Trinity Questions #2: Why? Application

As we think about how to apply the idea of these "mysteries" in our lives—particularly during the hardest times—it can be challenging to make any sense of it at all.

Paul wrote to the Corinthians about the foolishness of boastful knowledge or certainty about the ways of God. Isaiah, centuries earlier, prophesied similarly, saying, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8–9). And Job, when faced with immense personal tragedy about which he had no understanding or justification, said of God, "Though he slay me, I will hope in him"—but he also said immediately following, "Yet I will argue my ways to his face" (Job 13:15).

It may be helpful in this case to ask application questions, rather than instruction-like statements.

Personal

• What drives you to feel the need to ask "why"? Is this a question of simple curiosity? A longing to know the reasons for everything? A sense of "deserving" to have the wrongs of the world justified? Something else? Does Paul's admonishment in 1 Corinthians speak to our hearts about this at all?
• Why do we, like Job, feel that we have a right to "argue our ways" to God's face? Do we have a right to know why things happen to us, or to others? How did that work out for Job?
• When bad things happen to you or around you, is your instinct to think, "God has it in for me"? Why do you think people—especially Christians—think of crises and tragedies as punishment? Are there other ways to think of them? How does this sense of punishment fit with Christ's atonement through the cross?
• Often, the objection that a good God wouldn't allow bad things to happen is offered as evidence that God doesn't exist. What is the weakness of this argument? Would it be more comforting to believe that there was no God, rather than to believe that, for some reason, God allows bad things to happen? Is it arrogant to think that, if God exists, we must be able to understand all that he does and allows? (How does that fit with Isaiah's prophecy?)
• What does it take to embrace "mystery" as a Christian? What does it require of you in terms of trusting God? What stands in the way of trusting him in that way?

Community/Church

• People often look to the church and/or to God during times of crisis. What are some of the answers they would find? What comforts do the church offer to those seeking solace?
• How does the church's identity as "the body of Christ" fit into this puzzle? Is there a sense that the church, as Christ's body, is a comforting presence in itself, without being able to offer clear or comprehensive answers to these hard questions?
• The members of Trinity are no strangers to the trials and hard parts of our fallen world. What comfort can we offer to one another through our own experiences of grief and personal crisis? How can we offer those comforts to our neighbors outside of Trinity?
• In what ways does the worship liturgy that we use call us to see the "higher ways" of God, and to embrace the mysteries of the faith? How about other aspects of our life together as a congregation? How could these fulfill those goals more fully?

Trinity Questions #2: Why?

Continuing with our series of questions asked during times of crisis, today we look (way too briefly) at one of the biggest: Why? Why do these things happen? Why does a sovereign God allow them to happen?

This is an age-old question, not unique to any particular time, circumstance, or crisis. Nevertheless, it's a question that gets asked frequently, by believers and non-believers alike.

Here's our video:

A couple of side notes:

First, my apologies for the lateness of this one. Circumstances prevented me from getting it completed sooner.

Second, my apologies also about the quality and unfamiliar setting. This was actually videoed in my home office/study space, because appointments I had on Tuesday and Wednesday kept me from having time to do this from my study at the church.

More to come tomorrow!

Trinity Questions #1: Praying

Over the last two days we've looked at 1 Corinthians 10:23–24 and thought about what it means for Christians in times of crisis. Specifically, we've discussed the attitude that Christians are called to take on, all the time but particularly during seasons of challenge like the one we are in right now with the Coronavirus pandemic.

That passage exhorts us to live in light of a few facts which should shape the love we show for neighbor: that just because something is lawful doesn't make it good for others; that we are to focus on that which is helpful and builds up others; and that we should seek our own good first, but the good of others.

In light of these, what are some ways that we can pray?

For Ourselves

Lord, for myself I pray...

• That I would learn to put the good of others before my own good, so that it would become second-nature to me to love my neighbor in this way.
• That I would have discernment to recognize those things that may be lawful, but which are not helpful or that do not build others up—and that I would have the discipline to deny myself of that which is not helpful or edifying to others.
• That I would be shaped more and more into your image, so that denying myself, taking up my cross, and following in your path of serving those around me would become my identity.

For the Nation/World

Lord, for all that is going on in the nation and world right now, I pray...

• That Christians all over the world would heed what your Word teaches us about love of neighbor, and would take measures to live in light of that during this pandemic crisis.
• That your church would shine as a beacon of service, selflessness, and sacrifice during this crisis, in the way that she has during other eras, so much that even the hardest-hearted among us would glorify your name because of the deeds of your church.
• That citizens everywhere would display acts of kindness and care for their neighbors, and that you would move each to turn aside from selfishness for the sake of others.
• That the leaders of nations would have wise counsel and make wise decisions about what measures to enact in order to address the needs of the people they serve, and that they would pursue that which is good, just, and right, not seeking their own interests.
• That you would ease the difficulty, quell the pain and suffering, and comfort those who are grieving in the wake of this virus; draw near to those who have been affected by it, and draw them near to you in faith.

For Rossville

Lord, for the community of Rossville, I pray...

• That the leaders of local government would wisely guide and direct the community through this crisis, and be responsive to the immediate needs of our community.
• That the citizens of our community would know how to serve one another during the pandemic, and would do so out of love for neighbor and a selfless heart that you have given to them.
• That Trinity Reformed Church would be an instrument of your grace and peace throughout the pandemic season, serving each other and those outside of our congregation faithfully and well.

Trinity Questions #1: Suggested Application

Yesterday we briefly considered the attitude that Christians are called to embody at all times—especially during times of crisis, like we are currently facing.

Today I'd like to think together about some possible ways to apply this in our lives right now. Please note that these are suggested application points, not mandates or direct instructions. And they are just the beginning of a potentially long list of suggestions, so please add your own ideas to the mix!

First Corinthians 10:23–24, the main passage we looked at yesterday, mentioned three particulars to pay attention to: things that are helpful, things that build up, and things that seek the good of neighbor. Let's consider some ways that those might find direct application right now.

