Todd Gurley is a paid athlete

The University of Georgia suspended their star player this week: Todd Gurley, who had been considered a Heisman Trophy candidate at one point, was suspended indefinitely, which means he likely will never play college football again.

What did Todd Gurley do? Was he caught robbing a local store? Did he get drunk and drive under the influence of alcohol? Was he accused of sexual assault? No, those kinds of offenses won’t get you an indefinite suspension in college football—at least, not one mandated by the NCAA.

No, Gurley apparently autographed 80 different items, in exchange for $400. Now, apart from the offense that comes from valuing a star player’s autograph at only $5—because let’s face it, this guy will likely go on to play NFL and has all the makings of a star—why is that so bad?

Because, according to the NCAA, college athletes are strictly defined as “amateurs” and cannot profit from their athletic careers. Gurley’s $5 signature violates this definition in a manner that makes the NCAA indignant like little else will.

There is another side of the debate that thinks the NCAA can shove it, that college athletes—especially football players—should be paid a cash salary for all of the income that they generate for their schools, and let’s forget about this façade of “amateur” status. I’m not exactly there, but I am sympathetic to the argument that declaring them “amateurs” is, indeed, a façade.

Why? Because most college football players receive scholarships. So do most basketball players. And baseball, soccer, and other sports have their share of scholarships as well. And scholarships are a form of payment.

The Bleacher Report, another of the growing number of sports news websites, put together a nice summary a couple of years ago entitled, “So What’s a College Football Scholarship Worth Anyway?” In summary terms, here’s what they declared it to be worth (in 2011 dollars):

• Non-resident college tuition: $29,671
• Room and board: $9,067
• Books/school supplies: $1,009
• Personal/misc. expenses: $1,939
• Total: $41,686
• Non-quantifiable benefits: tutoring; special study facilities; medical, disability, and catastrophic injury insurance; possible financial help for the students and/or their families (via the NCAA Student Assistance Fund); equipment, uniforms, athletic equipment; access to trainers, coaches, and facilities for health and athletic conditioning.

And those are not to mention the benefits that being a high-profile athlete inevitably has for the player’s long-term career. Look at how athletes like John Elway, Magic Johnson, Shaquille O’Neal, and Peyton Manning have parlayed their images into commercial success. These advantages are not available to just any college student.

By comparison: I got out of college with relatively few student loans (only about $15K), mostly because I went to a pretty affordable state school and my mother was generous with her support. Still, I left college with $15K in student debt, and I was in my 30s and on the THIRD job in my chosen profession (and, at the time, had also completed graduate school, thereby incurring some further debt) before my annual salary exceeded the cash value The Bleacher Report claims a college freshman will receive if he is a full-ride scholarship football player.

I was very active in the Fellowship of Christian Athletes in college, and I had a number of friends who were scholarship athletes (including a number of football players). I’ve seen the differences in the dorms, the cafeteria food, the study areas. I knew then, and remember well, how much these students were taken care of by our university. I don’t begrudge them that; they worked hard to earn their scholarships, and I was never an athlete in any sport at a level required to earn one myself. But don’t think for a second that their college experience was pretty much the same as mine.

Let me repeat: These are not advantages available to just any college student.

The only reason why they are available to the students who receive them is this: those students have signed a contract, agreeing to play football for the college in exchange for all of these benefits. (Often these contract signings are accompanied by press conferences. Covering 18-year-old kids. Whose claim to the media attention is that they play a game well.) Does that not strike you as surprisingly corporate, for something that is supposedly an “amateur” activity?

There is no conclusion that we can reach other than this: college football players who are scholarshipped are paid athletes. They are already professionals. They should be treated like professionals. They do not need to be paid additional salaries; they are being well-paid already, and if they perform well in these “entry-level” positions they will have opportunities for huge advancement. Plus they are being given the privilege of a college education, on top of all of the rest—which, for as much as we take it for granted in the U.S., is nothing to be glib about.

Todd Gurley should not have been suspended. He should have been counseled that his signature is probably worth more than $5.

Come on, NCAA: if you really want to crack down on something important, how about addressing the rape culture that is way too common in college athletics? How about focusing on other truly dangerous activities, like assault, drunkenness, and drug use? 

Or is it time to finally stop taking the NCAA seriously as an organization that is “dedicated to safeguarding the well-being of student-athletes”?

