21) and no longer exist today, the New Testament makes clear that other offices endure and are essential for the church. This is clear especially in the pastoral Epistles, which Paul wrote to prepare the church for the future 24 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

as he and his fellow apostles left the scene (see 1 Tim. 3:1–13; 5:17–19; Titus 1:5–9). Though the churches of the Reformation have some different views about exactly what the permanent offices are, I agree with the classic Reformed conviction that the New Testament establishes three: minister, elder, and deacon. Governed and served by these officers, the church meets together in regular worship and fellowship (e.g., see Acts 2:42–47; 20:7–11; 1 Cor. 11:17– 34; 14:26–40; Heb. 10:24–25).

Many people in recent years have been attracted to a distinction between the church as “institution” and as “organism.” As Reformed theologian Herman Bavinck put it, this distinction “says that the church as gathering of believers is manifest to us in two ways: in the offices and means of grace (institution), and in a community of faith and life (organism).”2 In some sense this distinction must be true; otherwise the church would cease to exist when not gathered for corporate worship.

Some people, however, understand this distinction in ways that raise serious questions. For example, some teach that when individual or groups of believers take up their various vocations in this world and seek to perform them in God-honoring ways, they are the church as “organism” at work.

Scripture never quite describes things in this way and for good reason, I believe. When speaking of the institution-organism distinction, Bavinck also wrote: “The two are given in conjunction and continually interact with and impact each other”; and perhaps even more importantly: “the office does not suppress the gifts, but organizes them and keeps them on track.”3 While Bavinck does not unpack the implications here, the important idea I wish to note is that whatever the so-called organic church does, it does as guided and governed by the ordained offices. It has no independent sphere of operation. Thus it is a healthy instinct when Christians (to recall an example used above) do not view their weeding the backyard as the work of the church. Their ministers, elders, and deacons are not “organizing” or “keeping on track” of such activities. It is similar when a few Christians spontaneously eat a meal together, play a round of golf, or start a small business. Their elders did not tell them to do so, give them permission to do so, or provide biblical instructions for cooking, putting, or hiring.

Nor should they. Ministers, elders, and deacons should not do so because Christ has not given them such authority. Here it is important to remember that the church is a supernatural reality. Unlike the family, for example, it is not part of the creation order and thus grounded in nature itself. To understand the church, one does not explore natural revelation. A minister, elder, or deacon, to understand his respon-

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sibilities as an ordained officer, does not reason from his natural abilities or natural functions as a farmer, businessman, husband, or father. Because God established the church supernaturally, through the redemptive work of Christ, the church and its offices are only what God supernaturally made them to be.

And the only way to know this is through supernatural special revelation, not through natural revelation.

The officers of the church, therefore, have only the authority that Scripture tells them they have.

Ministers should only preach and teach what the Word of God says, and nothing more. Elders should oversee the worship and pastoral care of the congregation, but not lord it over believers’ consciences by imposing obligations beyond the Word. Deacons should provide aid for the poor and needy according to Scripture’s instructions (which I believe, though I know this is controversial, means aid for the Christian poor and needy, not for the poor of the world generally).4 Therefore, if “the church” is only in operation where its officers are organizing and governing, then “the church” should only be doing things for which its officers have authority from Scripture to provide divinely sanctioned instruction.

Thus when Christians weed, eat, golf, start businesses, or do a myriad of other things as part of their earthly vocations, they must do so as the fruit of faith, for God’s glory, and for their neighbor’s good, but it is not the church itself at work. They may, in their own way, be enjoying camaraderie with fellow church members, but this is a blessed by-product of their union in the church, not the activity of the church per se. Christ, speaking through Scripture, has given his church, through the servant leadership of officers, the authority to open and close the gates of heaven through its discipline, to make disciples of all nations, to preach and teach the Word, to celebrate the sacraments, to engage in pastoral care, to provide for its needy, and to devote itself “to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers” (e.g., see Matt. 16:18–19; 18:15–20; 28:16–20; Acts 2:42; 6:1–6; 20:7–11, 28–31; 1 Cor. 11:17–34; 16:1; 1 Tim. 4:6–5:22)—and if the New Testament commands the church to do other things, please include them on this list! It is a wonderful and unique set of responsibilities that no other social organization can provide. The church has no authority—and should have no desire—to add responsibilities according to its own wisdom.

Concluding Reflections o conclude, I wish to reflect briefly on several benefits and implications of the theological conclusions drawn above. First, observing the dis-

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tinction between Christians’ vocations and the church’s ministry provides wonderful focus for the church. The push to involve the church in promoting social justice, economic development, Christian art, or any other hot causes offers serious temptation to be distracted from those tasks that Scripture explicitly tells the church to pursue, centered on the proclamation of the gospel. It is difficult enough for a church full of sinners to do these tasks well, without being spread in dozens of other directions simultaneously.

A second point is immediately evident: distinguishing Christians’ vocations from the church’s ministry promotes excellence in both. Lack of focus breeds mediocrity. Multitasking looks outwardly impressive but produces sloppy results. The church may be tempted to embrace a Wal-Mart or Target philosophy of one-stop shopping, but it ought to remember that no one goes to big-box stores seeking high quality craftsmanship. Time and resources are always scarce, and if the church wishes to do its biblically mandated work with excellence, then it better be devoted to it.

Likewise, Christians’ attempts to pursue excellence in entrepreneurship, music, or use of natural resources are much more likely to excel when undertaken by those whose vocations lie in these areas, rather than when directed by the church’s elders and deacons who may be well meaning but ignorant about these areas of human life. Men are qualified for church office based upon spiritual qualifications (1 Tim. 3:1– 13; Titus 1:5–9), not technical know-how in this or that cultural activity.

Third, observing the distinction between Christians’ vocations and the church’s ministry protects Christian liberty. This may surprise those inclined to see my conclusions as restrictive for the church. As the Reformation recognized, however, one crucial aspect of Christian liberty is freedom from having the church bind one’s conscience in matters beyond biblical teaching—a principle the Roman church was violating left and right. God has called Christians to a multitude of vocations, and Scripture says little or nothing about the details of most of them. When the church refuses to take them over or to supervise them as its own proper work, it thereby protects the liberty of those called to such work, so that they may do it according to their own judgment and expertise. This does not mean that their vocational work is morally indifferent—quite the contrary. But doing their vocations well means discerning natural revelation and applying the general rules of Scripture through godly wisdom, and for such matters, church officers have no special authority or insight. Each Christian has the liberty—and responsibility—to pursue his own vocations, being open to the wise counsel of fellow S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 25

Christians but without fellow Christians binding their consciences in matters of wisdom.

Finally, I want to emphasize that the relationship between Christians’ vocations and the church’s ministry should not be viewed as adversarial. It becomes adversarial only when one encroaches on the work of the other. The relationship ought to be mutually supportive. The church should exhort all of its members to pursue their vocations with godliness and excellence, not dictating the details of how to do them, but encouraging them to cultivate their gifts and opportunities and teaching them God’s Word, which will be a safeguard in all their work. From the other side, Christians must never pursue their vocations in a way that crowds out their responsibilities toward the worship and fellowship of the church. Instead, their humble and faithful labors in all of life should provide wonderful testimony to the grace of Christ within them and adorn their profession of the gospel (see Titus 2:5, 8, 10). Some of them may even support the mission of the church in unusual and sacrificial ways. On the church’s mission field, for example, there is often significant temptation for the church, as it observes great social ills around it, to become a full-service organization promoting political reform, economic development, or medical care. But

Justification and Justice (continued from page 19) tribute to the common good, and when we care for our children or elderly parents, work as volunteers for a women’s shelter, render pro bono legal advice or medical treatment, we are—as Luther put it—the “masks” that God wears to love and serve our neighbors. Even the baker is a means through whom God provides us, and all people, with daily bread. None of these callings is included in the Great Commission, yet these are only the tip of the iceberg of vocations to which God calls all people—Christian and nonChristian—in the Great Commandment.

By its mere existence in the world—what one Christian sociologist has recently called “faithful presence”—the church witnesses to a new creation whose undying life it has already tasted. God has given some Christians great opportunities to lead remarkable reforms in society. Like Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount, however, Paul clearly distinguishes this from the church’s calling. Pastors and elders oversee church discipline, but they have no authority to discipline the world. “For what have I to do with judging outsiders?

Is it not those inside the church whom you are to

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the church itself doesn’t have to do all this. Some devoted Christians, whose skills and vocations lie in these areas, may be able to move into local areas to begin small businesses, run medical clinics, and operate orphanages. This can provide wonderful testimony to the love of Christ in all sorts of practical areas, without the church itself being distracted from that great missionary task Christ entrusted to it. ■

David VanDrunen is the Robert B. Strimple Professor of Systematic Theology and Christian Ethics at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido.

See Gene Edward Veith, Jr., God at Work: Your Christian Vocation in All of Life (Wheaton: Crossway, 2002).

2Herman Bavinck, “Reformed Dogmatics,” in Holy Spirit, Church, and New Creation (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008), 4:330.

3Bavinck, 4:332.

4I offer a brief argument for this position in David VanDrunen, Living in God’s Two Kingdoms: A Biblical Vision for Christianity and Culture (Wheaton: Crossway, 2010), 157–59.

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judge? God judges those outside” (1 Cor. 5:9–13).

Though in degree far from the consummated reality, the church is qualitatively different in kind from all other social institutions and communities. As a weekly “re-salinization plant,” the church bathes its members in this new world, who are then shaken out of the saltshaker into the world in witness and service to their neighbors. Too often today, the salt loses its savor. Even though people come regularly to church, they find that they are not supported sufficiently in their longing to know better what they believe and why—and yet, they are expected to find their ministry in the church rather than their calling in the world. Instead of being in the world but not of it, they become of the world but not in it.

Paradoxically, it is only when the church is doing something other than engaging in social justice missions that it actually shapes members “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with [their] God” (Mic. 6:8). ■

Michael S. Horton is J. Gresham Machen Professor of Theology and Apologetics at Westminster Seminary California in Escondido.

Assessing Incarnational Ministry: A Brief Primer A Dialogue with J. Todd Billings

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ne cannot read far into the literature on youth ministry, cross-cultural ministry, or the missional church without seeing references to “incarnational ministry.” Dozens of books, websites, and ministries have adopted incarnational ministry as their basic model for ministry: just as the Word became flesh in Jesus Christ, we should take on a second culture as our own, becoming “incarnate” in that culture.

While there have been occasional short articles expressing concern about some aspects of incarnational ministry, there has not been a survey of how the model is used, a critique, and then a constructive alternative that addresses the very real ministry needs that an incarnational ministry paradigm seeks to address.

That is exactly what J. Todd Billings does in Union with Christ: Reframing Theology and Ministry for the Church (Baker Academic, November 2011). While the book explores a range of theological and ecclesial issues related to union with Christ, a substantial section of the book gives a critique of incarnational ministry and an alternative in terms of union with Christ. Billings presented some of his earlier thoughts on incarnational ministry in “Incarnational Ministry and the Unique, Incarnate Christ,” which appeared in the March/April 2009 issue of Modern Reformation. Here he answers some questions about “incarnational ministry” in light of his earlier article and forthcoming book.

What is your basic argument about incarnational ministry?

Here is my basic thesis about incarnational ministry from the book itself: While certain aspects of “incarnational ministry” are commendable, this chapter critiques its basic assumption: that the incarnation is a model for ministry, such that Christians should imitate the act of the eternal Word becoming incarnate. To the contrary, at the center of the Christian gospel is a claim that the incarnation of the Word in the person of Jesus Christ is a unique and unrepeatable event. As such, the incarnation is not an “ongoing process” to be repeated or a “model” to be copied in Christian ministry. Instead, the incarnation should set our focus directly upon Jesus Christ, the servant, to whom Christians have been united. Moreover, the ministry outcomes sought by “incarnational ministry” can be realized and refined through seeing that the imperative to have “the same

mind” as “Christ Jesus” (Phil. 2:5) fits within Paul’s matrix of union with Christ. As ones united to Christ, we participate in the Spirit’s ongoing work of bearing witness to Christ and creating a new humanity in which the dividing walls between cultures are overcome in Christ.

Thus, today’s church should replace its talk of “incarnational ministry” with the more biblically faithful and theologically dynamic language of ministry as participation in Christ.

What is incarnational ministry?

There are a variety of ideas connected to incarnational ministry—many of them can stand on their own as insightful and helpful from biblical, theological, and ministry standpoints. But core to the idea of incarnational ministry is that the act of God becoming incarnate in Jesus Christ provides a “model” for ministry, such that Christians should have their own “incarnation” into another culture in order to reach those in the other culture.

Why is incarnational ministry advocated?

It is seen as a solution to theologies of ministry that were culturally insensitive and ineffective because Christians refused to cross cultural boundaries in selfsacrificial ways. Thus incarnational ministry is a common model in cross-cultural ministry circles, youth ministry circles, and other contexts where culturecrossing is advocated. Whether or not one agrees with a theology of incarnational ministry, it certainly addresses a real problem faced in ministry: how to move beyond cultural isolation and insensitivity when ministering cross-culturally.

What biblical support is given for incarnational ministry?

The most common biblical source given is in Philippians 2:5–11, what many scholars consider to be an early hymn about Christ. Here are the verses most often quoted in defense of incarnational ministry: Let the same mind be in you that was [or that you have] in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.

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And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.

What sets apart advocates of incarnational ministry is their interpretation of verse 7, which they believe to be an imperative to imitate the action of the preincarnate Christ emptying himself (kenosis) and taking on human likeness.

What is the problem with the biblical and theological case?

A large majority of biblical scholars give an account of Philippians 2:5–11 that is incompatible with the reading of the passage given by advocates of incarnational ministry. Specifically, they do not think the passage suggests that the act of becoming incarnate is something to be imitated (Phil. 2:6–7), just as they do not think the passage suggests that Christians should seek to imitate Jesus’ exaltation as Lord. Tellingly, advocates of incarnational ministry almost never consider the Christ hymn as a whole (2:5–11), for after verse 8 above come the following verses (2:9–11): Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

If the whole hymn is to imitate, including the act of becoming incarnate, why not the act of being exalted as well? This points to a serious problem in the “incarnational” rendering of this passage: the act of becoming incarnate is a uniquely divine act; it is not a human act that can be imitated by other human beings.

Likewise, the act of being exalted and confessed to be Lord is a unique act—uniquely appropriate to Jesus Christ, the one who is both fully God and fully human.

Biblical scholars generally emphasize that this passage gives a doxological summation of the mighty saving acts of God in the incarnation, life, death, and exaltation of Jesus Christ. Christians are to be conformed to Christ’s humble, obedient service to God by the Spirit, as they live into their identity in Christ. But neither in Philippians, nor in any other place in the New Testament, are Christians called to imitate (as a model) the unique act of God becoming incarnate in Christ.

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What is an alternative to incarnational ministry?

In my forthcoming book Union with Christ, I outline an alternative that shows how a theology of union with Christ can retain the genuine strengths of incarnational ministry and correct its shortcomings. My alternative points to several different dimensions of a biblical theology of ministry in union with Christ as follows.

Union with Christ underlies Paul’s missiological account of crossing cultural barriers in 1 Corinthians 9:19–23: “I have become all things to all people, so that I might by any means save some” (9:22b). Rather than imitating the act of becoming incarnate, Paul sees this vulnerable act of culture-crossing as an expression of the life of one united to Jesus Christ, the humble servant.

The horizontal implication of union with Christ is that people of all tribes and nations are adopted as God’s children in Christ; in this, the Spirit is creating a “new humanity” that overcomes the walls of hostility between cultures and people groups (Eph. 2:13–18; Gal. 3:26–29); this “new humanity” finds oneness in Christ, but not in cultural homogeneity. Thus in order to participate in the Spirit’s work in creating a culturally diverse new humanity, Christians must be learners of other cultures and respectful of cultural difference as they bear witness to Christ in cross-cultural contexts.

Christians are sent into the world to bear witness to Christ, participating in the Spirit’s work of creating a new humanity. But they are also to participate in the gathering of a community from many cultures to “have access in one Spirit to the Father” (Eph. 2:18); this community is gathered to worship, anticipating the vision in Revelation of “saints from every tribe and language and people and nation” worshipping the Lamb of God, Jesus Christ (Rev. 5:6–10).

Ultimately, a theology of ministry in union with Christ is one that witnesses to Jesus Christ. Our lives are not the good news; our effort at cultural identification is not the good news. We have been united to Christ, but we are not Christ. Rather, we bear witness in word and deed to Jesus Christ, the one who is good news!

J. Todd Billings (ThD, Harvard University) is assistant professor of Reformed theology at Western Theological Seminary in Holland, Michigan.

SOCIAL JUSTICE, SOCIAL GOSPEL?

Eschatology by Ethos: Why the “Optimism” vs.

“Pessimism” Paradigm Doesn’t Work

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nyone familiar with the in-house feud between Reformed postmillenarians and Reformed amillenarians knows that the debate between these two positions is often framed in terms of “optimistic” postmillenarians vs. “pessimistic” amillenarians. Despite the widespread use and apparent utility of these labels, I remain unconvinced that one can formulate a proper and biblical eschatology merely by identifying a position’s distinctive ethos and then choosing the most “optimistic” of the various options.

To avoid being labeled an “eschatological pessimist”—a negative label that postmillenarians have successfully pinned on dispensationalists—a number of Reformed amillenarians self-consciously identify themselves as “optimistic” amillenarians. In making

this identification, the optimistic amillenarian attempts to co-opt the attractive rhetoric of cultural progress and transformation used by postmillenarians, while at the same time avoiding the serious exegetical problem associated with postmillennialism—a rather embarrassing shortage of biblical passages in the New Testament that teach such a view.

