Confessing Evangelical

A couple of responses by Christopher Jones in the comments to my previous post raise the thorny issue of the extent to which the regenerate Christian can truly be said to have free will.

Here is what the Solid Declaration has to say on the subject (SD II 63ff., Kolb edition, emphasis added). It's interesting how this extract reflects the difficulty of maintaining a proper balance between synergism and a "hyper-monergism" which treats us as automata - which is in part a reflection of the limitations of human language itself:

...before conversion one can in no way ascribe to the human being a modus agendi or certain way of accomplishing the good in spiritual matters.

When, however, people have been converted and thus have been enlightened, and the will has been renewed, then such people desire the good (insofar as they are born anew and are new creatures) and "delight in the law in the inmost self". From that point on people do good only to the extent that and as long as the Holy Spirit impels them. As Paul says, "For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God". This leading of the Holy Spirit is not a coactio (or a compulsion), but rather the converted person does the good spontaneously...

It follows from this, as has been said, that as soon as the Holy Spirit has begun his work of rebirth and renewal in us through the Word and the holy sacraments, it is certain that on the basis of his power we can and should be cooperating with him, though still in great weakness. This occurs not on the basis of our fleshly, natural powers but on the basis of the new powers and gifts which the Holy Spirit initiated in us in conversion ... This should be understood in no way other than that the converted do good to the extent that God rules, leads, and guides them with his Holy Spirit. If God would withdraw his gracious hand from such people, they could not for one moment remain obedient to God. If this passage [2 Cor 6:1) were to be understood as if the converted person cooperates alongside the Holy Spirit, in the way two horses draw a wagon together, this interpretation could not be tolerated without damaging the divine truth.

A delicate balance indeed.

Perhaps this is why Norman Nagel's question is, "Who's driving the verbs?" The point is not that we are not, in grammatical terms, the subjects of many of the verbs in the Christian life. The point is that even where we are grammatically the subjects - so that these are truly our actions, truly our own wills acting - it is only the Holy Spirit within us that enables us to do these things - i.e. it is He who is, in that sense, "driving" the verbs.

Apparently Norman Nagel coined this phrase (our pastor studied under Dr Nagel and has quoted it on a number of occasions). The point is that it is all-too tempting for us to make ourselves the "active party" in the Christian life, the subject in all the verbs. In fact, whether one is considering justification, sanctification, worship or whatever, ultimately it is God who should be driving the verbs, God who is the truly active Party in the Christian life.

I came across an interesting illustration of this yesterday, when I had cause to look up the Roman Catholic doctrine of indulgences in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, paras 1471 to 1479. At one point this says:

[The Christian] should strive by works of mercy and charity, as well as by prayer and the various practices of penance, to put off completely the "old man" and to put on the "new man".

This brought to mind the fourth heading in the section on Holy Baptism in the Small Catechism:

What does such baptizing with water indicate?
It indicates that the Old Adam in us should by daily contrition and repentance be drowned and die with all sins and evil desires, and that a new man should daily emerge and arise to live before God in righteousness and purity forever.

The contrast is striking, but what particularly caught my attention for the first time was the use of the passive voice: "should ... be drowned", "should daily emerge and arise...".

How easy it would have been for Luther to write, "that we should by daily contrition and repentance drown the Old Adam in us", etc. What a world of difference a slight change in grammar makes: the difference between us driving the verbs (as in the first extract) and God doing so (as in the second) is the difference between a truly evangelical Christianity and every other religion in the world.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

- Gerard Manley Hopkins

Couldn't resist posting that for Pentecost. And this also seems an excellent day to remind ourselves of the Lutheran doctrine of the Holy Spirit, as set out in the Small Catechism, and to my mind barely less poetical than Hopkins:

I believe that I cannot by my own reason or strength believe in Jesus Christ, my Lord, or come to Him; but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel, enlightened me with His gifts, sanctified and kept me in the true faith.

In the same way He calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies the whole Christian church on earth, and keeps it with Jesus Christ in the one true faith.

In this Christian church He daily and richly forgives all my sins and the sins of all believers.

On the Last Day He will raise me and all the dead, and give eternal life to me and all believers in Christ.

This is most certainly true.

Following recent depletions to the Lutheran Blogosphere, it's good to have the chance to say "hello" rather than "goodbye" for once... Daniel Stoddart drew my attention to his friend Brian Davis's blog, Barukatash.com (not to be confused with Life of Brian, also added to my blogroll). Brian has recently joined the LCMS and describes himself as a "recovering Calvinist" (a term I've been known to use myself - we'll have to form a support group).

His site currently includes a very cute picture of his son, Sam, after his recent baptism. In the comments, someone suggested that Sam had been slain in the Spirit...

Speaking of which, I think our three-year old is going Pentecostal. I'm trying to get us into the routine of praying briefly together after his Bible story last thing at night (one "extempore" prayer, followed by the Lord's Prayer and Luther's "little prayer" from the Small Catechism). He's happy to go along with anything that delays his bedtime by a couple more minutes. But yesterday, he insisted on clapping rather than saying "Amen". "You say Amen," he informed me solemnly, "and I'll clap". So he did.

Well, at least he didn't say, "Whoo! Let's bless the Lord!" at the same time.

Please pray over the next few days for the Anglican Church in Canada, as it holds its General Synod. Reports can be found on the special report hosted by those splendid chaps over at CaNN. Over the next few days, the ACC is threatening to appoint a liberal/revisionist Primate, and to officially sanction same-sex "blessings" (the first time that an entire province of the Anglican Communion will have done so).

Other features of the Synod include its official programme for 5-12 year olds, which includes "same-sex issues" among the advertised topics. How charming.

In the comments to my previous post, Thomas made the excellent point that "what we think will 'reach' the 'unchurched' may have nothing to do with reality". I agree entirely.

Ever since returning to the Christian faith ten years ago, I've been frustrated by the hostility of many of my fellow evangelicals to the historic liturgy, the sacraments, "traditional" hymns and so on. It's often struck me that there is a parallel with liberalism. When liberals sought to throw out the historic doctrines of the church, it was done in the name of removing obstacles to faith for those outside the church. Evangelicals, rightly, repudiated this as a means of reaching outsiders, and concluded (also, I feel, rightly) that the liberal project had more to do with the inability of the liberals to believe the historic Christian faith, than with the perceived "unique difficulties" that that faith presented to "modern man".

But evangelicals have used just the same arguments to throw out historic practices of the church as the liberals used to throw out her historic teachings. And again, one wonders if this at times owes more to the personal tastes and preferences of evangelicals than to the perceived hostility of outsiders: particularly when one witnesses visitors to weddings or Christmas services stumbling uncertainly through the contemporary, "seeker-friendly" songs, before singing the traditional hymns and carols with gusto and, indeed, something approaching relief.

The real stumbling block to outsiders is always Jesus Christ and Him crucified, and if we get rid of Him from our Christian worship, what's left isn't worthy of the name. (See Joel Brondos' excellent post on this subject earlier this month)

The adoption of contemporary music has had some value in subverting people's prejudices against the church. I've read or heard multiple "testimonies" in which people talk of having turned up at church expecting nothing but old ladies in hats singing "boring" hymns. Their surprise at finding hundreds of young(-ish) people singing boppy Matt Redman numbers then softened them up for hearing the Gospel (I thought that was the Law's job, but what the hey).

All well and good, but a declining asset: already, the clichéd view of church is switching from hats'n'hymns to slightly-too-cheerful, slightly-too-clean-cut people strumming electric guitars. Once the element of surprise is lost, I doubt that "contemporary worship" (dread phrase!) will prove particularly effective as a means of reaching outsiders. It will continue to prove exceptionally effective as a means of dumbing down Christian worship and infantilising Christians.

