Why Did God Forbid Blending Threads?

Mark Driscoll has attempted to briefly answer a very pressing and important question that should be on the radar screen of each and every Christian. The post is titled "Does God hate cotton blend T-shirts?" and deals with the prohibition against mixed threads in Deuteronomy 22:11 and Leviticus 19:19.

Deuteronomy 22:11: “You shall not wear cloth of wool and linen mixed together.”
Leviticus 19:19: Nor shall you wear a garment of cloth made of two kinds of material.”

Driscoll, in his post, deals very superficially with the above question and basically ends up appealing to the classic three-fold division of the law: civil, ceremonial, and moral and says, "These laws are no longer binding on us because Jesus is our priest, temple, sacrifice, cleanser, and so forth." Period. End of discussion. Now, for my own part, I agree with Driscoll's conclusion. The ceremonial law was done away with in the coming of Christ (WCF 19.3). However, readers of his post will still not be any closer to understanding the prohibition under discussion than when they first began.

Just as with Driscoll, my own interest in this prohibition relates to a renewed contemporary (albeit superficial) fascination in these prohibitions by skeptics. One skeptic, for example, says "There is nothing in the Christian bible to suggest that this portion of Leviticus is any less serious than the part about homosexuality. And yet, the inescapable conclusion is that wearing clothing made of linen-wool blends is wrong in the same way homosexuality is wrong." Richard Dawkins, similarly, alludes to this prohibition as he mocks the sort of minutiae often found detailed in the Pentateuch.

It is not only atheists and skeptics who think texts like Lev. 19:19 and Deut. 22:11 are some sort of linchpin to show the inconsistency of Christian ethics. More than ever, with the push in our society to normalize homosexual behavior, these texts are increasingly being leaned on, even within supposed Christian circles.

I wonder how much people really understand the prohibition, however. I know that in my own studies, looking for discussion of these verses in any helpful way was about as difficult as finding a sensible statement in YouTube's comments section. That is to say, these verses are often spoken of generally, even in the best commentaries (with a few exceptions).

There are several possible approaches to these passages. For the sake of simplicity, I will deal primarily with the prohibition as it appears in Deut. 22:11.

1. Spiritualize It
Some commentaries, from Reformed theologians I've consulted, say that the prohibition against mixed threads is to picture Israel's own holiness. It is a way of showing that Israel's holiness is to be untainted by the nations around. One OT scholar, whom I highly respect, says that the command is literal, but that it pictures that "God has created things to act according to their natures, and they are to stay in their proper spheres." Nevertheless, the advocates of this view which I have read discuss the larger ethical message of these commandments more than the commandments themselves. They also tend not to deal with the fact that God actually commands his priests to have this same mixed fabric in their garb in Exodus 28:6, 15 and in Exodus 39:29. The priest wore a belt of mixed threads. Furthermore, Exodus 26:1-2, 7-8 commands that the curtain of the tabernacle be made from this same "forbidden" mixture of wool and linen. In my own opinion, and based on my own research, the "spiritualized" interpretation of the passage does not wrestle sufficiently with the apparent conflict between the prescribed priestly garb and these prohibitions.

Carmichael also holds to what might be called a metaphorical view. Essentially, he sees this passage specifically dealing with intermarriage of Israelites and Canaanites by way of euphemism.

2. Reject It
Some commentators, coming from a more liberal perspective than myself, follow the JEDP documentary view of the construction of the Pentateuch and say that the prohibitions of Deut. 22:11 and Lev. 19:19 are leftover vestiges of an earlier editor before the Pentateuch was finalized. They call this editor the Deuteronomist. Crediting these passages to the Deuteronomist, they say he was “unready to throw off this primitive concept” of refusing to mix unlike things. Unable to resist the urge to teach modern readers a lesson, they continue: “Unless religion does cast off such encumbrances from the dead past, progress is stifled. Ancient Egyptian religion kept its primitiveness and so was unable to achieve spiritual monotheism.” Some readers may find this line of thought compelling, but as someone who believes in the inspiration and inerrancy of Scripture, I find this approach far less than compelling. It fails to understand the Old Testament as a coherent whole.

3. Embrace It as Rejecting Prostitute Garb
Those to whom Moses is delivering these laws are only a generation removed from life in Egypt. Carmichael, in his discussion of this law, says that clothing of mixed fabrics was suggestive of Egyptian cultic prostitution which, of course, Israel was to have not even the least bit to do with. If Lambdin’s is right that these verses use an Egyptian loan word (šaʿaṭnēz), then it may just be that the word in question is referring to a way that the Israelites would have either dressed themselves, or seen their Egyptians masters dress, or might have seen cult prostitutes in Egypt dress. In this scenario, God’s command in Deut. 22:11 and Leviticus 19:19 is a polemical command intended to separate Israel from the nation that they have just left behind. The greatest problem with this view is that it does not adequately account for the legislation that requires the priests to make their garments from these same mixed threads.

4. Embrace It as Rejection of Priestly Garb for the Laity
This view says that the passage is not prohibiting mixed threads because it was the clothing of prostitutes. Nor is this prohibition merely meant to be a picture of holiness and Israel's distinction from among the nations. Rather, this prohibition had a very practical purpose. Numbers 16:1-40 records an incident when the laity sought to take priestly duties for themselves. In this view Deut. 22:11 (and Lev. 19:19) actually address a real and pressing issue: namely the temptation for the laity to resent or break down the distinction between priests and laity among the Israelites. Given this understanding of the prohibition of mixed threads, we see that God is placing barriers between the people and the Levites to keep such events as the rebellion of Korah from taking place. It is also easy to explain to the skeptic why Christians no longer observe this prohibition. Since the New Testament no longer distinguishes elders from the laity by clothing this command regarding mixed threads is no longer relevant except perhaps in terms of a persistent recognition that the Church still has leaders and elders whom the members are to submit to (Hebrews 13:17). Although there is nothing wrong with appealing to the threefold division of the law, it is often hard for skeptics to grasp (or they are unwilling to grasp) the fact that this distinction is not simply a convenient "out" for the defensive believer. If it is possible to answer the challenge without invoking the threefold division, I think it is best to do so from an apologetic (or at least from a didactic) perspective.

Just to put my cards on the table, this is the view which I find to be most compelling for several reasons:

a) It has ancient pedigree.
Jeffrey Tigay, in the JPS Torah Commentary on Deuteronomy points out that Josephus, while recognizing that the passage is difficult and not always understood, believed that "the prohibition applies to the laity, because the priests, when they officiate, do wear garments made of such mixtures" (Ant. 4.208). According to Josephus, this view of the passage goes back before his own time. And so it can safely be said that this view goes back at least a couple of millennia.

b) It accounts for the previous command for the priests to wear mixed threads.
As I mentioned earlier, the commands of Exodus 28:6, 15; 39:29 need to be reckoned with by anyone who wants to understand this command. Because God does command the mixing of threads elsewhere, we should reject the idea that God is prohibiting mixed threads in all situations in Deut. 22:11.

c) It allows for harmonization within the Pentateuch rather than disharmony.
God speaks with one voice in Scripture. He does not speak out of both sides of His mouth. We need to understand all of God's commands in relation to one another.

Summary
Christians, once they have a firm understanding of passages like these, will be ready to quickly, with clarity, and simplicity, answer skeptics. More and more the environment in which we live demands sound-bite answers. As soon as someone says that Christians are ethically inconsistent and bring up their polyester/cotton T-Shirt, the Christian can offer their own soundbite: "That passage in Deuteronomy is not a blanket prohibition of mixing threads all the time. Rather, it is prohibiting the average Israelite to dress like the priests. Since we don't have priests anymore and because there is no biblical command to differentiate pastors from the laity by clothing, we no longer obey this particular commandment." We obviously do still have regard for the difference between civil, ceremonial, and moral laws in the Old Testament, but in this particular case, the command is far less ridiculous or humorous than the skeptic thinks.

We Could Do With a Good Dose of Disillusionment

We love stories - it's a part of our nature. And we like stories with happy endings. A few nights ago, my wife and I watched the series finale of House. It's amazing to realize just how angry my wife, and so many other viewers would have been if the show did not conclude with a happy ending. Myself, I'm the type to enjoy a realistic ending that might have a bit of dreary, realistic humanity attached to it. To give you an idea where my tastes are, I thought the ending of Revolutionary Road was perfect.