While I am “optimistic” about the kingdom of God and the progress it will make during the interadvental age (and would likely qualify to be an “optimistic” amillenarian), I’m not so sure an unqualified affirmation of “optimism” is the best way for Reformed amillenarians to respond to those who determine the soundness of one’s eschatological position using the optimism/pessimism paradigm. Here’s why.

No Christian who truly believes that the resurrection of Jesus Christ inaugurates the new creation and guarantees the final victory over Satan and his kingdom at the end of the age wants to be identified as a “pessimist.” No doubt, the New Testament is crystal clear about who wins in the end. God will save his elect, usher in the age to come, consummate his kingdom, raise the dead, judge the world, and make all things new. These truths are certainly reason enough to be optimistic about the eventual outcome of the present course of world history, especially when one considers what Jesus Christ did to secure our redemption from sin’s power and consequence. Through his death and resurrection, Jesus Christ removes the curse and defeats our greatest enemy, which is death. No small thing and a very good reason to be optimistic.

But the New Testament also has a fair bit to say about the nature and course of this “present evil age” (as Paul refers to it in Galatians 1:4), and this important element of biblical teaching should give us pause as to whether or not “optimism” is the best category to use in identifying the essence of one’s eschatology. After all, Paul warns Christians of perilous times until Christ returns (2 Tim. 3:1ff). Likewise, Peter warns the church of scoffers who mock the claims of Christ because they are enslaved to their sinful desires (2 Pet. 3:1ff). This too is a warning that extends until the time when Jesus returns and puts all his enemies under his feet (1 Cor. 15:25ff). Jesus himself speaks of world conditions at the time of his return as being similar to the way things were in the days of Noah (Matt. 24:37–38)—hardly a period in world history characterized by the Christianizing of the nations and the near-universal acceptance of the gospel associated with so-called optimistic forms of eschatology.

Aside from the fact that many contemporary notions of optimism have stronger ties to the Enlightenment

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than to the New Testament—I’ll leave that debate to the social historians—the New Testament’s teaching regarding human depravity (i.e., Eph. 4:17–19) should give us pause not to be too optimistic about what sinful men and women can accomplish in terms of turning the City of Man into a temple of God. The symbolic image of Babylon the Great in Revelation 17–18 is set forth as the epitome of the City of Man reigning on the earth from the time of the Caesars (when John recorded this vision in Revelation before the end of the first century), until the time when that city is displaced at the end of the age by the heavenly city coming down from heaven (cf. Rev. 21– 22). There is not the slightest hint in any of this imagery that Babylon is remodeled over time, purged of its evil, and cleaned up by the church’s efforts to transform it. Rather, after a long and tragic history of fornication with the kings of the earth, and the persecution of the saints, the city eventually falls under divine judgment, even as God’s people are called to flee from her midst (Rev. 18:4). Babylon is not transformed. It is destroyed in judgment and summarily replaced by the heavenly city.

“Optimism,” when defined as some sort of moral and cultural progress throughout the interadvental period, simply does not fit the biblical data. Rather, the biblical picture is one of stark realism regarding the human plight. Because of the saving work of Jesus Christ, we are simultaneously given a sure and certain hope, grounded in the eschatological expectation of the glorious and final removal of the curse resulting from human sin. This occurs at Christ’s return, but not before. This means that any optimism regarding the eventual outcome of redemptive history should be tempered by the biblical reality of human sin as an

ever-present force in the world until Jesus returns. Yet that dark and gloomy pessimism, often associated with focusing upon the fallen human condition just described, must be constantly evaluated in light of the blessed hope. The glory of the final consummation is not an insignificant thing. It is the basis for all human hope in this present evil age (cf. Rom. 8:18–25).

In light of the New Testament’s teaching regarding the future course of history and the effects of sin upon our fallen race, I would suggest that we find a better category than “optimism” to describe the essence of our eschatology as Reformed amillenarians.

It is quite possible to be optimistic about what God is doing in advancing his kingdom while retaining a healthy and biblical skepticism about the City of Man, and how effectively and thoroughly it may be Christianized before the end of the age.

How did the use of the labels “optimism” and “pessimism” become a standard of evaluation within the Reformed/Presbyterian world not only of competing eschatological positions, but also as a category used to determine how the church relates to culture? How did the focus upon God’s people living this life in light of the next give way to a preoccupation with the transformation of culture in the present? Why did the former become “pessimistic,” and why did the latter claim the “optimistic” label? In the balance of this essay, I will briefly address these questions.

The Rise of Eschatology by Optimism vs. Pessimism bit of history is vital to understand how the use of these categories became so prominent within the Reformed camp. Even though Loraine Boettner’s postmillennial volume The Millennium was published in 1957, eschatology by

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ethos gained significant traction in Reformed circles with the 1971 publication of J. Marcellus Kik’s An Eschatology of Victory. The title captures the essence of the book. If postmillenarians hold to an eschatology of victory, then all other positions are necessarily tied to some sort of eschatological pessimism (i.e., “defeat”).

The implication that those who do not embrace Kik’s victorious eschatology are “defeatist” or pessimistic makes perfect sense, given the fact that Kik labored against the backdrop of the steady rise in popularity of dispensationalism among culturally and theologically conservative Reformed and evangelical churches. If, as dispensationalists held, Christians were to be raptured off the earth before things really got bad, why worry about politics and culture, education, and other “worldly” endeavors? Instead, dispensationalists insisted that Christians must focus upon evangelism. Yet, this was judged to be essentially pessimistic and to be rejected in light of postmillennial expectations—that Jesus will reign over the earth through his church for one thousand years, before he returns.

Shortly after the publication of Kik’s book, R. J. Rushdoony’s Institutes of Biblical Law (1973) and Greg Bahnsen’s Theonomy in Christian Ethics (1977) were also distributed by Presbyterian & Reformed (known for publication of distinctly Reformed books and literature), making these volumes readily available to a new generation of Reformed Christians who were wrestling with important questions about the apparent decline of Christian influence upon American culture, and the rising eschatological sentiment that told people not to engage the culture, and to focus instead almost exclusively on missions and evangelism. After all, it was the eschatological pessimists who

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argued that because Christ is coming back soon we shouldn’t be polishing the brass on a sinking ship.

With the publication of these volumes, a new form of eschatological optimism made its way into the Reformed bloodstream—one closely tied to the transformation of culture.

It was not long before the postmillennial expectations found in Boettner and Kik became the eschatological foundation for the movement known as theonomy (or Christian reconstructionism). Not only were Christians to actually polish the brass because it would be a long time before the ship would sink (namely, the thousand years of the millennial age), but the cruise itself would inevitably lead to the calmer seas of cultural progress, seen as the fruit of nations now converted to the cause of Christ in willing submission to the law of God as the universally accepted standard by which the nations must govern themselves. Theonomists contend that God’s law as revealed to Israel (even in its theocratic context) is the proper standard of all human ethics, including civil government.

It is important to notice that a very particular kind of eschatological optimism is in view here—one closely tied to gospel progress and the Christianization of the nations in this present age, and not connected to the final outcome of God’s redemptive purposes (i.e., the return of Jesus Christ). While this distinction illustrates a major difference between amillenarians and postmillenarians, a subtle but important shift also took place when, according to theonomic postmillenarians, gospel progress was understood as the vehicle for universal cultural transformation. “Optimistic” Christians are not only to evangelize the world, but they also must engage the surrounding culture with the goal of transforming it. Transformation of culture

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becomes the church’s mission. Transforming culture is no longer understood to be the incidental fruit of the spread of the gospel to the ends of the earth.

The pronounced shift away from missions and evangelism to that of cultural transformation is one that people don’t often recognize, yet one that dramatically colors one’s understanding of eschatological optimism. Those who see cultural transformation as being in some way part of the church’s mission are labeled “optimists,” while those (i.e., the dispensationalists) who did not see transformation as tied to the church’s mission were labeled eschatological “pessimists.” In other words, nontransformationalists (even Reformed amillenarians) were much too much like dispensationalists and other forms of premillenarians. They were too pessimistic. And it’s not good to be pessimistic.

The tie between the compilation of Kik’s exegetical essays on Matthew 24 and Revelation 20 and the rise of theonomy is critical in this regard. It is important to notice that Kik sees himself standing in the non-theonomic postmillennial tradition of Old Princeton.1 Rushdoony (a founding father of theonomy, who wrote the forward to Kik’s volume) sees Kik’s book as an important response to what he regards as a latent Manichaeanism (dualism between spirit and matter) in the church, characteristic of the increasingly popular premillennialism that, according to Rushdoony, “surrender[s] the world to the devil.” According to Rushdoony, “Any true revival of Biblical faith will also be a revival of postmillennialism.”2 If the goal of the church is to transform culture and not simply to leave culture to the devil, then there must be an eschatological foundation. Postmillennialism fits the bill.

The specific content for this new theonomic brand of eschatological optimism was set forth in Rushdoony’s Institutes of Biblical Law and in Bahnsen’s Theonomy in Christian Ethics. The charge often raised by those reading Rushdoony and Bahnsen was that if you were not interested in transforming culture, you were not only a pessimist, you might even be Manichaean. If you fail to embrace this optimistic eschatology, you now have two strikes against you.

Postmillenarians of previous generations (especially among the Scots and the Old Princetonians) defined the essence of postmillennialism in terms of the Christianization of the nations, which they believed was the necessary fruit of the worldwide spread and influence of the gospel. As David B. Calhoun points out in his two-volume treatment of the history of Princeton Theological Seminary and its key figures, a remarkable interest in missions and the evangelization of the nations was at the heart of this brand of post32 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

millennialism, at least at Princeton Seminary.3 As the gospel is taken to the ends of the earth, the nations will bow the knee to the Lordship of Christ. In this form of postmillennialism, the focus was squarely on world missions—the cause of increase of the knowledge of Christ, which in turn produced the profound transformation of the nations. Christians were optimistic about the missionary enterprise, but saw the transformation of culture only as a consequence of the missionary enterprise, not its raison d’être.

Charles Hodge set forth this basic postmillennial expectation in his famous Systematic Theology. Hodge believed that “millennial perfection” will be achieved before Christ returns, and this in conjunction with the expansion of the influence of Christianity, which produces great advances in all areas of society.4 While believing that millennial perfection would be attained at some point in the future, Hodge also reminds those who would insist that the millennial age is characterized by unbroken progress that such may not be the case.

Says Hodge, “Experience concurs with Scripture in teaching that the kingdom of Christ passes through many vicissitudes.” In other words, “It has its times of depression and its seasons of exaltation and prosperity.”5 The kingdom of God, Hodge says, will experience seasons of blessing and times of testing. But nonetheless, it will spread to the ends of the earth and bring about what Hodge calls a millennial perfection, before a brief but severe period of tribulation for the people of God. Human sinfulness will remain, although restrained through common grace and the advance of the gospel.

Of all the Princeton theologians, B. B. Warfield had the most to say about millennial expectations.6 While Warfield’s exegesis of the critical millennial texts (i.e., Rev. 20) tended to be amillennial, Warfield self-consciously rejected the amillennialism of his Dutch Reformed friend Abraham Kuyper and young colleague at Princeton, Geerhardus Vos. Warfield was an avowed postmillenarian. Warfield’s vision for the future was likewise grounded in gospel progress: If you wish, as you lift your eyes to the far horizon of the future, to see looming on the edge of time the glory of a saved world...and that in His own good time and way [God] will bring the world in its entirety to the feet of Him whom He has not hesitated to present to our adoring love not merely as the Saviour of our own souls but as the Saviour of the world....The scriptures teach an eschatological universalism, not an each and every universalism. When the Scriptures say that Christ came to save the world, that He does save the world, and that the world shall be saved by Him....They mean that He came to save and does

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save the human race; and that the human race is being led by God into a racial salvation: that in the age-long development of the race of men, it will attain at last unto a complete salvation, and our eyes will be greeted with the glorious spectacle of a saved world.7 It has been correctly said that the difference between the postmillennial Warfield and the amillennial Geerhardus Vos was that Warfield believed that Jesus Christ returned to a “saved” world, while Vos argued Christ returned to “save” the world. This difference of opinion between postmillenarians like Warfield and amillenarians like Vos remains to this day, and is thought by many to be a clear indication of postmillennial “optimism” vs. amillennial “pessimism.” It is one thing to be optimistic about the eventual evangelism of the world through the spread of the gospel. It is quite another to see the goal of evangelism as the rise of nations governing themselves by the theocratic elements of the Law of Moses.

Enter Greg Bahnsen and “The Prima Facie” Case for Postmillennialism heonomists often speak of the optimism of their postmillennial eschatology and their expectations that the law of God will become the standard by which governments render civil justice, but the shift away from the emphases of older forms of postmillennialism (missions and evangelism) to a focus upon cultural transformation (especially the transformation or even the “taking back” of American culture from the secularists) was already taking place when Kik’s work was published.

The use of “optimism” vs. “pessimism” as categories to evaluate eschatological positions reached its zenith in Greg Bahnsen’s influential essay, “The Prima Facie Acceptability of Postmillennialism.”8 So far as I know, it is through the influence of this particular essay that the optimistic/pessimistic paradigm became a popular benchmark for evaluating eschatological views based upon their particular ethos.

In his own unique and triumphalistic style, Bahnsen sees the defining essence of postmillennialism (especially in contrast to both premillennialism and amillennialism) as “its essential optimism for the present age. This confident attitude in the power of Christ’s kingdom, the power of the gospel, the powerful presence of the Holy Spirit, the power of prayer, and the progress of the great commission, sets postmillennialism apart from the essential pessimism of amillennialism and premillennialism.”9 Bahnsen’s comment reflects traditional postmillennial concerns, although Bahnsen now makes the ethos of his view

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(optimism) the basic standard of comparison between his position and others.

This kind of argument has powerful rhetorical teeth and certainly plays well in a world that already imbibes from the Enlightenment notion of progress.

Who wants to be a pessimist? Since dispensationalism was largely anathema to Reformed Christians, if you could make the charge stick that amillenarians were close to dispensationalists in ways they had not realized before, so much the better—at least from Bahnsen’s perspective.

But even as Bahnsen makes the claim that amillenarians and premillenarians are essentially pessimistic, he subtly attempts to capture the flag for his own view as the majority opinion within the Reformed tradition. With a fair bit of audacity, Bahnsen claims that “the postmillennial hope has been the persistent viewpoint of most Reformed scholars from the sixteenth century into the early twentieth century.”10 I beg to differ with Bahnsen’s claim—but again, another debate for another time. No doubt, there have been many postmillenarians within the Reformed and Presbyterian world, but Bahnsen boldly overstates the case. Perhaps he’s a bit too optimistic in his evaluation of the Reformed tradition’s acceptance of postmillennialism.

That said, the issue under discussion in this essay is that while postmillenarians have contended that a time of gospel progress will precede the second coming of Christ, until the rise of theonomy, postmillenarians have been generally clear that eschatological progress must be tempered by the biblical reality— that there will be periods of unbelief and the persecution of God’s people, as well as a time of great apostasy throughout the millennial age before Christ returns. But this biblical realism seems to disappear when eschatological optimism is transferred from the success of the missionary enterprise to the transformation of culture.

“Optimism” and “Pessimism” as Categories for Understanding the Church’s Mission fter Bahnsen’s significant reworking of traditional postmillennial eschatology into a theonomic framework now focused upon social ethics instead of world evangelism, there is little room left for the biblical realism of the earlier forms of postmillennialism, much less the supposed pessimism of amillennialism. Since the emphasis in Bahnsen’s system falls squarely upon the transformation of culture through a near-universal embrace of the law of God among the nations, using Bahnsen’s standard of evaluation, it would be a demonstration of rank unbelief (much less pessimism) to allow that during the inter-

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advental period the nations should, or even could, govern themselves by natural law (understood to be an aspect of common grace in the estimation of many Reformed thinkers), and not by the same theocratic system of government given by God to ancient Israel.

Granted, not all who wish to engage the culture and transform it are postmillenarians or theonomists. But whenever anyone takes up the label “optimistic amillenarian,” or “optimistic whatever it might be,” they are using a label developed in the context of an intramural debate about the nature and character of the millennial age, and are not giving sufficient consideration to the biblical data regarding the abiding character of human sin that has long characterized amillennialism and also most forms of postmillennialism.

The charge is often levied by the self-proclaimed optimists that it is the dispensationalists—not anyone who claims the mantle “Reformed”—who focus on evangelism to the exclusion of transformation. Why would any self-respecting Reformed Christian want to be a pessimist? Dispensationalists are the pessimists!

Those who see the world as requiring the final intervention of Jesus Christ in order for final salvation to come about—amillenarians and dispensationalists alike—are accused of being Manichaean in their thinking (however unintentionally they may embrace the error). And it is argued that such pessimists deny the Lordship of Christ by leaving the world, supposedly, to the devil.

Understood in the context of the question as to whether or not one leaves the nations to the devil (considered the supreme form of eschatological pessimism), or whether one seeks to claim the nations for Jesus Christ (as optimists should), the optimistic/pessimistic paradigm certainly has new life, due to the prevalence of the discussion about how we as Christians relate to contemporary culture. Those who wish to transform culture—or who wish to claim the arts, sciences, and cities for Christ—are self-declared optimists, while those who tend to define the kingdom of God in relationship to the Word and Sacrament ministry of the church are labeled pessimists because of their focus upon an otherworldly kingdom.

As an aside, one interesting irony in all of this is that while most in the Reformed and Presbyterian world once identified the papacy as the seat of the antichrist, many—now having embraced a theonomic ethic—look with a fair bit of nostalgia back to Christendom as a glorious age when the church (under the authority of the papacy) ruled the nations.

I for one am not warmed by the thought, but am amused by the irony.

