Grace to you & peace

 Between leaving full-time ministry and moving to another state, I've worshiped at a dozen or more confessionally reformed/presbyterian Churches over the last few years and have been surprised by how few include the apostolic salutation in their liturgies. For those who'd like a reminder, the apostolic salutation is that bit at the beginning of services when the preacher raises his hand in greeting and says something like "Grace to you and peace from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ." This greeting is modeled after the apostolic practice of beginning their New Testament letters with a salutation on behalf of the God who was inspiring the epistles they were writing.

(The apostolic salutation which is most often used is the one favored by the Apostle Paul, but can have as much variety as does the benediction, or blessing, which concludes the worship service.)

Simple ignorance of the historic practice of the apostolic salutation may explain its absence, but I think another factor could be confusion between it and the call to worship. The call to worship is a sentence (or more) from Scripture which commands the hearers to enter into God's presence and praise him. For those who don't give it too much thought, this divine command may seem interchangeable with a greeting from God.

Of course, even when it's practiced, the apostolic salutation can be confused with the benediction. I have seen it described in a bulletin as "God greets us with a blessing," and many pastors raise both hands when extending it. This is a fairly obvious error, sadly: a statement of greeting is not a blessing unless it contains the word "bless" or some synonym thereof.

Now that I've rather belabored the point and tried the gentle reader's patience, said reader may wonder whether a practice so frequently ignored and so easily confused with other elements of worship really deserves inclusion in every service. It can be supported by any number of arguments, but I am compelled by the nature of the office of Word and sacrament. In 2 Corinthians 5, Paul writes of his pastoral office, which he shares with his coauthor, Timothy, when he writes,

Now all things are of God, who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation, that is, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not imputing their trespasses to them, and has committed to us the word of reconciliation. Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were pleading through us: we implore you on Christ’s behalf, be reconciled to God. (2 Corinthians 5:18-20)

Over the years, I've come increasingly to recognize the extent to which the minister of Word and sacrament is Christ's ambassador, particularly when leading worship. In prayer, he brings the message of the people to their God, and in preaching he brings the words of God to his people. This, quite obviously, is what ambassadors do. Therefore, the apostolic salutation is the ambassador from the Kingdom of God bringing a word of grace and peace from his King to the hostile world to which Christ the King has laid claim.

This brings to the fore another distinction between the benediction and the salutation. The benediction is a proclamation of God's blessing on his people, and therefore should only be pronounced in the context of Christian worship when the people of God are gathered together. The salutation is God's greeting, and as such it may be given to anyone and everyone. In Luke 2, the angelic messengers announced peace to the world in the birth of Jesus Christ; now Christ's ambassadorial messengers bring greetings of grace and peace through Jesus Christ to the entire world.

Whenever I am acting in my capacity as a minister of Word and sacrament, I greet my hearers with grace and peace from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. After all, I am an ambassador of reconciliation and would be most glad if our encounter led to their embrace of the good news of Jesus Christ and his Cross. I hope all my ambassadorial brethren will likewise return the apostolic salutation to the beginning of every worship service.

Providing for one's household

 Legalism is a funny thing.

In the Christian context, "legalism" is the creation and enforcement of rules which are not grounded in the Bible. We often think of the legalist as a person who creates and imposes rules on others, but there is another legalist who is much more difficult to expose and reform. That is the legalist of the tender conscience, who sees no room for grace in God's Law and constantly fears he has fallen short of its measure. Either through reading the Bible as a stricter taskmaster than it is, or by falling prey to legalistic preaching, this Christian often seeks, but rarely finds, assurance of salvation.

Since shortly after ordination, I have served as a doctrinal correspondent for the Orthodox Presbyterian Church's website. People submit questions at opc.org, and one or the other of us is assigned to answer it. While nearly all of the questions we get are about Christian doctrine or how to exegete some point of Scripture, many of them have, as a subtext, a concern as to whether one has fallen short of God's commands. What follows is one such recent example.

  I’ve been asked to respond to this question you posted to the Orthodox Presbyterian Church’s website:

In 1 Timothy 5:8, the apostle Paul stated, "But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever."
Would this passage apply to a man unable to provide health insurance for his family? The man is able to provide for the basic necessaries of life such as housing, food, and clothing, but doesn't make enough money to provide for health insurance. Should such a man consider himself worse than an unbeliever?

  This is a case where context is extremely important. 1 Timothy 5:8 is just one sentence in a much longer passage which, for the sake of clarity, I quote in part:

1Tim. 5:3  Honor widows who are truly widows.

1Tim. 5:4 But if a widow has children or grandchildren, let them first learn to show godliness to their own household and to make some return to their parents, for this is pleasing in the sight of God.

1Tim. 5:5 She who is truly a widow, left all alone, has set her hope on God and continues in supplications and prayers night and day,

1Tim. 5:6 but she who is self-indulgent is dead even while she lives.

1Tim. 5:7 Command these things as well, so that they may be without reproach.

1Tim. 5:8 But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.

1Tim. 5:9  Let a widow be enrolled if she is not less than sixty years of age, having been the wife of one husband,

1Tim. 5:10 and having a reputation for good works: if she has brought up children, has shown hospitality, has washed the feet of the saints, has cared for the afflicted, and has devoted herself to every good work.

1Tim. 5:11 But refuse to enroll younger widows, for when their passions draw them away from Christ, they desire to marry

1Tim. 5:12 and so incur condemnation for having abandoned their former faith.

1Tim. 5:13 Besides that, they learn to be idlers, going about from house to house, and not only idlers, but also gossips and busybodies, saying what they should not.

1Tim. 5:14 So I would have younger widows marry, bear children, manage their households, and give the adversary no occasion for slander.

1Tim. 5:15 For some have already strayed after Satan.

