In 1993, I published a book titled Modern Fascism: Liquidating the Judeo-Christian Worldview.1 In it, I showed that the various fascist movements in Europe of the 1930s and 1940s were facets of the modernist movement, particularly, the branch of that movement that morphed into postmodernism. I also showed that the intellectual establishment of the 1990s, as represented in the academia of the time, was still holding to the ideas of the intellectual establishment of the 1930s that gave us Adolf Hitler, the Holocaust, and World War II, as if those catastrophes had never happened. But, as I wrote,
My concern is not so much with the current intellectual scene as it is with what might come next. What will the “post-contemporary” movement look like, once the postmodernists have successfully discredited objectivity, freedom, and morality? What sort of society will be erected on the rubble, once the Western tradition is deconstructed?2
“What might come next”? Well, Tabletalk has asked me to revisit my book to see how it stands up nearly three decades later. Reading it again after all these years was an unsettling experience. Much of what I predicted and warned against has come true. And even when I was wrong, I was wrong in underestimating the magnitude of the fascist revival.
As an undergraduate, I took a history seminar on early-twentieth-century Europe in which we studied the rise of fascism, which, to my surprise, was actually an avant-garde form of socialism involving some of the most distinguished thinkers and artists of the day. Then, as a graduate student in literature at a time when deconstruction and postmodern were in vogue, I observed the carefully controlled fallout over Victor Farias’ Heidegger and Nazism, which showed that the godfather of postmodernism, the twentieth-century philosopher Martin Heidegger, was not only a committed Nazi who presided over the purge of Jews in his university but a member of that party’s most radical faction. The same rationalizations accompanied the publication of Wartime Journalism: 1939–1943 by Paul De Man, which showed that the author, one of the fathers of deconstruction in literature, honed his ideas in writings published in Nazi publications in occupied Belgium.
As I started my career in Christian academia, I kept coming across related facts. I read an article by Raymond Surburg in Concordia Theological Quarterly about two important pioneers of the historical-critical approach to the Bible that demonstrated how their attacks on the Old Testament were motivated by their open anti-Semitism and by their desire to purge Christianity of its “Jewish” elements and thus the influence of the Bible. One of my colleagues, William Houser, a communications professor, discussed with me the contrast between Hitler’s ideal of “the triumph of the will,” captured in Leni Riefenstahl’s artistically acclaimed propaganda film of that name, and Luther’s “bondage of the will.” I also read the critique of Christianity and its ethic of love by Friedrich Nietzsche, the nineteenth-century philosopher venerated both by the S.S. concentration camp guards and many of my graduate school professors.
I wanted to connect the dots. Concordia Publishing House had started a monograph series and asked me to contribute something. After much research wherein I found that the connections I was making were fully supported by specialists in the field, I wrote Modern Fascism. That was not my choice for the title, which makes it sound like a book on contemporary political cults. Its subtitle captures my thesis: Fascism was all about “liquidating” the “Jewish elements” in Western civilization—that is to say, the influence of the Bible, specifically transcendent morality, objective truth, the value of the individual, etc.—in favor of reviving a neopagan worldview of power, constructivism, and collectivism.

All proclamations of God’s word in our context should contain within them a gospel call, freely offered to all present in that place. We are never to be under the assumption that every person in the hall that day knows the Lord Jesus Christ as their Savior, even, or maybe especially, if it is the officers, elders and ministers, of His Church. An ARP Church must be a gospel, fire-breathing, house of hope for sinners. Not a lecture center of Reformed theology, but a place where men and women can come with the assurance that they will hear, with no strings-attached, the free offer of life eternal found alone in the Redeemer.

For the next couple of months in this space where we have been taking some time to consider ways to help our prayer and worship life we are going to begin a spring series thinking through some of the unique things that were, and still should be, the identifying markers of the Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church. I am ARP on purpose. I am an ARP minister for the same reason I am not a Baptist, Methodist, or Lutheran, because I believe that the warp and woof of the heart of the ARP, found in its history and confessions is the most Biblical form of the Church found on this side of Heaven. I also am firmly convicted that you should be ARP as well. If I didn’t believe that I’m not rightly sure I could keep my vows. Pragmatism or its dastardly cousin, convenience, have no place really in my soul or when it comes to what I’ve been called to do, nor should it in your heart. That may seem rude, but it is not.
To fulfill that mandate I will give y’all some history and background, quotes from ARP men, either Scottish Seceders, or American-born ministers from our denominational past and explain more about whatever subject is on tap for that week. We’ll take a look at matters like how the gospel is preached, how we understand the biblical covenants and their relation to life today, and the manner in which Presbyterianism is practiced. I hope you find the time we spend on this helpful. The goal here is also to help people within and outside the ARP know more about why we are and who we are.
It makes sense that to start this we need to begin with what is most important, and that is the gospel. Christ dead for sinners, raising them from the spiritual darkness, washing them in His blood, forgiving their trespasses, and making them new creatures in the restored light of Jesus’s countenance. That’s the main message our Lord gave to His infant bride in Matthew 28.
To begin let’s consider first what it is we mean when we say that in the ARP we believe in the “free offer of the gospel”. One of the earliest charges against Ebenezer Erskine and others rallying at Gairney Bridge was that they were being fundamentally “Arminian” in the way they presented the good news of Jesus to the lost.
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[God’s] got you now, present tense. But he’s got you in the future too. He will keep you from evil. He will keep your life. He will keep your going out and coming in not just now but into eternity. It’s not just a promise for this life but for all time. God has promised good to his people throughout eternity.