Please forgive the flippant title, but one reason I've ended up posting so much about the Lord's Supper recently is that it is months since I last received the Lord's Supper (or even "the Lord's Supper", the remembrance meal without Words of Institution practised at our last church).

Even with my previous (Reformed) understanding of the Supper, that would have been pretty hard going. Now that I know more fully what I'm missing out on, it's something approaching agony. There is a reason why I singled out the line, "I am repining for this living fountain", in my post about the Seamus Heaney poem last week.

I think our pastor would now admit us to the Table more or less immediately, but the decision rests with the elders, who like people to complete the membership class first (after all, can't have people coming to the Lord's Table who don't know the potted history of Lutheranism in the UK, or who are hazy on the polity of the ELCE, can we?). Still, I'm sure this means we'll appreciate it all the more once we are admitted.

The final point which I wanted to pass on from our membership class last night was the discussion we had with our pastor about how often the Lord's Supper is celebrated. Our church celebrates the Lord's Supper on the second, fourth and fifth Sundays of each month. Apparently some of the elders would like to move to weekly communion, while others wish to retain the present pattern.

This is an issue on which I'm torn, and always have been. On the one hand, there seems no better way to follow the proclamation of the Gospel in the sermon than with the distribution of Christ's saving benefits in His body and blood in the Lord's Supper. On the other hand, it does feel easier to invite guests to services without Holy Communion. Even setting to one side the "close communion" issue, a totally unchurched guest is likely to be pretty freaked out by the Lord's Supper itself.

Our younger son's Baptism is scheduled for 20th June, and alert readers will notice that this is the third Sunday, i.e. a non-Communion service, precisely because we wanted to avoid any "awkwardness" from having guests being either freaked out by the Supper itself, or offended at being "excluded" from the Table.

But speaking with our pastor last night, it struck me that the problem with this general approach is that it suggests there is something shameful and embarrassing about the Lord's Supper in general, and the practice of close communion in particular. If the Lord's Supper were celebrated "every Lord's Day and on the other festivals" (Apol. XXIV, 1) then it would just be "there", as a given, and we'd have to learn to explain ourselves to visitors in as clear, friendly and loving a way as possible. (Our pastor inclines to that view himself).

But equally, we have to be careful not simply to "please ourselves", to structure our church life simply for the benefit of the believers already within the fold. If the weekly celebration of the Lord's Supper had the effect either of "putting off" visitors, or made us more nervous about inviting people along, then (even if we were to conclude that it was right and biblical to proceed anyway) this is not a decision to be taken lightly.

So, I'm undecided - and, frankly, relieved that it's "not my call". But it's still a question that greatly interests me, as it goes to the heart of how we strike a balance - and even as to whether "striking a balance" is the right aim - between maintaining the fullness of Christian worship, and reaching out to the unchurched millions around us.

So as Chris Williams would put it: "What thinkest thou?"

Another point we were discussing with our pastor last night was the question of "what about all the times we have taken part in the Lord's Supper churches where the Real Presence is denied? What about all those Christians who do not believe in the Real Presence, or whose churches do not even use the words of institution?"

Our pastor pointed out that in a sense, it is not really our concern what the answers to those questions are (though one point he did make was that where the words of institution are said, by that Word the bread and wine become Christ's body and blood even if no-one present actually realises or believes that). We know that God gives us forgiveness, life and salvation in the Lord's Supper, by the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ given and shed for us for the forgiveness of our sins. Our concern is to believe what God has promised and to seek Him where He has promised to be found.

He then made the striking point that the real issue is the hiddenness of God. God is mysterious, and hidden from us, alien to us - except where He has revealed Himself to us, where He makes Himself available to us. He has revealed Himself in the Gospel and gives Himself to us in the Sacraments. Beyond that, it is not for us to speculate, though we know that God is merciful, faithful and just. (Of course, one of the things that God has revealed to us is that every human being stands condemned by God's Law, and that the only name given under heaven by which they may be saved is that of Jesus Christ, proclaimed by the church in Word and Sacrament; so this perspective is no cause for complacency about those who die ignorant of Christ).

While I was aware of the "hiddenness of God" as a theological concept - a "Lutheran distinctive", no less - our pastor's comments brought the hiddenness of God as a reality home to me with new force and clarity. God is hidden; He is beyond our speculation and questions; all we can do is believe and receive Him and where He reveals and gives Himself.

As our pastor pointed out, the hiddenness of God is frustrating. Indeed, the Bible is frustrating: it answers so few of our questions! Always it points us to the salvation won for us in Christ and calls us to faith in Him, while refusing to indulge us in our speculative questions of "what if this?" and "what if that?"

Coming from an evangelical/Reformed background, it's easy to see mystery, uncertainty and hiddenness as being in some way "suspect". This is illustrated quite well by an incident at the Anglican "evangelical" church we attended until a few years ago. When the Church of England introduced the "Common Worship" liturgy, one change it made was to add the introductory words, "Great is the mystery of faith", before the congregational affirmation, "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again". In our own service books, we changed this introduction from "Great is the mystery of faith" to "Salvation comes through Jesus Christ". "We don't do mystery", was the general feeling.

But when we appreciate more fully what it means for God to be hidden from us except where He has revealed Himself, we can then understand more fully what St Peter was driving at when he said (in 2 Peter 1:19, emphasis added):

[W]e have something more sure, the prophetic word, to which you will do well to pay attention as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.

God is hidden, the world is dark: but the Word and Sacraments are lamps shining in that dark place "for us men and for our salvation".

Last night's membership class with our pastor covered the Lord's Supper. Couple of interesting points which I'll post over the next day or so. First up, the Passover origins of the Lord's Supper.

Our pastor mentioned some of the symbolism in the Passover meal. For example, the cup used by the Lord in the institution of the Supper was the "cup of salvation", the third cup in the Passover meal. This in turn brought to mind one of my favourite psalms - see Ps.116:12,13 (there is a beautiful anthem setting of vv12-19 of this psalm, perfectly juxtaposed with 1 Cor 10:16 as a refrain, on a CD by Manchester Cathedral Choir called Sing Praises. I must warn you, though, that this recommendation is quite literally nepotistic - my uncle owns the small independent record label which produced the disc!).

But the point that really struck me was our pastor's comment on the blood of the lamb which was put on the lintel and door-posts on the night of the original Passover. Think about how you'd do that in practice: lintel, door post, door post. The sign of the cross!

OK, maybe not a point on which to rest too much weight; but a striking and felicitous echo of the Gospel, like one of CS Lewis's "good dreams".

David Mills reports on a proposed resolution from the (PCUSA) Presbytery of Lackawanna, which calls on Presbyterians "to make their private decisions about procreation in the light of the compelling need to reduce the human impact upon the planet". With depressing phrases such as "the CreatorRedeemer" (sic), and disgusting phrases such as "remaining birthfree" (just think for a moment why they say that, rather than "childless"), this proposal needs no further comment here. And to be fair, it is highly unlikely to be passed at PCUSA's General Convention.

But I did like the following dry comment from David Mills:

...far be it for a Catholic to make any comments on a call for fewer Presbyterians. I’d like to keep my Presbyterian friends, but I can see that one could make a good argument for reducing the number of Presbyterians in Lackawanna.

Quite.

This just has to be seen to be believed... (via Ecclesia Anglicana).

