American Religions, Christian and Civil
We are informed by an ancient fable that Ixion was invited by Jupiter to a banquet, fell in love, and began to court Juno herself; offering to embrace her, he clasped a cloud, from whence the Centaurs proceeded, by nature half men, half horses, a fierce, a fighting, and unquiet generation, the source of all contention and bloodshed…
—Thomas Hobbes, De Cive (1641)
Born into one world, yet longing to live in another, man stumbles as he jumps, then settles in awkwardly between the two worlds, a discontented and dangerous halfway creature. Therein lies his ruin. To what examples might we allude for confirmation?
Anticipating the catastrophe of the English Civil War, Hobbes (see above) proposed that its cause would lay in man’s inability to accept that justice exceeds mortal grasp. Man cannot jump that high. Purporting nevertheless to be able to achieve a Divine vantage point on the matter, English citizens would give birth to monstrous ideas about justice. Monstrous crimes followed.
Consider Plato’s Republic. Positioned halfway between darkness and light, man dwells in a cave-like world, amidst shadows, neither quite alive nor dead, neither ignorant nor knowledgeable, swayed by the half-truth of opinion. Misunderstanding where real substance lies, he seeks instead to possess all things among the shadows and, so, succumbs to tyranny. Thrasymachus is everyman.
Consider Tocqueville’s Democracy in America. Dwelling halfway between the aristocratic age and the democratic age, man alternates between looking back longingly with the hope of reenchanting the world; and looking forward, with revolutionary rage, to abolishing the past and the present altogether. Here are the conservatives and the radicals, at war with each other, but alike in their inability to live without thorough-going parsimony, as a good liberal must be able to do.
Consider Nietzsche, in his assorted writings on the genealogy and fate of Europe. Claiming to have overcome Christian religion via the Enlightenment, European man nevertheless remains halfway Christian, adhering to Christian moral claims about equality, though now dissevered from Christian religion. “It is the church, and not its poison, that offends us,” European man declares. Unable to fully destroy the Old Tablets, so that new ones may be written, European man is suffocating from the Christianity he thinks he has renounced. Ensnared halfway between a Christian past to which he cannot return and a truly post-Christian future he dares not embrace, European man has no basis for believing anything and, so, he “feeds parasitically on every civilization under the sun,” in a multicultural orgy that masks a hunger he cannot sate.
What shall we make of civil religion? Is it, too, a tempting halfway measure, alternatingly dangerous and impotent, “operating in a realm distinct from both church and state, though borrowing from both,” as Richard Gamble writes in this fine essay about civil religion as it was crafted by Robert Bellah? Many of us know of Robert Bellah the sociologist, who is his classic work, The Habits of the Heart, carved out a halfway position between Weber and Tocqueville, declaring at one moment that the world has succumbed to the instrumental rationality of the former, and at the next moment that only the civic institutions defended by latter can save us. Gamble’s fine-grained account of Bellah, an advocate of American civil religion in the late twentieth century, is a welcome point of departure for us to re-engage a question that has loomed over America since she has come to occupy a halfway position that is neither fully Christian nor quite post-Christian.
This haunting question is, for us today, more than merely scholarly. The political left increasingly has both Christian ideas and the churches that profess them in its figurative gun sights; and in the wake of the near collapse, on the political right, of Reagan free-marketism and Bush II neo-conservatism, an emerging chorus of public intellectuals, courageously or recklessly, depending on your judgment of the matter, ponder a return to pre-modern political Catholicism of early modern Reformation nationalism. For us today, the question is whether a civil religion can bring coherence and purpose to a nation that seems on the verge of being torn asunder. If it cannot, as so many of us suspect, what next? Are we seeing the beginning of the mobilization for war between those on the left who want to destroy every vestige of Christianity, so that the world it has stained may be bleached clean; and those on the right who believe that without the whole cloth of Christianity, our nation cannot endure?
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My Hope and Vision For The Future of The Presbyterian Church in America
Let’s admit that General Assembly is the easy part. The great task of shepherding is the hardest task we have as elders, and the one in which so many of us, (myself included) fall short. God help us be the kind of elders he would have us to be for the sake of Christ, his church, and the gospel.
[Editor’s note: These are the slightly edited remarks of Presbyterian Church in America ruling elder Brad Isbell at an Assembly-wide seminar, “The Future Glory of the Church: The PCA We Envision for Christ’s Purposes,” at the PCA General Assembly in Birmingham, Ala., on June 22, 2022.]
