Why Christians Should Listen to Punk Rock

Punk rock music is the true Christian art form. I know it's hard to believe, what with all that rebellion and screaming, but hear me out. Nancy Pearcey in her book, How Now Shall We Live? discusses classical music, and in so doing argues (I'm going from memory here since my copy of the book has gone the way of the buffalo) that classical music is an especially Christian form of art because it embraces narrative, motion, beauty, structure, and elegance; all of which are part and parcel of the Christian worldview. As her foil in the book, she sets up John Cage, the prince of musical disorder. His music, so she says, embodies chaos, detachment, and lawlessness (all of which reflect the ethos of the serpent in Genesis 3). Now, Nancy Pearcey is just wrong, and I'll tell you why. There is a far more superior musical art form to classical music: namely, punk rock. The author of this blog post is a fan of punk rock, and I like it for one simple reason: It is the Christian form of music.

First of all, not all music that is classical in form is Christian in content. Think of the Mephisto Waltzes by Franz Liszt. But even excluding disturbing exceptions like this, its form is all wrong, as well. Whereas classical music embodies order, law, structure, and beauty, punk rock embodies--not the world as it should be--but the world as it is. Also, punk music has a social awareness that would put Beethoven and his ministry to the deaf to shame.

Punk music has its feet firmly on earth and deals with the nitty gritty of a world in chaos, scrambling for some moment of sanity. Think of The Clash in their song "Straight to Hell." This song addresses in rather painful fashion the mistreatment of immigrants, as well as the love children of American G.I.s who procreated with the unfortunate female population of Vietnam during the war. Gritty, painful, dirty. Punk lives in the here and now--the already, rather than the not yet. Or consider a song by The Dropkick Murphys called "The State of Massachusetts," which faces head-on the effect that drug-abuse has on families.

These singers sound more like the Psalmist or Habakkuk and less like the sort of feel-good Christianity that gets day-in and day-out dumped out of the musical sugar jar we call K-LOVE. The world is plunged into sin, and Jesus Christ has brought hope. Yes, punk music reflects a genuine attempt to push back against authority, but Paul speaks in Colossians of the fact that Christ "disarmed the rulers and authorities." Jesus was the original punk (minus the wallet-chain). Things aren't right in the world as we know it, but Jesus Christ will one day come to consummate what he began in his incarnation. There's some already in there with the not-yet, but the structured, ordered, law-abiding nature of classical music misses out on the already and exchanges it for cherubs floating on clouds clutching harps.

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One thing that we see a lot of in our world today--especially when it comes to interchange between Christians and the cultural enjoyments they partake of, is an impulse towards baptizing our own particular preferences. Nancy Pearcey did it in How Now Shall We Live?, we just did it in the first part of our post above (for purposes of illustration), and bloggers and Facebookers the world over do it all the time. It's that human religious tendency to take something that we like, and to say, "You know? This makes sense to me when I look at it a certain way," and then jump to the conclusion that the music or the art or the movie or the political party that we enjoy may just have some warrant in Scripture.

This doesn't mean that we ought to despair ("Oh no! The Bible doesn't tell me which political party to join! What will I do!?"). Instead, it means we ought to be modest about our own views and preferences if Scripture doesn't speak to the matter. We use common sense, we use reason and thoughtfulness (all aspects of the imago dei) to arrive at correct conclusions. I do not need the Bible to tell me that the stock market crash of 1929 happened because of X, Y, or Z in order to arrive at a correct conclusion (obviously it was because the U.S. left the gold standard and started printing money, but that is beside the point and has nothing to do with Scriptural teaching).

This issue doesn't only affect politics. As seen above, it affects Christian attitudes towards music, as well. We shouldn't come at issues of music as people who are aesthetically relativistic. But we ought to acknowledge that the Bible just simply doesn't spell out musical forms. At all. Like, ever. The most we know is that the people of Israel celebrated using a range of instruments in the praise of God. We don't know if it sounded like a drum line, a flute sonata, or De-loused in the Comatorium. What we do know is that instruments were involved and there was some dancing. End of story. Anything that is "derived from Scripture" beyond this is almost always a mixture of speculation and taste, brewed together, and then served up to perfection as someone else's new normative standard.

But there is a way out of this conundrum, and it's something that many Christians are uncomfortable with. The Bible doesn't speak about everything that ever happened in the history of mankind. The Bible does not tell us who is funnier: Hugh Laurie or Stephen Fry. The Bible does not tell us if a certain kind of musical beat is sinful. The Bible does not tell us whether or not to shave our head or do the comb-over. The Bible doesn't tell us if we should have oatmeal for breakfast or eggs. There are just issues in life that the Bible doesn't directly teach on, and when it doesn't, that becomes an area where we ought to be extremely careful about making dogmatic declarations. Many a Christian are guilty of taking their pet peeves or their pet preferences, or even opinions they've arrived at via a very rational and thoughtful mental process and making it an issue of dogma.

