Entries Tagged 'Theology' ↓

(post-post note: This is long and rambly and vainly autobiographical. Just the way blogs should be.)

I’m a baptist stuck in a presbyterian (church) body, and that’s okay. God put me here.

I’ve been doing some thinking about the fact that my family and I will soon be joining a Presbyterian church, and how that fits in with my self-identification as a “reformed baptist” (and if it even matters). Through high school and especially in college, I was one of those adamant “just a Christian”-type Christians, valiantly refusing to be shackled to a denominational label. Why, then, did being a “baptist” suddenly matter so much to me? Do I really care that much about congregational governance? How much study have I really put into baptism?

I grew up going to Christian & Missionary Alliance churches. The Alliance is a very missions-oriented denomination that leans slightly toward an Arminian and dispensationalist mindset (though they’re officially neither), has a credobaptistic understanding of baptism, and a Zwinglian view of the Lord’s Supper. (Ironically enough, it was founded by a renowned Presbyterian minister named A. B. Simpson.) Despite my non-denominational lip service, I internally thought that I was going to be a lifetime C&MA guy. I loved (and still love) their committment to the Great Commission.

After I moved to Jackson, TN in 2002, Amy and I (before we were married) decided to look for a church after months and months of utter heathenry. Since she grew up in the C&MA as well, we naturally looked for an Alliance church first. The closest one was over an hour away in Memphis, though, so that idea quickly went by the wayside. We searched for a few weeks and settled on a church affiliated with the Southern Baptist Convention . . . not a difficult thing to find, since the city was home to Union, one of the nation’s fastest growing Baptist universities (where Amy was a student). The church we started attending, and eventually joined after we married, had some of the SBC’s most prominent scholars as pastors. We were growing in our faith, experiencing better “community” than we ever had, and being taught truth by some of the best around. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had a growing affinity for Baptist identity and history. At the same time, I was being introduced to reformed theology; its fidelity to Scripture opened my eyes to truths I’d never even considered. I was reading the Bible in a new way, hearing sermons with new ears, and praying with renewed fervor, and communing with Jesus in a way I hadn’t in years.

Fast-forward to 2005: our world had been turned upside-down by unemployment, forcing a move to Columbus, Ohio. As a couple, the first thing on our agenda toward again finding stability was to quickly find a good church to commit to. Along with the base requirements of believing and teaching the Bible, I wanted to find a church that believed and taught the reformed doctrines of grace (or that was at least reformed-friendly). After months of conversation, prayer, and visits here and there — some good, some bad — we settled on an urban church plant of the Presbyterian Church in America. We quickly fell in love with the liturgy, the people, and the vision of this church. I knew the entire time that our joining a presbyterian church was a possibility, as presbyterianism is largely an across-the-board reformed movement. I also knew that if such a thing happened, I’d end up having issues with the big pillar of reformed theology that I hadn’t yet come to agree with: infant baptism. As time went on, the long-dormant call to ministry that I first sensed in high school crept back, and the opportunity to do seminary-level education through the PCA arose . . . but I felt a tinge of betrayal toward the baptist heritage that I’d assumed during the last few years.

After letting that guilt eat at me for a while, I just last week realized something that I’d known all along . . . my committment is to Christ, not to the Southern Baptist Convention, not to congregational government, not to credobaptism. The main reason I’d become so committed to those things was convenience and proximity to all things SBC; not earnest study of scripture, prayer, and reasoning. Realizing this was like the clichéd “weight lifting from my shoulders”. Serving and learning and possibly pursuing ministry in the PCA was something I could freely do now without hiding from all of my baptist friends or qualifying everything with “but I dunno about the whole baby-sprinkling thing”. I mean, I still don’t know about it, but I can also honestly say that I equally don’t know if it should be withheld from the children of believers either. What had been almost a shameful thing has become a freedom to learn and explore.

