If it isn’t a baby really, we should be telling the Ferdinands to get over themselves and stop making mountains out of mole hills. It is not different to having some skin peel off. It is a total nonsense to make such things national news: couple distraught at clump of cells no longer existing. If, however, it is a real human life, not only is their sadness justified, it is entirely right and well placed. And as justifiable and proper as devastation at the loss of a child is, so too ought we to be horrified by the wanton destruction and murder of such same unborn children. But it clearly cannot be both.

Last week, I saw the sad news that Kate and Rio Ferdinand had lost their unborn baby. It doesn’t matter who you are, such things are always an absolute tragedy.
I was surprised by two things in the article. First, and the less, but nonetheless still, surprising thing was that this hit the news at all. That isn’t to diminish it, just to say I don’t tend to expect national newspapers to bother running these sorts of stories. Certainly not the kind of broadsheet I happened to read it in. I was surprised it was deemed especially newsworthy for most people.
But the much more surprising thing was the headline and nature of the content. The headline was very clear: Kate Ferdinand announces loss of her and husband Rio’s unborn baby. The content was even clearer still. It referred to them as having ‘lost their unborn child’ and reported that it was announced because ‘our baby had no heartbeat in our 12 week scan and I had to have surgery.’ I was surprised because their baby was referred to clearly as a baby and an unborn child despite only being 12-weeks old.
This is notable because we are continually told that babies of such an age are merely ‘clumps of cells’. They are usually referred to exclusively as foetuses. They are rarely referred to as babies or children.
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What happens when the culture moves in a less theocentric direction?  The middle also moves with it. While William Childs Robinson may have been pugnacious in his defense of traditional Calvinism, he was right about the effects of loosening confessional subscription on the institution and the church. The story of Columbia Theological Seminary is mixed.  There were many days of greatness followed by mediocrity.  There were movements to improve the institution by moving in a more elite direction, but there was a loss of confessional stability.

