Jonathan Leeman, Author at Refcast

What Authority Do Pastors Have? Eight Principles for Local Churches

By Jonathan Leeman — 10 months ago

To answer the question, “What authority do pastors have?” you have to pick a side in the polity debates. I choose elder-led congregationalism. My sense, however, is that many Christians and pastors avoid the topic of polity because it’s contested territory. Maybe it feels unimportant.

Besides, can’t we read through 1 and 2 Timothy, Titus, and passages like Acts 20:17–38 and 1 Peter 5:1–4, and easily answer the question? Elders have (1) a general authority of oversight over the whole church as well as (2) the authority to teach and conduct the ordinances. That much is straightforward. Baptists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Anglicans, and elder-ruled independent churches all agree.

Furthermore, Protestants agree that pastors or elders (I use the terms interchangeably) don’t have the authority to dispense absolution for sin. We agree they are not a separate class of mediators. Martin Luther remarked, “There really is no difference between laymen and priests . . . except that of office and work, but not of ‘estate’; for they are all of the same estate” (Works of Martin Luther, 2:69). And we agree they can never sit in the so-called “chair of Peter,” speaking infallibly with an authority equal to Scripture. Pastors can make mistakes, and their words must be tested in good Berean fashion against the word of God (Acts 17:11). Think of how Peter himself messed up (e.g., Galatians 2:11–14).

These points of agreement are important. A wrong view of pastoral authority can undermine the gospel (by turning pastors into mediating priests who provide access to grace) and undermine Scripture (by giving their words equal authority to Scripture). So praise God for this consensus.

Inside of Protestantism, however, differences emerge that impact Christian discipleship and the good of the church. As an illustration, think of the difference between a monarchy and a democracy. Those larger structural differences impact the authority of the “leaders” as well as the culture and civic life of everyone. I don’t believe our Protestant differences are as dramatic as monarchies versus democracies. The point is merely that the larger structural context shapes what authority the pastor-elders have. Therefore, we have to account for it.

With all that in mind, consider one principle on context plus seven more on pastoral authority.

Congregational Authority

Principle 1: The gathered congregation possesses the final priestly authority to affirm the what and the who of the gospel — confessions and confessors.

Protestants from Martin Luther and John Calvin to the Presbyterian Church of America (PCA) and the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) uniformly agree that every Christian is a priest. That expresses itself in the election of officers. It also means any believer can baptize in a pinch. Says Luther, “In cases of necessity any one can baptize . . . which would be impossible unless we were all priests” (67). Any believer can interpret Scripture: “An ordinary man may have true understanding; why then should we not follow him” against any errors of popes or bishops (74)? Any believer can reprove the pope or another erring Christian: “But if I am to accuse him before the Church, I must bring the Church together” (76–77).

The priesthood of all believers, for a Protestant, means that church authority ultimately roots in every believer’s union with Christ. The nineteenth-century Presbyterian James Bannerman writes, “The primary grant from Christ of Church power is virtually, if not expressly and formally, made to believers in that grant which makes all things, whether pertaining to the present or the future, to be theirs in Christ Jesus” (The Church of Christ, 272). After all, that church on the desert island whose pastors all die “must have within themselves all power competent to carry on the necessary functions and offices of a Church” (273).

Beyond this shared position, however, the congregationalists and the non-congregationalists diverge. Advocates of elder-ruled (non-congregationalist) churches — like Bannerman and Luther and every Anglican or independent Bible church you know — have to make some kind of argument that, even if the whole church in some formal sense possesses final authority, that authority has been given to the elders to exercise. That distinction between possession and exercise can be found, for instance, in both the PCA’s and Orthodox Presbyterian Church’s (OPC) books of church order.