So, I remain teachable. For now, I’ll call myself a “credobaptistic Presbyterian” and struggle with the issue in due time. Maybe I’ll continue to insist on believers-only immersion; maybe I’ll become a covenantal paedobaptist. I don’t know, and right now, it’s not a concern. I just want to serve Christ and his church, and now without the **BAPTISM** weight on my brain, I can more readily do so.

If you made it all the way through that, congrats. Worst. writing. evar.

Travis says that Joel Osteen’s ever-popular message makes him an enemy of the Gospel of Christ.

I agree.

What do you think?

From John Bunyan . . .

Run, John, run, the law commands
But gives us neither feet nor hands,
Far better news the gospel brings:
It bids us fly and gives us wings.

Holy crap, we are MESSED UP!

In his blog, Al Mohler recently highlighted a Slate article in which Chloe Breyer (an Episcopal priest, and daughter of US Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer) questions the veracity and the importance of the virginal conception of Jesus Christ. Now, such conjecture has been around for centuries. There is truly nothing new under the sun. Still, I’d been thinking about the virginal conception and its necessity recently, and reading Ms. Breyer’s article worked me up a little.

Why is the virgin birth of Christ important? Why does it matter? Why is it one of the doctrines that orthodox (little “o”) Christians stake their belief upon? One reason, which would itself be sufficient were it the only one, is simple: God said so. Isaiah recorded in what is now chapter 7 of his prophecy that Ahaz, king of Judah, was asked (even commanded) by God to ask Him for a sign . . . for proof that what He was saying was the truth. In his false piety, Ahaz refused God’s request, so God decided to give a sign anyway, and Isaiah told him what it would be:

And he said, “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary men, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.

Another pointer to the necessity of the virginal conception is the curse the Lord declared on Jeconiah (aka: Coniah), the heir-apparent to the throne of David. In verse 30 of Jeremiah 22, God says of Jeconiah . . .

“Write this man down as childless, a man who shall not succeed in his days, for none of his offspring shall succeed in sitting on the throne of David and ruling again in Judah.”

This verse is what makes the seemingly-boring genealogies of Christ as recorded in Matthew and Luke’s Gospels so compelling. His earthly father, Joseph, was of the line and house of David, Solomon, and all of the subsequent kings and heirs-apparent of Judah, up to Jeconiah. That genealogy is recorded in Matthew. His mother, Mary, was also of David’s line, but descended from a different son of David, namely Nathan. Her genealogy is recorded in Luke. Joseph, being descended from Jeconiah, could not have been Jesus’ natural father, as Jesus would then been under the curse, and would have no right to be called “King of the Jews”. As Joseph’s step-son (but not his biological son), He inherited the legal right to the throne through Joseph, as a descendent of David, as that right was passed from the father. His biological right to the throne, however, came through Mary, who was also a descendent of David (but not of Jeconiah).

I’ve heard arguments here and there that Jesus needed to be born of a virgin because somehow the sin nature is passed from the father. Sounds nice, but I’m not convinced of that by Scripture. I think that if God had wanted the eternally pre-existent Son to be incarnated through the union of two humans, He could’ve made it happen. The bottom line is this: God said that he would give the virginal conception as a sign, and though Ahaz did not live to see it, God kept His word. God said that no descendent of Jeconiah would sit on David’s throne, but that a descendent of David would indeed reclaim that throne one day. He placed His own “seed” in the womb of Mary, a young girl descended from David, and again kept His word, as He always does

May your celebration of the virgin-born savior be sweet.

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever. – Isaiah 40:8 (ESV)

The smartass in me imagines the United Church of Christ giving a response of “fo’eva? Fo’eva-eva? Fo’eva-eva?!” (a la André 3000 in Ms. Jackson).

During the work week, I often drive past Dublin Community Church, a UCC-affiliated church with a beautiful old building. On its sign, there is (or was . . . I’m not certain it’s still there) a sign reading “God Is Still Speaking”. You see, the United Church started a campaign called “StillSpeaking” a year or so ago, with the tagline “God is still speaking,” which is in turn based on a quote attributed to Gracie Allen (wife of George Burns): “Never place a period where God has placed a comma”. (This campaign is most notorious for the infamous “Bouncer” ad that I wrote about late last year on my LiveJournal . . . that entry probably garnered the most comments I’ve ever had for a single post.)