I must begin by acknowledging the great debt I owe to the two PCA pastors I’ve served with and whose teaching I have enjoyed over these last 18 years—Dr. Duncan Rankin and Dr. Nick Willborn. Few men in this room have had the privilege of serving with more thoroughgoing, learned, and principally committed Presbyterians. Their commitment to our doctrine and polity has always been infectious. I must also say that I serve on a faithful session, with men of whom I am not worthy, and who all excel me in gifts and faithfulness. And I serve a wonderful church. We learn by hearing and reading, by studying, but also by seeing and doing. Presbyterianism walks the halls of Covenant Presbyterian Church in Oak Ridge, Tenn., and the officers and members there have been my best teachers. I love them dearly.
But none of us love our churches as Christ loves his church. He has told us in his word how his church must be ordered and what her simple mission is. Biblical church government is Presbyterian church government. Our polity is not optional. It is not one polity among many. It is not a spare musical score that suggests endless improvisation. It is not a hindrance to any worthy goal. Thus, my hope and vision for the future of the PCA is that she remains thoroughly and simply Presbyterian—maybe even becoming more Presbyterian, certainly not less.
As I read the scriptures and our standards, to be Presbyterian is to encourage and demand the full participation of all elders (ruling and teaching, from small churches and large churches) in the governance and shepherding of the church in courts of every level. We don’t need to be Acts 29 churches, which is to say more networked than denominational and led more by more great men and charismatic pastors than officers. We do not need to be endlessly creative and innovative, always designing something new rather than valuing simple, biblical polity. No, we need to be Acts 14 and 15 churches, relying on the ordained officers God provides, officers accountable to one another in binding ways. There is a great tendency, it seems to me, for churches to be more staff-led rather than officer-led. This is not the way, if you’ll pardon a pun related to our denominational logo and all the Star Wars memes it has inspired.
To be Presbyterian is to be biblical. To be Presbyterian is to be led by presbyters—elders of both kinds, ruling and teaching. We see little differentiation between the elders in the New Testament, a principle we call the parity of elders, a principle explicitly enshrined in our Book of Church Order, the manual and rule book of our polity. Too often, this parity, which concerns both authority and numerical representation in the courts of the church, is an on-paper principle rather than an on-the ground reality. Why should we insist on this party of elder principle? Well, first because the scriptures teach it (and that ought to be enough), but there are also obvious practical reasons for insisting on this distinctive.
Here are several reasons:It’s good for the sheep, the members of the church. The burden of teaching and shepherding cannot (and ought not) be borne by pastors and paid staff alone. Our people need ruling elders.
It’s good for pastors. We’ve all heard the stories of a wave of pastoral resignations and burnout in the last two years. My suspicion is that many of these men were in church plants (which lack their own local sessions) or in churches without a well-developed ministry of ruling elders. Pastoral survival and longevity require good ruling elders.
An emphasis on elder parity also increases diversity in the courts and councils of the church. Ruling elders are naturally and necessarily a more diverse lot than our teaching elders are. Many lack graduate degrees. In economic and cultural terms they are more diverse. Ruling elders come into everyday contact with the cultural zeitgeist and the practical consequences of secular theories. Some of these theories and paradigms may intrigue the bookish pastor in a coffee shop but may be viewed in an entirely different way by ruling elders. With this century’s mounting cultural crises, we need the different perspectives of ruling elders to correct and guide the ministry and mission of the church.
And lastly, the parity of elders is essential to maintaining orthodoxy. Retired Stated Clerk Taylor wrote this: “The PCA was started primarily through the efforts of Ruling Elders.” Why was this? Maybe because they had the money and time to devote to the formation of a new denomination. But maybe it’s because they were not part of the pastors’ club. Presbyteries and General Assembly can become pastors’ clubs, where getting along can become more important than fidelity and frankness. We need ruling elders because our doctrine, which is not complex and does not require a specialist degree to comprehend, is always under assault. Understanding and defending our orthodoxy is every elder’s job.And here’s a related bonus point: the nature of the church and her spiritual mission are also things any elder can understand. Ruling elders may well be less likely to veer off on cultural tangents or fall for trendy methods. We need the common sense and realism of ruling elders.
The genius of Presbyterianism—its true contribution to the church—is the concept of rule by elders and parity among those elders. We ought never undervalue our polity, even when it runs counter to the culture or to trends in the broader church, whose form of government is determined more by tradition or pragmatism than the Bible.