• As we think of neighbors: who are your literal neighbors, the people that live closest to your home? What are ways that you could do things that are for their good right now? Someone posted a note they had sent to all of their neighbors, offering to help them by getting them groceries, pick up prescriptions from the pharmacy, or other errands they may not be able to do themselves. Even if you don't know your neighbors very well, an offer to serve them would be a great act of neighbor love.
• Also related to "the good of neighbor": as long as the spread of this virus is such a grave concern, the practice of "social distancing"—keeping a space of about six feet between you and anyone else—is not just an act of self-preservation but also one of love for neighbor, because it respects their need to keep from infection as well as your own. Even for someone we might feel inclined to greet with more affection, a hug or handshake at this particular time is inconsiderate and unloving.
• It's been surprising to see the "hoarding" of staple goods during this pandemic. This strikes me as a perfect example of something that might be "lawful" but that isn't helpful or building up of others. Christians shouldn't take more than their "share" of even the most vital items. We might even consider foregoing our own needs or desires for the sake of others, and simply not buying an item so someone else can have it. One person recognized that items marked for "WIC" (the "women, infants, and children" food program) should be skipped over by those who aren't enrolled in WIC, so that WIC mothers would have them to buy. This kind of decision is helpful and builds others up.
• One way we can consider others, love them, and build them up is to keep in mind that those around us may be facing this crisis in challenging ways. They may be struggling to pay rent or afford groceries; they might have lost their job and be fearful about the future. It could be they someone close to them is sick from the virus or otherwise. Those who struggle with depression or anxiety could be seeing those struggles flare up in difficult ways. Love is patient and kind, and exercising some extra grace toward others is definitely called for during a time like this.

How can the church be actively serving our community in love right now?

• We are going to make sure that everyone in our own church community has what they need. Much as we do during a time of particular need when we coordinate meals for others, we will do all we can to coordinate meals, groceries, and/or other necessities for those families in our congregation that cannot get them for themselves.
• We want to support the community of Rossville as much as we can. Over the next week our leadership will be in touch with the governing leaders of Rossville and Fayette county to find out how we might play a role in supporting them. We will also be in touch with the Rossville Fire Department, with whom we have had occasional opportunities to be supportive, to learn what they might need and whether we can provide that.
• We are also tentatively planning to set up a Little Free Pantry on the church grounds for those in the immediate area to make use of, which may be particularly helpful during this season when groceries and other household needs are in shorter supply.

Again, these are just a few ideas for application of this attitude that we are called to live out. What ideas do YOU have for this, that we could add to the list?

Trinity Questions #1: Our Attitudes

Hello saints,

As the crisis of the Coronavirus pandemic has struck our world, I've gotten some questions about how we, as Christians, should respond. Here's part one of this week's efforts to answer those questions.

Later this week I'll post some other thoughts reflecting on this particular question/topic, and in the weeks to come I will answer the other questions I've gotten similarly (Lord willing).

The Unbiblical Tradition of Lent

March 6, 2019, known to some as "Ash Wednesday," was marked across a surprisingly large segment of the Reformed community—especially including many pastors—of a tradition that is abhorrent and offensive, contrary to the Gospel, and harmful to the church.

These brothers, who brazenly take up this tradition year after year, threaten the integrity of the Reformed church community and do damage to many through their practices. Yet, they persist in their annual practice, never missing a year nor easing off of the relentless observance they insist upon. In fact, they are zealous to recruit others to their tradition.

I've watched this happen each year for the duration of the existence of social media. I am convinced that this "Lenten" tradition is utterly unbiblical, and is an affront to living out the Gospel faithfully.

I'm speaking, of course, of the annual tradition some Reformed Christians have of berating their brothers and sisters in Christ for adopting the practice of observing the liturgical calendar.

No, it's not the truly historical Lenten traditions that I find so unbiblical and such a challenge to Gospel living, but the caustic reactions and responses of those who insist on mocking and satirizing those who observe the historic Lenten traditions. Year after year, my brothers (it's always men) make much of how little they think of the practices of Lent, and by extension of those who practice them. Fellow pastors set aside their work of edifying and building up the church to publicly abuse brothers and sisters in Christ for their attempts at piety.

I know many, many Christians who observe Lent in the more historic ways. Ironically, I cannot recall a single time when one of them sought to convince someone else to adopt the same practices, and certainly no occasion when it was suggested that those who abstained from any Lenten observance were somehow in the wrong or "less than faithful" to the Gospel.

Instead, many of them seek out an opportunity to have ashes marked across their foreheads in a recognition that the reality of death—ashes to ashes, dust to dust—is worth remembering, as it sweetens the parallel reality that, in Christ, death has lost its sting. Many will take up fasting or abstention regularly over the weeks to come in a desire to be drawn nearer to Christ in their dependence on him. They will allow their focus to fall upon the mourning and grief for sin that required the death of our Savior. They will savor the "already/not yet" reality of Christ's finished, yet not fully consummated, work of redemption.

Which of these is a bad thing?

Some despise the ashes tradition. Okay... but moments before he raised his friend Lazarus from the dead, Jesus wept; would we say that his tears cheapened the finished work that he himself accomplished? Why then do some insist that the practices of Lent must mean a failure to recognize the finished work of Christ?

Some joke about Lenten abstentions as "not real fasts"—which is true to a point. But to paraphrase Dwight Moody, "I like their way of fasting better than your way of not fasting." Jesus clearly expected his disciples to fast (see Matthew 6), but the only Christians I know who fast—ever—are those who observe the liturgical calendar.

One of my acquaintances posted this quote from Walter Bruggemann on his social media today:

I imagine Lent for you and for me as a great departure from the greedy, anxious antineighborliness of our economy, a great departure from our exclusionary politics that fears the other, a great departure from self-indulgent consumerism that devours creation. And then an arrival in a new neighborhood, because it is a gift to be simple, it is a gift to be free; it is a gift to come down where we ought to be.