This month's E-N also contains a suitably withering review of a book by Steve Chalke (a well known "evangelical" author in the UK) entitled The Lost Message of Jesus

This book seems to have caused considerable disquiet when it was published at "Word Alive!" earlier this year, because (as the reviewers put it), the book "attacks the heart of biblical Christianity, and offers instead a 'lost message' which is really no gospel at all". They highlight the book's:

• wrong view of God ("the Bible never defines [God] as anything other than love", writes Chalke);
  


• wrong view of man ("Jesus believed in original goodness! ... all we need is to be given a chance by someone who believes in us"); and thus, inevitably
  


• wrong view of the cross (substitutionary atonement being "a form of cosmic child abuse - a vengeful Father, punishing his Son for an offence he has not even committed, morally dubious in total contradiction to the statement 'God is love'").
  

The usual, in other words.

Does that sound too cynical? I suppose my own experience in "open evangelicalism" leads me to be thoroughly unsurprised by all this (Chalke sounds uncannily like the vicar at our old Anglican church which we left around three years ago). Chalke denies virtually every one of the cardinal points of evangelical theology but wishes to continue to be treated as an evangelical in good standing, a wish that appears to have been granted:

...the Word Alive leadership were made aware of [the book's] contents, [but] it was not withdrawn from sale, nor was any statement made, and the author himself stood up to give the main Big Top address the following evening.

Part of the problem is that "evangelical" is increasingly defined in non-doctrinal (even anti-doctrinal) terms, and one's status as an "evangelical" is measured according to very superficial criteria - so that, for example, an "evangelical" is someone who prefers an informal, breezy, contemporary worship style, as opposed to "dead liturgy".

Perhaps I'm just feeling a bit resentful at being made to feel at times in the past couple of weeks like I've apostasised from evangelical Christianity because I've joined a church in which one finds a liturgy, clerical vestments, the sign of the cross, the word "altar", and people taking Christ at His Word when it comes to the sacraments. But all this seems a good illustration of the point made in the excellent Bo Giertz passage posted by Revd Brondos the other day:

Such external things as confession, bowing our knees, making the sign of the cross mark no distinction between Protestants and Roman Catholics ... The deciding factor is something entirely different. It is the doctrine of justification by faith. He alone is an evangelical Christian who possesses the secret of faith in his heart, so that he believes in the forgiveness of sins for the sake of Christ’s atonement and through that faith is united with his Saviour.

Amen.

Interesting item in the latest issue of UK monthly publication Evangelicals Now, entitled Understanding Roman Catholicism: an Italian evangelical perspective.

It's a review of a book by Leonardo de Chirico of the Istituto di Formazione Evangelica e Documentazione (IFED) in Italy, which looks at recent evangelical responses to post-Vatican II Roman Catholicism (in particular, in the writings of Gerrit Berkouwer, Cornelius Van Til, David Wells, Donald Bloesch, Herbert Carson and John Stott).

Dr de Chirico suggests that "evangelicalism's appraisal of Roman Catholicism has lacked systematic awareness, tending instead towards more episodic aphoristic criticism of Roman doctrine, which for all its truth lacks integrated analysis". In part, this arises from the very nature of the evangelical movement:

Though generally adhering to the four 'sola's defended by Luther (sola gratia, sola fide, sola scriptura, solus Christus), evangelical theology comprises institutional fragmentation, historical diversity and ecclesiastical pluralism.

Well, tell us something we didn't know. :-)

Dr de Chirico emphasises the need to consider Roman Catholicism as a "system" which embraces both unity and diversity. "Roman Catholicism is a master at incorporating into its system many elements which are not only different but contrasting and perhaps even incompatible, at least as far as the perception of other religious systems like the evangelical one is concerned", he writes, and the reviewer expresses the view that "contemporary evangelical reflection has failed to take sufficient account of this".

Dr de Chirico identifies two main loci in Roman Catholicism: the relationship between nature and grace, and the self-understanding of the Church. As regards the first of these loci:

the Roman Catholic system provides a sufficiently capable platform which can host both [the Augustinian tradition and the more optimistic Thomist tradition relating to nature and grace], while not being totally identified nor identifiable with any one of them. ... The spheres of nature and grace are thus in irreversible theological continuity, as 'nature' in Catholicism incorporates both creation and sin, in contrast to the Reformed [and Lutheran?] distinction between creation, sin and redemption. This differing understanding of sin's impact means grace finds in 'Roman' nature a receptive attitude (enabling Catholicism's humanistic optimism), as against a Reformed doctrine whereby entrenched sin leaves us unaware of our reprobate state.

In particular, Roman Catholic veneration of Mary is then linked to:

"the Roman Catholic epistemological openness, its trust in man's abilities, and its overall reliance on the possibility of human co-operation [which] all converge in the articulated theology regarding the biblically sober figure of Mary. In this respect, Mariology expresses, therefore, the quintessential characteristics of the Roman Catholic nature-grace motif."

The second "locus" then flows out of the need for "a mediating subject to relate grace to nature and nature to grace"; in other words, the Roman Catholic Church:

The Church is considered a prolongation of the Incarnation, mirroring Christ as a Divine-human reality, acting as an altera persona Christi, a second "Christ". It is therefore impossible for Roman Catholicism to cry with the Reformers solus Christus, for this would be seen as breaching the organic bond between Christ and the church. The threefold ministry of Christ as King, Priest and Prophet is thus transposed to the Roman Church - in its hierarchical rule, its magisterial interpretation of the Word and its administration of the sacraments. There is never solus Christus, only Christus in ecclesia and ecclesia in Christo.

I'd be interested to know from anyone with greater knowledge of these things (FDN?) whether this article has "got Roman Catholicism right". It certainly seems to have got a good handle on the problems of evangelicalism's response to Roman Catholicism:

The book therefore contends that evangelical theology since Vatican II ... has betrayed a lack of theological awareness of the systemic nature of Roman Catholicism. ... [A] profound systemic analysis of Roman Catholic theology can only derive in the last analysis from an evangelical theology that itself is both self-consciously and thoroughly integrated.

Again, any thoughts on whether Lutheranism is in a position to take up that last challenge would be welcomed.

For some weeks, I've been trying to find a children's illustrated edition of Luther's Small Catechism (being keen to use the catechism in family life, as Luther intended; and with my elder son having an insatiable appetite for picture books). Pennsy has now tipped me off about a new book, "My First Catechism", just published by CPH (the publishing house also known as "the Eighth Wonder of the World"). Looks to be just the ticket.

Our pastor is going to the States next month, and has already offered to bring us back any books we want him to buy for us, to save on trans-Atlantic shipping charges. What with this and the Daniel Preus already on my list, he's going to need an extra suitcase at this rate...

I love this quote, from the poet, Robert Graves:

The remarkable thing about Shakespeare is that he really is very good, in spite of all the people who say he's very good.

It struck me while listening to Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band this evening for the first time in ages, that this is a principle capable of wider application: things that really are very good, in spite of all the people who say they are really good.

Sgt Pepper definitely fits into this category. The Lord of the Rings trilogy (whether you're talking about the books or the films). Citizen Kane. The key is for something to be so widely and extravagantly praised, in such an off-putting manner (or by such off-putting people!) that upon reading/watching/listening to it for oneself, one is slightly surprised to find that it is actually as good as people say. "Casablanca" is another example.

Any other suggestions are welcomed, in the comments.

On my long blog, I've just posted my response to our former Baptist pastor who expressed strong concerns about closed communion, following a lecture by Dr Ron Feuerhahn (see my earlier post on this subject).