The great 19th century Presbyterian Stuart Robinson wrote a book entitled The Church of God as an Essential Element of the Gospel. The title reminds us that the Gospel and polity cannot be separated. Rosaria Butterfield wrote a book entitled The Gospel Comes with a House Key. The gospel also comes with a house: the church Over that house are the elders. Now, Rosaria’s book is about hospitality, and I’d like to close with an appeal for hospitality…to ruling elders. The sacrifices ruling elders make to attend presbytery and General Assembly are enormous. Most pastors have their expenses paid and are also paid to attend General Assembly. Ruling elders often burn precious vacation days and “wife points” to attend. Many cover a portion of their own expenses. Even presbytery meetings (often held on weekdays) cut into the income or vacation time of ruling elders. We’d do well to think about that.
General Assembly is confusing to the ruling elder who can only occasionally attend. This is a vexing problem, but certainly pastors could do more to help ruling elders find their way. We can and should make every effort to structure the assembly so that real, substantive business is done and done efficiently.
Some say ruling elders are offended by conflict, debate, and disagreement. I don’t believe they are, but they are offended (in my experience) when they perceive that the outcomes at General Assembly seem almost pre-determined or everything is rushed. Give us an open, accessible General Assembly with time to do our business.
Pastor Terry Johnson was speaking of liturgy and doctrine when he said, “You need a Reformed bucket to carry Reformed water.” Well, Reformed doctrine and the Reformed understanding of Scripture demand a Presbyterian house, even if that’s not the most convenient or cheapest type of house to build. Nothing is harder than rightly ordering a Presbyterian church, but nothing has more benefits for (or better protects) the Christian. A Presbyterian church is worth all the trouble.
Finally, let’s admit that General Assembly is the easy part. The great task of shepherding is the hardest task we have as elders, and the one in which so many of us, (myself included) fall short. God help us be the kind of elders he would have us to be for the sake of Christ, his church, and the gospel.
Brad Isbell is a ruling elder at Covenant Presbyterian Church (PCA) in Oak Ridge, TN, co-host of the Presbycast podcast, board member of MORE in the PCA and the Heidelberg Reformation Association, and a co-editor of the Nicotine Theological Journal.
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On Preaching Christ
Paul came proclaiming “the testimony of God.” He did not come preaching personal preferences, pop culture, political ideology, scientific theories, or sociological studies. He did not come proclaiming the testimony of man but the testimony of God. I love how Paul refers to the Word of God, that is the 66 books of the Old and New Testaments, as God’s “testimony.”
And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God (1 Corinthians 2:1-5).
In his book, The Soul Winner, Charles Spurgeon tells the story of a young pastor who, after preaching one Sunday, asked an older minster in his congregation for some feedback. The old minister was hesitant at first, but the young pastor pressed him until he said, “If I must tell you, I did not like it at all; there was no Christ in your sermon.” “No,” replied the young man, “because I did not see that Christ was in the text.” “But do you not know,” asked the old preacher, “that from every little town and village and tiny hamlet in England there is a road leading to London? Whenever I get hold of a text, I say to myself, ‘There is a road from here to Jesus Christ, and I mean to keep on His track till I get to Him.’” To which the young man said, “but suppose you are preaching from a text that says nothing about Christ?” The old man said, “Then I will go over hedge and ditch [to] get at Him.”
The Apostle Paul held and was held by the same Christ-exalting conviction. When summarizing his 18-month ministry to the Corinthians he said simply, “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2). It was a reminder the Corinthians desperately needed because after Paul left them, they forgot the gospel and fell into gross sins and divisions. So, Paul wrote this letter hoping to reignite their affections for Christ and reinforce their confidence in simple gospel preaching as the primary means by which God saves and sanctifies sinners.
What is good preaching? What is a faithful ministry? Upon what and upon whom must we build our faith? We can find answers to these questions and more in the opening lines of 1 Corinthians 2 and we see that a faithful minister must preach Christ crucified in reliance upon the Holy Spirit.
I have dedicated an entire shelf of my library to books on homiletics, the art of preaching. But none of those books, nor all of them combined, can rival the simplicity and glory of Paul’s compact, how-to preaching manual before us, the first chapter of which could be entitled, What to Preach? Paul writes, “And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom” (1 Corinthians 2:1).