Erskine Clarke, To Count Our Days: A History of Columbia Theological Seminary. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 2019. Pp. 369.
Erskine Clarke, a former professor of American Religion at Columbia Theological Seminary, has written a readable and thought-provoking history of one of the preeminent seminaries of the Southern Presbyterian Church.  In its 369 pages, he gives the reader a critical view of the seminary.  What separates it from David Calhoun’s volume on Columbia, Our Southern Zion, is the connections with southern culture and his critical analysis of some of the theologians connected to the institution—especially over the issues of race.  Also, unlike Calhoun’s volume, he goes into the history of the seminary when it moved to Atlanta.  For Clarke, Columbia is a seminary that struggled financially and intellectually with its past.  He traces the changes to the seminary from strict Calvinism to a seminary that is now loosely associated with the Presbyterian Church and dominated by a theology of diversity.
Clarke begins his history with the founding of the seminary in Columbia, South Carolina.  While there are other histories of the institution that can give the names, dates, and synodical actions that brought the seminary into existence, Clarke goes beyond that by bringing out the influence of the plantation system and slavery in Columbia’s founding.
Ainsley-Hall, the centerpiece of the seminary, was a southern mansion whose physical characteristics pointed to an elitist institution that trained the gentlemen theologians of the south.  But the institution and the building were “to help hide the harsh realities of slavery and to help legitimize the power and wealth of slave owners and the social order that kept them powerful” (p. 7).  Clarke is somewhat justified in his opinion because the seminary was intertwined with the plantation system and its slaves.  The seminary in its early years may have had a brilliant faculty with John Henley Thornwell, Benjamin Morgan Palmer, and John Adger, but slavery was also there.  While some Columbia professors may have disliked slavery as an institution, they were still paternalistic towards African Americans.  The approach of the Columbia theologians as described by Clarke, was a middle way between abolition and radical proslavery opinions which was dehumanizing. But the middle way would be abandoned during the Civil War for an extreme position.
With the advent of the Civil War and reconstruction, the seminary suffered through poverty and destruction with the dismantling of the plantation system.  As a way to survive the war intellectually, John Girardeau and other faculty created a milieu in which they maintained southern culture and used language to preserve the “lost cause.”  Clarke sees this era as one of not only economic but also intellectual impoverishment.  He notes that John Girardeau’s theology represented a “theological shift.”  “Girardeau’s scholasticism represented a narrowing of the spirit that animated the seminary and that he shaped the tone of what was taught and learned on the seminary campus” (p. 111).  He contrasts Girardeau to Adger, who followed the sacramental mystery of Calvin.
Another event was the James Woodrow affair which was a retreat from openness to science.  Woodrow was called to the Perkins Professorship of Natural Science in Connection with Revelation which was established in 1859.  The scientifically trained Woodrow was to show that there were no conflicts between biblical revelation and science.  Woodrow was a proponent of evolution and “insisted science was neither religious nor irreligious…” (p. 119).  But for R. L. Dabney and other southern theologians, the ramifications were an assault of modernism.  Clarke believes that the real issue was that Woodrow called into question not only the received orthodoxy, but also “Their self-understanding as white Southern Presbyterian” (p. 123). It was a further narrowing of the intellect.
The fortunes of the seminary changed in the twentieth century with the re-emergence of the south’s economy.  The seminary moved from Columbia to Atlanta in 1927 and with significant changes.  The architecture changed from a southern mansion in Columbia which was its main building to architecture that was reminiscent of Cambridge and Oxford.  The physical plant resembled a college which gave the tincture of elite academics. Under the long serving president McDowell Richards, there was a move towards academic professionalization and a broader perspective as new faculty was hired.  Eventually, Columbia turned to Neo-Orthodoxy, feminism, and diversity.  The seminary that once saw itself in service to the Southern Presbyterian Church loosened its ties to Presbyterianism and in 2012 its revised mission statement said that “Columbia Theological Seminary exists to educate and nurture the faithful, imaginative, and effective leaders for the sake of the Church and the world” (pg. 285). Clarke sees Columbia now as “post-denominational” (p. 285).
Conservatives during this period are not portrayed positively.  William Childs Robinson is portrayed as arrogant and overly zealous in his defense of traditional doctrine.  George Manford Gutzke comes off as an academic lightweight. As the 1960s approached with the problems of segregation, conservative students were seen as intolerant when it came to the issue of race and theological liberalism.  Some of those students included the founders of the P.C.A., such as Morton Smith and Kennedy Smartt.  In the epilogue to his volume, Clark asks the question whether Columbia is trying to rid itself of its tradition which was heavily influenced by antebellum southern culture only to be replaced by a cosmopolitan culture (pp. 291-292).
This book should encourage readers to ponder Erskine Clarke’s work due to his investigation of the influence of culture on seminary education.  As one reads about the impact of slavery and racism, one cannot help but mourn.  And while one may focus on the glories of the southern presbyterian tradition, one may want to also groan over its shortcoming.
Yet, while conservatives have their own sins to bear, progressives also have much to ponder. The loss of confessional fidelity has led the seminary away from it primary mission of not just equipping ministers for the Presbyterian church, but also its own unique Christian witness.  Besides vocational training, Columbia’s modern ethos makes it more like a modern university.  One set of cultural values has been exchanged for another.
There are issues that some readers will take issue with this volume.  Clarke comes close to stating that the adoption of Old School Calvinism contributed to the establishment of slavery.  He writes that the “theological traditions taught at Columbia offered students and their parishioners’ explanations of the incongruent and contradictory character of life in a slave society and provided ethical standards for living in such a world” (p. 25). To some extent this may be true, but it also needs to be kept in mind that there have been a variety of responses to slavey amongst the proponents of Old School Theology even during the Civil War period.
While this volume gives some idea of the changes that occurred theologically at Columbia, it makes the reader ponder how the seminary wandered so far from its past.  Perhaps part of the reason is that Columbia, according to the author, tried to forge a “middle way” between extremes.  During the Civil War, they didn’t follow that mindset.  With the recovery of the south after the war, that genteel mindset may be a significant reason for the change. What happens when the culture moves in a less theocentric direction?  The middle also moves with it. While William Childs Robinson may have been pugnacious in his defense of traditional Calvinism, he was right about the effects of loosening confessional subscription on the institution and the church.
The story of Columbia Theological Seminary is mixed.  There were many days of greatness followed by mediocrity.  There were movements to improve the institution by moving in a more elite direction, but there was a loss of confessional stability.
Dr. Jerry Robbins is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America and is Pastor of Warrington PCA in Pensacola, Fla.
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Those who promote themselves without God’s authorization (i.e., recognition granted to them by the church – see Acts 13:1–3), gain position by giving it to themselves or taking it from others. Instead of waiting on the Lord to receive a ministry at the right time in the right way, those who are committed to making themselves great are unconcerned for how their ministry might impact others. They see a path to service and the popularity found from others is sufficient cause for continuing.

