Well, I’m not a prophet nor the son of a prophet; but many of my 10s of readers will remember that, in December, I predicted that Amazon’s drone delivery plans would be thwarted by the FAA.
And would you look at this: a report on Ars Technica entitled, “FAA Grounds Amazon’s Drone Delivery Plans.” Huh. Who knew?
Every now and then, I actually know a little about what I’m talking about.
After sharing a link to an article about public schools on Facebook fairly recently, a few of the commenters asked for me to elaborate on my thoughts on the matter (in a blog post, no less). So—risking the ire of nearly everyone, especially those who have committed themselves strongly to one particular school choice—here I go.
I grew up in a private school; it was NOT a Christian school, but was, I later learned, a “white flight” school. (I should point out that, while I was there, the tide began to change; that school has, in the last 25 or so years, completely repudiated its white flight roots.) I went there from first through 12th grade, and for a while it was the only real frame of reference that I had.
When I was a Young Life leader, I found myself on campuses in another part of my hometown that were in many ways the polar opposite of my own experience; attending the large state university in my town also enriched my understanding of differing views on school cultures. As I worked as a youth minister in a couple of churches, my exposure to different school models and cultures broadened further.
While in seminary, I taught at a small Christian classical school. There I encountered students with a variety of backgrounds, and came to be intimately acquainted with a form of private school I previously never knew could have existed. Over the course of my first 15 or so years in ministry, I have known students and parents that were in just about every conceivable form of schooling: homeschooling (independent); homeschooling (via a network); small private Christian schools, and large ones; small public schools, and large ones; private non-religious schools, montessori schools, Charlotte Mason schools, magnet schools, charter schools.
With our children, we have homeschooled, had them in private Christian schools, and had them in public schools. We’ve had the experiences of having children in a public school where the administration celebrated when a grade level reached the 35th percentile, and in a public school that was a nationally-recognized blue ribbon school. We’ve dealt with learning disabilities and with advanced learners.
I’ve considered schools as a teacher, a youth minister, a pastor, a parent, and as a student myself of course. I was even asked once to write an article for our denominational magazine about schools and schooling options. I’m not claiming to be an expert by any means; but I do think I’ve been around the block on this question at least once or twice.
As a brief pastoral aside: in the many occasions that I have had (over more than 20 years of ministry) to counsel those who were struggling, a couple of predominant themes have emerged as prevailing struggles, at least in the generally white, middle-class contexts that I have ministered. One of those is “all-or-nothing” or “black and white” thinking, where everything is seen in an extremely binary form: it is either this or that. It is one thing or it is another. There is no “gray area” in between, no possibility for a third way, and no “and”—it is either/or.
I believe this is a problem with schools and education as well as countless other things. Most of us have reached a point where we are unable to accept the possibility that we might be overly binary in our thinking about schools.
I’ve heard this from the pro-Christian school side: anything other than “Christian” education is a forfeiting of our children’s very souls. I’ve heard this from homeschooling folk: we dare not cede our children’s education even to other adults. And I’ve heard it from public school advocates: how arrogant to think that a parent (or even an unaccredited teacher) could teach as well as a trained, board-certified teacher.
I don’t think every person in any of those “camps” thinks this way, but it does seem like the loudest voices on every side will eventually put forth something like the above. And I would say to them the same that I tell my congregants: it is rarely ever so simple as that.
The truth is that there is no one right way to educate our children—and there is no definitively wrong way, either. There are problems with every system. There are obstacles in every family. There are challenges for every child. And what works with one child might not work for another, even within the same family.
One wise friend, who has spent his life teaching and leading in Christian schools, and who received a PhD in education from a secular university, told me point-blank: there is no such thing as a public school that does not have a decidedly anti-Christian worldview at its core. There is at least a secularist and atheistic foundation in all of the curricula, all of the teaching methods—if not an outright anti-theistic bent to them all. Thus, he concluded, Christian parents shouldn't in good conscience submit their children to something that is going to undermine all of their discipleship at home.