It is at this point that the optimistic/pessimistic paradigm completely breaks down. Not only does the 34 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

paradigm fail to account for the biblical teaching regarding the successful spread of Christ’s kingdom and the simultaneous tribulation and persecution facing the church militant throughout the course of the present age (what I call a biblical “realism”), but it also fails miserably to explain the church’s relation to culture. While I see little evidence in the New Testament that the church is to focus upon transforming culture as part of its mission (culture will be transformed incidentally, however, when the church is faithful to its mission), I do see vast evidence that the mission of the church in this age is to preach the Word, administer the sacraments, discipline its erring members, and demonstrate Christ’s compassion to the poor and needy among its ranks.

Since these things constitute the church’s prescribed mission, whenever Christians faithfully endeavor to fulfill it we should fully expect people to come to faith in Jesus Christ, and that these new Christians will serve as salt and light to the surrounding culture. That is cause for optimism. But since Babylon the Great is not due for remodeling before its eventual demolition, I do not see much value in considering myself either an optimist or a pessimist. I am, however, perfectly satisfied to remain a biblical realist. ■

Kim Riddlebarger is pastor of Christ United Reformed Church in Anaheim, California, and co-host of The White Horse Inn radio broadcast. He is author of A Case for Amillennialism: Understanding the End Times and Man of Sin: Uncovering the Truth about the Antichrist.

Kim blogs at www.kimriddlebarger.squarespace.com.

J. Marcellus Kik, An Eschatology of Victory (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R, 1971), 4.

2Kik, ix.

3David B. Calhoun, Princeton Seminary (Carlisle, PA: Banner of Truth, 1996).

4Cf. Charles Hodge, Systematic Theology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), III:792.

5Hodge, III:858.

6See my essay “Princeton and the Millennium” at http://kimriddlebarger.squarespace.com/theological-essays.

7B. B. Warfield, The Plan of Salvation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 99–103.

8Greg Bahnsen, “The Prima Facie Acceptability of Postmillennialism,” Journal of Christian Reconstruction III, no. 2 (Winter 1976/77), 48–105.

9Bahnsen, 66–67.

10Bahnsen, 68.

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SOCIAL JUSTICE, SOCIAL GOSPEL?

Analyzing the Social Political Activism of the Black Church in Light of the Two-Kingdoms Motif

By Ken Jones

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et me begin by attempting to explain what I mean by “the black church” as it will be used in this article. Throughout, what I will be referring to is that entity, regardless of denomination or theological underpinning, that defines its purpose according to the ethos and pathos of the first black congregations in the late 1700s. These first separate black congregations were the result of ill treatment in white churches and society at large. As C. Eric Lincoln has observed, “Black religion takes its origins not from established religion in America but from the black experience in America….From its inception the Black church set out to do for its peculiar constituency of black slaves and freed men what no one else was willing to do for them, or have them do for themselves.”1 This social genesis of the black church gave

it a purpose beyond corporate worship and the propagation of the Christian faith. “As the only stable and coherent institution ever to emerge from slavery, Black churches were not only dominant in their communities, but they also became the womb of black culture and a number of major social institutions.”2 This galvanizing function of the black church as community builder became even more prominent during Reconstruction and the Jim Crow era.

With such a background, it is no wonder the black church served as the headquarters for the Civil Rights Movement of the mid-1950s and early 60s. In fact, it is my contention that by the time of the Civil Rights Movement, the unique functioning of the first black churches had set the standard for what was expected or assumed from other black churches to whatever S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 35

As an institution, the church is dis-

every human being, including members of the church who are, after all, citizens of both kingdoms. tinct from any institution or organiPart of the church’s duty is to equip its members to live for the glory of God in zation of human origin; it is the both kingdoms. The faithful preaching and teaching of the Word of God (law and gospel) should produce Christians embassy of the kingdom of heaven, who are engaged in the common kingdom and participate in those institutions and its agenda is a heavenly one. that are committed to social justice, relief degree. For the purpose of this article, then, I define of the poor, and environmental concerns—all of “the black church” as those post-Civil Rights which should be done for the good of the common Movement churches that consciously define their kingdom. It is through this grid that I will analyze the purpose as a mediating and socializing vehicle for the post-Civil Rights Movement black church that defines black community. It is this perception of the church’s its purpose according to the model of the earliest role I would like to examine in light of the two-kingblack churches. doms motif. Rather than attempt to define this whole paradigm, I will focus only on the unique role and The Black Church After Civil Rights purpose of the church within this framework. his brand of the black church would expand the church’s narrow God-ordained agenda to Two-Kingdoms Theology include political activism, social reform, comhe church as established by Christ is the munity projects, economic empowerment, housing, covenant community consisting of individuals job training, and a host of other endeavors. It was this united to Christ by faith in the gospel. Its funcexpanded role and agenda of the institutional church tion is to preach the Word of God (law and gospel), that prompted a split in 1961 within the National make disciples, administer the sacraments, and worBaptist Convention. Joseph H. Jackson, then presiship the Triune God in spirit and in truth. As an instident of the National Baptist Convention, was deemed tution, the church is distinct from any institution or by some to be too conservative in his political and organization of human origin; it is the embassy of the social views “which emphasized the spiritual mission of the church more than civil rights activism.”3 kingdom of heaven, and its agenda is a heavenly one.

Defining the church’s agenda in such a specific way Jackson once stated, “We realize that as a religious has left some with the impression that we are not conbody we must at all times maintain a position that is cerned about or committed to social issues in the culin harmony with and that can be supported by our ture at large. Two-kingdoms proponents acknowledge faith, our doctrine of life and our social ethic.”4 Those that “the common kingdom,” which consists of govwho disagreed with Jackson’s position (which ernments and institutions of human origin, is also included Martin Luther King, Jr.) formed the under the sovereign rule of God but with a different Progressive National Baptist Convention. I do not purpose and agenda than that of the church. It is preknow Jackson’s theological conviction (whether cisely at the point of defining the institutional church’s Calvinist or Arminian), nor do I know whether he agenda (from a focused and heavenly perspective, or consciously adhered to the two-kingdoms model, but a broader cultural or social perspective) that the twoit does seem that he understood the function of the kingdoms paradigm is either embraced or rejected. I church from the perspective of a gospel-focused spirwould say that many who hesitate to accept the twoitual agenda. kingdoms motif misunderstand the distinction in a Fredrick Harris, in his book Something Within, few crucial ways, one of which is the tendency to describes two polar opposite positions on the role of associate two-kingdoms theology with noninvolvethe black church. The first he labels the “opiate theory,” ment in the common kingdom. Those who make this which “insists that afro-Christianity promotes other mistake will then often point to biblical passages that worldliness, functioning as an instrument of political speak of justice (in a social sense), relieving opprespacification and fatalism.”5 The second theory, which sion, feeding the hungry, and caring for the poor, is clearly Harris’s preference, just as it was for the founders of the Progressive National Baptist and claim that these passages suggest a broader Convention, is “the inspiration theory [that] makes agenda for the church. The error in view here is exactly the opposite claim, arguing that afroassigning to the church what is actually assigned to

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Christianity has played [and by implication should continue to play] a central role in Black politics, catalyzing, for example, the collective involvement of African Americans in the modern civil rights movement.”6 But Harris’s description of the first position is telling. First of all, the label itself, “opiate theory,” is taken from Karl Marx “who saw religion as an instrument of economic and political domination,”7 thus Marx’s famous dictum, “religion is the opiate of the people.” Accordingly, Harris assumes that the otherworldliness of a heavenly agenda creates “political pacifism and fatalism.” This has been a longstanding criticism of those who have opposed the AfricanAmerican embrace of traditional Christianity, which critics see as being introduced to African slaves to keep them docile in their predicament. In his 1973 essay “A New Religion for the Negro,” Eugene Gordon claimed that “Christianity teaches blacks to be meek and humble and to turn the other cheek when [they] should retaliate in kind.” Harris writes, “He further characterized Negro Christianity as a ‘workable tool for others,’ and blacks themselves as ‘religiously enslaved, their minds neglecting the very real and very present now for the delirious pleasure of wandering in a vague, remote, and uncertain hereafter.’”8 This perception of traditional Christianity has been held to various degrees by nonreligious black nationalists, non-Christian religious groups such as the Nation of Islam, proponents of liberation theology, and many advocates of a Social Gospel.

Those who remained in the National Baptist Convention under the leadership of Joseph Jackson were chided as being Uncle Toms, unsophisticated, unenlightened, irrelevant, and unresponsive to the real needs of the black community. A black church that only preached the gospel and concerned itself with spiritual matters was considered to be little more than a puppet of the white religious power structures, and therefore of no value in overturning the systemic and institutional racism of the day.

Stepping back, there is no denying that Christianity was used in a manipulative way during the period of slavery, Reconstruction, Jim Crow, and the Civil Rights Movement. Tragically, some white Christians even used the spiritual mission of the church to justify both individual and institutional noninvolvement.

But it would be absurd to invalidate sound doctrine because of the inconsistencies and hypocrisies of application by its adherents. The issue at hand therefore is not the intentions of those who stressed the spiritual mission of the church or even their inconsistent application of it. The issue is whether or not it is biblically valid. I think it is, and further, I do not

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think that the spiritual mission of the church should engender any apathy toward social injustice, poverty, and other social ills. With this history and these criticisms in mind, however, I would like to question the social activism of the black church on a number of points.

Challenging the Social Activism of the Black Church irst of all, the idea of a church seeing one community or ethnic group as its constituency is antithetical to the biblical concept of church.

Whatever community a local church is located in does not change the fact that it is the embassy of heaven. Its constituency therefore is all who name the name of Christ. In Ephesians 2:14–22, Paul speaks of the covenant community in terms of a new humanity. The purpose of the church is to nurture this new humanity “till we all come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God to a perfect man, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Eph. 4:1–3). Any congregation that is dominated by any particular ethnic group has to be careful that its ethnic identity is not elevated above that of the new humanity that we are in Christ.

Second, I question the idea held by many black church leaders that the black church is a place for economic empowerment. This is part of the misconception that the church is at the service of the local community. If a church is located in an economically deprived community, it would be great if members of the church with business or finance expertise made themselves available to members of the community in workshops and projects that teach fiscal responsibility and entrepreneurial ideas. Such a commitment to the community should be the fruit of faithful preaching and teaching on vocation and loving our neighbors as ourselves. But from the perspective of the Great Commission and biblical teaching on the covenant community and its worship, this is not the function of the institutional church. The same must be said for job training. Individual members could and should be encouraged either to work with existing agencies or to start projects on their own. In fact, the Great Commandment obligates Christians and every human being to promote our neighbor’s welfare as if it were our own. Our spiritual mission then should not blind us to the needs around us. But these good and worthy creational needs do not define our mission.

Third, there is the issue of politics. Politics are part of the common kingdom in which individual Christians are free to participate—voting, campaigning, or even running for political office. A black minister at a ministerial breakfast to endorse a candidate

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for the U.S. Senate once observed that “America is a political animal, a political society, a political country, and those who have seen political power must understand that in order to have great power we must be part of the political process.”9 But this quest to identify the black church as a political powerbase, and therefore a part of the political process, is a confusion of the two-kingdoms distinctions shared by the broader evangelical community. It has also proven susceptible to being co-opted by politics so that from the Moral Majority to the Religious Right, we have seen evangelicalism become increasingly defined more by political concerns than theological or doctrinal convictions. In contrast, the power of the church is not political according to Scripture, nor is it the duty of the church or its ordained ministers in the name of the church to endorse a particular political party, platform, or candidate. Regardless of what Christian voter guides imply, there is no Christian platform for a common kingdom that is passing away. Our political process is as transitory as the issues it addresses, and to define the church’s power by its political influence is to overvalue the power of politics and to undervalue the church’s real power.

There was a time when African Americans were not allowed to participate in the electoral process.

This is a right that was won through the efforts of many courageous souls—and the right that was won was for African-American citizens to individually enter the voting booth and cast a ballot according to their own individual consciences and preferences.

There is no more a black way to vote than there is a Christian way. Our faith is not defined by a political party, platform, or candidate.

Staying on Mission am originally from Los Angeles, and one of our beloved sports heroes is Magic Johnson. Magic is not only one of the greatest basketball players of all time, but after his retirement he opened a number of businesses. His specialty was bringing different franchises into parts of the city where one did not usually see that franchise. When I would drive by one of Magic’s businesses, I was always struck by his obvious commitment to community. Just as often, however, I would drive through parts of town and see senior citizen homes owned and run by churches that had long since abandoned biblical faithfulness to the gospel. I am still struck by the contrast. Such homes are important, but could be and are just as often built by unbelievers, because community support and development is a responsibility that we all share, believer and unbeliever alike in our common kingdom. How sad it is to see a church that in its busyness

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has failed to do the one thing it has been called and commissioned by Jesus to do.

Black churches that define their purpose by a broader cultural agenda run the risk of making better disciples for their programs, platforms, and projects than for the kingdom of God. Their concerns for social justice and improvement of economic conditions are noble and God-glorifying, but the best thing the church can do for those situations is to raise the consciousness of its members to see the sanctity of serving our neighbors and contributing to the common good in the name of the common kingdom to the glory of our God. Ken Jones is pastor of Glendale Missionary Baptist Church in Miami, Florida, and a co-host of the White Horse Inn radio program.

C. Eric Lincoln in Andrew Billingsley, Mighty Like a River: The Black Church and Social Reform (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003), xx.

2C. Eric Lincoln and Lawrence H. Mamiya, The Black Church in the African American Experience (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1990), 17.

3Milton C. Sernett, ed., African American Religious History: A Documentary Witness (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1999), 511.

4Sernett, 512.

5Fredrick C. Harris, Something Within: Religion in AfricanAmerican Political Activism (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001), 4.

6Harris, 4.

7Harris, 5.

8Harris, 5.

9Harris, 4.

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SOCIAL JUSTICE, SOCIAL GOSPEL?

The Dangerous Act of Hospitality

By Tim Blackmon

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y grandparents began hiding Jews soon after the Waffen-SS confiscated the top floor of their church for a regional headquarters. In the basement of that same building, right under Nazi noses, a shelter was made. My grandfather was the pastor of this church. He figured the Jewish hideaways would be as safe there as anywhere.

When I was a kid, my grandparents told this story over and over. I always wondered why they took these risks. It would have been more sensible to leave the brazen takeover of the church’s facilities unchallenged. Were they not concerned about the threatening consequences? Somehow the menace of their Nazi neighbors did not deter them. Did they not fear for their own lives and for the lives of their small children?

How were they able to provide for so many people?

They received almost no income from their church.

They were often paid in the currency of chickens, eggs, fresh milk and produce, placed on their doorstep whenever a local farmer had a little bit extra. Yet they did not consider the scarcity of their own resources an insurmountable obstacle.

In one of my last conversations with my grandmother, then well into her ninth decade, I asked what kept them from complacency and spurred them toward such dangerous hospitality during the cold winters of World War II. She simply said: “We trusted in the coming kingdom of God. In the kingdom of Jesus there is always enough. We knew God would protect us and would provide for us. Because of that, we simply welcomed people who needed a place to stay and food to eat, even if there was a bit of a risk.”

As far as she was concerned, the hazardous venture to open the church to the Jews was an inevitable response to and a natural expression of the gospel of the kingdom of God. The fact that the church build-

ing happened to swarm with Nazi soldiers was primarily a logistical challenge. My opa and oma offered food, shelter, and protection to those who desperately needed it. Because of their practice of dangerous hospitality, many of their guests lived to tell the story.

The Greek word for hospitality, philoxenia, literally means “the love of strangers.” Loving a stranger means that I commit myself to the life and flourishing of a person who is without a place, without protection, or without the resources to survive, even if that commitment requires personal sacrifice. While we often associate hospitality with polite and dignified gatherings involving triangular cucumber sandwiches, spinach quiche and tepid tea with milk, true hospitality is different. It is deeply Christian and at times it is even dangerous.

Christine Pohl in her landmark book Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition says, “Although we often think of hospitality as a tame and pleasant practice, Christian hospitality has always had a subversive, counter cultural dimension: hospitality is resistance.”1 Making Room is Pohl’s passionate effort to reclaim the life-giving potential of the ancient Christian practice of hospitality. She ably argues that hospitality was crucial to the survival, identity, and growth of the early church.2 We read about this kind of hospitality in the letter to the Hebrews. It tells a story about Christians who showed compassion to those who had been imprisoned for their faith. At the time, prisons did not feature cafeterias or proper lodging facilities. The care and nurture of the prisoners was the responsibility of friends and family. If you did not have anyone willing and able to support you while in prison, it often meant you would die from hunger or exposure. The visit to prison was intimidating and dangerous—you ran the risk of being identified as a Christian and S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 39

could also face imprisonment. In Hebrews 10:34–36 we read, “For you had compassion on those in prison, and you joyfully accepted the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one. Therefore do not throw away your confidence, which has a great reward. For you have need of endurance, so that when you have done the will of God you may receive what is promised.”

Their compassionate care was the direct result of their theological vision. They “joyfully accepted the plundering of their property” because of their belief about the future; “since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one.” Because of their assurance of life and flourishing in the age to come, they were committed to the life and flourishing of those who were now in prison. Their perspective on their resources and personal possessions was deeply informed by their perspective on eternity. The assurance of the abundance of the age to come transformed their behavior in tangible ways. Emboldened by their eschatological vision, they did not shrink back in the face of danger. They practiced hospitality.

This is how Christian hospitality works. Out of an ever-growing awareness of what God has done for us—our welcome at someone else’s expense—we offer hospitality to strangers. Our ethical and virtuous behavior is grounded in God’s saving work in Christ.