1Tim. 5:16 If any believing woman has relatives who are widows, let her care for them. Let the church not be burdened, so that it may care for those who are truly widows.

  In 1 Timothy 5:1-2, Paul introduces his subject by talking about our 5th Commandment duty to honor every person according their several statuses in life and their relations to us (see the Westminster Shorter Catechism questions 63-64, https://opc.org/sc.html). In 1 Timothy 5:17-21, he talks about how to relate to elders in the Church and those who persist in sin. It’s important to see that Paul is dealing here primarily with how we are to keep the 5th Commandment by treating everyone around us appropriately.

  In 1 Timothy 5:3-16, Paul talks about the Church’s duty to widows in the Church who do not have relatives who can provide for them (1 Tim 5:3, 8, 16). Apparently, the Church in Ephesus (1 Tim 1:3) kept a roll of widows the deacons would take care of (1 Tim 5:9), and Paul wanted to help Timothy make sure the congregation’s finances would not be overwhelmed (1 Tim 5:16). Indeed, he goes so far as to say that widows who can still remarry ought to: explicitly to guard themselves against idleness but implicitly to not burden the Church (1 Tim 5:11-15). So the context of 1 Timothy 5:8 is that Paul is telling Timothy that he and his congregation must be faithful to care for those who truly are needy; from that follows the necessary implication that Christians who are able to take care of needy relatives must also do so. (These are very important principles for any congregation with a healthy diaconate. My first ordained service was as a deacon, and this passage helped guide our work.)

  As in 1 Timothy 5:11-15, in 1 Timothy 5:8 Paul is not addressing ability as much as he is willingness. In other words, the man who is able to provide for a needy widow in his near or extended family (and it seems to me Paul particularly has in mind a man’s own mother or mother-in-law) but will not has denied the faith by refusing to carry out the 5th Commandment in one of its most obvious applications. Lest that seems a harsh judgment, we can make a comparison to the 7th Commandment (“thou shalt not commit adultery”), where the parallel sin would be to hire prostitutes. I believe most Christians would agree that such a person is “worse than an unbeliever” because he calls himself a Christian while refusing to repent of a remarkably obvious and heinous sin.

  I write all of that in order to say that I believe the premises of your question are incorrect. A man who is doing his best to provide for his family but falls short has demonstrated he is willing even though he is not able. Just as a godly widow who neither could provide for herself nor had family members who could help her could go to her Church’s deacons for help, so a family suffering from financial hardship should go to their Church’s deacons for help. This is right, Godly and Biblical. I am grateful to the Lord for making the office of deacon an ordinance for his Church; it has always been dear to me because it is a tangible expression of God’s love for his people.

  While this has been lenghty, I hope it’s been helpful to you. Please feel free to follow up if anything I’ve written requires clarification. I pray our God who provided his own Son as the atonement for our sins will provide you and yours with all that is needful for this life.

Towards a theory of Church names

 I remember the day in seminary when Scott Clark introduced the chapel speaker, a Lutheran pastor whose congregation was called "Beautiful Savior." "Why do the Lutherans have all the good Church names?" Professor Clark asked rhetorically, and I have wondered frequently. Confessionally presbyterian Churches are notorious for pulling from an extremely short list of names. Leaving aside those with geographic or numerical indicators (i.e. "First," "Greater Sandusky"), there's "Covenant," "Faith," "Grace," Trinity" and "Providence." For those hoping to project a softer image, there's "Harvest," "Emmanuel," "Redeemer" or "Hope." Honestly, that's about it. Despite literally years of my campaigning for it, there's still not one "Big Happy Rainbow Church (OPC)."

This relentless monotony makes sense when one considers the place of confessional presbyterianism in the broader ecclesiastical landscape. While that landscape is littered with Lutheran congregations, there's relatively few from the Presbyterian Church in America or one of her sister denominations. When new OP Church plants are launched, an extremely common reason given is that there are no nearby reformed congregations. While a new evangelical Church can just be itself in all its own idiosyncratic glory, any given OPC congregation feels a burden to represent the entirety of the presbyterian and reformed stream of the Protestant Reformation.

This sociological reality prompts a conservative approach to naming. Employing a "traditional" (i.e., "boring") name sends a clear, if unstated, message to the potential visitor: "You can trust us to be safe: nothing too flashy or evangelicalish here! Just good old hymns and reliable Calvinist doctrine!" Even as I've been openly crusading for more interesting names, I am suspicious of the outlier congregations which use them. Before my family recently visited "Means of Grace Church," I couldn't help wondering what they were trying to say and what potential weirdness lay ahead of us. (Thankfully, it was just as boring as any other presbyterian congregation. We all breathed a sigh of relief!)

One obvious solution is to plant so many confessionally presbyterian congregations through vigorous evangelism and discipleship that individual names won't seem so weighty. Unfortunately, that would require leaving the house and talking to people, so it will be a while until we get there. In the meantime, I suggest a new name which should immediately reassure any presbyterian looking for a new Church home: "Boring Conservative Presbyterian Church (OPC)."

Ahab's peace

When he was my pastor, Joseph Pipa would sometimes greet me with "Is that you, oh troubler of Israel?" He meant it (and I took it) as a back-handed compliment, as that is how Israel's king, Ahab, greeted  the prophet Elijah. Especially during seminary, I had a tendency to question everything about presbyterian doctrine and practice, which meant I challenged Dr. Pipa with some frequency. Far from bothering him, I think this rather pleased him. Dr. Pipa was, and remains, supremely confident in the Biblical fidelity of the Southern Presbyterian tradition and so was more than happy to give its answers to a pesky seminarian. He also believed that if the tradition really had a problem, it could be reformed according to Scripture. The system could not be troubled, for even its most serious challenge would merely be an opportunity to reform and improve.