The hard thing that we're calling for is a good bit of modesty about many of our views, recognizing that we do not need a "thus saith the LORD" in order to justify every decision or choice that we make in life. In other words, stop baptizing your preferences.

But seriously, God may not say so, but you should really start listening to punk music anyway.

Michael Kruger's The Question of Canon - Chapter 2 Summary

In chapter two of The Question of Canon, Mike Kruger takes aim at a second claim made by those who propose an exclusive extrinsic model of canon. They say that there was nothing inherent in earliest Christianity that might have led to a canon (23-24). Kruger has a quote from Harry Gamble that expresses this idea well: “There is no intimation at all that the early church entertained the idea of Christian Scriptures…” (47-48). The canon, so they say, was brought in 300 years later and imposed upon a Church for whom such a concept would have been unnatural. Kruger, argues, in response to this line of thought, that the theological climate of the early church would have been very conducive towards the production of new Scripture based on three overarching arguments.

a. Eschatological Expectancy in the Early Church. In responding to this challenge, Kruger points to the theological state of the early Church to demonstrate that they had major theological expectations which would have made a great deal of sense of canon. The first thing he argues is that Second Temple Judaism stood in an eschatologically expectant posture, even ending their canon with the expectancy of 2 Chronicles (and the decree of Cyrus) rather than the more chronologically sensible Ezra-Nehemiah. Looking at intertestamental writings such as Tob. 14:5-7; Bar. 3:6-8; 2 Macc. 1:27-29; Wis. 3:7 and Qumran, Kruger argues that “the Jews of this period viewed the story of the Old Testament books as incomplete” (50). With the arrival of Jesus, early Christians would have transferred that eschatological expectation to Christ and viewed him as the long-awaited one. He even points out that this theme is not only present in others’ statements about Jesus, but in his words regarding himself as well (51). He makes three sub-points here that are worth noting:

1. The forward-pointing nature of the Old Testament expectation indicates an environment where a written ending to the Old Testament would have been sensibly expected.

2. The OT itself demonstrates that periods of redemption are followed by periods of revelation and inscripturation. There is a [Redemption ——> Revelation] tendency in the Old Testament and early Christians would have expected writings to accompany the redemptive activity surrounding Christ. Kruger argues this point very persuasively, pointing to Gaffin’s work in Resurrection and Redemption to anchor some of his argument.
3. The OT also teaches that “this new era will be accompanied by a new divine message,” (54) and that divine message entails writings. In passing I will mention that he spends time discussing Deut. 18:18; Isaiah 11:1; Isaiah 61:1-2; Isaiah 2:2-3. All of these passages, says Kruger, demonstrate that the coming eschaton, from the Jewish perspective, would have been one of divine message and the sorts of writings that these revelations had always entailed.

All of these observations lead towards one conclusion: “there appear to be ample reasons to think that a new revelational deposit might have emerged naturally/intrinsically from within the early Christian movement rather than being foisted upon it by later ecclesiastical pressures” (57).

b. Covenant in Early Christianity. After pointing to the eschatological expectations of the early church, Kruger then points to the importance of covenant in early Christianity. As N.T. Wright observes, “Covenant theology was the air breathed by the Judaism of this period” (57). Because of the close connection in the Jewish paradigm between covenant and written text, Kruger says that the emergence of a fulfilling of the David and Abrahamic promises in Christ and the consequent “new covenant” ratified by Christ “suggests that the emergence of a new corpus of scriptural books…could not be regarded as entirely unexpected” (62). Briefly, he points out five worthy observations in this regard:

1. “The New Testament has its own ‘inscripturational curse’ in Revelation 22:18-19” (63).

2. “The New Testament has its own declarations that it should be read publicly,” specifically in 2 Cor. 10:9; Col. 4:16; and 1 Thess. 5:27 (63).

3. “The New Testament writings seem to perform the same covenantal functions as their Old Testament counterparts” (63).

4. Paul viewed his own second letter to the Corinthians as a “covenant lawsuit,” again reinforcing the idea that not only was his letter authoritative, but that he viewed his letter as functioning as a covenant document with God’s own authority.

5. “The fact that the new corpus of Christian Scripture eventually was called the ‘New Testament’ or ‘new covenant’ is indicative of the close relationship between the concepts of ‘covenant’ and ‘canon’” (65). He draws attention to the fact that in Exodus the tables of the law are actually called “the covenant.”