Paul came proclaiming “the testimony of God.” He did not come preaching personal preferences, pop culture, political ideology, scientific theories, or sociological studies. He did not come proclaiming the testimony of man but the testimony of God. I love how Paul refers to the Word of God, that is the 66 books of the Old and New Testaments, as God’s “testimony.” This is the only time he employs this phrase.
In a courtroom, witnesses sit on the stand and give their testimony. They answer questions and tell of what they’ve seen and what they know as the jury searches for truth. How infinitely valuable then, is the book in which is written the testimony of him who knows and sees all? How trustworthy is the account of him who is not like a man that he should lie or the son of man that he should change his mind? How timeless is the word of him who dwells outside of time in eternity, without beginning or end? So, like Paul faithful preachers must proclaim the testimony of God gripped by a holy fear of straying from its ancient paths. Our sermons must be riveted to the Bible and uncompromisingly exegetical.
When we used microscopes in high school biology we were told to start on the lowest magnification and then click over to higher magnifications to zoom in on the plant cells or fish scales we were examining. Paul does the same thing here. Having identified “the testimony of God” as the body of truth he preached, he zooms in on the very heart of the Scriptures, who is the Lord Jesus Christ: “For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2).
Paul’s saying that to properly proclaim the testimony of God is to know “nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified.” Why? Because the testimony of God swirls like a heavenly hurricane around Jesus. That’s why Phillip told Nathaniel, “We have found him of whom Moses in the Law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph” (John 1:45). That’s why on the Mt. of Transfiguration the disciples saw Jesus standing with Moses and Elijah, the representatives of the law and the prophets. That’s why as the resurrected Christ walked along the road to Emmaus with his disciples, Luke writes, “beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself” (Luke 24:27). That’s why Paul said all of the promises of God find their “yes” and “amen” in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20).
But what, precisely about Jesus did Paul preach? Not just Jesus the divine teacher, or Jesus the wonder worker, or Jesus the moral example but, Jesus “Christ.” That is, Jesus the anointed one, long awaited Messiah, the Prophet like Moses whom God would raise up from among his brothers and who would speak the very words of God, the Priest after the order of Melchizedek that would intercede on behalf of his people and atone for their sins, and the King, great David’s greater Son, who would rule and defend his blood-bought people and whose kingdom would be everlasting, universal, and indomitable.
But there’s something more. Paul decided to know nothing but “Jesus Christ and him crucified.” Paul preached every sermon in the shadow of the empty cross. Why? Because it was on the cross that Jesus, the Seed of the Woman, the virgin born Son of God and Son of Man, the Offspring of Abraham, the Lion of Judah, Son of David, the Holy one of Israel, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the Prince of Peace, became the Lamb of God who bore the sins of his people. And on that Friday long ago, atop a hill called Golgotha, which means the skull, suspended between a cruel mob and blackened sun, Jesus hung naked and nailed to a tree where he endured in his body and soul the of God’s burning hatred for the sins of his people until the magazines of Heaven’s holy wrath were empty and the fires of hell which burned for his people, were extinguished in his blood.
Paul decided to know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified because that gospel of canceled sin by a loving God is the greatest news and only hope this world has ever heard; because while the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing it is the power of God to those who are being saved (1 Corinthians 1:18); because Jesus Christ is all together lovely, the fairest of ten thousand, the bright and morning star, the lily of the valley, the rose of Sharon, the balm of Gilead, the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, in whom the fullness of deity was pleased to dwell, bread of life, light of the world, the only door to God, the Good Shepherd, the resurrections and the life, the way, the truth and the life; because Paul’s highest hope and most ardent prayer was for his people to kiss the Son in love and embrace him in faith.
Well, if the first chapter of Paul’s preaching manual could be entitled, “What to Preach”, the second and final chapter could be called, “How to Preach.” When I served as a youth ministry intern at another PCA church, we took an annual mission trip to Mexico. And we gave our students a detailed packing list that included sunscreen, bug spray, bottled water, Bible, double the pairs of underwear you think you’ll need. But if I remember correctly, the first item on the list was not something to bring, but something to leave behind. “Don’t pack your negative attitude.” Paul begins the same way; listing what he did not bring with him to Corinth: “And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom” (1 Corinthians 2:1).