An elder-led congregationalist like me, however, would argue that, if you cannot exercise authority, then, logically, you do not possess authority. But never mind logic. In Matthew 18, Jesus explicitly hands the keys of the kingdom to the gathered congregation to render judgment on the what and the who of the gospel — confessions and confessors (Matthew 18:17–18; see also 16:19). And nowhere in the New Testament are these keys handed exclusively to pastors. In fact, Paul calls the Corinthian congregation to use them with the “power” of the Lord Jesus when they are “assembled” (1 Corinthians 5:4). He doesn’t tell the elders to use them on Thursday night in their elders meeting. Likewise, he tells not the Galatian pastors but the Galatian churches to declare anyone teaching a false doctrine “cursed” or anathema (Galatians 1:9).

“If you cannot exercise authority, then, logically, you do not possess authority.”

That means, Christian, that if one of your pastors starts to teach false doctrine, it’s your job to fire him, together with your other church members. And Christ will call you to account on the day of judgment if you don’t.

This priesthood of all believers within an elder-led congregation is the context within which the following points fit.

Heart of Pastoral Authority

Principle 2: Pastors have authority to lead the congregation in knowing which confessions to make and which confessors to affirm.

If the congregation as a whole renders final judgment on right doctrine, whose interpretation and teaching of the Bible will count as a church’s interpretation? One member may have one interpretation; another person another. If the judgments of the church as a whole bind every member, whose interpretation binds the church as a whole?

Answer: the elders’ interpretation. They’re the ones who say, “Church, these are the doctrines we believe.” The congregation then formally affirms, “Yes, those are the doctrines we believe,” making those doctrines a point of official and binding agreement (Matthew 18:19). The congregation makes the final judgment in matters of doctrine and membership, but the elders lead or tell the congregation which judgments to make. This is why the elders ordinarily preach and teach. This is why they ordinarily lead in the ordinances and in membership interviews and so forth. They’re the shepherds standing at the gate of the sheep pen.

Think again of 1 Corinthians 5. Paul tells us he has “pronounced judgment” on the man sleeping with his mother-in-law: remove him (verse 3). Yet is the deed done? No. He calls the church to “judge” the man in the same way (verse 12). Paul, I believe, is acting here like a pastor. He shows us the relationship between elder authority and congregational authority. The congregation has the final say, but the pastors tell them what that final say ought to be.

Extension of Pastoral Authority

Principle 3: Pastors’ authority of oversight includes other matters impacting the whole church.

Pastors also have authority to oversee other decisions of the congregation. Think of the Greek-speaking widows being neglected in the daily distribution of food in Acts 6. That was a big deal. The church was dividing, and widows weren’t getting food. High stakes. Therefore, the apostles, who preferred to spend their time praying and preaching, stepped in and recommended a solution. The solution heavily involved the congregation, yet the apostles, acting like good pastors, exercised oversight.

Likewise, pastors and elders should generally stay out of administrative details, like what color the carpet in the Sunday school classroom should be, or whether the nursery volunteers should wear matching T-shirts (this decision was handed to my elders once). In general, they should involve themselves only in the decisions that impact the whole church and the course of its ministry. Should we start a Sunday school class? What translation of the Bible should we preach from? Should our church support Joe and Kathy on the mission field?

Nature of Pastoral Authority

Principle 4: Pastoral authority morally obligates but doesn’t structurally bind.

Insofar as the church as a whole possesses the keys of the kingdom to bind and loose on earth what’s bound and loosed in heaven, the congregation’s decisions are effectually binding — at the structural level. When they remove a member from the church as an act of excommunication, the person really is removed, with or without his consent. The congregation possesses what I have called an authority of command.

The elders, however, possess a different kind of authority, an authority of counsel. (It’s the same with husbands.) An authority of counsel is a real authority. It morally obligates members to obey, and Jesus does not countenance disobedience (see Hebrews 13:7, 17). Consequences exist. Yet the elders cannot dispense those consequences, which are eschatological. Jesus hands them out.

“There’s a sense in which elders possess authority to continually give it away.”

Sure, the elders should depose a foul-mouthed usher or approve a church picnic or plan the preaching schedule. Yet a pastor cannot invite you to his office and then excommunicate you all by himself, at least not if he wants to follow the Bible. Nor should he determine membership apart from the congregation. Membership depends upon the whole congregation’s agreement. That’s what I mean when I say pastoral authority morally obligates, but it doesn’t structurally bind.

