Written by John R. Muether |
Tuesday, August 13, 2024
That discipline is a privilege does not mean that it is always enjoyable. It is often unpleasant. The wilderness wandering of Israel was a period of forty difficult (though not wasted) years.  This time of testing and humbling was the “way of the wilderness” (Ex. 13:18).  Moses describes it in Deuteronomy 8, saying in effect: “Keep in mind that the Lord your God has been disciplining you just as a man disciplines his son. So keep the commands of the Lord your God by walking in His ways and fearing Him.” Looking back, Hosea described this wilderness discipline as God’s “cords of kindness” and “bands of love,” as He called His son out of Egypt and bent down to sustain His people (Hos. 11:1–4).

Churches in the Reformed tradition seem to take church discipline seriously, even to the point of including it—along with the preaching of the Word and the administration of the sacraments—as a mark of the true church. An entire section of the Book of Church Order in many Presbyterian denominations is devoted to its proper exercise. There you will find detailed attention to the proceedings of church trials, appeals, and complaints.
Still, it is possible that even Reformed churches today suffer from an underestimation of the importance of church discipline. It is often reduced to the negative correction of sinful behavior. But discipline is much more than that. As J.I. Packer writes, “The Christian concept of discipline has the same breadth as the Latin word disciplina, which signifies the whole range of nurturing, instructional, and training procedures that disciple-making requires.” If Packer is right, then discipline is a synonym for discipleship, of which judicial discipline is only a part. Reflection on the value of positive discipline in the church is especially timely in our age of great skepticism toward institutional religion.
He Privilege of Discipline
The Rules of Discipline in the Book of Church Order of the Presbyterian Church in America note that “all baptized members, being members of the church, are subject to discipline and entitled to the benefits thereof.” You read that right: entitled to discipline. Our struggle to conceive of discipline as a privilege reveals our restricted use of the term. To be subject to discipline is simply to be a disciple, and church membership is a disciple’s proper desire for instruction and guidance in its fullest sense.
What might that look like? The Scots Confession (1560) helps us by directing church discipline to follow the scriptural practice of nourishing virtue and reproving vice, accounting for the positive and negative dimensions of discipline. For starters, churches do well to recover the lost tool of discipleship: catechesis. This should include memorization—by young and old—of the Westminster Shorter Catechism. Beyond implementing an overt catechism program, churches ought to strive repeatedly to cultivate the virtues of faith, hope, and love, and so they might frequently conduct studies on the Apostles’ and Nicene creeds, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Ten Commandments.
The Second Helvetic Confession (1566) goes into greater detail when it outlines at length the duties of the minister of the Word in chapter 18, “Of the Ministers of the Church, Their Institution and Offices.” Here we see the wide scope of his (and the elders’) calling to shepherd the flock. There are corrective actions described here, but most point to positive discipline, including teaching and exhorting the ignorant, urging the idle to make progress in the way of the Lord, comforting and strengthening the fainthearted, preserving the faithful in a holy unity, catechizing the unlearned, commending the needs of the poor to the church, and visiting the sick and those afflicted with various temptations.
Read More
Related Posts:

Written by John R. Muether |
Sunday, February 19, 2023
The abiding value of Machen’s Christianity and Liberalism will be lost on those who fail to give his last chapter a careful study. A church that locates its calling in the flourishing of an individual’s personal religious experience is one that has succumbed to worldliness. Machen directs us instead to see the church’s calling as stewarding the doctrine found in the Word of God and summarized in its confessional standards.

Contrary to the claim of modernists, the historic Christianity that J. Gresham Machen defended was not individualistic. Christianity “fully provides for the social needs of man,” he wrote in chapter 5 of Christianity and Liberalism, and he ended that chapter with reflections on the social consequences of salvation: the gospel transforms human institutions, including families, communities, the workplace, and even government.

But Machen was not finished. What remains is the highest and the most impor­tant institution of all—the church of Christ. Indeed, the entire thesis of Christianity and Liberalism comes to bear on the final chapter as Machen urges the recovery of a high view of the church. Judging from the current state of the church even among those who claim to love this book, however, we may wonder how many have carefully read this final chapter.
Machen begins by challenging a thin form of community that is premised on the “universal brotherhood of man.” Clear doctrinal boundaries are required to sustain a genuine fellowship of brothers and sisters in Christ, simply because, as he clearly demonstrated in the preceding pages, liberalism is a complete departure from Christianity. “The greatest menace to the Christian Church today,” he wrote, “comes not from the enemies outside, but from the enemies within; it comes from the presence within the church of a type of faith and practice that is anti-Christian to the core.” Consequently, “a separation between the two parties in the church is the crying need of the hour.” Machen’s “straightforward” and “above board” appeal earned him the respect of “friendly neutrals” (as the secular journalist H.L. Mencken described himself as he followed the debate closely).
How would this separation take place? At the time the book was published, what seemed the most likely prospect—from both sides of the divide—was that a small number of liberals would leave the church. And Machen invited them to take this step of honesty. But he also anticipated another scenario, wherein conservatives would be forced to leave the church. A decade later, this is how the struggle would play out, as he himself was defrocked for the high crime of “disloyalty” to the boards of the church that were beset with modernism. Faithfulness to their ministerial calling compelled him and his allies to bear this cross.

Countervailing appeals to preserve the unity of the church obscured the issues that Machen laid out, and such ecclesiastical pacifism provided neither lasting peace nor unity: “Nothing engenders strife so much as a forced unity, within the same organization, of those who disagree fundamentally in aim.” Tolerance of doctrinal deviation is “simple dishonesty.”

Machen anticipated another option: some ministers might gravitate toward a functional independence, finding contentment in the orthodoxy of their own congregations or the soundness of their presbyteries.

Related Posts: