In the things that matter most I long to be childish once again. To hear the words of Jesus, and feel his welcoming embrace, and simply stand with wide-eyed wonder and innocent acceptance. I long for the scales to fall from my eyes, and with untainted vision see the grace of the gospel in all its fullness wash away the stain of skepticism.

Two things I long for. Two things lost, but not forgotten.
The childish wonder I saw in a lizard as it lay warming itself in a dust speckled shaft of sunlight. The eyes of my children as they drank my words that fuelled imaginations of a world yet to be seen.
Adulthood is conditioned toward sclerosis. As I speed toward a half century of life, I feel a hardening creeping toward me as the sun begins to dip beyond the zenith of my days of wandering. When did I cautiously handle every new discovery, swill every new taste before swallowing? When did my default setting switch to “let’s wait and see”? When did I become such a skeptic?
Skepticism is exhausting. Always looking for the angle, the sell, the loop-hole, the attached strings. Always listening for the subliminal message, the ring of falsehood, the unmistakable tone of sensationalism. Always expecting the let down, the “told you so”, the uncovering of lies, the sting of disappointment. I grieve the passing of childish days, where innocent wondering consumed my mind but never wearied my soul.
I grieve too, the passing chapter of parenting that saw the same hardening in my children. I wistfully smile as I recall the wide-eyed excitement my children lived in, long before disappointments marred their vision; yesterday, when skepticism lay undiscovered and simple pleasures were simply that. Both they and I, when I too was like them, saw the world in wholeness, sharp edged and clear. We had untainted eyes. But those days have slipped away.

Skepticism is like a microscope whose magnification is constantly increased: the sharp image that one begins with finally dissolves, because it is not possible to see ultimate things: their existence is only to be inferred.— Stanislaw Lem

Now, with brief glimpses of “if, buts, and maybes”, we feverishly build an image of the world that won’t crumble beneath our feet. Forever groping about, not trusting the ground with our full weight, anxiously expecting to pitch forward into the darkness, knowing that those who promise to break our fall probably won’t. What a wretched existence we’ve constructed for ourselves.
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It is clear that scripture calls us to a higher standard in setting goals. The goals we set as Christians must be in accordance with God’s will and under his leadership. So, in James 4, James is not saying that we should not set goals. What he is saying is that we should set goals and make plans as God leads, but hold them loosely: “Instead, you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wills, we shall live and also do this or that’” (Jam. 4:15). Herein lies the balance of the Christian life: although Paul set Christ-centered goals and developed specific plans to achieve them, he was also sensitive to the Lord altering his plans.

If you knew without a doubt that you could not fail in accomplishing one major goal, what goal would you set for your life?
I have heard this question for years in business circles when the subject of goal-setting comes up. It’s also one I think about between Christmas and the new year as I pray and think through what God wants me to accomplish in the coming year.
For those who have put their trust in the Lord, maybe a better question is, “Should we as Christians set goals?”
Over the years, I have heard many answers to that question. In the recent past, the answer from the church has usually been “no.” I have heard sermons expounding the dangers of fleshly zeal tied to spiritual goals. James is often quoted to support this argument:
Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that” (Jam. 4:13-15 ESV)
Yet today if you google the question, “Should we as Christians set goals?” the search yields about 159,000,000 results, many of which provide detailed instruction on how to make your goals a reality.
Two Ways to Look at Setting Goals
With goal-setting, like many issues, it’s easy to fall into two dangerous extremes.
The first extreme is to choose not to have any goals or plans. These people aim at nothing and hit it with amazing consistency. They claim to always want to be open to the leading of the Holy Spirit, who they suggest only leads people in a spontaneous way. Although this may seem spiritual, they are not really using their God-given intellect to set good goals, plans, and decisions.
The second extreme is when people develop such rigid goals and plans that there is no room for the daily guidance of the Holy Spirit.
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Ultimately though, the last names chosen for the OPC and the PCA are probably better than their first. And the tortuous church-naming process the two bodies endured offers a warning to any would-be splitters or leavers: choosing (and keeping) a new denominational name may be harder than anyone expects. And think of all the stationery that might have to be thrown away!