I countered: what if my alternative is the Christian academy which pushes every child toward academic excellence and achievement, to the point that the only students that are seen to “succeed” in their midst are those that are admitted to the most prestigious universities? Is that worldview one that is preferable to the secular one? Which of those is easier, so to speak, to supplement with training and discipleship in the home—the one that is primarily intellectual, or the one that is character-shaping? I don’t think there is a simple answer to that question. (He didn’t have one either, and granted my point.)
Other conversations have explored other challenges within the Christian school movement: a Zionist nationalism that equates Christianity with a quasi-idolatry of our country, which is present in so many schools; the almost-universal neglect of accommodation of anyone with special needs; the tendency for cliques to arise and social strife, even bullying, to go unchecked because, after all, these are “Christian” kids; the high tuition costs that effectively eliminate most of those below upper-middle class socio-economic status; the way that many of these schools present Christianity as an “add-on,” just one more subject to be studied, rather than something that shapes all of life.
Not that pubic schools are off the hook: there is the extraordinary inefficiency and financial waste (if not outright corruption) in the administrative systems; an inconsistency from school to school, and even from teacher to teacher, in the quality of education offered; the often-troubling tendency of school officials to assume how they know better than parents; the struggle to undertake the teaching of a student who is advanced in one or more subjects without leaving them bored; the “canned” quality of the education that may well strip children of whatever love of learning you have been able to instill in them; and the aforementioned issues of a secularism and, yes, occasionally (though not, in my experience, universally) anti-Christian thinking.
And then there is homeschooling: if you can get past the economic challenges (which many, frankly, cannot) of buying all of the curricula AND having a parent at home full-time to teach; if the personality clashes of children with one another and/or with their parents are not damaging to those relationships; if your kids are introverted enough to be able to spend most of their school time with just their own family; and if your own education was sufficient, and your capacity to teach others in subjects you may barely remember is adequate; well, then homeschooling might be a good alternative for you.
As I mentioned, I’ve seen just about every kind of schooling option that can be envisioned, and I have seen where every system has had amazing successes. And I’ve seen students that have been failed by their system—in every type—as well.
Sure, I’ve seen homeschooled kids that were exceptionally well-taught, who are socially adept with both adults and children of all ages, and who have been wonderfully prepared for life with a strong faith, a love of learning, and cultural enrichment. And I’ve seen homeschooled students that would not have passed placement tests two grades below their age group, who are socially awkward, or who have become jaded toward the faith their parents pressed on them; or all of the above, in at least one case.
I have seen Christian school kids who I was simply proud to know, who were models that I wanted my own kids to grow up to be like; and I’ve seen those that were arrogant brats, elitist snobs, and/or wash-outs who burned out in 10th grade—or, in other cases, who never learned to apply themselves. I have known public school kids that were high-achieving, despite the poverty of their system, and those that were illiterate graduates; I’ve known ones whose faith was more mature than any other kid in the youth group, and those who were easily wooed by worldliness (both of those from the same family, in one case); and I’ve known public schoolers that were lifelong learners and always fascinated by new things, and those who learned from their school teachers not to bother caring.
One of my dear friends, who is a head of school at a Christian school, has told me many times: it ultimately comes down to the parents and the kids. The system is not irrelevant, but it almost is.
With all of that said, I think there are some things that all Christians need to consider and take into account, whatever the system that they find themselves in:
We have changed our children’s educational structure almost every year that we have had children to educate. We’re changing again in the coming year. So obviously I don’t think I have the “final” word on it!
These are hard choices for every parent. It’s hard enough without someone else imposing a legalistic “either/or” simple answer on me—or on you. My great hope in posting this is simply these two points: that you will recognize that the decision is far more complex than soundbite-theologians would have you believe; and that you would feel free to take your decision for yourself, and not allow someone else’s choices to dictate what you must perceive as a “right” or “wrong” decision.
