Who would have thought that a virus would make us reflect deeply on what it means to be the church? Yet COVID-19 has brought into sharp relief the basic divide in North American Christianity between those who think of the church as a voluntary association of like-minded individuals and those who believe it is the real body of Christ, into which we are incorporated. The emphasis on the individual in large swaths of contemporary culture results in an anemic ecclesiology, as the recent crisis makes clear.
John Williamson Nevin, one of the key representatives of German Reformed Mercersburg theology, sharply attacked the revivalism of his day, commenting in his 1849 article on “The Sect System”: “The sect mind . . . in proportion as it has come to be unchurchly and simply private and individual is always necessarily to the same extent unsacramental.”
Abraham Kuyper, the great Dutch Reformed theologian and statesman, observed in his 1898 Lectures on Calvinism that “Calvinism, by praising aloud liberty of conscience, has in principle abandoned every absolute characteristic of the visible Church.” He described it as “a liberty of conscience, which enables every man to serve God according to his own conviction and the dictates of his own heart.”
Baptist theologian Curtis Freeman, in his 2014 book Contesting Catholicity , similarly laments “soul competency”—the radical emphasis on individual conscience—which, beginning in the nineteenth century, has come to dominate Baptist theology.
Nevin, Kuyper, and Freeman all share the same concern about the inversion of the relationship between the church and the believer.
The Internet has been abuzz lately about virtual communion: Why not have the priest do his thing in front of the camera, while we partake by ourselves looking into the screen—with social distance serving as one of the few remaining ritual demands? Read the whole article
What follows is speculative theology. I do not claim that it is right, only that it is possibly right.
At the transfiguration, Jesus talked with Moses and Elijah. For in the Lord’s glory is revealed the invisible presence of his saints, who stand in his presence and with whom he converses. Furthermore, Jesus said, not to them but to us, “Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father” (Jn. 14:12), and we are called his body (1 Cor. 12:27). This leads to a theological principle: what Jesus does, we do in and through His doing it. If this principle is true, then we must say that we also stand atop Mt. Tabor conversing with the saints in Christ’s own voice, with and as Christ’s own tongue.
This, I argue, is the only way we can biblically understand colloquy with the saints. Any speech apart from the transfigured Christ is necromancy, for “whatever does not proceed from faith is sin” (Rm. 14:23) but “to the pure all things are pure” (Tit. 1:15).
This calls for a reimagining of the popular imagination of the intercession of the saints. We might well agree with Article 22 of the 39 Articles that some Romish medieval conceptions of the invocation of the saints are “a fond thing, vainly invented, and grounded upon no warranty of Scripture, but rather repugnant to the Word of God.” To many, the reason for calling upon the saints is because they serve as mediators unto God.1 But “there is only one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus” (1 Tim. 2:5). For in this conception, the saints are not mediators to Christ, but Christ is the mediator to the saints. As Bonhoeffer famously said in The Cost of Discipleship: “ [Jesus] is the Mediator, not only between God and man, but between man and man.”2 For it is only in and as the transfigured Christ that we can address the saints.
But what then of the practice of saintly intercession? Pleas for intercession and hymns of veneration are, after all, the two forms of speech permitted by Christian grammar between the holy living and the holy becoming. And indeed, proper veneration leads to pleas of intercession, if indeed the speech is mediated through Christ. For a saintly speech that stopped at veneration without intercession would either fail to return to the world of becoming, or else would turn intercession into direct petition and thus transform veneration into adoration, which is tantamount to divine hate-speech.
But how, we must ask, can we ask the saints for intercession through the lips of Christ, if indeed we do not consider them as mediators? Because Moses and Elijah, and all the faithful, ultimately do not stand outside of the Son, but are addressed through the Son because they too stand within Him in glory, as His transfigured body. When we ask the saints’ intercession, we are asking the intercession of the whole Christ. Our prayers are joined with the prayers of all the faithful people. For the realized solidarity between all of God’s people, whether on earth or in heaven, is the prayer of the Son (Jn. 17:21). Thus pleas for saintly intercession are, in fact, the partial answering of our very pleas, by nature of what Christian prayer genetically is. For all Christian prayer is Christian insofar as it harmonizes with the formula given by our Lord: “Our Father, who art in heaven…” . And, part of our Lord’s prayer is indeed that it would be “on earth as it is in heaven.” Thus every ora pro nobis, every plea for saintly intercession is a partial fulfillment of the telos of prayer itself: the restoration of the cosmos as God intends it to be and “through [Christ] to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross” (Col. 1:20)
And this, again, is why it is important that it is through the transfigured Christ that we pray. For in the transfiguration of Christ upon Mt. Tabor we see the first-fruits of the transfiguration of the world, where “God will be all in all.” It is through this first-fruits of transfiguration that we pursue the transfiguration of the entire earth by joining it to heaven—and this happens partly through the intercession of the saints.