I like that. And here's the great irony of this decades-old tradition of running down Lent before others: one group is seeking to set aside anti-neighborliness while the other group is taking it up especially against their fellow Christians. One side is striving to depart from the self-indulgence that devours creation, while the other side has seized upon this opportunity to devour their brothers and sisters. One set of Christians is setting aside time over the days and weeks to come to look ahead, with longing and anticipation, for a new Jerusalem and the fulfillment and unity that will come with it; another set of Christians is stamping their feet about the "finished work of Christ" while dividing themselves from the rest of the body his finished work was meant to bring together.

It boils down to this: one group of Christians, in their practices of observing Lent, are trying to practice their faith with piety and spiritual discipline. The other group of Christians are watching this and mocking it; they are making fun of their fellow believers for their efforts toward spiritual growth.

Mature Christians don't do that. Believers who take Jesus' command, that "this is how they will know you are my disciples: that you love one another"—don't do that.

I'm not out to convince anyone that, in order to be faithful to Christ, they must take up the observance of the liturgical calendar. I'm not arguing that Lent and its practices are necessary for spiritual health or growth. I'm not even claiming that those who believe Lent to be a distracting practice or an unhelpful innovation are wrong to think that (although I disagree, I respect their right to their position).

My point is simply this: if you believe that the practice of Lent is sinful, there's a process for how that should be handled within the church (hint: it doesn't have anything to do with social media) and you should sincerely and earnestly seek out your brother or sister and address that with them. That's a good and healthy thing for Christians to do.

If you're not willing to do that—either because you don't really think it's a sin but just a bad idea, or because you don't have the spiritual fortitude to step up on behalf of your fellow Christians like that—then you should just stop. Your mocking social media posts aren't convincing anyone of anything, except perhaps that you don't love the Gospel or understand Christ's finished work quite as much as you seem to think you do.

Thoughts on my fellow Memphis area pastor, Andy Savage

For the last several days I’ve been wrestling with what is appropriate for me, as a pastor in the Memphis, TN, area, to say publicly and openly about the situation involving Andy Savage, Highpoint Church, and Jules Woodson. After members in my congregation asked me about my perspective Wednesday night, I’ve come to the point where I feel compelled to offer some thoughts. 

For starters, let me deal with the log in my own eye: 20 years ago, I too was a young youth minister while finishing college, and I remember (sometimes with an accompanying facepalm) plenty of foolish mistakes and times when I sinned against those in my youth group or congregation. Throughout my adult life I’ve also faced my share of temptations toward sexual sin and other sins, and have failed in succumbing to those temptations more times than I wish were true. And, again thinking back to my late teens and early 20s, I remember times when, even as a Christian, I was inappropriately physical with women I was dating. 

Which is to say: I don’t believe that sexual sin is unforgivable, nor is the truth of sexual sin in a man’s past an automatic disqualification for ministry. And I do believe that every pastor fails his congregation, sometimes makes grievous mistakes, and sins against them. I’m certainly example #1 of all of these.

But the situation with Andy Savage is different.

I don’t know Andy personally, and frankly had never heard of him before very recently. I don’t know all of the circumstances or details of the history of what happened in Texas 20 years ago, nor do I know all of the details or circumstances about how things have unfolded in the last few weeks at Highpoint Church. I don’t profess to be an expert on sexual abuse or the abuse of power. (My brief account of events below can be supplemented easily by articles in the Kansas City Star, CBS News, and the New York Times, among others.) 

But from what I do know, I can tell you that the situation with Andy Savage is different. It’s not just a case of a pastor involved in an “unfortunate incident” that can be easily reconciled or dealt with “internally.” And it’s not just a case of past sin, even sexual sin. There’s a difference between sexual sin and predatory sin.

Andy Savage, taking advantage of his position and authority as a pastor in a church, drove a 17-year old girl under his pastoral care into the woods and sexually assaulted her. Afterward she spoke to another pastor on staff, Larry Cotton, about the assault; instead of pastoring her well and seeking justice and healing, he instructed her to keep silent about it and, by all appearances, he and the rest of the staff sought to cover it up. Andy Savage was gradually relieved of his responsibilities and allowed to leave to serve another church. Nothing to address this abuse and assault directly was ever done, as far as I can tell, until very recently. And for the most part what action has been taken is as frightening as it is disappointing. 

While Jules Woodson has had to deal with almost two decades of shame, nightmares, and PTSD from being sexually assaulted by her pastor, that pastor has been allowed to continue in a long career of ministry, eventually co-founding a megachurch, publishing several books, and hosting a radio show. And for most of those 20 years, Jules Woodson remained silent—until sharing her #MeToo testimony on a website in early January. She also posted a copy of an email she’d sent to Andy Savage in December.

Following this, Andy Savage first responded by Twitter and a statement on his blog (neither of which is available to the public any longer). I had a chance to read his statement before it was taken down, and was disappointed by the subtle gaslighting, deflection, and downplaying I read there. He referred the an “unfortunate sexual incident” that he “regretted”—with no mention of his failure to be truly accountable for his actions, or of the other pastor’s neglect to provide protection and support of Savage’s victim.

For reasons I don’t know (but I speculate that it was because it became clear to the leadership of Highpoint Church felt that the blog statement was not going to make it all go away), Andy Savage presented an “admission” to his congregation this past Sunday after a lengthy, qualifying introduction by co-pastor Chris Conlee (it was live-streamed; click here to see the “testimony” on YouTube). In it, he did not recount anything about his assault of a teenager, but claimed that “in agreement with church staff, I took every step to respond in a biblical way” and that he “accepted full responsibility for [his] actions.” He asserted that “this incident was dealt with in Texas 20 years ago” and claimed that he believed everything had been done that was needed. When he was done with his statement, the congregation rose for a standing ovation, and Chris Conlee spoke further about how grateful he and Andy were for the support of the congregation, then he prayed for Andy, the Savage family, and for Jules Woodson.

