If God counts children as members of the covenant community who are to receive this sign and seal of his covenant, then those who neglect covenantal baptism prevent covenant children from receiving one of God’s chief means of grace for their lives and the life of the church. These practical and theological implications are why the “discussion” about baptism is not idle theological discourse.

Baptism. Need I say more? Too often, it is best known as the church family “celebration” that causes conflict. This sacrament seems to be fertile soil for debate, disagreement, ridicule, and even mocking among fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. Yet baptism lies at the very heart of the charge that our Lord and Savior gave to the church in the Great Commission of Matthew 28:18–20, and it represents, as we shall see in these pages, the core of the Christian faith—the gospel. When we approach it as a source of conflict and controversy, we miss the blessing that is attached to this sacrament, as well, and the kind- ness God has shown his people—the family of Christ— by gifting it to them. I hope that this book, beyond anything else, will show you this blessing and kindness.
I take it for granted that if you are reading this book, you have some interest in the doctrine of baptism. That is good. That is right. Maybe you are a parent who is wrestling with whether you should baptize your child (or children). Maybe you are new to the Reformed tradition or wrestling anew with what you believe about baptism. Maybe you are a pastor attempting to articulate covenantal baptism more clearly, or a teenager wondering whether you should be “rebaptized” at the urging of friends, or a Christian parent wondering whether your wandering child’s previous baptism means anything for him or her now. Maybe you are simply looking for a quick refresher on the reasons for and blessings of covenantal baptism. This book is written for you.
But before we enter the discussion on baptism, I ask you to make a commitment with me. John Rabbi Duncan, a Scottish Presbyterian from a former generation, once said, “I’m first a Christian, next a Catholic,1 then a Calvinist, fourth a Paedobaptist,2 and [finally] a Presbyterian.”3 He places the right things in the right order. Before you read further, commit with me in the tenor of Duncan’s confession above, first, that you are a Christian; second, that you identify as a member of the universal church; and that everything else follows in importance.
We need to remain careful not to make too much of baptism on the one hand but neither to dismiss it with a nonchalant attitude on the other. Baptism is truly a “secondary doctrine.” Yet it is a significant doctrine. Our beliefs regarding baptism inform our parenting, our expectations of our covenant children, and even what church we attend and join. And, since blessings are attached to this sacrament (as we shall see), we desire those blessings to be received by all who are able. Most of all, because baptism is a foundational part of the Christian faith, our view of it should be well-informed and biblical.
If those who practice covenantal baptism4 by baptizing their children do so in contradiction to God’s Word, then they put words (and especially promises) in the mouth of God that are untrue. And yet, if God counts children as members of the covenant community who are to receive this sign and seal of his covenant, then those who neglect covenantal baptism prevent covenant children from receiving one of God’s chief means of grace for their lives and the life of the church. These practical and theological implications are why the “discussion” about baptism is not idle theological discourse.
This is an excerpt from the introduction to Jason Helopoulos’ book, “Covenantal Baptism,” part of the Blessings of the Faith series. Pick up a copy of, “Covenantal Baptism” for more information on this often-debated doctrine. Used with permission.

As for the pulpit in particular- it is big, central, and strong, for a reason. It is meant to promote the preaching of God’s inspired, inerrant, sufficient, and authoritative Word as the central activity of the Church. The pulpit is bigger than the preacher. The pulpit requires the person who brings the Word to stand up and step into it. It demands the preacher consider the solemnity of the role he is exercising when preaching the Word, leading the congregation in prayer, or otherwise leading elements of the worship liturgy.

