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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I wish I could say that what I am describing hasn’t taken a personal toll. But it has taken exactly the toll it was intended to: an increasingly intolerable working life and without the protection of tenure. This isn’t about me. This is about the kind of institutions we want and the values we choose. Every idea that has advanced human freedom has always, and without fail, been initially condemned. As individuals, we often seem incapable of remembering this lesson, but that is exactly what our institutions are for: to remind us that the freedom to question is our fundamental right. Educational institutions should remind us that that right is also our duty. 

Peter Boghossian has taught philosophy at Portland State University for the past decade. In the letter below, sent this morning to the university’s provost, he explains why he is resigning.
Dear Provost Susan Jeffords,
I’m writing to you today [09/08/21] to resign as assistant professor of philosophy at Portland State University.
Over the last decade, it has been my privilege to teach at the university. My specialties are critical thinking, ethics and the Socratic method, and I teach classes like Science and Pseudoscience and The Philosophy of Education. But in addition to exploring classic philosophers and traditional texts, I’ve invited a wide range of guest lecturers to address my classes, from Flat-Earthers to Christian apologists to global climate skeptics to Occupy Wall Street advocates. I’m proud of my work.
I invited those speakers not because I agreed with their worldviews, but primarily because I didn’t. From those messy and difficult conversations, I’ve seen the best of what our students can achieve: questioning beliefs while respecting believers; staying even-tempered in challenging circumstances; and even changing their minds.
I never once believed —  nor do I now —  that the purpose of instruction was to lead my students to a particular conclusion. Rather, I sought to create the conditions for rigorous thought; to help them gain the tools to hunt and furrow for their own conclusions. This is why I became a teacher and why I love teaching.
But brick by brick, the university has made this kind of intellectual exploration impossible. It has transformed a bastion of free inquiry into a Social Justice factory whose only inputs were race, gender, and victimhood and whose only outputs were grievance and division.
Students at Portland State are not being taught to think. Rather, they are being trained to mimic the moral certainty of ideologues. Faculty and administrators have abdicated the university’s truth-seeking mission and instead drive intolerance of divergent beliefs and opinions. This has created a culture of offense where students are now afraid to speak openly and honestly.
I noticed signs of the illiberalism that has now fully swallowed the academy quite early during my time at Portland State. I witnessed students refusing to engage with different points of view.  Questions from faculty at diversity trainings that challenged approved narratives were instantly dismissed. Those who asked for evidence to justify new institutional policies were accused of microaggressions. And professors were accused of bigotry for assigning canonical texts written by philosophers who happened to have been European and male.
At first, I didn’t realize how systemic this was and I believed I could question this new culture. So I began asking questions. What is the evidence that trigger warnings and safe spaces contribute to student learning? Why should racial consciousness be the lens through which we view our role as educators? How did we decide that “cultural appropriation” is immoral?
Unlike my colleagues, I asked these questions out loud and in public.
I decided to study the new values that were engulfing Portland State and so many other educational institutions — values that sound wonderful, like diversity, equity, and inclusion, but might actually be just the opposite. The more I read the primary source material produced by critical theorists, the more I suspected that their conclusions reflected the postulates of an ideology, not insights based on evidence.
I began networking with student groups who had similar concerns and brought in speakers to explore these subjects from a critical perspective. And it became increasingly clear to me that the incidents of illiberalism I had witnessed over the years were not just isolated events, but part of an institution-wide problem.
The more I spoke out about these issues, the more retaliation I faced.
Early in the 2016-17 academic year, a former student complained about me and the university initiated a Title IX investigation.  (Title IX investigations are a part of federal law designed to protect “people from discrimination based on sex in education programs or activities that receive federal financial assistance.”) My accuser, a white male, made a slew of baseless accusations against me, which university confidentiality rules unfortunately prohibit me from discussing further. What I can share is that students of mine who were interviewed during the process told me the Title IX investigator asked them if they knew anything about me beating my wife and children. This horrifying accusation soon became a widespread rumor.
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The future…when what is broken will be made whole, when what is sorrowful will be soothed, when what has been torn apart will be stitched back together, a time when son and father and father and son will be reunited, never more to part, never more to grieve.

I have many fond memories of my father—memories accumulated over the 43 years we shared this earth. I have fond memories based on my first twenty-one years when I lived in his home and saw him nearly every day. I remember him taking me to old Exhibition Stadium to watch the Blue Jays play. I remember going on a road trip together—just the two of us traveling across Georgian Bay and onto Manitoulin Island. I remember getting up early in the morning and finding that he was already awake, already reading his Bible, already spending time with the Lord. I remember this and so much else.
Then I have fond memories based on the next 23 years of life after I had gotten married and moved out, and after he and the family had left Canada to settle in the American South. Our visits became less frequent then, but no less significant. I remember his joy on those rare occasions when the whole family could be together, the entire collection of kids and grandkids under a single roof. I remember looking out from many church pulpits and conference podiums and seeing his face in the crowd. I remember notes and letters he would send at important moments or following significant events.
But my favorite memory of all is my final memory of all. In June of 2019 dad turned 70 and the family threw him a surprise party to mark the occasion. I made the long journey from Toronto to my sister’s home in Georgia to be part of the fun. It was a wonderful afternoon spent with friends and family, all of whom had gathered to honor dad as he reached a significant milestone. Though I talked to him on the phone after that day, I never actually saw him again and formed no other lasting memories. Just a few months later he collapsed and died at a time that was unexpected but in a way that was exactly as he wanted—with dirt on his hands.
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