Inconsistency and the "Hobby Lobby" thing

Much ink has already been spilled over the recent Supreme Court ruling that Hobby Lobby (and another company, as well as other “closely-held” companies) are exempt from the regulations of the Affordable Care Act with regard to what sort of insurance coverage is required for their employees. There are a lot of interesting takes on the matter, including these that I recommend—which demonstrate the complexity of the topic:

Why the Hobby Lobby case makes our job as Christians even harder

Even If Hobby Lobby Wins, We Lose

Why the Hobby Lobby Decision Actually Hurts People of Faith

I’m not interested in discussing whether or not this was a good decision by the Supreme Court or a “victory” for Christians; that’s been done enough already. I’m also uninterested in debating the inconsistencies of whether Hobby Lobby is hypocritical for offering 401(k) plans that invest financially in companies that make birth control pills which are abortifacients. That, too, has been talked about enough.

What I want to look at are two (other) specific ways in which this decision represents inconsistency that Christians should be aware of.

Inconsistency #1: whither liability?

For folks concerned with ethics (in a formal way—everyone is concerned with ethics informally, whether they know it or not), a reasonable question of the last couple of generations is concerned with liability and ownership regarding for-profit companies. 

A bit of history: prior to the 90s, in most cases a privately-held, for-profit company meant that the owners held some degree of liability for the actions of that company (or corporation). The concept of a “limit of liability” was around, but there were stipulations as to which kinds of companies qualified. Further, the very concept of a limit of liability is essentially a product of the era of industrialization; the first modern law allowing a limit of liability for a company was passed in New York in 1811—a long time ago by U.S. history standards, but not so long in the grand scheme of western history.*

Mostly, it was the big corporations that got to limit their liability until the 90s, when the idea of an “LLC” became widespread. Anyone who remembers the Bailey Building and Loan Association from the movie It’s a Wonderful Life will recognize how this was so (spoiler alert): George Bailey was personally “on the hook” for the lost money at the end, even though it was technically his business’s money (and an employee of the business that lost it).

For the last handful of decades (if not for centuries), businesses have been striving to sever the liability of the business from the liability of its owners—precisely because of examples like the fictional George Bailey—and many, many real-life counterparts. And, for the most part, they have succeeded: it is now possible to have businesses that lose money from the very beginning, and never become profitable, but those in charge are not liable. What was different with someone like Bernie Madoff wasn’t that he was liable for the practices of his investment business (Madoff Investment Securities, LLC—a “limited-liability corporation”) in ways that others aren’t, but that his investment business was fraudulent in its practices.

Jump forward to the Hobby Lobby issue before the Supreme Court. One of the fundamental claims in this case was that Hobby Lobby, as a “closely-held private company," is itself a “Christian business” because its owners are Christians. In other words, the company is claimed to assume a characteristic of its ownership by nature of that very ownership.

[To be clear: Hobby Lobby is NOT an “LLC” but is a standard C-Corporation, which also affords it a limit of liability similar to that of an LLC in some ways.]

This seems to blur the lines a bit. If there is a limit of liability, it seems most consistent that there should be a limit too of what aspects of the owner’s identity can be carried over to the corporation itself. I think it raises the question: are the owners of Hobby Lobby willing to forfeit their limit of liability in order to preserve this corporate identity of their company as a “Christian company”?

Let’s look at it in a very realistic counter-example: had the Supreme Court differed by a single vote, then Hobby Lobby (famously) would have been on the hook for a fine of $100 per employee per day in violation of the ACA; this would have amounted to a fine of $2.1 million per day! If the assets of the company had been unable to absorb that cost, were the owners prepared to pay that fine (or at least the balance of it) out of their own pockets? 

This appears to be a major step “backward” in the effort to divorce owners from the liability of their companies. And, ethically, perhaps that’s a very good thing—but it is certainly inconsistent with the trajectories and trends of the last couple of generations’ worth of business law in the United States.

Inconsistency #2: “don’t-ask-don’t-tell” round two

Maybe a bigger ethical question is related to how similar this issue is to the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy of recent vintage. (I wrote about that issue a few years ago, including some thoughts regarding the inconsistencies of it, so I won’t cover the same ground very much here.) 

One of my problems with the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy was this: it essentially said to homosexuals, “We don’t care whether or not you are a homosexual—or whether or not your homosexuality is sinful according to the Bible—as long as we don’t know about it.” This is not a biblical position, and it is not a pastoral one. Insofar as repealing that policy removed this apathy toward the sin or temptation to sin in others, I was (and am) for it.