Today, neither the Orthodox Presbyterian Church nor the Presbyterian Church in America bear their first chosen names. Different as the two denominations are, the reasons for their name changes and even their slates of rejected names are quite similar. And the names—those chosen and those passed over—say a good bit about the aspirations and outlooks of the two churches at the tumultuous times of their formation.
The OPC formed on June 11, 1936 when 34 ministers, 17 ruling elders, and 79 laymen met in Philadelphia to constitute the new church as the Presbyterian Church of America. This founding few left the Presbyterian Church in the United States of America (PCUSA), the rapidly-liberalizing Northern mainline church, with their leader J. Gresham Machen, whose 1935 conviction was upheld by the 1936 PCUSA General Assembly. Among Machen’s crimes (besides being irritatingly effective at pointing out the PCUSA’s slide into unbelief) was his role in an independent missions board meant to support only orthodox missionaries.
Though the number of “orthodox” ministers and churches that left the PCUSA with Machen was small, their vision and hopes were large, thus the OPC’s first chosen name was the Presbyterian Church of America.
The fledgling assembly (whose full number would have fit into two or three buses) proclaimed in their Act of Association:
In order to continue what we believe to be the true spiritual succession of the Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A., which we hold to have been abandoned by the present organization of that body, and to make clear to all the world that we have no connection with the organization bearing that name…do hereby associate ourselves together with all Christian people who do and will adhere to us, in a body to be known and styled as the Presbyterian Church of America.
Was the “of” chosen because of some fancy that the eventual OPC was in fact the Only Presbyterian Church for the USA? Probably not, but it must indicate…something. Maybe it was chosen to be as close to their progenitor’s name as possible while still providing differentiation.
At any rate, the first PCA did not remain so denominated for long. Their wayward strumpet of a “mother” church was then well supplied with lawyers, politicians, movers, and shakers so there were plenty of suits ready to swing into action when the PCUSA decided that a tiny church with the words “Presbyterian,” “Church,” and “America” in their name threatened their mammoth brand. The legal letters began to fly and the tiny, cash-strapped PCofA had to give in.
A general assembly (the first of two in 1939) was called expressly for the purpose of re-denominating the three-year-old church. The minutes disclose an astonishing slate of proposed noms d’église:
The following names were suggested: The Orthodox Presbyterian Church, The Evangelical Presbyterian Church, The Presbyterian and Reformed Church of America, The American Pres. Church, The Presbyterian Church of Christ, The Protestant Presbyterian Church of America, The Seceding Presbyterian Church (of America), The Free Presbyterian Church of America, The True Presbyterian Church of the World, The American Orthodox Presbyterian Church.
It took at least four ballots to finally choose The Orthodox Presbyterian Church, a name that seemed to guarantee that the church would forever be known as both odd and highly doctrinal. Who can but regret that The True Presbyterian Church of the World was not chosen? Such a name might have at least helped the OPC avoid their several failed flirtations with church union. And did rejection of The Evangelical Presbyterian Church presage the OPC’s “sideline” understanding of itself as a pilgrim church?  Interestingly, that name was adopted in 1961 by an offshoot of the OPC’s early fundamentalist offshoot (the Bible Presbyterian Church) and by other more patient (though unrelated) mainline refugees in 1981.
The loss of their founder (Machen died barely six months into the church’s life), the loss of church property (for most), and the loss of their first chosen name  might have demoralized the infant communion—yet they persisted.
In 1973 the OPC’s Southern cousins (wearing wide ties and earth-tone polyester) left another expression of liberalizing mainline presbyterianism, the Presbyterian Church in the United States. This church’s conservatives were used to nice things, respectability, and cultural influence, and their first chosen name for a continuing church reflected their great expectations: The National Presbyterian Church. But the mainline struck again, though not in the form of a denomination but of a local mainline congregation. And quite a locality it was. The ultra-modern National Presbyterian Church in Washington, DC (the cornerstone of which was laid by former President Eisenhower on October 14, 1967) was a sort of last gasp of truly Christian nationalist pretensions. And it was considered the flagship church of the clunkily named Northern mainline body, The United Presbyterian Church in the United States of America (UPCUSA), later to join with the PCUS to form the current PCUSA.  The local church was jealous for its name, and they, too, could afford great lawyers.
One of the first actions of the National Presbyterian Church’s second assembly (1974) was to find a new name and thus lose the unwelcome legal troubles. The list of proposed names was a wonder to behold:

National Reformed Presbyterian Church
The Presbyterian Church of America
International Presbyterian Church
Vanguard Presbyterian Church
Presbyterian Church in America
Presbyterian National Church
Historic Presbyterian Church
Evangelical Presbyterian Church
International Reformed Presbyterian Church
Presbyterian Church of the Covenant
Nationwide Presbyterian Church
Continuing Presbyterian Church
National Continuing Presbyterian Church
American Presbyterian Church
Christian Presbyterian Church
Presbyterian Church of Jesus Christ
Reformed Presbyterian Church in the United States

Some looked back, some looked forward, a few were identical to names on earlier OPC lists, many were quite American or national. Conspicuous by its absence was the term “Southern.” The new denomination’s expansive vision was obvious—they would be a regional church no more.
On Tuesday evening (the assembly’s first day) the name National Reformed Presbyterian Church was chosen. The year-old church had a new name by the addition of only one word. The church’s legal counsel was immediately tasked with clearing the new name with the offended Washington, DC congregation.
The next morning—either because of communication with the DC church or because of second thoughts—the Rev. Kennedy Smartt moved that the name be reconsidered. A gang of eight names included a few that were more international or mission-oriented than national:

Presbyterian Church in America
The Presbyterian Church
International Presbyterian Church
Grace Presbyterian Church
Mission Presbyterian Church
National Reformed Presbyterian Church
American Presbyterian Church
Presbyterian Church of the Americas

The assembly overwhelmingly selected Presbyterian Church in America—a name very close to the OPC’s original name but with the all-important “in” rather than “of,” reflecting the Southern church’s spirituality-of-the-church convictions. By the end of its second assembly the church was on its third name, but this one would stick.
So what is in a church name? Maybe a little, maybe a lot. The old saw says that seeing the sausage made is not a good idea. Seeing it made quickly and under duress may be an even more unpleasant proposition. Ultimately though, the last names chosen for the OPC and the PCA are probably better than their first. And the tortuous church-naming process the two bodies endured offers a warning to any would-be splitters or leavers: choosing (and keeping) a new denominational name may be harder than anyone expects. And think of all the stationery that might have to be thrown away!
This article originally appeared in the Nicotine Theological Journal and is used with permission. Read more from the NTJ here: https://oldlife.org/2022/06/15/it-may-not-be-april-but-it-is-still-spring-in-time-for-ntj
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 is a co-editor of the Nicotine Theological Journal.
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