The fact that elders (and husbands) possess an authority of counsel and not command dramatically shapes how that authority is used. While a parent can tell a three-year-old to go to bed “right now,” elders must teach “with complete patience” (2 Timothy 4:2). They’re working for growth over time, playing the long game. The goal is not to force decisions but to encourage regenerate church members to make good decisions for themselves. As Paul puts it to Philemon, “Though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do what is required, yet for love’s sake I prefer to appeal to you” (Philemon 8–9).

Here lies the most crucial point of distinction regarding polity differences between Protestants. Elder-ruled churches, whether independent or presbyterian or episcopalian in their structures, grant elders an authority of command. The elders can unilaterally excommunicate members, for instance. On the other hand, small-c congregationalists like Baptists don’t believe they can. And this difference impacts the culture of the church and the nature of its discipleship.

(For more on the difference between authority of counsel and command, see chapter 11 of my book Authority.)

Purposes of Pastoral Authority

Principle 5: Pastors possess authority to equip the church and to divest themselves of authority.

Building on the last point, an authority of counsel is more conducive to discipleship.

Imagine two exercise classes. In class 1, the trainer demonstrates burpees and squats, and then he sends you home. In class 2, the trainer demonstrates burpees and squats, and then he asks you to do them while giving feedback. Which class will better train you?

Now picture two churches. In an elder-ruled church, the elders make a decision about church discipline behind closed doors. In the congregational church, the elders explain what happened, giving just enough details that the church can render judgment with integrity, but not so many details that people stumble; then the elders recommend a course of action, just as Paul does in 1 Corinthians 5. Which church will better train them in Christian discernment, courage, and obedience?

If Paul simply removed the man in 1 Corinthians 5, the Corinthian church would have been deprived of an opportunity to be trained in discernment, courage, and obedience. Yet he involved them. As one commentator put it, Paul did not want the church’s fitness report to read, “Works well under constant supervision” (1 Corinthians, 168–69). Rather, he wanted to instill within them a sense of their joint responsibility for the holiness of the church.

People grow when they’re given opportunities. Not every man in the church will become an elder. But there’s a sense in which elders possess authority to continually give it away. They give others a chance to teach a Sunday school class, to chair a meeting, to lead an evangelistic endeavor, to host a missions reading group, to serve as deacons, to host a small group, to organize a women’s retreat, and so forth. They should even involve the congregation in matters of membership and discipline, which can sometimes get complicated. But this forces them to train the church (see Ephesians 4:11–16). Wise elder training, wise church. Bad elder training, bad church.

Pastoral authority, in short, does not say, “We’re the experts. We’re ordained. You guys can sit down.” This approach often leads to complacent, weak, and eventually doctrinally liberal churches. Rather, pastoral authority says, “Here’s how you swing the club, play the scale, program the computer, love the church. Now you do it.”

Character of Pastoral Authority

Principle 6: Pastoral authority depends upon character, integrity, and example.

To put all this another way, an elder’s authority is tied to his example. Elders don’t “domineer” but set an “example,” says Peter (1 Peter 5:3). Members, meanwhile, “consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith” (Hebrews 13:7). We imitate them as they imitate Christ (1 Corinthians 11:1).

This is why more ink is spilled on the requisite character for pastoring than on the job description. Exemplifying and teaching Christian character is the job description. Pastors’ authority, in other words, is very much tied to their character and integrity.

Think of the qualification “husband of one wife” (1 Timothy 3:2; Titus 1:6). An elder’s marriage may not be perfect, but he sets a good example for other husbands. You’re happy to say to other husbands, “Learn from his example as a husband.”

Integrity of Pastoral Authority

Principle 7: Pastoral authority is both unearned and earned, requiring trust.

Building on the last point, an elder grows in authority by gaining trust.

Now, in one sense, a pastor’s authority does not need to be earned. It’s an office given to him by Jesus and the Holy Spirit (Acts 20:28). Members don’t so much submit to the man as they submit to the office, because that’s submitting to Jesus.

