Francis Schaeffer’s How Should We Then Live?, Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, A Christian Manifesto

[The following essay explores the role that Francis Schaeffer played in the rise of the pro-life movement.  It examines the place of How Should We Then Live?Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, and A Christian Manifesto in that process.]

One of the most enigmatic, controversial, and influential figures in the growth of the “pro-life” movement was Francis August Schaeffer.  It was the issue of abortion in particular that drove Schaeffer to shift his later work in the direction of political involvement and mobilization.(1)  Yet, despite the enormous impact of his books and films on the public, it was in his influencing of key individuals that Schaeffer made his greatest contribution.
The most effective way to understand Schaeffer’s impact on the Pro-Life movement is to consider the appearance and influence of his 1976 book and film How Should We Then Live?, his 1979 book and filmWhatever Happened to the Human Race?, and his 1981 book A Christian Manifesto.  These three works represent an important evolution in both Schaeffer’s and a large part of American Evangelicalism’s understanding of and willingness to participate in the abortion debate.

Schaeffer’s Shift to Political Activism

In the late 1970’s and early 1980’s, it was becoming apparent to many of Francis Schaeffer’s followers that he had made a rather substantial shift in his work.  Whereas he had previously focused on merely critiquing and explaining philosophy, culture, and the church, he was now seen to be flirting too much with political activism.  Ronald Wells bemoaned in 1983 that Schaeffer’s “present fixation is with political action and social protest” and that what was damaging to Schaeffer and his followers was for them to “embrace and baptize the Christian Right.”(2)  Regardless of Schaeffer’s efforts to downplay any idea of his having abandoned his earlier focus, it was apparent to all that a shift had indeed taken place.(3)

Yet the presence of Schaeffer’s voice in the growing political activity of fundamentalist Christians, and particularly in the fight against abortion, was seen as a truly powerful catalyst for and in the growth of the movement.  So great was Schaeffer’s influence and so early was it recognized that Newsweekmagazine wrote a full page article on him in 1982 and declared him “the newest celebrity in the fundamentalist firmament.”(4)  Richard Pierard would later declare that the “coopting” of Schaeffer’s voice with the growing movement of political activism among fundamentalists was “the Right’s biggest coup by far.”(5)

While the recognition of Schaeffer’s influence among certain circles of Christians was correct and justifiable, the failure of the above-mentioned sources to understand Schaeffer as a cause of the rise of the Christian Right is mistaken.  He was not merely “coopted” into the movement, he was a major cause of it.  The beginning of his influence in the rising political activism of fundamentalists, and in particular in their efforts against abortion, is found in 1976 and the introduction of the film and bookHow Should We Then Live? to the public.

How Should We Then Live?

It is difficult to imagine How Should We Then Live? as a book which took a prominent place in the growth of a “grass-roots” movement such as fundamentalist political activism.  The book seeks to trace the historical, philosophical, and cultural events in which an “existential methodology” entered into society and into the hearts of modern men and women, detached the culture from its previous anchoring in an objective source of truth (the Bible), allowed for the growth of humanism, and susequently allowed morality and ethics to be defined in a purely arbitrary and relative way.(6)  While the book does not really differ from his earlier work in regards to its discussion of humanism and its effects, it did vary greatly in its discussion of the Supreme Court’s 1973 Roe v. Wade decision concerning abortion as a product of humanistic ideology.(7)  Even more substantial is the fact that Schaeffer’s first plea for Christian activism against abortion is found in this book.(8)

While the discussion on abortion does not take up a major part of the book, How Should We Then Live?must be seen as the work in which the public was first introduced to Schaeffer’s view on the subject.  Had the book received little attention, then it would have to be considered largely irrelevent in the formation of the Pro-Live movement.  Yet the presence of an accompanying film and lecture tour, however, helped to make it a major factor indeed.

In 1976, the year of the book’s release, Schaeffer went on an eighteen city tour in which he showed the ten-part film version of the book.(9)  The response was overwhelming.  Forty-five hundred people viewed the film in Oakland, thirty-one hundred in Chicago, sixty-six hundred in Los Angeles, and forty-four hundred in Toronto.(10)  It was also shown in England and much of Europe.(11)  The film broke the all-time “booking” record for Gospel Films.(12)

The book, undoubtedly helped by the film, sold forty thousand copies in its first three months.(13)  Three years later, in 1979, it was still selling fifteen-hundred copies a month.(14)  These numbers alone seem to lend credence to L.G. Parkhurst’s suggestion that the book and film “had a remarkable effect upon Western culture and Christian leaders in various governments around the world.”(15)

Through this medium, then, Schaeffer’s assessment of abortion and the need for Christian opposition gained a wide audience.  One important figure in this audience was John W. Whithead, the founder and president of The Rutherford Institute.  The Rutherford Institute has become a major vehicle of Christian political activism as well as a strong voice against the practice of abortion.  It seeks to battle in the courts over free speech and religious issues.(16)

Whitehead notes that How Should We Then Live? was “an important catalyst for me and other Christian lawyers interested in seeing society positively influenced by Christianity.”(17)  He was similiarly moved by the book’s claim that abortion was a violation of the sanctity of life.  After making the important point that Schaeffer was the first main Protestant leader to launch a strong attack against abortion, he notes that “Schaeffer’s critique of the abortion issue was the initial impetus for my own defense of the sanctity of human life.”(18)

How Should We Then Live? takes its place as the starting point of Schaeffer’s impact on the Pro-Life Movement.  First, it introduced a unique critique of abortion as well as the suggestion that the church should raise its voice against the practice.  Second, by the use of film, Schaeffer reached an extremely large audience, widened his influence, and drew national attention to the issues he raised.  And lastly, the book and film inspired John Whitehead to steer The Rutherford Institute  (an institution which is still very important to many in the Christian Right and Pro-Life movement) in the direction of free speech issues, religious issues, political activism and opposition to abortion.

Whatever Happened to the Human Race?

While How Should We Then Live? introduced Schaeffer’s views on abortion and Christian activism, his 1979 book and film series entitled Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, co-authored with soon-to-be Surgeon General C. Everett Koop, catapulted the subject of abortion as an evil to be opposed into the middle of the evangelical mind set.  The book suggests that abortion has become possible because America has released itself from its “Judeo-Christian moorings.”(19)  It then suggests that abortion naturally leads to infanticide and euthanasia.(20)  Lastly, Schaeffer appeals for Christian involvement in the fight against abortion.(21)

The film version of the book would prove to have a tremendous impact on the Pro-Life movement.  In September, 1979, Schaeffer and Koop began a film/lecture tour in Philadelphia and travelled west showing it in other major cities of the country.(22)  In February, 1980, Schaeffer showed the film to a group of Congressmen in Washington, D.C.(23)  Schaeffer, Dr. Koop, and an English doctor then sparked a great deal of attention as they showed the film throughout England.(24)  While this tour drew smaller crowds than the How Should We Then Live? tour, it is widely agreed that its impact on the Pro-Life movement was even greater than that of the first tour.(25)

The film was also shown on various television stations throughout the United States and other countries.  The Humanist magazine, in an extremely critical article, would later call Schaeffer a “prominent figure in the Pro-Life movement” and suggest that the film was “seen by millions” on television. (26)

It also gained national attention, as well as criticism from Planned Parenthood, the National Organization of Women, and the National Abortion Rights Action League, when a group of Pentecostal Christians bought air time at a Washington, D.C., television station and showed Whatever Happened to the Human Race? during the confirmation process of C. Everett Koop as the Reagan Surgeon General.(27)

The impact of Whatever Happened to the Human Race? on the Pro-Life movement was enormous.  Harold O.J. Brown suggests that “nothing has had an impact across the board that compares to the Schaeffer-Koop series.”(28)  Historian William Martin notes that the book, film, and tour are “often credited with having been the single most important factor in bringing evangelicals into the fight against abortion.”(29)  Denis Haack suggests that, while Schaeffer and Koop were not the first evangelicals to attack the issue, the book and film were instrumental in bringing more evangelicals into the fight against abortion.(30)  Feminist author Rosaling Petchesky also revealed the importance of the film when she condemned it as “a major ‘right-to-life’ propaganda piece.”(31)

The most important contribution that the book and film made to the Pro-Life movement, however, was in its influencing of a young man at Elim Bible Institute.  It was there that Randall Terry would seeWhatever Happened to the Human Race?.(32)  Terry points to his viewing of the film as the defining moment in his life and as the point of awakening in which he realized that he must do something about abortion.(33)  He would later use this conviction to found Operation Rescue, undoubtedly the most well known and controversial wing of the Pro-Life movement.(34)  In the case of Randall Terry, as in the case of John Whitehead, the assertion that Schaeffer’s greatest impact on the Pro-Life movement was in the people he influenced is proven true again.

A Christian Manifesto

How Should We Then Live? and Whatever Happened to the Human Race? were powerful in convicting the Evangelical community about the need to combat abortion.  It was in A Christian Manifesto, however, that Schaeffer gave his clearest, and most controversial, call to political activism.  Schaeffer considered A Christian Manifesto to be “the next logical step” in his call for Christian involvement against abortion.(35)

In this important book, Schaeffer begins by condemning the Evangelical church for its apathy about issues such as abortion.(36) He then makes his most blatant call for political action by showing that there is “a window of opportunity” open to the Christians in the conservative Reagan administration.(37)  He concludes with his extremely controversial suggestion that, if “the window” closes, Christians must consider civil disobedience and possibly even the use of force to oppose “authoritarianism” and the promotion of humanistic practices such as abortion.(38)

While the book proved to be extremely influential in bringing Evangelicals into the political arena, it also served to polarize Schaeffer from many in the Christian community.  Ronald Wells suggested that the book should have been entitled “A Fundamentalist Manifesto,” “because it bears all the marks of that unfortunate movement.”(39)  W. Merwin Forbes wrote of his uneasiness with it and suggested that, after having read it, he was sure that a true “Christian manifesto” had not yet been written.(40)

Regardless of these and other criticisms, the book exploded onto the scene.  It sold two hundred and ninety thousand copies in its first year.(41)  Newsweek reported that Schaeffer spoke to an audience consisting of Sen. Paul Laxalt, Rep. Jack Kemp, and various other government officials in the winter of 1981 about the book and its contents.  Conservative columnist Cal Thomas praised the book as a “a battle plan for the rest of the century” and Bill Bright of Campus Crusade for Christ praised Schaeffer as “one of the greatest men of our times.”(42)  Pat Robertson was also greatly influenced by it.(43)  Furthermore, Randall Terry suggested that, while Whatever Happened to the Human Race? convicted him about abortion, A Christian Manifesto gave him instructions on how to act out his convictions.

The greatest impact of the book, however, was found in the figure of Jerry Falwell.  Falwell notes that he was early on convicted by the writings of Schaeffer and Dr. Jack Wilke concerning abortion.(44)  Despite being moved by their arguments, his convictions concerning Christian exclusivism left him with “terrific problem”  concerning how one could go about mobilizing a large enough group of people to make a difference.(45)  It was Schaeffer’s call for Christians to cooperate with non-Christians in social causes that gave Falwell a peace about founding such cooperative efforts as The Moral Majority.(46)

Falwell took a particular interest in A Christian Manifesto.  He purchased sixty-two thousand copies of the book and distributed it over his television show, “The Old Time Gospel Hour.”(47)  Furthermore, Falwell began following Schaeffer’s advice to him that he use “The Old Time Gospel Hour” as a political action vehicle.(48)  Through Falwell, then, Schaeffer was able to have a tremendous impact on the rise of the Pro Life movement and on Christian political action in general.

The cumulative effect of How Should We Then Live?Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, and A Christian Manifesto on the Pro-Life movement is certainly significant.  The three works constitute a progression from the initial introduction of the practice of abortion as it fits within humanistic ideology (HSWTL?), to a passionate description of the practices and results of abortion (WHTTHR?), to an appeal for Christian political involvement in the fight to stop abortion (Manifesto).  Most important of all is the fact that these three works directly influenced the growth, development, and direction of Whitehead’s Rutherford Institute, Terry’s Operation Rescue, and Falwell’s Moral Majority.

How Schaeffer is Remembered

Another way of understanding Schaeffer’s impact on the Pro-Life movement is to view how he is remembered by both his followers and his critics.  Denis Haack views Schaeffer as a “champion” of the sanctity of human life.(49)  Earl Lee, an opponent of Schaeffer, referred to him as a “prominent figure in the Pro-Life movement.”(50)  Schaeffer’s obituary in The New York Times referred him as an author and as an architect of “a much publicized crusade against abortion.”(51)  Marian Faux called Schaeffer the “philosopher-king” of Pro-Life leaders such as Randall Terry.(52)  Ronald Nash remembered Schaeffer as one who “captured the spirit of millions of evangelicals” concerning the abortion issue.(53)  Lastly, while suggesting that Schaeffer’s followers have possibly overstated his importance in other areas, Richard Neuhaus does praise him for bringing the issue of abortion into the discussions, minds, and hearts of Protestants.(54)

But Schaeffer’s influence on the Pro-Life movement must undoubtedly return to a consideration of those he influenced.  Nash rightly considers Schaeffer’s influence over others who would carry on the work as his “greatest accomplishment.”(55)  The list includes: Harold O.J. Brown, Os Guinness, Jack Kemp, C. Everett Koop, Randall Terry, Jerry Falwell, and Pat Robertson.(56)

1. Michael S Hamilton, “The Dissatisfaction of Francis Schaeffer,” Christianity Today, 3 March 1997, 30.
2. Ronald Wells, “Whatever Happened to Francis Schaeffer?,”  The Reformed Journal 33 (May 1983): 11,13.
3. Francis Schaeffer, The Great Evangelical Disaster (Westchester: Crossway Books, 1984), 185n16.
4. Kenneth Woodward, “Guru of Fudamentalism,” Newsweek, 1 November 1982, 88.
5. Richard V. Pierard, Religion and State: Essays in Honor of Leo Pfeffer, ed. James E. Wood, Jr. (Waco: Baylor University Press, 1985), 400-401.
6. Francis Schaeffer, How Should We Then Live? (Old Tappan, N.J.: Fleming H. Revell, Co., 1976), 255-256.
7. Hamilton, 28.
8. Schaeffer, HSWTL?, 256.
9. Hamilton, 28.
10. Stephen Board, “The Rise of Francis Schaeffer,” Eternity, June 1977, 40.
11. D. Keith Mano, review of How Should We Then Live?, by Francis Schaeffer, National Review, 18 March 1977, 345.
12. Philip Yancey, “Francis Schaeffer: A Prophet for Our Times?,” Christianity Today, 23 March 1979, 17.
13. Mano, 345.
14. Yancey, 17.
15. L.G. Parkhurst, Jr., Francis and Edith Schaeffer (Minneapolis: Bethany House Publishers, 1996), 115.
16. John W. Whitehead, Francis A. Schaeffer: Portraits of the Man and His Work., ed. Lane T. Dennis (Westchester: Crossway Books, 1986), 177.
17. Ibid., 181.
18. Ibid., 182.
19. The Complete Works of Francis A. Schaeffer, ed. Francis A. Schaeffer, vol.5, Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, with C. Everett Koop (Westchester: Crossway Books, 1982), 284.
20. Ibid., 308,329.
21. Ibid., 405-410.
22. Parkhurst, 124.
23. Ibid., 125.
24. Parkhurst, 126.
25. Hamilton, 28.
26. Earl Lee, “Francis Schaeffer: Prophet of the Religious Right,” The Humanist, September/October 1988, 27.
27. C. Everett Koop, M.D., Koop: The Memoirs of America’s Family Doctor (New York: Random House, 1991), 130.
28. Martin, 194.
29. Ibid., 239.
30. Denis Haack, “Francis August Schaeffer, RIP,” National Review, 15 June 1984, 20.
31. Rosaling Pollack Petchesky, Abortion and Woman’s Choice (New York: Longman Inc., 1984), 339-340.
32. Marian Faux, Crusaders: Voices From the Abortion Front (New York: Carol Publishing Group, 1990, 133.
33. Martin, 321.
34. Faux, 138.
35. The Complete Works of Francis A. Schaeffer, ed. Francis A. Schaeffer, vol.5, A Christian Manifesto (Westchester: Crossway Books, 1982), 417.
36. Ibid., 454-455.
37. Ibid., 457.
38. Ibid., 475-482, 483-491.
39. Ronald A. Wells, “Francis Schaeffer’s Jeremiad,” The Reformed Journal 32 (May 1982): 19.
40. W. Merwin Forbes, review of A Christian Manifesto, by Francis Schaeffer, Grace Theological Journal 4 (Fall 1983): 309.
41. Woodward, 88.
42. Ibid., 88.
43. Hamilton, 29.
44. Jerry Falwell, Strength for the Journey:  An Autobiography (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987), 335.
45. Ibid., 361.
46. Ibid., 361-362.
47. Woodward, 88.
48. Martin, 197.
49. Haack, 20.
50. Lee, 27.
51. The New York Times (New York), 17 May 1984.
52. Faux, 134.
53. Ronald Nash, Evangelicals in America (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1987, 105.
54. Richard John Neuhaus, “The Schaeffer Legacy,” First Things, June/July 1993, 64.
55. Nash, 92.
56. Michael G. Maudlin, “Midwives of Francis Schaeffer,” Christianity Today, 3 March 1997, 6.

Millard Erickson’s Evangelical Interpretation

Millard Erickson’s Evangelical Interpretation delineates and interacts with a number of key interpretive issues that are facing the modern evangelical church.  He discusses the idea of authorial intent, the role of the Holy Spirit in the interpretive task, the issue of contemporization, the question of whether or not and how church history, theology, and cross-cultural studies can contribute to the hermeneutical task, and the question of how the Church should respond to postmodernism.  The book’s goal is to lead the interpreter to better define his or her hermeneutical approach and to think more clearly on the overall trends affecting the interpretive task today.

In Part I of Evangelical Interpretation, Erickson outlines and interacts with the authorial intent position.  He uses Walter C. Kaiser, Jr.’s treatment and defense of this position as a prototype of other Evangelical treatments of it, and notes that evangelical proponents of the authorial intent position are indebted to and have made wide use of  E.D. Hirsch, Jr.’s work in this regard (11).  Erickson’s strategy is to define the emphases of this position, note the criticisms of this view, show the authorial intent proponents’ response to these criticisms, and then provide his own analysis of the strengths and weaknesses of this position.

Simply stated, the authorial intent position holds that any passage has only one meaning, that the meaning is the author’s intention, and that the author’s intention correlates to God’s intention as well (11,13).  The overriding goal of the authorial intent position is to combat, or, more precisely, to close the door on potentially subjective, existentialist interpretations of scripture.  Erickson notes specifically that this position seeks to correct, presumably among other things, the abuses of Gadamer’s two horizons concept, the Roman Catholic Church’s concept of sensus plenior, allegorical approaches to interpretation, and eschatological interpretations that allow the interpreter to posit meanings apparently not intended by the author (12).

Erickson next outlines four criticisms of this approach.  First, there is a problem in the fact that the New Testament writers apparently did not employ such a method in their own approach to the interpretation of Old Testament passages (14).  Second, critics note that there is evidence within scripture itself that the Old Testament writers did not always understand themselves what they were writing (15).  This, obviously, would create problems with a hermeneutical system that is predicated upon the identification of authorial intent.  Third, some critics attack the assumption behind the authorial intent position that the author’s intent and God’s intent are one and the same.  They point specifically to the fact that the original authors could not have known our unique situations and the potential implications of their writings on our lives.  As such, these critics maintain that proponents of authorial intent have not sufficiently worked through the question of how scripture reflects both divine and human authorship (16-17). Lastly, critics point to the complexity of the concepts of “intention” and “meaning” (17).