The Hobby Lobby issue is very similar in this regard. In essence, the argument was, “We refuse to be forced to provide medical attention to women who work for us, if that medical attention includes something that we recognize as contrary to our ethical and theological convictions.” Fair enough, as far as it goes.

But I would say it doesn’t go far enough. Like “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” this posture ignores the possibility that there may be women in their company that would otherwise accept such medical attention. What does Hobby Lobby offer to them? 

David Green, the founder, is on record saying, "We do everything we possibly can to be a help to our employees… that they can structure their lives based on biblical principles. It’s not something that’s forced on anybody, but it’s there for them if they would like” (Link). He has also said, "We're Christians, and we run our business on Christian principles. I've always said that the first two goals of our business are 1) to run our business in harmony with God's laws, and 2) to focus on people more than money” (Link). What he hasn’t said is how their focus on people, and how their Christian principles, have shaped the way they care for their employees.

Yes, they pay a decent wage. Do they also look after their employees when they are in financial distress? What happens when one of their 21,000 employees gets pregnant out of wedlock—do they offer support and help in those cases? Do they offer teaching, instruction, and counsel on why they believe abortion is wrong?

These are more than a company might ordinarily be expected to offer to employees. But Hobby Lobby has declared itself to be a “Christian company” that operates on Christian principles. This demands that they meet and exceed a much higher standard than an ordinary company does. If Hobby Lobby is a “Christian company” they should do these things—because these are the kinds of things that Christians should do.

Public lawsuits and giving a chunk of profits to Jerry Falwell are not the extent of what it would mean to operate according to Christian principles. If Hobby Lobby wants to be taken seriously as a “Christian company” they have a lot more work to do—or, at least, they need to be more open and forthright about things they may already be doing.

 

 

*For more on the history of limits of liability, see Limited Liability (in Wikipedia); Limited Liability Company (from Inc. magazine); and LLC History (from llc-reporter.com).

A problem of emphasis

Every now and then I come across a statement like this one I saw recently:

"People should be able to talk about their faith without fear of judgment or reprisal."

Without getting too much into the topic of evangelism and how/when people can and should “talk about their faith,” I want to point out a problem of emphasis when many people say something like the above.

More and more, it seems, the emphasis many Christians will read into a sentence like this one (or intend if they write it themselves) is on the judgment and/or reprisal. That is to say, they mean that Christians should be able to speak openly about their faith and there be no consequences. If a Christian stands up and speaks out about Jesus, they believe, then he/she should have no opposition to it.

I witnessed this not too long ago when it turned up that a man in Scotland had been arrested for street preaching. (Again, I’m not out to engage in questions of methodology today.) I saw a handful of links to articles about this on social media, with comments to the effect of, “They can’t do this—it’s a violation of his rights!"

While that may or may not be so (it certainly is not a “right” granted constitutionally in every country across the world), this is beside the point. When we turn to a “rights” argument we’ve lost the plot, as they say across the pond.

If this is what was meant (or should be meant) by the kinds of statements in question, they should read something like this: “People should be able to talk about their faith without judgment or reprisal from others.” But that’s not what is said!

Rather, it is the fear of judgment and reprisal that we should be without. This is the model we see in the New Testament: time and again, Jesus and the apostles faced the potential of being arrested (or worse) when they would preach the gospel. These potentialities (and actualities) did not stop them; rather, often they returned to preaching as soon as they got out of jail!

Acts 5:27–32 is a clear example of this:

And when they had brought them, they set them before the council. And the high priest questioned them, saying, “We strictly charged you not to teach in this name, yet here you have filled Jerusalem with your teaching, and you intend to bring this man’s blood upon us.” But Peter and the apostles answered, “We must obey God rather than men. The God of our fathers  raised Jesus, whom you killed by hanging him on a tree. God exalted him at his right hand as Leader and Savior, to give repentance to Israel and  forgiveness of sins. And we are witnesses to these things, and so is the Holy Spirit, whom God has given to those who obey him.” 

What was distinctive about this response was not the insistence that these men has the right to teach and preach whatever they wanted—they didn’t. Rather, what distinguished them was that they said, “We must obey God rather than men."

They had no fear. Not of these leaders. Not of judgment. Not of reprisal.

Today, I hear fellow Christians say that laws passed limiting or restricting our “religious freedoms” are a threat to the gospel, and laws passed that support our “religious freedoms” are a victory for the gospel. No they’re not.