At the same time, an elder will clearly earn more authority for himself as he proves himself trustworthy. Suppose I’m watching two elders, one who treats his wife wonderfully and one who, by my lights, does not. Whom do you think I’m more likely to trust? Furthermore, whose Sunday school lectures on how to be a godly husband am I going to listen to more carefully? And assuming these two men separately correct me for how I’m living with my wife, whom will I more easily and joyfully submit to?

“Trust is the fuel that makes the vehicle of elder authority move forward. It’s the currency elders have to spend.”

Trust is the fuel that makes the vehicle of elder authority move forward. It’s the currency elders have to spend.

While it’s true that a policeman’s or parent’s authority of command will be improved by trust, this is especially true of an elder’s (or husband’s) authority of counsel. After all, policemen and parents can leverage the threat of immediate discipline even when they’re not trusted. An elder (or husband) cannot. And this structural difference that foregrounds the role of trust forces the elder to work harder at his character and integrity.

Location of Pastoral Authority

Principle 8: The difference between one elder’s authority and all the elders’ authority is quantitative, not qualitative.

Historically, Presbyterians have sometimes distinguished between the elders’ joint authority and their several authority. Their joint authority concerns those things they can only do together, like excommunicate someone from the church. Their several authority concerns those things they can do individually, like preach.

As a congregationalist, I would not affirm these two categories in formal or principled terms. Presbyterians need them because they’ve placed the keys of the kingdom into the hands of the elders, such that the elders will do weighty things like receiving or dismissing members, which I would leave in the hands of the whole congregation.

Still, it does seem reasonable to acknowledge that a pastor or elder should avoid some actions or decisions until he involves the other elders, and elders should always work to raise up more elders. Recommending an excommunication to the church is an obvious example of something a pastor should avoid doing on his own. Doing so may not be sin, but it would ordinarily be unwise.

Now consider the difference between one and several elders from the members’ perspective. Insofar as the Bible calls us to “submit” to our elders (Hebrews 13:17), should we think differently about submitting to the counsel of one elder in a conversation over coffee (“Jonathan, I would advise you to . . .”) versus submitting to the entire elder board of, say, six men (“Jonathan, we would advise you to . . .”)? I think the answer is yes. The difference, though, is not qualitative (joint vs. several), but quantitative. The instruction of the one and the instruction of six is made of the same kind of stuff. Yet the instruction of the six should weigh more heavily on my conscience. More men, more weight.

Pastors as Trainers

The topic of authority does not merely impact who gets to make which decisions; it impacts discipleship and the overall patterns of ministry in a church. Within an elder-led congregational model, the fact that elders must bring to the church any decisions that significantly impact the nature, integrity, membership, or mission of the church changes not just the church’s members meetings. It requires elders to do ministry a little differently all week. They approach their jobs less like judges and more like trainers.

After all, the shepherds are sheep too. So they work constantly to strengthen, build up, and equip the saints for their work of being priests and disciple-makers. Then the whole body grows as it builds itself up in love.

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Good Authority Submits

By Jonathan Leeman — 1 year ago

A leader who doesn’t view himself as being inside an accountability structure effectively becomes a law unto himself. He teaches everyone under him to fear him, when it’s only God whom we should fear. Loyalty to a leader is indeed a good thing, but good loyalty is loyalty to his leadership under God and anyone else under whom God has placed him, like fellow elders or a congregation. Good loyalty says, “I’m committed to you and your success as a leader, and that means I cannot follow you into folly or unrighteousness, because it’s bad for both you and us.”