Authorial intent proponents respond to these criticisms in a number of ways.  They argue, for instance, that prophecies may be said to have multiple fulfillments while still having only one meaning.  They challenge the assertion that some biblical writers did not understand what they were writing by pointing out that some passages reveal only authorial uncertainty concerning the times of fulfillment not authorial uncertainty about what they were actually saying (18).  Thirdly, authorial intent proponents reassert that God’s intentions cannot differ from the intentions of the author (19).

Erickson spends the remainder of Part I giving his own analysis of the relative strengths and weaknesses of the authorial intent position.  Erickson begins by commenting on a semantic problem.  He notes that the authorial intent positions argues for a distinction between “meaning” and “significance.”  “Meaning,” here, is what the author actually said.  Significance refers to the impact of its application today.  However, in popular usage, people often use the word “meaningful” in a way that makes it synonymous with the authorial intent position’s word “significance”.  However, there is another popular usage of “significant” (i.e., unusual) that varies from the definition of this word used by adherents of the authorial intent position (19-20).

In response to this, Erickson is particularly judicious and careful.  He notes that popular usage is a secondary issue in a sense.  We must look at what words actually mean, not at how they have come to be defined.  On the other hand, Erickson notes the problem in insisting upon one definition of a term that places it at odds with the popular usage of that term.  As a result, he argues that a neutral terminology should be sought that will be more conducive to dialogue. (20).

I think that Erickson’s assertion concerning the need for a neutral terminology is wise and, most importantly, possible.  His argument that the authorial intent categories of “meaning and significance” be changed to “signification and significance,” and that the word “meaning” be allowed a wider definition in accordance with popular usage is particularly judicious (20).  What lends credence to Erickson’s proposition concerning neutral terminology, whether one agrees with his specific proposed categories or not, is the fact that the nature of the vernacular must come to bear on the construction as well as the communication of hermeneutical systems.  One may, of course, argue that their terms should be defined in such a way, or that their definitions vie most consistently with proper semantic categories, but, in reality, the inevitability and force of popular semantic variety and dynamics will necessarily place limitations on the applicability of these assertions.  Furthermore, if a neutral terminology can be attained, what would be the purpose of sticking doggedly to the categories and definitions you prefer even though those categories are the source of such contention?

Erickson next critiques the use of “intention” by authorial intent proponents.  The word is apparently used to refer to an author’s conscious intentions.  Erickson points out, however, the human beings often communicate what and when they do not intend to communicate.  He refers to Freudian slips, body language, and the occasional experience of communicating more than we thought we had.  Erickson notes that the authorial intent position’s understanding of “intention” “appears to be a pre-twentieth-century understanding of psychology.  It proceeds as if Freud had never written” (21).  He argues that opposing such Freudian understandings of communication is akin to opposing the Copernican revolution.  Furthermore, he notes the problem of Hirsch’s treatment of the unconscious communication.  Essentially, Hirsch’s defines unconscious communication as intention as long as that unconscious communication is intended and not unintended.  Erickson correctly points out that this position creates the dual problem of taking the concept of conscious intention to almost indefinable grounds as well as putting the concept at odds with the seemingly overwhelming evidence that much of our unconscious communication that is elsewhere considered valid is itself unwilled.  Finally, Erickson proposes that the concept of conscious intention be jettisoned in favor of an emphasis on what the author “affirms” (23)

In all, I believe that Erickson has hit on something very important here.  While his use of hyperbole regarding the certainty of Freudian categories is lamentable and comical (i.e., Freudianism akin to the Copernican revolution) his point is nonetheless correct and important.  It would seem nearly impossible to discount cases of unintended unconscious communication.  If this is established then seemingly interminable problems arise when one limits the idea of intent to the idea of conscious intention.  Halfway efforts to included so-called willed unconscious communication is unacceptable.  Thus, as Erickson notes, it is preferable to place the emphasis on the writer’s final product by appealing to the author’s affirmation rather than to place it on the process leading to the final product by appealing to the author’s intention.

Erickson also highlights the inability of authorial intent proponents to construct a viable model whereby modern readers can delineate between the meaning and significance of the text and ultimately arrive at the modern significance of the text for today.  He contends that the Hirschian concept of intent, as expressed above, is to blame for this quandary.  By defining intent as being only what the author consciously intended to say, authorial intent proponents put a straight-jacket on the text and leave no room for a wider possibility of meanings (26).  Erickson’s answer to this is to change the categories of meaning and significance to affirmation and implication.  The change from meaning to affirmation is preferable, for reasons noted above.

Erickson goes on to assert that the authorial intent position does not adequately address the complexities of communication.  If, for instance, a writer is making an argument, are the assertions leading up to that argument not to be expounded upon simply because they are not the “central meaning”?  Furthermore, the single-meaning concept cannot adequately account for the New Testament’s use of Old Testament prophecies.  The New Testament writers frequently find in the Old Testament prophecies meanings that were apparently not germane to the original writers (28-29).  Most serious of all, however, is Erickson’s contention that the focus of authorial intent proponents leaves very little room for the Holy Spirit.  The Bible is treated as if it was written like any secular work (30-31).  This is obviously troublesome given the importance of the Spirit’s role recognized in most theories of biblical inspiration.

Ultimately, Erickson’s treatment of the authorial intent position is careful, stringent, and informative.  He is sympathetic with the desire to avoid subjectivism in the interpretive task (31). Furthermore, he is somewhat sympathetic with many authorial intent categories insofar as they are defined more precisely than they have traditionally been.  His own proposed definitions are wise and would go a long way towards avoiding an oversimplification of complex issues.  In all, Erickson’s call for authorial intent proponents to reexamine their treatment of the Holy Spirit is refreshing.

The implications of this discussion bear enormously upon the preaching task.  This is due to the fact that the authorial intent position, and the corollary issues Erickson discusses, bear markedly and dramatically upon the preacher’s hermeneutics.  A preacher will ideally proclaim what he believes the scriptures say.  But what do they say?  What do they mean?  What do they intend?  What principles do they offer?  How the preacher defines such terms as “meaning,” “intention,” and “significance” weighs heavily here.  Homiletics rises and falls with hermeneutics.  I believe that Erickson has constructed a sufficient corrective to many of the weaknesses of the authorial intent position and has therefore aided the preacher in his tasking of understanding and communicating the Bible.

In Part II of the book, Erickson turns his attention to the question of the role of the Holy Spirit in interpretation.  He chooses to do this by interacting with Daniel P. Fuller’s theories in this area.  Basically, Fuller distances himself from the classical view of the role of the Spirit’s work in interpretation by noting that the Spirit does not contribute to the exegetical task per se, but only to the reception of the findings of that exegetical task in the believer’s life.  Thus, a believing exegete has no advantage over an unbelieving exegete in terms of his or her ability to cognitively understand a passage.  The believing exegete, however, through the ministration of the Holy Spirit, will find himself or herself receptive to the exegetical findings and desirous of obeying them.  Erickson calls this view “a radically different view of the role of the Holy Spirit” as it stands in opposition to classical exegetical pneumatology (33).

Fuller’s position is like Hirsch’s insofar as both are reacting in fairly extreme ways to the hermeneutical and exegetical fallacies of many in the Church.  Hirsch was reacting to the encroachment of subjectivity into the interpretive task through the use of the two horizons concept, reader-response criticism, sensus plenior, allegory, and palsied eschatological exegesis.  Fuller is responding and reacting to an exegetical system that ostensibly depends wholly on the Holy Spirit to the complete exclusion of sound exegetical criteria and technical implementation as it was embodied most notably in Origen and the allegory school (34).  As with his treatment of Hirsch, Erickson wants to show that Fuller has overreacted by refusing to see a mediating position between his own and that which he is reacting against.

Fuller’s theory leads him to interpret 1 Corinthians 2:13-14 very carefully, for it would seem at first glance that these verses would pose a serious threat to his concept of the role of the Spirit in interpretation.  In these verses, Paul writes, “which things we also speak, not in words taught by human wisdom, but in those taught by the Spirit, combining spiritual thoughts with spiritual words.  But a natural man does not accept the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness to him and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually appraised” (NASB).

He handles these verses by noting that “accept” or “receive” (dechomai) in the beginning of 14 refers not to an intellectual understanding of “the things of the Spirit of God” but a welcoming of that understanding in his life (34).  Furthermore, that the unbeliever sees the things of God as “foolishness” means that he refuses to acknowledge their truthfulness not that he is unable of understanding what they are (35).  Thus, Fuller hopes to maintain exegetical integrity by showing that the New Testament does not teach that the unbeliever is incapable of understanding scripture.  Understanding may be gained by anybody, believer or not, skilled in exegetical techniques.  Rather, the New Testament teaches that the unbeliever without the Spirit of God will refuse to acknowledge the truthfulness of the things of God and will subsequently refuse to obey them.  Thus, the Spirit’s work in the interpretive task is to grant receptivity to the believer, not to reveal the contents of a passage’s expressions.

Erickson gives a rather thorough evaluation of the assumptions underlying this position.  Most are mentioned above in the description of the position itself.  Erickson’s evaluation of these assumptions is very good, with one exception.  In his fifth comment on the evaluation of Fuller’s assumptions, Erickson notes that Fuller “seems to assume that exegesis is presuppositionless” (39).  Erickson goes on to note that the “fact that the unbeliever may come with a very different worldview than does the believer apparently does not affect in any significant way the forger’s understanding of the biblical text” (39).

It most be noted, in all deference to Fuller, that Erickson’s conclusion in this regard is not necessarily true.  Erickson earlier acknowledges Fuller’s belief that an unbeliever can come to the signification of a text through the use of sound exegetical skills (36).  Certainly these sound exegetical skills would include an evaluation of one’s own presuppositions.  It seems to me that in this particular point Erickson has pitched an unnecessary battle.  The truthfulness of Erickson’s overall critique of Fuller is neither aided nor hindered by this.  Certainly unbelieving exegetes could and, if skilled, do seek to evaluate their presuppositions as any good exegete will.  Strictly speaking, however, presuppositions do not bear definitively on the central question of whether or not an unbeliever is capable without the aid of the Holy Spirit to exegete a passage well.  Presuppositions affect believers and unbelievers alike.  Fuller’s schema does not imply a presuppositionless approach.  In this particular criticism, then, Erickson has probably gone on a largely unnecessary offensive.

This criticism not withstanding, Erickson does an admirable job of defining the assumptions undergirding Fuller’s position as well as evaluating the strengths and weaknesses of the position.  To begin with, Erickson challenges Fuller on his interpretation of 1 Corinthians 2:14.  Erickson points out that Fuller’s treatment of dechomai is not necessarily correct.  Fuller is correct in asserting that the word carries with it the connotation of approval or accepting, but it could nonetheless mean that the unbeliever does not accept the things of God not because he finds them disagreeable but because he finds them incomprehensible.  Erickson notes that this word does not tell us which of these is the case (40).  With this, Erickson argues that other passages seem to refute Fuller’s handling of 1 Corinthians 2:14.  In particular, he references John 14-16, 2 Corinthians 4:3-4, and Matthew 16:17.

I believe that Erickson does a tremendous job in these instances of showing that scripture elsewhere, and probably in 1 Corinthians 2:14 as well, carries the idea of an unbelieving person not being able to fully understand the things of God.  His treatment of Matthew 16:17 and Peter’s affirmation of Christ as the Son of God is compelling.  Jesus’s response to Peter clearly implies that the Spirit of God gave him some type of cognitive affirmation that an unbeliever would not have had.  Thus, in his treatment of this episode as well as Jesus’s teaching on the Holy Spirit in John and the contrast of the believer and unbeliever in 1 Corinthians 4:3-4, Erickson has exposed what might, in the final analysis, prove to be the Achilles heel of Fuller’s position, namely the existence of fairly explicit biblical passages that refute its foundational contentions.

Erickson also challenges Fuller on theological grounds.  He notes that Fuller’s position does not account for total depravity.  Rather, it leaves the mind capable of discerning the things of God.  Erickson here coins the rather unique term, “epistemological Palagianism” (45).  Erickson notes in response to Fuller that “the mind or reason is negatively affected” by sin (45).

While I agree with Erickson’s contention, it must be pointed out that this argument is on tenuous ground due to the variety of approaches to the concept of total depravity that exist even among those who would all agree with Erickson’s assertion that Fuller’s theory is insufficient.  In other words, a classical Arminian would almost certainly agree with the overall thrust of Erickson’s position while not agreeing on the Reformed understanding of total depravity.  Thus, it would seem unfortunate to point too stringently to total depravity as a refutation of Fuller, for to do this would isolate many who may not necessarily agree with such an articulation but would agree with the refutation of Fuller in general.

Erickson also accuses Fuller of resorting to faculty psychology and compartmentalizing the nature of man into false categories of intellect, emotions, and will.  He does qualify this criticism by noting that this is only implicit in Fuller’s position (45).  Against this, Erickson asserts, correctly, a more unified, holistic view of man.

Compellingly, Erickson also asserts that Fuller has essentially overreacted to the extreme views of Origin and others.  Put simply, the answer to a system which sees the Holy Spirit as the only means of achieving interpretation is not to construct a system in which the Holy Spirit has no part whatsoever in achieving interpretation.  Erickson states that it is possible to find mediating positions in this (48).  By rejecting the categories that Fuller has defined as the only options, Erickson points to a major fallacy in his system.  I believe that he is absolutely correct in this assertion.  Fuller is as extreme as those he would argue against.  Both misunderstand the Spirit in the role of interpretation.  Some degree of moderation is needed here.

Erickson ends his critique of Fuller by arguing that the Spirit’s role in illumination is to give the believing interpreter insight into the meaning of the text that may not necessarily be revealed through the application of exegetical tools (52).  Erickson appears here to be offering his own mediating position.  At the risk of oversimplification, he seems to be arguing for what might be called a “pneumatic sixth sense” whereby the interpreter gleams new insights into a text, not at the expense or in violation of a sound exegetical evaluation of a passage, but with and through it.  He argues for this even while noting that the core salvific teachings of scripture are readily apparent to the believing or unbelieving exegete and do not depend upon any such deeper perceptions of a text (54).

Erickson has done a tremendous, though occasionally flawed, job of critiquing Fuller and offering his own alternative.  Fuller’s position, in the final analysis, leaves too small a role for the Spirit and is fraught with difficulties.  Erickson’s position seems to honor Fuller’s desire to combat subjectivism while honoring the role of the Spirit in the interpretive task and avoiding the more damaging pitfalls of Fuller’s position at the same time.

This issue also bears strikingly on the task of preaching.  To begin with, it affects to the pastor’s approach to the crafting of sermons.  Is he bound to grapple with the text alone?  Could his sermon not technically be written by an unbeliever if the Spirit has no cognitive role in exegesis?  Or is there more to this?  Should the preacher approach the task prayerfully as well as with exegetical caution?  The truthfulness or falsity of Fuller’s position would seem to have direct bearing on this.  Furthermore, it will have direct bearing on what and how he communicates.  Does he communicate with the authority of the Spirit or merely with the authority of the exegete?  Is his homiletic pneumatic or not?  It would appear that an adherence to Fuller’s position would necessarily relegate the preaching task the dissemination of information and not to the proclamation of revealed truth.  Thus, this question is of extreme important to the preacher.

In Part III, Erickson turns his attention to the question of how to apply scripture to the modern day.  This issue contains a whole host of unique problems that arise from a conflict between the cultural surroundings of the writings of scripture and the ever changing culture of modern times.  Nonetheless, Erickson sees this issue, the issue of contemporization, as “possibly the single most important issue facing evangelical hermeneutics today” (56).  This is so because the question of contemporization is a question that bears upon the relevance and applicability of scripture.  Erickson sees himself as a “translator”, to use a terms coined by William Hordern, as opposed to a “transformer”.  That is, Erickson  believes that the truths of Christianity need not be neglected or jettisoned in an attempt to apply them to today (57).

Erickson sets the stage for this discussion by appealing again to the Hirschian categories of “meaning” and “significance”.  As he does earlier, Erickson proposes that the categories be redefined as “signification” and “significance” and that both of these terms be placed beneath the more inclusive umbrella term “meaning”.  Erickson see “signification” as referring to what the words of a text technically say.  “Significance,” in this schema, refers to a reader’s perception of that “signification” (59).  The task of contemporization involves seeking to understand the implications of a text for today.

Erickson proceeds to critique a popular hermeneutical approach to contemporization.  This “two-step” approach has as its goal (1) the identification of the signification of the text and (2) the application of that signification to present society.  Erickson appeals instead to Charles Kraft’s concept of “dynamic equivalence” whereby the hermeneutical approach to contemporization is comprised of  (1) the identification of the signification of the text, (2) the identification of the originally intended impact on the original audience, and (3) the application of this significance to the modern day (63-64).  Erickson refers to this as “preserving ‘the signification behind the signification’” (64).

The next task, Erickson argues, is to identify the timeless, transcultural principles that may be applied today.  Here he proposes his “third step” to the “two-step” approach to contemporization mentioned above.  He contends that between the signification of a text and the significance of the text, we should seek to identify the timeless, transcultural principle of the text.  This is Erickson’s “third step” (64).

To identify principles, Erickson recommends the rather interesting technique of asking the question “Why?” of any text we encounter.   For instance, we might ask of a text, “Why did God do this?”  The answer to such questions will generally begin to take on the form of a principle.  Interestingly, as Erickson points out, these answers are usually theological in nature.  This leads Erickson to expound upon the importance of the discipline of theology in the interpretive task (67-68).

He also argues that the task of arriving at principles will be aided by the process of “decontextualization.”  In this process, the specific cultural elements of the original environment in which the text was written are removed.  The goal of this is to arrive most nearly as possible to pure principles that are timeless in their scope (69).  Along with this, the interpreter should ask if the principle was intended to be universal or is wedded specifically to that particular cultural setting.

Erickson also deals with the question of how to handle supposed contradictions in a text.  He notes that contradictions are occasionally actually complementary.  Each statement is sometimes commenting on one part of the truth and highlighting some aspect of that part.  Second, the statements may in actuality be two different principles.  Third, he notes that in some situations more than one principle comes to bear (73-74).

Erickson’s treatment of contemporization bears the markings of care and thoroughness.  He does not seek to avoid the difficulties of this process, difficulties which are more than readily apparent to any preacher.  Of particular interest is his concept of a “three-step” hermeneutic.  Erickson’s argument concerning the importance of identifying the timeless principle of a text is convincing and worthy of serious consideration.  Furthermore, his treatment of the importance of theology in the interpretive task is especially poignant.  Preachers feel an almost unbearable desirable to be “relevant,” as the term has come to be defined in American cultural.  This greatly impacts their choice of reading material.  Erickson’s contention that the nature of biblical principles is usually doctrinal highlights rather effectively the importance of pastors spending time in vigorous theological reflection.

Of the first three sections of this book, this section perhaps has the most dramatic implications on the preaching task today.  The modern preacher is faced with a weekly, and, often, daily demand to contemporize the scriptures.  He is painfully aware of how desperately the people in the pews need a word for today.  This means, then, that he is painfully aware of the necessity of proper and careful contemporization.

The beauty of Erickson’s proposals in this regard is that they recognize the importance of this contemporization yet are not willing to sacrifice biblical fidelity in the process of achieving it.  Preachers must have the same conviction.  Helpfully, Erickson offers the modern preacher a framework by which he may honor both the need for contemporization and the need for biblical fidelity.  This framework is practical, cautious, thorough, and likely to push the preacher to a greater study and exposition of the text.

Part IV of Erickson’s study concerns itself with the fallacy of not having “the biblical and practical disciplines” informed by church history, theology, and cross-cultural studies.  Erickson’s task is not essentially negative however.  On the contrary, after bemoaning the lamentable failure of many to see history, theology, and cross-cultural studies as crucial to the hermeneutical task, he proceeds to lay out the potential contributions that are to be found in each of these disciplines and, particularly, in their impact on the hermeneutical task.