Our deeds in this real world, in the present evil age, are transformed because of the dawning of life in the age to come. The Christian compassion shown to those in prison or to those hiding for their very lives is an inevitable response to what God has done in Christ. It is the embodiment of Paul’s imperative in Romans 15:7, “Therefore welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.” Geerhardus Vos, in his unparalleled sermon on Hosea 14:8 “The Wonderful Tree,” shows us the deeply Trinitarian and covenantal roots of Christian hospitality. Vos comments on how the Triune God of the universe, out of covenantal faithfulness, welcomed Israel into a relationship with himself. Vos conceives of this Trinitarian invitation as an act of hospitality: “In redemption God opens up himself to us and surrenders his inner life to our possession in a wholly unprecedented manner of which the religion of nature can have neither dream nor anticipation.”3 This Trinitarian hospitality resonates with Ephesians 2:18, “For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father.” This divine hospitality is resourced by the unending “riches of his grace which He lavished on us” (Eph. 1:8). Vos memorably calls this Trinitarian welcome “absolute generosity born of supreme love.”

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This relation into which it pleases God to receive Israel with himself has in it a sublime abandon; it knows neither restraint nor reserve. Using human language, one might say that God enters into this heart and soul and mind and strength.

Since God thus gives himself to his people for fruition, and his resources are infinite, there is no possibility of their ever craving more or seeking more of him than it is good for them to receive.4 Here Vos gives us the finest theological foundation for Christian hospitality. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Spirit have offered “absolute generosity born of supreme love” to one another from before the foundations of the world. This eternal Trinitarian superabundance spills over in the creation of the universe.

The Triune God makes room for creation to flourish.

The Old Testament frequently uses hospitality imagery to describe the providential work of God. In Job 38:41 we read, “Who provides for the raven its prey, when its young ones cry to God, and wander about for lack of food?” This hospitality comes out of a covenantal commitment: “He provides food for those who fear him; he is ever mindful of his covenant” (Ps. 111:5). God is the one “who gives food to all flesh, for his steadfast love endures forever” (Ps. 136:25). Throughout the Scriptures we see that God is a host, a faithful provider of food and shelter to the entire world.

After our fall into sin, God continued to give himself in “sublime abandon” to his people, ultimately by giving his own life. “For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for men” (Mark 10:45). Now God’s covenant people practice hospitality out of their superabundant joy that comes from “fellowship with the Father and with His Son Jesus Christ” (1 John 1:3). In turn, mirroring the Triune God of grace, who opens up his life to his people, Christians give themselves, heart and soul and mind and strength, in “sublime abandon” to the flourishing of others. In the words of Pohl, they “make room to help other people flourish.” The practice of Christian hospitality is a “generosity born of supreme love.” Out of a deep awareness of our gracious welcome into Trinitarian fellowship, we offer welcome and make an enduring commitment to help others flourish. Since this is the proper human corollary to God’s hospitality, we bring glory to God by making room in our lives for those who need it most.

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? hroughout his ministry, Jesus was frequently criticized for offering indiscriminate hospitality to flagrant sinners. In Luke 15:2 we read, “And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, ‘This

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man receives sinners and eats with them.’” Jesus even earned the title of party animal: “The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look at him! A glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’” (Matt. 11:19). Jesus’ welcome of these sinners was seen as a tacit approval of their wicked ways. As if the sinfulness of the sinners was a communicable disease, Jesus’ contact with them was considered ill advised and immoral.5 Jesus’ practice of hospitality is reminiscent of the dinner table scene in the 1967 film with Sidney Poitier, Spencer Tracy, and Katherine Hepburn, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? The liberal persuasions of a young woman’s parents (Tracy and Hepburn) are put to the test when her fiancé—the very black Dr. John Prentice (Poitier)—comes to their San Francisco home. In the same way, Jesus upends Jewish eschatological expectations and challenges the status quo of his religious climate by “going out to the highways and hedges and compelling people to come in, that my house may be filled.

For I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet” (Luke 14:24). Pohl writes, God’s guest list includes a disconcerting number of poor and broken people, those who appear to bring little to any gathering except their need.

The distinctive quality of Christian hospitality is that it offers a generous welcome to the “least,” without concern for advantage or benefit to the host. Such hospitality reflects God’s greater hospitality that welcomes the undeserving, provides the lonely with a home and sets a banquet table for the hungry.6 My father grew up in North Carolina in the 1930s.

He often told about the racism of the “whites” against “the coloreds.” He remembered the segregated restaurants, buses, bathrooms, and schools. He knew what it was like not to be welcome. When my father was a college student in Washington, D.C., two elderly white ladies befriended him. Much to his surprise, they invited him over to their home for dinner. He was instructed to arrive after dusk and use the back door as the entryway.

No one was to know a black man was visiting with these white women in the white neighborhood. This would not be safe for anyone. In spite of their attempts to keep their hospitality under wraps, neighbors soon began to talk. Not long after, the two elderly church ladies were known as “the nigger lovers.”

This simple act of welcome was an important affirmation and acknowledgement of my father as a fellow human being and as a brother in Christ. They practiced hospitality because my father had what John Calvin called “a familiar mark…as one whom [God] has dis-

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tinguished by the luster of His own image.”7 Pohl explains why this moment is so transformative: Especially when the larger society disregards or dishonors certain persons, small acts of respect and welcome are potent far beyond themselves.

They point to a different system of valuing and an alternate model of how we can relate to one another. People view hospitality as quaint and tame partly because they do not understand the power of recognition. When a person who is not valued by society is received by socially respected persons or groups, as a human being with dignity and worth, small transformations occur.8 Why We Must Recover the Christian Practice of Hospitality hile I’ve not had to put my life on the line the way my grandparents did in WWII, I am discovering that hospitality is not only the most natural response to the gospel, but it is also a practice our world desperately needs. I’ve spent most of my ministry in California. Many of our neighbors feel pressured to live increasingly fast, mobile, and private lives. Divorce, blended families, and life lived at a breakneck speed in tight margins often contribute to a wide variety of relational fractures. While they might work hard at keeping up with the Joneses family, they rarely ever eat with them. Too often, they don’t even eat with the people who happen to reside at the same address. If and when they are at home, they often eat alone, or they eat on the run in the car.

Their lives are so private they have to survive with few, if any, life-giving relationships. Because of this, people are desperately hungry for welcome. They long to be welcomed into a church and into a home.

I now serve an international church in The Hague in the Netherlands. This is a city where people from over one hundred different countries have come to live. Virtually everyone I meet is from somewhere else. They are all strangers. They are not at home.

Without a proper welcome, these global nomads can live here for years and still remain strangers. They are sometimes without support structures for when life gets tough. This almost always results in lives marked by deep loneliness. Or worse, these strangers find themselves on the receiving end of prejudice and discrimination. Sure, there are institutions and businesses that are in the “hospitality” or “care” industry.

They offer the guest—now known as “the client”— undivided attention, for a fee.

As a church in this community, however, we are uniquely equipped to offer welcome. We know what it is like to be strangers in the world. We are citizens

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of another kingdom, pilgrims on the way. This prepares us for the hard work of hospitality. In the Old Testament we see that the experience of Israel’s marginality and sojourner identity became a surprisingly rich resource for their own practice of hospitality.

“You shall not oppress a sojourner. You know the heart of a sojourner, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt” (Exod. 23:9). Because they knew what it was like to be a stranger, they were able to imagine and anticipate the needs and concerns of others who found themselves in a similar situation. This is the story of the Christian community: strangers welcoming strangers. In order for these postmodern social nomads to thrive, our church must recover the ancient Christian practices of hospitality.

It Takes Practice elow are a few important lessons my wife and I are learning about hospitality in our home and in our church.

First of all, it would be tempting to talk immediately about the practical skills involved in offering hospitality. Some of us might still think of hospitality as mainly an extravagant display of culinary excellence and homemaking prowess that would make Martha

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Stewart blush. Done under the guise of genuine hospitality, we usually call this “entertaining.” Sometimes it is not much more than a veiled attempt to impress others and show them what we have and how we live. Besides the fact that this kind of hospitality is not sustainable, it often tragically deepens the divide along socioeconomic lines.

Some might even worry that their home has not yet been featured on the Extreme Makeover television show. Wisdom tells us, “Better a meal of vegetables where there is love than a fattened calf with hatred” (Prov. 15:16). Offering hospitality is not so much a matter of elaborate gourmet dinners as it is about an enduring commitment to provide food, welcome, and shelter to those who need it most.

Hospitality is not merely a skill. Loving a stranger is first of all a disposition. Practicing hospitality means that my heart is genuinely and generously open to others. Regardless of our cooking and homemaking skills, our guests will often feel whether or not we have this disposition in rich measure. They notice it in the way we look at them, the way we welcome and receive them, and by the way we talk with them. The only way we get better at this is by experiencing the life-transforming power of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The Guilt Commission: How Charity Telethons Disguised as Concerts Have Killed the Rebel Spirit of Rock ‘n’ Roll

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hile waiting in line for a U2 concert in September 2009, I noticed that concertgoers were passing around something. Now, I’ve been to enough rock shows to know that things shared at concerts are typically intended to make the show more enjoyable, and this was no exception. But this time, instead of an illegal substance working its way around the crowd, people were passing a clipboard with a petition to the government of Burma to release pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi from house arrest. Accompanying the petition was a guy telling the story of the Nobel Peace Prize laureate while handing people paper cutouts of her head to be displayed later in the concert during the song “Walk On.” (Kyi was released in November 2010.)

On entering the stadium, I noticed an infinite column of booths set up for every charity you could imagine—One, (RED), Greenpeace, UNICEF, and so on—and throngs of people were signing up for e-mail newsletters, giving donations, and buying products with their favorite charity’s logo. During the concert, Bono, clad in a jacket emitting red lasers in every direction, stood in the middle of a stage designed to look like a spaceship and spoke into a microphone in the shape of the Target logo. He implored the audience to stop by the tables in the lobby and donate to various charities, which took him about five minutes to name.

He ended the speech by applauding those standing in the (RED) Zone (a VIP section nearest the stage), whose ticket proceeds would go toward helping eliminate AIDS in Africa.

What happened to Bono? The man who had once created an onstage persona known as the Fly— garbed in Lou Reed’s glasses, Elvis’s jacket, and Jim Morrison’s pants for the sole purpose of making fun of market-driven rock ‘n’ roll and mass media—now sounded more like a revival preacher than a rock god.

When he named all the charities represented that night, he reminded me of a NASCAR driver after a race: exiting the car, a microphone and a sponsor’s beverage are thrust into the guy’s face before he begins to

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Only then will we have the proper disposition and the generosity of heart.

As we grow deeper in our understanding of the gospel, we will inevitably begin noticing who our neighbor is. Our eyes will be opened to see the invisible strangers all around us. Chances are that there are people within your sphere of influence you have never noticed. They are invisible to you. You don’t see them.

You don’t notice them. Simply begin by asking some questions: Who is the stranger in my world? Begin by giving this stranger your full attention. We pay attention to the people we value. Then ask: What do they need?

What keeps them “outside”? How can I help? What can our church community do to bring relief and comfort?

It is also important not to think of hospitality as the next growth engine for your church. Hospitality is offered in light of our expectations of eternity and in response to the gospel, not as a strategic way to get an immediate return on investment. Guests are usually able to discern if they are being offered hospitality that is primarily a strategic method or a technique. They will sense that it is fundamentally coercive and manipulative. Instead, hospitality should be offered in light of our eschatological expectations. It is not done for strategic purposes. “But when you give a feast, invite

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the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. You will be repaid at the resurrection of the just” (Luke 14:12–14).

There are many ways a church can begin practicing hospitality.9 Perhaps you will consider offering care to orphans or cooked meals for international students, or to collaborate with others in opening a homeless shelter. Before your church even begins to explore how to practice hospitality, however, begin small. Perhaps the most important practice is also the simplest. Begin by sharing meals together.

A few weeks ago, we opened our home to some guests. Eighteen minutes before our guests were to arrive, we discovered that the size of the group was twice as large as we had expected. Meanwhile, our own four children ravenously hovered over the chips and guacamole, anxiously awaiting the opening prayer.

While quietly confident of 2 Corinthians 9:8 that “God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need,” I still managed a fatherly squeeze in the arm and whispered the three letters “FHB”—code language for “Family Hold Back.” Our kids (and Dad too) reluctantly moved to the back of the food line, serving themselves modestly only after everyone else had been amply served.

thank Chevrolet, Coke, Goodyear, Pennzoil, and Bob’s Chicken and Tires for their help in securing victory.

Only Bono wasn’t thanking the charities for their help; rather, the charities should have been thanking him.

The force of his words told the crowd, “I support these causes, and if you want to be cool you will too.”

When did rock concerts begin to double as fundraisers for celebrities’ favorite charities? Unfortunately, Bono has accomplices in his agenda of hijacking entertainment with humanitarianism. Artists such as Sting, John Mayer, Goldfinger, and even 50 Cent all promote charities during their concerts, coupled by the requisite sign-up table in the lobby. Adam Lambert can’t let fans wait until the end of the show before they participate in his charity, but instead encourages them to text “Lambert” to his charity’s number so they can get information about how to be involved. Vying for Bono’s title of Rock Star Messiah is Jon Bon Jovi, who promotes a slew of charities during his concerts including Habitat for Humanity and Project HOME. Go to a show and you can buy a JBJ Soul Foundation t-shirt made from recycled bottles. It’s like a two-for-one indulgence.

Beyond the obvious good that some may receive from these petitions and donations, the important question to ask is why “we” as concertgoers insist on sprinkling our self-indulgent entertainment with altruism. Why can’t we simply go to a concert without having to feel like we helped save the world? Why must we engage in evasive activism—an indirect attempt to bring about change with no commitment necessary?

It’s the same reason why rock stars turn into ringmasters for the charity circus: guilt. Rock ‘n’ roll used to be about great music communicated through men ensconced in rebellion. We didn’t even care who or what they were rebelling against so long as it was real. Rebellion is at the very essence of the art form.

Something changed somewhere along the line. What’s rebellious about trafficking in charities? What’s so “rock ‘n’ roll” about turning a concert into an infomercial for UNICEF? Rock stars used to either burn out or fade away; now they become celebrity pitchmen. It seems to me that a sense of guilt drives all this, not only for the debauchery in which they have engaged but for being privileged to live a life of leisure. Concertgoers share this sense of guilt, not in the same way as rock stars of course, but for the fact that we can waste big money to be entertained for just a couple of hours. (continued on next page)

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To recover the practice of Christian hospitality, simply begin by eating together and invite others to join. “A shared meal is the activity most closely tied to the reality of God’s Kingdom, just as it is the most basic expression of hospitality.”10 Of course, hospitality has its limits.

You can’t do everything, and you can’t have everyone over all the time. There comes a time to say no. It takes wisdom to discern when you have reached your limits, while prayerfully exploring how God may use you to make room for the strangers in your community.

One thing is certain: Because we are all so busy and because it is much easier to do life without exposure to “the stranger,” a strong expression of hospitality will not be automatic. Unless there is an intentional commitment to practice hospitality, it simply will not happen. The work of hospitality is too demanding.

Meaningful hospitality is too important to be stuffed in the margins of an inordinately full family schedule, nor does it fit into the over-programmed ministry calendar of a church. As we prayerfully rethink the gospel, we will inevitably rediscover that hospitality is an essential part of our Christian life together. This then must reshape our priorities and our practice. ■

Christine Pohl, Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 13.

2The life and writing of Dr. Pohl has made an indelible impact on my life. Almost everything I’ve learned about hospitality comes from her.

3For Geerhardus Vos, “The Wonderful Tree,” see http://www.kerux.com/documents/KeruxV6N2A1.asp.

4Vos, “The Wonderful Tree.”

5For a full-length treatment on Jesus’ table fellowship with sinners in the Gospels, see Craig Blomberg, Contagious Holiness: Jesus’ Meals with Sinners (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2005).

6Pohl, Making Room, 15.

7John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion (1559 trans.; reprint, Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 1960), 3.7.6.

8Christine Pohl and Pamela J. Buck, Study Guide for Making Room (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 13.

9I highly recommend gathering with a few people at your church to study Christine Pohl’s book and explore the study guide for how to best recover hospitality as a Christian tradition.

10Pohl, Making Room, 30.

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Rev. Tim Blackmon serves the American Protestant Church of The Hague in the Netherlands.

The Guilt Commission (continued from page 43) We think to ourselves, “Imagine those poor people in Africa who can’t even buy bread, while we sit here in an air-conditioned arena forking over the equivalent of their yearly salary in order to be amused.”

So we sign up for One, or (RED), or Greenpeace to alleviate our sense of guilt for being born in the West and for having disposable income. We buy a charity t-shirt made of recycled bottles to make us feel better, even though we forgot our metal eco-bottle at home and were forced to drink bottled water during the show. We leave the concert entertained and satisfied, knowing that we have done our part to give back. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for charity; I even support a few myself. I just go to a concert to hear music, not some millionaire wearing guy-liner telling me how to be a better person as if he’s my life coach.

What happens when the buzz from giving wears off? This is when the voice of guilt takes up residence in our head. Have I given enough? Maybe I should volunteer. Should I quit my job and work for PETA? Maybe I could take in a homeless person and get him back on his feet. Should I move to Africa and become a full-time activist? Even if we do all that, it will never be enough.

Our sense of guilt cannot be quenched by more doing. It can be remedied only by placing faith in the one who has already done what we can’t do: live a perfect life and die on behalf of sinners. Placing our faith in the real Messiah, Jesus Christ, is our only relief from the burden of working our way to perfection, and the true source of genuine peace and contentment that lasts long after the music is over.

The Guilt Commission commands us to do something in order to gain relief, yet relief never comes.

The Great Commission sends us off to spread the news of what has been done for us and to tell of the relief that we have already found in Christ.

Dan Borvan is a graduate student living in Southern California who likes his rock ‘n’ roll tinged with rebellion, not altruism, and his religion saturated with gospel, not law.