In the same way, Christians love conversion stories. We love to hear about how God took a sinner and changed his heart and drew that person to Himself. What's not to love about it? You have what once was dead brought to life. It's beautiful, it glorifies God, and it's Biblical, to boot! The Apostle Paul spoke frequently of his own past (1 Tim. 1:13; 1 Cor. 15:9; Gal. 1:13). But how often do we reflect that our own story becomes shockingly unsexy once the dust has actually settled? I'm not saying there is not a happy ending for the saints of God, but for some it is often very long in the making.

After coming to Seminary, I made friends with a great guy who has an extraordinary conversion story (or so I'm told). My wife and I had him over for dinner one night and after some time he looked at me and said that if I was okay with it he'd rather not tell his conversion story. He explained that he had told it to so many people and that he didn't think it was good for himself or those he told it to. He'd become so saturated by his own story that those he told didn't look at him as a saint of God. They saw him as a notorious sinner first, and perhaps as a redeemed saint a distant second. And this is at a Reformed seminary where the grace of God is proclaimed weekly from the chapel pulpit and in every class. People weren't ready for the reality of this guy's old life.

Protestants, generally speaking, have a problem with the grit and the dirt and the messy reality of life. I hear all sorts of theories of why that is, but at the end of the day I think we really enjoy the world as it will be, and we want to escape from the world as it actually exists in the here and now. This sentiment may have something to do with the co-emergence of premillenial dispensationalism in the 19th century alongside of an entertainment-saturated culture of unprecedented proportions. If you compare the sort of  fiction books produced in protestant religious circles with those coming out of catholic or even humanistic ones, what one finds is a protestantism preoccupied with seeing the good in life and seeing the good that will eventually come out of life and a perspective on the other side that is either completely diversionary or else hyper-gritty in terms of the realistic approach to portraying life.

One need only compare The Lord of the Rings with the Song of Ice and Fire books that are written by George R.R. Martin (an agnostic). Protestants like The Lord of the Rings for lots of reasons relating to the high quality of the books, to be sure, but also, I think, because they are filled with people who are well-intended and who want to see good defeat evil. The Song of Ice and Fire books, on the other hand, are filled with what seems like irredeemably bad people, some (most?) of whom the reader is able to sympathize with in spite of it because of the dirt between their toes and the hunger in their bellies. Tolkien's enemies are faceless minions without names and without souls. With a couple of exceptions (one thinks of Smeagol or Denethor) the evil in LORT is kept at a safe distance while the SOIF books force the reader into the minds of the sorts of people we like to think that we are not. Why is it that we as Christians have such a problem with facing the harsher or dirtier side of reality (or if we do, we dare not tell others)? Isn't it time that we gave ourselves permission to admit that all is not roses and butterflies followed by rapturous moments of delight?

Christians are leaving the church. This is no secret. I live in my own little corner of the evangelical world where I am a conservative Westminster Standard-loving Reformed Christian whose (almost) entire base of friends "back home" are the emergent sorts who think Rachel Held Evans really "gets" them. Almost all of them at one time or another express either publicly or privately in conversations with me, just how unhappy they are with the church. But why? What is happening that is causing such frustration or disappointment? I suspect it's nothing more than the average boring stuff of life, the sin and frustrations involved in living in community with other people who have yet to experience the complete renewal of their persons.

When you go to church on a Sunday morning, you enter this room with other people in it. You often know what their shortcomings are. Or you notice that they sing off-key. Or you maybe heard the song-leader yelling at his son in the parking lot a few minutes before the service. Or maybe you saw an elder's eye wander someplace that it shouldn't during greeting time. Maybe you went into the bathroom before the service and you saw the pastor leave without washing his hands first. Maybe you went to get coffee but the creamer was all out... the sunday school teacher took the last of it. These are the sorts of raw, boring "little things" that, taken on their own are nothing, but collectively, when we think about it later, can shatter our illusions that the church is a sort of utopia. The imperfections and flaws of our neighbors and churches become apparent over time. The seams start to show.

Or maybe your problems are bigger. Maybe you think the church isn't "getting it right" on some social issue or maybe you think the church should talk about this or that a little bit less. Everybody sees things that those around them just aren't "getting right," whether it's at work, at a family reunion, or even at church.

What the church needs is not a good dose of correction on these points. Instead, it's the complainers who need something. What the complainers need is a nice, healthy inoculation delivered intravenously, the way I take my Starbucks in the morning. What we need is to experience the inevitable (if we're in the church for long enough) disillusionment, to deal with it, and then to remember that this is still Christ's bride. Stephen Nichols, in his book Bonhoeffer on the Christian Life, touches on precisely this need. Echoing the thoughts of Bonhoeffer's book Life Together, Nichols says that Christians have this tendency to approach the church with a sort of utopian dream wherein we idealize the body of Christ and see her as what she ought to be rather than as what she is. This is what Bonhoeffer refers to as a "wish dream." Says Nichols,

because of this wish dream "innumerable times a whole Christian community has broken down."... God in his grace shatters our illusions and dreams of peace and harmony...The sooner we come face-to-face with the disillusionment with others and the disillusionment with ourselves, Bonhoeffer adds, the better off we and the church are. There is a realism here that we should appreciate, and a realism that, once grasped, goes a long way in sustaining true and genuine community in the church. We come to grips with all of our own limitations and weaknesses and besetting sins. And we come to grips with the same in others - even in our leaders and heroes. Then we live in real and not ideal communities. Church is not a wish dream. We also need to jettison our misplaced zeal to see the Christian life as a wish-dream life. The Christian life, like the church, is lived in the real world. (Bonhoeffer on the Christian Life, p. 68-69)

The band Metric has a song called "Breathing Underwater," where the lead singer Emily Haines says, "They were right when they said/ We should never meet our heroes." It's a glimpse inside the mind of a person who wants to live in the "wish dream." I'm not immune to this desire to preserve the wish-dream. Earlier this year I was at The Gospel Coalition and I saw D.A. Carson and Tim Keller sitting in a pair of facing chairs in the hotel, talking. I chose not to go up to them or say anything. Why? Because I'd rather not meet two of my heroes. The conversation wouldn't go well, maybe I'd embarrass myself. Maybe they wouldn't be friendly. Maybe I was afraid of having an illusion shattered. I wish I had gone over to them, spoken to them and had the mystique dispelled just a bit. It would have been good for me.

In the same way, it was told, Shelby Foote and Walker Percy once went to visit William Faulkner in Oxford, MS. When they got to his house Percy wouldn't leave the car. He didn't want to have his wish dream shattered by actually meeting the man.

Someone needs to give Christians permission to live in the real world, not in the ideal wish-dream world that so many inhabit. I think that Bonhoeffer's notion that the wish-dream has broken down whole Christian communities might actually lie at the core of why the church sees so many critics and defectors today. The church has a new world in which it does its work in some ways, sure. But human nature is still the same. We still have the same feet of clay that we've always had. We often preach a church triumphant, but that is not what people usually see or sense. Usually people see the little failures that make up the average Christian's life. The message of grace that comes out of our pulpits, out of our seminaries, and out of our family worship times needs to be one by which our audiences are able to make sense of the pains, difficulties, muck, frustrations and realities of life without losing their understanding that a church can be triumphant without always seeming like it is.

Even the U.N. Gets It

Carl Trueman has evidently stepped into something this past week. He made some statements on Reformation 21 a few days ago that sounded an awful lot like two kingdoms theology. Admittedly, he eschewed the title in light of the fact that he hasn’t done much reading in the area. On Facebook, Anthony Bradley weighed in on the discussion.

Friends, if you ever wonder why Presbyterians turned a blind eye to black suffering during slavery and sat on the sidelines during the Civil-Rights movement, it's the position stated above. This sounds great on paper but if the church has no social witness history demonstrates that "individual Christians" will simply remain individualistic, at least in the American experience by those holding to this view circa 1776-1965ish. Admittedly, I was raised in the black church tradition so we would see this an untenable position. BTW, for the record, I don't believe the church should be involved in government or vice-versa.

I don’t think that Anthony Bradley intends the statement above to be an en toto argument against Trueman’s view, but it is extremely common for opponents of most forms of ‘Two Kingdoms’ to argue consequentially. The suggestion is that if this vaguely defined version of 2K has the field, nobody will ever have a reason to be good in public again.

But it is worth asking the question... does Christianity have something unique to offer in the area of politics or public life that human beings do not already know, by nature? When it comes to slavery or segregation, is there something we know that your average non-Christian doesn’t also know?

I know very few people (who aren’t abject cowards) who, if seeing a child being beaten in the street, would not do something to help him or her. Even if they couldn’t do something themselves, they would call the police or look for someone who could help. Why? Is it because they went to church and heard the Gospel, and something unique about the Gospel impels them to act? Certainly not in all circumstances.