Paul left his lofty speech and wisdom at home. He didn’t preach to impress. His style and his content were clear and plain that all might understand and believe the gospel he preached. He didn’t tickle the ears of his hearers with polished eloquence and Shakespearean sermons. There was a decided austerity to his style. He wrapped his sermons in sackcloth. He wanted his people to see Christ in his preaching so he refused to blind them by the glare of lacquered words. The old Puritan, Matthew Henry, said, Paul “preached the truths of Christ in their native dress, with plainness of speech.” Nor did he vaunt his learning to blow his hearers away. He didn’t come to make fans of Paul but disciples of Jesus Christ.
We who preach must decide the same. The temptation to make a name for ourselves is great. Sermon Audio download reports, book publishing, conference circuits, growing church attendance and budgets, even the well-intentioned praises of parishioners can become trip wires in which a proud man may become ensnared. So, we preachers must not overestimate our own sanctification and underestimate the power of indwelling pride. The 19th century Scottish theologian, James Denney, once said, “You cannot at the same time give the impression that you are a great preacher and that Jesus Christ is a great Savior.”
So, if Paul didn’t come with lofty speech or wisdom, what did he bring? Paul explained, “And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling…” (1 Corinthians 2:3). These three things are connected. One flows into the other like pools of cascading water. Paul came in spiritual weakness in humble recognition that the task to which he’d been called was bigger than him. Paul must have felt like Ezekiel looking out over that valley carpeted with dry bones, of which the Lord asked, “Son of man can these bones live?” Paul knew that no matter how well he preached to the Corinthians, no matter how robust his reasoning, no matter how sacrificially he served them or how genuinely he loved them he could not change a single person. He knew that only the Spirit of God, who is the Lord and Giver of life, can open eyes blinded by sin. Only the Spirit can enlighten minds darkened by depravity. Only the Spirit can thaw hearts frozen in hate for God and fill them with love for Christ. Only the Spirit can burst the bonds of Satan and liberate captive wills to choose Jesus. Only the Spirit can fill the craters of doubt and unbelief with saving faith by which we receive and rest in Christ alone for our salvation.
Some people fear snakes, or spiders, or darkness. In view of his own weakness, Paul was afraid of something too: not creepy crawlies or cruel people or even death itself; Paul was filled with a holy fear and zealous longing for the souls of his people. Paul knew that the wages of sin is death in hell forever and man’s only hope was to trust the Christ of whom Paul preached. But Paul knew that the forces of darkness committed to keeping the Corinthians from coming to Christ even if it meant convincing them to hang their faith on Paul instead of the power of the Holy Spirit. In fact, Paul’s decision to preach unadorned sermons was born of his awareness of his own weaknesses and the inability of eloquence and human sophistication to save a soul. So, he said in 1 Corinthians 2:4-6: “and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.”
The preacher who believes that he is truly powerless and that the greatest sermon he could ever preach is insufficient to move the needle of one heart one degree towards God unless the Holy Spirit owns it will be a praying preacher. The church that yearns for the kind of preaching that saves sinners, the kind of preaching that transforms society, the kind of preaching that sparks revival in our land and rattle the gates of hell, will beg God for it in prayer.
Many years ago, I visited the historic Independent Presbyterian Church in downtown Savannah. I was blown away by the beauty of the architecture: the copper crowned steeple, Savannah shutters, hardwood box pews, vaulted ceiling, marble baptismal font, and especially the massive pulpit. As I gazed up at the pulpit, my friend who was also an intern at the church at that time, turned to me and asked, “Do you want to get in it?” “Do I!” I replied. So, he opened a secret door at the base of the pulpit which led to a secret staircase. And as I ascended those stairs something caught my eye at the top: a small brass plaque. I noticed that the finish of the wood surrounding the plaque had been rubbed away by the ministers who would touch the plaque as they went to preach each Lords Day. And as I got closer I was able to read the plaque. It said, “Sir, we would see Jesus.”
May we privileged preachers decide with Paul to live and preach with our hands on that plaque. May every sermon, every text, every Sunday beam with Christ and him crucified, Christ and him buried, Christ and him resurrected, Christ and his ascended, Christ and him seated ruling and reigning, and Christ returning in glory to judge the living and the dead. And may the church demand it of us, like those unnamed Greeks who said to Phillip long ago, “Sir, we would see Jesus” (John 12:21). And in seeing him, may we be made more like him and bear much fruit to the glory of God.
Jim McCarthy is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America and is Pastor of Trinity PCA in Statesboro, Ga.