That, of course, was not Ahab's attitude toward Elijah. By the time of 1 Kings 18, Israel had long been suffering the drought Elijah prophesied in 1 Kings 16. Elijah had ruined things for Ahab and Israel, destroying the peace for which any king might hope. We can all imagine Ahab's immense irritation when Elijah replied, "I have not troubled Israel, but you and your father’s house have, in that you have forsaken the commandments of the LORD and have followed the Baals" (1 Kings 18:18). From Ahab's point of view, the problem wasn't Israel's idolatry: it was a prophet who couldn't leave well enough alone and kept ruining his peace of mind.

I've been saddened to realize that Ahab's idea of peace is shared by any number of presbyterian pastors and elders. Take, for example, Jennifer Greenberg's "Open Letter to the OPC." While her account of neglect and indifference in response to her attempts to report physical and sexual abuse was met with sympathetic concern in many circles, reactions in private and on the Twitter and other social media were mixed. I've seen attempts to minimize ("she's exaggerating; she's taking things out of context") and to condemn ("whatever may have happened, she's at fault for airing her concerns in the wrong way and should apologize"). These responses echo those of sessions and presbyteries on other occasions: the problem isn't the abuse which is being reported, but that the report of the abuse troubles the Church's peace.

In other words, too many in presbyterian circles enjoy Ahab's peace and become quite upset when it's disrupted.

I learned a great deal from Dr. Pipa, especially when disagreeing with him. A system which is founded on Scripture and continually strives for greater fidelity to it enjoys a peace which cannot be disrupted by a report that it has failed because such reports indicate that the system is working and can be improved. I think I share Dr. Pipa's confidence in confessional presbyterianism.

I wonder why those who cling to Ahab's peace do not.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: "Jezebel & Ahab Meeting Elijah in Naboth's Vineyard" by Francis Dicksee

Blame the shepherds

I was ordained and installed as an OPC pastor in 1999. A few years in, I started getting calls from members of other congregations.

I'm not sure why I got these calls, or if it's common for most pastors to get them. (One time, it was because I was serving as moderator of my presbytery.) These members (a few of them ruling elders) were concerned about their pastors' conduct. The issues were varied: the quality and doctrinal soundness of the preaching; a high-handed leadership style; an inability to resolve conflict; dishonesty; general manner of spiritual abuse. In all these cases, the individuals had already spoken to their pastor and/or session, but felt their concerns weren't being addressed. In a few cases, the individuals felt targeted for reprisals. Sometimes they wanted to know what to do; on a couple occasions, they wanted to know whether it would be sinful to transfer to another congregation. 

If I remember correctly, concerns were raised about five or six pastors. Nearly everyone who reached out to me wanted me to take their concerns to the presbytery so it could take action regarding the pastor in question. Each time, I had to tell them that I could not do anything on the basis of one person's report (because, as an individual presbyter, I lack the authority to launch an investigation, especially on the basis of a single testimony) and encouraged them to contact a presbytery officer or  committee directly. To the best of my knowledge, no one ever did and they all eventually left their congregations. I found this frustrating, if for no other reason than that if their allegations were correct, other members would also suffer under these pastors.

Through these years, I also got calls from ministers in other OPC presbyteries about pastors in my presbytery. (Again, I'm not sure why they reached out to me in particular.) Once it was about a distressing visit to a worship service while in the area on vacation, another was because of controversial comments made on the interwebs and podcasts. The bad manners and lack of common decency of one man in my presbytery were frequently commented on throughout the denomination: an older minister once advised me, "You'll have to forgive him; that's just the way he is." In most of these cases, I was asked, "Is your presbytery doing anything about him?" In each case, I asked the minister to communicate his concerns in writing to the session of the pastor in question and/or to the presbytery so that these bodies would not be asked to rely on a second-hand account from me. To the best of my knowledge, no one ever did.

In the Venn diagram of the fellow presbyters in question, the two circles overlap considerably but not entirely. What unites them completely, of course, is the unwillingness of those who called me to take formal action, and this I blame on the OPC presbyters. Presbyters, especially ministers of Word and sacrament, are far better-equipped than ordinary Church members to raise concerns in the Church courts and get inquiries begun. Members, especially those who have suffered under spiritual abuse, are naturally timid around those with greater expertise and often feel that their voices will not be heard. Before they speak up, they need to see that allegations of abuse are taken seriously by those with authority and that presbyteries will respond wisely and justly to them.

If presbyters will not act to protect the sheep of other congregations, we should not be surprised when those sheep act to protect themselves without taking necessary and appropriate action regarding shepherds who do not conduct themselves in a manner worthy of their office. Don't blame the sheep for not reporting abuse: blame the shepherds.

The heart is deceitful above all things

A couple years ago, my presbytery was debating whether to proceed with the trial of a minister who had been charged with what amounted to tax fraud. (In presbyterianism, Church courts also function as judicial courts in which allegations of sin are tried in order to determine whether Church discipline is necessary.) For at least a few men, it seemed that before they could weigh the evidence, they first had to grapple with whether it was possible for the accused to commit such a sin. In fact, another pastor made a speech stating, "We all know in our hearts that [X] couldn't do this thing."

This episode is now being writ large for the entire Orthodox Presbyterian Church because of Jennifer Greenberg's recent "An Open Letter to the Orthodox Presbyterian Church Regarding Abuse." Amongst other things, Mrs. Greenberg explains how she was abused by her father and (as a teenager) propositioned by an OPC minister. In this letter, her concern is less with the abuse itself and more with how her reports of it to pastors were met with inaction, excuses or milquetoast attempts at sympathy. There were no (to the best of her knowledge) reports to civil authorities or initiations of Church discipline. She finds this grievously offensive.