We’ve been looking at psalms of courage this summer, and we’re finally at the end. We’re also at one of my favorite psalms of all.
The question is: where will you turn for help when life gets hard?
This is a question that’s highly relevant to some of you, because you need help, and you need it yesterday. You have bills you can’t pay, problems you can’t solve, relationships that need help. There’s a group of us here that are at the end of our resources, and we know we need help, and we’re not afraid to admit it. When I ask you where you turn for help, you’re not really surprised. You know you need to turn somewhere.
There’s a whole other group here, though, that is going to be surprised by this question. Most of us go through life not knowing that we need help. Even if we did, we’re like the proverbial guy that won’t stop for directions. We may know we need help, but we’re not prepared to admit it to anyone else. When I ask you where you turn for help, you’re a little bit surprised.
But the truth is, we all need help. And the psalmist asks: where will you turn for the help you need?
Thousands of years ago, this question was asked on a fairly regular basis. Psalm 121 is one of the Songs of Ascent. These are songs of pilgrims who sang them during their journey to Jerusalem for one of the three yearly festivals. They’re songs that are meant to help God’s people as they travel to worship.
The trip was sometimes dangerous. You had to walk or ride for miles. There were no real roads—those came later—but just well-worn paths across the valleys.
God had told them to go—to come where his presence was (1 Kings 8:10–11)—but the road was dangerous and uncertain.
Along the road, the people met threats above and threats below, most of which they could not see or predict. They were fully exposed to scorching heat and volatile weather. Robbers hid in the caves and hills, knowing exactly when to expect their victims. The people knew they had to go, but they did not know if they would all make it. Surely, some didn’t. So, they felt fragile, vulnerable, unsafe.Marshall Segal
Jesus himself would have taken this trip many times. This is a song for rough roads, both back then on the way to Jerusalem, and for us as well.
The Question and Answer
And the psalm begins with a question that the psalmist asks of himself.
I lift up my eyes to the hills.From where does my help come?
It’s possible that the speaker is looking to the hills in fear, scared of robbers who might be lurking there. But the term “lift up my eyes” is generally a positive one, as shown in Psalm 123: “To you I lift up my eyes, O you who are enthroned in the heavens!” So it’s possible that the pilgrim is approaching Jerusalem. And he asks himself the question as he gets closer: where does my help come from?
This is an important question for all of us to answer. Where does your help come from? Where do you get the help you need as you travel on dangerous paths on the way to your eternal home?
We need to do an honesty check here. I recently read a quote that really got me. Family therapist Jay Haley famously told his clients, “I don’t address problems; I address attempted solutions.” What are the attempted solutions that you turn to for help? What friends and coping mechanisms and strategies help you when you experience danger or trouble or need help?
I want you to think about this. How would you answer the question, “From where does my help come from?” The answer really matters.
The truth is, when we get into trouble, our first response is not usually to turn to God for help. We have all kinds of other places we turn for the help we need. Where will you turn when your life falls apart, or you feel discouraged or despondent, or you face a problem you just can’t solve on your own?
Here’s how the psalmist answered: “My help comes from the LORD.” That is a good answer! But what I love about the psalm is that he doesn’t stop there. This psalm is a meditation on why the Lord is so qualified to be the source of the help that we need. He doesn’t just give us the answer; he gives us the reasons why it’s good to turn to God for help.
It’s important we learn the answer. Where does our help come from? The Lord. Jesus is the helper of his people now and for eternity.
But it’s also good to learn the reasons for the answer. And the psalmist gives us three.
The Reasons
Why does our help come from the Lord? Because the Lord is a good helper for three reasons:
He is a good helper because he is the Creator.
Verse 2 says:
My help comes from the LORD,who made heaven and earth.
What qualifies the LORD to be our helper? He is the maker of heaven and earth. He is the Creator, and that makes him uniquely qualified to help us.
The Lord is not some tribal deity. He’s not just some minor god with limited power. Think about who God is.
As far as we know, the observable universe is some 90 billion light years wide, but we don’t even know. The Milky Way Galaxy alone has some 100 billion to 400 billion stars. God created all of it. How powerful is the Lord? We can’t even comprehend his power. He is very qualified to help you.
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