Category Archives: Church History

A Case for RetroChristianity

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Naming an idea can be risky. The newly-named “idea” takes on a life of its own and can then be accepted, rejected, modified, ignored, loved, or despised. Nevertheless, I’ve decided to finally name that cluster of ideas that has been gestating for some years now—about fifteen, to be precise. I actually think the child was born a few years ago, but he’s been awaiting an identity—something that will distinguish him from his look-alike siblings that came before him. So, the name I’ve given my course of thinking is RetroChristianity. I will explain exactly what this means and why I chose this particular name in due time. But to do this successfully, I first need to name and describe a few other concepts in contemporary Christian thinking. These terms include “Orthodoxy,” “Heterodoxy,” and “Heresy.” To these common labels I want to add two more: “Metrodoxy” and “Petridoxy.”

By “Orthodoxy” I signify the correct view on the central truths of the Christian faith and a proper practice of Christian works. As a rule of thumb, orthodoxy is that which has been believed and practiced everywhere, always, and by all. The “all” includes those who people who intend to be counted among orthodox Christians and who have generally been regarded as such by other orthodox Christians. Orthodoxy means holding the right opinion about crucial Christian truths and acts in keeping with what Christianity has always believed about these things. Some things that fit this general criteria are: 1) God created all things out of nothing; 2) God is Triune: one divine essence in three Persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; 3) The eternal Son of God became incarnate through the Virgin Mary and was born Jesus Christ, fully God and fully human, two distinct natures in one unique Person; 4) Jesus Christ died to pay for our sins, rose from the dead victorious, and ascended into heaven, waiting to return from heaven to earth to act as Judge and King; 5) The Holy Spirit moved the prophets and apostles to compose the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, the inspired, unerring norm for the Christian faith; 6) The Church is Christ’s body of redeemed, baptized saints who by faith partake of the life and communion with God through Jesus Christ in the new community of the Spirit. Some universal practices have included baptism as the rite of initiation, the Lord’s Supper (or communion, or eucharist) as the rite of continued fellowship, evangelism, missions, charity, worship, and Bible teaching. Many other things have been taught and practiced everywhere, always, and by all, but this sample list indicates the kind of central, crucial doctrines that mark one as “orthodox.”

Now this all sounds simpler than it actually is. Sometimes it requires a little bit of squinting in order to overlook minor blemishes on an otherwise hopeful history of orthodoxy. The reality is that without constant check-ups and regular cleaning, orthodoxy is subject to “truth decay.” This can happen to individuals, to churches, to vast communities, to entire generations. But don’t despair! One of the main functions of the Spirit of Truth is to guide the church into truth, to restore her to orthodoxy when she veers too far, and to breathe into her renewed vitality. The history of the church is filled with these revival movements that retrieve forgotten aspects of orthodoxy. So orthodoxy can never be taken for granted. It must be constantly re-received and re-taught. It is not passed down from one generation to another in the form of a creed or confession if that creed or confession is not faithfully and intentionally taught. Orthodoxy is not bestowed upon the next generation through the Bible if the Bible is not read and explained within the context of classic orthodoxy. There’s no such thing as orthodoxy by osmosis or trickle-down orthodoxy. It must be intentionally and clearly taught everywhere, at all times, and to all.

Moving on, I use the term “Heterodoxy” to mean, literally, “another opinion.” Heterodox teachings tend toward the margins of the received doctrines of the faith. And they sometimes teeter at the very edge. They still want to be part of the Christian tradition and still acknowledge the central Christian truths, but they also want to be unique, innovative, and clever in their theology and practice. They feel comfortable recasting traditional truths in nontraditional language. They sometimes want to rearrange, reinvent, reinvigorate, and reformulate the things that had been handed down to them. They like to surf the waves of the margins, buck the system, go against the grain—all within the community of orthodoxy. However, heterodoxy often results in an unintentional distancing from the normative center of Christian orthodoxy . . . and with a little push heterodox teachers run the risk of breaking free from orthodoxy’s gravitational pull and winding up in the bleak void of heresy. Heterodoxy is also often characterized by exaggerating a minor distinctive and trying to jam it into the center of orthodoxy. When a unique aspect of a person’s theology becomes the focal point, the true center of orthodoxy becomes marginalized and minimized. Thus, heterodoxy develops because of a failure to keep the primary orthodox truths front and center. Division, dissension, and destruction often ensue. Heterodoxy is cured by intentionally and clearly teaching orthodoxy everywhere, at all times, and to all.