In his treatment of history, Erickson contends that there are five positive contributions that can be made to the hermeneutical task.  First, Erickson finds in the study of history a potential safeguard against an unnecessary absolutizing of our own hermeneutical expressions.  This safeguard comes to light when we consider the variety of expressions and applications that the Church has made in its hermeneutical endeavors throughout history.  In other words, the student of history can have his own hermeneutical applications better informed by considering how the Church has expressed itself regarding any given text over the last twenty centuries (78-79).

Second, history reveals to us how and why the Church arrived at certain hermeneutical expressions by giving us insight into the particular cultural and societal surroundings of that day.  This will cause the interpreter to evaluate his or her own cultural surroundings and whether or not they are being influenced unduly by them as well.  Third, by showing us the hermeneutical work of various theologians and hermeneuticists in the Church’s history, a study of history can strengthen the interpreter in the art of contextualization.  Studying the outcome and approach of many historical figures’ hermeneutics will serve to strengthen the modern interpreter in his own (80-81).

Fourth, the study of history will ideally give the modern interpreter a sense of humility as he or she approaches the hermeneutical task.  By simply seeing the wide variety of hermeneutical approaches and conclusions throughout the history of the Church, today’s interpreter will realize that his or her presuppositions, cultural surroundings, and societal makeup are almost certainly  impacting his or her own hermeneutical approach as well.  Consequently, today’s interpreter will have an added impetus to evaluate more stringently the assumptions undergirding their approach to scripture (81-82).

Fifth, Erickson notes that the potential implications of a modern hermeneutical conclusion may often be seen or informed by the implications of like conclusions drawn throughout history (82).  This is an intriguing argument as it establishes an historical criteria for judging the potential validity of one’s interpretation.  In this sense, the old maxim concerning the inevitability of those who know no history recommitting old mistakes comes into play (82-82).

It is not surprising, given Erickson’s standing as a theologian, that he spends most of the fourth part of his book on the question of how theology may contribute to the hermeneutical task. To begin with, Erickson points to the doctrinal character of the timeless, transcultural principles which are the goal of the hermeneutical task.  Especially given the nature of historical narratives, these principles are theological or doctrinal in their content.  Thus a firm grasp and careful theological analysis of a text in order to ascertain the principle within it is crucial to hermeneutics (83-85).

Second, by granting the interpreter a more holistic theological understanding of the implications of their interpretation, theology safeguards the interpreter against taking a contextualized application too far (85-86).  Third, a theological analysis of concepts will force the interpreter to evaluate the truthfulness and implications of the concept more thoroughly.  It will reveal a deeper meaning and implications of assertions that would be missed if such a theological analysis did not take place (86-87).

Fourth, theology bears upon the hermeneutical task by informing us of the current flows of cultural theological thought that may be affecting and shaping our presuppositions and a priori assumptions (88-89).  Fifth, theology will provide a framework in which interpretive methodologies may be evaluated.  This might be done by asking of these methodologies questions concerning their theological assumptions, theological weight and gravity, and theological direction (89-90).  Sixth, theology provides a doctrinal framework by which the implications of an interpretation may be determined.  In this sense, a theological evaluation of the hermeneutical task would entail asking what a particular interpretation means for and in light of other theological assertions of scripture.  This would shed further light on the validity or lack thereof of an interpretation (90).

Seventh, theology will help determine the validity of the arguments undergirding a particular hermeneutical approach to a passage.  Thus, the argumentation leading up to a conclusion may be evaluated in light of an overall theology of scripture (91-93).  Finally, Erickson sees a strength in a theological approach to hermeneutics in that theology will force the interpreter to place his or her conclusions in the broader flow of biblical theology.  Thus, any interpretation will be measured against the doctrinal pronouncements of scripture itself and not treated as an independent entity (94-95).

Erickson next considers cross-cultural studies and how they come to bear on hermeneutics.  Cross-cultural studies have bearing on the hermeneutical task in that they provide new insights derived from interpreters who are outside of our own particular cultural setting.  Erickson wisely cautions against a wholesale, uncritical acceptance of a view simply because it emanates from another cultural situation.  Yet, on the other hand, it must be admitted that those outside of our own culture often see new insights by looking at the text from angles that we would not naturally consider (95-96).  The second contribution that Erickson sees cross-cultural studies giving to the hermeneutical task is closely related to the first.  Cross-cultural studies, merely by virtue of showing us interpretations and presuppositions that differ from our own, cause us to evaluate our own presuppositions and approach to the text (96-97).

Finally, Erickson believes the interpreter will benefit from cross-cultural studies by being shown new questions that can be asked of a text.  The questions we naturally ask of a text usually arise from our own life experiences and limited cultural environment.  However, when one from another culture asks questions of a text that seem to us to be foreign and unique, we will be forced not only to question the validity of our own questions, but to evaluate the rationale for theirs (97-98).  This can only serve to enrich the hermeneutical process.

Erickson’s contentions concerning the usefulness of history, theology, and cross-cultural studies as it pertains to the hermeneutical task if thoughtful and provocative.  It is provocative in that it goes against much of “the Bible and me” mentality that seems to be so pervasive in Protestant Evangelical circles.  Yet he nowhere uses these disciplines to minimize the importance of scripture.  On the contrary, he is arguing that these other disciplines may grant a more well-rounded approach to the task.  Thus, the hermeneutical task will be enriched by the application of these often neglected studies.

It must be pointed out that the effectiveness of preaching depends often on the effectiveness of one’s hermeneutics.  If bringing history, theology, and cross-cultural studies to bear on the hermeneutical task will aid our interpretation, it will aid our preaching as well.  This means that the preacher who hopes to be truly biblical in his homiletic endeavors will seek to be informed by history, theology, and cross-cultural studies.  On a practical level, an evaluation of the methodology and preaching of some of the most well loved, well known, and effective preachers will bear the truthfulness of this out.  This also means that the preacher’s task involves more than a low view of preaching assumes.  It is not enough to approach the scriptures in a surface way.  Rather, Erickson makes an extremely valid case that the preacher should approach the text with the aid of these other disciplines as well.
Erickson concludes his book with a discussion of postmodernism, its effects on the interpretive task, and the need for the Church to proactively engage the postmodern culture in which it resides.  His language concerning the danger of postmodernism and, particularly, deconstructionism could scarcely be more intense.  For instance, Erickson points to deconstructive postmodernism as “the most serious threat to orthodox or evangelical Christianity” today (103).  Furthermore, Erickson believes that “the very future of Western culture may depend on the outcome of this struggle” (104).  Unfortunately, Erickson is only too right in these dire assertions.

Erickson sees postmodernism as rejecting three major premises shared by premodernism and modernism.  The premises are the objectivity of reality, a referential understanding of language, and a belief in the correspondence theory of truth (100).  He does not argue that the premodern and modern periods were alike.  On the contrary, they were radically different in their particular approaches to these premises, but, nonetheless, they were shared in at least some fashion.

Postmodernism rejects these foundational tenets of modernism.  In fact, postmodernism rejects any concept of the objectivity or existence of truth.  Furthermore, to the postmodernist, language refers to nothing concrete, but merely to language.  Words come to rest in no ultimate port.  They are forever in interaction with other words, equally meaningless in any ultimate sense.  Thus the interpreter is not bound by any notion of finding a “meaning” of a text.  There is no meaning to be found.  Interpretation is unendingly fluid and dynamic and serves as an end unto itself (102-103).

Postmodernism is a reaction to the failings of modernism.  Specifically, subatomic discoveries have hinted at a randomness in nature and have undermined the modernist conception of universal “fixed patterns.”  Second, the atrocities of the twentieth century have been seen as evidence of the moral insufficiency of modernism.  Third, postmodernism has rejected the modernist concept of progress.  Fourth, it has rejected the modernist idea of the goodness of knowledge (108-110).

Erickson chooses to interact primarily with deconstructionism, though he does not deny the existence of variant strains within postmodernism, a frustratingly elusive term to define.  The ravages of postmodernism upon hermeneutics are both disheartening and undeniable.  Words have no reference point.  They have no meaning.  There is no meaning to be had (110-111).  The evangelical interpreter finds himself a pilgrim in a strange land.

In response to this, Erickson proposes a number of guidelines for the construction of a postmodern evangelical hermeneutic.  I agree with his idea that this is necessary.  Importantly, he argues that this hermeneutic must proceed cautiously and critically.  There will be moments, in other words, when the evangelical interpreter must simply refute a postmodernism tenet.  Otherwise, as Erickson’s proposals reveal, the evangelical interpreter has some room to respond to the particular assumptions of postmodernism.  A few of his proposals are evaluated below.

Erickson’s proposal that we reduce the tenets of foundationalism in response to the postmodern rejection of foundationalism is wise but dangerous (114-116).  How much are we willing to sacrifice here?  I agree that a more careful evaluation of these tenets in accordance with postmodern assumptions will allow us a point of dialogue while not falling into the type of epistemological despair that comprises so much of postmodernism, but it seems that great care should be taken when we essentially concede the inadequacy of certain truth claims in an attempt to establish a point of contact.  Erickson’s concern seems primarily relational, and this is admirable.  He seems to be saying that such concessions must be made in deference to the potential viability or at least in deference to a serious recognition of postmodern categories, but the tenableness of this assertion still needs to be scrutinized.

His assertion that we speak in terms of concepts and not concrete realities behind words is likewise wise but also in need of a closer examination (118).  An appeal to concepts would seem to remove an obstacle in communicating with a postmodern mindset which certainly rejects such notions, but, again, it must be asked what is being sacrificed to do this, what forces are being set in motion by this, and whether or not there are more negative philosophical ramifications that will be gained by this than positive.  What is more, the feasibility of such a notion is a serious question.  Exactly how does one go about this?

I believe Erickson is right in his belief that we should stress meaningfulness more than meaning, or, at least, that we should keep this postmodern characteristic in mind (119).  However, as I am sure Erickson would agree, it must be made clear that meaning is still of paramount importance to the task of hermeneutics.  He seems to be saying, however, that the modern interpreter and communicator should seek to communicate signification in ways that will lay emphasis on significance but that will not deny signification.

Erickson’s belief that an individualistic approach to hermeneutics must change in favor of a community approach is absolutely correct (122-123).  Not only, as he says, is this due to the wealth of knowledge available to the individual interpreter today, but also to postmodernism’s rejecting of the modernist concept of the worth and value of the individual.

Erickson wisely calls for a reevaluation of the philosophical assumptions undergirding hermeneutics and a renewed emphasis on metahermeneutics (123-124).  The evangelical interpreter cannot proceed blindly as if his or her postmodern culture does not simply reject the philosophical underpinnings of his hermeneutical approach.  To do so is to severely limit his or her influence as well as his or her own understanding of his or her task.   Furthermore, Erickson is correct in his call for a multicultural hermeneutic.  Evangelicals have too often rejected the political baggage of multiculturalism while not appreciate the strengths inherent in such a concept.

I would argue that postmodernism is not only the most crucial issue facing the modern interpreter, but it is also the most crucial issue facing the modern preacher as well.  Painful experience has shown me that postmodernism does not reside merely in the ivory towers of academia.  It has been absorbed, largely through the media and overall flow of cultural thought, by the average person in the pew.  This means that the preacher will simply have to reconsider how he communicates.  To speak in premodern or modern categories, as if the congregation shares those assumptions, is to fail to be a good steward of the gospel.  Truth must always be proclaimed.  Concessions of truth cannot be made.  However, the form in which truth is conveyed will change with the cultural assumptions of the audience.

Erickson’s proposals for a postmodern evangelical hermeneutic may by and large be applied to the preaching task as well.  The modern preacher would be wise to evaluate his sermon along the lines of the proposals Erickson makes.  This will mean hard work, some painful changing of the way we have always done it, and a high commitment towards reaching the people in the pews.  Furthermore, this will require the preacher to become a student of his congregation.  Postmodernism is not a unified coherent concept.  Strains of it vary in their numerous and often subtly different emphases.  This means that the preacher must know exactly how his people think, what they read, what they assume, what they accept, what they reject, and who they are.  To this end, Erickson’s work may be used to great benefit.

Graeme Goldsworthy’s Preaching the Whole Bible as Christian Scripture

In Preaching the Whole Bible as Christian Scripture, Graeme Goldsworthy is concerned primarily with a return to a Christocentric understanding of the whole Bible.  He feels that this understanding will ensue with the recovery of biblical theology and a renewed understanding of salvation history.  He argues that the scriptures must be read within the context of these two frameworks and that, subsequently, our preaching must reflect their influence as well.

In many ways, Goldsworthy’s concerns are imminently practical and pastoral.  They arise out of a conviction concerning the popular misunderstanding of the nature and place of the Old Testament within the greater framework of scripture as well as a crucial misunderstanding of the nature of the gospel and its relationship to the greater framework of scripture.  These misunderstandings have manifested themselves not only in the presuppositions of the laity, but, more tragically, in shallow homiletic moralizings of the Old Testament as well as the New which divorce the ethical mandates of the scriptures from the framework of the gospel and thereby reduce them to legalistic pieties.  As such, the modern Evangelical neglect of salvation history and biblical theology has resulted in preaching that is focused on man and his own efforts at self-reformation.

Goldsworthy’s theological foundation upon which he builds his argument is the assertion that Christ is the center not only of the scriptures, but of theology itself (33).  This means that all of our theological pronouncements as well as our expositions of scripture must point to and be grounded in the gospel, not as a strained homiletic ploy but rather necessarily.  Specifically, he appeals to two scriptural concepts:  Paul’s assertion in 1 Corinthians 2:2 that he had “determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and Him crucified,” and Jesus’ own attestation in passages such as John 2:39-40 and Luke 24:27 that all of the scriptures point to Himself (1, 21).  These two concepts reflect Goldsworthy’s two major concerns, the former dealing with the importance of the gospel in all of our preaching and the latter with biblical theology itself.

Before considering Goldsworthy’s remedy, it must be asked whether or not his diagnoses of the problem is sound.  His charge that the Evangelical church has either misunderstood the Old Testament, ignored it, reduced it to mere character studies or pietistic moralizations, or all three, is the easiest to assess.  He is absolutely correct.  Perhaps he hits closest to the mark in trying to understand this when he points to the division of the studies of the testaments in our formal education structures as a possible reason why pastors and lay people alike seem to have such confusion over the nature and place of the Old Testament (xii).  It is truly not surprising that such misunderstandings persist when Christian ministers quite likely go through college, seminary, and beyond studying the testaments in different classes, and possibly in different semesters or years with little or no conversations in either class about how they relate.  His assertions are also verified by the day by day experiences of any pastor who frequently encounters lay, and even personal, confusion over this crucial matter.

Directly related to this is the charge that Evangelicals have neglected biblical theology (32).  He is also correct in this assertion.  Perhaps formal education shares some of the blame in this as well.  More likely, however, the Church is caught in a cycle.  It is producing what it teaches.  Evangelicals are inundated by calls to be “New Testament Christians,” preaching that largely neglects the Old Testament or uses it, as Goldsworthy laments, for teaching only moral lessons, and Sunday School and Bible study literature that does not itself integrate a truly biblical theology in its presentation of the scriptures.

The charge concerning the Evangelical neglect of salvation history is also true.  It must be argued, in the North American Evangelical context, that the mass and often blind acceptance of dispensationalism has and is contributing to this problem.  There seems to be an assumption that the gospel was God’s “Plan B,” once the children of Israel rejected the “Plan A” offer of salvation through adherence to the Mosaic law, or that Christ was sent in and for a particular dispensation as opposed to all of them.  Furthermore, the radical distinctions drawn between Israel and the Church in dispensationalism lend themselves to the erroneous assumption that God is dealing in some sense with two different groups of people in almost two different ways.  It could be argued that classical dispensationalism is not inherently opposed to salvation history.  This is true.  However, the popular dissemination of dispensationalism has resulted in these assumptions.  Regardless, the problem is certainly not germane to and, in fact, expands well outside the borders of any particular school of prophecy.

Goldsworthy hits upon a crucial point later in his work in noting that the Evangelical aversion to salvation history is merely symptomatic of a larger aversion to history itself (72).  That is, coming to see how God’s works through history have typified and culminated in Christ’s coming would require a study and appreciation of history.  Goldsworthy rightly assesses that such a study is not in vogue in churches which are fixated primarily on bringing its members into an existentialist experience with Christ through the moment of “decision.”  We might say, then, that the Evangelical neglect of salvation history is part of the larger issue of the neglect of the mind in many churches.

Later, Goldsworthy offers a proposal for a Christian education plan that will responsibly teach the people the fundamental truths of salvation history and biblical theology (129).  He also offers a proposed outline of biblical history that will help people understand the basic movements of biblical history (101).  This is not only admirable, it is important.  Goldsworthy is correct in his apparent belief that it is not enough for the pastor alone to understand biblical theology.  The challenge is to bring the people to the point where they will understand how to correctly understand the scriptures themselves.   The great challenge will be in trying to communicate the verities of biblical theology and church history in a church climate in which little is expected on the parts of the parishioners.

What, then, of Goldsworthy’s proposed solution?  To begin with, his call for a return to biblical theology and, more generally, to a hermeneutic which sees the reality of Christ and the gospels in all that the scriptures teach and point to, is sound primarily because it is itself scriptural.  As mentioned above, Christ did Himself claim that all of the scriptures point to Himself and Paul did, in fact, assert that all proclamation ought to be of “Christ and Him crucified.”  Thus, Goldsworthy is not grasping at straws or proposing a merely academic solution to the problem.  It is founded in the scriptures.  Furthermore, whatever disagreements might exist about the interpretation of these passages and their implications on biblical theology, it must be agreed that the modern Church, by in large, is not adhering to what Paul and Christ both say.  The Old Testament is frequently expounded upon with no reference to the gospel, and preaching has been reduced to the dissemination of pithy maxims.

Thus, the crucial issue concerning the validity of biblical theology is that Christ Himself believed in it.  Goldsworthy is right in this regard (48).  Furthermore, he is right in believing that Christ understood His coming and work and nature to be the consummation of God’s plan of salvation.  That is, Christ believed in what we have come to call “salvation history” (51).  Goldsworthy makes his argument primarily on the basis of the tremendous focus on “the kingdom of God” in the New Testament and on Christ’s fulfillment of it.  “The kingdom of God,” argues Goldsworthy, is the rightful theme of the entire Bible and Christ’s proclamation concerning its arrival in His coming would have been understood by His Jewish audience to have been a “salvation historical” statement (52).  We are right to heed Goldsworthy’s warning about trying to find in the New Testament or Jesus a precise articulation of our own theological systems, but we are also right to claim that God’s mighty works throughout history have reached their apex in Christ and that, most importantly, Christ Himself acknowledged this fact.

Goldsworthy’s movements are methodical and logical.  Once he has grounded both biblical theology and salvation history in the scriptures themselves, he develops a thoroughly biblical justification for suggesting that preaching that does not proclaim Christ in all of the scriptures and point to Him as the fulfillment of God’s works from Genesis onward stands in violation of the biblical pattern and spirit of proclamation.  It stands to reason that the only way of refuting Goldsworthy’s central argument is to attack its hermeneutical underpinnings.  These underpinnings, however, are well argued and firmly grounded in the biblical text.

When he moves to the specifics of how to read the Bible from the perspective of biblical theology and the vantage point of salvation history, Goldsworthy rather surprisingly argues for the restoration of typology as a valid hermeneutical construct.  This is surprising because there does seem to be fairly widespread uneasiness about typology in many Evangelical circles.  Goldsworthy knows this and realizes that this uneasiness is a result of the frequent abuses of typology that denigrate into allegory (76-77).  Therefore, he more than once addresses the topic and the proper uses of it.  Interestingly, he argues for a “macro-typology” which seems to simply be a recognition of the overall movement of salvation history in the Bible which is affirmed by the New Testament’s use of the Old (111).