Any feedback welcome, though do please read the introductory paragraphs carefully before responding.

I'm delighted that Dan has posted Theophile Marzial's poetical Meisterwerk, "A Tragedy". I've long admired this work, but had only come across excerpts before now.

The poem, written in 1837, was awarded the title of "The Worst Poem Ever Written" in Stephen Pile's book, The Return of Heroic Failures (follow-up to The Book of Heroic Failures). Pile provides some useful background about Marzial and the first airing of his poem:

The Pre-Raphaelite poet had honey-blond hair and caused a stir by saying in a loud voice, "Am I not the darling of the British Museum Reading Room?" while seated in that very establishment. He once recited this poem in his deep baritone voice at a soiree organized by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, the poet and painter. In the thoughtful silence which followed, Rossetti said it was "written on a plan absolutely inadmissible."

Praise indeed.

On the subject of bad poetry, while truly terrible poetry is usually good for a laugh, it helps when it is produced by a supposedly "great" poet. For starters, one feels less guilty for mocking the afflicted. A couple of favourite examples come from Wordsworth, including the following lines on a pond:

I've measured it from side to side:
'Tis three feet long and two feet wide.

And my favourite of all, also Wordsworth, who writes, stirringly:

Spade! With which Wilkinson hath tilled his land."

Here's a tip: never try to use the name "Wilkinson" in a poem...

Further to my earlier post, apparently Josh had nothing to do with this. It seems someone else - in a daring act of buccaneering - has grabbed the domain name and posted the song. Come on then, own up, who did this? No-one's leaving school until somebody puts their hand up...

Still an act of genius, though, whoever did it. To find a shanty about pirates that refers to "The Prince o' Luther" - that's pretty impressive.

From Famous Seamus, to German Hermann. Here's some more Sasse, this time writing on the church's confession of itself as "the apostolic church": that is, the church that has always sought to confess the same faith as the apostles, despite repeated temptations to "move with the times" instead:

When the church declined the temptations of Gnosticism, of Marcionite dualism, of Montanism with its claims of new revelation, it became the apostolic church. That meant, seen from the perspective of religious and cultural history, an extraordinary impoverishment. Perhaps it also meant that a great many Christians, deeply disappointed, left the church and sank back into heathenism.

The "apostolic church" is a poor church. It has no marvellous new revelations, no knowledge of higher worlds, no possibility of proving its faith by reason. It lives from the witness of a few men who were neither religious geniuses, nor ethical heroes, nor original thinkers. The only authority for the unverifiable things they said was that Jesus Christ had sent them and that they were witnesses of His resurrection.

(We Confess Jesus Christ, p.99)

Here is Seamus Heaney's wonderful translation of St John of the Cross's "Song of the soul that rejoices in knowing God through faith" (From Station Island, XI):

How well I know that fountain, filling, running,
although it is the night.

That eternal fountain, hidden away,
I know its haven and its secrecy
although it is the night.

But not its source because it does not have one,
which is all sources' source and origin
although it is the night.

No other thing can be so beautiful,
Here the earth and heaven drink their fill
although it is the night.

So pellucid it can never be muddied,
and I know that all light radiates from it
although it is the night.

I know no sounding line can find its bottom,
nobody ford or plumb its deepest fathom
although it is the night

And its current so in flood it overspills
to water hell and heaven and all peoples
although it is the night.

And the current that is generated there,
as far as it wills to, it can flow that far
although it is the night.

And from these two a third current proceeds
which neither of these two, I know, precedes
although it is the night.

This eternal fountain hides and splashes
within this living bread that is life to us
although it is the night.

Hear it calling out to every creature.
And they drink these waters, although it is dark here
because it is the night.

I am repining for this living fountain.
Within this bread of life I see it plain
although it is the night.

"This eternal fountain hides and splashes/ within this living bread that is life to us" - reminiscent of the closing couplet from John Betjeman's poem Christmas, when he speaks of "the most tremendous tale of all", the incomparable "single Truth":

That God was Man in Palestine
And lives to-day in Bread and Wine.

Lines which, like the Heaney, have deeply moved me not only at times when I would have denied that God in any sense "lives today in Bread and Wine" or "hides and splashes/ within this living bread that is life to us" - i.e. at any time up to about six months ago - but even going further back to a time when I fervently denied that "God was Man in Palestine" (or, more to the point, that "God was", period).

Thbut for those of you who want the "real deal" on why Josh stopped blogging and took off to High Barbaree, he's given permission to post his "blog obit", which can now be found over on my "writings" blog.

* And not, as it now turns out, true - Josh has posted the original (in Word) here.

Update: Daniel Stoddart has suggested an alternative title in the comments, which I nearly adopted as a replacement. But since English tabloid newspaper The Sun described its coverage of the purple-flour attack on Tony Blair - an event broadcast live on TV around the world - as an "Exclusive!", I don't see why I should back down from my earlier claim ;-)

Chris Williams has posted an interesting flight of fancy comparing children pinning the tail on the donkey (or rather, as it often works out in practice, on each other!) with the treatment of the Bible by post-Reformation "sects".

Now I'm always a bit wary of bandying words like "sect" around, as it often seems to be used as part of the following irregular verb:

We are a church.
You are a sect.
They are a cult.

But his point about the misuse of Scripture, especially in the absence of a clear, "churchly" confession of what Scripture is saying, is echoed by (guess who!) Hermann Sasse:

[Like the Reformed,] also for us Holy Scripture occupies the central position in the church. However, there is no denying that in this sinful world Scripture can also be misunderstood and misused. For a century before there was a New Testament the church had the same Bible as the synagogue. As soon as there was a New Testament it was commandeered by all the heretics. Today we share the same Bible with the worst of the sects. The true church is gathered not around Scripture but around the rightly understood, the purely and correctly interpreted Bible.

(We Confess Jesus Christ, p.84, emphasis original)

Today's "Way of the World" column by the satirist Craig Brown in the Daily Telegraph provides a hard-hitting exposé of the often-neglected downside to our Lord's miracles. It's all very well performing great signs and wonders, but what about the people who have (often literally) to pick up the pieces afterwards? ;-)

From the Archive

From Letters to Way of the World, May 20, AD 33

Sir - Your correspondent waxes lyrical about last week's Feeding of the Five Thousand. Indeed, he hails it as "a modern miracle" that so many people enjoyed a nutritious meal from a few loaves and fishes.

I beg to differ. Agreed, few would take offence at the meal itself, though, as a nutritionist of some years standing, I am appalled by the absence of fresh fruit. But what troubles me is that this one-off event could give the green light to widespread food-sharing.

This means that ordinary, decent picnickers will feel obliged to hand over their hard-earned baguettes, apples, hot and cold beverages, etc, to any Tom, Dick or Harry who has had neither the foresight nor the common decency to bring a packed lunch of his own.
- Simone Heffer (Ms), Nazareth

Sir - It would be irresponsible in the extreme to overlook the many serious food issues raised by the recent Feeding of the Five Thousand.

However admirable the intention, the passing of seafood products from hand to hand in hot weather without any form of protection will cause widespread hygiene fears, adding to the burden on our hard-pressed medical services.

In future, outside catering at public events must be monitored more closely. Most experts agree that a maximum of five people should be fed at any one time, and then only in strict accordance with statutory guidelines.
- Dr D Anderson, Bethlehem

Sir - As one of those present at the so-called Feeding of the Five Thousand (in fact, the police put the figure much lower), may I say how disappointed I was by the oikish "touchy-feely" behaviour of the multitude.