In the OPC as a denomination, it seems her officers and members are wondering to themselves (and out loud to others) whether such behavior and inaction is possible amongst our elders and presbyteries. I don't know whether anything Mrs. Greenberg has written is entirely accurate, since I've only read her side of the story. But I have been a minister of Word and sacrament in the OPC for twenty years, and I know from experience that everything she has written is entirely plausible: this is the denomination I have come to know reasonably well.

I hope those who interact with Jennifer Greenberg's blog won't get hung up on whether or not such things as she reports can happen. I don't know my own heart or the heart of any other person, but I do know the heart is wicked and deceitful and capable of all things (Jeremiah 17:9-10). What she reports could very well occur in the OPC: for those of us who are this denomination's officers, it is for us to determine what exactly occurred, what redress is necessary, and how to do much better in the future.

I know that anyone, even another pastor in my presbytery, is capable of great sin. Every presbyterian should not only confess the same, but act accordingly.

A charge to a prison chaplain

(This charge was given to the Rev. Ken R. Honken on December 6, 2019 on the occasion of his installation as an evangelist by the OPC's Presbytery of the Midwest to serve as the world's best federal ladies' prison chaplain. An audio version can be found here.)

So Ken.

I was meditating on our Form of Government (as one does) and was struck by the peculiar fact that when an evangelist is to be ordained and/or installed, no provision is made for a charge to the congregation. This is in contrast to the installation of a pastor, when, as my father-in-law has just demonstrated to all here gathered, a charge to the congregation is entirely necessary. Why the difference?

The answer is evident upon a moment’s reflection: in a very real sense, an evangelist does not serve a particular congregation, and certainly not a congregation which must be charged to be faithful to its duties to him. But on the other hand, the Apostle Paul tells us the evangelist does have a very definite congregation whom he serves: the world.

From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. (2 Corinthians 5:16-21) 

My parents were both Foreign Service officers, a career field which our current president’s travails have recently brought to the public’s attention. Having grown up in and around diplomatic missions, I’ve thought a great deal about how the Apostle describes the minister of Word and sacrament in this passage. An ambassador is a stranger in a strange land, representing the cause and interests of his government and uniquely empowered to speak on its behalf. In a very real sense, when an ambassador speaks, it is as though his entire government were speaking through him.

While every minister of Word and sacrament serves this ambassadorial function, it seems to me that none does so nearly so much as does the evangelist. When the pastor preaches to his congregation on the Lord’s Day, he speaks of the Kingdom of grace and glory to citizens of that Kingdom who have fled the kingdom of Satan that very day to hear their pastor’s ambassadorial proclamation from their King. The pastor is an ambassador, yes, but he speaks to fellow countrymen who share his expatriate status and long for the day when they will finally arrive at their homeland, the city which has foundations.

Not so the evangelist. He is alone amongst indifferent citizens of the kingdom of the Evil One, bringing them a strange message about a foreign King who demands their allegiance for himself. As an ambassador, the evangelist not only speaks the very words of his King to these people; in his life, he imitates the life of the King whom he serves. For did not that King leave his home, setting aside his royal rights, prerogatives and regalia to live as an alien in a foreign and unfriendly land? By imitating his King, by going to a hostile place to proclaim his King’s message to a hostile people, the evangelist recapitulates, he retraces the steps of his Lord’s own ministry.

And what is his King’s message? As I just mentioned, it is a demand that his hearers deny their worldly master and become our King’s servants instead. However, and mysteriously, this demand is framed as an appeal: “Be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”

So Ken. Whether in the military or in the federal prisons, you serve two masters: our Lord Jesus and the ruler of this present age, the government of these United States. We all have had to, in our own way, negotiate these dual loyalties, striving to not unnecessarily offend the civil magistrate while simultaneously performing intact all our duties to the Lord of heaven and earth. However, this universal attempt to faithfully serve both Caesar and our Lord is not what I want to talk to you about tonight.

The chaplain has many duties, and I readily concede and affirm that all of them are necessary to the proper discharge of his job. Chief amongst these are various and sundry administrative chores: services must be provided; reports of said services must be prepared; summaries of reports must be compiled and collated and cross-referenced. And it is, interestingly enough, these types of activities which seem to carry the most weight when promotions and advancement are considered. One understands, then, the tendency to give their efficacious discharge the highest priority when one is arranging one’s schedule.

I am the proud son of two federal bureaucrats, so let me be the first to urge you to render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. But more importantly, I am with you a fellow ambassador for Christ, and so I charge you to faithfully steward the message of reconciliation. In Christ God was reconciling the world to himself! He does not count their trespasses against them!

Therefore, I charge you to be ever mindful that God is, in all your work, at all times and in all places, making his appeal through you. In all you do, be faithful and implore all those in your path, on behalf of Christ, to be reconciled to God.

I’ve said the evangelist has no congregation, but as a prison chaplain you have a defined group of women whom you are to serve. They have taken no vows and owe you nothing, but you owe them everything. They are not your congregation, but you are, nonetheless, not to regard them according to the flesh. Instead, they are persons who may or who have already become new creations in Christ. Tell them the new has come. Tell them that we all may become the righteousness of God in Christ.

Implore them, as you must implore the world: be reconciled to God.

Amen.

Core Christianity

Core Christianity: Finding Yourself in God’s Story, by Michael Horton. Zondervan, 2016. Paperback, 192 pages, list price $14.99.

“The purpose of [Core Christianity] is to help you understand the reason for your hope as a Christian…” (p. 14). Thus, Michael Horton’s purpose is not to introduce Christian doctrine to the uninstructed, but rather to correct and expand the understanding of Scripture of Christians who have been poorly instructed. One might then hope this book would suit the instructional goals of our congregations.