In truth, Goldsworthy’s treatment of typology is refreshing insofar as it is a well-reasoned attempt at turning back what is perhaps an undue skepticism in some quarters concerning its validity.  The strength of his argument is in the idea that typology is a natural and organic implication of salvation history itself.  If all of salvation history points to, leads to, and finds its fulfillment in Christ, then all of its events must rightfully point to Him.  The key, here, is not to force a connection between the Old Testament event and Christ or to allow interpretation of the Old Testament to decay into an eisegetical allegoricalism which pours meaning into details which are not germane to the text.

Goldsworthy turns next to the main movements of salvation history.  He proposes that there are three:  from creation to Abraham, Abraham to the first part of the reign of Solomon, and Solomon to Christ.  He finds the foundation of this structure within the Matthean genealogy (89). He further argues that salvation history advances through the history of Israel even when the society of Israel declines (107).  It does so through types: in the movement from Abraham to Solomon through Israel’s history, and in the movement from Solomon to Christ through the voice of the prophets.  Christ and the new creation stand as the antitype to which all of the preceding types point (139).  Goldsworthy next moves, most helpfully, through a consideration of how to preach from all of the major divisions of the Bible as they relate to and stand within the major movements of salvation history.

The implications of Goldsworthy’s proposal are tremendous.  First of all, by arguing that we must first see how and where the text we are approaching stands within the movement of salvation history and what their biblical theological implications are, he is arguing that all preaching is gospel preaching just as all of the scriptures point to Christ.  Thus, Goldsworthy concludes, there can be no direct application of a text to modern hearers without recourse to the gospel to which it stands in direct relationship (117).  To do so would be to introduce a new legalism into the church, for the teaching of the ethical mandates of scripture outside of the context of the gospel implies that the gospel is nothing more than a mere starting point after which we may pursue the difficult business of living.

Goldsworthy’s arguments in this regard are not only compelling, but convicting.  His frequently-stated claim that there is an inherent danger in preaching the ethical mandates of an epistle without a frequent and consistent assertion of the gospel framework in which they stand must be heard by modern Evangelical preachers, especially those preaching “through” certain books.  Furthermore, it has direct bearing on preaching about ethical issues on the basis of these portions of scripture alone.  Goldsworthy’s arguments suggest the compelling notion that the household codes of Ephesians 6, for instance, cannot be proclaimed without the theological gospel foundation of Ephesians 1.  The question seems to be one of how to articulate and re-articulate this gospel foundation throughout a series in a natural way.  Perhaps the answer to this lies not so much in the employment of specific hermeneutical means as much as in the creation of an overall homiletic climate in which the pervasiveness of the gospel and the schema of salvation history is established as an a priori to all proclamation.  This is not to suggest that we reach a point where we try to create the assumption of a gospel foundation in our people.  Clearly, any text’s standing within the framework of salvation history must be asserted again and again.  But it is to be hoped that the theme of salvation history might in time come to be naturally used and heard through a consistent pattern of preaching in this way.

There are also implications in Goldsworthy’s proposals for evangelism.  He rather movingly points to these himself when he notes that many modern evangelistic tactics do not appear to appreciate the power of the gospel insofar as they seem to strive for a decision rather than to allow the gospel message to convict (95).  Goldsworthy is correct that it is the gospel itself, not our emphasis on a person’s need to respond to it, that convicts.  This is crucial, for Goldsworthy’s high view of the power of the gospel stands in direct contrast to the man-centered philosophy which has come to dominate the Church and which is itself a product of the wider shift in the Church from theology to anthropology.

Goldsworthy’s survey of how the preacher might choose to approach the various genres of biblical literature bears the mark of consistency in its application of the principles he espouses up to that point.  His divisions of these texts suggest that preachers must understand the characteristics of these various genres if they are to understand the texts’ place within salvation history and biblical theology and especially if they are to effectively communicate it (137).   He suggests that preachers intentionally plan to preach from these areas with an eye towards leading the people to understand how each text relates to the theology of the book as well as biblical theology in general.  He proposes that the minister lead his people to ask, “How does this event (or character) testify to Christ?” (151).  He then shows how this might be done.

The strength of Goldsworthy’s proposals concerning the examples he gives is not only that their consistency to the framework which he suggests rests at the heart of all true interpretation, but also in his humble approach to these texts.  Quite often, as in his treatment of Ecclesiastes or the Song of Solomon, he suggests that a book’s place within salvation history is not always readily apparent (190-191).  This is yet another example of how preachers are going to have to rise to the occasion and be willing and able to grapple with the text in an effort to understand it.

One of the strength’s of Goldsworthy’s propositions is that it challenges preachers to know more and delve deeper than a mere surface reading and, most tragically, a mere surface preaching of a text.  Goldsworthy suggests throughout that not only preaching, but reading the Bible, is going to require greater care than is often times given to these acts.  One wonders if preachers who preach within church settings in which congregations are used to brief, moralistic sermons will be convicted enough to go about the further study required for a truly effective reading and proclaiming of the text.  It is to be hoped that preachers will be, for nothing less than an accurate proclamation of the gospel is at stake.

Goldsworthy’s discussion of prophetic literature and preachers’ uses of it is more than pertinent today.  Our modern church context presents ministers with serious temptations to try to interpret prophecies as applicable to modern society in just the same way that they were applicable to Israel so many years ago.  Goldsworthy offers severe warnings about this and asks preachers to make sure their applications are valid.  Furthermore, he more generally warns ministers about falling into certain traps concerning preaching on prophecy, such as trying to find modern fulfillments for all of the prophecies of the Old Testament and the New (181-182).  He tellingly warns preachers about the temptation to become “second-coming gurus” (221).

It simply cannot be overstated that these warnings desperately need to be heard today.  In the aftermath of the momentous calendar change into the new millennium as well as the presence of best selling prophecy novels with staggering sales, it is abundantly clear that the Church wants desperately to find the fulfillments of all the details of prophecy in our current setting.  Furthermore, many within the Church are titillated by the more exotic pictures within prophetic and apocalyptic literature and are not afraid to ask the minister to preach on them.  Goldsworthy’s proposals concerning the reading, understanding, and proclamation of scripture mean that ministers must be willing to keep Christ and the text’s relationship to Him as preeminent.  It seems as if the great temptation concerning preaching on prophetic and apocalyptic texts is to preach with the goal in mind of satiating the people’s curiosity.  This should never happen.  If all of the scriptures are about Christ, this means that prophetic and apocalyptic texts must proclaim Him as well.

It is more than evident that Goldsworthy has adequately pinpointed and diagnosed the problem behind much contemporary preaching.  The problem is not that ministers are not sufficiently trained or that our pulpits have too many unskilled ministers.  Rather, the problem of shallow, ineffectual, and legalistic preaching is a result of a fundamental misunderstanding about the nature of the scriptures themselves.  Goldsworthy’s call for a renewed understanding of biblical theology and the place of the scriptures within salvation history should be heeded by the Church.  For if it is, then Christ will once more be proclaimed as the head of His body and our parishioners will be freed from the delusion that adherence to the ethical teachings of the scripture, independent of the gospel, will usher us into the kingdom.  Furthermore, if his call is heeded, the gospel will be seen for what it truly is:  the thread that runs throughout the entire scriptures, the proper subject of all proclamation, and the hope of God’s people not only since the incarnation, but in the past ages as well.

Charles Bridges’ The Christian Ministry

It is difficult to remember, when reading Charles Bridges’ The Christian Ministry, that this work was first published over one hundred and seventy years ago.  Bridges’ book is something of a compendium on a variety of topics related to the ministry.  It is marked by careful theological reflection as well as evidence that Bridges learned the lessons he teaches through much practical experience.

It would be an understatement to suggest that Bridges has a “high view” of pastoral ministry.  He lists the Christian ministry as one of “three grand repositories” of God’s truth, the other two being the Bible, and “the hearts of Christians” (2).  Furthermore, he argues that the office of pastor carries with it a dignity of essence that should be reflected in the lives of its members (6).

The importance of Bridges’ foundational comments concerning the pastoral ministry rests in the fact that there are more than a few subtle as well as explicit influences seeking to attack the office of the ministry both outside and inside today’s Church.  Perhaps the most scandalous of these attacks comes from preachers themselves.  In a modern Church context in which relevancy is seen as the apex of pastoral ministry, ministers face an almost constant temptation to remove any so-called distances between themselves and their parishioners in an effort not to be considered too haughty and to be “one of the people.”  While it is incumbent upon ministers to avoid haughtiness at all costs and to constantly guard their hearts from indolence and arrogance (as Bridges himself notes on page 81), it must be recognized that a desire to be among the people can at times express itself in ways that are damaging to the office of pastor, such as in excessive transparency concerning personal struggles or a deliberate downplaying of one’s convictions and knowledge on a subject.

Within the modern free church tradition, the doctrine of the priesthood of the believer has also been distorted in such a way as to undermine the importance of the pastoral office.  Many modern Protestants see this doctrine not as a tremendous blessing and, in a sense, burden which places a tremendous responsibility on all believers to be holy in their lives and knowledgeable in the Word, but rather as a foundation for undermining and, when they desire, simply ignoring the minister’s words on the basis of their own position as “priests.”  This is especially true in a largely democratic church context in which the members of the church know they can simply “vote the preacher out” if they do not care for him.  To this end, Bridges’ Anglican affiliation probably afforded him some degree of insulation from overt attacks upon the importance of the office, though certainly this was not entirely the case.

These realities, along with the tragic scandal heaped upon the ministry by public godlessness on the parts of ministers, have attacked the very foundation of the ministry.  Its importance and dignity are no longer assumed.  It can be argued that the restoration of the dignity of the pastorate is of essential importance to revival in the church.  It would seem, too, that the first step in this process is not a bemoaning of societal or congregational attacks upon the office, but rather a tending to wounds which have been self-inflicted due to a lack of integrity and spiritual earnestness on the parts of many ministers.  Regardless, Bridges’ words are just as pertinent today, if not more so, than when he penned them so many years ago.

Bridges’ discussion of suffering and the ministry must also be heeded by today’s minister.  He outlines a variety of ways in which ministers can be certain they will suffer:  from the church, the world, Satan, and ourselves (14-17).  Interestingly, he immediately follows this with a discussion of the sources of encouragement that the minister can draw upon in difficult times.  It is interesting to note more generally that much of Bridges’ entire book is devoted in some fashion to identifying, understanding, and overcoming difficulties.  Not only is much of Part I of the book dedicated to this topic, but the whole of Part II and Part III are as well.

The relevancy and importance of his discussion of suffering and encouragement can be clearly seen in the large number of seminary graduates who do not remain in the ministry, the horrendous percentage of divorces among couples involved in the ministry, and the influx of a materialistic mentality within the Church that suggests to young ministers that their lives should be ones of ease.  It would perhaps have been good for Bridges to not have waited so long to include his fascinating discussion of minister’s wives (169-173).  Ministers must consider the dangers and trials of the ministry not only in the choosing of a wife, but ministers’ wives must consider this as well.  In all, it is not an oversimplification to suggest that ministers and/or their wives are often entering the ministry largely unaware of the sometimes extreme emotional, psychological, spiritual, personal, and domestic tolls that are inflicted upon ministers and their families.  To this, Bridges’ quite moving discussion of trials, as well as of encouragement, offers a word that must be heeded.

It is also striking how contemporary Bridges’ discussion of the qualification of the ministry is to today’s Church (24-31).  More than a few men and women are entering the ministry because it is “in the family” or because they are fleeing some other responsibility.  Hand in hand with this fact is the problem of an ordination system in many Protestant churches which is completely devoid of true spiritual discernment concerning questions of whether or not a candidate should be ordained.  This was obviously a problem in Bridges’ age as well (93).  In other words, it seems as if entering the ministry has become too easy.  A return to Bridges’ emphasis on the marked qualifications of ministers would do young people contemplating the ministry, as well as churches and ordination councils contemplating their official endorsement of these young people, much good.

One of the more refreshing aspects of Bridges’ work is his high regard for formal education.  He highly commends “University study” and moves on to a discussion of the importance of knowing different fields of knowledge (35).  The very near future may prove that anti-intellectualism has migrated from excessively fundamentalist churches to the mainstream.  This already appears to be happening in the American Protestant church context.  The reason is probably none other than the influx of relativism, existentialistic spirituality, and subjectivist expressions of faith which have little use for such inconveniences as detailed study.  In this regard, Bridges’ high recommendation of formal education, words concerning avenues of study which will be beneficial to ministers, and warning concerning the danger of much knowledge, offer a much needed corrective and stand in stark contrast to the often commented upon “scandal of the Evangelical mind.”

One hundred and seventy years ago, Bridges lamented the lack of a high view of scripture among ministers and churches (58).  There is perhaps no word more sorely needed today than this.  Interestingly, the modern Church may be contributing somewhat to this dilemma by its often unguarded use of packaged study curricula.  These may, of course, be used to great benefit.  But it is difficult to reside and move in Evangelical circles without noticing that twelve week workbooks are almost eclipsing the scriptures.  In this sense, Bridges’ discussion of the right use of commentaries and study helps is also of great value (55-56).  Are today’s Christians being challenged to know the scriptures first?  The sometimes complete reliance of Sunday School and discipleship training programs upon secondary sources may be moving us to an answer of “No.”  This is tragic.  Bridges is more than correct in his arguments concerning the need for scripture to be the most important source of teaching in the Church.
The most moving section of Bridges’ book for a small church pastor is his discussion of success in ministry.  In particular, Bridges’ comments upon the occasional lack of “visible success” stand in stark contrast to the often-repeated idea that if a particular church is not growing, and growing fast, it is not doing anything right.  More than a few pastors of small and medium churches live under an almost incessant cloud of guilt and despair when confronted with this notion.

This is not to suggest that Bridges believed that the true work of the ministry will not result in “the work of success” (72).  In fact, he argues that God always blesses where His word is sown.  Rather, Bridges argues that visible success varies, that “symptoms of success are also frequently mistaken,” and that, occasionally, we must wait to see success (74-75).  Again, such ideas are too often left out of the latest church growth books.  In them, it is assumed that the right things done in the right ways will produce instant visible growth.  Fortunately, Bridges did not belong to the sound-byte, fast-food, pragmatic society of twenty-first century America, so he was perhaps better able to see the truth concerning the concept of success.

Yet, Bridges does suggest that the minister may be to blame for the lack of success in his ministry.  He does this in one of the more convicting sections of the book, “Causes of Ministerial Inefficiency Connected With Our Personal Character.”  In this section, Bridges considers a lack of devotion, worldliness, fear, a lack of “Christian self-denial,” greed, overworking, pride, a lack of personal spiritual conviction, the neglect of family, and a lack of faith as being predators of the ministry.  It was difficult to read this section without being drawn into a serious reflection on my own life.

One of the more powerful instances of Bridges’ understanding of that which renders ministries ineffective is his discussion of the occasional “want of entire devotedness of the heart to the Christian ministry” (106).  Here, he makes perhaps the most powerful statement of the entire book:  “We are to be labourers, not loiterers, in the Lord’s vineyard” (107).  This is important not only in the sense that ministry without accountability can become little more than a leeching off the resources of the Church with no real effort being exerted on the part of the minister, but more so because today’s minister faces the very real possibility of doing lots of work in the church, but very little ministry.  Ministers are daily besieged with administrative, staff, and office duties that carry with them the very real potential of distraction, and more than a few ministers labor every moment while neglecting their true call.  Misguided busyness is as much an example of loitering as abject slothfulness.  To this, Bridges’ impassioned appeal for ministers to be about the business of seeing souls come to Christ is most moving (111).

Also moving was Bridges’ discussion of the offense of the cross and the necessity for ministers not to sacrifice the word of the cross in favor of social acceptance (116-118).  This represents not only a personal indictment against individual accommodation to a dark age, but also a corporate rebuke of all Churches which have, in essence, removed the cross in an attempt to reach people where they are.  Ministers and churches alike face the temptation of removing the scandal of the cross from their discourse and lives.  It is no lapse into hyperbole to suggest that such is the work of Satan.  Bridges’ further exhortation concerning the fact that congregations will imitate their pastors, for good and ill, also should be heard today (121).

Bridges’ final two sections involve preaching and pastoring, which he sees as the two main duties of the minister.  His treatment of preaching is most helpful.  He does not delve into too many speculative areas, but rather offers something of the practical “meat and potatoes” of preaching.  A predominant theme throughout Bridges’ entire discussion of preaching is the necessity for preachers to speak with clarity and on a level that the people can understand.  Furthermore, he takes great pains to argue for a style of preaching that is sincere and convicting.  It can only be assumed that Bridges must have been reacting to the cold formalism in many pulpits of his day.

Bridges expressed concern over preachers who enter the pulpit unprepared, speak above their people, and do not stay on task (193, 199-201).  These issues all relate in some measure to preparedness.  The modern pastor who finds it difficult to make time for sermon preparation amidst the clamor of responsibilities calling for his attention would do well to consider Bridges’ words.  In many ways, he roots the importance of preaching in the importance of ministry in general.  We must speak in such a way and with such effectiveness that we can be heard.  It also seems important for churches to understand this as well.  Many churches are designed in such a way, and put such excessive expectations upon their pastors, that there would be absolutely no time for sermon preparation if they were to do half of what is expected.  Pastors must strive to tactfully communicate to their parishioners that the preparation of sermons is essential to their task and calling.

Bridges’ comments concerning prayer are especially helpful today.  There seems to be something of a revival in interest concerning prayer in Evangelical circles.  It is important to realize that this has always been a need for Christians in general and Christian communicators in particular.  Bridges saw prayer as the most important component of the sermon preparation.  Without prayer, all will be ineffectual (213).

One of the more interesting aspects of Bridges’ discussion of sermon preparation is his consideration of the preaching of the law.  This is important not only because it relates directly to the discussion of biblical theology, but also because Bridges’ discussion of it shows that the Church has been grappling with understanding the place of the law and, more generally, of the Old Testament, for some time.  It is also of interest that Bridges felt the topic important enough to deal with at some length.

Bridges argues that the preaching of the law is important insofar as it stands as part of the word of God.  He lists a number of benefits that the law offers to us today and rejects the notion that preaching on the law must necessarily be “legal preaching” (223-224).  For Bridges, the law still makes man aware of his sinfulness and thereby drives him to Christ.  In this sense, the presentation of law is essential to a proper presentation of the gospel.  It also offers good rules for righteous living.  Significantly, Bridges labels a wholesale neglect of the law as “antinomian” (225). He also attributes the lack of holiness in the lives of many believers with the Church’s neglect and misunderstanding of the use of the law (228).
One cannot help but feel that Bridges was reacting in many ways to what we might call “easy believism” or “cheap grace.”  The modern Church, too, has removed the sting of the law from its presentation of the gospel.  What it is left with is a form of grace that has been reduced to little more than a cure-all for the consciences of its members.  Without understanding the law, we cannot understand the glory of the cross and the holiness of God.  Bridges should be heard on this point, as he should be heard on most other points he raises in this book.

Bridges also laments for the Anglican church in the loss of many of its people to the dissenting groups because the gospel was not being preached sufficiently (245).  He warns against the gospel getting lost in doctrinal preaching that does not point to Christ, doctrine for its own sake, we might say (254).  Furthermore, in a most moving section of the book, Bridges argues that effective gospel preaching is always preaching that arises from a heart personally convicted concerning the truths of the gospel (262).  Gospel preaching is also to be practical and applicable to the lives of men.  Moralistic preaching that does not speak of Christ is to be rejected, as is purely abstract preaching that does not touch life (265-268).

Today’s churches, especially today’s Protestant churches, need to return to the high view of the gospel which Bridges obviously held.  Preaching in too many cases has been reduced to platitudes and mere lessons on morality.  The clamor for practical teaching has led to the false dichotomy of “practical” versus “doctrinal,” as if the two could be separated.  Bridges has done a masterful job of showing that the two are, in fact, wedded to one another when done correctly.  This means that his words confront the preacher who revels in abstract doctrines alone just as it confronts the preacher who has become little more than a therapist behind a pulpit.  The temptation to be “practical” must not be pursued to the exclusion of the true doctrines which lead to holiness.