They have obviously never been taught the value of "keeping oneself to oneself". And the standard of catering was not all it was cracked up to be. When I requested a second helping, I was curtly informed that there wasn't enough to go round!
- Sir Terry Worsthorne, Jerusalem

I particularly liked, "the police put the figure much lower"...

Extraordinary stuff here from Hermann Sasse (from We Confess Jesus Christ, p.77f.), looking at how confession of faith is distinct from prayer and praise. Sasse demonstrates this by referring to the first Christian confession of faith, that by St Peter at Caesarea Philippi (Matt 16:13ff):

It was not human curiosity and not the theorizing interest of speculative theology that put the question to which this confession was the answer. Jesus Himself asked His disciples, "Who do you say that I am?" It is not enough that they follow Him. He does not call for a hymn, or for giving praise to His person, or for an evaluation of Him, but for a thoroughly sober judgment of fact...

What gives this first confession, indeed all churchly confessions, its weight is not the person who speaks it, or the emotion or conviction with which it is spoken. It is only its content, so great and overwhelming that no man and no human reason could ever have thought it out. This "flesh and blood has not revealed ... to you, but My Father who is in heaven."

In this sense and only in this sense is a creed "the church's answer to what God has given in revealing the Christ." The church's confession is the answer to the question that is implicit in this revelation, a question Jesus Christ Himself put to the group of disciples that was growing into the church, and so it is the question He puts to the church of every age: "Who do you say that I am?" With this question the Lord calls forth the making of creeds and thereby the church's formulation of dogmas. He did not wish to be followed as someone unknown, to be bowed down to as some numinous appearance. He wanted to be believed in as the Messiah promised by the prophets, the Son of Man of Daniel 7 and the Servant of God in Isaiah 53.

To preserve this primal confession clear and whole, to understand it ever more deeply, to explain it, and to preserve it against misunderstanding and misuse - this is why the church has continued to formulate confessions. The Nicene Creed, the Creed of Chalcedon, the Augsburg Confession, and the Formula of Concord want to do nothing more than this. There is no genuinely churchly confession that does not intend to be an answer to the question which is put by our Lord to every generation of the church: "Who do you say that I am?"

Revd Joel Brondos is posting some excellent-looking stuff today, including items on Believer's Baptism, The Divine Service as Self-Denial and The Impossibility of Making a Personal Decision for Christ. Why are you still here? :-)

Following my earlier link to Dick Lucas’ exposition of 1 Corinthians 13, here’s another classic exposition by Lucas, entitled “Preaching to Pagans”, looking at St Paul’s Athens sermon. Lucas identifies from this passage seven characteristics of an effective preacher to pagans, “whether of the religious or irreligious variety”:

1. Powers of Reasoning

Paul didn’t rely on emotional appeals: he “reasoned”, “explained”, “proved” etc, and “not a few” were “persuaded”. Lucas draws attention to “the relentless logic, the close reasoning and the irresistible conclusion” of Paul’s “marvelously tight, ordered, and clear” sermon structure. He also refutes the old chestnut about Paul’s “failure” at Athens making him take a different approach in Corinth of “knowing nothing … except Jesus Christ and him crucified”.

2. Demolition skills

Lucas highlights how effectively Paul demolished “arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God” in his Athens sermon, particularly the way he “subverts everything that Athenian religion stood for” in vv.24,25.

3. Fearlessness

Lucas highlights Paul’s direct and forceful approach:

Words of conspicuous force were given him. He will tell them of what they do not know! Their religious zeal is entirely misdirected! Their ignorance is culpable! Even their own poets know better! The Judge of the whole world has already been appointed, and his appointment confirmed! The call to all men is going out, and proud Athenians are not excepted! Repentance is heaven’s command for them, and that without delay! If this is typical, no wonder Paul so often landed up in trouble.

4. Persistence in Evangelism

Paul’s persistence is shown in this passage. “Who but this man could have turned a defence of his position, before such an audience, into so direct a call for repentance?”

5. A Heart for God

Lucas quotes John Stott, who asks “whether we can speak as Paul spoke if we do not feel as Paul felt”. As Lucas points out, “A heart for God … will also be a heart for lost mankind.”

6. A Missionary Mind-Set

“The God of the Bible wants ‘all men’ to be saved (1 Tim 2:3), and preachers to pagans discover within themselves the same desire. With its repeated emphasis on ‘all men’ (25f, 30, 31) Paul’s sermon in Athens is very much a missionary sermon.” Again, Lucas effectively dismisses arguments that this sermon - with its reference to repentance but not to faith in Christ - is an inadequate presentation of the Gospel.

7. A Wide Culture

A balance is important here: “The preacher to pagans does not have to be a glutton for pagan culture, especially of the present day variety … What matters is wide sympathies, and an interest in all things human.”

Finally: one of the most important traits identified by Lucas in St Paul is the ability to know when to stay and persevere, and when to move on in the face of rejection. In one of the best passages in his exposition - one which has justifiably been adopted for the Proclamation Trust's "splash" intro page - Lucas writes:

Rejection by people who don’t want the truth is painful of course, and evangelical pastors are bound to experience that pain from time to time. But the next move may be very different. It was a dark night when Paul was hustled out of Thessalonica, but the very next day was one of the brightest in his experience (Acts 17,10f.). Who knows when we might meet some noble souls like the Bereans who are eager for the truth? That’s the romance of preaching to pagans.

Three cheers for Pennsy, whose inestimable blogroll includes a link to "A Reaffirmation of the Synod's position on Close(d) Communion" dating from 1995/96. This provides a useful summary of the Lutheran position on close(d) communion and the Lord's Supper generally, including pertinent Scripture references.

Particular emphasis is placed on the Lord's Supper as our Lord's "last will and testament", which (like any other last will and testament) "cannot be interpreted in contradictory ways". The document also quotes with approval a model "Communion Card" dating from earlier LCMS documents on the subject:

The Lord's Supper is celebrated at this congregation in the confession and glad confidence that, as He says, our Lord gives into our mouths not only bread and wine but His very body and blood to eat and to drink for the forgiveness of sins and to strengthen our union with Him and with one another. Our Lord invites to His table those who trust in His Words, repent of all sin, and set aside any refusal to forgive and love as He forgives and loves us, that they may show forth His death until He comes.

Because those who eat and drink our Lord's body and blood unworthily do so to their great harm and because Holy Communion is a confession of the faith which is confessed at this altar, any who are not yet instructed, in doubt, or who hold a confession differing from that of this congregation and The Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, and yet desire to receive the Sacrament, are asked first to speak with the Pastor or an usher. For further study, see Matt. 5:23ff; 10:32ff; 18:15-35; 26:26- 29; 1 Cor. 11:17-34.

Great quote from Hermann Sasse, from We Confess Jesus Christ (p.17), where he refers to the primacy of the apostles (in the narrow sense of those witnesses of the resurrected Christ who were then appointed as His apostles) and their teachings over and against any ongoing prophetical ministry:

The recognition that the revelation in Christ is not something inconclusive or relative stands or falls with the primacy of the apostolate over prophecy. Wherever prophecy asserts its independence and power, it is a threat to the finality of the revelation that happened once in history, of which the apostolic office bears witness. Christ's church is an apostolic, not a prophetic church. This does not mean, as some today suppose, a quenching of the Spirit, a constriction of religion within an ossified institution. Rather it expresses the conviction that revelation has taken place, that the word of God is no longer only given and assigned to a human being here and there, but that the Word has become flesh.

Cf. Hebrews 1:1,2.