And so, argues Kruger, the covenantal focus of early Christianity meant that “the emergence of a new corpus of covenantal books would not have been something entirely unexpected” (67). 

c. Apostolic Authority in the Early Church. Finally, after pointing to the eschatological expectancy of early Christians, and after pointing to the covenantal focus of early Christians, he finally argues that the authority of the Apostles would also have contributed to an environment of expected inscripturation. “If apostles were viewed as the mouthpiece of Christ, and it was believed that they wrote down that apostolic message in books, then those books would be received as the very words of Christ himself. Such writings would not have to wait until the second-, third-, or fourth-century ecclesiastical decisions to be viewed as authoritative” (70). As is his pattern, he gives three sub-points in support:

1. “The disposition toward written covenant texts would no doubt have played a part” (70).

2. “The textualization of the apostolic message would have occurred quite naturally as the apostles…began to die out” (71).

3. “Many New Testament writings share elements of the ‘testamentary’ genre” (73) which implies a written record of one’s final words. In fact, Kruger is stronger: “It was the mission of the apostles which would have made writing…a virtual inevitability.”

In the end, Kruger concludes chapter two by summarizing his argument that there are sundry theological reasons why the early Christian environment was one that was quite friendly to the idea of producing new Scriptural documents which would have been viewed as on the same canonical level as the writings of the Old Testament.

Michael Kruger’s The Question of Canon - Chapter 1 Summary

Over the next couple of weeks, I’m going to spend some time summarizing each of the five chapters in Michael Kruger’s new book The Question of Canon, published a couple months ago through IVP. I first began reading the book for the purposes of writing a review, but since I am not an expert in canon studies I don’t feel I am adequately qualified to review the book, though I find myself highly appreciative of what I see in this volume. What follows is a summary of the introduction and the first chapter. This may be especially helpful to those who have read Canon Revisited and want to understand what Kruger is doing in this new volume.

Kruger’s Introduction

Kruger has written this book, not to defend a model of canonicity, per se (as readers may recall he did in Canon Revisited), but to answer the more basic question of “why is there a New Testament at all?” (17). In this book, Kruger is out to show the problems with the extrinsic model of the canon (which views the canon as, “to some degree, imposed upon the Christian faith” by outside ecclesiastical concerns in the fourth century). Kruger says this extrinsic view is the dominant model of canon in academia today. As its alternative, he presents the intrinsic model of canon, which views the canon as something that “is not …imposed from the outside but develops more organically from within the early Christian religion itself” (21). He summarizes the extrinsic model by its 5 major tenets, which he spends one chapter each in the book addressing. These are the five tenets of the extrinsic view:

1. We must make a sharp distinction between Scripture and canon.

2. There was nothing in earliest Christianity that might have led to a canon.

3. Early Christians were averse to written documents.

4. The NT authors were unaware of their own authority.

5. The NT books were first regarded as Scripture at the end of the second century.

Kruger’s book is structured into five chapters, each intended to deal with one of the above five tenets of the extrinsic model. In the end, he does hope readers will see the problems with the extrinsic model and see that the facts seem to line up with aspects of both the intrinsic model and also the extrinsic. He does not see the two models as mutually exclusive but as capable of harmonization. It is those who claim the extrinsic model is the only viable model of canon on whom Kruger sets his sights, as he sees much to be appreciated in both models.

Chapter 1: The Definition of Canon

Kruger agrees with Brevard Childs: “Much of the present confusion over the problem of canon turns on the failure to reach an agreement regarding the terminology” (27). This chapter is dedicated to finding a helpful definition of canon. Kruger narrows the possible definitions of canon down to three, and he finds each of them on their own to be insufficient apart from the others. They are:

1. The Exclusive definition: “Canon as a fixed, final and closed list of books” (29). This view puts the canon’s formation in the fourth century.

2. The Functional definition: “The term canon need not be restricted to a final, closed list but can ‘encompass the entire process by which the formation of the church’s sacred writings took place.’” (34). This view puts the canon’s formation in the second century.

3. The Ontological definition: Canon as defined by God. “What the canon is in and of itself, namely the authoritative books that God gave his corporate church” (40). This view sees the canon as existing as soon as it is written.

Kruger says that all three of these views complement each other because they each encompass a particular "phase" of the formation of the canon. He calls this a “multidimensional approach to the definition of canon” (43). To appreciate exactly how he sees them complementing each other, the following quote is helpful:

When the three definitions are viewed together they nicely capture the entire flow of canonical history: (1) the canonical books are written with divine authority; —> (2) the books are recognized and used as Scripture by early Christians; —> (3) the church reaches a consensus around these books. The fact that these three definitions are linked together in such a natural chronological order reminds us that the story of the canon is indeed a process; and therefore it should not be artificially restricted to one moment in time. Put differently, the story of the canon is organic (43).

Kruger argues that this “multidimensional approach” allows scholars to understand the canon in a way that is more in keeping with historic Christianity while at the same time appreciating the most helpful aspects of all three definitions.