One of the struggles that I’ve watched many fellow believers deal with is the loss of a sense of the corporate in today’s western (especially American) church. We usually have a great and growing grasp of our individual culpability and are (usually) grateful for the opportunities presented in worship to confess it. But when it comes to our collective ownership of the sins of the many, and our participation in a more “corporate” (not in terms of “corporations” a la businesses, but simply meaning severally over individually), we wrestle; as a pastor, I’ve heard more than once from a congregant, “I didn’t actually commit those sins; why do I need to confess them?"
We DO need to confess them, for several reasons:
We can look to Ezra for an example here. While he’s not one of the more well-known Old Testament figures, Ezra played a key role in re-establishing the people of Israel (the remnant that would set the stage for the New Testament) in the Promised Land. Ezra was from the priestly family of Levi, and was recognized by Jew and Gentile alike as being a righteous and upright man. He oversaw the initial rebuilding of the temple, and brought the Law of God (essentially, their form of the Bible) back to the people, calling them to hear and heed what God wanted them to know and to be.
Unlike many prominent leaders in Bible times, there is no indication from Scripture that Ezra was a man marked by his sinfulness. Was he a sinner? Of course. Did he struggle with the fallenness of man, as present in his own life? For sure. But, from all that we know, he was not proud (like Moses), an adulterer (like David), rash and headstrong (like Peter), or haunted by a torrid background (like Paul).
After calling on Israel to return to the Lord, for He had indeed restored them to the land He had promised would be theirs, and declaring the law of God to them—after he had specifically called on them to be set apart as God intended—Ezra received this report: “The people of Israel and the priests and the Levites have not separated themselves from the peoples of the lands with their abominations, from the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Jebusites, the Ammonites, the Moabites, the Egyptians, and the Amorites. For they have taken some of their daughters to be wives for themselves and for their sons, so that the holy race has mixed itself with the peoples of the lands. And in this faithlessness the hand of the officials and chief men has been foremost” (Ezra 9:1–2).
How did Ezra respond? He prayed—in confession for the sins of the people of Israel. Here is what he prayed:
"O my God, I am ashamed and blush to lift my face to you, my God, for our iniquities have risen higher than our heads, and our guilt has mounted up to the heavens. From the days of our fathers to this day we have been in great guilt. And for our iniquities we, our kings, and our priests have been given into the hand of the kings of the lands, to the sword, to captivity, to plundering, and to utter shame, as it is today. But now for a brief moment favor has been shown by the LORD our God, to leave us a remnant and to give us a secure hold within his holy place, that our God may brighten our eyes and grant us a little reviving in our slavery. For we are slaves. Yet our God has not forsaken us in our slavery, but has extended to us his steadfast love before the kings of Persia, to grant us some reviving to set up the house of our God, to repair its ruins, and to give us protection in Judea and Jerusalem.
“And now, O our God, what shall we say after this? For we have forsaken your commandments, which you commanded by your servants the prophets, saying, ‘The land that you are entering, to take possession of it, is a land impure with the impurity of the peoples of the lands, with their abominations that have filled it from end to end with their uncleanness. Therefore do not give your daughters to their sons, neither take their daughters for your sons, and never seek their peace or prosperity, that you may be strong and eat the good of the land and leave it for an inheritance to your children forever.’ And after all that has come upon us for our evil deeds and for our great guilt, seeing that you, our God, have punished us less than our iniquities deserved and have given us such a remnant as this, shall we break your commandments again and intermarry with the peoples who practice these abominations? Would you not be angry with us until you consumed us, so that there should be no remnant, nor any to escape? O LORD, the God of Israel, you are just, for we are left a remnant that has escaped, as it is today. Behold, we are before you in our guilt, for none can stand before you because of this."
(Ezra 9:6–15)
Look back over that prayer. How many times did Ezra pray, “THEY have done this…”? How often did he cast the blame for their corporate guilt on his fellow Israelites, as he had every right to do?