I think that there’s value in the statement, when taken at face value. God isn’t silent and he’s not dead. He speaks constantly through Scripture, through our experiences, through wise teachers, and directly to the hearts of his children through his Spirit. From looking through the StillSpeaking website (along with what I already know of the United Church), though, their use of the slogan seems to largely mean “God is saying new, different, ‘better’ things than what’s recorded in Scripture.” Perhaps that all religions and belief systems somehow will make a person just before God . . . perhaps that homosexual behaviour really isn’t wrong . . . perhaps that man really did come evolve from monkeys. Who knows? Looking through a few websites of UCC congregations, many use it to trumpet the fact that they “welcome all of God’s people,” meaning that your race, marital status, age, and (especially) your sexual behavior won’t bar you from entering for worship. First of all, Scripture suggests nothing different . . . Christ forgives, justifies, and changes all who will come to him by faith. God’s not saying anything new there. Second, “welcoming all of God’s people” is actually a pretty exclusive statement, considering the fact that the only people referred to in Scripture as “God’s people” are believer-followers of God (revealed in Christ). Of course, the UCC would likely never agree to such a restrictive definition. Guess God’s still speaking there, as well, eh?

I can appreciate the sentiment that they’re trying to create . . . a picture of a church with doors open to people of all walks of life. Unfortunately, those that they’re attracting the most with this campaign are those who likely need the Gospel the most . . . and it’s likely that they won’t hear that in the most theologically liberal church group in the country.

God is still speaking, yes. I just don’t believe that he’s saying anything that he hasn’t been telling us for ages, or that he’s taken anything back.

(Crossposted from my LiveJournal)

And now for something that would likely horrify most people at my old church in Birmingham (bless their hearts) . . .

1) I went to a costume party this past Friday night (yes, there’s a significant number who’d be horrified by this fact alone).
2) It was at my pastor’s house. (gasp!!)
3) There was beer available. (“Your PASTOR had BEER?!” *faint*)
4) I partook in #3 . . . Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and Sea Dog Pumpkin Ale from Trader Joe’s, as well. (“You’re goin’ to hell, boy.”)

One thing I appreciate about the Presbyterian tradition is the emphasis on “Christian Liberty”, that is, the fact that Christ has set his people free from the law . . . not only the law of sin and death, but from man-made religious “laws” with no basis in Scripture (for instance, the widespread belief that all followers of Christ MUST abstain from all alcohol). Certainly there are those who SHOULD abstain from alcohol, either because they’re recovering from an addiction, or simply because of their own conscience, but those are individual cases and individual convictions, not general truisms. It’s unfortunate that the church-at-large often forbids that which, in moderation, is a gift from God to make our hearts glad.

I thoroughly enjoyed my two bottles of Christian Liberty Friday night, along with the fellowship that it accompanied.

A favorite rallying cry of those who love to denigrate biblical authority regarding sex is that “Jesus never said anything about sex”, implying that what the Apostles said about sex is null and void, since Jesus supposedly never said anything about it.

Not that such a claim would be deserving of any credence if it were actually correct, but I wonder if those folks have ever seen Matthew 15.

“The Eucharist is another way God gets His Gospel into us. If we won’t listen to the Gospel preached with our ears, that’s okay. He just crams it down our throats in the form of bread and wine.”

(Thanks to Mere Comments for this.)

It’s no secret that I have very little respect or hope for the United Church of Christ, possibly better termed “Unitarians Considering Christ”. I’ve long thought it an apostate denomination with a few actual Christians scattered here and there.

Well, apparently a few of the people there who have their heads on somewhat straight decided that it was time for the denomination to officially affirm that, yes, they believe that Jesus is Lord. Unbelievably (or perhaps believably), the resolution is expected to fail.

Kyrie eleison . . .