I use the term “Heresy” to describe doctrine that challenges and destroys the central core of orthodoxy. As such, heresy alone is damnable doctrine. It often finds its origins as a radical heterodoxy, but not all heterodoxy ends up in denying basic fundamentals of the Christian faith. Heresy differs from heterodoxy in that the heretic knowingly (not ignorantly), willfully (not accidentally), and persistently (not momentarily) denies a key tenet of historic orthodox Christianity. He or she rejects certain truths that have been believed everywhere, always, and by all. For example, somebody who denies the full deity and humanity of Christ is a heretic. The belief that Jesus of Nazareth did not literally rise from the dead is heretical. And the view that the Holy Spirit is a created being and not a fully divine person is heresy. Heresy is defeated by intentionally and clearly teaching orthodoxy everywhere, at all times, and to all.

Orthodoxy. Heterodoxy. Heresy. I think these categories are clear. Now, floating among Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy I see two tendencies, especially in free church evangelicalism. I call these tendencies “Metrodoxy” and “Petridoxy.”

“Metrodoxy” is a term I coined to describe trendy, faddish, and “cool” doctrines and practices that tend to take over contemporary churches, especially “megachurches” and megachurch wannabes. If you want your church to have greater cultural “impact,” to draw media attention, and to place itself on the map of evangelical Christianity, you must accept and live by metrodox values. These include relationship, not religion . . . contemporary, not conventional . . . relevance, not ritual . . . innovative, not obsolete . . . fresh, not stale. Metrodoxy thrives in metropolitan areas, drawing from a pool of young, energetic men and women who have excess time and money. This group is often impressed by a clever lingo, advanced technology, and trendy buzz. Anything perceived as boring, belabored, or bogged down gets snuffed. But amidst the excitement, metrodox churches tend to be in a constant state of identity crisis, needing to reinvent or re-brand themselves every few years. After a few phoenix-like rebirths, these churches eventually find themselves adrift, unsure of what they’re supposed to be doing or why. Of course, we find all sorts of ready captains prepared to take over and steer the ship toward some new and trendy port . . . but these navigators are usually not going back to classic orthodox beliefs and practices as their guides to lead them on. The result of this constant identity crisis is often a failure to identify and pass on what has been believed and practiced everywhere, always, and by all. So, extreme metrodoxy can be treated by intentionally and clearly teaching orthodoxy everywhere, at all times, and to all.

On the other extreme we find what I call “Petridoxy.” If the metrodox are too progressive and trendy, the petridox are frozen in time, unable and unwilling to change. They have been petrified. They tend to fear change as a great evil, not realizing that their own practices were themselves once quite new (and likely controversial). They often have a very myopic perspective on their own history, believing their way has stood the test of time. They have no desire to critically examine their narrow perception of so-called “orthodoxy” or to evaluate whether what they’re doing actually does help to preserve and promote central orthodox beliefs and practices. Petridox churches would just as soon die a slow and painful death than make major adjustments. Having lost sight of the fundamental goal of receiving, preserving, and passing on the faith once for all entrusted to the saints, petridoxy settles on one method of receiving, one manner of preserving, and one means of passing on the faith . . . and then it congeals in that particular form. Petridoxy therefore tends to be primitivistic, reactionary, ultra-conservative, and idealistically nostalgic. However, petridoxy can be softened by refocusing attention on the purpose of the church’s forms and structures: to intentionally and clearly teach orthodoxy everywhere, at all times, and to all.

With this background on concepts of orthodoxy, heterodoxy, heresy, metrodoxy, and petridoxy, I’m ready to explain the concept of “RetroChristianity.” The prefix “retro” means “involving, relating to, or reminiscent of things past.” But in contemporary compound words, it indicates an attempt to bring the things of the past into the present, giving both the past and the present a new life.