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THE LATEST IDEAS SWEEPING THE LAND… r e v i e w s

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t a crucial point in Generous Justice, Tim Keller asks us to

tution to bring about social justice. Of course, Scripture addresses the whole “imagine a sequel to the Good Samaritan parable”: “The range of life, issuing commands and promises that touch on the value of months go by and every time he makes his trip from life, stewardship of creation, racism, and other forms of injustice. Surely, Jerusalem to Jericho Christians are called to be salt and light in the world. he finds another man But does the church take up secular callings? The in the road, beaten church is obligated to speak where God has spoken, and robbed. Finally even to the point of disciplining offending members. the Samaritan says, But does the church have any mandate to discipline ‘How do we stop the society at large? Keller’s solution to this problem is to violence?’ The answer develop an indirect obligation. Thus he finds the to that question would imperatives and model for social justice in Old be some kind of social Testament Israel, identifies Christ’s affirmation of that reform” (126). Keller model in his fulfillment of it, and mandates that proceeds to argue for expansive obligation for believers today via the gendoing justice by changeral requirements of neighbor-love. ing social arrangeKeller wonderfully presses this obligation to live ments and institutions, justly and seek greater justice in society. Further, he going beyond “just presents a formally sound argument for the unobjechelping individuals.” tionable proposition that social justice is good, and God He rejects as naive those favors its flowering in the world. But is the argument Generous Justice: Christians who prefer to this simple? God favors many creational “goods” withHow God’s Grace focus only on evangelout requiring their direct support and promotion by Makes Us Just ism and individual the church as an institution. At times, then, it seems

by Timothy Keller social work. Keller’s unclear to me whether he is confusing new covenant Dutton, 2010 vision for social jusnorms with those of the old covenant theocracy.

256 pages (hardcover), $19.95 tice—here and throughOne important consideration concerns the binding out the book—is comof consciences where Scripture is silent. Exegetically, pelling. The problem is, however, that there is no there are instances where there is no good and necsequel to the parable in the text, so all we can do is essary inference to be drawn from the biblical text to imagine this scenario. At several points in my reading application. Note, for instance, that Keller’s hesitancy of this book I wondered if the author was filling in regarding individual social work is drawn from the gaps in Scripture where we simply do not have the imagined Good Samaritan sequel, despite the fact specific mandates that he recommends. that individual social work is precisely the kind of jusThere is much in Generous Justice to commend, tice that is explicitly modeled by the parable that especially the connection between justification and Jesus actually related. Such is the ambiguity when justice, the gospel and neighbor-love. However, this going beyond the explicit teaching of the Bible, a hypothetical sequel to the Good Samaritan parable logic that may perhaps go hand-in-hand with an concretely illustrates a central difficulty with Keller’s eschatology of “optimism” about human nature and argument, namely, that there is no direct New institutions. In the end, it is striking that neither Jesus Testament command obliging the church as an instinor his apostles saw fit to command social reform to S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 4 5

prevent roadside attacks, nor did they lay out the principles for developing such policies; instead they returned again and again to the simple command of neighbor-love, including specific demands for life particularly within the new society of the church.

Given the flow of Keller’s argument from Old Testament to New, the central difficulty of this book is an assumed relationship between geopolitical Israel and the church. This relationship isn’t explicitly articulated or defended. I’d like to focus this review on that question—one of many raised by this book.

Keller’s motivation for writing the book is clear. He is writing against what he characterizes as a fundamentalist or traditional evangelical vision of Christianity that is narrowly concerned with the saving of souls. He believes this type of Christianity misrepresents the gospel of free grace as unnecessary, irrelevant, or even antithetical to good works. Keller therefore wants to reestablish the connection between the gospel and action, faith and works. Taken this far, Keller’s argument is strong. Faith without works is dead. I welcome his condemnation of an individualistic, evangelism-centric Christianity that fails to reflect God’s love for this world and the whole person.

Where I find Keller’s argument less convincing concerns the nature of the action that the gospel calls forth. What works are required, toward whom, and on what scale? The gospel action that Keller wants to argue for is justice on a societal and cultural scale—an extension, seemingly, of his reaction against the individualism of much of evangelicalism. Thus just as “Israel was charged to create a culture of social justice for the poor and vulnerable” in order to “reveal God’s glory and character to the world,” so Christians are called to work for social justice.

This is where I wondered if the church in the new covenant era was being too closely identified with the old covenant theocracy. What is the difference, if any, between pursuing justice as an Old Testament citizen of the typological, sociocultural, and theocratic entity that was Israel, or as a member of the society of the Christian church, a fellowship that exists scattered like salt and light among the nations of the world? If Israel was to create a culture of social justice to reveal God’s glory, are we called to create such a culture within the church or in the broader community in which we live?

Focusing perhaps too much on the civil laws of the old covenant, as if they were still in effect in the new covenant era, the book gives too little attention in my view to Jesus’ explicit “new commandment” for his followers to “love one another as he has loved them” (John 15:12–17; 1 John 2:7–10; 3:11–24). Jesus even says that it is by this special love that his followers will be known in the world. How does this command 46 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

relate to Israel’s calling to manifest God’s justice societally?

This raises the question of the priority of the church’s concern to love and show justice for those in her own midst. Such priority does not deny that neighbor-love requires justice for everyone, believer and unbeliever alike. Rather the question is, what is commanded? And what are the different obligations that Christians have, both to one another in the family of God and to neighbors made in God’s image?

Keller applies Israel’s requirement to love the stranger and foreigner within her midst to this question. This is not exactly to the point, however, for the people of God were extensive with the nation and the land under the old covenant. The direct New Testament analogue to such a stranger might be someone in need who walks through our church doors on Sunday, or otherwise seeks shelter in the precincts of the church. For New Testament texts, Keller draws primarily on Galatians 6:10 (“As we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith”), a text that in granting the universality of the claims of justice simultaneously urges the priority of justice within the church.

The key text for the church’s mission to the broader world is the parable of the Good Samaritan. There is no denying its force, which has already been granted. But the point of the parable—and parables are notoriously poor places to look to in order to develop doctrine— is decidedly narrower than social justice. It is to unmask the hypocrisy and self-righteousness of the lawyer who asked the question, and of the Jewish audience.

The question arises again, why no sequel to the Good Samaritan? Why is the complexity of civil law and an expansive societal roadmap in Israel replaced with a simple, unitary command to love another? Why is the life of this New Testament society focused so rigorously on the love of God that takes place in worship?

The major concern I have with Keller’s proposal is that it seems to reintroduce Old Testament complexity in the place of New Testament simplicity. The author refreshingly acknowledges the complexity of societal challenges, noting how biblical visions of justice do not neatly fall within the lines of conservative or liberal ideologies. He urges us to exercise balance.

The specific details are given in the endnotes, where we learn that “one way that many Christians seek to do justice in their daily life…is by paying attention to the sources of the products they consume….

Christians who want to support justice in the world may wish to patronize some companies over others.

I would add that this whole area is fraught with difficult questions….Some Christian thinkers are far

more positive about the morality of free markets than others” (note 96). The result is as clear as mud for the layperson seeking pastoral guidance. Is the obligation to do justice an imperative or not? Should I or may I buy Nike or Reebok? May we bind consciences with so many “mays”?

Another example of the difficulty and complexity of applying Old Testament principles to the Christian is found in the discussion of gleaning. The law of gleaning required landowners not to harvest to the very edge of their fields, thus leaving some of their grain behind for the poor to harvest. The author doesn’t apply these laws directly to common societies today, but he does see principles here for business owners today—namely, that they should not squeeze every penny of profit out of their labor by charging the highest fees the market will bear, nor by paying the lowest wages to their workers. He also sees principles for government action—namely, that they develop welfare programs that “encourage work and self-sufficiency rather than dependency.”

But these market-based applications are not a clear application of the Old Testament principle. First, one must distinguish between a subsistence-based agricultural society and a market economy. Further, Israel was a closed system in which both landowners and gleaners had obligations under the law. The same can’t be said for employees and customers today. Nor does it account for the competition of a marketplace, in which competing businesses not bound by this law could easily bankrupt a firm that felt bound to charge less than the market rate for a product or service.

This is not to deny that the law of gleaning has contemporary application—it most certainly does. But the central question is where and how we are to apply those principles. Perhaps they are to be applied to our neighbor-love in the life of the local church, which would look very different from the business ethics with which Keller provides us. This is the argument Keller fails to make; he mostly assumes the validity of the Old Testament vision of social justice for the church today.

What if the lesson of Israel is primarily a negative one, her example one not to be followed? Is it then a story about not only the nature of sin in general and our inability to fulfill the law, as Paul argues in Galatians, but also about the promise of eradicating the roots of sin through social justice here on earth?

What if Israel was a parable not only about our need for a Savior, but also to show us that the principles of divine justice—not to mention self-sacrificial love— cannot be faithfully manifested on a societal level in a fallen world? Rather, only a heavenly kingdom, wrought whole cloth on earth by the Spirit of God, can bear witness to the justice and glory of our heav-

enly King. Jesus’ ministry to the poor and suffering as the true Israelite is then the capstone that fulfilled Israel’s calling on earth and enabled him to pronounce a new, simpler command: Love one another.

This vision of a heavenly society manifested in the church, transformed by love, answers the call for a gospel-driven, activist Christian faith—a faith that cares for the whole person and affirms God’s creation.

It has the further advantage of being abundantly supported by the clear mandate of the New Testament.

Rev. Dr. Brian Lee is pastor of Christ United Reformed Church in Washington, D.C.

What Is the Mission of the Church? Making Sense of Social Justice, Shalom, and the Great Commission

By Kevin DeYoung and Greg Gilbert Crossway, 2011 288 pages (paperback), $15.99 Michael Horton Dialogues with Kevin DeYoung Horton: Do you think there is a connection between the Emergent movement and the people who have been involved with the trend of broadening out the gospel and the mission of the church to include all sorts of things—the horizontal humancentered emphasis we see in treatments of the gospel now being seen as mission? Is there a connection here between the view of the gospel as our living it and doing it and the view of mission as making the world a better place? Your book with Greg Gilbert What Is the Mission of the Church? engages the questions being raised in the wider evangelical and Reformed world regarding the church’s mission. Especially in the Emergent movement, there has been a lot of talk about our “living the gospel”—even “being the gospel.” That’s led to message creep, confusing ourselves with Jesus. However, you seem to be concerned in this book about mission creep as well; that is, the confusion of the Great Commandment with the Great Commission. Are these two expansionistic tendencies related?

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DeYoung: Yes, I think there are a number of connections. Of course, there are deeper differences I’d have with someone like Rob Bell than I have with brothers and sisters who are well within the bounds of the historic Christian faith. Yet with that caveat, yes, I definitely see a connection, and it comes across in a couple of ways. First, as you said, there is a radical continuity between this life and the next. I think a lot of these folks are reacting against the simplistic caricature that you just fly up to heaven and that’s all that matters in life. Or people think that heaven is earth coming down, that this is something we’ve just discovered for the first time in history, or that the kingdom is going to be here in some way. But any sort of discontinuity has been obliterated, such that everything we do now is going to be carried over somehow into the next life, which of course then translates backward that we are partners with God in recreating this world or in building or bringing his kingdom. It comes through pretty clearly in Bell’s work that we don’t want this “small gospel,” as he says, which is just about “sin management” (I think that phrase came from Dallas Willard). But it’s this bigger, grander vision of partnering with God to recreate the world. Of course, there are many problems (not the least of which is hubris) that we’re doing this with God, when really the promises in Scripture are that we bear witness to it and receive it as a gift.

Horton: I hope for the good of the world that I’m not part of the gospel! It’s good news because it’s for us, not about us. What is your basic thesis in What Is the Mission of the Church?

DeYoung: Our basic thesis is that the mission of the church is summarized in the Great Commission. We pretty much know what people mean by “mission,” what we are sent into the world to accomplish. So what we argue for in this book is that the church is sent into the world to bear witness to Christ, to testify that he is Lord. We see this in not only the Great Commission, but also in the early church in Acts.

Acts is about the Word going forth and what happens when the apostles bear witness to these events and the theological significance of Christ’s death and resurrection. The church should have a clearer focus on what God has called her to do. Greg and I have a whole chapter on doing good deeds, because we want to do good deeds and there are lots of reasons to do them. Galatians 6:10 says, “Do good to all people, especially to the household of faith.” But to live the gospel, to be the gospel, to bring the kingdom, or help restore creation, are not the right theological categories, and they can be pretty damaging if people 48 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

embrace them. It can lead to a kind of triumphalism or, on the other end of that, a real defeatism: “I’m burned out. I’m thirty-five. I can’t change the world like I thought I would, and the church is failing in every way possible.” We want to guard people against some of that, while still saying yes to helping and serving others.

Horton: Do you think there’s confusion of the Great Commission with the Great Commandment today in talk about mission?

DeYoung: I think the two get equated. People say, “We’re Great Commission/Great Commandment people.” Obviously, they are both important. But I think it’s telling that in the Great Commission Jesus gives us a very specific mandate: “We’re sending you into the world to accomplish this.” In the book of Acts, the apostles aren’t being sent into communities looking for as many ways as possible to love and to bless others.

There is nothing wrong with that of course, but they believe that they’re sent into these different places to bear witness to Christ, to plant churches, to establish churches, and to nurture and encourage churches.

Horton: So the Great Commission is a mandate to plant, water, and grow churches through Word and Sacrament ministry?

DeYoung: Yes. In Acts 14 we have a good summary of what Paul was doing. He preached the gospel to the city and returned to Lystra and Iconium, strengthening the souls of the disciples, encouraging them to continue in the faith, saying that we must enter the kingdom of God through many tribulations. When he had appointed elders in every church, he committed them to the Lord in whom they had believed. His mission was evangelistic preaching, the planting of churches, and then the nurturing, establishing, and strengthening of those churches. That’s why in Romans 15 he could say, “My work in these regions is done, and I’ve proclaimed Christ all the way around to Illyricum,” because he had established gospelpreaching, firmly grounded churches. He saw that as his mission, and I think this is the church’s mission.

Horton: In your book, you quote Stephen Neill: “If everything is mission, nothing is mission.”

DeYoung: That is a great line. I think one of the dangers in our day is that we have a diffuse definition of mission, and it becomes practical in what churches are going to support with their missions budget, where we’re devoting our energies. There are many good things to do in the world, and many things we choose

to do as individual Christians. And yet, because our time, our resources, our energy, and our people are all finite, we can’t do everything. So understanding our mission is important. Mission is not everything we might do in Jesus’ name, such as plant trees in the park or start a film school that makes true, good, beautiful films. I’m not at all minimizing those things. We believe in vocation and that God is pleased in all sorts of things we can do. But whether those are the mission of the church is what we’re questioning in the book.

Horton: So the mission of the church isn’t necessarily as broad as the mission of Christians in their vocations of loving and serving their neighbors?

DeYoung: Exactly. One Christian might be passionate about pro-life work, while someone else might have a heart for digging wells in Africa. We can pray for this and hold them up as good things, and we can use those as application points when appropriate in a sermon. But whether that’s going to be conceived of as the mission of the church isn’t quite what I think we see from Jesus and the apostles.

Horton: I’m sure you’re familiar with The Hole in Our Gospel by Richard Stearns, the head of World Vision. I love World Vision and I love a lot of what he says in that book about what Christians ought to be doing, but do you see the same problem there? It’s not a “hole in the gospel”; it’s our failure to act appropriately in response to the gospel as we follow the law of love.

DeYoung: We love the word “love.” I think we would do a lot better to encourage Christians in churches to love and to follow this law of love. What happens is that we load onto that impulse, as you said, a gospel sort of language, that we have a mistake with our gospel, when it would be much wiser to look at all that Christ has done for us. We’ve already received the greatest gift. Now we should go love. There are many ways in which the world needs to know love and the alleviation of suffering. So it’s just some category confusions. I too read Stearns’ book, and he seems like a winsome, likeable guy, and I certainly applaud many of the things he wants to do; but I think some categories are wrong. We don’t have to encourage love by redefining what is meant by the gospel.

Horton: I noticed Chuck Colson’s endorsement: “After reading it you will no doubt be asking yourself, ‘What should I do?’” Now that’s not a bad question to ask sometimes, but not for a book titled The Hole in Our Gospel.

When you’re talking about the gospel, the question should be, “What should I believe?” Right?

DeYoung: Right. What does this announcement mean for me? What is the good news I’m embracing?

In your new systematic theology book, I’m sure you intentionally chose your subtitle: “A Systematic Theology for Pilgrims on the Way.” We need to recover the sense that the Christian faith is for pilgrims on their way to this celestial city. We have a hyperactivist kind of faith that is for those who want to recreate this city. I understand that because I know the danger of Christians who are blissfully ignorant of the concerns around them and who feel that they’ve got their doctrine right. We know that those are real dangers. But I think we need to recover a sense that the gospel is first and last about what God has done for us, not what we need to do for God. When we get that confused, we load our people with low-level guilt. So many Christians go through life with this pervasive nagging sense that they’ve never measured up, that they’ve never done anything good enough, that there are always more needs, always more things to do. That’s a failure to understand the radical nature of the gospel.

Horton: It’s no longer that they have to quit smoking and drinking, as it was in many of the churches of their youth.

Now it’s that they have to get out there and change the world.

DeYoung: I write about this because I personally wrestle with it. I know the tension of not wanting to excuse my own disobedience in some area. And yet, if we get to the point as Christians where we look at all the things that are supposed to be expected of us, all the things that it seems God is commanding of us, and we think, “I need forty hours in a day to be obedient to God,” then we’ve not understood something correctly. That is how a lot of Christians feel. It’s not just that they’re not supposed to commit adultery. But when you get some of these other things that involve the most intractable problems in the world, we wonder how we’re going to find time to possibly be pleasing to God and obedient to him. Then we’re traveling the same path Luther walked down before his experience in the tower.

Horton: It’s easy for us to turn the gospel into something that we do, and forget what the writer to the Hebrews said: “Since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken”—not building one—let us worship with reverence and awe. Grateful for receiving a kingdom, we then go out and live as salt and light in the world.