1. See for instance Thomas Aquinas, Summa III. 26.1: http://www.newadvent.org/summa/4026.htm
2. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship: Anniversary Edition (London: SCM Press, 1959), 49.
I teach in a great books program at an Evangelical university. Almost all students in the program are born-and-bred Christians of the nondenominational variety. A number of them have been both thoroughly churched and educated through Christian schools or homeschooling curricula. Yet an overwhelming majority of these students do not believe in a bodily resurrection. While they trust in an afterlife of eternal bliss with God, most of them assume this will be disembodied bliss, in which the soul is finally free of its “meat suit” (a term they fondly use).
I first caught wind of this striking divergence from Christian orthodoxy in class last year, when we encountered Stoic visions of the afterlife. Cicero, for one, describes the body as a prison from which the immortal soul is mercifully freed upon death, whereas Seneca views the body as “nothing more or less than a fetter on my freedom,” one eventually “dissolved” when the soul is set loose. These conceptions were quite attractive to the students.
Resistance to the idea of a physical resurrection struck them as perfectly logical. “It doesn’t feel right to say there’s a human body in heaven, when the body is tied so closely to sin,” said one student. In all, fewer than ten of my forty students affirmed the orthodox teaching that we will ultimately have a body in our glorified, heavenly form. None of them realizes that these beliefs are unorthodox; this is not willful doctrinal error. This is an absence of knowledge about the foundational tenets of historical, creedal Christianity.
In a few short verses in Titus, St. Paul establishes the foundation for a good church. Though his commandments to Titus are not comprehensive, they do give us a crucial and fascinating insight into both the first century Church and into what Paul considered most important. The two most essential points may be summarized by saying that Paul believed and taught that the apostolic teaching and the apostolic ministry were utterly dependent on each other and that together they constituted the essence of the apostolic church.
It has often been said (because it is often true) that Catholics (by which I mean more than just Roman Catholics) tend to emphasize the church (apostolic ministry), while Protestants emphasize the gospel (or apostolic teaching.) What is interesting is that in three consecutive books of the Bible (1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, and Titus), the apostolic teaching of Paul is that the apostolic ministry, which means especially (but not only) the ordained clergy, is essential to teaching and guarding the apostolic teaching.
Contrary to some Protestants who think that the Bible or Word of God is sufficient in and of itself (in a distorted version of sola Scriptura ), Paul clearly believed that the ordained clergy and the institution of the Church was essential to the preservation of the Word of God. More than this, if we look carefully and honestly at what Paul says in these 3 books, we have to admit that having ordained clergy who are able to pastor and teach is actually an essential part of the very apostolic teaching we so cherish. To believe, as some do, that the Church is any collection of Christians who happen to get together, and that they have the right to determine what the Bible means by themselves, is very far removed from what Paul actually teaches.
This is clear not only from the general teaching of Paul in these books but also in verse 5 of Titus 1. Paul commands that one of the first things Titus must do if he is to set the churches in order is to ordain elders in every city, as he had previously commanded. This is exactly what we find the early church doing in Acts 14:23 – appointing elders in every church. Because Titus clearly had oversight of more than one church, he is often seen as one of the first bishops, not merely in the sense of being an overseer or elder but also in the sense of being a pastor to pastors. Paul’s letters to Timothy and Titus are his last letters, at a time when the shape of the apostolic church had taken a more definite shape. We also know from other sources that by the end of the first century bishops as a separate office existed and soon became universal.
Why does Paul consider the apostolic ministry of the ordained clergy so highly? Because these men are the heirs of the apostles themselves. To them especially has been entrusted the things of God (verse 7 – they are stewards of God), and they are the ones who have special authority to teach the apostolic teaching.