We had the opportunity to build a new sanctuary fifteen years ago and we opted for an Old School style complete with wooden pews, kneelers, choir in the back, digital pipe organ and a big central pulpit. This post is not trying to convince anyone they should do what we did, but rather to offer an explanation for those who wonder and even an encouragement for those who worship in older buildings that have a similar set up. The various features of our church architecture and layout are based on things we see as biblically important. Our building looks a certain way for a specific reason. Our choice of furnishings and the particular layout of the pulpit, baptismal, and communion table are purposeful.
It is not that other types of church buildings or layouts are unbiblical or wrong. For example, it seems the big, central, wooden pulpit is often rare in newer church buildings. Many modern churches opt for a large stage for a worship band and a portable stool or chair in front of a Plexiglas lectern for their casually dressed pastor to sit and teach or “talk with” his congregation. I do something similar on Sunday nights and in other teaching venues. Certainly, the Word of God can be taught or preached in different set ups. Jesus taught in various settings throughout his ministry, as did the Apostle Paul. The Bible doesn’t prescribe the arrangement of furniture in a church worship setting.
The pastor, sitting with small Plexiglas lectern on Sunday morning, definitely communicates casual, informal, personal interaction. It seems such a setup is intended to make the pastor come across as non-threatening, even a bit less authoritative. The pastor in that posture is about to have a conversation or fireside chat with his family and friends, it would seem. I suspect this approach might be a reaction to the yelling, pulpit-pounding, white-suit wearing, hanky in one hand, fire and brimstone preacher. The stool and lectern approach is meant to put people at ease as they listen to a “message” from the Bible. The pastor’s choice of casual dress while teaching or preaching Sunday morning tells the congregation- “Hey, I’m one of you! Let me tell you what I’ve learned this week.” I think much of the trend toward a casual set up for teaching and preaching Sunday morning has come from current generational pressure. Millennials and Gen Zs are characterized as being skeptical or dismissive of authority. The traditional big, central pulpit with the pastor wearing a suit or robe is a bit offsetting to a generation that doesn’t acknowledge levels of authority readily.
Let’s be honest-whatever your set up, something is being communicated.  Our intention is to communicate importance and authority by the chancel arrangement we have. The most important activities of the church are signified by the furnishings we have the pulpit, the baptismal, and the communion table. The ministry of Christ’s church is the ministry of the Word and Sacrament. Our furnishings are meant to make a statement about the priorities of the church.
As for the pulpit in particular- it is big, central, and strong, for a reason. It is meant to promote the preaching of God’s inspired, inerrant, sufficient, and authoritative Word as the central activity of the Church. The pulpit is bigger than the preacher. The pulpit requires the person who brings the Word to stand up and step into it. It demands the preacher consider the solemnity of the role he is exercising when preaching the Word, leading the congregation in prayer, or otherwise leading elements of the worship liturgy. Yes, the big, central pulpit is meant to exude authority-the authority of the preached Word primarily. This authority is not based on the preacher, but on the Word that is preached. In our church, the pastors wear robes so the congregation’s attention is not on his clothes, but rather the role he is filling for that hour. Some will say, The robe distracts me…it reminds me of when I was Catholic.”  Possibly. But I am guessing a good number might say, “Skinny jeans on Gen Xers, untucked shirts, and preachers in sneakers are distracting too”. The pulpit manned by a minister in a robe communicates reverence and authority. But this article is not really making a case for robe-wearing, so forgive the rabbit trail!
Back to the big central pulpit set up. Preaching is proclaiming the word of truth and exhorting the congregation to believe and obey. The pastor is commanded to “preach the Word” (2 Timothy 4:2) as part of his essential shepherding duties and the central pulpit arrangement can serve to encourage this practice. The central pulpit set up is a reminder to the pastor and the people about God’s authoritative Word. There is a sense in which pastors come and go, but the big, solid pulpit from which the Word is preached, will remain for generations. A preacher “filling the pulpit” is a great way to describe what a faithful pastor should be doing. He should know what the pulpit is meant for (preaching the Word) and do the task. In other words, many important messages can be relayed by architecture and setup.
To be clear, I would rather go to a church that has a modern set up with the stool and Plexiglass lectern where the pastor believes and preaches the Bible faithfully than a church with a traditionally arranged big, central pulpit, but the pastor does not believe or faithfully teach the Bible. The essential priority for a biblical, healthy church, is a right view and teaching of the Bible, which can be done with no pulpit at all. My purpose here is to offer explanation for a big central pulpit set up like ours and possibly provide some ideas to share with your church members if you have a similar arrangement.
Dr. Tony Felich is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America and serves as the Pastor of Redeemer PCA in Overland Park, Kansas.

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The deep irony of DiAngelo’s work is that she demands exquisite sensitivity from everyone in all social interactions, but her own gross insensitivity is displayed on virtually every page.