DeYoung: That’s a great passage. The verbs with “kingdom” are important. I’ve been banging this drum, and you probably have been too. It’s not buildS E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 49

ing; it’s not creating; it’s not even extending the kingdom. The kingdom simply is: It breaks in and infiltrates our lives. But it’s a kingdom that God has created and that Christ will finally consummate. We bear witness to it, and in our local congregations we’re sort of outposts of it. But it’s God’s work to do, and that’s why, as you pointed out, the verbs are that we receive it, we inherit it, we enter it. It’s not that we build it.

Michael S. Horton is editor-in-chief of Modern Reformation magazine, and Kevin DeYoung is pastor of University Reformed Church in East Lansing, Michigan.

Counsel from the Cross: Connecting Broken People to the Love of Christ

By Elyse M. Fitzpatrick and Dennis E. Johnson Crossway, 2009 240 pages (paperback), $15.99 Cultural shifts in the perspective of broad fields of study such as philosophy, theology, sociology, and psychology eventually trickle down and begin to affect individuals in a society. The movement away from biblical truth in the twenty-first century is having a devastating effect on men and women already ruined by the Fall—devastating because most human beings move through life believing that they are basically good and that the answer to their despair can be found in their own, or another’s, ability to think through their problems. In Counsel from the Cross, Elyse Fitzpatrick and Dennis Johnson set forth the major premise for the biblical “curing of souls.” Those involved in the fields of counseling and pastoral care are called to stand solidly on the truths of Scripture, neither moving away from nor moving beyond the gospel, but digging more deeply into the gospel of grace. The work of Christ on the cross brings gospel clarity to the various issues men and women face daily.

In the preface to the book, Johnson states that “in [the] cross lies the power both to liberate hearts that have been caught in seemingly unbreakable cycles of defeat and to instill hope that change can actually happen 50 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

in us, in our relationships, and in those whom we love fiercely and resent immensely at the same time.” Here is a realistic picture of the human heart: fighting the hopeless cycle of negative emotions; the rollercoaster of inconsistent thoughts, motives, and feelings; and the constant battle against unbelief in the reality of our already justified but not yet fully sanctified daily grind.

Those of us who counsel often understand that one of our first priorities is to help counselees see themselves as players in a story bigger than their own.

Fitzpatrick and Johnson explain the necessity to emphasize the story of redemption in all of our lives.

They move us from the “white noise” of the gospel (we know the truths are there; we just don’t pay much attention to them) to an appreciation for the riveting, incomprehensible work of Jesus on the cross.

How do we connect the truth of the gospel to the way we feel on Tuesday morning? The authors’ definitions of the “Happy Moralist” and the “Sad Moralist” are recognizable, helpful descriptions to aid the counselor in moving counselees along to healthy selfawareness and understanding. They write, “Most counseling or self-help books are very much alike…because they all contain what Martin Luther called a ‘glory story.’ This perspective…contains an unstated but deeply held belief that people don’t really need a crucified Savior; they just need a little help…they can attain glory by hard work, self-discipline, and the right list of activities.” This statement is true whether the Happy Moralist tries one method after another to attain perfection and peace, or the Sad Moralist continually searches for the one sin he needs to repent of to have a sense of well-being in the soul.

Another strength of this book lies in Fitzpatrick and Johnson’s use of theological terms and their adequate explanations of how theology can be applied to counseling needs. This book answers many questions and helps pastors and counselors set goals for those they counsel: How do I grow in grace—and what does that really mean? How do I participate in true fellowship and find avenues of service in the church? How do I engage others with the gospel story? The authors’ explanation of how the ordinary means of grace—in preaching, baptism, the Lord’s Supper, and in fellowship with other believers—can positively affect lives, furthering “the growth of Christlike desires, emotions, behaviors,” and how that work belongs to the church alone is pure gold in encouraging pastors and counselors to unabashedly begin at the cross.

Fitzpatrick and Johnson ask us to build a system for counseling with a strong, Christo-centric foundation that includes Scripture, justification, and sanctification. It is apparent that many counselees come to us confused at these points. Scripture is the filter

that every idea must pass through, and the authors emphatically state their primary premise: “Any counseling that does not begin and consistently stay with the Bible’s revelation about God and man will always slide into man-centeredness. It will always make man and his plans, power, goals and aspirations the focus of counseling.”

The man-centered approach often confuses justification and sanctification. The Happy Moralist will believe he is doing a pretty good job of keeping the rules, and he misses the truth about the depths of his own sin and depravity. Fitzpatrick and Johnson get justification and sanctification in the right order.

Justification is the prerequisite for sanctification, and the gospel is necessary for both; we cannot be perfected by the flesh (Gal. 3:3). This book constantly reminds us of the beauty and glory of the imputed righteousness of Christ, and the fact that sanctification is both definitive (it has been accomplished at a specific time) and progressive (the process is day by day). The authors write: “In progressive sanctification, we become in actuality what he has declared is already true of us.”

In a chapter titled “The Gospel and Our Emotions,” the authors do a good job of defining current psychological theory as to materialistic determinism or the belief that “what we are, every decision we make, and how we live our lives have been predetermined by the material part of us, most notably the levels of certain chemicals in our brains,” and they go on to explain that “another consequence of materialistic determinism is the belief that altering the levels of certain chemicals in the brain is the proper way to create emotional health.” They write in detail about feelings and moods and how our physiological responses to fear and sadness are directly related to our beliefs and thoughts about our experiences. Fitzpatrick and Johnson also describe their view of the mind-bodybrain connection and how medication may stop the physiologic responses to stress, but will not necessarily provide the right feelings and thoughts, which drives the counselor again to the gospel to provide a firm anchor for the counselee’s belief system whether the counselee chooses to take medication or not.

The practical and applicatory strengths of Counsel from the Cross are more than adequate. This book is replete with numerous examples of how the gospel can be applied to various counseling situations and continuously states that we are sinful and flawed, yet loved and welcomed. Furthermore, case studies make this book a practical and helpful resource for any pastor, counselor, or believer—all who want to better understand themselves and their relationships and to begin to “counsel from the cross.”

Debbe Mays is counselor to women and families at Mitchell Road Presbyterian Church in Greenville, South Carolina.

Rod Mays is the national coordinator for Reformed University Fellowship, the campus ministry of the Presbyterian Church in America. He also serves as an adjunct professor of practical theology at Reformed Theological Seminary. Rod and Debbe have been married for thirty-five years.

For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care

By Steven Bouma-Prediger Baker, 2010 (2nd ed.)

240 pages (paperback), $24.99 “What does ecology have to do with theology?” This is the question Steven BoumaPrediger seeks to answer in the second edition of his award-winning book For the Beauty of the Earth. But his aim is not merely to enter the dialogue or to inform but, simply put, to persuade. “My central claim is simply: authentic Christian faith includes care for the earth. Earthkeeping is integral to Christian discipleship” (xii).

Bouma-Prediger reminds us of the truth in Scripture, so often taken for granted, that there is something wrong with the world we live in, nature included (Rom. 8:19–23). The fall of Adam has resulted in not only death for man, both spiritually and physically, but for the earth as well. By looking at the earth we live on, it is not difficult to observe that we are no longer in Eden. Furthermore, in a fallen world mankind abuses (either accidentally or purposefully) the earth that God created to reflect his glory. “Indeed, it is a rare week that passes without learning about some ecological degradation” (23). One is reminded of the recent ecological disaster that resulted from the BP oil spill in the Gulf, for example. Many other worldwide concerns persist as well: population growth, increasing hunger, loss of biodiversity, deforestation, water scarcity and impurity, land degradation, accumulating waste, expanding energy consumption, acid (continued on page 57) S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 51

A DIALOGUE: IN AND OUT OF OUR CIRCLES An Interview with Os Guinness

“Let’s Be Civil About It” Os Guinness, author and social critic, has written or edited more than twentyfive books, including The Case for Civility: And Why Our Future Depends on It (HarperOne, 2008), which was the topic of the following White Horse Inn interview. A frequent speaker and seminar leader at political and business conferences throughout the world, Dr. Guinness has lectured at many of the world’s leading universities and has often spoken on Capitol Hill.

As we think about the relationship between Christians and the public square, could you walk us through your concerns in your book The Case for Civility? In addition to your concerns, what are your suggestions for how we can improve? You’re not just saying that we need to be nicer.

Civility used to be understood as a classical virtue—a republican virtue and a democratic necessity. The greater the diversity you have in a society, the more you need to know how to get on with each other, if you’re to have all voices heard. The American culture wars give us two extremes, and I follow along with Richard Neuhaus in calling one extreme “the sacred public square.” There’s no established church in America, but many in the Religious Right believe that the Christian faith, say in school prayer, should be given a privileged position. As America gets as diverse as it is—California schools have nineteen religions in one school district—this becomes unjust and unworkable, and creates enormous backlash against itself.

The other extreme—pushed

by Americans United and the 5 2 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N . O R G

ACLU—is what Neuhaus calls “the naked public square.” You antiseptically cleanse public life of all religion. And that’s not only highly illiberal, because most Americans are people of faith, it also undercuts the legitimacy or the moral justifications of the republic. So I propose what some of us call the “civil public square.” But it’s not just a matter of being nice. It’s a political framework about rights, responsibilities, and so on, within which people are free to be themselves. This means being faithful to their faith, and yet knowing how to get on with other faiths peacefully.

In practical terms, how do we do that when we’re faced with, for instance, the challenge of redefining the family—something that used to be taken for granted that is now being challenged? How do we as Christians make arguments in a civil way with people who don’t share our convictions and our rationale, and who think that when you bring those convictions to the public square, you’re not acting in the public good?

Obviously there are many things that we have to bring in.

One of the key ones for us fol-

lowers of Christ is persuasion, or the old term “apologetics.”

And the tragic fact is that many current Christians in America aren’t persuasive. They know how to preach or proclaim or protest or pronounce, when they’re against abortion or whatever it is; they don’t know how to persuade. The apostle Paul, who speaks in the synagogue and opens the Torah, preaches the Old Testament because in the synagogue audience that is their authority and they understand it. When he’s on Mars Hill, however, he quotes Cretan poets and so on.

In other words, he’s persuasive.

Take same-sex marriage.

There have been a few distinguished exceptions, but a lot of the political voices in America I often liken to the Grant Wood painting “American Gothic”— the defiant and stark couple standing with a pitchfork. You hear people say, “I believe in one man/one woman marriage!” and the pitchfork is stuck in. It doesn’t persuade anyone. We have got to be persuasive, and it’s sad that Jewish voices like Dennis Prager are genuinely persuasive on these issues and Christians aren’t.

One of the marks of when Israel abandons the ways of the Lord is seen in the Old Testament when Joshua is afraid and says, “You can choose whom you like—the gods back in Egypt, or the Canaanite gods—but as for me and my house,” and so on.

You could take Samuel protest-

ing the rise of the kingship, or Elijah on Mt. Carmel challenging the prophets of Baal. They don’t say, “Come back or Israel is going to fall apart.” Elijah says, “If Baal is God, follow Baal!” He can say that because he knows Baal is not God, and the fastest way for them to consider coming back to the Lord is by hitting their heads against a wall trying to follow Baal. Samuel is in a tougher situation. He says, “The kingship is wrong; you’re rejecting God”; but he also says, “You choose; these are the consequences. This is what kingship will do to you, and if you choose, you are culpable.” Looking back a thousand years, the Jewish monarchy was a desultory affair, and everything Samuel predicted was right. But in that case, they went ahead— unlike in the time of Elijah—and they chose the wrong way.

I think we need something of that prophetic stance. In samesex marriage, say what it will lead to: “You choose. These are the consequences, and you will be culpable. But as for me and my house, we will stick to the way of the Lord.” The tragedy is that we’re complaining about the culture’s way of life, and we ourselves are hardly different from the culture.

This sounds like a similar point Paul made to the Corinthians: “By the way, when I said don’t hang out with the publicly immoral and swindlers and so forth, I didn’t mean outsiders, people outside the church, for then you would have to leave the world. I mean clean up your own mess in the church.”

We do the very opposite today, don’t we? We try to clean up the world while our churches are often in disarray.

I read a recent poll that said that the state of marriage

among atheists is better than the state of marriage among evangelicals. Or you read of evangelicals whose view is no longer that Jesus is the only way to the Father and so on.

We have been affected by the relativism and the lifestyle of the world around us.

Evangelicals are tragically worldly.

What about reviving the old natural law tradition in Christianity? Or at least acknowledging the common grace inscribed in all people by virtue of being created in the image of God? What role does that play in the Christian’s assumptions as we pursue civility in the common realm?

My experience is that particularly our Roman Catholic friends, who use the natural law argument, tend to suggest that if people really thought well and reasonably (in other words, the way they think), then we’d all come to this happy common mind. It doesn’t happen. People aren’t as reasonable as many proponents of the natural law suggest.

My own version would be common grace understood in the Reformed way by default. I just gave you the example of Elijah. He doesn’t say, “If we think this through, you’ll see what I’m talking about in terms of the law.” No, he knows that if the Lord is the Lord, Baal isn’t, and that the quickest way for them to see that is to be pushed out. Peter Berger uses the word “relativism.” He says that the first argument against relativism is to relativize the relativizer. In other words, they cheat. They’re relativistic about us, or the past, or the Bible.

They’re not relativistic, however, about the things they hold

precious. So our tactic is not to say, “Now, come on, let’s be reasonable,” but to say, “All right, you’re insisting on relativism; go the whole way with your relativism.” And that’s what Samuel and Elijah do. To me, that is sort of common grace, but it’s taken in the negative form by showing that the negative doesn’t work; then you get people to come back and consider what might be a better way.

When you talk about appealing to people and what they find relevant for their lives, isn’t that a problem for us in bringing the gospel to people?

How will they see the life, death, even purported resurrection of a Jewish rabbi who lived a thousand years ago having any relevance for their lives today?

The gospel is relevant to every human heart and to every age; we all believe that. But our challenge as disciples is to find the point in which it really meets the need of the person we’re talking to, and it’s as different as the people we’re talking to are different. In Scotland they have these dry stone walls with neither cement nor mortar; there’s a type of stone with a fault line that will just fracture at a certain point if you tap it, which creates the shape you want. I’ve always thought of that as an image of apologetics. We’ve got to start by listening. Too many Christians talk too much. You’ve got to listen to discern. Our Lord could answer immediately because he knew human hearts. We don’t, so we listen and pray: Lord, where is the treasure of this person’s heart? What is it that’s really at the core of his resistance to you? And only

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after listening do we direct what we see as the good news of Christ directly to them.

I’m told by a friend who works among Muslims that one of the strongest things in the Middle East at the moment, where it’s incredibly hard to witness to Muslims at all, is the notion of “Abba, Father.”

There’s no intimacy in the remoteness of the Muslim view of God, and that “Abba, Father” intimacy is extremely powerful. We’ve got to listen in order to have some sense of where the person is, and then direct the gospel to him.

All of those roads you’re mentioning lead to Christ; it is the same answer, but in a thousand different ways.

That’s the challenge. Jesus never spoke to two people the same way. And so we who are evangelicals should start by junking all formulas, which are highly modernistic. If something works, you rethink what you did, and then you can reduce it to a method, and that’s very dangerous and becomes mechanical, and you don’t need the Holy Spirit for that. But we need the Spirit for discernment because people are so different. But of course, it’s the same gospel at the end of the day.

As far as the lack of civility goes, who worries you more: the hard left or the hard right?

The two of them together are Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

Each side deserves the other; each side reinforces the other.

In 1988, when I was involved in the Williamsburg Charter, an ACLU member said to me, “There’s a simple reason why we will always win. We have more lawyers.” And in those 5 4 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N . O R G

days, they did. But if you look back over the last twenty years, the conservatives—Christians, Jews, and others—now have huge amounts of money and an incredible array of lawyers.

So now each side is kind of like World War I with their embattled positions, armed to the teeth, and dug in their trenches. You see endless litigation and controversies.

Do you think we are living in a post-Christian culture?

I think people mean by this that the old Christian consensus has broken down. In other words, America was never formally, officially established as a Christian nation. But there’s no question that most of the people in 1776 and most of the ideas that made 1776 were Christian. For a long time— until the 1950s when Will Herberg talked about Protestants, Catholics, and Jews—the consensus was broadly Christian, and people who weren’t themselves Christian could understand the consensus. But all this went in the 1960s. And now, although Christians are still in the heavy majority—80 percent or so— the rest of the culture rejects any notion of the old Christian culture. So definitely in the sense of the collapse of the Christian consensus, we’re in a post-Christian culture.

Isn’t that both good and bad?

Exactly. I think it braces Christians. We can’t swim with the tide or rest on our oars— pick your metaphor. Today, we have to go back to square one.

I have to say for myself: this God is my God. I know whom I believe in. I know why I believe in him. I know what it means to believe in him and to

follow him, and so on. Each of us has to have that personal strong conviction, and then know how to go out and engage people of different faiths. Some will understand us, and some will not—but we should feel comfortable. The early church was born in a deeply pluralistic climate and had no problem. They didn’t betray their faith; they would rather die than say Caesar was Lord if Jesus was Lord. Yet today you see relativism eroding Christian faith. We’ve swung from an easy Christian consensus to this post-Christian culture, which appears hostile to many Christians and so they weakly cave in.

That easy Christian consensus historically has never really done very well for the clarity of the gospel and Christian witness, has it?

No, it makes it shallow; but then the faith gets used when it’s in the majority for things that are less than admirable— such as justifying slavery and racism in the South. So when the Christian consensus goes, and you’re in a post-Christian culture, people can see only the evils and the excesses. I call this the ABC moment. When cultures are in decline, they kick out the old faith, whatever the old faith is. In the West, the old faiths are the Jewish and Christian faiths. So it’s anything but Christianity today in a lot of areas. When people think of Christianity, they think only of the inquisitions, the crusades, racism in the South—only the evils.