Came across the following quotation that seems helpful when considering how to respond to my friend the baptist pastor and his concerns over closed communion and the Lutheran doctrine of the Lord's Supper:

When we wish to correct with advantage and to show another that he errs, we must notice from what side he views the matter, for on that side it is usually true, and admit that truth to him, but reveal to him the side on which it is false. He is satisfied with that, for he sees that he was not mistaken and that he only failed to see all sides. Now, no one is offended at not seeing everything; but one does not like to be mistaken, and that perhaps arises from the fact that man naturally cannot see everything, and that naturally he cannot err in the side he looks at, since the perceptions of our senses are always true. (Pascal, Pensées, para 9, emphasis added)

Pretty much every objection evangelicals have to the Lutheran doctrine of the Lord's Supper (and Baptism, for that matter) is absolutely correct - or rather, would be, if Lutherans in fact held the views ascribed to them. For example: that it involves a crude and "cannibalistic" view of the Supper; that it leads to a belief in "the sacrifice of the Mass"; that it provides justification for an idolatrous adoration of the physical elements, whether during or separate from the administration of the Supper; that it involves an ex opere operato view which removes the need for faith in the Gospel; etc. In short, that it leads inexorably to the worst errors of Roman Catholicism.

So following Pascal, the aim is to notice that that is the side from which our evangelical brothers and sisters view the matter, and to acknowledge that all the things they object to are indeed objectionable; but to go on to demonstrate that they are not held by Lutherans and are not a necessary consequence of Lutheran teachings.

Well, it's got to be worth a shot, hasn't it? ;-)

Couple of tweaks to the ol' blogroll. First, the good news: Pennsy is back. Hooray!

Sadly, Blogsburg and Josh appear to have gone for good (a Josh-less Lutheran Blogosphere(TM)! Reminds me of the old sexist gag about the man being stopped by the police and informed that his wife had fallen out of the car two miles back. "Oh, thank heavens for that!" he replies. "I thought I'd gone deaf"). We'll miss you, Josh.

Went to a lecture on Thursday at our church by Dr Ron Feuerhahn, on "The Uniqueness of the Lutheran Reformation" (I plan to post a summary of this lecture later this week). A friend of ours - our former (baptist) pastor, "M" - also came along, and unfortunately (i) he cordially disliked the evening; and (ii) has subsequently expressed grave concerns about my wife and I joining the Lutheran Church. M's concerns particularly related to Dr Feuerhahn's references to closed communion and fellowship with other Christians.

M emailed me setting out these concerns, which can be summarised as follows:

1. Closed communion is a denial of justification by faith alone - M's comment was, "this completely destroys (in practice) the theological position claimed to be distinctive of Lutheranism ... admittance to the Lord's Supper seemingly does not depend on what God has done. For Lutherans this is not sufficient. What a person is able to do [i.e., sign up to a particular confession of faith] is the vital ground of fellowship."
   


2. In a later email, M asks, "what right (authority) [does] any 'church' ha[ve] to deny any of the Lord's people access to his Supper, save those living in a way which denies their profession. The onus is on the individual participant (1 Cor.11:28) not on the church." He points out (i) "Public adherence can easily be obtained without a person believing a particular 'confession' from the heart"; and (ii) "The Lord alone knows those who are his. We don't, and therefore shouldn't pretend that we do."
   

In summary, closed communion is (i) legalistic and (ii) sectarian.

One reason M feels so strongly about this is that he used to be in an Exclusive Brethren church, which practised a very strict form of closed communion which resulted in teenagers who went to university being (in effect) excommunicated for joining CUs and non-Brethren churches during term-times. M found this distressing and scandalous, which is why he is no longer in the Brethren church. As he concludes in his latest email, "I would spare you the agony of having to treat your friends as second-class citizens who are not able to break bread with you. I assure you that is a painful experience which I wouldn't wish on anyone."

This is the first real opposition we have encountered from evangelical friends to our joining the Lutheran church. It probably won't be the last, and this is a distressing prospect. While I accept the Lutheran position on closed communion, I can definitely feel the force of M's objections. Basically, excluding fellow believers from the Lord's Table seems such a drastic step as to need very strong and clear biblical justification. And it definitely makes a difference when it's not "abstract" principles one is considering, but the loving objections and concern of a friend and brother in Christ.

To that end, I'd welcome any suggestions on how to deal with M's concerns/observations, in particular a brief summary of the main biblical arguments for closed communion, as it relates to those who are definitely fellow Christians (as opposed to out-and-out damnable heretics or pagan idolaters) (for those of you getting a sense of deja vu in this post, I've also posted a near-identical query on Luther Quest...).

I mentioned to a commenter (correction: on a comment on Andy Bartus' blog) that I would try to post Dick Lucas's exposition of 1 Corinthians 13; saying this more in hope than in expectation of finding a copy on the web. But now, thanks to the miracle of Google, here it is.

Lucas points out that 1 Corinthians 13 is a much-abused passage, almost invariably ripped out of its context in 1 Cor 12-14 and taken as a free-floating "hymn to love". In fact, St Paul's purpose in writing the chapter was a lot more pointed, as Lucas demonstrates in this exposition (which is worth printing out and reading carefully, with the text to hand). Lucas uses this as an illustration of why preaching is so necessary, as without explanation people are liable to misinterpret and misuse even (or especially?) a key chapter like 1 Corinthians 13.

As Lucas points out:

No girl in Corinth wrote to the apostle with the request that he speak at her wedding when next he came by, on the grounds that he wrote so marvellously about ‘love’; if she wrote at all it would be to warn Paul about the angry and resentful reception he might expect from the elders as a result of his plain speaking.

For those of you who have never heard of Dick Lucas, he was for many years the minister at St Helen's Bishopgate, a large conservative evangelical Anglican church in the City of London. He was also one of the founders of Proclamation Trust, which has probably done more than any other organisation in the UK to promote sound expository preaching.

Now in his late 70s, he is continuing to travel around speaking at churches and preaching conferences, with a real desire to pass on to younger generations of ministers his passion for expository biblical preaching. He is easily the best preacher I've ever heard, and he also has a rather acerbic and biting wit, which makes him engaging, if not always relaxing, company.

One of my favourite Dick Lucas comments comes from when he preached at our last church a couple of years ago. He announced the text - 1 Timothy something-or-other - and said, "I'm not going to tell you the page number. The Bible is the most important book in the world, and if you don't know your way round it then you should do." That's the spirit!

The BBC reports that the Church of England's "online church", I-Church, has appointed a laywoman as its first "web pastor". The BBC also carries a review of the launch of the "Church of Fools", another, rather different, "online church" started by the Ship of Fools site.

Now I could go into a lengthy critique of these initiatives, especially I-Church, with its appointment of a laywoman (wrong on at least two counts) as "pastor", and the legalistic requirements for membership (you don't need to believe anything, but you do need to enter into binding commitments regarding "prayer", study and social action). But to be honest, this Google search probably tells us all you need to know.

However, all this does raise the more general issue of whether the "electronic church" is a valid and appropriate means for communicating the Gospel and fulfilling the church's ministry. Modern Reformation has dug out of its archives a piece by W. Robert Godfrey dating from 1992 on "the electronic church" - which in those days meant watching on TV rather than participating over the Internet.

Godfrey's fundamental point is simple: "The necessity of the local church is clearly taught in Scripture and is indispensable for the Christian life", and accordingly "the electronic church at its best can only be a religious supplement in the life of the Christian", not a substitute for the local church.