To be fair, Andy Savage’s statement on the video seems utterly sincere and he apparently demonstrates what can only described as remorse. And, giving all benefit of doubt to Savage, it may indeed be that he did everything that he was counseled to do by his fellow staff and the pastors he served under—which casts troubling light back on Larry Cotton and the others on staff, at very least. On the other hand, according to my fellow pastor Mike Sloan, outward sincerity is something that abusers can summon at will—and given the facts that Andy Savage has at various times changed his story, hidden his Twitter feed from public viewing, taken down his initial blog post, rationalized his actions and response, and blamed Jules Woodson for being complicit, this may be exactly what he is doing.

Even if he is utterly sincere and remorseful, the situation is still troubling. So what is so troubling about this? What makes this situation different?

First, Jules Woodson should have been supported, protected, loved, and encouraged by her church family—especially by the pastoral staff. She should never, ever have been made to feel that she was at fault or complicit in any way; they should have believed her, disavowed any shame on her part, and offered counseling and pastoral care. The way that she has been dealt with, then and now, is generally shameful and embarrassing for the church.

Second, let’s acknowledge plainly that, whatever happened in the moment or in the wake of Andy Savage’s sexual assault of Jules Woodson, no true justice has been sought for this. Final justice, of course, belongs to the Lord—and yet Christians are also commanded to seek justice in the world as faithful living in the Kingdom. Jules Woodson is the victim of assault, and deserved to have justice pursued on her behalf instead of what she received.

Third, this was not simply “sexual sin”—which, as a pastor, would have been similarly troubling and threatening to his ministry—but was a clear case of abuse of power and assault. In some states there are laws that categorize any sexual contact between a pastor and someone under his care as sexual assault, regardless of age or consent, because of the recognition that pastors are people in positions of authority. Add in the fact that she was still 17 and under her parents’ care and authority, and (regardless of what Texas law may stipulate about ages of consent) it was also a clear breach of ethical boundaries. Nothing about this “sexual incident” was okay or “normal” or anything like that.

Further, it raises the honest question: “Who else?” Andy Savage claims there has never been another incident like this one in his life. Let’s hope and pray that is true. But there are markers, as Mike Sloan pointed out to me, of the traits of an abuser. If that’s the case, there may be other victims as well who, like Jules Woodson, have been shamed and guilted into lonely silence. And if that is the case, it’s fair to say that those victims too have been robbed of pastoral care, mercy, and justice.

Also, Andy Savage, Larry Cotton, and the rest of their staff sinned and erred by not dealing with the situation publicly, openly, and decisively. He shouldn’t have been allowed to resign, but should have been fired. It should have been announced to the congregation that he was fired for sexual impropriety with a member of the youth group for whom he was given care. And he should have been placed under the public discipline of the church, and not simply allowed to “move home” to avoid continuing to deal with it.

Next, it appears that the leadership of both churches (though Highpoint perhaps less so) are caught up in a pattern of self-protection, more concerned about avoiding controversy than about addressing sin in a biblical way. This is evident, among other things, in casting Andy Savage as a “victim” in this whole situation alongside the true victim he assaulted. I can appreciate Chris Conlee’s attempts to be careful with how he worded things and also to speak of the need for support and healing for Jules Woodson, there were many statements that he made which made me feel like he was downplaying the reality of things and trying to separate what Andy Savage did from the fallout that it wreaked in Jules Woodson’s life. If anything (and again, giving as much benefit of doubt as possible), it almost seems like Andy Savage realizes that, then and now, there are far more consequences to his sin against her than anyone else will acknowledge—or possibly even than anyone else will allow him face. Once more I’ll reiterate that I don’t know the circumstances intimately, but I could totally believe a situation where, as a twenty-something, he wasn’t permitted to speak as freely or accept the consequences as fully as maybe even he himself felt was right.

Finally, the response of Highpoint Church as a congregation is disturbing. I’ve been in congregations where one person starts clapping and everyone else, not knowing what’s appropriate or not, just follows along. And I certainly recognize that having one of your pastors stand up and make a statement (however devoid of details) confessing to serious sin in the past would make for an awkward moment. But whatever the right response to this situation is, a standing ovation isn’t it. I know someone would say, “They weren’t applauding sin; they were applauding God’s grace which is big enough for any sin.” Still, it doesn’t feel right to me.

Where do we go from here? I’ll simply speak pastorally in a few directions.

To Jules Woodson: I am so, so sorry that you have faced all that you have. I’m sorry that someone you trusted and relied upon took advantage of that and abusively assaulted you sexually. And I’m sorry that others whom you trusted afterward betrayed you the way they did. You’ve never received the justice that your assault deserved, or the support and love that your church congregation had pledged to you. You’ve had to face two decades of pain, suffering, shame, loneliness, and false guilt because of the abuse of power and sexual violence of a pastor. My heart aches for you, and I pray that somehow you will find the true peace that Christ offers to sufferers.

To Andy Savage: I recognize that you saw the grievous nature of your sin almost immediately and owned that before Jules, and I acknowledge the remorse that I heard in your words as you spoke to Highpoint Church recently. I pray that those were truly sincere and not merely an abuser’s façade. I acknowledge that you simply may not have known what to do 20 years ago, and thus may have relied too heavily upon the counsel and guidance of men you trusted and who failed you. But your conscience, then and now, were and are telling you what was right, and you have followed the wrong path instead of heeding it. A video live-stream with a brief apology is not sufficient for the suffering your sin brought to another’s life. The apparent efforts made by you and others to minimize and cover up this sequence of sins appears manipulative, not repentant. As a fellow pastor and your brother in Christ, I would urge you to step aside from your leadership in the church, seek counseling and come to real terms with what havoc you brought into Jules Woodson’s life, and open yourself up to hearing from her directly about the pain you caused, admitting it and seeking true forgiveness.

To the leadership of the congregations involved: I appreciate that Larry Cotton has been put on leave of his current congregation in light of how he failed to act appropriately years ago. I urge Highpoint Church to take this matter at least as seriously, and not present abuse and assault as something applaudable or as an opportunity for an object lesson. Don’t downplay the severity of your pastor’s sins, or cast him as a victim in this scenario. Be willing to speak boldly and frankly about sin, even if it risks bringing controversy or makes your congregants ill-at-ease. Please, don’t protect or shelter abusers and give them the cover of the leadership dealing with matters “internally”—handle them with appropriate transparency and in accordance with the law and with the ethics that Scripture demands of treating those who are vulnerable and victimized with dignity, respect, and justice. Be bold and faithful enough to practice biblical discipline even (especially!) when it comes to the leadership of the church. 