"A Milestone in Contemporary Hebrews Research"

In his recent book from the Topical Line Drives series, The Authorship of Hebrews: The Case for Paul, David Alan Black makes a reference to fellow Bring the Books blogger Josh Walker's work with Andrew Pitts regarding Pauline authorship of Hebrews. Here is what Black has to say from the book's introduction:

[A] recent study by Andrew W. Pitts and Joshua F. Walker has challenged the consensus opinio by reexamining the raw data, drawing heavily from my previously published work on the subject. Their essay is entitled "The Authorship of Hebrews: A Further Development in the Luke-Paul Relationship." In it they conclude that Hebrews is "Pauline" in a very real sense, in that Luke took a discourse given by Paul in a diaspora synagogue and subsequently published it as a written text. They write, "Although Hebrews has been handed down to us without an author, we have argued that both external and internal considerations suggest that Hebrews constitutes Pauline speech material, recorded and later published by Luke, Paul's traveling companion." In my view, this essay marks a milestone in contemporary Hebrews research. Few have attempted this kind of close scrutiny of the text because it necessitates a highly critical stance toward recent tradition, in this case at least a century of tradition that has rejected the Paulinity of Hebrews. I am grateful for essays like this one. They ask us to "revision" the text in ways that are perhaps more faithful to the evidence, both external and internal. Revisioning is a difficult process. It is difficult because it is hard for us to look past our own traditional blinders in the light of serious exegesis. It can create dissonance between ourselves and our theological heritage. It is fraught with problems and challenges. Yet the rewards can be remarkably satisfying.

I thought this would be a good opportunity to brag on the work of my friend Josh Walker, as well to draw attention to Black's book. You can find Black's book The Authorship of Hebrews: The Case for Paul by clicking here (it is quite affordable!). You can also find the book containing Walker and Pitts' chapter on Amazon by clicking here (it is quite unaffordable - but still worth it).

John Frame's New 'Systematic Theology' Currently 50% Off

I must confess, John Frame's brand new, gargantuan Systematic Theology: An Introduction to Christian Belief may have the longest list of endorsements I've ever seen for a book. Add to that, it may have the most variety of endorsements from all over the Reformed world, as well. Ligon Duncan, Bryan Chapell, Al Mohler, J.I. Packer, Mike Kruger, Jay Adams, Peter Leithart, Justin Taylor, James Anderson, Gerald Bray, Paul Helm, Andrew Hoffecker, Kelly Kapic, Doug Kelly, Robert Letham, Don Macleod, Norman Shepherd, Derek Thomas, Bruce Ware, and more... Given my own theological views, I wouldn't want all of these men (*cough* Shepherd/Leithart *cough*) to endorse my book, but somehow Frame has managed to impress a very large and broad swath of the Reformed world, and for that reason alone my interest is piqued.

As with the other books Frame has written as of late, this book is Shakespearean in scope and size, weighing in at over 1200 pages. I love collecting Systematic Theologies and consulting them from time to time (I'm not the type to read them straight through), and whatever differences I often find between myself and Frame on various issues, there is no doubt that I will still be consulting this book in the future. As the title of this post suggests, the book is currently being sold by Westminster Books for 50% off. You can get it here.

New Volume on the Doctrine of Scripture

Westminster Seminary has just announce a new gargantuan volume (1400+ pages!) on the doctrine of Scripture. Edited by Peter Lillback and Richard Gaffin, this book might be described as an anthology of sorts. It draws writings and witnesses from several eras of Reformed theology together in one place to testify to the inerrancy of Scripture. Here is what J.I. Packer says about this book:

The embattled title casts this book as an apologia for Westminster Seminary’s stand in a recent internal debate. Yes, it is all of that, but it is a great deal more. It is a massive array of extracts from major writers over five centuries, demonstrating both the breadth, strength, clarity, humility, and rootedness of international Reformed bibliology according to its historic confessional self-understanding, and also the insightful energy with which Westminster’s own scholars have labored to vindicate the Reformed position as catholic Christian truth. The book excels as a resource for study and a witness to Westminster’s integrity.

The book is organized into thirteen parts, each dealing with a different era of Reformed history. You can read the entire table of contents over at the WTS webpage by clicking on the PDF preview of the book. There you can see just what has gone into each page of this "colossus" (Packer's word). The only thing that seems to be missing is church testimony to the inerrancy of Scripture prior to Calvin and Luther, but I suppose there's always room for a second volume! I do not have this book (yet), but I plan to get it. WTSBooks is currently selling it at an introductory discount of 45% off.

Sinclair Ferguson's Case for Cessationism

Sinclair Ferguson, in his classic book The Holy Spirit speaks of a case for cessationism. Here I will attempt to simply summarize his arguments, though one could hardly do better than to read the book for themselves.