In terms of how best to approach preaching, Bridges states that both topical and expository preaching are valid expressions of the proclaimed word, though he does seem to favor expository preaching a little more (284-286).  This tacit approval of topical preaching is actually somewhat surprising as it might be assumed that he would hold slavishly to expository preaching.  However, it must be noted that he does not define topical preaching in such a way as to justify preaching which is not closely wedded to the text.  In actuality, he felt that the two schemes should be joined in a “judicious mixture” (284).  In truth, it is clear that he felt true preaching to be, in all cases, biblical preaching.  Nonetheless, his acknowledgment of the potential uses of topical preaching shows some degree of variety and would perhaps offer something for those who hold slavishly and narrowly to expository preaching alone to consider.

As an aside, there is a wonderful example of doctrinal humility in Bridges’ writing as well.  In his discussion of preaching wisely, Bridges notes that Calvinists and Arminians might perhaps have something to learn from one another.  Calvinists might learn some sense of “holy fear” from Arminians and Arminians might learn some sense of God’s sovereignty from Calvinists (304).  Bridges is clearly a Calvinist and seems to hold deep convictions in this area.  It is therefore all the more interesting that he would even suggest that Calvinists and Arminians might learn something from each other.  In a debate as fierce as that which exists between these two camps, it is quite telling to see a very earnest believer in one side look at the matter with  humble objectivity.  One can only wish that modern Calvinists and Arminians, while not sacrificing their convictions for a superficial harmony, might be willing on occasion to understand what drives the convictions of the other camp.

Bridges is also admirably able to see the responsibility that the Anglican church held for seeing so many people move to the dissenting groups, Methodists and “Anabaptists” (317f).  He lays some measure of the blame on the abstract and ineffective preaching occurring in Anglican pulpits.  This, again, shows a great measure of humility and introspection on his part.  Perhaps Baptists could learn a lesson here in how it responds to the movement of Baptists into, for instance, Mormonism.  Traditionally, we responded by speaking of the heresy of Mormonism, as well we should.  But perhaps we should first of all look to our own pulpits, as Bridges did, and see our own responsibility in the loss of our people.  Bridges seemed to understand, as we should, that if our people are being fed, they will not so quickly look elsewhere for nourishment.

Finally, Bridges’ instruction for ministers to know their people and love their people is a sorely needed word as well.  He notes that ministers should know the young people of their church and that they should feel a particular burden for all of their parishioners (346-347).  In fact, the effectiveness of our preaching depends upon our care for the people throughout the week (350).  This means that favoritism should be avoided at all costs and that the minister should look upon his flock as a parent looking at his children (358, 360).

Personally, this word was very convicting.  How easy is it to become closed up in our offices begrudging the “interruptions” by our people, when they are precisely what our real business is about?  Bridges challenged all ministers to increase in their love for their flock.  In so many words, he was reinforcing the old adage that the people “will not care what we know until they know that we care.”  Furthermore, by equating ministers and their flock with parents and their children, Bridges was challenging ministers to increase in the fervency of their love as well as in their patience, for parents must be, above all, patient.

In all, Charles Bridges’ The Christian Ministry stands as a surprisingly relevant and powerful book.  Every modern pastor should read it preferably before, and possibly to the exclusion of, more contemporary works on the ministry.  Bridges work has endured because it has bypassed the faddishness of a particular moment and has instead delved deep into the heart of the core issues of ministry.  Most importantly, it is written from a heart of experience and sincerity.  There is deep Christian conviction throughout and one senses that the lessons learned were forged on the anvil of a life devoted to Christ.

Karl Barth’s Dogmatics in Outline

Speaking in the summer of 1946, Karl Barth delivered a series of lectures to a group of faculty and students at the University of Basel.  Against the backdrop of the massive societal upheaval of World War II, Barth chose to allow the Apostles’ Creed to act as his outline for the lectures.  In commenting on the various articles of the Creed, Barth revealed an approach to theology that is at once rooted in the classical confession of the Church yet relevant to his modern context as well.  An evaluation of the lectures reveals a number of consistent characteristics among his approach to dogmatics.  Barth’s lectures reveal that he saw Christian dogmatics as being necessarily proclaimed, epistemologically ultimate, biblically based, tied in with the greater historical witness of the Church, restored to its true form in the Reformation, and, above all, relevant.

Barth defines dogmatics as the proper content of the Christian proclamation.  He contended that dogmatics stands “halfway between exegesis and practical theology” (12).  That is, dogmatics is neither the science of interpretation nor the act of application.  Rather, dogmatics is concerned with a foundation of content on the basis of which we speak.

It is essential that the place of proclamation in Barth’s conception and approach to dogmatics be discussed as it stands antecedent to all other attributes of his methodology.  For Barth, proclamation is the sine qua non of dogmatics.  The call to proclaim runs throughout the entire series of lectures.  When considering his sense of urgency and necessity in discussing proclamation, it is imperative to consider not only the personal risk Barth took in not accommodating his proclamation in Hitler’s Germany, but also the certain poignancy and tension of his comments as they were directed to German Christians who were just then having to deal with the tragedy of the German Church’s overall silence during the turbulent years of the war.  This is not to suggest that Barth’s emphasis on proclamation was somehow deceptive or intent upon correction or rebuke per se, or that it was not germane to the overall flow of his thought and approach to dogmatics, but only that there may have been a pastoral intention behind the emphasis as well.

Barth posits proclamation into the very meaning of dogmatics.  For Barth, dogmatics is not merely concerned with content but more so with “the content of proclamation in the Christian Church” (11).  In fact, he argues that “there would be no dogmatics” if it were not the Church’s responsibility to proclaim its content.  He saw proclamation as necessary not only to the definition of dogmatics, but of Christianity as well.  In his twenty-third lecture he noted that “Christians are messengers in Christ’s stead” (149).

The issue of proclamation stands behind two of the most impassioned and personal comments that Barth makes, with the possible exception only of his discussion of National Socialism in the eleventh lecture.  The first instance is one in which Barth speaks out against the concept of insular Christianity.  While discussing “Faith as Confession” in his fourth lecture, Barth first of all condemns any attempt at a personalized and non-proclaimed faith as actually uncommittment and dishonesty.  He then concludes this lecture by upbraiding faith that is lived in a “snail’s shell” as essentially disbelief.  The second instance comes in a fascinating and moving episode in which Barth reveals that some have approached him with concerns about how his lectures may be making non-Christians in the audience feel.  He notes that he has “always laughed” at such concerns and points to the Church’s commission to speak as well as the power of Christianity to bind people together.

All of this is to show that Barth not only deemed proclamation as the essence of dogmatics, but also that he lived in fundamental integrity with this belief.  One senses in the exclamation points, intensity, and colloquialisms of his speech at these points that the issue of proclamation stands as a watershed issue in his own mind.  It was an issue that nearly cost him his life as a professor and an issue which he obviously believed would either validate or refute the Church and for all that it stands.

Concomitant with Barth’s emphasis on proclamation is his obvious conviction concerning the primacy or epistemological ultimacy of Christian dogmatics.  It is of no small import that Barth speaks on the primacy of the Christian revelation most fully in his twelfth lecture, “God’s Only Son.”  Thus, his belief in the ultimacy of Christianity is fundamentally Christological.

Barth acknowledges the existence of a whole host of non-Christian teachings and assertions.  He does not deny that many of these have very important things to say.  Nonetheless, he concludes that “we must say of these revelations, that they are lacking in a final, simply binding authority” (82-83).  Thus, Barth rejected an excessively latitudinarian ecumenism that reduces the truth-claims of Christianity to being merely one set of pronouncements among many others of equal importance.  Furthermore, Barth points to Christ and, specifically, to His divinity as the foundation for his assertions.  Christ was God and, as such, speaks with a final authority (84).

Barth’s understanding of the primacy of Christian dogmatics is crucial insofar as it stands against the grotesquely simplistic relativism of a modern pluralistically religious society.  His claim is also interesting as it stands in the immediate aftermath of the holocaust.  In today’s society, assertions of Christian epistemological ultimacy are often pointed to as that which formed the ideological basis for such horrors as the anti-Semitic underpinnings of the “final solution,” among other things.  To find, then, in Barth, a man who risked life and limb to oppose the anti-Semitism of Hitler’s National Socialism yet, at the same time, who proclaimed the finality of the Christian message, is to find one of the too few examples of true Christian integrity in the war-torn Europe of the mid-twentieth century as well as an answer to the claim that such assertions of primacy equate to the atrocities of anti-Semitism.

Barth’s approach to dogmatics also reveals that he felt the Christian scriptures to be of essential importance in the formation of our dogmatic assertions.  Throughout the entire series of lectures, while using the Apostolic Creed as his framework, Barth immerses his discussion thoroughly in scripture.  In fact, he sees the Bible as the “standard” by which all claims must be weighed (13).  That is, the truthfulness or falseness of our claims is determined by their fidelity to the biblical text.  Barth also understood the Bible to be the clarifying and deciding factor in our understanding of church government (146).

It is more than clear that Barth cherished the Reformation maxim of sola scriptura.  To begin with, he appeals to scripture as the authoritative objective standard of truth in the Christian Church.  Such subjective appeals as those made to “my thoughts, or my heart” do not carry the weight of scripture (13).  Again, in his exaltation of the Bible over subjective experience, Barth stands in contrast to the modern groundswell of sympathy for purely existentialist expressions of faith which possess little more than the adherents’ whims and fancies as the grounds for their assertions.

What is more, Barth, while showing great respect for the historic confessions of the Church, as is evidenced by his use of the Apostle’s Creed and not-infrequent appeals to the Heidelberg Catechism, nonetheless saw such creeds as secondary to Scripture (13).  No doubt this conviction lies behind Barth’s insistence that the Church concern itself with the careful study and proclamation of the Bible and that it not let the scriptures denigrate into “a dead book with a cross on the cover and gilt edging” (146).  In so doing, Barth’s view of the authority of the Bible must be seen as thoroughly reformed.

Yet, Barth’s understanding of biblical authority did not negate that possibility of dogmatic expressions whose linguistic expressions do not match with legalistic strictness the form of the Hebrew Old Testament or Greek New Testament.  This is made clear in Barth’s discussion of Christ in his twelfth lecture.  In speaking of the divinity of Christ, Barth appeals with approval to the Nicene Creed’s language.  He then speaks against those who protest that the language of the Creed is not the language of scripture, noting that the “Bible is not a letter-box” and that the Church is justified in speaking theological truths on the basis of scripture even if those truths are expressed in words not found in the Bible itself (85).  This is significant insofar as it offers a corrective against unduly restrictive understandings of scripture and theological discourse.  For Barth, the truths of scripture, not scripture’s particular articulation of those truths, were exclusive.

While Barth’s dogmatics are biblical in nature, and while he asserts the supremacy of scripture over all of the confessions of the church, the prominence of the Church’s historic expressions of faith in these lectures warrants the claim that Barth saw the historic witness of the Church as crucial to the formulation and accurate proclamation of Christian verities as well.  There is, of course, the obvious and overshadowing presence of the Apostle’s Creed in Barth’s lectures.  He explains that he chose the model of the Creed simply because of its familiarity and that many other models might suffice, but one would not be remiss in seeing Barth’s appeal to the Creed as reflective of his own belief in the sustaining presence of God’s hand throughout the history of the Church.  It is more than ironic that a man who is considered by many to be perhaps the most important Protestant theologian of the twentieth century should model his lectures on the Creed, but it is certain that Barth would not have found it so.  It is clear that he felt himself to be standing in the stream of the great witness of the Church throughout time.

While acknowledging that the confessions of the historic Church is not “binding” upon us in the manner in which scripture is binding, Barth nonetheless acknowledges a “non-binding” authority.  He argues for taking the witness of the Church throughout time “seriously,” and, in a fascinating image, likens the authority of those who have preceded us to the authority of a parent over a child (13).  Thus, we should honor the historic confessions of the church.  In fact, Barth twice scolds those Christians who would make light of, neglect, or easily dismiss the historic witness of the Church.  In his defense of the language of the Nicene Creed regarding the deity of Christ, Barth labels the dismissal of “orthodoxy” as “barbaric,” uneducated, and disrespectful (85).  Later, in his fourteenth lecture, Barth defends the Council of Chalcedon’s articulation of “hypostatic union” and dismisses the modern weariness of such articulations as “plebeian” and the result of a “barbaric intellectuality.”  In truth, Barth, on these two different occasions, seems almost frustrated with the Church’s shallow respect for the historic Church’s efforts in articulated theological verities.

One shudders to think what Barth would make of the shockingly excessive individualism of modern American Protestantism.  Too many expressions of modern Protestantism resemble a ship without an anchor.  The banality of the superficial “Jesus and me” mentality exhibited time and again in our churches is less a result of the indisputable overall downplaying of the mind in our church contexts than it is a deliberate determination that the historic witness of the church is simply not as important as the subjective and often emotivistic experience between the individual and Jesus at this moment.  The emptiness of many Protestant expressions of worship have even led to something of an exodus of Protestants to Greek Orthodoxy and even Roman Catholicism.  One of the primary reasons for such moves is the perceived and oftentimes actual neglect of historical moorings among Protestants.  Against such debilitating impediments as these, Barth’s respect for the patristic and confessional utterances of the Church offers a resounding rebuke.

It must be noted too that Barth’s approach to dogmatics was fundamentally Reformed.  His appeal to sola Scriptura has already been mentioned, but there remains a number of indications of his affinity for the witness of the Reformed church in particular.  In Barth’s twenty-second lecture on the Church, he makes a rather fascinating comment which can be taken as a summary of his thoughts concerning the history of the Reformation.  He comments that “the Reformers came and the Roman Church remained behind the Reformed Church and separated from it” (145).  By claiming that it was the Roman Church which separated from the Reformed Church and not vice versa, Barth was making a none-too-subtle statement regarding his belief that it was the Reformed Church which carried on the true gospel.  In this sense, the Roman Church was the schismatic church.

This idea is also implicitly evident in Barth’s use of the Apostolic Creed in his articulation of a reformed theology.  The very sight of a reformed theologian using the Apostolic Creed as his framework suggests that a conviction concerning the restorative nature of reformed theology to the purity of apostolic doctrine is evident.  It is obviously assumed by Barth that, if not necessarily in all of their particulars, the theologies of Luther and Calvin may generally stand with the Creed in theological unity.

Barth’s reformed proclivities are further evident in his frequent appeals to Calvin, Luther, and the Hiedelberg Catechism.  He appeals to Calvin in his discussion of the creation and of the Church (58, 142).  He interacts with Luther in his discussion of heaven and earth and the lordship of Christ, and references him in discussing baptism (60, 88, 150).  In so doing, Barth gives his stamp of affirmation to the validity of knowing and studying the theology of the reformers.  More than this, by offering these sentiments in the context of the Protestant church of Germany, Barth was implicitly pointing to the ongoing validity of reformation itself.  He did not interact with the reformers solely because his particular church context called for such or because he chose to use them as mere historical examples.  Thus, not only the particulars of the reformers’ theology is worthy of our consideration, but their belief that the church in every age needs to be reflective and reforming is as well.

The modern Protestant church would do well to mark Barth’s belief in the relevancy of reformed theology.  Too many churches seem to regard the maxims of the Reformation as either irrelevant studies in historical theology, or else they are merely assumed without understanding the reformers’ arguments that lie beneath them.  Barth’s lectures reveal a familiarity and interaction with the reformers which suggests that their words need not only to be heard, but comprehended in the modern church.

The most interesting aspect of Barth’s dogmatics is his application of theological truths to his particular day and society.  By applying the truths of the Creed to the particular social, ecclesiastical, and political circumstances of postwar Germany, Barth was suggesting that theology truly belongs not in the ivory tower, but on the street.  While he may, at times, indulge in speculative theology, Barth was no mere speculative theologian.  He makes this clear in his quite moving statement from the fourth lecture:  “If our faith is real, it must encroach upon our life” (32).  Theology, for Barth, spoke to the present day if it spoke at all.  This is clearly seen in many instances in his dogmatics.

In his discussion of Christ as the Savior, Barth addresses the issue of anti-Semitism within the Church by reminding his audience of the Jewishness of Jesus as well as of the place of Israel in God’s redemptive plan.  In fact, Barth suggests that the Church will suffer if it does not properly understand the place of Israel in salvation history (75).  From here, he moves on to a strong condemnation of “the anti-Semitic core” of National Socialism (76).

By even addressing what was certainly a relevant and emotionally-charged issue around the entire world in the mid-twentieth century, Barth showed great daring and acumen.  More than that, however, he showed that the Church cannot and dare not remain silent at the risk of offending those who might disagree.  Furthermore, Barth showed that the Church must not be afraid to address the matters of the state.  His discussion of National Socialism therefore shows the Church that, whatever its views of the relationship of church and state might be, it must not cease to speak where there is evil.
Without trying to read into Barth’s discussion of relevant political issues more than is warranted, it must be noted that he would have seen any church’s refusal to address political issues at all as unfortunate.  It seems within many American churches as if political issues and social issues are taboo as far as sermons are concerned.  On the other end of the spectrum, it seems as if some churches speak of little else.  Barth appears to offer a mediating position.  His concern is primarily theological, yet it necessarily must address certain political instances as theology.  In other words, Barth certainly considered himself to be “doing theology” while discussing National Socialism as much, if not more so, as he did when discussing the language of Chalcedon.  Theology, to Barth, was not only penultimate, it was expansive and encroached upon all areas of life by necessity.

On a smaller scale, Barth’s discussion of political issues strikes at the very root of the unfortunate secular/religious dichotomy that many believers have claimed for their own beliefs.  Barth certainly would have recoiled at the American believers who suggest that their beliefs in God do not affect their political understandings or their stances on social issues (92).  The assumptions behind the “religiously conservative/socially liberal” dichotomy, for example, would have seemed unwarranted to him. If this state of belief were reached after careful theological reflection, it would be legitimate as a matter of conviction.  But this distinction has become a cheap way out for many within the church not to have to apply theological truths to contemporary life.  Most tragically, it represents a theological fallacy by assuming that God’s pronouncements may be compartmentalized in one corner of our greater ideologies to the extent that they do not intrude upon other beliefs.

So strident were Barth’s convictions in this regard that he proclaimed making “the Confession heard in the sphere of the world” to be the “one task” of the Church (33).  Subsequently, he rebuked the Church for its all-too-often irrelevant language.  The Church is to speak the truths of God in the language of its culture.  In this sense, Barth saw theology as inherently evangelical.  It must be taken to the world in terms that the world can understand.  Perhaps here, more than in any other area, Barth puts a burden on the preaching ministry of the church.  Pastors must proclaim God’s truth in ways in which it can be comprehended.  More generally, Barth intended this idea to be applied to all believers.

One need not wonder long what Barth would have made of many churches and denominations that have become so inward focused as to make them largely irrelevant in the culture.  On the other hand, it can only rightly be argued that Barth did not intend in his arguments for relevancy for churches to achieve this at the expense of truth.  Specifically, Barth’s dogmatics show that he would have no tolerance for radical expressions of “seeker-sensitive” churches which downplay and even neglect Christian teaching in an effort to reach people.  We are to be relevant, but we are to be relevant with and in God’s truth.

Furthermore, Barth’s call for theological earnestness and efforts towards relevancy throughout these lectures stand as something of an indictment against much of the North American church growth philosophies.  Barth would have looked at some of the more bizarre expressions of this philosophy with disdain.  Translating, as he called it, “the language of the pulpit” into the language of the people does not mean you jettison the truths being expressed in the pulpit or even that you seek to remove their offensiveness to modern ears.  Rather, it means that you take the message of Christ, which is necessarily offensive and intrusive as it speaks to all areas of human life, and communicate it in such a way that lost men and women in a particular society may comprehend it.