To believers in the Memphis area and elsewhere: please, demand of your church that they treat sexual abuse and child victimization as seriously as they possibly can. Ask them if they have child protection policies in place, and if they do not then ask why. If they are dismissive or flippant about the issue, then it is likely time to find a new church. And if you need to talk through this topic and don’t feel you have someone to talk to, feel free to reach out to me—if I don’t know the answers, I can put you in touch with someone who will.

Resources that are worth your time:

GRACE (God’s Response to Abuse in the Christian Environment) ministry

FaithfulProtection.org—a turn-key guide to child protection policies and practices for the local church

Hollow Cries and Doomsday Declarations

An old friend of mine recently linked to this article from a website he is affiliated with: "A Vital Call for the Vitals of Religion." A quick summary is this: the lack of a clear definition of what constitutes the "vitals of religion" (a phrase taken directly from the PCA's Book of Church Order) will inevitably lead to the Presbyterian Church in America looking like the liberal mainline denomination that the PCA split from, the PC-USA.

I think the writer is correct that what constitutes "vitals" changes over time, but I disagree that this automatically means an increasing tendency toward liberalism. I think the PCA is actually a case in point that this simply isn't so.

When the PCA was formed in 1973, it was done under the banner of the authority of Scripture as the central and most fundamental "vital" to be subscribed to. Fair enough—but any good Baptist then or now could subscribe to that, and thus many of the PCA churches established in the early years of the denomination were quite baptistic in form and practice, if not technically in their claim of theological standards. I personally have known ruling elders ordained during that era who admitted that they had never read the Westminster Confession of Faith. It wasn't really until the union with the RPCES in 1982 that a deeper commitment to distinctively Reformed doctrines became more prominent.

Since then, if anything, the PCA has gotten arguably more theologically conservative in its self-described "vitals" and in the documents adopted as containing our positions. The position papers on divorce and remarriage, homosexuality, and the insider movement are prime examples; even the position paper on creation, while broader than some would argue is acceptable, nevertheless defined parameters that clearly excluded certain views. Meanwhile, the study committee on Federal Vision theology (which many presbyteries now ask transfers and ordinands to avow their agreement to) also laid down some clear lines. Most recently, the study committee report at the last GA on women in the church asserted in no uncertain terms that there is no exegetical or ecclesiological basis for ordaining women to an office in the church.

(In addition to this incline instead of decline, our presbyteries are still assured their right to define the terms of their own membership in our preliminary principles, and some do.)

Thus, the persistent claims of a certain segment of the PCA that we're on a slippery slope where one slight misstep will undoubtedly result in the theological downfall of the denomination, to me, seems hollow or even bitter. There is a curmudgeonly quality to the way they continue to rant about this, with another article or blog post passed around once a month or so describing how the denomination is on the verge of theological heterodoxy. The one linked above is merely the latest example.

Meanwhile, some/many from that same segment seem increasingly committed to using unsavory tactics to accomplish their goals of fear-mongering and flag-planting at the Assembly level. I experienced this first-hand two General Assemblies ago, when I served on the Committee of Commissioners for the Administrative Committee (AC). As it happened, that was the year that the AC brought forth the recommendation to form a study committee on women in the church. As the discussion proceeded, it quickly became evident to me that the flag-planting crowd had worked hard (I'm almost inclined to say they "conspired") to stack the committee with men who would oppose this action, and indeed the result was that the committee's report recommended that the assembly vote it down.

Now, how do I know that they stacked the C of C thusly? Because when it was brought to the floor then those who opposed forming that study committee were obviously a minority. Yet the C of C structure is meant to be a representative body of the denomination as a whole. One would think if that were the case then the C of C would have had a greater diversity of voices than it did.

Ironically, the same voices that frequently serve as spokesmen for this group of flag-planters are quick to fuss about any other groups they perceive as colluding to subvert the will of the assembly as a whole—most recently, a group known as the National Partnership. The flag-planters assert that their actions are different, because if they gather or communicate then they do so openly for all to see. But experiences like mine with the AC committee of commissioners seem far too coincidental for this claim to be believed.

There have always been subsets of the denomination who discuss their views and make use of connections and relationships to enhance understanding and even cooperate in advancing certain points of view. Personally I've never been a part of one—unless you count the conversations over meals or drinks that take place organically. But they exist, and always have. I'm not particularly troubled by their existence, nor do I feel threatened by the presence of those groups that I may disagree with on certain issues.

What troubles me about the linked article, others like it, and the subset group that has devoted themselves to planting their flag and trying to "take back" the denomination as a bastion of conservative, orthodox Reformed theology is two-fold.

First, as I've asserted above, I think they are simply wrong—or at least presumptively overstating the status of the PCA. I believe that most other teaching elders of the denomination similarly consider their rants and prognoses as overblown hyperbole. But as is so often the case, yelling and stomping one's foot enough will make people pay attention, and thus the average member and even many ruling elders are given over to the misimpression that the latest heated discussion—or the next one—amounts to the PCA's having stepped on a trigger of a landmine, and we are about to be blown up.

Second, it presents as uncharitable at best, and unbrotherly at worst. A friend once commented that "no one outside of the PCA accuses us of being soft on conservative theology." I think that is still true. But the reputation of the PCA is being re-defined by the petty, bitter squabbles about whether we are conservative enough, rather than by our commitments to administering the Gospel effectively. The PCA is full of amazing testimonies of how God is at work using our humble denomination as an instrument of grace, but the loudest noises coming from within our midst seem to be grumbling instead of praise.