You won’t find any. Instead, over and over he prayed, “I am ashamed…” “Our iniquities have risen…” “We have been in great guilt…” and so on. Ezra claimed for himself the guilt of his fellow Israelites, past and present, and he prayed accordingly.
Why? Because there was not merely individual sin; there was corporate sin present among the people. Ezra knew this, and took it up as his own—even though he was not guilty of this sin; in fact, he had been the one calling them out of it.
“But wait,” you say. “Ezra was a priest—that’s exactly what he was supposed to do: intercede for his guilty fellow men.” Exactly. And what does the Apostle Peter say to us, the church?
"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (I Peter 2:9, emphasis added).
We are the ones now called to take up Ezra’s model and intercede for the guilt that is upon us corporately, as well as individually. We are not freed from the guilt that those corporate structures we are a part of—including (and especially) the church—have, simply because of our individual salvation in Christ.
Christ died for our corporate sins, too—and promises us that, "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive usour sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (I John 1:9, emphasis added). So we must join in confessing the sins of our corporate guilt, just as we have and do confess our individual sins.
I recently had a conversation with an almost-stranger about how she says something that regularly bothers one of her co-workers: she will call him “kiddo” out of habit.
Her co-worker is bothered by this because, to him, it implies that he is just a kid—that is, that he is too young to take seriously. This, even though he is in his late 20s, or perhaps early 30s.
When she says this, though, she doesn’t mean to imply that; she says that she calls people old and young alike “kiddo” and that she means it as a term of familiarity, even mild affection.
This reminded me of the phrase “bless your heart,” which many (especially southerners!) will say as a sort of code for, “oh, you poor fool.”
And yet, I have a good friend who will say this with utter sincerity, truly wishing blessing on whomever he says it to. He doesn’t mean any condescension, though he is aware of the “typical” other meaning that is condescending. When he says “bless your heart” he truly means to invoke blessing on his companion.
When I studied communication in college (and when I taught it in the Rhetoric class that I taught for five years), a key principle that I learned and passed on to others was this:
Communication is what the other person hears.
In other words, intent can only take us so far. While we may mean to say, “You’re someone that I can relate to” (as in, “kiddo”) or, “I recognize the struggle you’ve been facing, and God bless you for enduring it” (as sometimes intended by my friend’s “bless your heart”), we have to recognize that the hearer may receive our words quite differently.
Tim Stafford, in his excellent book That’s Not What I Meant!, gets to the heart of this well. He recognizes that sometimes our words come across quite differently than intended (as the title clearly implies!), and that our words that we mean to be healing can sometimes hurt.
Tim’s book is a great study in how we can do better with this. While I don’t mean for this to be a book review, I do highly recommend Tim’s book (which is being re-released by Doulos Resources, a ministry that I work with—full disclaimer). By the way, you can order Tim’s book here.
Tim has some great advice in his book about communicating well. about the situation I described above, he says this:
Perhaps they get the message you think they should. But perhaps not. Perhaps they only sometimes understand. And wouldn’t it be better if your family and friends didn’t need a codebook to interpret your words? Wouldn’t it make more sense to say what you actually mean?
I’ll never forget how a friend of mine stood before a group of a couple hundred people at a campus ministry meeting in college and confessed his sin to them. He felt the need for such a public confession because he realized he had hurt so many people with it. What was this grievous sin my friend confessed?
He was a jokester.
My friend liked to play pranks on others. He could spin a yarn for hours, and do it with utter believability. He had a knack for finding the irony in just about any situation and turning that into a good round of laughter. (On more than one occasion, this was a needed breath of light-heartedness that was just right in a heavy moment.)
What’s wrong with that? Well, in carrying out his pranks my friend preyed on the gullible. He was skilled at creating a moment when he would reveal his joke for what it was, to maximize the embarrassment of his victim. On more than one occasion, he had taken things too far—so far that a number of people didn’t trust a word he said. Humor is always at someone’s expense. My friend always collected; he never paid out.