There is also a special urgency to Paul’s letters to Timothy and Titus. He knows that he will soon die and no longer be able to carry out his apostolic ministry. What is most on his mind? Again, that the apostolic teaching be preserved by ordaining blameless elders. How can he be sure that his apostolic teaching will be faithfully transmitted to the next generation and to the new churches? By ordaining apostolic ministers who have the same authority that the apostles had to guard the faith, and to teach the truth.
Though Paul knows that God is faithful to His promises and cannot lie (verse 2), Paul recognizes that he is one of God’s elect ministers (verse 1) to whom the gospel has been entrusted. He must now entrust to faithful men (1 Timothy 2:1) what Jesus Christ entrusted to him.
It is precisely because of the high regard Paul has for God’s inspired Word that he also highly regards the office of elder and commands such high standards for such leaders. Once again, the apostolic teaching must be guarded by apostolic ministers.
What does all of this have to do with you? Simply this. If you want to be faithful in reading God’s Word and understanding its teaching, then you need to be submitted to those to whom the apostolic ministry has been entrusted. I’m not talking about turning off your mind and slavishly accepting everything anyone calling himself a pastor says.
God forbid!
Anyone who knows me or who has heard me preach knows that I am constantly saying that “all members are ministers.” Every baptized Christian has been anointed to be a minister in God’s kingdom, and therefore we all have a part in guarding the Word in our lives.
But I do mean that if we say we take the Word of God seriously, then we need to be humble before it, including the parts that teach that the Word of God has been especially entrusted to the ordained clergy. Even the teachers and pastors of the church must be submitted not only to what the Bible teaches but had better be submitted to the larger Church and what the Church has always taught.
I encourage you, then, to consider the way you read and understand the Bible. While it is entirely appropriate to take what Paul commands Timothy and apply it to our own lives, so that we cherish the Word of God and guard it with our lives, we need to make sure we are reading it, meditating on it, and living by it in the context of the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.
This will require that some of you are willing to read what other Christian teachers have taught over the last 2000 years, and not just what has been written recently or from the point of view of one church or denomination.
It will require that we read the Bible together , as God’s people.
I feel privileged to be able to share the Word of God with each of you every day. How cool would it be if it were possible for a church to gather together to read the same Scripture every day and meet to discuss it and pray over it? I know that some of you as couples are already reading and praying together over God’s Word: what a godly example you are to us!
Prayer: Father, thank You for giving us the words of life and for providing for the teaching and guarding of Your Holy Word by those whom You have appointed as elders. Create in me a heart to seek You through Your Word each day, and give me a humble and teachable spirit that I might better hear and obey You.
Point for Meditation:
Reflect on your growth in understanding the Word of God. What people or tools have been especially helpful in nurturing your better understanding and application? In what ways may God be calling you to refresh your love and understanding of God’s Word. What means of better hearing and obeying His Word has He given you that have been left unused?
Resolution: I resolve to consider how I may minister at my local church to support the ministry of the Word.
Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/giveusthisday/monday-of-trinity-22-titus-1/#Tlt6s6usX2zLUUse.99
An Ash Wednesday Reflection from SC Bishop Mark Lawrence
The famous radio personality and early pioneer of television, Arthur Godfrey, grew up in an era very different from today. It was a time when a boy could wander down to the blacksmith shop on a lazy afternoon and watch the smithy work at his anvil and forge. It was a favorite past time of the young Godfrey. Sometimes he would watch the blacksmith sorting the scrap metal. The man would pick up a piece of metal from a holding bin, turn it this way and that in his large hands, then either toss it into the fire to be softened and hammered into some useful tool, or thrown into a junk heap to be discarded. From this experience Arthur forged a simple prayer which he used all his life. Whenever seized by his own sense of sin or some personal moral failure he would pray—“The fire, Lord, not the junk-heap.” It is a prayer that captures two essential dimensions of Ash Wednesday and Lent— a prayer for pardon and a prayer for purity.
Let’s take pardon first.
“Two men” said Jesus “went up to the Temple to pray, the one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.” So begins a parable appointed to be read in the daily office for Ash Wednesday—Luke 18:9-14. At first blush it seems quite simple. Most of us have heard it before; but if you read it again and again with the purpose of explaining it to others you may find, as I often have, it is a most disconcerting parable. This is not two men just happening to drop by the synagogue or church around the same time to pray about a problem in their lives. This is going up to the Temple for the evening sacrifice—the place of atonement.