A final comment to how some of my fellow elders have taken on an uncharitable attitude is also immediately relevant: originally I began writing this out as a (much briefer) comment to my old friend's Facebook post that linked to the article. However, the last time I wrote a comment on something this friend posted, he deleted it. The only reason I can see for doing so is that he didn't want any words opposing or questioning his position. It's his Facebook wall, and he can choose to allow what he will—but if he's not planting a flag, it seems like he might be more open to iron sharpening iron even (or especially) on matters of vital importance.

Race, Racism, Culture, and Problems

In my small and relatively insignificant corner of the world, topics of race, racism, white culture, black culture, and the problems related to all of the above have been on my mind and heart heavily for the last few weeks. This has been a topic within my church (the Presbyterian Church in America), where it was the center of many conversations at our annual General Assembly last week. It has been a topic in the national news, when—as you already know, unless you’ve been out of touch with any news whatsoever—an avowed white supremacist entered an African Methodist Episcopal church in my home state and gunned down nine members of that congregation. It has been a topic within my own family for other more personal reasons. 

It’s a topic that I cannot avoid—not that I’m trying to avoid it, nor am I interested in doing so. Nevertheless, I’ve been reluctant to enter the fray regarding this topic, not least because I’ve felt that anything I may have to say about it is probably already being said much better by someone else, and on the other hand my own words about it would likely get drowned out by the many, many voices speaking up about it. 

But it is an important topic, and one that has rightly come front and center for the last year (beginning with the events and injustices in Ferguson, MO—another place and event that was close to me, as I called St. Louis home for longer than anywhere else other than my hometown. It has also been on my mind for the last year because, last summer, my family moved back to the Memphis, TN area, and as we re-acclimated to the culture here I’ve been reminded more times than I would like just how deeply Memphis and the Mississippi Delta region have been in the thick of racial tension for the last half-century and more.

As much as I’ve read about this vital issue, there are some things that I have yet to see someone articulate—or state in the way I would, from the perspective that I have—that may be worth hearing/reading. So I have set out to put a few thoughts into words and sentences, which hopefully will add to the many well-stated articles and blog posts out there as a voice of harmony: not singing the same “melody" as the rest, but also not so dissonant that it undermines the important words of others either.

(I’ve put these in “bullets” not because they are all that brief but due to the fact that the paragraphs below are related only loosely to each other.)

• The last day of General Assembly for the PCA (and particularly from about 7pm on) was incredibly moving, humbling, and, overall, a powerful and large step in the right direction. I am grateful that my denomination seems poised to take real action, from the highest levels on down, to make confession of our sins regarding racial injustice, inequality, and indifference. It is encouraging to see those who sometimes (and even frequently) disagree come together in unity to act on this. Yet I find myself wrestling with temptation to be pessimistic, and even cynical, about the possibilities of how this will play out: too many times, an action like this one (where something substantial happens at a denominational level) can serve as an excuse or even cover for local congregations that need to do much, much more than just pass resolutions to simply give a nod toward the denomination’s action and little or nothing more. I pray that the small part of me that doubts will be astounded by how wrong I am.
• Like many others, I applauded the words of one of the founding pastors of the PCA, Jim Baird, when he stood and gave assent to his own participation in racial injustice in the denomination’s early years. Like others, I recognized this publicly by posting a photo of him on Facebook and Twitter, calling his action “brave, humble, and heroic.” I stand by my claim that this was indeed a powerfully humble thing; however, after being checked by my friend Jeremy, I have reconsidered whether it was truly “heroic”—and I think now I must say that, as great a moment as that was, it fell short of true bravery and heroism. In re-reading the transcript of what was said, there were ways in which Dr. Baird hedged his words a little too much, and qualified his positions and actions too frequently. I’m certain that saying what he did took great humility and no small amount of courage, but it also strikes me as falling short of what we needed to hear from one of our remaining founding fathers: that the actions of many PCA churches were not just indifferent but aggressively (even if often passively) racist, that we need to repent of that as a denomination, and that local churches need to repent of that as congregations. Given the context—where he was in perhaps the very most favorable of all circumstances to make such a public confession—he would have had nothing to lose, and everything to gain, in making such a statement. It is impolite, I admit, to critique another man’s public confession of sin, and I apologize for that; but I feel the need to say it, as much to recant my own public statement as anything.
• There’s something to be said for giving people credit for “progress” when it comes to growth with regard to their worldview and cultural mindset, such as how they think about racism and those of other races. I’ve heard, and said myself, qualifications like, “…considering that they grew up in a racially segregated culture…” But let’s keep that in check; the American Civil Rights movement began over 60 years ago, and even the oldest generations among us have lived more than two-thirds of their lives under its influence. It’s time to stop giving a pass to people who persist in racist behavior (even—and especially—when it is more subtle and passive) just because they are old. I know a man who, in his 50s, decided to stop going by “Dick” and start self-identifying as “Richard” because he recognized that the former made some people uncomfortable. If he can change his very identity for something so relatively insignificant, who among us is unable to strive to change something that is as important as racism?
• I’ve heard and read the words of a number of people criticizing public officials for “politicizing” the shooting at Emmanuel AME Church of Charleston, SC. This doesn’t make any sense to me; isn’t this precisely what we both need and expect our civic leaders to do in a moment of local, national, and cultural crisis? It may be idealistic and even naïve of me, but I think that is actually what they are there for. Politicians are put into office to serve their constituencies, and service to them at this moment should look like a compassionate display of commitment to stand against such acts, as well as the motivations that beget such acts. Or, put another way: if circumstances like what we’ve seen this week are not the very reason for our civic leaders, then we actually have a very low view of the offices they hold (and should cease complaining when they “don’t lead” in other occasions).
• One thing that has struck me is just how deep the racist divide goes in terms of an “us vs. them” mentality, and how this affects the way people speak. At General Assembly, I heard someone say that they hoped that the African-American pastors in the PCA could/would “teach us” (my emphasis) how to relate to “them” more inclusively. I’ve read, in response to the Charleston shooting, that “we” (referring, of course, to white people) need to see this as the racially-motivated crime that it is. If true racial reconciliation is going to occur culturally—within the church and/or outside of her—then white people have to stop talking like this! “We” includes black people and white people, as well as hispanics, asians, and other ethnicities and/or races. Do I think about the fact that every time I say “we” or “us” and mean white people, I may be inadvertently setting up my black, asian, or other non-white brothers and sisters as outsiders? (I do now.)
• The shooting at Emmanuel AME was unquestionably a racist act, and as such fits the bill as a “hate crime.” It was a crime that was deeply rooted in sin and specifically in the disregard for the lives of others. Yes; AND, it’s also an act that should call us to consider how guns come into play in crimes like this. Sure, he could have used a knife, an axe, or a match—but he didn’t. (And can we agree that he probably would have been subdued without killing as many, at least, as he did, had he been using a knife or an axe?) We have sin problems in our culture, we have race problems, and we also have gun problems. Arguing that “guns are not the issue” is simply a false dichotomy and, in my opinion, willfully turning a blind eye to one of the pressing matters that also needs to be addressed, along with race and sin. Can we quit treating these as if they are simple “either-or” issues? (I say this as a gun owner, by the way.)
• It so happens that I am preaching tomorrow; I seriously considered setting aside the sermon I was planning to preach, and instead turning to Scripture to exhort the congregation about race and racism. I’m not going to, because I’m not the pastor of the congregation I’m preaching to and that is really his ministry to them, not mine. That said: if your pastor hasn’t seized upon the many cultural moments that have presented opportunity to preach about the problems of race and racism in our world, perhaps you should ask him why he hasn’t. The reconciliation of the gospel is not only about racial reconciliation (and some pastors err in seemingly trying to make it so), but it certainly does include racial reconciliation. You—and me, and all of us who sit under the preaching of God’s Word—both need and deserve to be taught and ministered to on that topic, especially when the topic is so pressing culturally.