First let me make it perfectly clear that RetroChristianity is not fundamentalism redivivus, a retreat back to Papal Rome, a pilgrimage to Eastern Orthodoxy, or a veiled attempt to promote a flaccid ecumenical faith. Rather it’s an honest attempt to more carefully navigate our received orthodox faith and practice through the precarious channel between metrodoxy and petridoxy, both of which can shipwreck the faith. Therefore, RetroChristianity wants to bridge the gap between the ancient and contemporary church without going to two extremes: 1) idealizing the ancient and condemning the modern, or 2) eschewing the ancient and seizing the contemporary. RetroChristianity has some things in common with the many “ancient-future” movements, while acknowledging that many forms of that trend can easily slip into just a new identity for metrodox churches . . . or drive headlong into the rocks of an out-of-touch primitivistic petridoxy. RetroChristianity tries to address the real practical questions of “how” we can intentionally and clearly teach orthodoxy everywhere, at all times, and to all. It also draws much of its inspiration from the concept of paleo-orthodoxy and thus explores the foundational work of the patristic period. But it also seeks to move, in concrete practical steps, from that pre-modern, pre-Christian cultural context to our post-modern, post-Christian context.

Ultimately RetroChristianity means carrying on a constant dialogue with the past, but it also requires an actual practical connection with the present and an orientation toward the future. Therefore, it asks how we can and ought to teach and practice orthodoxy everywhere (that is, in every kind of church and ministry around the world), always (in every ministry opportunity, outreach, or service), and to all (young and old, rich and poor, educated and uneducated, men and women). RetroChristianity demands that the past first be reckoned with on its own terms. It can not settle for picking over the past for relevant bits and pieces that will make us feel more “connected” to our roots. It can’t stand for politely consulting the ancient Christians to make us look sophisticated. And it can’t naively transplant the past into the present as if the preceding centuries of development never happened. As such, the dialogue is a complex, time-consuming, strenuous work that requires the input of many. This includes patristic, medieval, and reformation scholars; pastors, teachers, and laypeople; denominational and free churches, and numerous others interested in genuinely engaging in either real transformation . . . or unashamed preservation.

Limited or Unlimited Atonement? (Yes)

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Let me begin by giving one reason I confess what is commonly called “limited atonement.” I could go into a long treatise on the internal logical and theological consistency of a Calvinist approach to salvation, but instead I’ll just keep this simple and mention one verse. In Ephesians 5:25, Paul wrote, “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself up for her.” What did Paul mean by “Christ gave Himself up” for the church? In 5:2, Paul had already explained, “Walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma.” Thus, by sacrificing His life as an offering to God, Christ gave Himself up for the church, that is, the elect.

How does this touch on the doctrine of limited atonement? Well, in Ephesians 5:25 Paul used Christ’s self-sacrificial love for the church as a model of a husband’s love for his wife—and vice versa. I contend that the sense of Paul’s exhortation to husbands requires the doctrine of limited atonement. Because if we confess that Christ’s love and sacrificial death applied equally and universally to all people, whether believers or unbelievers, then Paul’s entire argument for a husband’s exclusive, faithful love for his wife would collapse. Paul did not write, “Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself up for her and for all people everywhere, equally and without exception.” The very nature of Paul’s exhortation demands that he perceived the sacrificial death of Christ to have been limited in its redemptive intension—focused specifically on the elect of the church.

There are other passages I could highlight that limit the scope of Christ’s death to “us,” to believers, to the church, to the elect, and to those “in Christ.” But I frankly don’t see the need to pile up proof-texts, especially in light of where I’m going in this essay. I believe the point of Ephesians 5:25 is sufficiently clear to show that in some sense—however that may be expressed—the self-sacrificial love of Christ for the church is qualitatively different than the love that Christ has for the unsaved world in general.

But this now brings me to the second part of my confession. I also confess that Christ died for all.

I hold this not merely because the New Testament teaches a universality of God’s love (John 3:16), but also because certain passages are quite difficult to interpret apart from the death of Christ having a universal benefit and scope. Although I personally believe 1 John 2:2 may be a reference to the global catholicity of the Christian faith rather than the universality of Christ’s propitiatory offering (see my article on this subject here), I believe 2 Peter 2:1 teaches that Christ’s death paid the price of redemption for non-elect heretics. Peter wrote, “There will also be false teachers among you, who will secretly introduce destructive heresies, even denying the Master who bought them, bringing swift destruction upon themselves.” Though I have heard all the arguments to the contrary, I cannot get around two basic assertions in this passage: 1) the false teachers denied the Lord and taught heresy—marking them as outside the body of the elect; 2) these heretics had nevertheless been “bought” by the Lord. Thus, in some sense, the penalty of sin for the non-elect was paid by the death of Christ.