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A Primer on Reformed Liturgics: Lessons from the Past Applied in the Present (Part One)
The heart of Christian worship is the act of asking for forgiveness of sin because the shed blood of Jesus alone washes it away, and because the spotless righteousness of Christ covers our unrighteousness. This conviction of sin arises from a reading of God’s law with opportunity given for all those present to confess their sins, before hearing a biblical word of pardon and assurance. This should tied to the present intercessory work of Jesus Christ, who is at the right hand of the Father interceding for his people, making a defense for his own before the Father (1 John 1:7-2:2).
For the Reformers, Recovering the Gospel Also Meant Recovery of Proper Worship [1].
The Reformers understood that the recovery of the gospel was directly connected to proper Christian worship. John Calvin, for one, saw his own conversion and subsequent work of reform tied directly to the removal of all forms of Roman idolatry (especially the mass) from Christian worship. The centrality of the gospel to the life of the church must be made manifest in the pure worship of God. This meant a Word-centered liturgy in which biblical texts were preached upon, biblical exhortations and commands were made clear, and biblical promises made to the people of God were to be read for their comfort and assurance. As one writer puts it, “the recovery of the gospel in the Reformation was ultimately a worship war–a war against the idols, a war for the pure worship of God.”[2] Our worship must reflect our gospel, and our gospel must define our worship.
The Reformers Sought to “Reform” the Church’s Worship
While affirming Sola Scriptura and striving to base all liturgical reform on biblical principles of worship, the Reformers carefully considered the practices of the ancient church and the teaching of the church fathers when revising the liturgies they inherited. The goal was to reform the church’s ancient liturgies by striping them of all unbiblical additions, not to compose entirely new liturgies from scratch. “New” and “contemporary” when used in the Reformed tradition in connection to worship, are therefore best understood as “reforming” (i.e., removing all unbiblical accretions, as well as adding those things which are missing), not replacing the ancient liturgies with contemporary fads grounded in popular preferences.
Martin Luther stated that his intention was to not to abolish, but to cleanse the liturgies of “wicked additions” (i.e., Roman inventions) and recover their proper (pious) use. Calvin too sought to remove Roman additions made to the liturgies of the ancient church, which is why his Genevan liturgy (The Form of Ecclesiastical Prayers) was subtitled “According to the Custom of the Ancient Church.” Like Luther, he was no innovator, but a “Reformer.” It was said of Heinrich Bullinger (the Reformed pastor in Zurich and a contemporary of Calvin) that he restored “all things to the first and simplest form of the most ancient, and indeed apostolic tradition.”[3] It is fair to say that “tradition mattered to the Reformers. It was the living faith of the dead, not the dead faith of the living.” [4]
Returning to the ancient ways meant, in part, incorporating the reading of the Ten Commandments (or “law” texts from throughout the Scriptures), using the Lord’s Prayer (either recited or as a model for prayer), reciting the Apostles’ or Nicene Creeds, God’s people thereby confessing the orthodox faith while effectively uniting the church of the present to the people of God of the past—the so-called “cloud of witnesses” mentioned in Hebrews 12:1.
Reformed Worship Is Catholic but Not Roman
The Reformers took seriously the charge from the church father Cyprian (c. 210-258), “You can no longer have God for your Father, if you do have not the church for your mother.”[5] Calvin expanded on Cyprian’s comment, explaining,
Let us learn even from the simple title `mother’ how useful, indeed how necessary, it is that we should know her. For there is no other way to enter into life unless this mother conceive us in her womb, give us birth, nourish us at her breast, and lastly, unless she keep us under her care and guidance until, putting off mortal flesh, we become like the angels (Matthew 22:30). Our weakness does not allow us to be dismissed from her school until we have been pupils all our lives. Furthermore, away from her bosom one cannot hope for any forgiveness of sins or any salvation, as Isaiah (Isaiah 37:32) and Joel (2:32) testify.[6]
For Calvin, one finds the Word of God proclaimed and the sacraments properly administered in the church. Since word and sacrament are essential to a healthy Christian life, the Christian must seek these things where they can be found. They cannot be found in false churches (i.e., Rome), nor in our age in entrepreneurial churches which are the institutional facade of their charismatic leader, nor in the various so-called “ministries” which mimic the church’s biblical activities but exist apart from all ties to local churches. Those who claim to be Christians, but who have no connection to a local church (or who do not see the importance of joining a local church) need to be reminded that the New Testament knows nothing of a professing Christian who is not a member (or seeking to become one) of a faithful congregation where the proper elements of worship can be found.
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