Let me be clear: I’m grateful for our country, and for the freedom that our constitution allows us (regarding our religion, and otherwise). I don’t take that for granted, nor do I wish to casually see it done away with. There are definitely times when I believe that our lawmakers (and law enforcers) act well, in accordance with our constitutional rights, and it is definitely something I give thanks about when it happens.

But the gospel is not beholden to the laws of the United States or any other nation. Indeed, if history is any indicator then the gospel thrives the most when the laws of nations oppose it. If you doubt this, consider where the growth in the church is in the 21st century:  Africa (where most of the countries are decidedly Islamic, culturally and legally) and Asia, especially China (which still has much of the atheistic secularism of its communist history intact). So maybe we can stop talking and acting as if our over-interest in political activity is a matter of the gospel—it’s not.

[There’s nothing wrong with an interest in politics. Politics is important generally for our culture. It’s a fine hobby for some, and a reasonable profession for some others. But it’s not a gospel matter—not in the “what must I do to be saved?” way. Even the Theonomists would agree with that, I think.]

What hinders the gospel—especially in a nation like the United States—isn’t the legal system. It’s not the liberal media or the secular pop culture. It’s the apathy of humankind for their fellow man, as manifested in our individualism. It’s our lack of belief that God actually can and will save those who are opposed to him. And it is our fear of the judgment of others, and our lack of willingness to suffer any inconvenience (let alone actual hardship) for the gospel’s sake.

I’m pointing the finger at myself here, but I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in being at fault in these ways.

What if we cared a little more for our neighbors? What if we believed God’s Word when it says that our neighbors can be saved? And what if we weren’t ashamed to love them well in the name of Jesus?

"Alternative" transportation

This is my Kymco People S250 motor-scooter.

Since May of 2013, it has been my primary transportation (well, it and my Specialized bicycle). It gets around 65–70 miles to the gallon; I still fill up about once a week or so, but I pay about $6 (compared to the $50–$70 I paid to fill my Toyota Highlander before). With the top-case and saddle bags, I can bring home as many as 10 bags of groceries; Molly and Jack love to ride on the back, so I can even pick one of them up from school when I need to. It has an automatic transmission, a 250cc engine, and can get me up to 75mph easily (it can go higher, but I’ve never done it; 75 is the speed limit on the interstate here, and I went that fast once—usually I prefer to stay on much slower roads).

Since June 13, it has been in the shop. It’s still not fixed.

This is my second motor scooter in 10 years; in both cases, we reached a point in our family life where we realized that we didn’t need two cars—we needed one and a half. A scooter has been a great alternative to buying another car for us.

Scooters are safer and more comfortable than motorcycles: I sit upright, which is better for my back and also increases my visibility; I don’t have to straddle a large machine, but have a floorboard for my feet; the automatic transmission means I’m not futzing with changing gears and have more attention to focus on the road; and the center of gravity is much lower, so it’s easier to balance and take corners with. Yet, my scooter is just as powerful as many motorcycles, and goes faster than I’ll ever need it to go (and yes, you can get scooters with 500 and 750cc engines, especially for touring and carrying bigger loads). Most of my (so-called!) friends who chuckle when I tell them that I ride a scooter are surprised at how big it is (I think they’re thinking about Vespas, which are fairly tiny).

I have wondered why these are not more frequently considered as viable alternatives to car ownership, especially in more dense urban areas (such as when we lived in St. Louis) or in areas where the weather permits year-round usage (like here in Arizona).  They get amazing gas mileage, are easy to drive, easy to park, and fun. They are immensely popular in Europe and Asia; why not the U.S.?

But now I’ve figured it out—or part of it, anyway.

It’s the shop’s fault

The bottom-line: if those who sold scooters told themselves more seriously, then others would take their products more seriously too.

I bought my first scooter (also a Kymco, and also from their People line) from a shop in St. Louis called—I’m not kidding—the “Extreme Toy Store” (they are out of business now). They also sold ATVs and jet skis. I bought my current ride through a shop in Tucson called ScootOver Tucson. ScootOver’s slogan is “fun in motion” and the front page of their website features a playful (if a little goofy) video featuring a Fine Young Cannibals song that auto-plays when you land there.

In both of these large cities (Tucson has about a million people, metro), these are/were the main dealerships for a scooter like my Kymco. If you’re looking for something more than a beat-up Vespa, you have to go to ScootOver. To be fair, they have a very nice inventory, especially given the somewhat limited showroom space that they have.