So, I confess both unlimited and limited atonement. Although Christ’s death paid the penalty for all, the saving effect of His death is limited only to the elect.

Even though the non-elect are not the object of God’s redemptive intention, this does not mean they do not receive real benefit from the death Christ died in their place. I believe that God’s general grace toward all humans is granted on the basis of Christ’s propitiatory death and the resulting gracious and merciful disposition of God toward the world in general. The forms of this general grace include the preservation of the world for the sake of the elect, the blessing of unbelievers in conjunction with the blessing of the elect, and, in fact, all good gifts from God that are bestowed upon humans in general, as well as the withholding of judgment and wrath for the purpose of executing His program of grace and mercy in the present age. Furthermore, because believers are raised on the basis of Christ’s resurrection, I also hold that unbelievers will be raised on the basis of Christ’s resurrection (see John 5:29; 11:25; and context). This is not a strange or novel idea. Calvin himself wrote in Institutes 3.25.9:

We know that in Adam we were deprived of the inheritance of the whole world, and that the same reason which excludes us from eating of the tree of life excludes us also from common food. How comes it, then, that God not only makes his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, but that, in regard to the uses of the present life, his inestimable liberality is constantly flowing forth in rich abundance? Hence we certainly perceive, that things which are proper to Christ and his members, abound to the wicked also; not that their possession is legitimate, but that they may thus be rendered more inexcusable. Thus the wicked often experience the beneficence of God, not in ordinary measures, but such as sometimes throw all the blessings of the godly into the shade, though they eventually lead to greater damnation. Should it be objected, that the resurrection is not properly compared to fading and earthly blessings, I again answer, that when the devils were first alienated from God, the fountain of life, they deserved to be utterly destroyed; yet, by the admirable counsel of God, an intermediate state was prepared, where without life they might live in death. It ought not to seem in any respect more absurd that there is to be an adventitious resurrection of the ungodly which will drag them against their will before the tribunal of Christ, whom they now refuse to receive as their master and teacher.

In short, Calvin said the blessings of God through Christ—intended for the elect—overflow in abundance and affect the wicked. However, because they are recipients of some blessings of Christ’s death, their failure to respond to God in worship and glory results in even greater guilt and condemnation.

I believe that from God’s perspective of actualized redemption, the scope and purpose of Christ’s death was limited to the elect. Yet from the perspective of his general love for humanity expressed by His general grace, and also from the theological perspective of the inexhaustible potential redemptive value of the God-man’s sacrificial death, I must confess that the benefits of Christ’s death can not be limited only to the elect.

Thus, I confess that Christ died for all. I also confess that Christ died only for the elect. This is neither a mystery nor a paradox. I believe in limited atonement when referring to God’s eternal perspective and purpose of salvation; and I believe in unlimited atonement when referring to the benefits bestowed on humanity in general in spite of their unbelief. These are real, intentional benefits of the atonement, but not intended for eternal salvation.

I’m generally irenic in my approach to theological dialogue, but I do not applaud artificial attempts at finding a via media at all costs, so I am not highly motivated by being labeled a “moderate.” It’s great to be “moderate” when being moderate is right, but if it’s simply a compromise for its own sake, I don’t find this commendable. So, in stating my current position on limited and unlimited atonement, the result has probably not been to satisfy both Calvinists and non-Calvinists simultaneously. Rather, I’ve probably just offended both. Of course, the latter effect was not my intention (I’m not a controversialist) . . . . but neither was the former.

A Few Thoughts on Origen-al Prayer

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Several weeks ago a friend of mine discussed his feelings toward the passing away of his wife’s grandmother. Besides the loss of a loved one, he especially lamented the loss of a strong believer who had prayed for his family every day for years. Yet when he said this, I immediately began to wonder whether the passing of that dear saint into the presence of the Lord was a loss or a gain. Are the souls of departed saints—once ushered into foyer of heaven—muzzled from intercessory prayer?