Well, that’s all I have to say for now. Thanks, as always, to my tens of readers (if you’ve made it this far) for checking in.

Pep Rallies and Denominational Divides

…Or, why I don’t fit into “categories” (and I don’t think you do either)

If you’re into the “inside baseball” of denominational polity—and perhaps especially within the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA)—then the last couple of days have probably been an occasion for pondering and assessment. A couple of days ago, the latest issue of byFaith magazine (the PCA’s denominational publication) came in the mail, and yesterday byFaith’s website (byfaithonline.com) posted an article from it: “The State of the PCA” by Dr. Bryan Chapell. On the heels of that, today saw the publication of a response on the Reformation21 website: “Dear Bryan: Replying to ‘The State of the PCA’" by Dr. Rick Phillips.

Both articles are written by respected and influential men in the PCA. Dr. Chapell is the President Emeritus of the PCA’s Covenant Theological Seminary, a seasoned pastor, the author of a number of books, and the current (and soon-to-be outgoing) moderator of the denomination. Dr. Phillips is a leader and board member of a number of familiar ministries (the Alliance of Confessing Evangelicals, The Gospel Coalition) as well as Westminster Theological Seminary, and is also a seasoned pastor and published author. While I don’t know Dr. Phillips personally, I do happen to have some background with Dr. Chapell—he was my professor at seminary, and also offered personal counsel to me on more than one occasion. What I know to be true of Dr. Chapell is, I am certain, also true of Dr. Phillips: these are men who deeply love Christ and his church, are committed to the advance of the gospel, and long for greater unity within the PCA.

Good Intentions

So I take for granted the fact that both articles have as their intent the goals of giving clarity to what has sown division among our denomination, and also identifying hoped-for paths toward overcoming that division. What I wonder, however, is whether the approach that these articles employ is useful to reach those goals—or are they actually counterproductive?

Both Dr. Chapell and Dr. Phillips do a fine job—though at different points—of highlighting areas where division rests. As I read each piece, I found things to affirm and agree with, recognizing wisdom in how they exposed particular problems in the PCA. It’s probably fair to say that, if you want to get an accurate picture of how to divide up the various members of the PCA according to categories, you should read both of these articles and generate something of a synthesis.

My question is: why do you want to divide us up that way?

Pep Rallies

I went to Hammond School, a small private school, from first to twelfth grade. It happened that this school had a pretty strong athletic program (regularly winning state championships in football, basketball, baseball, and soccer), and during my time there that was a point of great pride and unity among the student body. (That athletic tradition still continues, and is still a minor source of pride: “our” football team has gone to the state championship for the last eight years straight, winning six of those; both the boys’ and girls’ basketball teams competed in the state finals this year, and the boys’ team won it.)

Pep rallies at Hammond were an interesting experience. They were raucous, energetic events—we knew that this was one of the things that brought us together the most. Yet, there would inevitably be a point where the emcee would introduce some sense of intra-school competition, usually in the form of, “Which class can cheer [read: yell] the loudest?”

Was it the lowly freshmen? The coming-into-their own sophomores? The restless juniors? The confident seniors? Maybe even the rowdy eighth graders or the barely-adolescent seventh graders?

The thing is: this was a very small school. My graduating class had 34 members (so, yes, I finished in the top 30 of my graduating class). The whole K-12 student body was smaller than my wife’s single class. I had good friends who were four and five grade-levels above me, and by the time I graduated I knew most of those students below me down to the seventh grade. I still keep in touch with a number of fellow Hammond students (mostly via Facebook); recent sudden deaths of alums, even though not a part of my own class, stung as though they had been in my year.

Because the student body was so small, almost every school activity included students spanning four and five grade levels: school plays were for seniors and seventh graders alike; the chorus had eighth grade students alongside juniors. Varsity sports might celebrate a senior with several years’ experience behind him, while also starting a ninth grader (or sometimes even younger). There was much, much more unity among the student body than there was division, at least compared to most other schools. 

Though I didn’t realize it as much at the time, in retrospect it is clear that the purpose of grade levels like sophomore, junior, and senior at Hammond was more a function of academic progress than much else. Which is why the dynamic at pep rallies always seemed a bit contradictory and out of place. These were real categories, to be sure, and they mattered—but they were so far from embodying the real identities of the students themselves that appealing to them rang false.