Cicero: "Nature produces a special love of offspring...and to live according to nature is the supreme good."
The American Indians: "The killing of the women and more especially of the young boys and girls who are to go to make up the future strength of the people, is the saddest part...and we feel it very sorely."
Ancient Chinese: "The Master said, Respect the young."
Hinduism: "Children, the old, the poor, etc., should be considered lords of the atmosphere."*

All human beings are born with a sense of right and wrong. This is natural to all human beings by God’s doing. It is the law of God written on the heart (Rom. 1:20) that condemns all men everywhere. This law is insufficient to save; it cannot bring salvation or forgiveness of sins, but it does bring guilt and an awareness of sin, and when God’s restraining hand is gracious in a society, the hearts of men are held in check by this conscience and society is certainly benefited by it.

Having said all of this, however, one need only read a non-Christian document such as The Universal Declaration of Human Rights to see that opposition to slavery or segregation is far from being a uniquely Christian notion.

Article 1: All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood. 

Article 3: Everyone has the right to life, liberty, and security of persons. 

Article 4: No one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be prohibited in all their forms. 

Article 5: No one shall be subjected to torture or cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment. 

Article 6: Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law.

The point here is that just as it is written on the consciences of all human beings that they should assist a helpless child being hurt, it is also imprinted on the hearts of all people everywhere (though they might suppress it, as they do other aspects of God’s law) that slavery and segregation because of skin color is morally wrong. Christianity has nothing unique to bring to the table in this particular area (although the Gospel brings internal transformation, which gives one a delight in God's law and a consequent outward conformity to that law). To say that this particular aspect of justice is not the mission of the Church is not a condemnation of Christianity or of the Church, but rather a recognition that the Church quo Church has been given the “modest” task of saving souls and holding the spiritual keys to the Kingdom.

*From C.S. Lewis' Appendix in The Abolition of Man

How Seriously Should the Church Take Exit Interviews?

There are cold hard facts that say young people are leaving “the church” (I have yet to see anyone define what they mean by “the church”). No doubt about it. We live in a day and age when it is socially easier than it’s ever been to stop going to church, and therefore we are seeing a rise in those calling themselves “religious nones.” They aren’t atheists, but they aren’t Christians. They’re modern, spiritual folks who refuse to plant their flag with any institution or group. These are just the facts.

Some people have even done “exit interviews,” if you want to call them that, with some of these individuals. After these folks leave the church, they have an opportunity to pontificate on what it was about “the church” (again, undefined) that made them leave. Now, this data is interesting - there’s no doubt about that. What pastor wouldn’t like the opportunity to find out why so-and-so stopped coming to Sunday worship?

So here we have raw data saying young people are leaving the church, and some data saying why they are leaving. Rachel Held Evans (RHE) has given her sources for her latest opinion piece on why Millennials are leaving the church, and one of her sources is David Kinnaman’s book You Lost Me. In this book, as RHE summarizes it, Kinnaman says that young adults are leaving the church for six primary reasons: “they found it 1) overprotective, 2) shallow, 3) anti-science, 4) repressive (especially regarding sexuality), 5) exclusive, 6) hostile to those with doubts and questions about their faith.”

If you are theologically conservative with views that are rooted in Scripture and in accord with tradition, my guess is that you are generally going to push back against some of these reasons (I’m in agreement that 1, 2, and 6 are problems in many churches). Some of these points are a problem because the church hasn’t engaged in apologetics and has simply told people that “faith” is the magic word and approached questions and doubts in a fideistic way. Some of them are problems because people are simply hostile to the exclusivity of the Christian religion by nature. For the orthodox, this and a couple of these reasons cannot be helped without substantially changing the Christian faith. In RHE’s analysis, this is exactly what needs to happen: “What millennials really want from the church is not a change in style but a change in substance.” She says this favorably, not critically. And here is where the real question needs to be addressed...who decides what the church is like? Is it wise elders, guided by the Holy Spirit, under the authority of Scripture? Or is it the kids who left?

Who Are We Listening To?
Here’s the problem. If somebody quits your company because they don’t like the way things are run, an exit interview can be helpful. After all, it can tell you ways to improve your company and give you direction in the future. It can give you an idea what you did wrong, and what you need to do differently in the future in order to retain employees and reduce turnover.

But the church is not a Fortune 500 company. She is guided by revealed theology from God. You don’t want to base the substance of your theology on the opinions of those who leave the church precisely because those who leave the church are not in a position to discern spiritual matters. The Scriptures say things about those who disassociate themselves from the church and well... they aren’t nice things. They are things that I have no doubt, will bother people and make them feel judged just by my repeating them here. But the truth is, according to 1 John 2:19 the reason people leave and don’t come back is that “They went out from us, but they were not really of us; for if they had been of us, they would have remained with us; but they went out, so that it would be shown that they all are not of us.”

If John is right (and I always think he is, given my view of the authority of Scripture), and if I am understanding John correctly, then these people who are leaving “the church” (again, still undefined) are not Christians in any meaningful sense of the word. They have broken off fellowship. No church should base the “substance” (to use RHE’s word) of the faith on the opinions of unbelievers. It is one thing to have a core theology and to find creative, thoughtful, or careful ways of explaining doctrine or helping to answer peoples’ questions. This is part of what it means to “teach and exhort” (1 Tim. 4:13). It's quite another to change the core because it doesn't gel with those around us.

Don’t Change For Them, Change With Them?
Everyone has a theory. If you are... less traditional and more willing to put your finger in the wind and see where the culture is going, your reaction to the cold hard data of young people leaving “the church” is going to still be troubling, but you will tend to be friendlier, more conciliatory, and more willing to bow your theology or ethics to these complaints. Here is how RHE puts it

No, the Church shouldn’t change for millennials…but I think the Church must (and will) change along with millennials. In other words, we need not compromise the historical tenets of the Christian faith to recognize that this generation has something valuable to contribute to the future of Christianity.

I’m not sure how she defines “historical tenets of the Christian faith,” but the fact that Evans is free to define the “historical tenets” down as far as she wishes and still consider herself Evangelical is a solid demonstration that Carl Trueman is correct:

The real scandal of the evangelical mind currently is not that it lacks a mind, but that it lacks any agreed-upon evangel. Until we acknowledge that this is the case - until we can agree on what exactly it is that constitutes the evangel - all talk about evangelicalism as a real, coherent movement is likely to be little more than a chimera, or a trick with smoke and mirrors (The Real Scandal of the Evangelical Mind, p. 41).

I’m deeply trouble by what a church whose theology and ethics are decided by the unbelievers within the culture around us will eventually look like. My own suspicion is that it will look much like the mainline denominations in the United States. As Anthony Bradley has pointed out, RHE is really just asking for evangelical churches to become more like the United Methodist Church with an evangelical piety. When asked why she doesn’t just go to a liberal mainline church, RHE says that they aren’t evangelical enough. I wonder (and I haven’t read everything she’s written, so maybe she has pondered this) if she has ever considered that the thing that gives evangelical churches the piety, the energy, the evangelistic attitude that RHE so deeply yearns for is the very exclusivity, the ethics, and the emphasis on the inerrancy of Scripture that she and her fellow millennials (lets ignore the fact that I'm younger than her and therefore "one of them") want to downplay.

What I do want to point out is that whatever you think the answer to these six “problems” for the church are looks an awful lot like one's own pet issues. According to Ross Douthat (a Roman Catholic) religion in the United States is in decline because it needs to become more creedal and traditional. According to an old classmate of mine who hates creeds, the reason “nobody wants anything to do with the church” is that we recite the Apostles’ Creed in public worship. According to libertines, the problem is that the church represses their sexual urges. According to inclusivists, the church is too exclusive, etc.

An Uncharitable Suspicion
I have a feeling that this whole conversation gives way too much credit to the millennials leaving church. I have yet to hear anyone say the thing we're all thinking: people don't believe and would rather not go to church. The shortest distance between two points. The simple answer.

After all, who wouldn't want to sleep in on Sundays, lay around in their pajamas until noon, eat a block of cheese the size of a car battery and play around the rest of the day? I have this uncharitable suspicion that people like having their Sundays to themselves. When you combine unbelief with this strong temptation to the "Selfish Sunday", it's easy to suspect that millennials give critical statements about the church after the fact to make their departure feel like it had some deep idealistic meaning.