Without sounding like a proponent for the Roman Catholic or Eastern Orthodox “cult of the saints” (which I am not), let’s explore whether or not departed saints may, in fact, continue to pray together with the saints on earth for the spiritual blessings of the body of Christ and the accomplishment of God’s will “on earth as it is in heaven.” We do know that Christ, the God-man, intercedes for us (Romans 8:34). The Spirit, too, intercedes on our behalf (Romans 8:26–27). Yet the Son and Spirit—as members of the Triune Godhead—hear our prayers and know our circumstances and needs even better than we do ourselves.

In the book of Revelation we see an example of the souls of departed saints petitioning God relative to events on earth. The “souls of those who had been slain” under the heavenly altar in Revelation 6:9 cry out to God for His judgments to begin. And because the angel of judgment later gets his prayers from the same altar (Revelation 8:3), many commentators believe the answer to the prayer of the departed saints is found in Revelation 8:4–5, when God casts judgments on the earth.

Of course, there is no evidence that departed saints are aware of our lives on earth. And if they are, it is only by mediated knowledge, not by omniscient awareness. Contrary to popular folk-theology, human beings never cease to be finite beings. Only God is infinite; all creatures are finite. Thus, they will forever and always be subject to the creaturely limits of knowledge. (No, grandma’s probably not clucking her tongue at you every time you sin.)

So, to me, prayer to or through departed saints seems neither biblical or reasonable. The same can be said about living believers praying for the souls of departed saints—an idea that makes no sense biblically or theologically. Because we believe that redeemed humans are immediately with the Lord upon physical death, and because we believe a person’s eternal fate is determined here—not in a post-death state—then praying for the dead is pointless.

However, this does not answer the nagging question about the spirits of saints once on earth, but now in heaven, offering up prayers and intercession for the living saints on earth. This is not the same as praying to or for dead saints. It is a question of whether or not the church universal, spiritual, and invisible unites together in prayer for the will of God to be done.

In the third century, the renowned Christian scholar, Origen, wrote a treatise on prayer, dealing with such issues as prayer and providence, the proper attitude of prayer, the purpose of prayer, and so forth. In On Prayer 11.2, he wrote:

And as knowledge is revealed to the saints now through a glass in a dark manner, but then face to face, so it would be unreasonable not to employ the analogy for all the other virtues also, which if prepared already in this life will be perfected in the next. Now the one great virtue according to the Word of God is love of one’s neighbour. We must believe that the saints who have died have this love in a far greater degree towards them that are engaged in the combat of life, than those who are still subject to human weakness and are engaged in the combat along with their weaker brethren. The saying: If one member suffer any thing, all the members suffer with it; or if one member glory, all the members rejoice with it, does not apply only to those who here on earth love their brethren.

In short, Origen taught—with many in the early church—that the departed pastors and saints, many of which were martyred for the faith, continued to pray for the churches with an even greater love and clearer sense of God’s purpose and will. Though he cites a number of apocryphal texts to support his claim, his primary arguments for the prayers of the departed believers are drawn from biblical principles, reason, and a keen conviction that departed saints are conscious and active before God . . . and, yes, still active members of the universal church.

Personally, I see no inherent problem with Origen’s reasoning on this matter. It seems reasonable that when I pass on into the presence of God and await the full redemption of my body, that I would pray for God’s perfect will to continue to unfold on earth, that I would pray for those still living for whom I promised to pray in this life, and that I would pray these things with greater sincerity and greater perfection. If I were to die tonight, I suspect the Lord would have to personally stop me from praying for my wife, children, and friends left behind.

Yet what practical application would this conviction have for we who are alive? It would not imply that we pray to or through saints, that we petition them to intercede for us. I don’t see how this would be possible or beneficial. Even if it were possible for them to hear our prayers, how would this change the fact that our temporal prayers are just as imperfect and riddled with sinful motives and limited knowledge as those offered directly to the Father, through the Son, and in the power of the Spirit? And, by the way, even Origen, who believed the saints in heaven continued to pray for those on earth, taught that Christians should pray only to God the Father, through the Son (On Prayer 15–16).