Throughout the Bible we find a divide between wisdom and folly, righteousness and sin, givers and takers, children of God and children of the devil. As Jesus said, he did not come to bring peace, but a sword (Matt. 10:34–35). And that sword not only divides humanity, which provides the context of his words in Matthew’s Gospel, it is also a sword that judges the thoughts and intentions of men. Indeed, God’s Word does more than declare behavior right and wrong; it does surgery on the heart, exposing why we do what we do.
In the Bible, and in the church, few things are more difficult to discern than motivations for ministry. For truly, as many good motivations as there are, there are also bad motivations. There is ambition that is godly and ambition that is anything but godly. And in every child of God who serves faithfully, there will be both impulses.
Just consider the Apostle Peter, who could confess Jesus as the Christ at the same time that he would deny him his cross (see Matt. 16:13–23). Indeed, at one time or another, all the disciples had a mixture of true and false ambitions, which is why Jesus had to correct their views on greatness (Mark 10:42–45). Truly, we are fickle creatures. And the best of men is both taught by God and tempted by the devil. Again, read Matthew 16.
So, knowing that, we should always be open to examining our motivations for ministries, and that is what this series is about. It aims to address false ambitions and to set a course towards true ambitions for ministry.
In Part 1, I offered two lessons from the life of Adonijah.

We should not seek positions in ministry; we should seek the righteousness to receive such a place of service.
We should abide by the word, and wait for an invitation to serve.

And now, in Part 2, I will suggest a third lesson from Adonijah’s life:

When kingdom-seekers exalt themselves, their ambition follows a discernible pattern.

This pattern consists of five actions that Adonijah pursued in his attempt to be king in Israel. And, as the story goes, he nearly succeeded. What ultimately prevented him from claiming the throne illicitly is that genuine servants of God stood to oppose him. His false ambitions were thwarted because the ambitions of others were rooted in God’s Word.
Sadly, this sort of conflict continues today.
In truth, only when righteous men and women stand against falsehood will truth prevail. Yet, this is exactly why it is vital to learn the pattern of those who exalt themselves. For in ministry, when good works are pursued with bad motives, it can be very difficult to discern. Often, the falsehood of good works takes years, even decades, to discern. Yet, Scripture does give us light, if we are willing to look. And that is what we find in Adonijah’s play for David’s throne.
Adonijah’s Ambition
When Adonijah exalted himself to a position of royal authority, he followed a pattern of action that many have followed before and since. Indeed, this pattern of self-exaltation is the exact opposite of Christ’s self-effacing, self-sacrificing service (see Phil. 2:5–8). Instead of humbling himself and waiting to be exalted, Adonijah used his resources to collect a following. And then, he attempted to build a kingdom with his followers. From his sinful example, we are warned of an ambitious nature that seeks ministry by means of self-promotion.
Now, of course, the pursuit of gospel ministry does not look like glory-seeking for most people. Yet, among those who worship in David’s rebuilt house (i.e., the church), there remains a temptation to self-exaltation. And tragically, those most skilled for ministry are most easily tempted. As with any good thing, it can become a god-thing (an idol). And that is one of the warnings that the story of Adonijah offers. For those seeking ministry and for anyone who might encounter someone promoting themselves in ministry. (And I would put myself in the camp of those who have had to learn to put selfish ambitions to death.)
Indeed, self-promotion is often covered by words of truth and acts of service. As a result, recognition of such self-serving can be missed or dismissed. Even more, many in the church can be deceived by zealous “servants” who exalt themselves with their service in ministry. This pattern of selfish ambition in God’s kingdom is not easily spotted, but it does have certain discernible patterns. For nothing is new under the sun, and in Adonijah we can see at least five steps to such self-promotion.
By examining his life, may we learn to seek new life in Christ.
Five Steps of Self-Promotion
1. Self-actualization.
In Adonijah’s case, he not only exalted himself, he vowed to himself, “I will be king” (v. 5).
The power of a self-made man is in his secret vow to do great things. In truth, not everyone who achieves great things is self-seeking, but many are. And when they are, they are often driven by some inward compulsion.
That compulsion may come from any number of family situations (e.g., the absence of a father, the neglect of a mother, competition with a sibling), or it may come from somewhere else. But wherever it comes from, the need to actualize self is not a godly motivation to serve from a heart overflowing with God’s love. It is profoundly human motivation, one that comes from a heart needing to find love or praise or glory from others.
And thus, the first step of self-promotion is a subterranean urge to be great. This urge may come forth viscerally in verbal statements marked by pride, competition, envy, or self-glorification. Or, it may be more subtle. It may be hidden and only seen in promises made to self or hidden in a diary.
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