A long time ago, a friend of mine told me that my job in going to church was not to be blessed, but to be a blessing. To contribute, to share my gifts, to make it a better place and to love and build up the people who are there. To teach Sunday School and watch little kids in the nursery. There are critics of the church everywhere. But why should the church listen to those who refuse to contribute to it any more or make it a place that they would consider worthy of their own presence? Or, put another way, maybe it's just time for the kids to grow up.

Do You Prioritize Apologetics Over Theology?

When I first came to believe the truth of the Christian faith, I did so - in large part - because of books like Hugh Ross' The Creator and the Cosmos and Lee Strobel's The Case for Christ. This was over a decade ago, when I was a high schooler. I was a 17 year old kid, just learning that there even was a such thing as "apologetics" - and that can be a dangerous thing.

Now, I didn't become a Christian because of those books. I became a Christian when God brought me to a realization (by reading Paul's Letter to the Romans) of my sinfulness, of my need of a redeemer, and of my need to repent. It's important to distinguish between winning an argument and winning a soul.

My theology in the years following my conversion was not shaped - first and foremost - by attention to the Word of God, I freely confess it! Rather, I had enamored myself with these apologists whom I had been first exposed to, and who had first shown me the reasonableness of the Christian faith. The debates of William Lane Craig, the near death experience talks given by J.P. Moreland, even books like Norm Geisler's Chosen But Free all made an early impact on me because I had - from the beginning - prioritized apologetic thinking over theological thinking. You might even say that all of those things appealed to me because I still came at my theology thinking like an unsaved person, peeking in and figuring things out from the perspective of an outsider trying to "solve" the problems of God and eternity. Of course, I thought I could find ways to locate scraps of these innovative doctrines (arminianism, molinism, etc.) in Scripture later on down the road, if I tried hard enough. I don't mean this as a slander against those men, but rather as a self-critical assessment of how I came at theology.

This last week, Kurt Jaros and Scott Oliphint had an interesting exchange on the Unbelievable radio program. After listening to this program, as a former classical apologetics junkie, all I could do was reflect on what a worldly approach I used to take to thinking about the doctrine of God. If you prioritize apologetics over theology, then your theology will be shaped by your ability to defend your views. You may even hold to certain doctrines because it is easier to defend against unregenerate debate opponents rather than because you found them in the Scriptures. This is absolutely upside down from the way it should be. Herman Bavinck says this better than I could ever possibly try in the prolegomena of his Reformed Dogmatics.

As Bavinck explains it, "Placing apologetics at the head of all the other theological disciplines...is explicable only from the fact that these theologians no longer recognize theology's own principles and [are] forced to look elsewhere for a foundation on which the building of theology [can] rest" (1:55-56). And here Bavinck exposes the reality that theology, on its own, is an inadequate starting point for many theologians (but it shouldn't be!). In Bavinck's day it was men like Schliemacher who placed apologetics prior to theology. In our own day, men like William Lane Craig (and his young disciples) do the same. This manifests itself, of course, in grossly unbiblical theological aberrations such as Craig's Molinism. But this is only a manifestation of theological method, not the real problem. The problem is the core of how one does theology. What is one's beginning source for what we know about God? Is it reason, unaided by revelation?

Bavinck goes on: "If...theology is deduced from its own source, i.e., from revelation, it has its own certainty and does not need corroboration of philosophical reasoning." And this is a big problem I saw in Jaros' own approach on Unbelievable. Jaros has what you might call an "unbeliever-friendly" apologetic method. Jaros might be happy with that assessment, but what it means is that his apologetics and philosophy must come first in priority. If revelation came first in priority, his approach would no longer be appealing to unbelievers, because it would be built upon God's self-revelation.

This is a problem, however: "Apologetics cannot and may not precede dogmatics but presupposes dogma and now gets the modest but still splendid task of maintaining and defending this dogma against all opposition." The person who prioritizes apologetics over theology might respond by saying that the person who puts theology first loses the ability to use arguments from nature or history in his defense of the faith (what Bavinck refers to as "dogma"). But Bavinck also has a response to this line of thinking:

[This defense of] the entire content of revelation and of Christianity as a whole, is possible for the reason that nature and grace, creation and redemption, coming as they do from one and the same God, are not and cannot be in conflict. Only sin, which consists not only in a perverse disposition of the heart but also in the darkening of the mind, has brought opposition and conflict between the two (p. 56)

I would encourage up and coming apologists/theologians to flip their priorities. In order to defend the faith you must first have a faith to defend. If your defense of the faith involves principally abandoning the very fabric of reality to prove its truthfulness, something at the core of your approach is desperately wrong, indeed.

Is Translating Understanding?

In first year (or even later) Greek courses it is often assumed that if you can translate a Greek phrase or sentence into English, then you understand what the Greek sentence means. This, however, is simply not the case. Just because someone can provide an English gloss for each word in the Greek text does not mean that they understand all (or even most) that is going on in the orignal text. Moisés Silva in a chapter discussing the detailed debate over the use of the Greek verbal tenses, A Response to Fanning and Porter on Verbal Aspect, reminds us of this fact.

We have traditionally assumed that learning Greek means being able to translate, but that is really mixing apples and oranges. If you want to become proficient in Italian, you go to Italy, hear and imitate the spoken language even as you learn to read it, and never once produce a written English translation of anything. Of course, since Greek is an ancient language, we are virtually obligated to rely on translation, but it remains true that being able to translate is a very distinct skill from learning a language (p. 76). 

This is a reminder that just because a person can provide English "equivalence" to different Greek words, does not mean they understand the original text. After all, if all it took to understand the orignal Greek text were English glosses, then by simply looking at an English Bible (or Greek-English interlinear) a person would understand the Greek text. And, as should be apparent, this is simply not the case!

Jonathan Edwards, The Westminster Standards, and Presbyterian Church Government

Jonathan Edwards pastored a congregational church in Northampton, Connecticut for many years. It would be easy to assume that Edwards was a congregationalist at heart or that he therefore did not hold the Westminster Standards in high esteem.

This would be a mistake. When it came to catechizing his children, says Samuel Hopkins, Edwards "diligently instructed his children in the Westminster Shorter Catechism." Elsewhere, in Edwards' letters he says that it is important to be "sound and clear in the great doctrines of the gospel." He then clarifies what he means: "we here intend those doctrines which are exhibited in our excellent Westminster Catechism and Confession of Faith." He then says that it is important to "boldly and impartially appear in the defense thereof" (Letters [Yale Edition], p.277).

Edwards also thought it was important, when he was living in Stockbridge, to not only teach the indians he was ministering to how to pray, but also to "teach 'em the Assembly's Catechism, and endeavor as far as may be to make 'em to understand it" (Letters, p.688). Elsewhere, he speaks of the Westminster Catechism "as containing an excellent system of divinity; and we purpose to preach agreeable to the doctrines of the Bible exhibited therein."

Finally, Edwards found himself presented with an opportunity to travel to Scotland and minister in a Presbyterian church. Although he, of course, did not eventually do so, his reply to the church in Scotland is perhaps most revealing:

“You are pleased, dear Sir, very kindly to ask me whether I could sign the Westminster Confession of Faith, and submit to the Presbyterian form of church government; and to offer to use your influence to procure a call for me to some congregation in Scotland. I should be very ungrateful if I were not thankful for such kindness and friendship.

"As to my subscribing to the substance of the Westminster Confession, there would be no difficulty: and as to the Presbyterian government, I have long been perfectly out of conceit with our unsettled, independent, confused way of church government in this land. And the Presbyterian way has ever appeared to me most agreeable to the Word of God, and the reason and nature of things, though I cannot say that I think that the Presbyterian government of the Church of Scotland is so perfect that it can't in some respects be mended" (Letters, p.355; my emphasis).

Some Presbyterians have suggested to me in the past that Edwards is not "one of us" because he was a congregationalist. It is worth remembering that each town often only had a single church, and the church in Northampton is where Edwards found himself and ministered faithfully until being removed in the course of the communion controversy. If this letter to the church in Scotland reflected Edwards' true feelings on the matter, then perhaps Edwards would have been a Presbyterian minister if the context had been different.

Book Review: The Psalter Reclaimed by Gordon Wenham

Gordon Wenham's book The Psalter Reclaimed: Praying and Praising with the Psalms is a collection of Wenham's writings from various sources, all collected into one convenient Psalm-centered volume. I chose to read this book because I need a new and fresh familiarity with the Psalms. I don't know them as well as I ought to, and much of the Psalter is strange to me. It is difficult to always know how to interpret or apply what we read in the Psalms to the readers, prayers, or worshippers who are utilizing them today.