Good Authority Is Not Unaccountable but Submits to a Higher Authority
Nathanael answered him, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!”—John 1:49
The Son can do nothing of his own accord, but only what he sees the Father doing. For whatever the Father does, that the Son does likewise.—John 5:19
I do nothing on my own authority, but speak just as the Father taught me. —John 8:28
Jesus is king. Jesus obeys. How do we hold those two truths together? And what does it teach us about any authority we’ve been personally given?
Passages like these three in John’s Gospel offer us far more than “principles of good leadership.” We should be careful about merely trying to draw moral principles from passages that focus on the identity of the incarnate Christ and his relationship with the heavenly Father. Still, these passages do offer us such principles. For instance: good authority is never unaccountable, but always submits to a higher authority.
Jesus, the God-man, came to be declared king. Yet throughout his ministry on earth, he submitted himself perfectly to his Father in heaven. He spoke only what his heavenly Father taught him to speak, and did only what his heavenly Father taught him to do. Or as the apostle Paul put it, “the head of Christ is God” (1 Cor. 11:3).
Does Jesus Christ’s submission demean him? Only if righteousness and rule are demeaning.
Authority and submission are two sides of one coin. To be in authority you must be under it, and to be under it is to be in it. Furthermore, we exercise authority in order to uphold something that is righteous or true, and when we submit we render the judgment that that something is righteous or true.
Jesus’s submission to the heavenly Father was the declaration that God is righteous and true. For Jesus to rule, furthermore, he had to conform himself perfectly to the rule of the heavenly Father. He could rule like Adam was supposed to rule by submitting in a way Adam and Israel never submitted. By submitting, then, he ruled together with the heavenly Father in perfect righteousness.
Another Illustration: A Symphony Orchestra
Let me offer a less exalted illustration of how good authority always submits to a higher authority. My friend Susan offered me this one. Susan has played viola in a number of orchestras over the years. Generally speaking, a standard symphony orchestra has ten first violins, ten second violins, ten violas, eight cellos, and six double basses. Typically, the most skilled player plays the “first chair” of each section, also called the “principal,” and everyone in the section follows that principal. All the viola players follow the principal viola player, all the cellos the principal cellist, and so on. The principal of each section, in turn, follows the first chair of the first violins, called the “concertmaster,” who follows the orchestra conductor. The concertmaster tunes the entire orchestra before a concert, and then leads every string section when it comes to matters like timing, bowing, and so forth.
String players can adjust their bowing in a multitude of ways, each of which gives a piece of music a different interpretation. When do you bow up? When down? What style? How hard onto the strings? How lightly off? A piece written by Bach might call for one kind of bowing, Beethoven another, Debussy still another. But the point is, all the strings must bow together. And it’s up to the concertmaster to make this judgment, based on his or her understanding of the conductor’s direction. The principals of each section follow the concertmaster, and the players in every section follow their principals.
Everything in an orchestra, in fact, works according to such a hierarchy. People sitting in the even-numbered chairs (2, 4, and 6) turn the pages for people sitting in the odd chairs (1, 3, and 5), who rank slightly higher. If someone in a lower ranking chair has a question, she doesn’t raise her hand and ask the conductor. She asks the person in the chair in front of her.
If that person can’t answer, the question is passed forward person by person until it reaches the principal of that section. From there, a question would go to the concertmaster, and if the concertmaster cannot answer it, only then does it go to the conductor. If an orchestra tried to operate like a democracy, with all the members having their own say and choosing their own tuning, timing, and bowing, the music would sound terrible. Only by working within a strict hierarchy does an orchestra sound unified and glorious.
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For Religious Liberty

By Jonathan Leeman — 2 years ago

The kingdom of God will not be advanced by the sword. Peter wanted to pick up the sword in the Garden of Gethsemane. “We’re not going to build the kingdom that way,” said Jesus. You cannot point me to a single verse in the New Testament—there is not the slightest whiff in the New Testament—that we advance the kingdom of God by the sword. Isaac Backus again: “Our glorious Head [Jesus] made no use of secular force in the first setting up of the gospel church.” Jesus and the apostles didn’t need the sword to set up churches, which are the pathway to true righteousness and justice and love of neighbor. Do we?