A careful study of Barth’s dogmatics would do much good for today’s churches.  Whether one agrees with all of Barth’s methodologies and arguments, his attempts at communicating classical Christian expressions within the context of a turbulent and broken cultural and societal atmosphere stand as a wonderful example to the modern Church of how to go about speaking the truths of God.  His refusal to compromise his theological convictions or to remain quiet on the issues surrounding his particular cultural and political surroundings present a model that any Church would be wise to emulate.

Timothy George’s Theology of the Reformers

[The following is an essay on Luther, Zwingli, Calvin, and Menno Simons that is based on Timothy George’s tremendous work, Theology of the Reformers.  I wrote it while a student in Dr. George’s seminar on the Reformation at the Beeson Divinity School.  I highly recommend Dr. George’s book.]

 

The sixteenth century was a time of massive societal and religious turbulence and upheaval.  The movement known as the Protestant Reformation would forever change the theological, ecclesiastical, and ideological landscape of the Christian church in Europe and, subsequently, around the world.  The key players in this grand drama are often grouped beneath the umbrella moniker of “reformers,” and this is not without reason.  While the leaders of the Reformation do not represent a pristinely monolithic philosophical entity by any stretch of the imagination, they nonetheless share enough overall similar characteristics to warrant the single term “reformers.”  That being said, it must be acknowledged that there were enough divergent opinions, incompatible theologies, and strong personalities among Luther, Zwingli, Calvin, and Menno Simons to lead to sharp disagreements and, tragically, even to bloodshed among the different “strands” of the Reformation.  Therefore, the Reformation presents a picture of unity yet disharmony, filial affection yet sometimes sharp and even deadly contentions, as well as singularity of purpose yet dissension.  To see this, it is perhaps best to see how these four representatives of the Reformation comply and dissent with and from one another on the popular theological maxims that have emerged from the Reformation:  sola Christussola scripturasola fidesola gratia.  Furthermore, the reformers’ understanding of the Church’s relationship with the state needs to be explored since these understandings helped shape the direction and history of the Reformation itself.

Before any comparisons of thought should be entered into, it is of paramount importance to realize that the reformers did not envision themselves as having revolted from the Church.  Rather, they felt that they were promoting and restoring the true Church by ridding it of the excessive, unnecessary, damaging, and superfluous elements of theological error, soteriological misunderstanding, ecclesiastical corruption and abuse, and unscriptural practices and customs that had grown up, through time, in the church to the point of blotting out the purity of the Word of God.  This becomes evident when one considers Luther’s dismay over the term “Lutherans,” Zwingli’s removal of “unnecessary” elements from the décor of the churches as opposed to building “new” churches, the social and religious structure of Calvin’s Geneva, and even the staunchly literal hermeneutic which Menno Simons employed in his effort to restore the Church to the “purity” of the apostolic model (53,131, 286-7).  While Simons was the most extreme in his rejection of the vestiges of the Roman church, it still must be noted that none of these four reformers envisioned themselves as founders of new churches on the basis of new revelations.  Rather, they all saw themselves, to some degree or another, as returning to the biblical picture of the Church.

It would appear that the maxim sola Christus was the cornerstone of the Reformation, even more so than sola scriptura or sola fide.  While the Reformation must not be seen as merely a movement of negation, a movement defined solely by what it rejected, it cannot be denied that the reformers were actively involved in the stripping away of theological excesses.  To this end, all four reformers argued for the primacy of Christ and His atoning sacrifice over and against the earthly “vicar of Christ,” the penitential system of the Roman Church which seemed to suggest that a whole host of external rites and passages were necessary in addition to the cross, and a eucharistic system which had been denigrated to a form of commerce, abuse, and popular magic.

Undoubtedly, these four reformers made their most visible and shocking arguments for “Christ alone” in their rejection of the Pope and the Roman mass.  By the sixteenth century, the church of Rome’s arguments for the papacy had elevated the pope and the necessity of adherence to his word and office to salvific proportions (32-33).  To this, the reformers reacted with a vitriol that sounds shocking to modern ears.  Luther equated the pope with “spit, snot, pus, feces, urine, stench, scab, smallpox, ulcers, and syphilis” in terms of his relationship to the Church, the body of Christ (88).  Zwingli, Calvin, and Simons would all concur with Luther’s rejection of the papal system as it stood, if not the particulars of his language.

While the reformers undoubtedly had political reasons for opposing the rule of the pope, it was primarily for theological reasons that they did so.  Luther was no doubt incensed, for example, about the funneling of German money to the construction project of St. Peter’s basilica.  Yet his nationalistic anger paled in comparison to his sense of outrage over the doctrinal illegitimacy of the theological underpinnings of the entire papal system.  The same can be said of Zwingli, who spent much of his life, including the last moments of it, enmeshed in the political struggle for the freedom of the Protestant lands of Switzerland against the church of Rome.  His wielding of the two-headed axe against the enemy Catholic soldiers was fueled as much if not more so by his rejection of the false doctrine behind the Papacy than by his desire for political independence.

By claiming that Christ alone was the head of the Church, the reformers were reacting to the office of the Roman pontiff.  To all four of these men, the Word of Christ bore more authority than any papal bull.  Furthermore, salvation was in Christ alone.  The Pope did not bear the keys of heaven and hell in regard to the eternal destinies of man.  Nor did the vestiges of the entire commercial system of salvation (relics, liturgies, chants, et al) have any place in the ordo salutis.  Christ was sufficient.  In this regard, even the magisterial reformers warrant the adjective which has come to be applied to the Anabaptists and their kin:  radical.  They were radical in their Christocentric understanding of the Church.

As clear as the reformers were on this point, it is difficult to understand why some of today’s Protestant believers, denominations, and churches are still, in essence, seeking to establish a Pope.   Be it a favorite author whose notions are slavishly adhered to, a denominational champion whose word is rarely tested by the scriptures, or a pastor who has gathered, and/or has been given, nearly incomprehensible power of the life of a congregation, many Protestants today seem to be crying out, like the children of Israel, for a king.  Against all such exaltations and near deifications of earthly figures stand the reformers’ theological arguments against the papacy.  As such, the reformers’ attacks upon the papacy still stand as crucial to the ongoing life of today’s churches.

Closely wedded to the concept of sola Christus was the concept of sola Scriptura.  In so many ways, the Reformation appears to be as much of a general intellectual revolution as a theological one.  The Reformers returned the Bible to the people and, in so doing, made a dramatic philosophical statement concerning not only the right of men to read the scriptures but even their ability to do so.  To be sure, the reformers would recoil in horror at the hermeneutical anarchism and isolationist interpretative approaches of much modern Protestantism.  In truth, that the widespread dissemination of the scriptures along with the Protestant teaching that all should search the scriptures resulted, in some cases, in such unfortunate eisegetical practices is clearly seen in the bemoanings of Thomas Hobbes as well as, tellingly, of the reformers themselves (80).  In a move that is strikingly relevant to many discussions surrounding the authority of scripture today, Calvin argued against those who were promoting individualistic experience over the Bible’s teachings (197).  The magisterial reformers were united in their condemnation of such practices among the more exotic strands of the radical reformation as was Menno Simons himself.

Yet, such individualistic interpretations are merely the opposite extreme of the hermeneutical hubris of a pontifical system which saw the scriptures as the sole property of the Pope, priests, fathers, and councils.  For all of its potential abuses, the Protestant return of the scriptures to the people, aided in wide measure by the new printing press, led not only to the moving sight of the uneducated learning to read the Word of God, but also to scenes of boldness on the part of the laity in the face of the Bible “experts” that cannot help but move even the most cynical heart (273, 291).  Thus, sola scriptura, while not itself insulated from abuses, was offered by the reformers as an essential corrective against the captivity of the scriptures to the Roman church.

The reformers argued that the scriptures stand above all human proclamations, be they by pope, council, or creed.  Luther’s own “conversion” came from his personal encounter with the Holy Spirit through the study of scripture, notably Romans 1:17 (69).  Zwingli demonstrated his belief in sola Scriptura through a homiletical move which shocked the people.  On January 1, 1519, he set aside the lectionary for good and began preaching through the book of Matthew in the Great Minster church in Zurich, thereby illustrating his conviction concerning the primacy and centrality of the Word of God in the operation and instruction of the Church (113).  Calvin likewise lashed his preaching to the Word of God and also developed a full-orbed theology of scripture.  Calvin viewed the Bible as the inspired Word of God, which had been given to men through men inspired by the Holy Spirit.  As such, it stands above all other human utterances.

In Menno Simons’ approach to the Bible, we find a consensus with the views of the magisterial reformers yet a variance as well.  It has often been said that Luther hatched the egg which Erasmus laid.  What is meant by this is that Luther took the Erasmian approach to reformation to its conclusion.  It might also be said that Simons hatched the egg that Luther laid regarding sola scriptura.  Simons agreed with the other three reformers in their emphasis on the authority of scripture above all other human utterances.  However, he developed what might be called the most thoroughgoing hermeneutic of literalism among the three.  Infant baptism proved to be “ground zero” for Simons’ departure point from the magisterial reformers.  Through his study of the scriptures, Simons became convinced that infant baptism is nowhere taught or seen in the Bible and should therefore be rejected (260).  He came to similar conclusions concerning transubstantiation.  Thus, Simons articulated a theology of scripture not only against the church of Rome, but also against Luther, Zwingli, and the other reformers.  While Simons’ hermeneutic opened the door for the abuse of hyper-literalism, he must be commended for carrying sola scriptura to its conclusions.

That the reformers posited a theology of the primacy of scripture over all other human utterances is evident.  Yet, it is important to note that Luther, Calvin, and Zwingli did not thereby shun the importance of the historic witness of the church as it was articulated in the patristic writings, creeds, and councils.  On the contrary, it is clear that Augustine contributed heavily to the harmatalogy and soteriology of Reformation theology and was widely esteemed among most of the reformers (48, 74).  Luther called for and practiced a renewed study of patristic writings, used the Apostle’s Creed, and spoke in the language of Nicea and Chalcedon (57, 82).  Zwingli likewise showed an affinity and appreciation of the Church’s historic statements of faith (128-129).  Calvin also made frequent use of the early fathers and appears to have been heavily influenced by Anselm (197, 220-223).  Even Menno Simons, who chastised Luther and Zwingli on their mingling of patristic and creedal statements with the statements of scripture, could not avoid, on occasion, using the theological language of the councils or even appealing to the patristic sources when it would support his own position (275).

Thus, while the reformers argued for the primacy of scripture, they were not arguing that the historic witness of the church was without merit or that it could not be used to the edification of the Church.  Rather, they were arguing that this witness should not be granted the authority which is rightfully afforded only to scripture.  This is important not only because it brings the maxim of sola scriptura into sharper focus, but also because it stands as something of a corrective to much modern Protestantism.  The magisterial reformers especially would have found the widespread modern denigration of the importance of knowing the historical witness of the church to be tragic.  They would rightly point to the scandalously fragmented horizon of Protestantism as the result of fostering an almost arrogant hermeneutic in which the modern believer approaches the Bible as if their individual  experience with it is what is most important with no recourse to the historic witness of the church.  They would perhaps be suspect of any extreme anti-creedalism which divorces itself from the history of God’s people and their articulations of doctrinal and theological verities as well.  To be sure, the magisterial reformers would point out to many Protestant denominations and churches that simply ignoring the wisdom of our fathers is almost as scandalous as elevating their writings to the stature of holy writ.

What is more, there is evidence that the reformers would have issued clear rebukes of any types of theological narrowness concerning specific theories of the inspiration of scripture.  While all of the reformers argued for the authority of the Bible, Luther and Calvin show evidence of having read the scriptures with a critical eye.  This is seen, for example, in Luther’s relegation of James, Hebrews, Jude, and Revelation to an appendix of his Bible and in Calvin’s emphasis on the humanity of the biblical writers as well as his occasional conclusions concerning scribal errors and copyists’ mistakes in his discussion of seeming contradictions and discrepancies in the biblical text (84, 195).  Menno Simons took issue with Luther’s view of James, yet he accepted the full inspiration of the apocrypha (277).  Thus, the reformers showed a unity on the authority of the scriptures, but, with the possible exception of Menno Simons, they further revealed that they were able to approach the scriptures with some measure of freedom and openness concerning issues of canonicity and inspiration.  It is not too presumptuous to assume that they might find our occasionally stupefying arguments concerning the subtleties of differing theories of inspiration to be a little pedantic.

If the reformers all shared some affinity for the concept of sola scriptura, the same can certainly be said of the idea of sola fide.  Perhaps more than in any other reformer, salvation by “faith alone” looms over all of Luther’s works.  Luther’s rite of passage from a monk desperately trying to please a God of wrath through obedience to a variety of legalistic tenets to a champion of grace who argued that Christ’s righteousness has been imputed to believers who put their faith in Him has perhaps been oversimplified at times, but is, in essence, a matter of history.  In many ways, sola fide stands hand in hand with sola Christus as the cornerstone of the Reformation.  In his formulation of a forensic view of justification, Luther argued that Christ’s righteousness was imputed to the believer not through the purchasing of indulgences, or severe acts of penance, or an austere life of mortification, rather, believers were proclaimed righteous on the basis of the finished work of Christ.  He even argued that the sacraments were not salvific in nature (93).

Apparently, the concept of sola fide was fairly quickly abused by those who used it as a cloak for licentiousness, for Luther himself spoke clearly against such misuses of the doctrine (61).  Zwingli seems to have felt some uneasiness about the abuses of this concept.  Therefore, while he did not dispute sola fide, he defined “faith” in such a way that it could not claim authenticity if it did not produce fruits of righteousness.  For Zwingli, faith was a way of living (133).  Calvin agreed with the Lutheran concept of sola fide but did also stress that faith did not mean mere intellectual assent to a series of theological and historical propositions.  Rather, it meant an acceptance of Christ into one’s very life which resulted in the outworking of the Holy Spirit (225).  Menno Simons quite clearly felt that Luther’s emphasis on sola fide had opened the floodgates of loose living among those who claimed it and attempted to create a synthesis between faith and works that would hold the believer morally responsible for his life (270-272).  Even so, however, Simons did not teach salvation through works or return to the yoke of legalism.  He still attempted to appeal to the grace of God as it is accepted in faith as the basis for salvation.

A perusal of the writings of modern evangelicals shows that the tensions among the reformers on this point have been carried down to the modern day.  This is most clearly seen in the “lordship salvation” debate.  It would appear that many Protestants are still quite uneasy about oversimplified statements ofsola fide which almost everybody agrees have been used as licenses for loose living among many believers while at the same time they are equally uneasy about lapsing into “works righteousness” and legalism.  Perhaps one should find in the reformers’ own struggles in articulating the particulars of sola fide an important sensitivity concerning the dangers of “works righteousness” on the one hand and cheap grace on the other.

The concept of sola gratia stands in close soteriological proximity to the concept of sola fide.  Sola fidewas adhered to as a corrective against the entire system of works righteousness which formed the presuppositions undergirding the Roman eucharist and penitential system.  Sola gratia represents the magisterial reformers’ conviction that salvation was all of God, from beginning to end, and could not be bought or earned in any fashion.

Luther and Calvin stood closest to one another in their expressions of sola gratia.  Luther expressed a thoroughly Augustinian understanding of providence and predestination in his famed debate with Erasmus.  Luther argued that the will was bound and destroyed in the fall and so faith itself was a gift of grace (75-76).  Thus sola gratia stands behind sola fide in the ordo salutis.  Calvin, of course, is most well known for his statements on providence and predestination.  He essentially agreed with Luther, and, before him, Augustine, though he placed his discussion of providence within the context of creation and God’s purposes and continuing work in it.  Calvin argued that God has decreed before the foundations of the world the elect and the reprobate, that the will is not free, and that man is yet morally responsible for his life (208-209).  His purpose in doing so was not to argue theological intricacies, but rather to stress that all of the glory belongs to a God who is not absent or distant from us.  Zwingli also agreed in essence with Luther and Calvin and posited predestination within his discussion of the providence of God (124).

On the point of sola gratia, Menno Simons departed from the overall consensus of the magisterial reformers.  Arguing that Luther’s doctrine of double predestination impugned the righteousness of God by making Him the author of sin and leads to antinomianism, Simons argued that God has allowed free will to survive in man (271-272).  One must be cautious to say that Simons did not believe in sola gratia.  Undoubtedly he would argue that it was solely through God’s grace that human beings are created and given free will in the first place, but certainly such an argument would be a variance with the understanding of sola gratia expressed by the magisterial reformers.

Again, it is not difficult to see that a thorough reflection and interaction with the reformed concept ofsola gratia would be more than helpful for the modern Protestant church.  On the one hand, the magisterial reformers’ emphasis on the initiative of God’s grace would serve as a sorely needed corrective to a prevalent soteriology which seems to be more anthropological in nature than theological.  Regardless of where one stands on the questions of election, predestination, and reprobation, it must be admitted that salvation in too many churches has been reduced and diminished into a sort of contract agreed upon between God and man, who presumably stand on equal footing at the time of negotiation, and which is largely non-binding on the believer’s life.  The sheer and utter hubris of such an understanding must be encountered with a theology which sees God as the author and finisher of our faith.  It must somehow be communicated again that God is not our “pal” or “buddy.”  Rather, He is the holy God of eternity past, present, and future to whom we owe great praise for all of His works, including our salvation.  On the other hand, even if one disagrees with Menno Simons, his views in this regard offer a much-needed caution against an excessive fatalism and an antinomianism which is no more honorable to God than arrogant theological humanism.

No discussion of these four reformers would be complete without a consideration of their respective approaches to the question of the relationship between the Church and the secular government.  Obviously, the “magisterial” reformers bear some common characteristics.  The term derives from the magisterial support granted to, and solicited by, the reform movements of Luther, Zwingli, and Calvin (20).  Yet, there was great variety in their views of Church and state as well.  Menno Simons would represent the most serious departure from the views of the magisterial reformers.

Luther argued that the Church and the state were the “right hand” and “left hand” of God.  They were separate entities.  The Church should not lord over the state nor the state over the church.  Yet they were not radically separate entities.  Civil power, after all, was established by God as a concession to the fall.  Leaders should even protect the Church.  Christians, on the other hand, should obey the state insofar as the state is not asking them to disobey God (98-101).

Zwingli rejected Luther’s distinction between Church and state and argued for and sought to institute a societal order in which the Church and state worked in harmony with one another.  The Kingdom of God was visible and extended to every facet of society in Zwingli’s mind.  Thus, in Zurich, politicians and clergymen worked together.  While there were checks and balances of a sort, Zwingli sought to wed the two entities together.

Calvin argued that the rule of Christ should extend to society as a whole, including the Church and the state and encouraged believers to pray for godly magistrates.  He did not argue that leaders within the Church held any authority over civil leaders.  Yet, he stated that it was the responsibility of the magistrates to protect and aid the church in its task of transforming society along the dictates of God’s word.  However, if civil leaders did not do so, and if indeed they were wicked, Calvin urged the Church to submit to their rule and be willing to suffer in obedience (244-246).  In this regard, he differed from Zwingli who allowed for the overthrow of tyrannical rulers.

Menno Simons established the most radical dichotomy between the Church and the secular government.  For Simons and the Anabaptists, the Church was a separate entity.  Christians were to obey the civil rulers insofar as they could do so without being disobedient to God.  Yet, where the state would have the Church disobey God, as in baptizing infants as opposed to believers, the Church must obey God even if it meant, as it often did for the Anabaptists, death and torture.  Furthermore, Simons did not look to the civil authorities to help or aid the church in any way (286-287).

In truth, it is difficult not to see the position of the magisterial reformers as extremely problematic in light of the sordid and often bloody scenes which seem to have resulted from close unions of the Church and the state throughout history.  It would seem that such unions almost always end in the corruption and misuse of the church.  Yet one is right to wonder if the sometimes extreme separatism of the Anabaptism is not equally problematic.  An examination of the reformers’ positions and our own social and political context suggests that the church should be “involved” enough with the state so as not to abandon wholly hope for godliness among civil authorities yet distant enough so as to avoid the lure of political intrigues and power and the distraction of the Church from its central task of proclaiming the Kingdom of God.  As such, there should be a tension in the relationship between the state and the Church.