In the first chapter, Wenham speaks of the importance of the Psalms. He talks of their historic pedigree and their importance throughout the history of the church. In the remainder of the chapter he discusses recent scholarship regarding the relationship between speech-act theory and the corporately spoken nature of the Psalms. Wenham essentially argues that there are important "similarities between taking an oath, making a vow, confessing faith, and praying the psalms." Singing the Psalms, says Wenham, actively committ the singer "to following the God-approved life" (35). It is not merely the repetition of an external series of words or merely an act of worship.

In Chapter two, Wenham argues that "we ought to pray the psalms regularly as Jesus and the apostles did, and as the Christian church did as well for about eighteen centuries" (40) Don't panic - he is not arguing for an exclusive psalmnody position. But he does at least note that the psalms have fallen into being used less than they were before the introduction of hymns in the 18th century and that this trend should be reversed. His argument is that the Psalms instruct the church in how to praise God and how to lament in times of trial and pain. They also help us in our repentance by modeling what true penitence looks and sounds like. Ultimately, the Psalms point to the Messiah. The chapter points out that the Psalms are all useful. "We should use all of the psalms, not just the cheerful or sentimental ones that take our fancy" (55).

In Chapter three and four Wenham turns his attention to tracing the modern developments in reading the Psalms canonically as well as Messianically. He concludes that (1) we should read the Psalms in the canonical context of the whole Psalter. (2) We should read the Psalms in the context of the Hebrew Bible. (3) We should read the Psalms in the context of the "Christian canon of the Old and New Testaments" (77). As for chapter four, he defends the idea that the psalms can (and often should) be read with a messianic expectation, and he argues effectively that the editors of the Psalms certainly had that expectation. Some very interesting hermeneutical discussion occupies this chapter.

In chapter five, Wenham explores the subject of the relationship between the law (decalogue) and the Psalms. The Psalmist repeatedly rejoices in the law of God (Ps. 119). "To rejoice in God's judgment on sin is to turn the spotlight on one's own life and behavior: will I pass muster with God?" Wenham's chapter brings out many insights as to what is really involved when a worshipper delights in the justice and holiness of God, which are revealed in God's Law.

Most readers, I suspect, will be most interested in Wenham's discussion of the impreccatory Psalms, which is what the sixth chapter covers. He gives an overview of various approaches to these Psalms - from Calvin to Kidner - but then offers Erich Zenger as offering the most helpful approach to understanding these Psalms. Zenger essentially approaches the Psalms by saying that Christians are functionally marcionite if they reject the impreccatory psalms as "sub-Christian" or as outdated Old Testament literature. According to Zenger, the impreccatory psalms serve the important purpose of giving voice to the very real human need for divine justice. "These psalms awaken our consciences to the anguish of those who suffer. They serve to waken us from the dreadful passivity that has overtaken the comfortable churches of the Western world. They make us long for the coming of the kingdom of power and justice" (135). He concludes this important chapter by reminding readers that although Western Christendom may not experience martyrdoms and injustice (and hence are offended by something like Psalm 109), much of the church around the world does experience such horrors and injustices as the Psalmists when they wrote the Psalms, and it is on behalf of such suffering brothers and sisters that we can appropriately pray the impreccatory psalms.

[As a side note, because of reading the sixth chapter, I ordered a copy of Erich Zenger's book A God of Vengeance?. I have no idea if it's a good book, but what exposure Wenham gives us in this chapter makes me very interested to see the rest of what Zenger does in that particular book.]

Chapter seven is a straightforward exploration of the concept of God's "steadfast love" as found in Psalm 103. Finally, the eighth chapter comes from an unpublished lecture of Wenham's where he discusses the subject of "the nations" in the Psalms, moving canonically from Psalm 1 through 150. Yes, the nations set themselves against God for much of the Psalms, but they also end on a note of hopeful expectation that the nations may yet come in to God's fold.

The greatest strength of this volume is that it immerses its readers in the world of the Psalms. You come away from this reading with the impression that the church today has undoubtedly neglected a rich source of material for worship and for her edification. The volume does have a weakness, however, and that is its disconnected nature. Because each chapter has its origins in separate projects that were collected together, there is some disjointedness. The last chapter in particular, feels tacked on and I certainly found it difficult to know why it was there in terms of the larger whole of the book.

All in all, this volume is for those who, like me, have neglected the Psalms and who have not thought deeply about the role that the Psalms are to play in the life of the church. Readers will undoubtedly be edified and benefit much from Wenham's work.

[I was given a free copy of the book in order to review it. The publisher did not require a favorable review from me.]

The Human Need for Divine Justice

In Gordon Wenham's fantastic book The Psalter Reclaimed, he has a chapter where he discusses, at length, various approaches to understanding the impreccatory psalms. Because of the often harsh language of these psalms, which long for the punishment of the wicked, some say these psalms are sub-Christian. Some say that they express a perspective that is unenlightened by the gospel of grace inaugurated by the coming of Christ and that they are not for the church to pray any longer. Wenham turns favorably to the work of German scholar Erich Zenger in his book A God of Vengeance? where he discusses at length the importance of the impreccatory psalms, and in particular the way that they address the human need for God's coming divine justice. Wenham then then offers an extended illustration:

---------------------

[Gottfried] Bachl tells of an SS officer who commanded a squad who wiped out a whole village of some six hundred people in retaliation for the activities of the French resistance.  Later this officer settled in East Germany, where he became a much respected member of the community. When eventually in 1980 he was tried and condemned to life imprisonment, he agreed to an interview, during which he repeatedly broke down in tears.

When the reporter asked, "Why are you crying now?" he answered, "Because I have been so happy, and now it ends this way." The journalist continued, "Did you ever weep over the children, women, and men you killed that day?" "No," he said. "Did it never occur to you that you had done a terrible injustice to those people?" His answer: "No, not as long as I was free. Everything was quite normal. But now I often think that there must have been something wrong, that I was involved in it myself somehow, that probably the whole thing was wrong."

Bachl comments that it was judgment that made this man face up to his guilt. That woke him from his happy oblivion and self-satisfaction. It was judgment that prompted him to respond as a human being who recognized what he had done. Bachl continues:

 The current of our history does not issue in justice, but in the question: Where will it happen? Will it ever appear in its true, comprehensive form. No court...will be adequate to the things that people...are doing to one another...What happens in the world of humanity is from its very beginning a cry for God's judgment. And the first response to that cry that is found in the gospel, the good news is:

The stream of events will not run on forever, over blood and victims, goodness, evil, innocence and justice. God will put an end to the course of history and will make clear that there is a difference between justice and injustice, and that this difference must be demonstrated. God will seek out the buried victims, the forgotten, starved children, the dishonoured women, and God will find the hidden doers of these deeds. God will gather them all before God's eternal, holy will for the good, so that all must see how it stands with their lives.

Wenham, Gordon J. The Psalter Reclaimed: Praying and Praising with the Psalms. Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2013. 139-140
 ------------------------

Wenham, echoing the work of Zenger, concludes: "These psalms can serve to wake us from our structural amnesia about God...They awaken our consciences to the anguish of those who suffer. They serve to wake us from the dreadful passivity that has overtaken the comfortable churches of the Western world. They make us long for the coming of the kingdom in justice and power."

A Rare Endorsement from G.K. Beale

Unlike J.I. Packer, who is known for his ubiquitous endorsements, Greg Beale is something of an endorsement recluse. According to the fellows at Westminster, he has only ever endorsed five books that they know of. A new volume defending the amillennial approach to eschatology has recently received a glowing endorsement from Beale. Beale calls the book

a substantial work on the viability of the Amillennial perspective on eschatology, including that of the Book of Revelation. While one may not agree with all that he says on this subject, the upshot of the book as a whole is a solid argument in favor of Amillennialism. His dialogue partners are Premillennial interpreters, whom he finds fall short in presenting a per- suasive case for their view. Storms presents, in my own view, a very attractive way of understanding the millennial passage of Revelation 20:1-10, but his discussion of many other passages throughout the Bible also are adduced in an insightful way to support his view. He posits the surely correct hermeneutical approach that the rest of the Bible (e.g., Paul’s epistles) should be understood as the main interpretative lens for eschatology and not any particular interpretation of Revelation 20, which too many have let control their understanding of eschatology elsewhere throughout the Bible. Among the discussions that I found particularly helpful was his study of the seventy weeks of Daniel 9. Even those who may disagree with Storms’ Amillennial approach will definitely benefit from his book.

Learn more about the book over at Westminster, where they are currently selling a healthy hardback version for 50% off.

Pulling the Paperwhite Out From Under the Bus

Back in September of 2012 I said some mean things about the Kindle Paperwhite. Actually, I said some nice things, too. I suppose this post is my way of taking back all the mean things I said.