When a culture shifts and kicks the old religion out reminds me of the occasion of Augustine’s penning The City

of God, when he was trying to explain that there are two cities, and that the Christian faith cannot be identified with any of the kingdoms or regimes of this world. But it seems that these books are written to distinguish the two kingdoms because the world is biting the hand that wants to rule them. But a majority religion no longer seems to occupy a lot of space in the public square, which is when things get really ugly and people like Augustine have to say that the church isn’t the Roman Empire.

He wrote the book over fifteen years. He started when Rome fell in 410, and he published the final bits in 425. The first part of his book is not great apologetics; it’s almost a kind of tit for tat. You’re saying Rome fell because there were no pagan gods? Your own people said this, Livy said this, and Sallust said this, and so on. The early arguments are not that original. But as he continues, he develops his mature argument about the two cities. He wasn’t just talking to the pagans; there were many Christians who confused Rome and the church—Eusebius of Caesarea lorded the fact that Jesus was born in the same lifetime as Augustus. So the first great Caesar and our Lord were together, and he’s the beginning of those who were marrying the church and the empire; and as the empire spread, the church would spread.

So Augustine asked Christians which city they were in. The City of Rome was passing, and the City of God is unconquerable. And in a way, that is the tough challenge to Americans today. Because the church and America have been

so closely identified, as we move into a post-Christian culture, people feel they are betraying their own patriotism to challenge certain things that are going on. I don’t think we have to go to the extreme of our friends at Duke University, in an Anabaptist direction, but we need to have a responsible two-city understanding. All of us who are followers of Jesus need to say that while we are in the City of God, we also happen to be American citizens or British citizens. The City of Man is second, and the City of God is primary.

I’m reminded of the comment Augustine’s colleague Jerome made: What is to become of the church now that Rome has fallen? Don’t you think that is a question being posed by a lot of conservative Christians today?

Exactly. In European history, there have been the rise of various Christian powers, and when each one failed, there was another one. When the British Empire failed, there was the United States. Or as people put it another way: if you launched the Mayflower today, it has no place to sail to. In other words, we’ve reached the end of the line of the Western countries that have been the center of the gospel. I’m not sure what the reason for this is under the Lord’s sovereignty, but thank God for the strength and explosion of the church in sub-Saharan Africa and China, where I was born, which is the center of the house church movement and the fastest growth of the church anywhere in two thousand years.

In the nineteenth century, Anglicans took the gospel to Uganda and to Nigeria, among

other places. Now the Anglican Church is in a desperate state with all the Episcopal heresies and apostasy, and it’s the churches in Uganda and Nigeria riding to the rescue of us in the West.

We have more Reformed Christians in Nigeria than in North America. In a lot of cases, students that we’ve had in our seminary who are Reformed pastors from Nigeria have been astonished at how a lot of churches in America that would consider themselves conservative, confessional, Reformed churches are more American than Reformed. If anything, they’re a little bit more orthodox than we are about being Reformed. So to see Reformed, Anglican, Lutheran, evangelical bodies outside of the West is sort of taking Britain and the United States out to the woodshed.

But I’m afraid that’s a good thing. On the other hand, one has to say to them gently: Your turn is coming. In other words, we’ve been done in by modernity, and modernity is coming to you.

And already with the prosperity gospel.

I was speaking in a group with a lot of African leaders this summer, and I was asked to give them this argument about modernity coming to them.

After that plenary session, we went to a communion service, where I sat in a row with about ten African bishops. Then in the middle of the Communion service, I noticed that four of them were texting. Here is the highest and holiest moment of Christian worship, and they were not there. Presence is one of the most precious Christian

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witnesses today. As Jim Elliott said, “Wherever you are, be all there.” And in our BlackBerry culture, many Christians aren’t. It’s that sort of thing that comes into the West. They look at us and say, “How can you have bishops who are homosexuals? We’ll never go that way.” But they don’t understand that it’s coming in through things such as radio, television, technology, cell phones, the Internet—things we think are neutral.

It’s easy to be Gnostic in this information culture. What are some of the ways that Christians have related to culture in this country that have been problematic?

Most people in answering that question look at Richard Niebuhr: Christ against culture, Christ over culture, and so on.

I think Peter Berger has a much better framework. He says that as Christians we’re called to be in the world but not of the world. So that gives us two extreme stances, and one in the middle. First, those who want to be in the world but not of it take a position of what he calls “cognitive” (your mind) and “cultural” (your lifestyle) “defiance.” Now that is very difficult in the modern world because the modern world is so powerful. It’s almost impossible to get away from.

There’s very little culture-denying stance among the church anywhere, compared to when I was a boy. When I was a boy people talked about worldliness.

In the 1960s, people said, "Don't drink, don't dance, don't smoke." But people today don't talk about worldliness at all.

The other extreme is what Berger calls “cognitive and cultural accommodation,” 5 6 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N . O R G

which you can see with the liberals beginning with Schleiermacher. They take on assumptions in the world and then adapt to those assumptions and eventually sell out to them. You can see liberal theology is the tail, and the dog is always current philosophy ahead of them. The tragedy, if you look at it like this, is that in the last generation many evangelicals have become the new liberals. They’re adapting to the truths of the world with our postmodern friends who are evangelicals. Often they’re adapting to the techniques of the world and the insights of the world like marketing, but evangelicals are becoming the new liberals, and that’s the tragedy.

It’s incredibly difficult to maintain the middle position, which Peter Berger calls “cognitive and cultural negotiation.” I think a better biblical word would be discernment— testing the spirits and always judging. But the world is happening so fast. The rate of current events is like a tsunami.

How do you think through everything? You’ve just thought through cell phones, but then they’re out of date and you’re onto something else. Each of us needs a little group of friends, such the White Horse Inn, who constantly wrestle with the issues, so that we’re not all taken and are abreast of the latest—with our thoughts captive to Christ.

The foundational concern you and I share is that we profoundly need a revival and reformation in the church. We’re simply not as Christian and as biblical as we should be in all sorts of areas. I’ve said in my lectures that the tragedy of the Christian right is that it’s actu-

ally subverting many of the ways that the followers of Christ are supposed to be. In the Gospels, Jesus tells us to forgive without limit, to do good when people do wrong to us, and gives us the supreme challenge: Love your enemies. People say that’s utopian, idealistic, impossible, or Pollyannaish. But look at Wilberforce. Wilberforce was the most vilified man probably in the world. Twice he was physically attacked by his opponents, but he was always gracious. He was never ungracious.

He also happened to be witty, but he was very loving. When one of his worst enemies died, he immediately ensured that the man’s wife had a pension.

Talk about love for your enemies. None of the stereotyping came from his side. If you look at the Christian right, who does the demonizing and the stereotyping? Read their direct mail and what’s underlined in red. It appeals to hatred or fear. This is all sub-Christian. I hope with the dismal performance of the Religious Right and the recent election, we can really call for reformation again. The Christian right’s time is up. Let’s engage differently. We need to be politically engaged, but without being politically equated with any party or ideology.

How can we become more persuasive?

If you examine Scripture where people are open, such as when the Philippian jailer comes to Paul and says, “What must I do to be saved?” The jail is broken down and his life is in chaos; he’s open. Paul is simple and brief: “Put your trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, and you’re saved.” The Four Spiritual Laws guys wouldn’t have even finished the first law. Paul was fin-

ished. He taught the good man later that night; but he was simple because the man was that open.

But if you look in Scripture when people are opposed, there are all sorts of ways to use questions—what’s called reversals, such as the Beatitudes, the parables, dramatic ploys. I describe them as creative subversion. Take Nathan with David. Nathan doesn’t tell a parable because he’s afraid to

confront David and wants to save his own skin. He’s aiming for the about-turn of the repentance and conviction we find in Psalm 51. But what’s interesting is that the aboutturn is in the parable. So the parable draws you in, and you end up living it. But then the punch line turns everything: “You are the man.”

The parables of our Lord work like that. Of course, in our Lord’s case, he also says

For the Beauty of the Earth (continued from page 51) rain, global climate change, and so on. It is impossible to ignore the fact that the “state of our home planet is not good” and the “earth is groaning” (54).

If this is all that is told, however, the story is only told in part. There is good news, says Bouma-Prediger.

For example, the “air in Los Angeles is better now than it was thirty years ago,” and “Lake Erie is recovering as a viable fishery” (54). These and other examples of reform are to be celebrated. Nevertheless, the negatives outweigh the positives by a landslide. The earth is damaged, and the evidence shows that much of it is our own fault, due to our own irresponsibility (mea culpa!).

One of the strengths of Bouma-Prediger’s work is the well-balanced lens through which he views and examines the ecological situation in which we find ourselves. He wants to correct the ignorance and reckless attitude of those who say that the ecological situation is just fine, but he also wants to avoid the extreme of those who say that the situation is dire and that there is little encouraging news. BoumaPrediger’s ability to be balanced in his evaluation is evidenced in at least two other areas.

First, he avoids the liberal agenda and solution to many ecological problems. Take human population for instance. Many of a liberal mind-set see human population as a “problem” that is having destructive consequences for the environment. The solution, some say, is to curb reproduction in order to save the environment. Helpfully, Bouma-Prediger exposes the flaws here while acknowledging that the number of humans on earth does have serious consequences, as seen in resource consumption. Questions have been raised by Lester Brown, for example, “How many

there are people who see and people who will not see, just as Isaiah prophesies. In other words, the parables leave the scribes and the Pharisees convicted: they’ve seen, but they still won’t bow. So even at the end of good communication, you can turn on your heels as easily as fall on your knees.

people can the Earth support? And at what level of consumption?” Bouma-Prediger’s responses are insightful. Following Wendell Berry, he recognizes that many times the wrong question leads to the wrong answer. The question of “how many people” is perhaps not the first or most important question to ask. Rather than jumping to the conclusion that the earth is overpopulated, we should ask if the problem is whether the people who do exist are using the earth inappropriately. Perhaps the solution then is not population reduction but a reform of the way individuals use the earth (via affluence and technology), so that we minimize the “large-scale effects” of the population as a whole. “The question is not simply how many humans can the earth sustain, but at what level of consumption and using what kind of technology?” (27).

Second, Bouma-Prediger sees our mishandling of nature for what it is: a horrible failure in stewardship, even if this is not the worst kind of failure. He seems to recognize that others, like Berry, tend to overreact.

Berry says, “Our destruction of nature is not just bad stewardship, or stupid economics, or a betrayal of family responsibility; it is the most horrid blasphemy” (Sex, Economy, Freedom and Community, 98). As important as ecological sin is, it is not the most important “blasphemy.” Surely others could be ranked higher, like human holocausts and especially the spiritual blasphemy many commit each day as they reject the supremacy of the risen Christ.

Not only does Bouma-Prediger seek to be balanced, but he also seeks to defend Christianity against those who blame it for the ecological crisis. For there are some who argue that Christians in the past did not care for nature but only for the soul, and this is why the earth is in the condition it is in. As one example, Ludwig Feuerbach claimed that “nature, the world, S E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 57

has no value, no interest for Christians. The Christian thinks only of himself and the salvation of his soul” (The Essence of Christianity, 287). Without denying that there have been some Christians who have adopted this mentality, Bouma-Prediger shows that this kind of complaint is simply not cogent. He points the reader to the biblical narrative, beginning with Genesis 2:19– 20 where man, created uniquely in the image of God, is appointed by God to have dominion over the earth.

Yes, Bouma-Prediger argues, dominion does involve authority over the earth, yet such an authority is not a careless domination but rather an authority that rules by serving. Yes, we are to subdue the earth, but we are to do so by protecting the earth for God’s glory and our own good.

But what about the objection that Christian dualism, which elevates the spiritual over the material, leads to indifference to the earth? Bouma-Prediger observes that such a dualism is far from the teaching of Scripture. Building off of John Cooper, BoumaPrediger states that it is better to interpret the biblical material as supporting a holistic dualism (functional holism). “While the body is separate from and inferior to the soul for Plato, this is not the case for Scripture.”

The body cannot be devalued. Body and soul are distinct, but they cannot be divorced from each other.

Some may still object, however, that since Christians affirm an eschatology whereby they will one day leave this earth, there is no reason we should care for it in the here and now. Objectors often point to those of the Left Behind mind-set: We will be raptured from the earth, so why bother with it? Appeal is made to 2 Peter 3 where we read that when the day of the Lord comes, the earth will be burned up.

However, Bouma-Prediger appeals to John Calvin who interprets Peter as saying not that the fires of judgment will “destroy creation but purify its original and enduring substance,” as Susan Schreiner observes. Calvin “portrayed God as faithful to his original creation. Just as God brought the cosmos into being, closely governs and restrains its natural forces, so too he will renew and transform its original substance” (Schreiner, The Theatre of His Glory, 99).

Bouma-Prediger goes on to point out that an evangelical eschatology does not need to participate in “creation-negating” but, on a biblical basis, can affirm some degree of “continuity” between the present and future. This “contrasts greatly with what seems to be believed in some evangelical churches, namely that our ultimate destiny is an immaterial, spaceless heaven, and that our present earth will be wholly destroyed” (Bouma-Prediger, quoting Thomas Finger, 70). Therefore, the “claim that Christian eschatology is essentially anti-ecological is badly mistaken” (70).

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Even if one interprets 2 Peter 3 as the earth being destroyed, it is still a non sequitur to argue “that because the earth will be destroyed in the future, humans should exploit it in the present” (70). The fact “that something will eventually be destroyed gives no license to abuse or neglect it” (70). To the contrary, as seen in Genesis 2:19–20, we have a biblical mandate to rule judiciously over the earth for the glory of God. Bouma-Prediger not only shows that Christianity is not to blame for ecological irresponsibility, but he also demonstrates that certain non-Christian worldviews are far more likely to be at fault. Economic materialism, for example, finds its salvation in the attainment of the highest level of affluence, though seldom with reverence for nature or God. Indeed, anti-Christian worldviews as a whole lack proper biblical presuppositions that respect the earth. In Christianity, we affirm a God who is transcendent from his creation but made his creation for his own glory. The earth then finds its value and purpose inherently wrapped up in God’s glory. Our respect for the earth is another way of recognizing that what God created in Genesis 1 was good, and though due to the Fall it has been distorted, one day those in Christ will live in a new heavens and earth (99). It is not the Christian faith that sustains a worldview that devalues the earth, then, but those who have an irreverence for God. “There can be no creation, properly understood, without a Creator” (76).

Bouma-Prediger is not, however, above criticism.

Too often he blames the “modern West” and especially the Western church for the ecological crisis, particularly with its technological developments. He argues that the church has become captive to the Western gods of consumption and wealth. Granted, Christians in the West have at times succumbed to the assumptions of modern culture “which sever God from the creation and subject the creation to humanity’s arrogant and unrestrained power” (77). But is the West, let alone Christianity in the West, entirely to blame?

After all, ecological disaster is not solely a Western phenomenon but an international phenomenon.

Bouma-Prediger falls prey to the tactic of picking on the region (or religion) that is most affluent.

Consider just two examples that show that BoumaPrediger’s outlook needs to be widened: 1) In 1986 the Chernobyl Nuclear Plant in Ukraine had a meltdown in which 4,000 people were killed due to the exposure to radiation (see the UN Chernobyl Forum Report); and 2) in 1984 in Bhopal, India, 9,000 people died immediately when 32 tons of chemical gases were spilled into the city (which is considered by many to be the world’s worst industrial calamity). This indus-

trial tragedy eventually killed over 20,000 people in the weeks that followed. Still today the Union Carbide plant continues to contaminate the groundwater.

With these examples in mind, is it the West or the Western church in particular that is responsible for ecological disaster worldwide? Bouma-Prediger concludes by rebuking the Western church, arguing that it needs to pay heed to non-Western territories and even non-Western religions from which Christianity can learn much. Unfortunately, he does not follow his own advice in adopting an international perspective.

A second weakness of Bouma-Prediger’s work is the vague and ambiguous connection he draws between ecology and the gospel of Jesus Christ. He believes that ecology is connected to soteriology, citing not only Colossians 1:20 but also Scott Hoezee who argues that “the redemption that God has in store catches up not just human beings but also trees, shrubs, rivers, lions, lambs, and snakes” (116).

Bouma-Prediger himself concludes, “Indeed, if Jesus did not die for white-tailed deer, redheaded woodpeckers, blue whales, and green Belizean rain forests, then he did not die for you and me. Jesus comes to save not just us but the whole world” (116). This, the careful reader must conclude, is a confusion of the gospel with by-products and implications of the gospel for the rest of life and other nonhuman created beings. Colossians 1:19–20 says nothing of Jesus making atonement for trees, blue whales, and woodpeckers. The text says that by the blood of the cross all things are reconciled. But if we understand the cross correctly— namely, as an atonement and propitiation for sin—then surely Bouma-Prediger’s statement is confusing social justice with the gospel of the death and resurrection of Christ. Yes, Christ’s death results in his preeminence over all things created, and yes, because of redemption one day peace will reign even over creation. But Christ’s death itself is specifically an atonement and propitiation for the transgressions of sinners who deserve condemnation. As Paul says in the very next verse, “And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his body of flesh by his death” (Col. 1:21–22a).

To conclude, one may not agree with BoumaPrediger on every point, or even on how he interprets every scriptural passage he cites in support of his views. Nevertheless, he does demonstrate that we need to be earthly minded precisely because we were created to be God-centered in our outlook (112). To abuse the earth is to foster a self-centered mind-set rather than a biblical mind-set, where God is Creator and sustainer of the universe. So what does ecology have to do with theology? In the words of Thomas

Aquinas, “Any error about creation also leads to an error about God” (Summa Contra Gentiles II.3).

Matthew Barrett is a doctoral student in systematic theology at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.