My ostensible purpose for standing here is to present a defense for religious liberty. I’ve been invited as the Baptist after all. And if you’ve never attended a Baptist church, you should know that religious liberty is really the only thing we try to teach our kids in their Sunday school classes. Presbyterians teach their kids about the Bible’s glorious covenants. Lutherans teach their kids about the law and the gospel. Methodists are talking about sanctification and piety. Baptists, well, we got religious liberty.
Of course, a growing number of Christians wonder if religious liberty is really the best doctrine to be teaching in this morally chaotic and, frankly, neo-pagan age. In fact, couldn’t it be that this Baptist emphasis really is just classical liberalism talking, because we’ve been co-opted, and that it’s led to the rampant individualism and anti-authority-ism, that’s participated in creating our present moral chaos? Honestly, those are good questions to ask. I think in some cases, I assume the answers are “yes.”
For our purposes here, I don’t want to merely think through the matter as a theologian or theoretician. Instead, I want to place the conversation inside a pastoral framework. Meaning, let’s think about real people, at this moment in history, and put our theology into the service of that.
Recently, I had breakfast with a friend whose 18-year-old nephew—let me call him “Sam”—committed suicide a few months back. Sam, who struggled with mental health issues, lost his way. Yet my friend also talked about the larger world of TikTok, and deconstruction, and questions about gender, and a whole culture telling Sam he was free to be whoever he wanted to be. Sam lacked the structures, the moorings, the fixed points of moral evaluation, to answer the question, “Who am I?” He couldn’t get a grip. So he took his life.
It should make you angry—angry at all those cultural forces which have set themselves to destroying the good, the true, the beautiful, undermining and destroying 18-year-olds like Sam. Others, you know, turn to drugs, or shopping, or body cult, or a hundred other distractions. There’s nothing to live for.
My friend’s story hit home because my nephew is 19 and is trying to find his way. His sister is 17. My three older daughters are 16, 15, and 13. All of them have grown up with weekly church attendance, family worship, parental discipleship. But they’re facing the same world as Sam.
What do my daughters, and my niece and nephew, as they leave homes which have been shaped by the truths of Christianity, need? Most of all, they need Jesus. Both for the sake of this life and the next, they need Jesus. And so my wife and I pray and pray and pray, and then we’ll wait.
But let me refine the question: what do these teenagers need and not need from societies larger structures, like church and state, so that they might know Jesus? I’m setting the conversation up this way, because I think it puts us in the right framework. Christians should approach every action, structure, and decision in life asking the question, how will this help me and my fellow Christians, and the world, better know Jesus? It should be our driving question in everything. Sam’s story, tragically, is over. But there are millions more Sams launching into the world. So what do my niece and nephew and my teenage daughters need and not need? Seven things.
1. They don’t need to be treated like children any longer, but like adults, and a state which seeks to implement the first table of the law treats them like children.
The Magisterial Reformers may have believed the magistrate’s jurisdiction “extends to both tables of the law” and to protecting true worship because “no polity can be successfully established unless piety be its first care.” So argued John Calvin by appealing to the Davidic kings. And in one sense he’s right. People will not truly love their neighbors and refrain from murder, stealing, lying, and sexual deviancy if they don’t first love God. The second table depends on the first. Love of neighbor depends on love of God.
Therefore—the Magisterial Reformers reasoned—we should criminalize violations of the first table.
It’s that “therefore” that I disagree with. There’s a difference between recognizing moral truths and realities and granting the state the authority to enforce them. A moral “is” does not equate to a governmental “ought.” So it’s true that laws against murder and stealing will only be fully obeyed among a people who worship no other gods—see heaven. Yet that doesn’t mean the nations of the world outside of ancient Israel, whether today or in the days of the Old Testament, have been authorized to wield the sword against first table infractions.
Furthermore, how well did the Mosaic Covenant’s call to enforce the first table work for Israel? Did it, as Calvin says, establish piety as Israel’s first care? Don’t the lessons of Israel’s failure and exile teach the exact opposite? Isn’t the takeaway lesson that human beings can have God’s own law written on stone, God’s hand selected kings and priests, God’s own presence in the temple, and yet they still worship other gods and sacrifice their children to idols? If laws against blasphemy didn’t work for them, why do we think it will work for us? If the answer is, “Well, we have Holy Spirit-indwelled churches now,” then, yes, we do. But we don’t have a Holy-Spirit-indwelled nation. So why, again, would we expect first table enforcement to work any differently for our nation than for the Israelite nation?
For as much as our doctrine of total depravity depends on Reformed theologians like Calvin, a Reformed Baptist like me would suggest he failed to apply that doctrine adequately to his political theology. The divinely-intended political theological lesson of Israel’s failure is that our hearts are so corrupt that the sword can do nothing—absolutely nothing—to change them, which is why Jesus refused Peter’s grab at a sword in the Garden of Gethsemane. Nothing other than the regenerating work of the Holy Spirit will yield obedience to the First Table of the law, so look for such obedience in your churches. Patrol those borders for First Table adherence. The church now possesses this priestly job, not the nation. To seek to enforce the First Table should necessarily lead to the death penalty and exile, because “None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God” (Rom. 3:11). Indeed, that’s why God exiled Israel.
