I wish you a merry Christmas album

Why am I not already a fan of Andrew Bird? He chose one of my favorite Bible words, "Hark!," as the title for his first Christmas album.

[Excursus: Words such as "hark" and "lo" are amongst the most wonderful of all Bible words because they mean something like "Hey! Pay attention! I am about to announce glad tidings of great joy!" Amongst the crimes of recent Bible translations is the indefensible choice to not translate these terms from the Greek or Hebrew, and instead simply drop them from the text. Only good things follow when someone says, "Hark!"]

As Christmas albums go, it's a relatively low-key affair. There's a slight note of melancholy, but in my opinion lands pretty well on the "quiet joy of a snowy Christmas morning with a hot cup of coffee before the children wake up screaming" mark. A few of Bird's covers and originals are atypical (ex. John Cale's "Andalucia"), but all are emotionally evocative. I don't know what John Prine's "Souvenirs" is doing on a Christmas album, but Andrew Bird renders it pretty cheerful.

I don't know whether this qualifies as a cover or an original: Bird has written his own lyrics to the tune of "Greensleeves." Maybe "Greenwine" will become a new standard.

Bird also makes one of the bravest moves possible on a Christmas album: he covers two Vince Guaraldi compositions from the latter's legendary A Charlie Brown Christmas ("Christmas Is Coming" and "Skating"). He's respectful, yet avoids falling into the trap of slavish imitation and puts his own spin on the pieces.

Hark! deserves to go into heavy rotation as you're doing your Christmas baking. Ho ho ho and all that.

Recalled to Life

Yes, there are people on whom suffering is not wasted. Yes, the effect of suffering, properly absorbed, does, at times, sensitize us, motivating us to act more faithfully and attentively towards other people. Not always, of course: Suffering often makes one more callous and self-centered. And if insight is forthcoming, more often than not it is not required in the day-to-day situations we confront. As a young "existentialist" I, like others in my generation, tended to assume, uncritically, that suffering is inherently ennobling and valuable. Life and study have brought me to a more discriminating and, one hopes, a more discerning position.

This brings me back to my aunt. By the standards of the world, and by her standards, I was a good nephew. Today, do I better understand her plight than I did decades ago? I probably do. Did the degree of my empathy or compassion matter to her? I doubt it, mainly because she almost certainly took it for granted. What she wanted and needed from me was not profound sympathy but sympathetic presence; she wanted me to be with her. Would she have valued my efforts to explain her to the world? Yes, though I can't imagine she thought this required heavy reflection or rhetorical skill beyond sincerity and love.

  -Shalom Carmy, "Recalled to Life," First Things December 2019

Diotrephesism

When I took ancient Church history in seminary, I had a hard time keeping all the heresies straight. (Not straightening out my own heresies: that's another story.) In historical theology, heresies are not identified by their doctrinal content, but instead by the names of the persons most identified with them. Therefore, instead of modalism (the belief that the three persons of the Trinity are not distinct, but instead are really just one person appearing in three different modes), we have Sabellianism. When I was asked to identify Nestorianism, Manicheanism, Arianism, Montanism, ad infinitism, I had to remember the historical figure, then remember what he taught, and then explain why it was wrong. While I have no problem explaining what's wrong with modalism, I'm not entirely sure what Sabellianism even is.

Since I've learned I can't fight the historical theologians, I've decided to join them and thereby go to my grave satisfied to have made life more difficult for future seminarians. Centuries from now, the twentieth century will be known for Diotrephesism, in recognition of him who desired preeminence and so would not receive the Apostle John (3 John 9). 

In my opinion, at the root of many of the controversies which consume confessional presbyterianism today is the fact that in the 20th-century struggle with liberalism, presbyterians lost their sense of denominational identity along with a grasp on the historical and Biblical reasons for our distinctives. That absence has led to a sort of faddishness, in imitation of the sin of Diotrephes, which emerges in two different ways.

Certain elders (especially teaching elders) do not see themselves as guardians and teachers of the presbyterian tradition. Because many of them came to a reformed understanding of the Christian faith from other traditions, they see themselves as set apart by virtue of study and continue to seek to set themselves further apart by further study. These tend to maintain traditional worship practices, but the liturgy becomes merely a setting in which they can use the sermon to position themselves as experts on all things "reformed." Wishing to be preeminent in the eyes of their peers, they keep up with the latest theological controversies emerging from the seminaries and set these issues before their congregations as though they were as essential as the doctrines on which our Confessions focus. This obsession with “theology,” when it comes over and against a focus on the simple Gospel of the Cross, stokes up much furor on the interwebs and feeds division in the Church.