Horton presents “…the Christian faith in terms of four Ds: drama, doctrine, doxology, and discipleship.” Core Christianity’s especial strength is emphasizing the history of redemption  (Horton’s “drama”) and the believer’s place in it (especially in chapters 5-10). From God’s saving work in Christ, and its revelation in Scripture, flow doctrine, the Christian’s response in faith and worship, and a life of obedience to God’s commandments. The first four chapters lay groundwork by explaining (in order) the Incarnation, the Trinity, God, and Scripture. 

For the most part, Horton writes clearly and for a Christian audience weary of doctrinally weak evangelicalism. (I lost track of the disparaging references to “your best life now.”)  Throughout, he attempts to show how many popular Christian conceptions are in error, although not always successfully (as in his chapter on the Trinity). For someone who has not yet thought through these issues, Core Christianity is sure to be a gentle and helpful corrective.

Although he leads his readers out of the wilderness of evangelicalism, he doesn’t quite bring them into the promised land of presbyterian faith and practice. He describes Church courts (p. 78), but neglects to point out that they are found in reformed and presbyterian communions. While he teaches the necessity of Church membership (pp. 140-43), the book ends not with recommendations of faithful Churches, but an invitation to join “The Campaign for Core Christianity” by visiting a website.

That website contains Bible studies and other resources, most of which are made freely available to those who register (which, yes, I did, because I forswear no inconvenience in my commitment to producing a thorough review) and are based on this book. In substance, I couldn’t find much difference between “The Campaign for Core Christianity” and the Gospel Coalition. If the latter encourages evangelicals toward a reformedish doctrinal consensus which can be affirmed by conservative baptists and presbyterians alike, the former points them toward a reformationish consensus agreeable to the confessional traditions of Anglicanism, Lutheranism,  Reformed, and presbyterianism (as evidenced by the denominational affiliations of its Pastors Advisory Council).

In my opinion, that’s a vast improvement over the doctrinal mushiness of evangelicalism, but is still a far cry from the clarity and helpfulness of the Westminster Standards. For example, Horton begins chapter 5 with an illustration of the suffering illness brought into the world by the Fall, but then describes the effects of Adam’s transgression purely in terms of sin. He never explains, as both the Shorter and Larger Catechisms do, that “[t]he Fall brought mankind into an estate of sin and misery” (WSC 17, emphasis added). Sadly, this omission leaves God open to the accusation, made by a grieving parent on page 81, that he made “a messed-up world” full of the misery which causes young children to die.

Members of the OPC who are encouraging friends to more deeply explore Biblical doctrine might like to give them a copy of Core Christianity. Sessions of the OPC would better serve their members by teaching them through our Shorter Catechism.

Why the OPC?

He's not the first prominent pastor in the Orthodox Presbyterian Church to commit suicide, and I suspect he won't be the last. I know of another during the 20th century, and wouldn't be surprised to learn there were still more. Of course, suicide is rarely mentioned in obituaries, which made the e-mail we received on Thursday all the more surprising. Unlike that previous case (or cases), the family clearly decided to announce the cause of death: "[he] took his own life at the age of 67 after a lengthy struggle with depression." Strangely, I can't decide what to make of their decision.

I don't know whether it's the most prominent, but MakeItOK.org is representative of current voices insisting that the best way to remove the stigma on mental illness is to talk about it; or, more precisely, for those who experience mental illness to make their struggles known. Just as cancer is no longer considered a character defect, depression and suicidality might be accepted as amongst the common risks of living in a fallen world. In that hope, I decided to come out about my own struggles, with decidedly mixed results.

On the one hand, a fair number of people reached out in sympathy. On the other, some used my admission to attack both me and my assurance of salvation. Saddest, I think, was another OPC pastor with a history of depression who tried to reach out with encouragement while warning that discussing my mental condition would make it nearly impossible for me to receive another call; indeed, he said he wouldn't recommend a pastoral candidate with depression to any session. I pray for him.

It's possible yesterday's sobering news will make sessions and presbyteries realize the severity and ubiquity of depression amongst pastors. I have three colleagues with whom I've openly discussed our suicidal thoughts, and I think it's only been three because most are afraid to make themselves vulnerable. Congregations and presbyteries are some of the harshest, judgmental and most unforgiving groups I've ever encountered: to show them weakness is to risk an abbreviated career. Maybe congregations and presbyteries will become more solicitous of pastors' mental health, but I think it more likely that ministers who struggle will now be thought of as even greater liabilities. What session wants to deal with a sudden pulpit vacancy?

This week's shocking suicide was accompanied by the surprising death of David Haney (by heart attack), the moderator of our most recent General Assembly and, more importantly, one of the few truly good guys working at the OPC's denominational level. I say that not to diminish others but to praise Dave, who worked for decades as the OPC's finances guy and always extended himself to help and serve others (and bought me a couple beers that one time). Of late, he led a successful effort to create a denominational Committee on Ministerial Care which consolidated all the OPC had been doing, across its sundry committees, to look after pastors. You couldn't talk to Dave without seeing his heart and recognizing his earnest desire for the OPC to do better by its pastors.

Dave's death makes this week's suicide all the more sobering. He could have provided the leadership to help us all not only mourn, but also to work towards a better future in which pastors are not alienated from their congregations and presbyteries by a reasonable fear of victimization for the crime of being a fallen human being. I can't think of anyone with the standing, courage or vision to succeed him.

Over the last couple years, I've had occasion to become more disillusioned than ever with the OPC. This week's deaths have underscored that for me. If our Church can't provide Spiritual care for all its members, then I'm not sure there's a good answer to "Why the OPC?"