Second Table enforcement, however, is different. By God’s common grace, non-Christians really can be expected and made to keep aspects of it. We really can enforce laws against murder and stealing. Idolatry? Good luck. That’s one lesson of ancient Israel.
Not only that, it’s true I require my children to attend church and endure family worship at home. But I’ve never criminalized or punished violations of the first table in my home. Can you imagine punishing your children for—all by itself— not loving God?
The question I’d ask of the First Table-Enforcers today is, do they think that launching my children and theirs into a society that punishes First Table infractions, if only by making them second-class citizens, really helps them to know Jesus? Do they assume our children will respond well to that?
Suppose I had a rebellious child. Suppose she evidenced this rebellious nature from a young age, and it continues through her teenage years. What exactly do the First-Table enforcers think governmental laws will do that my home laws, combined as they are with love and personal knowledge and affirmation and affection, will accomplish?
Magisterial Protestantism, and various forms of theonomy, and a certain variety of Christian nationalism, sometimes draw an analogy to the “Christian family.” They argue that, in the same way a so-called Christian parents establish structures, rules, and practices that are conducive to Christian belief, so can the state. Yet in so doing, they treat adults as children. They infantilize them.
My point here is not, “That’s insulting. How dare you treat people like children!” The point is, adults aren’t children. They’re not wired like children, particularly children living in the homes of Christian parents. Recall how Jesus said we need the faith of a child? Therefore, we launch them from the home. We remove the strictures we placed on them. For one, we stop requiring them to attend church with us. In general, we should not expect such structures-conducive-to-belief, whatever those are, to work for adults like they do for children. It’s strange to me, therefore, that the First-Table enforcers want to extend the parental hand out of the home, down the street, and into all of life for the child that the parent has let go of.
And that brings me to a second point.
2. Our sons and daughters, launching into the world, don’t need false gods and false Christianities established in the public square.
For every time you manage to get hold of the sword to prosecute your religion or your sect, seven other times someone else will get a hold of it to prosecute theirs against yours. Isaac Backus commented, “the same sword that Constantine drew against the heretics, Julian turned against the orthodox.”
One question those who call for the legal implementation of first table matters never answer is, how can you guarantee it’s your God or your version of Christianity, and not, say, Joe Biden’s Christianity, which is being established? And here’s where the whole comparison to the so-called “Christian family” breaks down. What’s the starting point for what people call a “Christian family”? Christian parents. Great. Christian parents should implement Christian structures and expectations. Yet then folks make the quick analogy. “The government should do what Christian parents do.” Okay, but with Christian parents, you are, by definition, starting with the most important thing: Christians. With a government, you’re not. So how can you guarantee it? Because the whole theory of government propounded by First-Table establishers depends on it.
Not only that, the Bible assigns parents with the broadest authority of any authority on earth. It’s effectively totalitarian, extending from learning to wipe your bottom to instructions on worship. Are you sure that you want to draw that analogy, and hand such a broad, totalitarian authority to the government? In Russia, you’ll get a Roman Orthodox church. You want that? In Italy, a Roman Catholic one. Do you want that? And never mind what you’ll get in the nations governed by other religions.
No, I don’t want any of these things for my daughters in order for them to know Jesus, nor do I want the government treating them with the same authority as my own.
3. They need the freedom to make their own decisions about who God is and whether or not they will follow him.
Friends, get into your heads any non-Christian you know. Can you really imagine trying to induce them toward Christianity with any type of threat? Any type of penalty? Any type of tax? Any type of second class citizenship? Can you imagine saying to that non-Christian you’re thinking of, “We’re going to fine you for not loving Jesus like we think you should?” Do you think that will work?
If so, I question your understanding of psychology, not to mention the Holy Spirit, the new birth, and conversion. Again, do you do that even with your kids now? Is it law that Paul says will bring us to repentance? Or the kindness and the grace of God (see Rom. 2:4)?
The kingdom of God will not be advanced by the sword. Peter wanted to pick up the sword in the Garden of Gethsemane. “We’re not going to build the kingdom that way,” said Jesus. You cannot point me to a single verse in the New Testament—there is not the slightest whiff in the New Testament—that we advance the kingdom of God by the sword. Isaac Backus again: “Our glorious Head [Jesus] made no use of secular force in the first setting up of the gospel church.” Jesus and the apostles didn’t need the sword to set up churches, which are the pathway to true righteousness and justice and love of neighbor. Do we?
To put this third point another way: enforcing the First Table operates by kingdom of man logic (triumph through power) rather than kingdom of God logic (triumph through weakness). What do our teenagers and non-Christian friends, what does the church itself, need to learn about Jesus? That with his first-coming, he foregrounded his work of priestly weakness and sacrifice. He does not foreground his work of kingly triumph until his second coming. That’s one of the things that changed from the old covenant to the new. Isaiah teaches that the Davidic King, who established the kingdom of Israel in strength, would turn out to be the suffering servant, who established the kingdom of God in weakness. And yet now, folk think we’re to do it like Israel did it? Did we miss how Christ said he would build his kingdom?
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There’s No Such Thing as Virtual Church