1) Noting the long stretch of time between the early church and the new modern manifestations associated with a historical renewal of the gifts, Ferguson says that "Restorationism provides no generally convincing theological explanation for the disappearance of certain gifts during the greater part of the church's existence" (italics original, 223). He says that considering the Spirit is sovereign in the administration of his gifts (Heb. 2:4), it is spiritual and theological hubris to simply say that the gifts disappeared because of a lack of faith in God's people.

[Aside: Warfield's lectures on this subject have long been pointed to as demonstrating that no Scriptural case for cessationism can be made, but Ferguson is adamant that those lectures were historical, not Biblical in their focus. Ferguson also points out, helpfully, in this section of his argument that "it is a logical fallacy to hold that the proof of the negative on its own ('no text in the New Testament teaches cessation') establishes an alternative positive ('the New Testament teaches continuationism')" (224). So even if someone demonstrates that there is no NT text teaching cessationism, it isn't enough on its own.]

2) Continuationists tend to assume that "the unusual and miraculous are biblically normal and normative and therefore naturally continue." He goes on to show that the unusual and the miraculous have always been just that - unusual. These manifestations tend to coalesce around periods of new revelation, the dawning of new epochs of God's redemptive-historical purpose. "Without this perspective, some biblical miracles would be trivial and almost on the level of magic tricks" (224). He points to the floating axe head in 2 Kings 6:1-5 and the coin in the mouth of a fish in Mt. 17:27.

Crucially, Ferguson also notes that "signs and wonders" are spoken of as "signs of a true apostle" (2 Cor. 12:12), and on the flip side, the activity of Satan is characterized by "false signs and wonders" (2 Thess. 2:9). "Signs and wonders" are consistently appealed to as a sign of Prophetic and Apostolic attestation (Acts 2:22, 43; 4:30; 5:12; 6:8; 14:3; 15:12; Rom. 15:12, 19). There is an intimate connection between "signs and wonders" and the presence of the Apostles or their delegates (note in Acts 15:12 that the signs and wonders were done "through them [Paul and Barnabas]"). Or in Hebrews 2:4, "signs and wonders" are spoken as a means of demonstrating the authority of those who brought the Gospel. "Here," says Ferguson, "apostolic ministry and special confirmations of it are inextricably linked together...The primary function of these gifts itself suggests their impermanence" (225). And so we see what I think is the core of Ferguson's case for cessationism: the function of the spiritual gifts was to confirm, in an era of change and uncertainty, the authority of the Apostles and the truth of their message. This purpose is no longer necessary. Ergo, the purpose of these gifts has passed its time.

3) Ferguson spends some time discussing 1 Cor. 13:10. In his discussion, he points out that cessationists have classically understood the passage as saying that "when the perfection comes" or "completion comes" refers to the New Testament canon, which of course, will mean the end of prophecy and tongues. Ferguson recognizes that this is a view of the passage that the majority of scholars reject. Ferguson says that if this passage teaches what the cessationist says it teaches, then the issue is "settled." However, if the cessationist interpretation that this refers to the canon of Scripture is wrong (and the continuationist is right about this passage), it still does not mean that continuationism is true.

Even a moderate continuationist like D.A. Carson admits that these words don't "necessarily mean that a charismatic gift could not have been withdrawn earlier than the parousia [return of Christ]." Ferguson also says that many cessationists do not hold the above referenced classic interpretation of 1 Cor. 13:10 and that their cessationism does not hang on this passage. Richard Gaffin, for example, does not see the close of the canon as what is in view here, but rather, the return of Christ. Gaffin argues, on the contrary, that it is "gratuitous" to argue from this passage "that the gifts mentioned continue until the parousia." It's not that this passage teaches either cessationism or continuationism, but rather, says Gaffin, in this passage, Paul "has in view the entire period until Christ's return, without regard to whether or not discontinuities may intervene during the course of this period, in the interests of emphasizing the enduring quality of faith, hope, and especially love (vv. 8, 13)" (228). In the end, Ferguson suggests that if the NT does not give a definitive statement either towards continuationism or cessationism then, "the function of these gifts will determine their longevity" (229).

Ferguson also points out that in the time of the Reformation, the Roman Catholic church began to demand miracles and signs to show that the message of the Reformers was true. Calvin's response, paraphrased by Ferguson: "The new covenant was attested by the outpourings of the miraculous. This is adequate testimony. We have no novel message; we need no novel outpouring of the miraculous" (229).

[Aside: Others also point to 1 Cor. 4:1-8 and Eph. 4:7-13 as proof texts to argue that the gifts ceased with the Apostles, though Ferguson does not give these passages more than a brief mention in his treatment.]