Until that evening, when he opened the Bible and read to us from Proverbs 26:18–19:
“ Like a madman who throws firebrands, arrows, and death is the man who deceives his neighbor and says, 'I am only joking!’"
My friend had read those words and they cut to his heart. He realized that HE was that madman. He had wounded so many with his pranks and jokes, and then laughed them off as just being funny.
We all learned from him in that season of life. We learned that what we mean and what we say don’t always line up—and that costs us the integrity that Jesus expects of us.
It pays to give attention to how our words are perceived by others. It’s not always just what we mean when we say something that is communicative; everyone hears with their own ears.
Wife: “Say, I got the report from my doctor today."
Husband: “Oh? How was it?"
W: “It was concerning."
H: “Concerning?"
W: “Yes. Concerning. To me."
H: “Of course it was concerning you; it was your report, right?"
W: “No, I mean it concerned me."
H: “Right. Should your report have been about someone else?"
W: “You know what I mean!"
H: “You mean it was ‘disconcerting’?"
W: “I mean you’re a jerk."
Friends, don’t let this happen in YOUR marriage. Learn the difference between “concerning” and “disconcerting."
I was recently (briefly) part of a discussion on a Facebook group for PCA Teaching Elders and Ruling Elders (I know, that may sound like it has strong potential to be a dull-fest—it’s actually a great group), and the topic was on elders—specifically, ruling elders in this case—having an agreed-upon “rotating Session” system.
For those unaware, here’s a brief synopsis: ordination to the office of ruling elder is life-long and perpetual, unless an elder gives up his office either voluntarily or involuntarily (the latter being due to a discipline issue). However, elders are not always active in their office; some will step off of “active duty” on their Session for a time, or perhaps they move to another congregation and aren’t (yet) elected to serve in the office. The question, then, is whether a Session should be “permanent,” in which case an elder serves indefinitely unless/until he moves or requests a break; or whether a Session should be “rotating,” wherein elders serve for a defined “term” of some stated number of years, after which he rotates off for a stipulated period of time.
Part of what makes this a controversial topic is the fact that in a rotating system, elders typically must be re-elected by the congregation in order to resume duties as active Session members. This seems, to some, to be antithetical to the perpetual nature of the office of elder. This is a sticking-point for most discussions (at least the ones that I’ve been a part of) on this topic.
For full disclosure, let me say that I lean favorably toward rotating Sessions, as I believe they have many merits and, in healthy congregations, few disadvantages. I should also note that neither of the congregations I have served as pastor have had them; and, in both cases, I was happy to submit to my fellow elders and to the will of the congregation about the matter.
In the particular discussion that I mentioned above, there were a number of points raised (or at least referred to), which I’d like to address. I believe that the stock answers to these questions, especially from the decriers of the rotating Session concept, are shortsighted and/or somewhat lacking in nuance. Therefore, this isn’t meant as rebuttal, but rather as a “fuller sense” of the questions and issues at hand.
(A couple of supporting “documents” were mentioned in this discussion, and I will respond to two of them directly; one is a blog post, which can be found here: Should Elders Be Ordained for Life?; the other is an article by John Sittema, from the OPC’s Ordained Servant magazine, entitled “Some Thoughts on Term Eldership." A further note here: I looked for John Murray’s article, “Arguments Against Term Eldership,” to no avail; perhaps it has been pulled down from sites that previously had it, as it is apparently included in a collection of works by Murray published by Banner of Truth.)
One of the most emphatically asserted claims is that “there is no biblical warrant for rotating terms of eldership.” It’s true; there is no proof text that I or anyone can point to where one of the apostles urged elders to rotate on and off of Sessions. Open and shut case?
Not quite. As the author of the URCNA blog linked above acknowledges, there is no biblical warrant for forbidding them outright, either! In fact, what is striking to me is that Scripture is essentially silent on the question of whether a ruling elder can or should serve indefinitely or on a rotating basis. At best, this question should be seen as an example of adiaphora—matters that are not essential, and of which Scripture displays a certain amount of indifference with regard to practice. (To say otherwise is to shift the burden of proof—which is a fallacious argument. It may also be a case of Bulverism.)