RIP Old Friend
(2009-2013)

About a month ago, I was returning from The Gospel Coalition when I went to use my 4 year old Kindle 2 and found that the screen had totally freaked out. A simple call to Amazon's troubleshooters confirmed that it was dead in the water. My four year old friend had been with me through the thick and thin. Altogether I'd probably read 100 or more books on it and used its text-to-speech feature for long road trips more times than I could count. If it hadn't died, I never would have upgraded. I initially tried to find a Kindle 2 that still had the text-to-speech feature, but I couldn't find one for sale in my area on Craigslist and Amazon doesn't have a used Kindle section on their website.

When I contacted Amazon initially to troubleshoot, they did tell me that if I wanted to, I could send my old one in and they would sell me a refurbished Paperwhite wi-fi for $40 below the new price. This meant that I could replace my old friend for $80. And so, despite the mean things I said about the Kindle Paperwhite, and despite the fact that Amazon ripped my favorite feature (text-to-speech) out of their e-reader, I ordered it.

Here's the thing: I love it. And what's more, even if it had
text-to-speech it would no longer be my favorite feature of the device. There are six major things that stand out about the Paperwhite, making it heads and shoulders above my old Kindle 2:

1) The higher resolution screen is a beauty to look at. No discernible pixels in the text means that the reading experience is that much better.

2) Faster page turning. The processor in this new one is better, and that means more responsive page turning. It's a small thing, but when you turn the page on your device thousands of times, it makes you realize just how sluggish your old Kindle 2 actually was.

3) Adjustable fonts and margins. It may seem like a small thing, but it's one more way to make the experience all your own. Also, reading my ESV Study Bible on the Paperwhite is nicer and easier when you make the line of text as narrow as possible.

4) The touch screen is "okay." I'm not thrilled about it, but it is very useful for highlighting (it's very responsive and extremely easy to do) and for picking a single word to see the definition of. You could already do both of these things with the little directional clicker, but it's 10x better using the touch screen to do it now. [My one complaint about the touch screen: in the table of contents for the ESV Study Bible, if you click on the name of the book you want to read, it will think you're clicking the book above it. You have to compensate for that bizarre little fact when you click on a book of the bible to read it. I'm guessing this happens with a lot of different tables of contents in other books too.]

Fits in my hand

5) The smaller size. It's smaller! No keyboard! It's overall design is fantastic, and that leather case that Amazon sells might cost $40, sure, but I can't imagine it ever getting busted in a fall while it's snug and secure inside of that beautiful case. It also has that fancy cover that puts the device to sleep when it closes and wakes it up when it opens, ala the iPad Smartcover.

6) The Backlight. Okay, Amazon is careful to say this is not a traditional backlight. Whereas an ordinary LCD projects light directly out towards the user's face, this is an indirect sort of lighting. It has the effect of making the pages look plain white in daylight and pleasantly readable in the dark. I had forgotten how many times I've stopped reading my Kindle 2 because it had just gotten too dark and I didn't want to turn the lights in my room on.

Yes, the text-to-speech is gone. No, I still cannot think of a good reason for them to take this feature away. But I have two thoughts in this regard:

a) I wasn't using the text-to-speech as much as I used to. Truthfully I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually employed it.

b) As a substitute, you can upload your non-DRM ebooks to Zamzar and they will convert them into MP3s. This way you can still make audiobooks out of them and listen on your iPod. Since I use text-to-speech mostly on road trips, I just plan ahead a bit now and make sure and have Zamzar make the audiobook that I want to listen to while I'm driving. And lets face it, you were having trouble running on the treadmill with that bulky Kindle 2 anyway, weren't you?

Just tonight I was sitting on my darkened patio, reading Psalm 98, and thanking God that I had this pleasant reading device that allowed me to sit in the dark, read God's Word, and stare out at the starry sky without turning on the light and drawing all the bugs around me. It was then that I decided to write this post and publicly apologize to the Paperwhite. I'm sorry, baby. I said those mean things because I didn't really know you.

A Move in the Wright Direction?

Yesterday, Justin Brierley, from Unbelievable?, posted this interview he conducted between N. T. Wright and James White on the subject of justification. As someone who has followed the so-called New Perspective(s) on Paul discussion, I listened rather intently to the whole discussion, twice. Overall, it was an informative interchange. Fortunately, White continually pressed Wright on the grounds of justification (i.e., what is the ultimate reason a person is justified), both present and future. Unfortunately, the listeners did not receive a clear answer on this point from Wright (yet again).

Delightfully, Wright took issue with a comment made by Brierley. Here is the transcript of their exchange from the 20:42 mark:

Justin Brierley: If I can try and, try and, spell this out–and you will have to correct me–can we say then that justification, then, as far as Paul was concerned, was about membership more than personal salvation, if you like?

N.T. Wright: Eh-Eh... This is precisely the either/or that we have to avoid...

Justin Brierly:...okay...

N.T. Wright:...because the membership question is the membership in the family of Abraham and the purpose of Abraham’s family was to undo the sin of Adam...
(Emphasis mine)

After hearing Wright's remarks on this point, I could not help but think back to his book, What Saint Paul Really Said because Wright makes the same point in this book that he rejects in the interview. He writes on page 119:

In standard Christian theological language, [justification] wasn't so much about soteriology as about ecclesiology; not so much about salvation as about the church. (Emphasis mine)

(Is it just me, or does this comment from Wright's book sound virtually identical to the restatement made by Brierley that Wright rejected?)

On the one hand, it is good that Wright seems to be now distancing himself from the false dicotomy (i.e., justification is either about who is 'in' or it is about who is 'saved', but not both). On the other hand, however, this is a false dichotomy that he himself established in What Saint Paul Really Said. One would hope that Wright would have acknowledged that he has changed with reference to this point and that he would clarify that he understands things differently now, after listening to critics and upon further reflection. The impression one gets after listening to the conversation with White is that Wright has always been saying the same thing on this point. The above quote from What Saint Paul Really Said seems to imply that this is not the case. The New Perspective discussion would be greatly advanced if both sides could openly admit when they have changed on this or that point. In this way, new ground could be covered instead of retreading old paths.

Book Review: Silence by Shusaku Endo

My suspicion is that the majority of Christians in the west, much like myself, have never heard about the earliest Catholic missions to Japan in the 17th Century. The Jesuits came to Japan in 1549, and while I should not (and cannot) here give a history of Christianity in Japan, it is worth admitting that the 1630s and 40s were a time of unbearable persecution. The tortures exacted on the Christians of Japan during this time are horrifying to consider.

Shusaku Endo’s book Silence, a fictionalized account of true events, was written in the 1960s by a Roman Catholic.  I speak of this book as neither a Catholic, nor as someone with any special or unique knowledge of the history of Christianity in Japan. One of Endo’s enduring themes is the incompatibility of Christianity (or any other religion) with the Japanese culture. One of Endo’s repeating themes in this book is that Japan is a “swamp” which takes, changes, and transforms ideologies until they no longer resemble their former selves. From reading the translator’s preface, one can see that there are autobiographical aspects to this argument. Endo sees a struggle within his own heart away from his Catholicism, and in one interview said that in spite of his own religious upbringing, “there was always that feeling in my heart that it was something borrowed, and I began to wonder what my real self was like. This I think is the ‘mud swamp’ Japanese in me.” So for Endo, Christianity can never really take root in Japan unless it changes, transforms, or adapts. Of course, this is a popular modern theme, this idea that Christianity will wither and die if it does not change with the times. It seems harder to believe here in the West where most people still preserve some nominally religious veneer. It’s a bit more persuasive when one considers that less than 1% of people in Japan are Christian. I do not agree with Endo that Christianity must change in order to be received, but that discussion is beyond the scope of this book review. So while I am not sympathetic with Endo’s larger project, I found myself utterly captivated by Silence. Reading this book was a remarkable experience for me. I will try to make the case here that Christians need to be made more aware of this book. It belongs on our bookshelves next to Walker Percy’s The Moviegoer and the writings of Flannery O’Connor in the sense that it asks the hard questions, pushes the reader in painful ways, and does not offer preachy or simple answers.