In particular, Godfrey looks at Acts 2:42 and finds that the electronic church is lacking in relation to all four key elements of worship found in that verse:

• The Apostles' Teaching: While the electronic church may seem a good vehicle for teaching biblical truth, in practice the teaching of the Word takes a back seat to more "entertaining" content. In the case of I-Church, the teaching of the Word seems barely to be in view at all: the web pastor's job spec doesn't even refer to it.
  


• Fellowship: Godfrey argues that TV - despite feeling very "personal, immediate, intimate" - does not provide true human contact with other believers. While the internet allows more interaction with other people, we are kidding ourselves if we think that it is a substitute for true, face-to-face contact. It's just a more hi-tech version of the "paper and ink" that St John found so inadequate an alternative to "talk[ing] face to face, so that our joy may be complete" (emphasis added).
  


• The Sacraments: A TV or online church will either have no sacraments, or else it may have purported "sacraments" that are a blasphemous travesty. Without the sacraments, there is no true church (this is probably the number one killer argument against viewing the "electronic church" as a substitute for the local church).
  


• Prayer: Godfrey points out the inadequacies of prayer conducted over the TV, and the minimal place prayer in fact occupies in the "TV churches" to which he is referring. The BBC report on the Church of Fools refers to people typing in the Lord's Prayer as the minister led them in this. Perhaps prayer is the area in which an online church may be least inadequate, but synchronised typing seems a poor alternative to the hearty "Amen" of God's People gathered together before Him.

Godfrey's final section, on the attractions of the electronic church, are as valid in respect of online "churches" as they are for "TV church": that it is "easy", "individualistic" and "interesting".

Godfrey concludes:

The danger posed by the TV church is two-fold. The first is that it threatens to replace the local church as the central focus of religious life for many people. Such a threat is serious because it is the local church that has been established by Jesus Christ as the center of the religious life of his people.

The second danger is even more serious. Since the electronic church will not and cannot do all that Christ commissioned the local church to do, the TV church as one's sole church will teach a religion that is sub-Christian. The electronic church will be sub-Christian in doctrine because, even if the doctrine is not wrong (though it often is), it will surely be incomplete. What is not entertaining or commercially appealing will be ignored. And the electronic church will be sub-Christian in ethics, since it will not be a disciplined church.

But the appeal of electronic forms of "church" does highlight areas of weakness that local churches need to address:

Churches that have failed in teaching, or in worship, or in outreach or hospitality, should repent and, by God's grace, renew themselves for service. And Christians should realize that they must be more involved in the local church, reforming it and making it, by God's grace, what it should be.

Christians are the church, after all. It is to Christians in a local church that Paul said, "Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it."

This is truly heartbreaking, particularly for those of us who retain a great deal of fondness and respect for true Anglicanism. But it does need wide circulation, just to bring us all face to face with what is at stake in the struggle to safeguard biblical authority in the church today. Never forget: homosexuality is only the "presenting issue" (just as indulgences were the "presenting issue" in 1517). We must always drag the discussion back to the real question, namely, "Who has ultimate authority over the church?" - Christ, by His Word? Or whoever can pile up the most votes and evoke the most "sympathy" within denominational structures?

To read a SitRep from one of the few names still in Sardis, see Paul Zahl's "Last Signal to the Carpathia" on this month's Modern Reformation site. He calls for magnanimity from the "victors" within ECUSA - sadly, events since Dean Zahl gave this address in February have shown that he was whistling in the wind.

I love this winning entry from a competition to find a "Chant Laureate". It's a paean to Aston Villa striker Juan Pablo Angel by a north London lawyer and stand-up comedian, Jonny Hurst, who will now travel round English Premier League football grounds next season writing a chant for each team. To be sung to the tune of "Copacabana":

His name is Angel,
And he's a show boy,
An Alice band keeps up his hair,
Juan Pablo from Col-om-bi-air

He came to Villa,
To be a winner,
He succeeded overnight,
Our very own Angel Delight
Just hear the Villa roar,
With each Juan Pablo score,
We've got him on a four-year deal,
But we still want more

At the Villa, at Aston Villa,
The greatest club west of Manila,
At the Villa, at Aston Vi-lla,
Football and passion
All ranges of fashion,
At the Villa, we have it all,
La-la, Aston Vil-la-la,
Aston Vil-la-la-la,
Vil-la-la-la

Even if you don't know one end of a football from the other - and even if you have never heard of or (like me) couldn't care less about Aston Villa - you have to admit there's a touch of genius to that.

I keep meaning to hunt out and blog this Garrison Keillor quotation which was printed in Modern Reformation a couple of years ago. And then the latest issue arrived yesterday, and they'd printed it again. I know Keillor is E"L"CA but it's still cracking stuff:

Sunday feels odd without church in the morning. It's the time in the week when we take our bearings, and if we miss it, we're just following our noses. Of course, there's a lot about church that can be aggravating -- empty sermons and smarmy people and a certain comfy, complacent feeling. And then you have that organist in your face, destroying quietness wherever he can and then cranking up during hymns and assaulting you with the trumpet stops so you can't hear yourself sing. But believing Christians are the people I want to be among. And every word of the Creed is true. And the organist shuts up during the prayers at least. And you think about your considerable sins. And you go forward to partake of the Savior's death and resurrection, and that's the whole thing. Isn't it?

The first time I read this, I was still Reformed - but I found it moving and compelling, particularly the second half of the paragraph, from the word "But..." through to the glorious final sentence. Just another of the many threads God used to tug me towards Lutheranism.

In the original interview from which the above quotation is taken, from The Lutheran, Keillor (while coming out with some slightly dodgy stuff about God giving different gifts and revelations to different churches) comments on ecumenism, particularly the ELCA union with ECUSA:

I'm wary of ecumenism. I see nothing wrong with having six or 10 or 15 different churches of Christ in town and people trouping to each one. If the alternative is some nondenominational New Agey all-purpose homogenized feel-good exercise, then give me schism.

Amen to that.

The Guardian reports that Prince Charles has been visiting Mount Athos and may convert to Eastern Orthodoxy.

Now, I imagine this story has about as much truth in it as intermittent reports over the years that the Prince might convert to Islam. But it'd be interesting to see whether people start raising constitutional questions about the possibility of an EO monarch, particularly whether it would hasten the disestablishment of the Church of England (a possibility about which I have very mixed and undecided feelings).

In theory, there shouldn't be a problem, despite the fact that as King he would be Supreme Governor (not, a thousand times not, "head", please note) of the Church of England. UK law only prohibits the monarch from being a Roman Catholic (or from marrying one). Indeed, from 1714 to 1837, Kings George I to IV and William IV were all (guess what) Lutherans* (perhaps I should send Prince Charles a copy of the Small Catechism and a suggestion that he return to the faith of his great-great-great-etc-grandfathers).

At any rate, conversion to Eastern Orthodoxy would hopefully put paid to the sort of drivel HRH has come out with in the past about being "Defender of Faiths" rather than "Defender of the Faith". I can't see the EOs being too impressed with the idea of King Charles III acting as a sort of interfaith MC.

* This is recorded in the History of the Lutheran Church in Great Britain from the ELCE website. A PDF version, with illustrations, is available here (warning: 2.5MB file). Well worth a read.

Wonderful Luther quote:

Learn Christ and him crucified. Learn to sing to him and, despairing of yourself, say, "Lord Jesus, you are my righteousness, just as I am your sin. You have taken upon yourself what is mine and have given me what is yours. You have taken upon yourself what you were not and have given to me what I was not."

- From Luther's letter to George Spenlein, an Augustinian friar, 8 April 1516 (AE 48:12)

What is particularly striking is the date for this quote - eighteen months before the 95 Theses, the "official" start-date for the Reformation.