Two other factors on the “biblical warrant” question come to mind, though. First, if we insist that the lack of any biblical support for a rotation system means that it shouldn’t be done, doesn’t that also prohibit any kind of sabbatical or inactive duty whatsoever? In other words: as long as an elder remains a member of a congregation that has installed him as a ruling elder, is there any biblical justification for any cessation of that active duty (short of a sin/discipline issue)? It seems like you can’t really have it both ways here.
Second: when we lack a normative or prescriptive basis from Scripture (as we absolutely do with this issue), it’s useful to look for examples. Admittedly, we don’t have examples of ruling elders rotating off or taking sabbaticals from their duties. But we do have examples of teaching elders who do so! (Think of Timothy and Apollos, who served as pastors of New Testament-era churches, but only for a time before stepping down.) And interestingly, it often seems to be the stringent “two-office” guys who protest the loudest about a rotating system (the PCA Position Paper on the number of offices is helpful in understanding what this means). But if ruling and teaching elders are the same office utterly, why the double-standard when it comes to how pastors (teaching elders) are called to local churches, but usually only for a season? In other words, why don’t we expect pastors to serve congregations for the duration of their active lives of ministry?
(I’ll admit that this last point is weaker; I believe, though, that its weakness is due to the inconsistency inherent to a straight-up “two office” view.)
Roy Taylor remarked that, "To argue that a rotational system is "unbiblical" is to infer that Calvin, Knox and the First General Assembly of the Church of Scotland (to which we trace our lineage) were either ignorant of the biblical teaching, in the least, or deliberately chose to ignore the biblical teaching.” Are we ready to do that?
Another problem highlighted with a rotating system is that it appears (to some) to fly in the face of our view of the office of elder as a permanent office: men who are ordained to the office never stop being elders. How can you have this and also a rotating Session?
Sittema is helpful here, as he points out the unfortunate association of the concept of “election” with regard to church offices to other forms of “election,” particularly of the more political form. This, he says, introduces some “bad habits” in terms of a congregation’s view of what it means when they elect men to serve as active Session members. He’s right, too, that such a bad habit—or rather, severe misunderstanding—leads to a highly problematic understanding of what an elder’s role in the local church actually is. In this case, a rotating system can be a further obstacle toward proper understanding of the office; indeed, it can further entrench the misunderstandings.
I think there are two things going on here, and both should be addressed. First, if there are misunderstandings about what elders do, they should be corrected. It is the Session’s job to instruct the congregation in the proper concepts of eldership—what it is, and what it isn’t—and to labor faithfully to disciple their flock in what they should expect from their elders. There is absolutely a pastoral and shepherding nature to the office, as is clear from Scripture and from the PCA’s (and others’s) church order; this is not in dispute by either side of this discussion. Elders must shepherd; they are not merely “board members” (which is exactly why I despise the label “Elder Board” instead of “Session”).
Second, I believe there is a persistent misunderstanding in the PCA (again, among others) in the difference between “being an elder” and “being a member of the Session.” A church’s Session is the seat of its oversight, and is the sole authoritative body for a local congregation. No elder has any authority unto himself, except that which the Session delegates to him (this includes the pastor!). Elders are shepherds, and no less than that—but also, apart from their function as members of the Session, no more than that.
This is actually the very reason why a healthy rotation system can benefit a congregation. The Session's authority and oversight requires certain kinds of work and demands attention that can sometimes stand in the way of a shepherd fulfilling all of his ordinary shepherding duties. (Most of us who are elders have been a part of Sessions where some matter arises that requires every minute of attention we can give it, for a season; this isn’t ideal, but it is the reality.) When an elder rotates off of the Session, he doesn’t cease to be an elder to the congregation; his responsibilities as an overseer, however, are lessened. In at least two congregations I’ve worked with (prior to my own ordination) where a rotating Session was in place, the “inactive” elders were really even more active in their shepherding of the congregation! They were freed to focus on visitation, teaching, and other shepherding responsibilities because they weren’t also given the demands of the congregation’s oversight.