When you compare ScootOver’s self-presentation to another dealer in Tucson—let’s look at RideNow, which sells motorcycles (and, yes, some ATVs and the occasional scooter)—you should instantly notice a difference. RideNow looks like a place where people looking for a new vehicle might go. ScootOver looks like a place where folks with some disposable cash might find a new toy.

Repairs matter

While in St. Louis—and within the first few months of owning my brand-new Kymco People S125, my first scooter—it had a problem with the starter. I took it back to the Extreme Toy Store (they had a mechanic on staff), and they took it in for a repair (under warranty). After nearly two weeks, I hadn’t heard anything from them; a call revealed that they were “waiting for a part.” Two more weeks went by, and they still stalled. Only after I filed a report with the local Better Business Bureau did I hear back that the bike was fixed (within three days of filing the report, too! Coincidence?).

Jump ahead to now: I took my People S250 in to ScootOver (again, a mechanic on staff—two, actually) for a repair almost three weeks ago. Also a starter issue, though this was more widespread through the whole electrical system. The mechanic who took it in suggested that it might take a while to get the part, but that he should have it ready in a little over a week. I was going out of town for a week, so that was fine—and I told him that. He reiterated that it wouldn’t be long after I got back for it to be ready; probably that Tuesday (June 24). 

He called on Thursday, June 26, to say that the part would be delivered on the following Tuesday, and he would have it ready on Wednesday—over a week after his original quoted time, and more than 2½ weeks after he received it for repair! I told him that I needed it for transportation (it is my primary vehicle, after all), and that I needed to be able to pick it up on that Tuesday instead. 

That Tuesday came, and around mid-day they called to say it was ready. I go to pick it up and—surprise!—it still won’t start. They fixed part of it, but not all of it. So they took it back into the shop and now (several days later) I still don’t have my scooter.

Fixing the greater problem

Back to my original thesis: if scooter dealers want Americans to take scooters more seriously as a regular means of transportation, they have to start taking themselves seriously. Here’s what that looks like (or at least, a start):

• Quit presenting scooters as toys. As it is, scooters are almost universally seen as something less than a serious daily vehicle. This is because the dealers show them as a hobbyist’s item. They are portrayed as something like the urbanite’s version of the ATV. 
• Take repairs seriously. One way that the U.S. is very different from Europe and Asia is that public transit is fairly unreliable—or at least, relegated to underclass status—in most major cities. So Americans need to know that their vehicles are reliable, and that they can have them repaired quickly if they break down. It is the rare major repair that requires a car, truck, or minivan to be in the shop for more than a day; you can drop it off in the morning, the shop might even give you a lift to work, and pick it up at the end of the day. It is ridiculous that a repair for a scooter (or any vehicle) should take more than a couple of days, or at most a week—even for major repairs. Several weeks is simply embarrassing.
• Figure out the parts issue. It makes sense that no shop has all the parts for every vehicle that they might need to repair; so, sure, a scooter shop will need to have some time to acquire the parts they need. What should they do? Pay for overnight or two-day delivery and factor that into the cost of the part, just like every other serious repair shop would do. Probably the counter-argument to this point is that some of these parts have to come from overseas, and overnight and even two-day delivery isn’t possible. I can accept that for something very heavy and expensive, like an engine or transmission. But smaller and fairly lightweight parts (like my ignition switch) can be shipped from Taiwan in two-day delivery; it might cost $60 or more, but it can be done. This should be an option offered to customers.
• Network with other shops. One way to cut down on shipping costs and times would be to form a network of dealers and shops that can share in these costs by shipping things in bulk, and before they are needed. You need an ignition switch for a Kymco People S250? You may not have one, but a shop in Colorado does—you can get it tomorrow for $28 overnight delivery. Meanwhile, a shop in Seattle needs a part that you have on the shelf, and you sell and ship it to them for another $28—and your costs for shipping are essentially zeroed out; it’s like you had the part on your own shelf, which you sell to the customer for cost + $28. 
• Scale out your business. As the above four issues are addressed, the market for scooters should slowly increase. Maybe your shop is the only one in Tucson, and that positions you perfectly to become not just a retail shop but also a wholesaler for parts for your region. This generates additional profits for your shop, and also improves the market generally, so that the market is positioned to continue in improvement.