Others in leadership, who have never been taught why our traditions are our traditions in the first place, worry that presbyterianism is about to become irrelevant. These keep a watchful eye on the latest developments in evangelicalism and seek to imitate them while keeping the preaching Calvinistic. In these circumstances, members are deprived of the riches of our presbyterian inheritance and the blessings of catechetical instruction. As evangelicals drift ever further into worldliness (in all its forms), this group may drift right along with them.

The discerning reader will observe that this faddishness does not necessarily lead to heresy, but it certainly produces division. Athanasius fought the heretic Arius with Biblical doctrine. In imitation of John, the beloved disciple, we must fight Diotrephesism with Biblical charity.

I believe we should respond by learning our confessional standards along with our government, discipline and worship, and the Biblical warrant for them. I believe we should be extremely careful in preparing men for ordained office and not be too hasty to lay on hands (1 Timothy 5:22). I believe we should strive to present and live out presbyterianism for what it is: the most Biblical form of the Church and the one which should most demonstrate to the world the Church as our Lord formed her to be.

Regarding "The Bible and Black Lives Matter"

  I was extremely disappointed by the article “The Bible and Black Lives Matter” in the September 2020 issue of New Horizons. The author writes to explain BLM to Orthodox Presbyterians, but as he introduces his theme he demonstrates a lack of understanding of the issues and terminology which inform it. In discussing whether the death of George Floyd represents an instance of “systemic racial injustice,” he objects that we cannot know the heart of the police officer who killed Floyd and, therefore, whether that man was racially motivated. At the article’s very beginning, then, there is a confusion between “systemic racism” and “individual racism.” This is unfortunate because the two are very different things: as all the relevant literature notes, systemic racism can exist in institutions and societies even when the individuals in them have no racist beliefs.

This error is distressing because it undermines the reader’s confidence in the author’s ability to explain BLM. If he does not understand a concept central to the movement, can he be relied upon to clearly represent anything else about it? This problem is doubly distressing because the reader looks to New Horizons for pastoral guidance on social, ethical and theological issues. Pastoral guidance founded on ignorance may be well-intentioned, but neither can nor should be trusted.

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.

Skip

George Scipione died yesterday.

He was my counseling professor in seminary and let me sit in on sessions one summer even though I wasn't enrolled in the official program. Skip had a strong personality and was kind of a piece of work, but he was always kind to me (which is not universally true of my seminary professors). Not just me, but as far as I could tell, to everyone. He had a natural gift for rubbing people the wrong way, but that was never his intention.

The last time I talked to him was a couple months ago, when he called me out of the blue. (This was before the cancer diagnosis; he was talking about plans for starting a retreat center for pastors in his retirement.) He had heard the rumors about the train wreck which is my pastoral career and just wanted to encourage me and pray for me. I wasn't surprised because that was Skip. I wish everyone knew that about him.

I was praying for him yesterday morning. I knew he was suffering, but I also knew he had spent much of his life struggling with various physical ailments. Suffering was something he knew how to bear. I thought about what I might tell people about him, and I realized the most obvious and important thing about him was that he loved Jesus. Really, really loved Jesus. At that moment, I was sad he was suffering, but even more I was happy for him because pretty soon he would be seeing Jesus in person. For Skip, I knew that would be as good as it could possibly get.

I am so happy for him now.

Fantasyland

Fantasyland: How America Went Haywire (A 500-Year History) is an entertaining presentation of the thesis that the culture of these United States tends to encourage the citizenry to entertain views and lifestyles not well-tethered to reality. In broad strokes, Kurt Andersen makes his case.

As a researched document, though, "Fantasyland" disappoints. Andersen has an annoying tendency to mention persons without giving their names. For example, this occurs twice on page 333, where he cites a "Pentecostal Christian author" and "the co-host" of the television program 20/20 without naming either. Obviously, these omissions make it difficult to check on his use of sources.

With regard to my areas of expertise (things Biblical, Christian and Church historical), Andersen disappoints still more. In footnote 12 to chapter 31, he describes Ephesians as having been "translated from ancient Hebrew to ancient Greek to Old Latin to New Latin to Middle English to Modern English…," which demonstrates breath-taking ignorance of Bible translation methodology and of the New Testament itself. In an earlier chapter, he identifies Jonathan Edwards, a Congregationalist, as an Episcopalian. Because his errors are so gross and unnecessary in this area, I suspect him of similar problems in the other fields he discusses.

Andersen has a provocative and fun argument to make, but I doubt he has backed it up very well. I'll continue to mull over his descriptions and ideas, but am not persuaded he writes from the realitiy-based perch which he seems to think he occupies. American may not actually be as haywire as he believes.