[I warn that from here on out my review contains spoilers. If you want to read the book, I recommend that you get it and read it right away, but do stop reading this review!] The novel takes place in the 1630s after a Jesuit priest in Japan named Ferreira is reported to have apostatized from the faith. Finding this impossible to believe, the Priests Rodrigues and Garpe make the dangerous journey from Portugal to Japan in order to live as missionaries among the Japanese and also to find out what the truth is of Ferreira’s fate. Half of the book is the written journal of Rodrigues, while the other half of the book is either written in a third person format, or contains the letters of others associated with the narrative. Rodriguez and Garpe are eventually captured by the authorities and witness horrific circumstances as they watch the Japanese Christians laying down their lives for the faith. There is no glory in these martyrdoms, as Rodriguez had always imagined. Rather, there is a brutality and cruelty which he had never imagined. Prior to the arrival of Rodriguez, the Japanese forced the priests to renounce the faith and tortured them until they did so, with none of them recanting. However, we soon discover that the Japanese chose a different method altogether, beginning with Ferreira. They use this same technique to great effect on Rodriguez, as well. Rather than torturing the priests, they torture the Christians, telling Rodriguez that all he must do is renounce the faith in order to end their sufferings.

Some of the greatest struggle in the book takes place as Rodriguez recounts his own psychological struggles. There are hard questions. It is one thing to suffer for your own faith – to endure pain and suffering for the sake of one’s love for Christ. But is it self-centered to refuse to recant in order to end another’s suffering? At one climactic moment in the book, Rodriguez can hear the moaning of the Christians as they hang in the pit, their cries going up and reaching his ears. These Christians have all recanted, but they will not be released until Rodriguez tramples the image of Christ. Suddenly, the image of Christ speaks: “Trample! Trample! I more than anyone know of the pain in your foot. Trample! It was to be trampled on by men that I was born into this world. It was to share men’s pain that I carried my cross.” Rodriguez obeys, and the Christians are released.

The title of the book, Silence refers to Rodriguez’ constant lament that God is silent as his people suffer. “Why is God continually silent while those groaning voices go on?” At one point Rodriguez is praying and he says, “'Lord, I resented your silence.” He receives a reply: “I was not silent. I suffered beside you.” The book is Job-like in its unwillingness to offer straight answers.

And so the novel forces us to ask if what Rodriguez did is right or wrong. The book implies that he never really gives up believing, but that he spends the remainder of his days as a secret Christian of sorts, outwardly obeying the magistrate. As long as the priests stay away and Rodriguez continues as he is, the authorities promised to leave the Christians alone.

Later in the book, Inoue speaks to Rodriguez and he says, “I’ve told you. This country of Japan is not suited to the teaching of Christianity. Christianity simply cannot put down roots here…you were not defeated by me…You were defeated by this swamp of Japan.”

Another character in the novel who matters a great deal is the weakling Kichijiro, who is a pathetic figure, folding under persecution every time, terrified of the authorities, turning in Father Rodriguez at one point, but always returning, always repenting. At one point Rodriguez is thinking of Kichijiro and he wonders to himself: “How many of our Christians, if only they had been born in another age from this persecution would never have been confronted with the problem of apostasy or martyrdom but would have lived blessed lives of faith until the very hour of death.” What stinging words! To Christians who live in the West, free of persecution, free of tortures and pain it is so easy for us to judge one such as Kichijiro, and yet constantly throughout the novel we are confronted repeatedly by his tragic and pathetic figure. I think that we as readers would be wise to see ourselves in Kichijiro.

There is so much to be said. In spite of the fact that there is a some speculation on all sides of the question, I do not know if Father Rodriguez ever really believed. Endo is more concerned with the experience, struggle, and choices made by Rodriguez than delving into his own eternal election (I use this for the lack of a better word). The fact is, we all experience our lives as a linear succession, just as Rodriguez, and so in a real sense he leaves us as epistemologically unsure of Rodriguez’ eternal fate as we each can be of our own. In the face of persecution, what sort of eternal assurance can a person have who has folded under the pressures of persecution, and especially the kind that Rodriguez faced? Is there a place with Christ for those who outwardly apostatize themselves? Endo certainly appears to believe so.

Endo has complained in the past that part of the reason this book was so controversial in Japan upon its release was that people read the book as theology and not as literature. I’ll resist the urge to follow Endo’s critics into the murky theological waters that one could surely enter after reading this book. Endo’s novel is a masterpiece, plain and simple. Christians need to meditate upon the nature of suffering, the pains of martyrdom, and the difficult questions that confront us in this novel. I have lamented before that Protestant writers seem to be incapable of facing painful and hard existential questions like those in this book without resorting to preachy narrative devices. Silence is the exemplification of how to do a novel tackling the subject of faith and suffering head-on while avoiding the dreadfully tacky literary pitfalls we see all around us.

Comparing Turretin and Kruger on the Canon (Part 3)

Conclusion

As we develop some concluding thoughts, it is important to note from the beginning that there are foundational similarities between Kruger and Turretin. As an example, the following quote from Turretin deserves some attention: “[The Church] declares the already existing authority by arguments drawn from the books themselves.”  Compare that to Kruger’s insistence that “the canon guides, controls, and determines how it is authenticated.”  Both statements reflect an effort to give Scripture foundational authority even in its own construction.

The strongest similarities between Kruger and Turretin are rooted in their recognition of a threefold epistemic cause of faith in Scripture. The following chart is an attempt to point out the substantive similarities between Kruger and Turretin in relation to their understanding of the threefold epistemic environment for belief in the Bible’s divinity.

From this chart, it must be admitted that for Turretin, external considerations do play some factor in answering challenges to the canon. It is important to emphasize that this is also the case for Kruger. Kruger is not saying that the sole consideration of a book’s canonicity is determined by external matters. Rather, borrowing from Ridderbos, he says: “Historical judgment cannot be the final and sole ground for the church’s accepting the New Testament as canonical.”   As Kruger says elsewhere: “If one of the attributes of canonicity is a book’s apostolic origins, then this entails an appeal to some external historical evidences to establish whether a book is apostolic…the key difference is that in the self-authenticating model the external evidence does not stand alone as an independent standard to which Scripture must measure up.” 

It would be very difficult, given these statements from Turretin, to fit him into an evidentialist mold or into a historically determined model for the canon as exemplified by Warfield. Those who disagree with this conclusion might be tempted to refer to places in Turretin’s writings where he points to historical realities to reinforce his arguments, therefore demonstrating that Turretin is not averse to historical methods. They would be mistaken, in assuming that historical arguments are disallowed, given the self-authenticating model. The self-authenticating model admittedly makes historical arguments part of its approach. It is, however, opposed to making historical considerations the sole determiner of what books are canonical and what books are not.

On the other hand, while someone such as Warfield would not in the least denigrate or reject the importance of the Holy Spirit in the formation of the canon and while they would not reject the divine qualities of Scripture, they would be averse to making these two traits foundational criteria for determining what is Scripture and what is not. As quoted earlier, “If the historical authenticity of our Canon is to be denied, it must be done at the expense of all our historical sources; at the expense of the falsification of history herself; at the expense of the destruction of the grounds of all historic inquiry.” When the authenticity of the canon is rejected, it is not fundamentally the Scriptures themselves which are being rejected and it is not the Holy Spirit who is being spurned, but it is the historical material that is being rejected. In that sense, the Warfieldian who claims Turretin as an ally in this discussion has an uphill climb. For Warfield, apostolicity is fundamentally a historical search.

As Kruger said earlier, the self-determining model of canon utilizes a three-dimensional approach, taking into account Scripture itself, the church’s role in receiving the canon, and the Holy Spirit’s role in caring for the canon while ensuring that the Church trust and hold to it. All three dimensions of this approach are indispensable in Turretin, and just as in Kruger, none of the three features take higher priority over the others in his Institutes.  While it is not being argued that Turretin and Kruger are identical in their views, and while they were writing in different contexts, for different audiences, and at somewhat different purposes, the similar trajectories between them are worth appreciating.

Archibald Alexander, Thomas Chalmers, and William Cunningham  have all acknowledged that historically the Reformed camp has generally become divided between two approaches to the canon.   In the one tradition, and emphasis is placed on the internal testimony of the Holy Spirit (it has been argued that Kruger and Turretin both easily fit into this mold).  In the other tradition belong those emphasizing external evidences for the canon (obviously Warfield and many others belong in this category).  This is an intramural debate within the Reformed world, and there is much overlap between the historical approach and the self-authenticating approach.  At the end of the day, there are differences in approach to this issue, but all parties within the Reformed tradition have a common affirmation: this is the infallible and inerrant word of God.  Such an affirmation is rare in the world today and is a beautiful display of unity within the body of Christ and of the truthfulness of Christ’s statement, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”

[You can download the complete PDF of this series, which includes the complete footnotes (not included in the blog version) by following this link.]