The magisterial reformers’ use of the civil authorities in killing dissenters on theological issues stands as one of the truly dark chapters of the Reformation.  This is difficult to understand in light of the New Testament.  Whatever else Christ must have meant by it, He certainly presupposed some degree of separation in his admonition that we “render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:21).  Whether it be the state’s coercion on matters of Church teaching in the official church of Hitler’s Germany or today in the official church of modern China or the Church’s false assumption that the hearts of men can somehow be changed by legislation, as in the assumptions behind the intense flirtation between some parachurch or denominational groups and secular political parties, close unions between the Church and the secular government almost always lead to the corruption of the Church and almost never to spiritual renewal in the government.  In this regard, the Anabaptist vision of the Church in the world is perhaps closest to the New Testament design.

In the final analysis, it might just be proven that the greatest lesson the modern Church can learn from the reformers is that it is incumbent for the Church of Christ to live in theological integrity.  It was on the basis of their theological convictions that Luther, Zwingli, Calvin, and Simons sought to reform Church and society alike.  Thus, theological conviction stands as the fountainhead for practical church and social life.

It is scandalous that the modern Protestant churches seem, with some exceptions, to have forgotten this fact.  Theology has been sacrificed on the altar of pragmatism, and doctrinal fidelity has been substituted with a minimalist theology of reduction.  As a result of this lowest common denominator theology, churches are not seeing themselves, or the lives of their parishioners, changed.

In this regard, we might even find a lesson in the schisms of the reformed churches from the Roman Church and even among the Protestant churches themselves.  For all of their excesses, which we must truly lament, it must be admitted that men willing to separate, suffer, and risk life and limb for theological convictions are preferable to an excessively permissive ecumenism that sees theology as somehow secondary to external harmony.  The reformers were above all men of conviction concerning God and the truths He has bequeathed us.  To this end, they stand united as examples of that type of conviction which the Church is in desperate need of today.

Danny Akin’s (ed) A Theology of the Church

A Theology of the Church (B&H Academic, 2007) is a major new systematic theology that is edited by Southeastern Seminary President Danny Akin and penned by him and a host of other Southern Baptist theologians.  There are 934 pages of text in the volume written by fifteen different authors.

I was very excited to hear about this project and was thrilled to see it unveiled at the LifeWay store at the 2007 SBC meeting in Houston.  I was able to get a copy some weeks ago and have been able to begin working through it.

I have decided, given the immensity of the work, the number of authors, and the wide-range of subjects to blog through the book a chapter at a time as I’m able to read it.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 is entitled, “Prolegomena:  Introduction to the Task of Theology” and was written by Gregory Alan Thornbury, the Dean and Associate Professor of Christian Studies at Union University as well as the Director of the Carl F.H. Henry Center for Christian Leadership.

Thornbury seems well-qualified to handle the issue of theological prolegomena (i.e., “what needs to be said before one begins”, p.52) and he does so admirably.  The chapter is an extensive 69 page work that left this reader feeling challenged, edified, and encouraged.

Thornbury tackles basic issues of epistemology and knowledge.  He gives a bird’s-eye overview of mankind’s quest to know by beginning with early Greek philosophy and working through the Pythagoreans, Plato, Aristotle on up to modern philosophers like Nietzsche and Focault.  Thornbury’s primary contention in this overview is that truth is unknowable insofar as the resources for truth are restricted to that which we find in our own heads.  The very possibility of truth is therefore dependent on transcendence.

Thornbury moves on to consider early Christian interactions with secular philosophy, which he depicts as a “love-hate” relationship.  In the final analysis, he believes that we must avoid the extremes of an undue skepticism concerning the usefulness of philosophy on the one hand and an uncritical acceptance of the assumptions of secular philosophy on the other.

He provides a very helpful and illuminating overview of the theological developments of Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, and William of Occam.  He handles well the scholasticism of Aquinas and the competing nominalism of William of Occam and shows how critics of Reformation thought have pointed their fingers at a kind of nominalism-run-amuck as the chief culprit in what they see as the various maladies arising from the Reformation.  Thornbury offers reasons why he thinks this is a bit of an overstatement and shows that the Reformers themselves were not uncritically enamored with Occam.

Thornbury nexts points his finger at Immanuel Kant and the rise of the Enlightenment worldview.  “Once upon a time,” he writes, “people at least understood the great verities of Christian teaching, and either believed them or denied them.  Theology mattered.  Today secularism dominates the culture of the West.  Why?  A two-word reply suffices for an answer:  the Enlightenment” (35-36).

He shows how Kant argued for the impossibility of human beings knowing theological propositions.  He traces this line of skepticism through the theological liberalism of Friedrich Schleiermacher, through the historical Jesus research of David Strauss, and then into the liberal programme of Adolf Von Harnack.  He then presents a fascinating overview of Barth’s neo-orthodox revolt against old-line liberalism, and shows the strengths and weaknesses therein.  Footnote 105 on page 43 is almost worth the price of the book, as it reveals some fascinating insights into some exchanges that occured between Carl Henry and Karl Barth.  I was intrigued to hear that Henry felt that, with all of Barth’s problems, he, Henry, was still “in the presence of a believer in the gospel” when he was with Barth (43).

Thornbury then gives a helpful overview of Southern Baptist theological works.  He likes Henry, naturally enough.  This is encouraging and one hopes that those who read Thornbury’s chapter might be encouraged to spend some time with the late-great theologian and churchman.  He’s understandably impressed with Millard Erickson’s extensive handling of prolegomena and seems frustrated at the scant treatment that other theologians devote to this important work.  Interestingly, Thornbury does not mention Wayne Grudem’s work at all, which is unusual given the popularity of Grudem’s systematic.

He concludes with a helpful overview of the ideas of “culture” and “worldview” and calls for self-awareness in terms of our own place in the cultural milieu we inhabit.  Yet, he argues, theology can be done, even in the midst of our own inherited presuppositions.  This theology must be biblical and aimed not at knowledge for knowledge’s sake, but rather at a genuine relationship with the Lord God.

Thornbury’s chapter is helpful and challenging.  Those unfamiliar with certain philosophical and theological concepts might find it a bit much, but Thornbury makes numerous efforts to explain the train of thought that he is developing.  He is obviously convinced that prolegomena is crucial to the task of doing theology.  In this conviction, he is correct.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2, “Natural Revelation,” is written by Dr. Russell D. Moore, Senior Vice President for Academic Administration and Dean of the School of Theology at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary.

Moore has written a concise and helpful overview of the fascinating topic of natural revelation.  He approaches the topic through the following progression:  Old Testament – New Testament – Church history (Patristic – Medieval & Reformation – Modern) – “How Does It All Fit Together?” – “How Does It Impact the Church Today?”.

He successfully shows that the idea of natural revelation (i.e., that revelation of God that has been instilled in the created order by God Himself) is clearly steeped in Scripture.  In the Old Testament this is most clearly seen in Psalms and, in the New, in Romans 1.

Moore wants it understood that natural revelation is not some nebulous phenomenon that exists outside of God’s will, as if it is some kind of lingering residue left over from the act of creation.  On the contrary, natural revelation is a positive assertion by God.  His very handiworks proclaim His name because He wills it.  Furthermore, this revelation, though it speaks clearly, does not speak exhaustively.  Moore argues that natural revelation is not salvific.  It is not that natural revelation does not proclaim truths about God.  It is rather that lost humanity outside of Jesus Christ inevitably rejects these truths anyway.  So the question of whether or not the secluded pagan who responds with faith to general revelation is saved is really, Moore contends, a fiction.  The problem is not that there are no secluded pagans who only have natural revelation.  The problem is that none of us turn to the things of God, no matter how much or little we know of Him.  All of us, like sheep, have gone astray.  So the gospel of Jesus Christ is needed and necessary.  Natural revelation might prepare our hearts, but only the gospel can heal them.

Moore feels that the reality of natural revelation allows us to appreciate the artistic expressions and endeavours of those who have rejected Christ but who still might communicate truths that inspire and shape us.  I am glad to hear him say this.  The “Christian ghetto” can be a suffocating (and tacky?) place to dwell, especially when so-called Christian art and writing has become so blandly provential and so smarmily kitschy.  (I am SO very glad that I can read Faulkner instead of the latest prairie romance from LifeWay!)  That being said, the truth of the gospel provides that light in and through which all human endeavours, no matter how inspiring, must ultimately be judged.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is entitled “Special Revelation” and is written by David S. Dockery, President of Union University, and David P. Nelson, Senior Vice President for Academic Administration and Dean of the Faculty at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary.  The chapter is a 56-page examination of the occasionally thorny issues surrounding special revelation.  It is handled well and constitutes a helpful and relatively thorough handling of the topic.

Dockery and Nelson argue that the ultimate “special revelation” is to be found in Jesus Christ.  Indeed, the life and salvific work of Jesus Christ comprise “the fixed center of special revelation” (120).  Outside of Christ, the scriptures constitute the authoritative expression of revelation in the life of the Church.  “It is not entirely appropriate to make a direct correspondence between Scripture and Jesus Christ,” the authors write,” but nevertheless there is an observable analogy” (129).

Dockery and Nelson are concerned that our view of inspiration honor both the humanity of the biblical writers and the hand of God Himself in the process.  “Scripture is the word of God written in the words of man” (134).  To read scripture, they argue, is to read the very word of God given to men.  They aptly handle the issue of the self-attestation of scripture and rightly point out that any view of inspiration that seeks to avoid using scripture’s own claims to such (i.e., in an attempt to avoid the charge of circular reasoning) is doomed to fail.

Their handling of the history of the Church’s view of scripture was helpful if not, at this point, somewhat predictable.  There was a high view of scripture in the patristic and, later, medieval periods.  Enlightenment skepticism discarded a high view of scripture through its liberal spokesmen (again, Schleiermacher and Strauss).  Barth and the neo-orthodox school rightly turns the tables on this liberal skepticism but does not replace it with a suitably high view of scripture.  “Therefore when we have to do with the Bible,” the writers quote Barth, “we have to do primarily with this means, with these words, with the witness which as such is not itself revelation, but only – and this is the limitation – the witness to it” (138-139).  (This does bring to mind the argument from the 2000 SBC gathering in Orlando about whether or not the Bible is revelation or a record of revelation, thus giving some credence to Paige Patterson’s charges of neo-orthodoxy among moderates.)  The authors then move on to an interesting overview of Baptist views of the Bible.

I thought the “Improper Deductions” section on 147-149 was well done.  Here the authors address five concerns or mistakes that are often made when people think about the Bible.  These five sections were concise, succint, and very helpful.

Concerning the theories of inspiration, the authors argue for the verbal/plenary view, noting that this “theory…is that which is put forward in this book as the most acceptable model of inspiration based on the Scripture’s own testimony and consensus within the history of the church” (153-154).  I note with interest the appeal to the consensus of the church throughout history.  Dockery is a fan of Tom Oden’s paleo-orthodoxy programme and one cannot help but see this in such a statement.  It is, to be sure, an encouraging sign.

Dockery and Nelson next give an interesting statement of support for the term “inerrancy.”  They believe that we can hold to the term if we mean by it the idea that “when all the facts are known, the Bible (in its original writings) properly interpreted in light of the culture and communication means that had developed by the time of its composition will be shown to be completely true (and therefore not false) in all that it affirms, to the degree of precision intended by the author, in all matters relating to God and his creation” (157).

Now, that’s an interesting definition.  I am sympathetic to it and to the explanations of the many facets of it given by Dockery and Nelson from 157 to 159.  There are those who might charge that such a definition allows the term to “die a death of a thousand qualifications,” but, unfortunately, such qualifications are necessary when trying to accurately define such a loaded term as “inerrancy.”  I am chewing on this definition a bit, but I believe I can say that I’m by-and-large comfortable with what I believe the authors are saying by putting it this way.

The chapter goes on to give a helpful overview of the process of canonization.  The authors believe we can “see God’s providential hand at work” in “the transmission, translation, preservation, and canonicity of the Bible” (170).  Indeed we can, though readers might question whether or not Dockery and Nelson have sufficiently handled the question of the Church’s role in the process of canonization.

There is a fascinating caveat on page 73 about interpretation and authority:  “Many people confuse a desire to obey Scripture’s authority with a personal insecurity that calls for a leader to tell them constantly what to do or think.  More troubling is that some leaders encourage this confusion by commingling a commitment to biblical authority with a type of authority associated with certain positions of church leadership.”

Count this among the things that make you go “hmmmm…..”  Is this a statement concerning the state of today’s Convention perhaps?  One wonders…

This is a great chapter written by some first-rate scholars that will encourage, challenge, and help you in understanding what the Bible is and what role it plays in the Church.

Chapter 4

I have been looking forward to this chapter ever since I began reading A Theology for the Church.  Chapter 4 is a 67 page chapter entitled “The Nature of God: Being, Attributes, and Acts” and is written by Dr. Timothy George, Founding Dean of The Beeson Divinity School of Samford University in Birmingham, Alabama.  Dr. George is the most significant Southern Baptist theologian writing today and is well-equipped to handle the daunting task of writing a chapter on the nature of God.

One of George’s strengths is his accessibility.  He writes with an interesting mixture of high theology and anecdotal illustration.  He begins the chapter with a story about a sermon that James Petigru Boyce preached at Southern Seminary and he ends the chapter with a long and moving section from a sermon by Charles Spurgeon.  He also makes interesting and helpful use of hymnody throughout the chapter.

George is also adept at turning a phrase.  “‘Blessed Assurance,'” he writes, “is not cheap insurance, and genuine knowledge of God is not without struggle and doubt.” (178)  And this:  “Theology has lost its joy and become a dour enterprise of idea-shuffling and puzzle-scrabbling.” (178)

George’s approach is thoroughly Trinitarian.  He begins, in fact, with a discussion of “God the Holy Trinity.”  He believes this to be the starting point for our discussions of God and believes that Trinitarian thought provides the basic structure in which all theology should operate.

He provides a helpful overview of many of the biblical names for God and moves on to a discussion of God’s majesty and God’s trustworthiness.  His overview of the New Testament concept of God is intriguing and he offers the interesting observation that New Testament theologians often actually neglect the doctrine of God in their discussions of Christ.  This presented me with a personal challenge and made me consider long and hard whether I have not done this as well in my reading of the New Testament.

He moves on to a discussion of God’s holiness, love, eternity, and knowledge.  His section on God’s love was particularly well done.  He argues that God’s love ought not be thought of only as it applies to His love for us, but rather should be thought of as an essential aspect of His very nature whether He had ever created us or not.

He handles the “open theism” question briefly but admirably.  He argues that, “Open theism grants God too much power to get him off the theodicy hook but not enough power to support a plausible doctrine of providence.” (232-233)  I thought this was an astute observation and one that I had not considered.

Finally, George lists a number of ways that a recover of a biblical understanding of God will impact the life of the church today.  This was very well done.  George believes that this recovery is absolutely essential if we are to return to a heightened sense of worship, prayer, praise, and preaching.  In this, he is absolutely correct.

This chapter alone was worth the price of the book.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5 is entitled, “The Work of God: Creation and Providence,” and was written by Dr. David Nelson, Senior Vice President for Academic Administration and Dean of the Faculty of Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary in Wake Forest, N.C.  This 50-page chapter (242-292) takes a detailed look at creation, providence, and a whole host of related issues that arise from these topics.

I don’t know.  Maybe it’s that Dr. Nelson had the misfortune of following Timothy George, or maybe I was just in a mood, but this chapter was laborious.  90% of this chapter consists of summary statements with relevant bible passages in parentheses.  This, of course, is nothing to sneeze at.  All statements about creation and providence must be couched in scripture.  But Nelson’s chapter seemed at times like a John Macarthur sermon:  point-passage-point-passage-point-passage, etc.

Dr. Nelson did offer some more detailed explanations of certain points.  For instance, he obviously wanted to deal with the problem of evil in a helpful way.  To an extent, he did so.  His biblical observations about evil were most helpful.

Anyway, a solid chapter in an overall very good book.  This chapter would be very helpful for Sunday School classes wanting to understand creation and providence.

Chapter 6

Chapter 6 is entitled “The Agents of God: Angels” and was written by Dr. Peter R. Schemm, Jr., of Southeastern Seminary.  I’ve had the honor of meeting and visiting a bit with Dr. Schemm and think a lot of him.  He strikes me as a bright, up-and-coming theologian.  If I recall, he has something like 23 kids (note: sarcasm), so I’m impressed that he had time to get a chapter written at all!  He did a commendable job on this chapter and I would recommend it as a great overview of the subject of angels.  It is thoroughly biblical, practical, and illuminating.

I appreciated the two excursi that Dr. Schemm put in the chapter.  The second was very helpful to me as I was recently trying to get my head around Genesis 6 with some friends.  I intend to bring this excursus to the attention of those with whom I was discussing this chapter.  It really helped me get a grasp on what is likely happening in Genesis 6 (though I still feel that the argument connecting Jude to Genesis 6 might have more credence than he allows).

The chapter provides some very helpful overviews of the nature and characteristics of angels, both good and bad.  I also appreciated the chart outlining various theologians’ views of the topic.  Furthermore, I thought that Dr. Schemm’s handling of such popular but controversial questions as “territorial spirits” and prayer-walking was fair, judicious, even-handed, and convincing.

In all, a great chapter and a helpful read.  If you’re wanting to get a grasp on the biblical concept of angels, this would be a great place to start.

Reflections on Theology with Dr. James Leo Garrett, Jr.

I conducted this interview with Dr. Garrett sometime in 2001 or 2002.  I previously had located and offered here just the last few questions and answers, but am happy to be able to provide the full interview now.

“James Leo Garrett, Jr. is Distinguished Professor of Theology Emeritus at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Fort Worth, Texas. He holds a B.A. from Baylor University (1945), a B.D. from Southwestern Baptist Seminary (1948), a Th.M. from Princeton Theological Seminary (1949), a Th.D. from Southwestern Baptist Seminary (1954), and a Ph.D. from Harvard University (1966). He has also studied at the Catholic University of America, the University of Oxford, St. John’s University, and Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He has taught at both Baylor University and Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and was a visiting professor at the Hong Kong Baptist Theological Seminary. He has also lectured in Colombia, Mexico, Brazil, Uruguay, Romania, the Ukraine, and at numerous U.S. schools.

He has been author, co-author, editor, or co-editor of a dozen books, including Baptist Church Discipline (Broadman Press, 1962), Baptists and Roman Catholicism (Broadman Press, 1965), and We Baptists (Providence House, 1999). He has also contributed articles to twenty-one other books and has published hundreds of journal and encyclopedia articles and book reviews.

He has been a pastor or interim pastor at a number of Baptist churches. Among other activities, he has also served as the chairman of the Commission on Cooperative Christianity of the Baptist World Alliance, was an official guest at the Secretariat for Promoting Christian Unity during Vatican Council II, was secretary of the Commission on Human Rights of the Baptist World Alliance, is a former managing editor of the Southwestern Journal of Theology, and is a former editor of the Journal of Church and State. He is currently co-chairman of the Division of Study and Research of the Baptist World Alliance.

Professor Garrett has three sons and lives with his wife, Myrta Ann, in Fort Worth.” (biographical information from his D.F. Scott Author’s Page)

Reflections on Theology – An Interview With Dr. James Leo Garrett, Jr.

Conducted by Wyman Richardson
Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary
Fort Worth, Texas

Dr. Garret, many people feel that modern American Christians are by and large disinterested in theological pursuits. Do you feel that this is an accurate assessment?