4) Ferguson then turns his attention to the difficulties presented by tongues-speaking in the post-Apostolic age. He argues that the most natural reading of the tongues phenomena is "speaking of foreign languages. But contemporary glossalalia is not normally identified with the speaking of foreign languages." Aside from 1 Corinthians, Ferguson notes a deafening silence (especially where one might expect much needed discussion of it in the Pastoral letters) regarding the tongues/prophecy phenomenon. An argument from silence isn't conclusive, but Ferguson also says that it does demonstrate an apparent "shift in orientation which had already taken place from the immediacy of tongues and their interpretation to the teaching of the apostolic tradition" (230).

Ferguson points out that, regardless of the continuationist insistence that modern prophecies are not authoritative or binding, in the NT era, tongues that were interpreted were regarded as "revelation" (1 Cor. 14:6). "When interpreted, therefore, tongues-speaking is the functional equivalent of prophecy and is revelatory in nature." And this gets to what Ferguson calls the "storm center" of the current debate: new revelation, regardless of its form, "principally undermines the sufficiency of Scripture, and becomes de facto the dominant factor, at least at certain points, in the canon by which the individual lives." Ferguson introduces this category of another sort of canon - the canon of experience, or to use Ferguson's phrase, "The canon of life," saying "Is it not, therefore, special pleading on the part of evangelicals to claim that prophecies received by them function in an altogether different way?" It absolutely violates the reformation principle of the sufficiency of Scripture, which says that "no additional revelation is needed by the church or the individual."

It's at this point many modern continuationists are going to feel Ferguson is talking past them. "You keep identifying tongues speaking as prophecy, but you ignore the fact that we've defined the word 'prophecy' down to something the Hebrews would never have recognized! We define prophecy the way the Hellenists would have. Stop equating prophecy in the modern era with prophecy in the OT." Ferguson actually deals with this earlier in the book (pages 214-221). Needless to say he hardly finds Grudem's insistence that Agabus is a false prophet (in the OT sense) but a true prophet (in the Hellenist sense) appealing or coherent, especially within the context of a religious movement that was so concerned to show its OT bona fides.

Ferguson points out Grudem's own suggestion that "Thus says the Lord" could be dropped and replaced with "I think the Lord is suggesting something like..." instead (Grudem, The Gift of Prophecy, p. 113). This would help the confusion between cessationists and continuationists in at least this one area, suggests Grudem. Certainly, says Ferguson, the language of "prophecy" is confusing. But Grudem doesn't go far enough. "No level of prophecy in Scripture is introduced by 'I think the Lord is suggesting something like this.' To speak thus is not to speak prophecy at all. The recognition that this is not prophecy in any biblical sense would solve the difficulty without any danger of the quenching of the Spirit which restorationists so fear" (italics original, p. 232).

Ferguson does give a pattern for understanding the biblical concept of illumination and argues that illumination of Scripture by the Spirit is not the same thing as revelation, nor should it be called "prophecy" (nor do cessationists insist on calling it prophecy), but that is beyond the reach of what I was originally trying to do when I began this précis.

Ferguson concludes his discussion with these excellent and well-balanced words:

No right-thinking Christian would deny that God continues to be active in the world, to do wonderful things for his people, and especially to answer their prayers in keeping with his promises. It is still appropriate for the sick not only to consult a doctor but to 'call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord.' The promise remains that 'the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well;  the Lord will raise him up' (Jas. 5:14-15). People continue to be healed by God - through, above and even against means. Indeed, writes John Owen, 'It is not unlikely but that God might on some occasions, for a longer season, put forth his power in some miraculous operations.' It would, however, be a mistake to draw the conclusion from this that such events are normative or that in these events individuals are receiving again the coronation gifts of Penetecost. It is misguided to think that we ought to try to categorize every element of contemporary experience in this way. To attempt to do so would be tantamount to assuming that we are able systematically to analyze and categorize all the events and experience which constitute the providences of God (p. 235).

The "Hot Mess" of Modern Day Prophecy

I'm glad that Stephen Altrogge wrote his latest blog post over at The Blazing Center. The post is titled "How the Heck Does Modern Day Prophecy Work?" and the reason I appreciate the post is not that I am a Charismatic and want to know the best way to hear from the Lord. I am decidedly un-Charismatic and already know how to hear from the Lord (hint: the Spirit working through the Word). The reason I appreciate the post is that it is absolutely clear, and to a fault. I say to a fault because the post makes plain the agonizingly obvious problems with a form of prophecy in a protestant context that insists on retaining the principles of sola scriptura.

"Prophecy Is Not New Revelation About God"
Altrogge is trying to be balanced. He insists, in order to safeguard sola scriptura, that "Prophecy is never, ever, ever new revelation about God." Commendable. But what is it, then? Altrogge: "[M]odern day prophecy is God-given insight into specific circumstances which could not be known otherwise and which in turn enables a person to bring God’s word to bear on those circumstances."