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I've been listening to The Hilarious World of Depression podcast since its inception, and for a long time it was my sole source of therapy. (All by itself, that one sentence tells you I've got a whole raft-load of issues.) Now, however, I'm talking to actual therapists and seem to have a handle on my symptoms, and host John Moe's frequent admonitions talk about depression in order to normalize  it have finally sunk in.

There are a lot of reasons for an OPC minister of Word and sacrament to not want to talk about his depression, not least of which is the fact that my depression comes with a chaser of paranoia. Pastors are under constant scrutiny by their congregations, and most of the members under their care have unresolved father issues which make them extremely reluctant to embrace the painfully obvious fact their preacher has problems of his own. In my case, I also have a presbytery which is not known as a safe place to express weakness, and I believe I have good reason to think that my acknowledgment of mental health issues could be used by some as a pretext to lower the boom on me. Now that I'm not as fervidly paranoid, though, I realize that even my enemies may have some sense of human decency; and if not, we have colleagues to thwart their more vindictive efforts.

So here goes.

I've had a few episodes of situational depression in response to traumatic events (such as Church conflict and when we lost our daughter). The "clinical depression" (if that's the correct term) began about six years ago when a problem with recurring sinusitis became a sinus infection that simply would not go away. I've been in physical pain for much of my adult life, but this pain was of an entirely different species: it wasn't the intensity, but the quality. I was perfectly capable of living my life, but I was so miserable that I simply did not want to. Although the sinusitis was finally resolved through surgery, it turned out to be masking Meniere's disease (fluid in the inner ear) complicated by a form of migraine. Since then, it's been a long journey of figuring out a regimen of vitamins, supplements, medication and sleep to deliver me from a constant sense of disorientation and unease. I think things are under control now, but I also know that I'm one sleepless night away from being plunged back into despair.

There's a clarity to depression. Most people seem reluctant to admit that, but it's true. Depression strips away the comforting reassurances we tell ourselves and allows you to see things as they are. Life is hard and full of suffering, and no one ever survives it. There's a hollowness to most relationships, and God, without a physical presence, seems absent.

On the other hand, one should acknowledge that depression makes it more difficult to recognize that God's lack of physical presence is not the same thing as absence.

People talk about suicidal ideation as though it were a shocking, well-nigh unthinkable thing, but for me it's a simple reality. I am a very slow thinker, but once I solve a problem it tends to stay solved. Now that I have a plan, I can't get rid of it: it's in my head and can't be dislodged. Obviously, I haven't done it, but there are times when I have to come up with reasons not to. Mostly, it's because I know how much it would mess up my kids.

I remember one of my ministerial colleagues being surprised that I wasn't afraid of God's wrath for violating the Sixth Commandment, but I'm not. That's one of the side-effects of believing the Gospel. While taking one's own life is a more heinous sin than others, the Shorter Catechism reminds us that [e]very sin deserveth God's wrath and curse, both in this life, and that which is to come." (Westminster Shorter Catechism #83-84) If the Cross has delivered me from God's wrath and curse, due to me for all my sins, then even a violation of the Sixth Commandment cannot separate me from the love of Christ (Romans 8:33-39).

Depression is bad enough. I'm grateful it couldn't rob me of my assurance of salvation.

The questions we face

In the words of Lancellotti, Del Noce understood that “we cannot just rely on a mechanical repetition of [religious] formulas, because what we received from our forebears is conditioned by the questions they faced, and we ourselves can only think in terms of the questions we are facing.”  

In his critical review of Augusto Del Noce's The Age of Secularization (translated by Carlo Lancelloti), Francis X. Maier focuses on Del Noce's thought with regard to technological change. The above quote of course has theological implications, and presbyterian implications especially.

On the one hand, I'm reminded of John Frame's frequent admonition that theology must be done by every generation because every generation must apply the Bible to its own time. As I've argued elsewhere, this even extends to a Church's confessional standards; I continue to believe the Orthodox Presbyterian Church's confession needs to speak much more robustly and clearly on the Biblical doctrine of anthropology (especially with regard to sexuality and marriage). In the same vein, I'm reminded of the error of puritanolatry, which often renders its practitioners incapable of dialogue with  citizens of this present age.

On the other hand, the more subtle, and accordingly more profound danger, warned against in the above quote is that of thinking that answers to our forebears' questions are answers to our own. One way in which this error manifests in conservative reformed and presbyterian Churches is the belief that the best defense against theological liberalism is to maintain, unchanged, centuries-old confessional standards. (Looking at you, Westminster and Three Forms of Unity.) On this view, there are no new questions, only ones which have been answered by our forebears. In practice, of course, our generation faces its own questions, and the temptation is to repress or ignore them because our traditions are silent. Here again, the Church runs the risk of irrelevance by denying the valid concerns of our own day (for example, race relations and gender power dynamics). 

We are obligated by the 5th Commandment to receive the traditions of our forebears with respect and honor. The same commandment also obligates us to build on those traditions for the sake of our generation and those who follow. We must identify the questions we face, and seek answers on the basis of the only true source of all religious formulae, which of course is the Bible itself.

Underground Airlines

When Mrs. Curmudgeon's maternal grandfather died, I inherited a sizable chunk of his theological library, at which time I ceased from the incessant accumulation of books which is an endemic hazard to those in my line of work. Given that I now owned more than enough volumes I would never read, it seemed doubly ridiculous to buy more that I will never read. I still acquire books for my professional library, of course, but they have to meet the (strict-only-to-people-who-already-have-a-severe-bibliomania-problem) standard of being something I actually have plans to read. At least most of the time.