Again, Sittema is helpful on this; even as he personally objects to rotating systems, he urges: “If your congregation elects elders for terms of office, and then grants them release from active duty for a time, make clear to all that they are still in service, even though the nature of their service may be changed for a time."
A frequent complaint about a rotating system is that an elder serving a three-year term is barely getting started in his work before his term is up! And it is true that a three-year term (which is a very common length of term for rotating systems) goes by very quickly. An elder serving for only three years would have to hand off a lot of responsibilities, and each hand-off would potentially slow down the progress of the proper oversight of the church. Is there a problem of continuity in a rotating system?
Probably not—mainly because this is something of a straw-man argument. It’s true that most rotating systems specify some term in the three- or four-year range. However, I’ve never seen such a system in place that didn’t allow, or even expect, that two consecutive terms could/would be served back-to-back. So now we’re up to six years.
(In one church where I worked, there were at least two examples of men who had been asked to serve a third term of a single year—and, upon his concurrence, the congregation had voted to approve this. Admittedly, this begins to undermine the very purpose of a rotating system! But it goes to show that, when continuity demands it, such a system can accommodate.)
Further, any major lack of continuity many indicate a lack of understanding of what it means to be an elder (see #2 above)—because, in a healthy system, an elder rotating off of his Session should actually be able to do more in terms of shepherding. This may extend to his participation in presbytery or Assembly-level work, as well, as there is no stipulation (to my knowledge) that, for example, elders serving on presbytery committees or commissions must be active on their congregation’s Session.
Also: hand-offs happen all the time. Sometimes they are inconvenient, and even problematic. But there is very little difference in a hand-off that happens because of an elder retiring or moving, and a hand-off that happens because of a rotation. Oh, but one difference is key: with a rotation system, the hand-offs are both expected and normal, so everyone is used to it.
Opponents of rotating systems state that rotations mean that leaders are annually burdened with the responsibility of finding qualified men as candidates. Nominations, training, examinations, and elections have to take place each year, in order to fill the next year’s “class” of elders. And what if no qualified men are found? Sessions will find less-than-qualified men and “create an Ishmael” (so says the URCNA blog post) instead of waiting for the Lord. What about this?
Here we have a continuation of the straw-man from #3, because the possibility of current elders serving consecutive terms is not taken into account. If there are no fit candidates to be newly-ordained and installed, then it is likely that at least some of the elders whose term is “up” can remain active for a second term.
This argument also ignores the fact of a long-standing rotating system: that, potentially, there will be a handful of men in the congregation who have served as elders previously and who are currently inactive; and, that these men might be re-activated for a new season of service on the Session. In a healthy church with a rotation, elders are multiplied over the years and there is virtually always a pool of fit, trained, and experienced candidates.
But isn’t this claim also an indictment against the pastors and elders who have neglected discipleship of their congregations? In a church where discipleship is actively occurring (led by the elders, teaching and ruling), God raises up those who will be led into service—as volunteers, as teachers, as deacons, and yes—as elders. Could it be that the reason why there is often such a shortage of “qualified” men for eldership is because the current elders haven’t identified men that could be qualified and sought to prepare them to be such?
One interesting claim against a rotating Session is that it keeps the Session from growing to the size that it could if every possible elder simply was added to the existing Session. Many hands make light work—and by rotating some off, it keeps the workload unnecessarily high for the active elders. Shouldn’t we simply build up our Sessions with every elder that we can?
Three problems here. First, this continues the fallacy that an “inactive” elder is doing nothing at all. If inactive elders continue to fulfill their office as they are able, the workload will be diluted for the rest.