Notice that he says it is not new revelation about God. But it must be new revelation from God. As I understand it, men like Wayne Grudem don't even like using words like "revelation" to refer to these "insights," (he insisted on this, repeatedly, in a public debate with Richard Gaffin some years ago) and one could certainly understand why. In a protestant, sola scriptura context, if you say that you've received new revelations from God, you're going to get punched in the nose by Martin Luther (with every other non-Anabaptist, Marcionite, or Montanist standing in line behind him). If you try to stop them by saying, "No, no, no... I did receive a new revelation from God, but it wasn't about Him, it was about me," they're still probably not going to pull their punches.  Altrogge is being careful, but not careful enough. And even if I try to be charitable and say, "Okay, it's not 'revelation,' I'll just call it 'insight' for the sake of discussion," this doesn't seem to help things much. After all, he's still hearing new words that were "not known otherwise" (how is this not Ἀποκάλυψις?) from a God who has already given his moral will and committed it absolutely and infallibly in the writings of the Apostles and Prophets. The maneuvers in place here to safeguard sola scriptura are absolutely inadequate.

What's The Point?
But even the practical results of this sort of attempted half-measure prophecy end up being impractically unhelpful. He gives the example of a woman who had a vision, and the vision ended up showing Altrogge, during a particularly difficult and tumultuous period, that "God will lead us one step at a time exactly where we need to go." Now, I am happy that Altrogge found something helpful or edifying on a personal level from this, but I am absolutely confused how someone would not learn the same principle from Scripture? Or from common experience? This woman did not need to come to them with the authority of God behind her for them to know that God doesn't tell us everything we need to know at once. The Bible says "thy word is a lamp unto my feet," not that it is a lamp unto "the road that leads ever onward." My point here is not to demean this person or the value that hearing this had for Altrogge, but simply to say that if this is the best that "modern day prophecy" can do for the church, then it would be better to just learn Scripture better (reading Deut. 29:29 ought to do the job) or pick up Poor Richard's Almanac once in a while. He even seems to understand this in a later section of his post when he says, "I don’t make major life decisions based on prophecy, I make major life decisions based upon the Bible." What good is a prophecy that you can't even take seriously? I mean, seriously!

"Prophecy Is Not Infallible"
Elsewhere, he speaks of the fact that prophecy is not infallible. He says that "If a person prophesies something which contradicts the clear revelation of God’s word I immediately discard it as false." That's a great principle. But what about prophecies that don't clearly contradict God's word? I remember clear as day, I had a friend who played for me a cassette tape of a recording from his church. In this recording, a "prophet" was speaking a prophecy over my friend and his wife. Their marriage was on the rocks. She had cheated on him, he had tried and tried to repair their marriage for years, and they needed encouragement. I listened to the audio of this prophecy, and this man, claiming to speak for God, told them that God was going to draw them back together and that God was going to repair their marriage and use her to minister to women all over the world. It has been 12 years since that prophecy. They are divorced, he is remarried, living on the opposite side of the country from his ex-wife, and she is carrying on a decade-plus long affair with a married man. The prophecy could not have been more wrong. He is remarried. Their marriage is over. In Israel they would have thrown rocks at that "prophet" until his brain stopped telling lies. What good is simply holding a prophecy up to Scripture in order to decide if it is true or not? Here's the answer: It isn't. Simply not contradicting Scripture is not the same thing as speaking truth on behalf of God.

Another problem with this principle that prophecy is not infallible is in the principle itself. Just say it out loud: "Prophecy is not infallible." The principle is not "We don't always know, perfectly whether God is speaking in a particular instance." The principle is that "prophecy is not infallible." Think about it: "Words from God can be wrong." And then he does the same thing I have heard Wayne Grudem say: that Agabus made a false prophecy in Acts 21:10-12. This is a nightmarishly uncharitable reading of Agabus' prophecy. It is far more charitable to understand Agabus' words as being a conditional prophecy (of which there is certainly precedent in Scripture) and not a wrong prophecy from a true prophet (of which there is certainly no precedent in Scripture).

Another problem with this principle is that it posits Agabus as using this newer form of "fallible prophecy" before the Apostolic era of spiritual gifts has ended. Even Altrogge sees a difference between prophecy "back then" and "modern day prophecy." And yet he is treating Agabus, in his failed prophecy, as if he were a modern prophet coming up to someone after church for a word of "insight." Agabus is called "a prophet," not merely an average Christian who sometimes gets a bit of insight here and there. As mentioned before, for a prophet to prophecy wrongly would have meant getting stoned (and not in the Bob Dylan sense of the word). We know when the food laws were done away with (Acts 10), but when does Altrogge (or Grudem for that matter) think the bar for prophecy was dropped so embarrassingly low?