But then Mrs. Curmudgeon gifted me my first Kindle e-reader a few years ago, and I discovered Amazon's Kindle Daily Deals, where books often go for only a couple dollars. As these volumes have the additional benefit of taking up literally no shelf space whatsoever, my borderline bibliokleptomania became resurgent, and now I've lost count of the digital books I own. (Nonetheless, I am sure that I will eventually read every last electronic page of that unabridged copy of Winston Churchill's History of the English-Speaking Peoples.) One recent acquisition I actually did read is Ben H. Winter's Underground Airlines.

In Winters's alternative timeline, Abraham Lincoln was assassinated en route to his inauguration, the Crittenden Compromise was amended to the Constitution, and these United States remain a house divided into the twenty-first century. The main character is an escaped slave who has been turned by the U.S. Marshals Service into a fugitive slave catcher himself. Winters is an able hand at both character and plot: he had me so hooked that as soon as I finished Underground Airlines, I took up his The Last Policeman (that one I checked out from the library), which won an Edgar Award.

The plot, and the true significance of the macguffin which drives it, get at the dehumanization at the heart of American chattel slavery and interestingly explores the ways in which we still are working through its consequences in our own (real?) timeline. More important to me, however, the book drips with anger from every page. Outrage is the only proper and human response to America's peculiar institution and its racist legacy today.

Perhaps institutional racism continues not because we fail to love strongly enough, but because we aren't angry enough. Underground Airlines will help stoke your fury.

Authority, charisma & charism

As my presbytery has debated and discussed various pastoral matters (by which I mean issues which arise out of, or directly affect, local congregations) over the last eighteen years, I've suspected there's been an (although by no means the) underlying theme, but only recently have I been able to put a finger on it. What seems to come up, again and again, is a concern to maintain and enforce the authority of the pastor and/or session of the local congregation. I think I've had a hard time identifying this theme because it's simply not a concern I share. I've been mystified as to why some care so much about this issue, but I've come to suspect the difference may lie in an American perspective on the basis of personal authority.

In many areas of life, Americans tend to grant authority to individuals on the basis of personal charisma. Here, I'm using "charisma" to refer to the ineffable qualities which induce others to trust an individual. There's the charisma which draws us to prefer certain dining companions, and then there's the charisma which leads us to believe this person's views on Spiritual affairs should be respected. The pastor's charisma is not that of the actor's, but there's certainly a general gravitas we expect of ministers of Word and sacrament. It may be ineffable, but most think they've identified it when they tell a young man they think he should pursue the ministry.

Charisma is a powerful force, not to be underestimated, but its great weakness lies in its very ineffability. Tom Hanks is America's most beloved movie actor because we all believe him to be self-effacing and charming. Should a video surface of him kicking basset hound puppies for sport, no one would watch Sully ever again. We would all be angry that he had deceived us with his charisma. (I hasten to add that I, personally, am certain Tom Hanks is uniformly kind to children and small animals. CERTAIN.) Charisma is a double-edged sword: we want to be seduced by it, but then are angered by its seductive power.

So, too, with a pastoral authority based on charisma. If a pastor on some occasion acts, well, unpastoral, his charisma is called into question. If charisma is but a fleeting mirage, then the authority founded on it quickly evaporates. I remember well my fear as a new teacher (so, so many years ago) that my control of the classroom would disappear if even a single student successfully challenged my authority. That fear can motivate a reactionary posture in which all perceived opposition must be vigorously put down lest it spread like a contagion. Sadly, I think I've seen this in more than one pastor's or session's attitude toward the congregation.

To be clear, I'm not commenting on the legitimacy of the opposition. The person challenging the pastor's preaching may be entirely out of line and not a little bit crazy. (More than once, a person has accused me of saying something I did not say in a sermon, then refused to listen to the audio to double-check.) Even in those cases, the man of God must pursue gentleness: it's the only way to fight the good fight with those who are wayward and confused (2 Timothy 6:11-12). Frankly, those people are the bruised reeds our Lord would not break (Isaiah 42:3): they're done no good when they're punished for questioning the elders' authority.

Now, it's all well and good to suggest the pastor ought be like Jesus and not return reviling for reviling (1 Peter 2:23), but won't doing so undermine his authority in the eyes of the congregation? If authority rests in charisma, yes indeed. But his authority cannot be undermined if it rests on a charism.

"Charism" means "gift," and all presbyterian Church officers should remember they received one at ordination: "Do not neglect the gift you have, which was given you by prophecy when the council of elders laid their hands on you" (1 Timothy 4:14). The Spiritual charism granted by ordination is an objective reality, and cannot be removed or undermined by challenges to authority or questioning of charisma. During our Lord's earthly ministry, his authority got challenged plenty, but (obviously!) he never lost it. Similarly, the authority granted to elders by ordination is a durable thing, easily able to survive any opposition. A challenge to my authority to preach would be like a challenge to the blueness of my eyes: silly, and not worth quarreling over.

Church officers do well to remember all Church power and authority is ministerial and declarative: it is exercised as delegated by and on behalf of our Lord Jesus, and can only set forth that which is set forth by the Word of God. So long as I exercise my charism of authority according to those very presbyterian principles, my charisma (or, frankly, lack thereof) is utterly beside the point. Authority  in the Church is lost only by those afraid of losing it.

My philosophy of ministry

[I, Paul,] now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh for his body’s sake, which is the church: whereof I am made a minister, according to the dispensation of God which is given to me for you, to fulfill the word of God. (Colossians 1:24-25)

While every Christian is called to share in the sufferings of Christ (Luke 9:22- 26), over the years I have learned, experientially and exegetically, that this call is given particularly to ministers of the Gospel. This fact is modeled for us in the pastoral work of the Apostle Paul, which was for him a ministry of suffering. If his admonition “Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ,” (1 Cor 11:1) is to all believers with regard to their use of earthly things, it is much more so with regard to pastors in the discharge of their office. The Scriptures, which teach the man of God all he needs (2 Tim 3:15ff), were so inspired by the Spirit to give us the Apostle to the Gentiles as our most comprehensive model for the Christian ministry, and so it is to his example that we should look. 