They Don’t Fit

That’s how I feel about the imposed categories by Drs. Chapell and Phillips as well. I’m sure that there are pastors, ruling elders, and perhaps even whole congregations that line up tightly and tidily into the categories laid out in those two articles—just as I am confident that some of my Hammond classmates felt a much closer identification with their class-year than I did. But I don’t know many (if any).

Breaking it down a bit, with myself as an example:

• Dr. Chapell offered a point of division the PCA by broad age categories—which Dr. Phillips questioned, and rightly so. While generational experiences always matter in terms of how we understand our world, my own experience has consistently been that age matters only so much. Meanwhile, I’ve always found great affinity with older ministers and been able to work alongside them easily. Which age demographic do I fit better with, Dr. Chapell?
• I agree with Dr. Phillips’ assessment of the reasons and need to embrace the “cultural isolation” that Christians are increasingly facing; yet I also agree with Dr. Chapell’s claim (and hope) that there is still a place for “winning a hearing for a credible faith” as a means of influencing, if not the collective culture, then the individual culture-makers that we each encounter. And I’m suspicious of both takes, insofar as they seem to hold cultural change and impact as a metric for the faithfulness of ministry. So which “camp” am I a part of when it comes to culture, Dr. Phillips?
• It seems that an underlying difference that neither is willing to directly call out is the fundamental, 15-year-old debate (still raging behind the scenes) over “good faith” vs. “full” or “strict” subscription to our theological standards. This is the meta-issue beneath so much of what is discussed in these articles: some members of the PCA believe we opened the door to potential theological liberalism (or “progressivism”), while others believe that the best way forward is down the path we have taken. I’ve blogged about this before and obviously I come down on the side of being in favor of “good faith” subscription; nevertheless, almost all of my own exceptions are matters of “semantic” difference and not theological ones, and would probably pass the smell test for a “full subscription” examination. Still, the “full subscription” folks wouldn’t have me, because I’m open to the idea of “good faith” subscription in general. 
• Meanwhile, both Dr. Chapell and Dr. Phillips use terms like “progressive” and “confessionalist” (or “traditionalist” as Dr. Chapell has it)—which strike me as false dichotomies. The values attributed to each are not mutually exclusive, and every value deserves a place of emphasis in proper context. Are they simply saying that some of us err in misplacing emphasis at times? We all do that. All of these are highly-charged terms that entrench more than they helpfully qualify. 

To be fair, it is acknowledged (by Dr. Chapell directly, and I assume Dr. Phillips would agree) that these are not universal categories, but that they are common ones. I guess I would openly challenge that premise, recognizing that if that premise fails then the whole argument collapses.

How Does This Help?

One thing they both agree on is that there is a disconcerting degree of factioning in the PCA, and that we are dependent on particular factors (especially external ones) to overcome the divisions marked by these factions. This is not, in fact, the first time that we’ve been told this. At least three times in the past decade I can recall articles or presentations that sought to give a “state of the PCA” description and that essentially boiled us down to how we are divided.

What I keep asking myself is, “How does saying this over and over help the situation?"

I’m not sure that it helps at all. I think it might be hurting things a bit.

A few weeks ago, a few friends on Facebook linked to an article wherein an activist for homosexual civil rights was cited as saying that the ultimate goal of seeking the legalization of “gay marriage” was to obliterate the institution of marriage entirely. These Facebook friends and others were doing the digital equivalent of jumping up and down while pointing and angrily crying out, “You see? I knew it! They all want to destroy marriage!"

On one of those posts, though, a mutual acquaintance who happens to be homosexual commented, “That may be her goal, but it’s not everyone’s goal."

This is an important point that we shouldn’t miss: just because one person avows something, it does not necessarily make them a representative of all the rest of their “category”—even if they say that it does. Even if they are a recognized voice that often speaks for that category. The truth is that people are much more complex than that.

So it is in the PCA too: we hear or read something by someone in another “camp” and we infer conclusions about the whole camp through it. When we do that, our factions become more deeply divided and entrenched in our opposition. We turn against each other more readily and with greater perceived right to do so.

What if that which we are dependent upon to overcome divisions are not external factors but internal ones? What if the way through this as a denomination is to quit focusing so much on what divides?

A Team Sport

The kind of article that Drs. Chapell and Phillips have penned often set the tone for General Assembly—poorly. We read them, then we go in watching for the factions and picking sides. I think that’s a mistake.

In the end, General Assembly should be much like a pep rally (yes, I’m oversimplifying). It’s a chance to hear the voices from the different classes calling out their various cheers, and recognizing where we are different in good-natured ways that nevertheless are overcome by the ultimate unity behind the true goal: our team is in play.

When a team takes the field, every player has a different role. The goalie doesn’t often take shots on the opposing goal; the quarterback doesn’t usually make interceptions; the pitcher doesn’t field fly balls at the fence. They need each other to accomplish the purposes they have been given as a team—together.

Dr. Chapell closed his article saying that he hoped, "the great battle will lead to new levels of graciousness to each other and dependence upon the grace of our Savior.” Dr. Phillips agreed with that hope, but cautioned that his fear is that "the very thing which divides us is our approach to this common enemy, so that it is perhaps more likely that we will pull apart.” But I Corinthians 12:12–27 suggests that both of these statements are missing something: we’re not only dependent upon the grace of our Savior to extend that kind of grace to each other; we are, by the grace of our Savior, also dependent upon each other.

If you follow my analogy above, you’ll see where I’m going with this. Dr. Chapell (who, Dr. Phillips suggested, leans slightly to the “progressive” side) needs Dr. Phillips’ “confessionalist” approach to round out the team. Dr. Phillips needs Dr. Chapell, too. I need my confessionalist friends to check my progressive tendencies, and I need my progressive friends to motivate them. I need my progressive friends to balance out my confessionalism, and my confessional friends to encourage them.

In spite of my wondering about the value of either article, I agree with Dr. Phillips’ final statement as an urging toward this team spirit: “It is essential that we love one another and seek venues in which our personal and pastoral understanding may be increased.” May it be so.