But I see no good reason to biblically, reasonably, or theologically reject the idea that the grandmother of my friend’s wife continues to intercede for her loved ones still caught in the throes of the spiritual battlefield of this present darkness. She promised to pray for them everyday in this life. What would prevent her from keeping her promise in heaven?

However, because we have no example from Scripture, we are here asking questions it does not clearly answer. If we answer at all, we rely on biblical, theological, historical, and experiential reasoning, which seems to allow—but does not demand—that our loved ones in heaven may still be praying for us here on earth.

But how would you answer this question? Did my friend lose a prayer warrior with the passing of that faithful saint . . . or did he gain a prayer victor who could continue to offer up more perfect prayers before the very presence of God?

Or is the question too speculative and irrelevant to even ask and answer?

Calvinist Confusion?

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The September, 2006 cover of Christianity Today pictures a young adult in a tee shirt with an image of early American Congregationalist pastor, theologian, and evangelist, Jonathan Edwards. In a distinct, postmodern font, the shirt says, “Jonathan Edwards is my homeboy.” The cover of the magazine reads, “Young, Restless, Reformed. Calvinism is making a comeback—and shaking up the church.”

In my own life and ministry, I can confirm that Calvinism is making a comeback . . . as well as a renewed interest in theology and church history in general. The seeker-sensitive, mega-church trend of the 1970s, 80s, and 90s is, I believe, fading into its twilight. Younger generations of both believers and theologians are embracing an evangelical theology that taps into its historical roots and draws generously from the deep doctrinal wells of the community of faith—both past and present. The resurgence in Calvinism is part of this trend.

What, exactly, is Calvinism? What does it mean to be “Reformed”? Is it the same as Covenant theology? Is it a good thing or a bad thing? Does it matter?

The Road (Back) to the Reformation

When I was a high school student at a secular school, I learned only two things about John Calvin (1509–1564)—the father of Calvinist theology: 1) he believed people were predestined for hell, and 2) he burned Michael Servetus at the stake. When I became a Christian and attended Philadelphia College of Bible, I actually read Calvin (and Michael Servetus!) and I realized that he had been unfairly caricatured and demonized . . . even by Christians. And in one of my doctrine classes with Charles Ryrie I slowly became convinced of the key Calvinist doctrines. My own awakening into Calvinism was a gradual process of unlearning and relearning, coming to terms with what the Bible actually says (not what I wish it said) about issues like free will, sin and guilt, grace, faith, predestination, and all these major issues that distinguish Roman Catholic from Protestant theology. I began to believe that evangelical theology that rejected Calvinism was unwittingly stumbling into the murky swampland of medieval Roman Catholic salvation—the idea that we cooperate with God to be saved.

In the end, I embraced Calvinism as the best expression of the theology of the reformation and the most biblically-faithful explanation of the doctrine of salvation. So, in a large part, I am personally part of the resurgence of Calvinism that Christianity Today was describing. (But, no, Jonathan Edwards is not my homeboy.)

This often comes as a shock to those who, like me, were raised thinking that Calvinism violates free will, that it relieves Christians of the responsibility for missions, that it predestines people to hell, and that it requires you to believe in amillennialism, infant baptism, and allegorical interpretations of Scripture. None of these things are true, and foolish statements like these are best left unsaid. A professor at Philadelphia College of Bible convinced me that a person can hold to the Calvinist or “Reformed” doctrine of salvation while also embracing a Baptist view of the church and a premillennial, dispensational view of the end times. There have always been Calvinist Baptists, Calvinist Prebysterians, and Calvinist Congregationalists.

So, we need to realize that the recent upsurge in Calvinism is not a “take-over” by a hostile heresy or attack by dangerous doctrines. Both Dallas Seminary and my local church home, Scofield Memorial Church, have deep historical roots in American Calvinist theology. In fact, one could make a case that a rejection of Calvinism over the last several decades reflects a deviation from the original, rich theological soil of our Bible Church tradition.

Calvinism Clarified

So, what do Calvinists actually believe?

Through the centuries, Reformed theology has communicated its essential doctrines with five “points” summarized by the acrostic, “TULIP.” These are: Total depravity, Unconditional election, Limited atonement, Irresistible grace, and Perseverance of the saints.