Paul’s pastoral suffering is summarized perhaps most poignantly in 2 Corinthians 3:2-3: “You are our letter, written in our hearts, known and read by all men; being revealed that you are a letter of Christ, ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tablets of stone, but in tablets that are hearts of flesh.” The Corinthians’ Christian conviction was a testimony to the successful labors amongst them of Paul, who was held in low regard by many in that congregation, as both 1 and 2 Corinthians amply demonstrate; in other words, he was rejected by those he had blessed. When Paul speaks of his sufferings for the Gospel (2 Tim 1:8), he no doubt includes the many beatings and persecutions he endured. Still, it seems to me the greater pain of the pastor is to be rejected by one’s own friends and disciples (2 Tim 1:15), just as our Savior wept most bitterly over Jerusalem (Lk 19:41-44). 

Note that both Paul and Jesus were faithful in their ministries; they suffered and were rejected not because of personal fault, but because men were through them rejecting God himself (Lk 10:16). Pastors must not desire the reward of being well-thought of by their congregations, though our Lord is kind in allowing many this experience. In helping their people become conformed to the image of Christ, they must be willing to endure patiently anger and bitterness, much of it entirely misdirected. They must accept disrespect and ingratitude, the aggravation of one’s wise proposals being ignored or derailed by one’s session. They must even accept blame for the pastoral malpractice of others and be extraordinarily slow to defend their Ninth Commandment rights to a good name. They must patiently and silently suffer injustice so they may be free to do the one thing on which they can in no way compromise: proclaim the grace of God through the Cross of Christ. 

This suffering is itself a proclamation of God’s grace because it testifies that the pastor only needs the Lord’s good testimony of him, and his confidence of that is not based on his accomplishments or recognition received. He can tell his people to rely solely on the Cross for all things without fear of being accused of hypocrisy. Over time, his people will learn to think less well of themselves as they think more highly of God’s grace, which in turn may reduce their tendency to attack their pastor when their self-esteem seems threatened. However, that result comes about only as the fruit of much patient labor, usually over some period of time and through the endurance of several trials. For these reasons, pastoral ministry is only for those prepared to rejoice when they are called to complete what is lacking in Christ’s sufferings for the sake of his Church.

Insert dope joke here

A couple months ago I participated in a discussion of the impact of marijuana's legalization on Colorado and the Churches here. An edited transcript is the cover story in the most recent Reformed Presbyterian Witness.

I should also note that the RP Witness's editor sent me a copy of The Book of Psalms for Worship as a thank-you gift, so I totally recommend participating in any discussion to which you're invited by your Reformed Presbyterian Church in North America pastor friends.

Why attendance is low on Good Friday

Thanks, Wumo.

Youth ministry is its own reward

Yes, that is a pair of rubber-ducky underpants, discovered by a ministerial colleague between two boys' cabins, being immolated on the campfire just prior to the nightly preaching of the Word.

I love, love, love Bible camp. I think we should put this picture on all our advertising.

[UPDATE: View a video of the immolation here.]

Presenting & Fundamental Causes

A special committee to advise a presbytery presented its report to the 83rd General Assembly of the OPC today. Said presbytery has been embroiled in conflicts for about the last decade, give or take a few years. The committee suggested those conflicts had a presenting cause (disagreement over a theological issue), but the more fundamental cause was a “a systemic failure to pastorally and effectively address concerns.”

In a floor speech, I suggested the committee members write up a case study so other presbyteries might learn how they can better address concerns within their own bodies. I may be cynical, but it seems to me many of our presbyteries may already share the “more fundamental cause,” and will similarly become embroiled in conflict should nearly any presenting cause emerge.

Pastors at large

With you, the title "pastor-at-large" makes me want to ask, "Does this Genevan robe make me look fat?"

When I recently visited the Presbyterian Church in America's Rocky Mountain Presbytery, its committee on Officers & Churches brought a proposal to call a “Pastor At Large,” modeled on the practice of other PCA presbyteries, who would “be a pastor to pastors.” The proposal was postponed to their next stated meeting for perfection, but the sentiment on the floor seemed to be strongly in favor. If I heard correctly, the Rocky Mountain Presbytery has sixty teaching elders, and several speakers said they felt the spiritual care they receive needs much improvement.

I suspect that sentiment would be echoed in many presbyteries of the PCA and OPC, other than in those in which the sentiment would be "What spiritual care?" Even the most casual observer of presbyterian conflicts will note that many pastors seem to have, to put the point gently, "issues." Many presbyters will object, and with good reason, that it costs money to call and support a pastor-at-large (also called a "presbyter-at-large"). Fair enough. How much money do Church splits cost? How much money is permanently lost to a presbytery and denomination when a congregaton dissolves or withdraws?

Spiritual care is not a luxury. It's a necessity.

How to read Scripture in worship

Most men arrive at seminary with little to no training in public speaking, and for the most part the seminaries which confessional presbyterian preachers attend offer little to no training in the basic mechanisms of public speaking. (Frankly, I find this shocking, and so should you. I'm even more shocked by indifference to this sad state of affairs.)

As a lapsed Lutheran (currently Roman Catholic), Russell Saltzman probably hasn't visited many confessional presbyterian seminaries, but he does all their students and alumni a service with "Everything I Know About Being a Lector I Learned in Third Grade," over at the First Things website. He writes for Roman Catholic lectors, but presbyterian pastors (or rather, their congregations), would profit greatly from a careful study and implementation of his advice.

(In other First Things-related news, yesterday I finished reading the January 2016 issue before the February issue was delivered, thereby catching me up to the present moment. This has never happened before.)