The Pharisee prays “standing by himself;” the Tax Collector prays “standing far off.”
The Pharisee is definitely thinking about himself, his spiritual journey, how he’s doing (a very good practice after all)—and he rightly evaluates as he thinks of others, “There but for the grace of God go I.” That is he is thankful he is not guilty of the sins of so many others—and for a moment God is addressed. Yet, then a dangerous movement takes place. His focus shifts. Rather than continuing to look up to God his eyes look downward not merely upon the behavior of others but toward actual people— “even this tax-collector.”
Most of us know this long gaze cast at the other’s sin from the vantage point of our successes—however we may measure success or spiritual maturity—Bible reading, prayer, helping others, generosity, volunteerism, recycling, tolerance towards others beliefs, etc…. But suddenly with this gaze we find ourselves standing with the Pharisee and our spiritual or inner life like his turns sour.
This Pharisee despite all his religious striving (after all he fasts twice a week and gives 10% of his income—what priest would not want him in his congregation?) hasn’t an ounce of humility. Certainly he has a moral conscience. It tells him “do this, don’t do that; this is right, this is wrong.” But it seems to focus only on his behavior not towards his heart. His conscience is like a plow that only scrapes along the surface of his soul. Its blade has not dug deep enough to break up the hard ground of his self-righteousness. He is a man who has forgotten his need for forgiveness; he seeks no communion with the Unseen because his eyes have grown weary with what they have seen; he has no desire to be something better because he is weary with what he is. His is a religion that keeps him tied to surface needs. If there has ever been a time he felt the lamb of the evening sacrifice was being slaughtered and cut for him—its blood spilled for his sin—it has long since been forgotten. Just a little sprinkling of incense upon the coals of a side altar is sufficient for his insignificant trespasses….
His is the sort of religion found in many places today that allows a man to keep his self-righteousness — or a woman to keep her superiority over others – intact. And that my friends is too often my problem too—so, frankly, giving up chocolate, or meat or even an evening cocktail just doesn’t allow the blade of God’s plow to dig a deep enough furrow for true repentance or to receive through faith the needed forgiveness that yields a corresponding love for God and others. (Luke 7:40-50)
The tax collector’s prayer in contrast is disarming: “God, be merciful to me a sinner!” He doesn’t look or ask for some divine process within his soul to make him right in the sight of God; he doesn’t even ask for God to make a right spirit within him; rather he looks only toward an act of God given on his behalf. Yet this is the prayer that receives the sentence of justification pronounced by the One—who on the cross became the Lamb of the Sacrifice—who is himself both Priest and Victim. Jesus declared it was the Tax-collector, not the Pharisee who went home with his life right in the sight of God. Martin Luther once counseled a troubled believer after his conscience had been convicted and forgiveness proclaimed, “You should not believe your conscience and your feelings more than the word which the Lord preaches to you…. This is the real strength to trust God when all your senses and reason speak otherwise; and to have greater confidence in Him than how you feel.”
And so here’s a good prayer for Ash Wednesday as we begin another Lenten season:
“God be merciful to me a sinner!”
So, then, what about Purity?
Is this not also a theme of Ash Wednesday? Well, yes, and here too a text of Holy Scripture emerges from the day’s assigned liturgy: Psalm 51. This psalm which David prayed after Nathan preached the word that harrowed the king’s conscience and brought him to his knees was not a prayer that asked for pardon alone; the sense of pardon also brought a yearning for purity:
His pardoned and penitent heart seeks God’s grace for holiness, purity and transformation; for that which he does not have in himself, cannot give himself, and certainly does not deserve for himself.
The relationship in our lives between the prayer for pardon and the prayer for purity is akin to the relationship between justification and sanctification. As the theologian, Donald Bloesch notes succinctly: “Justification confers a new status whereas sanctification instills in man a new character.”
Ash Wednesday and Lent puts us in mind of our need for each.
While affirming the priority of the prayer for pardon (the tax collector’s prayer that looks to Christ’s justifying work on the cross); so also there is a place for the prayer for purity (the prayer of David for the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit in our lives).
Both movements are found in Arthur Godfrey's profound but simple prayer, "The fire, Lord, not the junk heap."