Drawn to Freedom: Christian Faith Today in Conversation with the Heidelberg Catechism

By Eberhard Busch, translated by William H. Rader Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2010 392 pages (paperback), $32.00 Our time is not one generally characterized by robust confessionalism or by an appreciation of historic Christian and Reformation creeds, let alone a penchant for formulating contemporary confessions in that same tradition. Thus we should be immediately grateful for theologians such as Eberhard Busch who take the time to initiate a “conversation” with such a document, in this case the Heidelberg Catechism of 1563.

His book is not intended to be a contribution to the upcoming anniversary of said catechism in 2013, as the German original was published already in 1998. The title of the book draws on a statement by Zwingli, which says that “God favors freedom.” It is no surprise that Busch, professor emeritus of Reformed theology at the University of Göttingen and assistant and successor to Karl Barth, would be intrigued by such a statement.

He uses the idea of freedom as a guiding principle of interpretation to the Heidelberg. Unfortunately, such an approach is fraught with problems, especially as the catechism with which he sets out to “converse” does not easily lend itself to such an interpretation.

Busch has to start with an entire set of presuppositions in order to make his interpretative grid work.

The first is a function of the genre of the book. He lets the reader know from the start that his “primary purpose is not to understand the Heidelberg Catechism” (xii), but rather to use it as a “conversation partner.”

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So in any given instance where Busch deviates demonstrably from the intent and theology of the catechism and from the animating spirit of the church in the Palatinate—and there are many of those instances—he can revert to this methodological presupposition and claim he is not interpreting the catechism, but rather “translating” it.

Second, in order for his guiding principle to work, Busch needs to show that the Heidelberg Catechism was written as a “union confession” (14) for both “Philippistic” and moderately Calvinistic parties in the Palatinate, that it was a “compromise document” (11) that is only “midly-Reformed,” not explicitly so.

Busch does not succeed in showing this but merely asserts this untenable thesis. For example, he claims that the catechism‘s launching pad of the “only comfort” in question 1 puts it “closer to Melanchthon than to the theologians in Zurich and Geneva” (14).

The composition of the catechism was driven, he assumes, by a desire to prevent the split between the Lutherans and the Reformed (14), again asserting that the only polemic found in the catechism is the polemic vis-à-vis the Roman church, especially Trent (14, 17; despite, e.g., the rejection of the ubiquity of Christ in question 76), and that the Heidelberg only really became a “purely Reformed text” under the opposition and pressure of the Gnesio-Lutherans (17).

Only if these things are in fact true can the Heidelberg serve as a manifesto of the freedom of God and the freedom of man an attempt to secure peaceful coexistence of an ecumenical Protestantism in the face of opposition and oppression.

This book is no easy read, although linguistically well crafted and oftentimes engaging. Following the outline of the catechism, it falls into three main headings, under which Busch treats almost every question in some shape or form and more or less in consecutive order. As the “primary purpose” of the book is not to understand the catechism (xii), it is no surprise that the reader is told he does not actually need the catechism in hand. However, I found myself constantly reaching for the latter, quite often only to be disappointed at Busch’s handling (or mishandling) of a given question. There are more theological and interpretative problems with this work that can possibly be addressed here. I mention but a few.

Expanding on the Zwingli quote above, Busch routinely draws on Barth’s notion of God “putting his own freedom on the line”; i.e., ontologically limiting himself to make room for the freedom of man. For sure, Barth’s fingerprints are all over the book, which does not serve to alleviate problems but rather multiplies them. There can be seen in Busch an unwillingness to make ontological, nonactualistic statements 60 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

about the nature of God, for example when he says that the sacrifice on the cross is first of all that God “sacrifices being untouched by suffering and death” (186). The hypostatic union too becomes, no pun intended, an event (103).

Positively, Busch describes the Trinity as an explanation of the gospel (115), but then makes statements that can (or have to?) be understood along modalist lines: the Trinity is “God’s own self” again and again, in different modes. Following Barth, he rejects the use of “persons,” preferring “to say that these three are three forms [German: Weisen]…in which God lives” and acts. We see the influence of Barth also in the emphasis on Scripture being only a “witness to” the Word of God (“I do not believe the Bible,” 8), which we only have when we hear the gospel in it (107).

Also very troubling, though again not without precedent, is Busch’s view of history, or rather the distinction between two kinds of histories. The Fall did not occur in history; the “chronological notion of an original blameless condition of humans…is not appropriate” (79). A human being cannot have thrust the world into perdition (because of the freedom of God), thus man cannot really sin, as sin is the impossible possibility (cf. Barth). On the flipside of this, as Berkouwer once put it, there is no real “transition from wrath to grace” in history. While God always loves us, he also never really “ceases to be our judge” (82); and “anger is the hidden form of the love of God” for all of humanity (192). Busch accepts an Anselmian ransom view of the cross, but does not see it in the Heidelberg, where he believes the emphasis is not on the need for God‘s wrath to be propitiated. Beyond this, we see the pervasive presence of a (hypothetical) universalism à la Barth. Busch rejects the “thinly populated” heaven of Martin Luther in which Romanists, Enthusiasts, Baptists, Zwinglians, Jews, and Muslims have no place (125), discards a “dualistic confrontation between believers and unbelievers” (125), and opts for a “wider hope” and some version of the “anonymous Christian” instead, which he ironically develops, in “conversation” with the exclusivist question 20 of the catechism (125).

That being said, Busch is strongest in his descriptions of the consistent monergism of the catechism.

Continuing in the second article of the Apostles’ Creed, Busch calls the virginity of Mary “a legend,” even if a “meaningful” one (180). God is free and does not need for a virgin to become pregnant. The author completely misunderstands (and therefore rejects) the Reformed extra calvinisticum by reading it as a rejection of the possibility that the Son of God could truly become man (206–7), which is a heresy it was never intended to express.

The section on the church reveals the same weak-

nesses one finds in Barth: the church is where Christ is, in an existential encounter, but not vice versa. On the basis of Galatians 3:28, Busch rejects gender distinctions in the ministry and offices of the church. In the discussion on the sacraments, especially baptism, Busch rejects or ignores traditional covenant theology and puts up a straw man: either all children are automatically incorporated into the church by the power of the church, or they are not part of the church at all (235)! Thus there is no room for covenant children, and therefore “infant baptism cannot be justified” (246).

While there are many more theological issues that would have to be addressed, I want to conclude by mentioning some translation and formal issues. The Eerdmans translation has opted for gender-neutral language throughout, especially with reference to God, which is often cumbersome and does not reflect the German original. There are some unfortunate misspellings in the English (e.g., Datheus instead of Dathenus; Laske instead of Laski), as well as numerous faulty or misspelled quotations in the footnotes.

All of the concerns listed cause me to caution every potential reader, especially those with little grasp of solid, biblical, confessional Reformed theology. Readers had best not think that with this book they have a trusted guide to the interpretation of the Heidelberg Catechism, or to Reformed theology, or the “Christian Faith Today.”

Sebastian Heck (PhD student at the Theologische Universiteit Apeldoorn/Netherlands) is a the initiator of Reformation2Germany (www.reformation2germany.org), and is an ordained minister in the PCA with a call to labor in church planting in Germany.

Mercy Ministry and Social Justice (continued from page 21) ministry of the Word and to prayer. Furthermore, social justice is so important that God has spread out its concerns to a variety of common institutions—by no means exclusively political. Not only because social transformation would distract the church from its ministry of Word and Sacrament, but because temporal justice requires expertise and divinely ordained powers of coercive enforcement, God exercises his providential governance through secular courts and rulers who are believers and unbelievers. Where Scripture speaks, the church speaks. Where it presses God’s claims of justice on behalf of our neighbors, we must hear and obey. Yet the church has neither the authority nor the competence to bind its members’ consciences in matters beyond Scripture’s scope.

POINT OF CONTACT: BOOKS YOUR NEIGHBORS ARE READING

The Pale King

By David Foster Wallace Little, Brown and Company, 2011 560 pages (hardcover), $27.99 The temptation in reviewing The Pale King is not to review The Pale King. And can you blame a person?

How do you review an unfinished work? The answer is that you comment on the book’s importance rather than on its quality. You discuss its meaning rather than its merits. You weigh the legacy of its fascinating, at times confounding, and gonetoo-soon author. You may even adopt his self-consciously loquacious yet conversational tone in doing so.

If you’re the sort of person who reads book reviews, you’ve probably already read one about The Pale King. You know that it was compiled by Wallace’s editor after his death, and consists of the motley assortment of genre experiments for which Wallace was known, evidence galore of his continued creative genius. You know that it deals with the Internal Revenue Service, and as such boredom is one of its chief themes. You have probably also heard that it doesn’t really go anywhere, that it’s all set-up, and that this is intentional.

But why review The Pale King in Modern Reformation? Are we jumping on the “St. Dave bandwagon” that so many of his close friends have derided, most recently noted author Jonathan Franzen in The New Yorker, as a fundamental misinterpretation and moralization of such an irreducible writer? I certainly hope not.

A few reasons upfront for this review: 1) Wallace was a self-described “WASP”—not necessarily in the social class connotation of that term but in the ethnic one. He saw himself as coming from a Protestant background, and there simply are not that many voices in the contemporary literary landscape that would self-identify that way. 2) His pedigree would be totally irrelevant were he not fundamentally preocS E P T E M B E R / O C T O B E R 2 0 1 1 | M O D E R N R E F O R M AT I O N 61

cupied with religious questions, and prophetically so.

In reference to his opus, Infinite Jest, he said, The things that ended up for me being most distinctively American right now, around the millennium, had to do with both entertainment and about some kind of weird addictive, um… wanting to give yourself away to something.

That I ended up thinking was kind of a distorted religious impulse. And a lot of the AA [Alcoholics Anonymous] stuff in the book was mostly an excuse, was to try to have—it’s very hard to talk about people’s relationship with any kind of God, in any book later than like Dostoyevsky.1 In The Pale King, he recasts the existential dilemma slightly, looking instead at what is driving the current culture of distraction. Or, to put it another way, he is just as interested in the religious impulse as ever; this time he is looking for its root rather than at the impulse itself: Maybe dullness is associated with psychic pain because something that’s dull or opaque fails to provide enough stimulation to distract people from some other, deeper type of pain that is always there, if only in an ambient low-level way, and which most of us spend nearly all our time and energy trying to distract ourselves from feeling, or at least feeling directly or with our full attention. Admittedly, the whole thing’s pretty confusing, and hard to talk about abstractly….I can’t think anyone really believes today’s so-called “information society” is just about information. Everyone knows it’s about something else, way down. (85) Am I hearing him correctly? Is he describing a universal condition in almost disease-like terms, a deep wound that acts as a wellspring of compulsion and control? This sounds eerily like a reformulation of original sin. Indeed, one of David Foster Wallace’s great gifts, and one of the reasons his audience felt such a connection with him, was his extraordinary capacity for empathy. Not an empathy that denied or explained away human selfishness, but one that instead took as its starting point the immutability of inner conflict à la Romans 7. Jonathan Franzen put it this way: At the level of content, [David Foster Wallace] gave us the worst of himself: he laid out, with an intensity of self-scrutiny worthy of comparison to Kafka and Kierkegaard and Dostoyevsky, the 62 W W W. M O D E R N R E F O R M A T I O N . O R G

extremes of his own narcissism, misogyny, selfdeception, dehumanizing moralism and theologizing, doubt in the possibility of love, and entrapment in footnotes-within-footnotes selfconsciousness. At the level of form and intention, however, this very cataloguing of despair about his own authentic goodness is received by the reader as a gift of authentic goodness: we feel the love in the fact of his art, and we love him for it.2 The Pale King is the first and, as far as we know, only time Wallace turned this gaze on explicitly religious characters. Thankfully, he never resorts to caricature—that would be utterly un-Wallace-like. In fact, the chapter in which the evangelical character Lane Dean describes his prayer life is at the top of the long list of must-read sections of the book. It is that rare portrait in modern fiction of a spiritual crisis as more than a glorified “identity crisis.” In this case, suffering actually functions for the character as a gateway to a deeper understanding of his faith, rather than as an obstacle to it.

Not all of the allusions to Christianity are as positive. Later on, we get “Irrelevant” Chris Fogle’s characterization of his Campus Crusader roommate, which includes a zinger too priceless not to include here: “The fact that members of this evangelical branch of Protestantism refer to themselves as just ‘Christians,’ as though there were only one real kind, is usually enough to characterize them, at least as far as I was concerned” (210).

So we have human bondage and religion in the mix—but does God show up? Is there any good news? Putting aside the obvious objection that no novel can forgive our sins, there are elements beyond the purely thematic that we might embrace. For example, Wallace weaves in a tangible sense of providence throughout the book, “priming” being his word of choice for the way God prepares us for moments of insight/grace. But does Wallace point to anything specific? And does that even matter? Yes and no. The closest we get to any kind of prescription has to do with “waking up” by “paying attention,” which for those are unfamiliar is the language of mindfulness, the somewhat fashionable school of psychotherapy that teaches that pain is not to be resisted but experienced. The way we tend to deal with suffering is to combat it, to cling to works of the law, rather than give up—in other words, repent. Some might consider it a more cruciform approach to the internal life. Others, doubtlessly, will not.

Of course, to paraphrase what Christians are fond of saying in reference to Genesis, this is not a book of philosophy or theology. This is a work of fiction, and

an unfinished one at that. It cannot be boiled down to a message or even a storyline. The Pale King is simply The Pale King—an opportunity to spend some valuable time with one of our greatest writers, one who had a particularly acute understanding of modern spiritual conditions, and one whose astonishingly comprehensive understanding of his own depravity, in its expression, exuded a kind of compassion to others—the permission to come clean about who we really are—that it couldn’t convey to itself. This is what some might call grace. And as David Foster Wallace knew better than anyone, it has to come from the outside.

A final note: If you’ve never read David Foster Wallace and want to find out what the fuss is all about, don’t start with The Pale King. Pick up the essay collection A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again or the short story volume Brief Interviews with Hideous Men and go from there.

David Zahl is the director and founder of Mockingbird Ministries, a nonprofit dedicated to connecting the historic truths of the gospel with the realities of everyday life. He edited Mockingbird’s recent publication Grace in Addiction: What the Church Can Learn from Alcoholics Anonymous, and co-edited their book The Gospel According to Pixar. He also serves on the staff of Christ Episcopal Church in Charlottesville, Virginia.

David Lipsky, Although Of Course You End up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip with David Foster Wallace (Louisville, KY: Broadway Press, 2010), 82.

2Jonathan Franzen, “Farther Away,” The New Yorker (18 April 2011).

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FOR A MODERN REFORMATION i t ’ s

m o r e

t h a n

j u s t

o u r

n a m e — i t ’ s

o u r

m i s s i o n

Catechesis

I

n order to know what they believe and why they believe it, Christians need

Luther implores pastors “to have pity on the people to be well catechized and grounded in the central doctrines of the faith. In who are entrusted to you, and to help us inculcate the his pastoral visits to the homes of parishioners, Martin Luther was Catechism upon the people, and especially upon astounded to find that few knew the Lord’s Prayer, the the young.” Following the example of the ancient Ten Commandments, or the Apostles’ Creed. He therechurch, the Reformation restored catechesis. So crucial was catechesis to the Reformers that they perfore wrote his Small Catechism. Other Reformers folsonally assumed responsibility for lowed suit, and generations of Christian teaching it to the youth. The catechism families have been saturated with bibli- 1. Recover the “Solas” was also taught in the home, usually cal teaching through catechisms to this 2. Law & Gospel after dinner, as parents—especially day. Studies show, however, a staggering 3. Missional & Vocational fathers—took responsibility for their ignorance of the basic teachings of the “little parish,” as Luther called the famChristian faith even among professing 4. Word & Sacrament ily. Instead of lazily accommodating evangelicals. We need to get beyond 5. Catechesis superficial and nominal profession, passhallow slogans and movements, 6. Confessional tors and parents took up the responsigrounding ourselves and our children in bility of raising God’s people to the standard of honest “the faith once and for all delivered to the saints.” Given Christian conviction. the statistics we regularly encounter, Luther’s descripIt is often said today that Christians, at least evantion of the desperate need for serious doctrinal instrucgelicals, know the truth but do not live it. But as far tion (catechesis) in his day sounds eerily relevant. In as knowing why we believe it, most cannot articulate the preface to his Small Catechism, he explains, anything beyond their personal experience. Many pastors, teachers, elders, and parents are preoccupied The deplorable, miserable condition which I diswith pragmatic success and fail to take seriously the cry covered lately when I, too, was a visitor, has of their own parishioners for deeper, fuller, richer forced and urged me to prepare [publish] this teaching. Participating in the more general cultural Catechism, or Christian doctrine, in this small, distractions, youth groups often fail to connect heirs of plain, simple form. Mercy! Good God! what the covenant with the wider communion of saints. manifold misery I beheld! The common people, Luther’s indictment should ring in our ears today. especially in the villages, have no knowledge whatever of Christian doctrine, and, alas! many Therefore look to it, ye pastors and preachers. pastors are altogether incapable and incompeOur office is now become a different thing from tent to teach. Nevertheless, all maintain that they are Christians, have been baptized and what it was under the Pope; it is now become receive the holy Sacraments. Yet they do not serious and salutary. Accordingly, it now involves understand and cannot even recite either the much more trouble and labor, danger and trials, Lord’s Prayer, or the Creed, or the Ten and, in addition thereto, little reward and gratiCommandments; they live like dumb brutes tude in the world. But Christ Himself will be our and irrational hogs; and yet, now that the reward if we labor faithfully. To this end may the Gospel has come, they have nicely learned to Father of all grace help us, to whom be praise and abuse all liberty like experts….O ye bishops! to thanks forever through Christ, our Lord! Amen. whom this charge has been committed by God, what will ye ever answer to Christ for having so Michael S. Horton is editor-in-chief of Modern Reformation. shamefully neglected the people and never for a moment discharged your office?

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