Comparing Turretin and Kruger on the Canon (Part 2)

Turretin's View of the Canon

Francis Turretin stands as one of the strongest representative examples of Reformed Scholasticism.  William van Asselt says that although he was very influential during the time of High Orthodoxy, his Institutes’ influence “was not limited to that time, but reached far into the nineteenth century, wherever they remained in use in the Netherlands, Scotland, and North America.”  Admittedly, his influence had waned in recent years until the translation of his three volume Institutes of Elenctic Theology into English by George M. Geiger in the 1990s. Before that, however, he was well regarded by Jonathan Edwards who called his Institutes “excellent,” and also commented that between Turretin and Peter Van Mastricht, it was Turretin who was by far the best polemicist.  John Gerstner said of Turretin that he was “the most precise theologian in the Calvinistic tradition.”  Considering the importance, influence, and high regard with which Turretin has been held, it is of some importance to ask whether it is a right or fair representation of Turretin’s views for Kruger to cite him in his defense of the self-authenticating model. Having already briefly explored Kruger’s view, an understanding of Turretin on the subject is now in order.

The Institutes are organized following a traditional scholastic method of Loci subdivided by Quaestiones. These questions highlight the polemical context of Turretin’s book and a brief read through the Institutes reveals a theologian who is engaging—not on a practical or pastoral level as Calvin was doing—but on an academic level against Roman Catholics, arminians, and socinians. In the Institutes, Turretin does not directly answer the question as to where the canon came from in as comprehensive a way as Kruger does. Turretin does, however, face several difficult Roman Catholic objections regarding the canon, and it is there that some important inferences can be drawn from him on the subject of the canon of Scripture.

The first relevant question that Turretin sets forth is, “Why, or on account of what, do we believe that the Bible is the word of God; or what argument does the Holy Spirit principally use to convince us of the inspiration of the Scriptures?”  He then narrows the options to two, which he then considers in turn.  For Turretin, either “the testimony and voice of the church” or “the marks impressed upon Scripture itself” are that on account of which we believe the Bible to be the word of God. He denies the former and affirms the latter.

It is of some contextual concern what Turretin’s reasons are making these affirmations and denials. Turretin argues against “the testimony of the church” by giving five reasons. First, he says “the testimony of the church” is unacceptable because the church is built upon the Scripture and borrows all authority from it, not the other way around. Second, if “the testimony of the church,” as an answer, were true, then the authority of the church would be prior to Scripture, which even the Roman Catholics deny. Third, he says the argument is circular.  Fourth, he argues that “church” does not have an agreed upon definition.  Finally, he says that “a fallible and human testimony cannot form the foundation of divine faith.”

The real substance of Turretin’s thought on the canon begins to emerge when he offers his defense of the proposition that “the marks impressed upon Scripture itself” is the epistemological ground of our faith in Scripture as the word of God. He substantiates this with four lines of reasoning.  First, he points to the nature of Scripture itself, by arguing that the Bible is an innately perfect and “inflexible rule of faith” and therefore “cannot have authority even as to us from the church, but only from itself.”

Second, Scripture is a thing “known by itself” and therefore cannot be subjected to proofs that cannot be themselves proven. “Thus Scripture, which is the first principle in the supernatural order, is known by itself and has no need of arguments derived from without to prove and make itself known to us.”  Turretin follows the standard scholastic treatment of principia. A principium is by definition a properly basic belief that by its fundamental nature cannot be justified by other basic beliefs. This becomes even clearer in a later section where Turretin elaborates:

It is not always necessary that a thing should be proved by something else. For there are some things which are self-evident according to the philosophers…which are not susceptible to demonstration, but are evident by their own light and are taken for granted as certain and indubitable. 

He then places the Bible into this category of principia: “Therefore since the Bible is the first principle and primary and infallible truth, is it strange to say that it can be proved by itself?”  This point alone places Turretin outside of the majority of Evidentialist apologetic methodologies and ought to be considered as highly relevant to this discussion. Further consideration of Turretin’s view of canon must take into account the way he grounds knowledge of the canon in Scripture. If the Scriptures themselves are self-evident and self-proved, it would be entirely inconsistent for Turretin to argue based upon external evidences that the canon is able to be known. It would, however, still be possible for him to remain consistent while arguing that external evidences confirm what is already known reliably from the Scriptures themselves.

It is also helpful to keep in mind that Turretin is not saying that Scripture is the only principle by which men may gain knowledge. Rather, he is placing Scripture in the same category as other things that can be “known in themselves,” and yet themselves cannot be subjected to proofs, such as the laws of logic.  He leaves open the possibility that other things may be known outside of Scripture.

Third, Turretin argues that the Scriptures are not known or recognized through an inductive chain of reasoning, but are “immediately distinguished.” The word “immediately” is carefully chosen by Turretin to reflect the lack of a chain of argument in ascertaining the Scripture’s divine qualities. He uses metaphors from Scripture such as taste, sight, and smell to argue that the divine qualities of Scripture can be appreciated just as immediately as one can see something lovely or smell something delicious.  Just as “there is no need to seek elsewhere for proof that this is light,” so it is with the Scriptures.

Finally, Turretin argues against “the testimony of the church” by stating that his own opponents make arguments that demonstrate the divine marks of Scripture. He then quotes Bellarmine who says that the Scriptures are to be highly regarded by all.

In this same section, as part of his argument Turretin favorably quotes the French Confession, Article 4: “We know that the books of Scripture are canonical, not so much from the common consent of the church, as from the internal testimony and persuasion of the Holy Spirit.”  He follows this up by commenting: “the same Spirit who acts objectively in the word by presenting the truth, operates efficiently in the heart also by impressing that truth upon our minds.”

With reference to the canon specifically, Turretin says that the church does not make the canon, but only distinguishes canonical books from apocryphal books as

the goldsmith who separates the dross from the gold…distinguishes the pure from the unadulterated, but does not make it pure…Nor can the judgment of the church give authority to the books which they do not possess of themselves; rather she declares the already existing authority by arguments drawn from the books themselves. 

He then further clarifies his position: “[The Church] declares the already existing authority by arguments drawn from the books themselves.”

In question seven, he inquires, “Has any canonical book perished?” He denies this.  What is helpful is his method for substantiating this answer. In it he uses a mixed approach. He offers six arguments for the notion that “no canonical book has perished.”

First, he points to Christ’s testimony in Luke 16:17, “it is easier for heaven and earth to pass, than one tittle of the law to fail.” Turretin argues that though Christ is here referring to the law, “it can also be applied analogically to [the Scriptures], so as to imply their preservation and so much the more.”

Second, he appeals to the declarations of Luke and of Paul to substantiate the completeness of the Scriptures. He points to Luke 24:27, “all the prophets and all of the Scriptures” and to Romans 15:4, “whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning” arguing that Paul and Luke could not have made such references “unless they supposed that all the writings of the Old Testament existed.”  In this point, it is clear that Turretin is specifically defending the notion of a complete Old Testament canon.

Third, he argues “From the providence of God perpetually keeping watch for the safety of the church.”

Fourth, Turretin argues that of all the crimes Christ and the apostles charged the Jews with, they never charged them with being careless in the caring of or the transmission of the Scriptures.

Fifth, he argues that there is a teleological purpose to Scripture, which could not be fulfilled “if (by loss of some canonical books) a mutilated and defective canon…has been left to the church.”

Finally, he argues that the Jews historically never acknowledged as canonical any other books than the Protestants acknowledge. Nor did they copy “in their Targums, nor” do we find any others “translated by the Septuagint.”

Of these arguments, the first five are undoubtedly theological in nature and even presuppose the truth of the Scriptures for their force. The sixth argument is the most obviously historical in its methodology.

Turretin is also careful to explain that there is a threefold distinction between the “efficient cause” of one’s belief, the “argument on account of which” one believes, and the “means and instrument” through which one believed.  He argues that the Holy Spirit is the efficient cause of belief, the church is the means and instrument through which the belief comes, and that the Scripture itself is “the argument on account of which” one believes (the Papists put the Church in this place). Though it will be discussed more in the next section, it is worth noting that this threefold causation of belief in Scripture strongly parallels Kruger’s three-dimensional epistemic environment for the self-authenticating model.

Concluding this brief exploration of Turretin’s understanding of the canon, it can be summarized that Turretin bases his argument for the soundness of the canon on theological considerations founded in Scripture, supported and confirmed by historical methods, recognizing the Holy Spirit being the “efficient cause and principle from which” belief comes.

[The final post in this series, which will be posted Friday, offers some concluding thoughts of comparison between Kruger and Turretin.]