Because of the fall, the human mind, emotions, and will are totally depraved—lost and unable to respond to God’s salvation without His quickening Spirit giving us the ability to believe (Romans 3:9–10; 8:7–8). If all human beings throughout history are lost and already condemned, and if God must act first to save anybody, then God must choose to save those who are saved (Acts 13:48; Romans 9; Ephesians 1:3–6). He thus elects those He will save unconditionally, not based on anything they have done or will do. Next, the controversial doctrine of limited atonement does not teach that Christ’s blood is insufficient to pay for all sins, but that in the purpose of God’s election, Christ died only for the eternal benefit of the Church (see Ephesians 5:25–27). Because God chose who will be saved, all of the elect will come to believe through the prayers and preaching of believers, and no non-elect will accidentally believe. God’s grace for those whose mind is illuminated is irresistible (John 6:44; 10:27; Acts 2:39; Romans 8:29–30). Finally, those that God elected, called, and saved by grace through faith can never lose their salvation. True saints will persevere in faith until the end and are therefore saved eternally (John 10:27–29; Romans 8:29–39; Ephesians 2:8–10).

This five-point doctrine of salvation represents the essence of “Calvinist” or “Reformed” theology. It also represents several distinguishing marks of Protestant versus Catholic views of salvation and taps into the roots of our own conservative, fundamentalist, and even dispensationalist heritage, regardless of the drifts and deviations of the past several generations.

Whether or not you agree with Reformed theology, in light of its recent revival and resurgence believers ought to at least be aware of what Calvinism really is—and is not. And, as always, we must consult the Scriptures before either embracing or dismissing current trends in theology.

Capturing and Caging Traditions

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Many corners of the twenty-first century church are drawing on traditional modes of worship, including the use of incense, candles, sacraments, images, creeds, and liturgical prayers. In this respect they’ve sometimes been accused of a “return to Catholicism.” But for most, they have simply gotten fed up with the overly-intellectual worship of evangelicalism. To some believers of my generation, the rigid propositional truths and daunting dogmatism seem to have suppressed authentic spirituality, a vibrant relationship with God, and dynamic, loving relationships with other believers. So, they want a genuine Christian faith free from an oppressive Tradition, but incorporating a variety of “traditions.” This means drawing on non-propositional narratives and symbols that often have an ancient pedigree.

But this is extremely difficult to do well. And to date, I’ve not seen it rise above the level of mediocre.

I find the buffet-style traditionalism characteristic of many new churches to be a little, well, silly . . . or at least juvenile. I have nothing against incense and candles. But picking and choosing which “traditions” from two thousand years of church history to use in today’s worship seems a little ridiculous if we detach them from the history, culture, and theology in which they originally developed. Some things just don’t fit. If I bought a high-end piece of antique furniture from an estate sale and placed it in my living room, it would look silly. In the same way, I’ve seen evangelicals try to incorporate ancient rites and rituals into their worship in ways that make me cringe.

Labyrinths, prayers of the saints, stations of the cross, and other practices associated with Roman Catholicism or eastern catholic mysticism enjoy a new audience among some Christians seeking a different type of spiritual devotion—a deep, authentic, meaningful Christian experience. But I see very little sense of theological coherence, a clear notion of what is central, how these things fit together, the stories they try to tell. Let’s set aside the whole question of epistemology and propositional truth for a moment. When Christians try to weave together premodern practices like these, they often apply very modernistic anthropocentric criteria of individual preference. However, the new drive for community authenticity is not much different than the by-gone quest for personal certainty: in the end my personal reason or emotions reign.

The result of harvesting “traditions” from church history is not much more appealing to me than the old-style zoo that zoological societies have tried to replace over the last several decades. Remember when we used to rip God’s creatures from their natural habitats and cram them into rows and rows of jail cells for spectators to “enjoy.” In many ways today’s rip-off of ancient traditions is worse. Some have gone on a “Bring ’Em Back Alive” safari, snared a handful of appealing practices from the jungles of church history, killed them, and now display them in their two-year-old churches like disparate plush toys spread over a toddler’s bed.

I like tradition. I like it a lot.

But I don’t like watching people mishandle it.

Please stop.