For many people, 2020 was a nightmare that refused to end. For Robin DiAngelo, it was a very good year. In the aftermath of the George Floyd riots, her book White Fragility, surged to the top of the bestseller list. It sold more than 100,000 copies, making her a wealthy woman. This summer, DiAngelo released her newest work, Nice Racism. The most interesting feature of this book can be summarized in three words: It didn’t sell.
On the face of it, there is nothing extraordinary in the collapse of a mediocre book. Bad books drop from the printing press into obscurity every day. Normally, though, the author’s previous work is not still listed by the New York Times. How did DiAngelo’s bright moment pass so quickly? What does this mean for the ongoing debate over Critical Race Theory?
DiAngelo’s work has already received intense criticism from writers across the political spectrum. They found it condescending, hypocritical, or just racist. These charges are probably fair, though it can be difficult to judge, because DiAngelo’s meandering narrative does not readily cohere into a cohesive argument. To a certain extent, this is probably intentional. DiAngelo (under the influence of deconstructionists like Michael Foucault) has a fraught relationship with rational discourse, which she tends to see as an instrument of oppression. She describes herself as an expert in “discourse analysis,” which in her own words is, “a method for identifying how language positions speakers in relation to social others in recognition that language is sociopolitical, not simply a neutral transmitter of a person’s core ideas or self.”
The goal of discourse analysis, in other words, is to look past the truth claims that people make, and instead assess tone, terminology, and the broader social and political context. Who speaks the most, and with whom do they agree or disagree? How do people’s claims and arguments reflect and affect their own social status, and that of their interlocutors?
Within reasonable limits, this sort of analysis can sometimes yield helpful insights. Nearly everyone has the occasional Foucauldian moment, when they notice the nefarious potentialities of narrative. For DiAngelo though, “discourse analysis” seems to have swamped all other forms. She isn’t really in the business of making arguments, or responding to other people’s. On one level, Nice Racism is clearly a follow-up to White Fragility, which was one of the most hotly discussed (and heavily critiqued) books of 2020. But DiAngelo offers almost nothing by way of direct rebuttals, or responses of any kind to identifiable public writers. A few stray paragraphs are devoted to a flyby dismissal of John McWhorter, one of her most eloquent critics, but for the most part she devotes page after weary page to shadow-boxing anonymous detractors, whom we meet through DiAngelo’s anecdotes. She seems to find ignorant, insensitive people around every corner: on airplanes, in taxi rides, and of course, in the diversity seminars that she facilitates for a living. Unsurprisingly, these faceless interlocutors are easily vanquished. One hardly needs reasoned discourse to defeat such opponents.
An Insensitive Subject
As a reviewer, it is difficult to know what to say about such a book. Even when I disagree intensely with a book’s content, I normally try to do the author the courtesy of engaging his argument directly. This book, though, just doesn’t quite rise to the level of argument. Beyond that, the author herself seems to have objections to reasoned discourse. Also, there is the issue of redundancy. I could repeat the critiques of McWhorter, Jonathan Haidt, and others who have already written articulate responses to DiAngelo’s views. Since they remain on the table unanswered, this doesn’t feel particularly worthwhile. It really is not possible to advance the dialectic, because that isn’t a game that DiAngelo plays.
With no argument worthy of the name, readers may find themselves looking back at the author herself. By the end of the book, I was indeed overwhelmed with both pity and revulsion for this wretched-seeming woman. Everywhere she goes, people seem to be shouting, crying, or storming away in disgust. The problem is not limited to her fellow whites! DiAngelo also tells stories about offending or alienating BIPOC friends and associates. One cannot but notice that there is a common denominator across all of these unhappy anecdotes. It’s not white fragility.
The deep irony of DiAngelo’s work is that she demands exquisite sensitivity from everyone in all social interactions, but her own gross insensitivity is displayed on virtually every page. She brags constantly about her “expertise” and deep insight, but this façade falls immediately whenever she starts talking about real human beings. She is astonishingly deaf to the nuances of human relationships and human feeling. She cannot understand the complexities of human motivation. A writer like Chris Arnade brings unseen people to life before our eyes; she seems to reduce everyone to a cardboard cutout. She shows no interest in understanding or learning from the people she encounters, or even in finding more effective ways to persuade them. It’s easy to understand why she is constantly offending people. Her entire perspective on the world just feels bleak and dehumanizing.
Examples are legion, but I will content myself with one. In one chapter, DiAngelo rails against white women who speak in her seminars about their marriages to black men. This, in her view, is extremely insensitive. “There is a long and painful history,” she sniffs, “surrounding white women in relationship to Black men.”
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