Concluding Thoughts
I like Altrogge. I read his blog. I prayed for him during his transition from being a pastor. I care about him and respect him. But let's face it: this modified form of prophecy that has been toned down to conform with sola scriptura is an inadequate half-measure. It neither benefits the church, has precedent in Scripture, nor safeguards the sufficiency of Scripture. In fact, in order to establish its own precedent it has to say that God can inspire wrong prophecy.

A Proposal for Evangelicalism's Disaffected Deviationists

I try not to obnoxiously post giant block quotes here at Bring the Books very often. However, one of my recent pet projects has been addressing disillusioned former evangelicals who think they see something ugly in the religion they used to love. I try to be winsome and friendly. Granted, my message has largely been to tell these critics, "Physician, heal thyself!"which doesn't do much for mending fences, I'll freely admit.

But I read someone like Rachel Held Evans (whom I see as fairly representative of disaffected neo-evangelical types), and I see so much frustration with the shallow, the simplistic, the thoughtless, the "get your ticket punched" form of Christianity that has come to define what might be called the conservative wing of evangelicalism. In my frustration, I remain irresistibly convinced that the Reformed tradition presents a fantastic (I am not claiming perfect) alternative to the ugliness of modern evangelicalism, but I know those aren't pleasant options for someone who doesn't have a high view of Scripture or a traditional appreciation of gender roles in the Church. Regardless, as I was reading in one of J.I. Packer's books, I found an interesting discussion of the very audience I've been thinking of. Here is what he has to say:

I turn finally to those whom I call disaffected deviationists, the casualties and dropouts of the modern evangelical movement, many of whom have now turned against it to denounce it as a neurotic perversion of Christianity. Here, too, is a breed that we know all too well. It is distressing to think of these folk, both because their experience to date discredits our evangelicalism so deeply and also because there are so many of them.

Who are they? They are people who once saw themselves as evangelicals, either from being evangelically nurtured or from coming to profess conversion within the evangelical sphere of influence, but who have become disillusioned about the evangelical point of view and have turned their back on it, feeling that it let them down.

Some leave it for intellectual reasons, judging that what was taught them was so simplistic as to stifle their minds and so unrealistic and out of touch with facts as to be really if unintentionally dishonest. Other leave because they were led to expect that as Christians they would enjoy health, wealth, trouble-free circumstances, immunity from relational hurts, betrayals, and failures, and from making mistakes and bad decisions; in short, a flowery bed of ease on which they would be carried happily to heaven - and these great expectations were in due course refuted by events. Hurt and angry, feeling themselves victims of a confidence trick, they now accuse the evangelicalism they know of having failed and fooled them, and resentfully give it up; it is a mercy if they do not therewith similarly accuse and abandon God himself. Modern evangelicalism has much to answer for in the number of casualties of this sort that it has caused in recent years by its naivety of mind and unrealism of expectation.

 What readers might find most interesting is that this was not written last year, it was not written five years, or even 15 years ago. This book is A Quest for Godliness (p. 32-33), and it was published 23 years ago. 23! I recall seeing Rachel Held Evans say in her CNN editorial that young people are leaving the church in droves now because "we millennials have highly sensitive BS meters" and to that I say, "Every generation thinks that it has a working B.S. meter. There is still nothing special about the young people who are burning out and leaving evangelicalism for a 'new kind of Christianity'." That doesn't mean, however, that there isn't legitimacy to any of the complaints. I'm not saying that at all. Personally, I like the olive branch that Packer offers.

Here again the soberer, profounder, wiser evangelicalism of the Puritan giants can fulfill a corrective and therapeutic function in our midst...What have the Puritans to say to us that might serve to heal the disaffected casualties of modern evangelical goofiness? Anyone who reads the writings of Puritan authors will find in them much that helps in this way. Puritan authors regularly tell us, first, of the mystery of God: that our God is too small, that the real God cannot be put without remainder into a man-made conceptual box so as to be fully understood; and that he was, is, and always will be bewilderingly inscrutable in his dealing with those who trust and love him, so that 'losses and crosses', that is, bafflement and disappointment in relation to particular hopes one has entertained, must be accepted as a recurring element in one's life of fellowship with him.

Packer goes on to argue that the maturity and spiritual care that one finds in the Puritans (whom he likens to Redwoods in the forest of theology) provide a badly needed counterpoint to what he has accurately called "modern evangelical goofiness." (And if it was goofy 23 years ago, what would he call it today, I wonder?) What can be done to convince the "disaffected deviationists" that the Reformed tradition contains the antidote to the nightmarish, saccharine, shallow, self-centered religion that is being presented as "evangelicalism" today? Well, they could start by reading the Puritans for themselves and breathing the old, stiff, strong air that blows down from the branches of these giant Redwoods in the theological forest of history.

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!