After less than five hours, I've abandoned Blogger's new comments system and reverted to Haloscan, until Blogger sort out the problems. Though I could have quite a wait, since many of these appear to come under the heading of "it's not a bug, it's a feature" - the need to register before you can leave non-anonymous comments; the general clunkiness of having to go first to the "item page" and then click the "leave comments" link; the general clunkiness, period; etc. Haloscan seems a lot more user-friendly, and I've never (so far) had the problems that some people report with it.

Not that making this further change was a piece of cake, due to the problems with publishing at the moment - but on the fifth attempt to republish minus Blogger comment links, I managed it. Hoorah!

The new look - including the preview button - works fine on my PC here in the office, but I'm guessing that my days of posting at home using Web TV are now over. But hey, everyone who matters has a PC running a recent Windows OS and IE6.*. So I guess that's all right then.

And at least my blog's not suffered quite as badly as Josh's appears to be at the moment. My theory is that Fyodorovna (RIP) had the inside track on today's changes, and decided now was the time to bale out...

While on holiday last week, I visited the Church of St Thomas Becket, Fairfield, in Kent. This is a tiny church in a beautiful but slightly strange setting: down an unsignposted country lane, in the middle of a field in Romney Marsh, surrounded by sheep, and miles from anywhere. To gain access, I had to park on the lane, find the key hanging by the back door of a nearby farmhouse, and then cross the marsh by a footpath, past grazing sheep and gambolling lambs.

This is a lovely picture of it (click picture to go to the source page):



Though this picture captures the lonely setting very well:



The interior is even more of a surprise: a perfectly-preserved Georgian interior, complete with box pews and a "triple-decker" pulpit:



Triple-decker pulpits date from the 18th century, and consist of (going from right to left as you look at the example here) the parish clerk's desk, immediately behind the minister's reading desk, from which the clerk would read the notices and generally keep an eye on proceedings; the reading desk from which the minister would lead the service (usually morning or evening prayer from the Book of Common Prayer); and then the pulpit, which the minister would enter (having donned his black preaching gown) in order to preach the sermon. There are very few of these left, since most were ripped out in the 19th Century.

The church also has an old, pedal-powered harmonium and organ: I had a go on the harmonium, since no-one was about, and had an enjoyable five minutes pumping away with my feet while playing the TLH version of the "Gloria in Excelsis".

At the back of the church is a poem by Joan Warburg, published in Country Life in 1966. This captures the spirit of the place perfectly (and also refers to the floods in November 1960, when the church was, like Piglet, "Completely Surrounded by Water"):

St Thomas Becket, Fairfield

My parish is the lonely marsh,
My service at the water's edge;
Wailing of sea-birds, sweet and harsh,
The susurration of the sedge.
Bleating of a hundred sheep,
Where pilgrims and crusaders sleep.

I was too small a church to preach
The gospel to such mighty men;
I'd little Latin and could teach
But simple shepherds; now as then
I loved the frailest and the least,
Scattering words for bird and beast.

The humble hands that built me
Of solid wood and stone
To last throughout Eternity,
Eight hundred years are gone:
Buried beneath the Kentish sod,
And I must intercede with God.

One winter as I watched alone
The whole marsh lay in flood,
Salt waters lapped against my stone
Leaving great waves of mud.
Strange creatures swam for sanctuary,
As ark-like I withstood that sea.

So still I guard the coast and look
Beyond the sea, across the Downs.
I that was writ in Domesday book,
Have watched tall ships and towns
Spring up as flowers, and pass away
Within the fading of a day.

No-one comes to worship, yet
The feathery fronds of water weeds
Wave ghostly hands through grey sea fret:
The sedges and the singing reeds
Seem, as they supplicate and sway,
Murmorous spirits come to pray.

I am nothing but Thy house,
Empty stands the sacred porch;
Yet I can shelter shrew and mouse,
Light a glow-worm for Thy torch.
From a spider's tapestry
Weave a splendour fit for Thee.

Blogger's bright, shiny, new features include public user profiles. Not sure how I feel about that, but I've put mine up anyway, at least for the moment. One rather objectionable "feature" is the automatic giving of one's "star sign". Indeed, when you search for profiles, people are listed as "Fred Smith, 27 year-old male Aries", etc.

Blogger, listen up: I do not want to be defined or identified by reference to my "star sign"! In scientific terms, it is what is technically referred to as "complete bollocks". In spiritual terms it is at best offensive, at worst highly dangerous (how like the Father of Lies to ensnare people with something that is total codswallop from start to finish).

Plus, I'm happily married, thank you, and being described as a "31 year-old male Pisces" makes me feel like I've signed up to a dating agency ;-)

I know I could stop this by removing my D-o-B details from my profile, but why should that be necessary?

Well, I'm back. Good holiday, will bore y'all later with a couple of "what I did in my summer holidays" posts, but for now here's an item I originally posted on my old Classical Anglican blog back in February. Am reposting as Scott Kimbrough posted some interesting comments on it a couple of weeks back, and again last week, and it seems worth giving the discussion a wider airing. Update: Scott's comments now transferred over to the bright, shiny, new Blogger comments system.

I've been reading Job recently, and (like, I suspect, many people) one thing I've always found difficult about reading Job is that sense that some of what his friends are saying seems at times almost to make sense - albeit callously and unfeelingly misapplied - whereas much of what Job says seems to border on unbelief. Yet it is Job who is, in the end, commended.

The title of this post is taken from this article in Modern Reformation, from 1999, which argues that Job is a theologian of the cross, while his friends are theologians of glory.

This is based on Luther's distinction between the two types of theologian in the Heidelberg Disputation. In particular (quoting freely here), "the theologian of glory tries to see the invisible things of God as if they were clearly visible in the things that have actually happened; the theologian of the cross sees God hidden in suffering and the cross -- the theologian of glory calls good evil and evil good; the theologian of the cross calls the thing what it is."

Job's friends are theologians of glory because they think that the invisible things of God can be clearly seen in events here on earth: Job is suffering, so he must have sinned. Thus they end up calling good (i.e. Job) evil, and evil (Job's experience) good, in that he "deserves" it (indeed, it gets to the point where they tell Job he's getting off lightly - ch.11:6).

But while the theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil, the theologian of the cross calls the thing what it is. And that's the key to the book of Job: Job is telling the truth about his situation, and about God.

The question to ask oneself when reading the discourses in Job is, "Is this person telling the truth about Job's situation?" Job, as a theologian of the cross - knowing that there is no easy moralistic answer to suffering which "absolves" God of responsibility for it, but rather than God himself is hidden in suffering and the cross - is able to call the thing what it is, to call a spade a spade. In short, to tell the truth. His friends, on the other hand, for all that their statements may find echoes and affinities in other parts of Scripture (eg Proverbs 12:21), are simply not telling the truth about Job's situation. They attempt to absolve God by telling lies about him: something that finds uncomfortable echoes in many popular "theodicies" today.

eg "open theism", which in effect "answers" the issue of suffering by saying that God has no control over it - thus letting God off the hook for suffering, rather than seeking to see God hidden in suffering (and thus able to bring us through that suffering to resurrection). At a more popular level, the explanation tends to boil down to one of, "God gave us free will, so while he doesn't want us to suffer, he honours the freedom of will he has given us." Neither of these are the "answer" given in Job, or for that matter in the suffering and crucifixion of our Lord.

So, "as an exercise": read through Job. Ask yourself at each stage, "is this person telling the truth?" If your experience is anything like mine, it will make the book a great deal clearer.