These ideas won’t solve all of the obstacles to motor-scooters becoming strong contenders as alternative vehicles—but I promise that, without them, it will never happen.

Scooters could be, and (I would argue) should be, a viable alternative to car ownership in the U.S.—they are relatively inexpensive (I paid just over $2000 for my current scooter, and insure it for less than $100 a year); they are gas-efficient (more so, even, than a Prius); and they are nimble and fun ways to get around town. But some fundamental issues have to be addressed before it can happen.

Amazon's drones—rejoinder

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.

A mishmash of thoughts on schools and education

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.

Some background

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.

All-Or-Nothing Thinking

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 Complexity of It

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.

Every System Has Its Successes and Failures

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.

Important Considerations

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:

• Every system’s weaknesses demand that, as parents (AND as the church as a whole, since we vow to share in the nurture of children when we baptize them—or when we “christen” them, if our tradition doesn’t baptize infants), we must be diligent in attending to the weaknesses of our chosen system. We have to face the reality of questions like: what is my child hearing, seeing, or intuiting from their peers, teachers, and others in the school that they attend? Are their classmates bullies? Do their friends pressure them toward drinking, drugs, or sexual immorality (yes, these are present in every kind of school)? How am I actively engaging in the discipleship of my child so that they are taught grace, truth, and a faith that can withstand the trials of life?
• Private schools and homeschooling is a privilege, generally speaking, of the wealthier members of our society. There are plenty of people who simply cannot do either because of economic reasons alone. Even if we choose one of these, we must reckon with questions like: What would Jesus’ claim of the Kingdom bringing hope for the poor and the outcast have to do with our local school systems? Am I inadvertently committing to, and investing in, a system that entrenches the socio-economic divisions in our culture? Is the way that I speak of public schools directly or indirectly stripping the dignity of my brother or sister in Christ who cannot afford anything but public schools? Is there an issue of “doing justice and loving kindness” (Micah 6:8) involved in the issue of school choice?
• Parents of children with special needs, such as autism and Asperger Syndrome, are almost always left without options when it comes to Christian schools and homeschooling. We should be asking: is there a way for the church to address this inequality? Could we include programs and systems for these kinds of needs in our Christian school and homeschool structures? How can we serve our fellow Christians in their children’s education, particularly when their children present the particular challenges that these needs do?
• In many cases those outside of the church only understand Christian schools and homeschooling as a decided and intentional self-segregation from the rest of the community, regardless of the reasons for doing either. While our faith is counter-cultural (it already is, without pulling out of society) and we must obey God’s commands to raise up our children in the covenant, this must be an important consideration for every Christian family. We must ask: how am I teaching my children to love their neighbor, and even their enemy, when I pull them out of a school solely because of disagreements—even core theological ones? Am I providing them with contexts where they can love and serve those around them, especially those who aren’t fellow Christians? How am I, and how is my family, extending care and hospitality to fellow citizens whose children attend public schools (or Christian schools, or are homeschooled)?
• It is too easy—partly because we have all bought into the cultural lie that tells us so—to believe that our children’s education is what matters the most. But it isn’t; if God has saved them, nothing can take them out of his hand. Not even an anti-Christian worldview, whether it is taught by a secularist public school or an elitist Christian school or homeschool association. We must confront ourselves, and one another, with questions such as: have I bowed before the idol of education? Do I believe that God can, and does, sustain the faith of his children in spite of intellectual or social challenges? WHY do I believe that an educational model is so vital to their spiritual well-being? 

“Final" Words

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.

Confessing corporate sins

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:

• Our participation may not be active or direct, but often we are complicit (at least in simply turning a “blind eye”)
• Scripture promises that the sins of our forefathers are visited on us, which means that we bear the burdens of such sins
• We may have more inclination toward such sins than we are ready to admit (or even aware of), and our confession is good for our soul’s nurture
• At very least we find solidarity with our brothers and sisters in Christ who DO have direct guilt with such sins, as we are all members of the same body

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.

Things we say, and what we mean

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.

Another example

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.

Which Is Right?

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?

It Swings The Other Way Too

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.

A smart-aleck grammar wonk seizes a "teachable moment"

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."

Can elders rotate?

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.)

Claim #1: no biblical warrant

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?

Claim #2: the permanence of the office

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."

Claim #3: the lack of continuity 

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.

Claim #4: not enough men

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?

Claim #5: not enough men, part deux

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.)

Claim #6: we just don’t do that around here

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. 

Freedom for Sessions!

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.