By Jonathan Leeman — 3 years ago

Virtual church as a permanent option, hurts Christian discipleship. It trains Christians to think of their faith as autonomous. It teaches them they can follow Jesus as a member of the “family of God,” in some abstract sense, without teaching them what it means to be a part of a family and to make sacrifices for a family.

The COVID-19 pandemic was challenging for churches around the world precisely because, in so many places, the saints had difficulty gathering and learning to cherish the Word of God together. After a few months of not gathering during the early days of COVID-19, I felt as if I were losing track of my church. Friends would ask, “How is your church doing?” I had a hard time answering. I was making regular phone calls and sending text messages to individual members, but I couldn’t get my mind around the whole body. The church felt like rainwater on a parking lot after a storm—spread thin, with puddles here and there.
The elders worried most about spiritually weak members who were struggling in their faith or facing particular temptations. We worried about those who already seemed to be drifting spiritually, those with one foot out the door months before the pandemic forced them out altogether.
Yet not gathering affected everyone—the spiritually mature and immature alike. Each one of us needs to see and to hear our fellow saints regularly. Otherwise, it’s only colleagues at work, friends at school, or TV characters whose patterns we observe.
What Are We Missing?
Once the pandemic began, many churches livestreamed their services, and many voices extolled the enduring value of “virtual church.” Pastors who had previously decried the idea now opened up “virtual campuses” and staffed them with full-time pastors, promising that the campuses would continue indefinitely. This was an exciting development in the history of fulfilling the Great Commission, some said.
And yet we wonder: What goes missing when your “church” experience is nothing more than a weekly livestream? For starters, you think less about your fellow members. They don’t come to mind. You don’t bump into them and have the quick conversations that lead to longer conversations over dinner. Beyond that, you remove yourself from the path of encouragement, accountability, and love.
Praise God that we can download biblical truths. But let’s praise God that the Christian life is more than just an information transfer. When church is only online, we can’t feel, experience, and witness those truths becoming enfleshed in the family of God, which both fortifies our faith and creates cords of love between brothers and sisters. Virtual church is an oxymoron.
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