Second, if a Session is concerned that the ratio of elders to congregants is getting too imbalanced, there may be deeper problems at work. It may be that the congregation is growing numerically, but not enough discipleship is going on to accommodate the growth in a spiritual parallel—and consequently, there are not enough potential candidates to be nominated for eldership. Or it could be that the Session simply isn’t accounting for this numeric growth in the way that they present the need for elders to the congregation, come time for nominations—and they need to ask for more elders than before.
Ultimately, though, this isn’t the Session’s final decision. In the PCA at least, our church order states that the congregation determines the number of officers to be elected, not the Session. The Session can (and should) make recommendations, and if they have taught their members well on the function and role of the elder then the congregation should happily accommodate the need for more elders! But it is the congregation’s decision. (Which, I would argue, means that the decision for whether a Session should be permanent or rotating should also be a congregational decision, after much instruction.)
In Sittema’s article from The Ordained Servant, he acknowledges that a rotation system (“term-eldership” in his words) is more of a “continental Reformed” approach to church order, rather than one of the Scottish/Westminster persuasion. The URCNA post perpetuates this, too, touting that the permanent/indefinite Session has a “long history” going back to our Scottish roots. Are we bound to a permanent Session because of our presbyterianism?
I’m all for learning from the wisdom of our tradition, and I definitely think we shouldn’t throw something out that is a long-standing universal practice (and especially not because it is a long-standing practice!). Yet here’s another potential fallacy, or a couple of them: this could be an inverse Chronological Snobbery (claiming that it is true simply because today’s thinkers are inherently inferior to those in a past era, also called an Appeal to Tradition) or an Inductive Fallacy (saying “here are many examples, therefore it must be so”). We have to be careful not to fall into a sectarianism about this kind of thing, because the Scots got it wrong sometimes, too.
Why can’t we learn from the continentals, as well as from the Scots and Westminster folk? I don’t see why there must be a bifurcation, especially on something like this.
In the PCA, our Stated Clerk, Roy Taylor, commented extensively on the question of whether a rotating system is allowable within our polity. He said:
A rotational system of officers is in keeping with the early history flowing from the Reformation of the Sixteenth Century. John Calvin led in restoring the office of Ruling Elder in reforming the polity of the Church in Geneva in the Reformation. Those who hold to Presbyterian polity trace their theological-polity lineage to him. Calvin instituted a rotational system of officers. It is interesting to note that they had one-year terms.
Is a rotating system “un-presbyterian”? Not according to our polity, nor that of some key players in our heritage.
Let me state plainly what I implied above: Sessions are free to go in either direction here. I may have a strong opinion about it, and many reasons why I think a rotating system is beneficial—but it would be wrong of me to impose that on even my own Session if they are not in agreement. It would be even more wrong of me to insist that other Sessions choose one way or the other, because there is no right and wrong direction to go here. Frankly, those who assert that there is are the ones in the wrong, in my view.
Marcie and I were talking about my collection of musical instruments (which is not insubstantial):
I also have been promised one of my mother’s spinet pianos, though we’ve never had room for it.
Specifically, we were talking about where we would keep this collection should we actually want them to be available for use. My internal response is always, “We’ll keep them in the music room, of course” (though we’ve never had a room we could designate as such, and I rarely mention this response to Marcie!).
This brought to mind my other rather large collection—books (probably around 4000 volumes)—and the fact that we would probably do well to have a room for these as well! And of course it would be nice, if not quite necessary, to have a designated room as an office/study.
In short, I’ve figured out that I want to live in some version of the “Clue” house: the house implied by the board game Clue, which I played often as a child. The rooms in the Clue house include:
A library
A study
A conservatory
A kitchen
A dining room
A lounge
A hall
A cellar
A billiard room
A ballroom
We could do without the last two; maybe the billiard room would be a small den, and the ballroom could become a family room. It seems pretty obvious that such a house would likely have a second story with at least four bedrooms (maybe five?) and a couple of bathrooms.
Do such houses still exist? What sort of house would YOU live in?