No, I wouldn’t say there is a deep disinterest. I would say that their interests are focused on issues that are important to them. For example, where did humans come from? Are we creations of God or are we the product of millions of years of evolutionary development? Is there meaningful life after death? Questions like that don’t go away, and Christians and others are interested in those questions. How can I be right with God? What does God do in relation to me and my family? How does faith and God’s will relate to my family and its problems?

These, I think, are there, although certainly there is not necessarily an interest in certain technical theological questions that maybe leadership is interested in – laity may not be. But, interested in religious and moral ultimates? Yes. I think it’s still there if you get down to people’s levels.

Can we honestly and realistically expect the modern, busy, American Christian to care about deeper theological issues? Is that a realistic goal?

I think it is if we can present those issues and keep those issues in the most practical format. The issues need to be seen as vital to life and not simply speculation and they need to show the meaning of the truth in relation to life and practice – individual’s lives, the church’s life and so on. So I think a lot of it depends on how we handle these issues. We don’t need to major on minors. We need to major on majors.

Well, by and large, I get the feeling that that is the view of theology that a lot of people have – that it’s something impractical and that it doesn’t pertain to modern life so much. Is anybody to blame for this perception that many people have or is there something we can point to as being responsible for creating that climate around theology?

Well, maybe some theological issues in the past have been taken out of proportion as to their real importance and maybe we have spent too much time on things that are not vital and, too, there’s a kind of anti-supernatural bias in our culture. There’s a secularism and a humanism there that doesn’t want to talk about God. So, you have the cultural influence that is very strong in Europe and North America but not so strong in the rest of the world – in Asia and Africa and Latin America.

Theology used to be considered “the Queen of Sciences,” but one cannot help but sense that it no longer enjoys this status among either the academic or lay communities. Do you agree with this and why do you think this is or is not the case?

Well, I’m not sure that theology has been “the Queen of the Sciences” since the Middle Ages or since the Reformation, if you mean by that the most important academic discipline. And that would not be true, obviously, in the American university or the European university today.

Now, does it have a place in the church’s life? Yes. I think the church sees the importance of theology. But in the academic community, especially the publicly funded universities and the public schools, you have a separation of the religious and, therefore, a downplaying of that in the public scene. So the place of theology is different, even, say, from German and English universities and American universities. In German and English universities you have theological faculties in a way that you don’t here. And, on the other hand, we have here a system of church-state separation that has mandated that churches do their own theology and provide for it and not depend on the university.

Well, I guess what lies behind that question – and I guess I may be wrong in my understanding of this – but were not most of our ivy league schools founded originally as seminaries?

Well, they provided training for ministers but they were never solely for that purpose. The Harvard, Yale, Princeton origins are in the training of ministers, that’s to be sure. And training for ministers was a part of that college life. But from the beginning there were always people trained for other vocations, so, in that sense, it would not be a seminary strictly speaking, but it would be a college environment in which training for ministry took place. And in each of those colleges, which became universities, they developed ultimately a divinity school or a seminary, but that was a later development. That came in the 19th century for the most part, not in the time of the origin of the college.

Is it fair to say that 100-120 years ago, though, the study of theology may have had more of a respect surrounding it by those outside of the field than it does today? Has it been relegated to a kind of ghetto in the university?

Well, let’s keep in mind that in the public universities, many of them have departments of religious studies today. You might take the University of Virginia, the University of Iowa, and schools like that, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. They all have even doctoral programs in religious studies, but they are interreligious and ecumenical. They do not represent a viewpoint, and, in those settings, it is possible to do religious studies. So it’s not completely out of the university curriculum, but it does not have a dominant role in any of those places. And in certain private universities you also have religious studies departments, as in Rice University, for example. And so those departments of religious studies do exist, but many times you have, in those settings, you’ll have Christians, Jews, Muslims and atheists all teaching in the same setting.

In a variety of different ways, I often hear people say that preachers should be less theological in their preaching and more practical. What do you make of this distinction between theology and practice and how would you respond to this idea? Where do you think this distinction comes from?

Well, I think it is possible to talk about preaching that’s more theological and more practical, but if we take our cue from the Apostle Paul in writing his letters, the doctrinal comes first usually and the practical flows out of it, or the ethical and the practical. They go together. Paul seldom does one without the other. So I think that is a clue. You can say that strong preaching, good preaching, balanced preaching has doctrinal elements in it and has moral and practical elements as well. The overall preaching ministry of the church should reflect that.

Now, it’s possible to have a kind of preaching that is very shallow theologically, and I think that would be the problem. To play down theological truth in the interest of finding some kind of non-theological church message – I think when you do that you’re in trouble. At the same time, the truths need to be related to life, and theological preaching or doctrinal preaching, needs always to have a practical side with it. How does this truth effect your life? What are the practical implications of it? When that approach is made, then I think that there is not such a hiatus between the so-called theological and the so-called practical. Good theology will be good for the church and not simply for the academic community.

How would you respond to the preacher that comes to you and says that his people are concerned about how to raise their kids well, how not to lust, how not to cheat on their taxes, these kinds of things. How are people going to find the doctrine of the Trinity, for example, applicable in those circumstances?

Well, I’m not sure that the doctrine of the Trinity is the first doctrine that they need there. It might be the doctrine of sin that needs to be emphasized or the doctrine of forgiveness. But I think it’s very important to relate truth to the issues and practices of today. I think that moral issues have to come out of some kind of worldview, some kind of faith presupposition. If your ethics are theological based, then you can have the proper wedding of the theological and the practical, the theological and the ethical.

Perhaps in many cases churches do not address, for example, family life issues enough in the past. Even taking Ephesians 5 and Paul’s view of relations between a husband and wife, for example, and Christ and the church. Perhaps we’ve underplayed that in a lot of ways and haven’t helped people see the connection. I think some of the problem is the way we’ve handled it, not the fact that the theological has no relation to the problems of the day.

Many people in the church feel that theology is largely synonymous with doctrinal controversy. When they hear the word “theology” they think of a group of men sitting around fighting about issues. Is this sentiment understandable? Is it accurate? How would you respond to this idea?

Well, I think it’s particularly true in the Southern Baptist context today because we have been through two decades of theological and doctrinal controversy. Younger people today do not even remember a time when it was different and therefore the situation we have faced does lend itself to the accusation that theology seems to be a matter of controversy. And, of course, it’s always been that way in a measure. There’s always been a need to state the Christian position over against the non-Christian, whether it be non-Christian philosophy or non-Christian religions or whether it be heresies that sort of invade the church or are on the margins of the church. There’s always been that polemical need to highlight truth over against what Christians regard as error. But sometimes controversy has overplayed itself.

This was true, for example, among Lutherans in the 17th century and that’s how Pietism grew. Pietism arose as a protest against a kind of dead orthodoxy where they were more concerned about some issues that weren’t so practical. Therefore, if you look at the history of Christianity, there’s always been the need to define error and truth, to separate and distinguish, but there’s also a need for the positive side, the teaching, the affirmation side. Perhaps that’s where we’ve been lacking in these recent years. We’ve said, “Well, this is something preachers are discussing and pastors are talking about. It doesn’t affect me. I’m a layman.” The truth is, we’ve spent far less time than we should making Christian truth applicable to the workman in the pew who’s in the workplace and needs our help.

Is it fair to say that in today’s world the average Christian would be more likely to have a reaction against public controversies in theology in the direction of agnosticism on these questions. For instance, I hear people who seem to be saying, “Nobody really knows what we think about these things otherwise we wouldn’t be always fighting about them.”

Yes, that’s possible just to dismiss the whole thing. I find that among younger pastors in our convention there is a tendency to want to throw this whole controversy in the background and say, “We’re going to do our ministry [and not worry about the controversy.]” And that’s a reaction against some of the bitterness and controversy, but unfortunately it can be a kind of neglect of teaching truth if we don’t watch it.

Are there any examples in Christian history of revivals of interest in theology among lay people?

Well, that may be a hard question to answer. Back in the early 4th century, at the time of the Arian controversy, we’re told that in Alexandria, Egypt, Arius put some of his views into little songs, little popular jingles as we would say today. People on the street would sing these. Even later, in Constantinople, in a controversy, people would be talking on the streets or singing songs.

I just mentioned Pietism a minute ago. Pietism arose out of German Lutheranism and to a certain extent out of Dutch Reformed life. That was a protest against an overemphasis on a wooden theology, but it sparked a new life for the laity that centered around small groups and Bible study and prayer. So you had a kind of practical lay revival going on that was a kind of protest against the theology of the day. It was in a sense a new theological movement and the laity were greatly affected by some of this.

Yes, there have been times, but at times it is hard to delineate some of those because, you know, in the writing of history sometimes it’s the layman who gets left out of the story. We write from the leadership viewpoint, not from the laity viewpoint.

I’d like to ask you to generalize about something here. As you look at the church and as you come into contact with students and churches, do you think there’s any possibility of something like a revival of lay interest in today?

I think it’s spotted. I think that here and there you do have examples of that. You have churches here and there that provide extended opportunities for study, small groups, discipleship groups, lay training groups, optional features in the life of the church that people can take advantage of. I think where you see that being provided there’s been a good response.

Now, that’s not very widespread, of course. In some of our new and innovative churches we have the problem of training the new converts that we have and we’re not always doing the most complete job. It’s always a challenge, is it not? I think it’s very difficult without some extensive questionnaire to assess where churches are on that. If you know of certain ones here and there you tend to generalize, but then there are other ones where not very much is being done. So it’s hard to say.

The Baptist Faith and Message is perhaps the one work of theology that the Baptist layperson is most likely to read. To what extent do you think, in light of the recent controversy, that that work is providing a sense of theological consensus among Baptists today?

Well, first of all, let’s talk about the reading. I would say that the new Baptist Faith and Message statement of the year 2000 as adopted in Orlando does provide a document that is short enough for church members to read. It’s not a long document. It’s something that can be read and read with some understanding. I think that churches ought to encourage people to read that document. I think that is definitely true.

Now, does it provide a sense of theological consensus? Well, first of all, it’s much too early to answer that about the 2000 document. Let me go back and answer that in regard to 1925 and 1963. The 1925 statement of Baptist Faith and Message was written and adopted at a time when evolution was a big issue in Baptist life, in our Baptist colleges and universities, and in our convention, and in our churches. And much of the discussion in that day was over creation versus evolution. Of course, there are many other articles in there, and it is very interesting that that document was kind of a rewriting of the New Hampshire Confession of 1833, which had been widely used in the South, which is a kind of moderate Calvinistic statement without getting involved in the Landmark positions and all of that. And so what the 1925 committee did, which was made up of leaders, including Dr. Mullins and Dr. Scarborough, was to simply overhaul the New Hampshire Confession and to add a number of articles dealing with things of importance in the twenties, including such things as religious liberty and war and peace. They were remembering the First World War when they wrote that.

Now, in 1963, the Baptist Faith and Message statement was created in response to the Elliott Controversy which, again, took Baptists back to the book of Genesis and was not a matter of biological evolution, but a matter of how we understand the early chapters of Genesis, whether a more historic approach or a more symbolic approach. And so the 63 document, which was composed, incidentally, by a committee of all the state convention presidents in that day (a very representative group, because everybody on that committee had been elected in his home state to a leadership role), overhauled the 1925 [statement], keeping the base of the New Hampshire, going back and picking up some of the Philadelphia Confession, and also doing some new writing of their own.

So I think you can say that, overall, both in 1925 and 1963, the resultant statement did, to a large extent, reflect the beliefs of Southern Baptists. There was some problem in 25 about how they were going to deal with an interpretative amendment to the document about creation and evolution, but, by and large, the document reflected the beliefs of the day. So I think you could argue, historically, that in 1925 and 1963, those documents, as adopted, did represent the broad spectrum of Southern Baptist beliefs. Now, they were not as specific in some areas as people might have wanted them to be, because one of the things that Baptist confessions had tried to do in the past was to provide a consensus among the beliefs of those who were making the confession. In other words, that it would reflect whatever they could together affirm. So built into that process was a sort of desire to arrive at consensus, and not to try to pronounce on questions where there was division within the Convention or within the local church. In other words, if you were divided on something, usually you didn’t put that division into your Faith and Message statements, your confession.

Now, what we have in 2000 are some issues where, in the Convention, there is a large measure of disagreement, and although the vote in Orlando was in favor of the document, those Southern Baptists have been highly critical of the document. And so it remains to be seen whether this statement will be as reflective of a consensus in 2000 in a way that was true in 25 and 63.

Well, then, it kind of sounds like in our history as Baptists, controversies have not only resulted in dividing us, but many times they have resulted in bringing us closer together and forcing us to draft these common understanding documents.

Yes. You know Baptists had a dual origin, even though General Baptists are a more Arminian group and Particular Baptists are a more Calvinist group. So there has never been a complete consensus, in a way, among Baptists. There have always been some differences. But it’s very interesting that over the centuries in England those two groups coalesced, so by the nineteenth century most all of them were in the Baptist Union. And so there are some tendencies for divisive issues in one period to cease to be divisive issues in another, but maybe another set of issues arises that are completely different.

So it’s too early to see where we’re going on this. And, of course, another question is how the new confession, the new Baptist Faith and Message statement, will be used, how it will be applied. That may be as big a question as what’s said in the document.

What would you say to the church that says, “We’re tired of the controversy surrounding theBaptist Faith and Message. We are going to draft our own confession of faith.”

Well, every Baptist church has the right to adopt its own confession of faith. That has always been true. Now, some churches have borrowed a text that others have already written and adopted it. Some have modified it. Some have started over. But each congregation has that prerogative and it may be that in some cases churches will want to write a briefer, maybe in some cases a less controversial statement, and, in other areas, a more definitive statement. But it would reflect the agreements that local church would have. If a church adopts a confession, it ought to represent the united convictions of the people, otherwise it becomes a tool of division.

A Catholic friend once commented to me in the middle of a discussion, “You Baptists are always talking about theology.” Do you think that we, as a denomination, are more or less focused on theology than other groups or denominations?

Well, number one, in answering that question, if I may be particular about Southern Baptists, we tend to be more concerned with theological matters, or talking theology, than would be true in the mainline Protestant denominations: Methodist, Presbyterian, Lutheran, the United Church of Christ, etc. In the mainline churches there is definitely less interest in theology, I think, and talking about it. They would be more interested in moral issues. If you follow what’s happening in those denominations today, when they have their national meetings the big issues are abortion and homosexuality. They’re not the Trinity and the Bible, falling from grace or perseverance. Those are not the number one issues. The moral issues are what divide. And so, as far as basic theological questions, I would say yes. Baptists tend to talk more theology than others.

But now, when you compare us with Roman Catholic churches, I’m not sure that you can make that statement. I think many Catholics are very capable of and do engage in theological discussions. Sometimes it gets into practical Maryology, those areas. Sometimes it, again, bleeds over into ethical issues. They have some very strong feelings about contraception and some of those things. But I’m not sure you can say that Baptists as a whole talk more theological than Catholics do. It depends on the sampling you take.

When Baptists talk theology, they tend to talk salvation and the Christian life. How do you get saved? What does it mean to be a Christian? They tend to focus their talk about issues. They tend to veer away from some of the more transcendent aspects of theology and focus on how to become a Christian. In other words, for us, talking theology always involves the plan of salvation. How do you become a Christian? For us, that’s talking theology, and sometimes we don’t get much beyond that in our talking.

One semi-personal question. You can refrain from answering me if you like. You have been a professor of theology for how many years?

Well, here and elsewhere, fifty years, all told.

Fifty years. So you’ve probably seen a lot of things come and go. Is it possible for you to make any sort of statement about the overall climate of theology right now, in the year 2000, in the Southern Baptist Convention, the direction we’re going, and how we’re doing?

Well, theology is perhaps seen as more important today than in some periods of the past. If you compare today with the 60s, the 1960s, I would say that in Baptist life theology is seen as more important today. In the 60s we were dealing with the race issue, the Vietnam War, the sexual revolution, and many of these things claimed our attention. Many of these things were not seen as immediate theological issues.

Now, having said that, I’ll go on to say that the climate of doing theology today is one in which there needs to be a proper balance between responsibility and freedom. There has to be academic accountability for those that teach, but there also needs to be enough freedom so that people can function without fear, without fear of losing their jobs, without a sense of insecurity, because people do not do their best work always beneath the threat of insecurity. So we need to seek for the balance there. True, people need to be accountable and they need to be responsible if they are working in a confessional context, but there needs to be more grace and more love and more patience as we deal with individual situations.

Chuck Lawless’ Membership Matters

I’ve recently finished Chuck Lawless’ Membership Matters and I would like to take this moment to recommend it.  I’ve been and I am working on a membership project and have been working through a number of works on church membership over the last number of weeks.  I found Membership Matters to be extremely helpful, illuminating, and convicting.

Membership Matters is essentially an apologetic for the creation of membership classes in local churches as well as a clarion call for the raising of membership expectations in the local church.  It is based (as so many of these kinds of books are nowadays) on survey data that reveals a growing trend of churches who are rejecting cheap membership and turning instead to membership of substance, expectations, and accountability.

Let me add a caveat here:  it is nice to read a book on the modern church that actually gives one hope and encouragement instead of constant jeremiads of doom.  There is a kind of niche market for ecclesiological apocalyptic literature, the kind of literature that forever paints with broad strokes a picture of the church in North America as utterly bankrupt and souless.  There is, of course, much evidence to support this kind of negative picture, but it is nice to be reminded (as Lawless’ book reminds us) that there are a number of churches seeking to reverse the trend of that consumer-driven churchmanship that has come to so dominate the church landscape today.

The book reveals some interesting things.  It shows that churches which take membership seriously are healthier, stronger, and more effective in reaching people, on the whole.  It revealed, interestingly (and sadly), that the majority of churches with membership classes are good at stressing accountability but that very few of these same churches stress church discipline.  In other words, it is easy to tell people, “This is what we expect.”  It is harder to say, “And if these expectations are violated or ignored, this is what happens.”  But the articulation of membership expectations is a healthy thing that should be celebrated.

The book also gives some helpful suggestions on membership classes:  on the need for the pastor to be personally involved, on the need to have a wholistic approach in terms of subjects taught, on the need for the church to buy into this vision.

The book is also not naive about the difficulties facing churches that move in this direction.  It does reveal, however, (through a very helpful round-table discussion with a number of pastors) that the risks are worth it.

As I am personally involved in the research stages of a membership project that, I pray, will bring a number of practical reforms to the system as it is practiced in our own church, I found this work encouraging and helpful.  I highly recommend it.

Wayne Mack’s To Be or Not to be a Church Member?

I’ve just finished Wayne Mack’s fascinating little book, To Be or Not to be a Church Member? and would like to heartily recommend it.  It was published by Calvary Press Publishing in 2004.  Mack is apparently an elder at Grace Fellowship Church of the Lehigh Valley in Pennsylvania.  He’s a graduate of Wheaton College, Philadelphia Seminary, and Westminster Seminary.  This last school, coupled with the fact that he quotes Kuiper twice in a seventy-five page book, tripled with the fact that the church has plural elders, quadrupled with the fact that the church recommends the 1689 London Confession of Faith leads me to believe that Mack is reformed in his theology and baptistic in his convictions, as is his church (despite their non-denominational label).

He’s written an intriguing little book that calls for a return to substantive church membership.  He frames the book around ten reasons why you should become a church member.  (Sidenote:  Where was reason #2!!)  His quotations are very helpful, especially the fascinating Spurgeon quote where we see a young sixteen-year-old Spurgeon threatening his lazy pastor with calling a meeting of the church himself to present himself for membership if the pastor did not do so soon!

It is an imminently biblical book.  Mack makes compelling use of the New Testament and I found myself thinking more than once, “Never thought of that before!”  He firmly links membership with discipline and accountability.  He also provides Grace Fellowship’s membership questions (for both the prospect and the church), which was very helpful indeed.

This would be a great little book to incorporate in some way or other into a new membership class.  It is practical, helpful, straightforward, and convincing.