Cultural Influence in the Church, Primitive and Present
The problem is that the former set, controlling the levers of public evangelical opinion as they do, seem utterly oblivious to the fact that there are many of us who not only think differently but also somewhat resent the suggestion that we ought to adopt their manner of thinking. It seems to be felt – and sometimes explicitly stated – that one ought to care about every matter under the sun, which is brought to the world’s attention, irrespective of how far removed it is from the circumstances of one’s daily life. Many of us disagree and would say that the world and the church would be happier if people put more effort into their own lives and stopped worrying so much about those of others.
Judging by the New Testament, the primitive church did not wholly escape being influenced by the cultural assumptions by which it was surrounded. At the first, Christ’s disciples’ notions accorded with those of the Jewish culture of their day. Peter had the audacity to rebuke Christ for suggesting he would suffer and die (Matt. 16:22), objected to him washing his feet (Jn. 13:8), and clumsily attempted to defend him by force when the Jews arrested him (18:10). James and John were rebuked when they proposed blasting an inhospitable village of Samaritans (Lk. 9:51-55), and Philip, by his ignorance, brought forth the sobering “Have I been with you so long, and you still do not know me, Philip?” (Jn. 14:8-9). Which is to say that they adhered to the Jewish notions of a triumphant Messiah who was served by Israel’s enemies, in whose service force was used to overcome and punish them, and that even personal acquaintance with Christ did not cause them to fully appreciate his divine nature and mission.
The notion of a suffering and dying Messiah with a spiritual/redemptive kingdom rather than an earthly deliverer who would inaugurate a new golden era of Jewish history was not easily overcome: as late as Christ’s ascension some of the disciples asked “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” (Acts 1:7). Taught by the Spirit after he was poured out at Pentecost, they went forth with better understanding, establishing Christ’s church and instructing his disciples in his way. But old habits die hard, and apostleship did not mean sinlessness or infallibility. On occasion the apostles stumbled into mistaken notions (Gal. 2:11-14); yet more did the newer believers. Christ had told the apostles they would be his witnesses “to the end of the earth” (1:8), but when that was begun through Peter’s mission to the Roman centurion Cornelius (Acts 10) the early church acted as though they had forgotten it (v. 45; 11:2-3). Even when the Gentiles had been included many of the Jewish believers thought this necessitated them acting like Jews. Thus the first crisis in the church was the Judaizer controversy, which necessitated the council of Jerusalem (Acts 15:1-35) and subsequent apostolic instruction and opposition to the error.
The Gentile believers, for their part, also struggled to fully escape the notions of their old life. Paul had to tell them that meat sacrificed to idols was not tainted thereby, for some of them, weak in conscience, still acted like idols were real and that meat offered to them would entangle them in wrong (1 Cor. 8). It was with difficulty he made them to understand the resurrection, which was foreign to Greek thought (Acts 17:18, 32; 1 Cor. 15:12). At sundry points they had to be reminded to show respect for Jewish custom, not for its own sake but to avoid giving needless offense (Acts 15:19-21). It took diligence on both sides to ensure that the “wall of hostility” (Eph. 2:14) that had previously existed between Jew and Gentile remained demolished, and for both to maintain the right relation to their wider culture. And as the epistles suggest, this was not done perfectly. All manner of erroneous concepts crept into the church from both Jewish and Gentile sources and required opposition: myths (1 Tim. 1:4), gnostic and docetistic ideas, and other philosophical concepts (Col. 2:8).
This difficult situation arose because of the nature of the new life in Christ, and because of the church’s relation to culture. Life in Christ did not mean being made completely perfect at the moment of conversion. Sanctification was an organic process by which the truth, implanted in one’s heart by the Spirit (Jas. 1:21; 1 Pet. 1:23), grew gradually and required intentional nourishment (Jn. 15:4-6; Eph. 4:15-16; Col. 1:10; 2:6, 19; 2 Pet. 1:5-10; 3:18). This lifelong process was tempered by the believer’s remaining sin (Rom. 7:21), so that the Christian life was one of perpetual war between the new nature in Christ and one’s old sinful tendencies (vv. 22-24). It was struggle, not perfection (v. 25), and at times believers failed to understand or to act rightly.
In addition, Christ had come to save his people, not from the world as such, but specifically from the world insofar as it was a system of ungodliness that arrayed itself against God’s kingdom. The creation remained good, if marred by sin, and because of God’s common grace there was much truth, beauty, and goodness in the lives of unbelievers. Christ did not call his people to withdraw from the world (Jn. 17:15; comp. 1 Cor. 5:9-10), but to live holy lives as witnesses within it (1 Pet. 2:9). They were to use discernment to reject evil and accept good (Rom. 12:2). But human nature remained the same after conversion as before: believers were influenced by their circumstances and the company they kept (1 Cor. 15:33), and because of sin they sometimes erred in judgment or failed to realize when they had come under the influence of ungodly ideas (Gal. 5:7-8).
And so it is in our own day. This especially shows itself in the contemporary church in the question of politics. One’s political disposition is largely the result of cultural and economic conditions: “circumstances are the creators of most men’s opinions,” as the eminent English jurist A.V. Dicey put it in his The Relation of the Law to Public Opinion. This is not sufficiently appreciated, with many people acting as though political inclinations are solely a matter of conscious choice or perceived self-interest.
But being largely a matter of conditioned habit rather than conscious decision means that one’s political inclinations tend to influence one even when one does not realize it. And that is a problem, because believers’ circumstances tend to differ widely: rural versus urban residence, manual versus white collar labor, and differing levels of affluence and education all appear here. Sometimes strife has arisen in the church because people who inhabit one set of circumstances have attained to influence and have spoken upon cultural matters from their own position, and in so doing have offended other believers and failed to realize that what they put forward as responsible Christian cultural engagement is really, at root, the basic cultural/political inclination of their immediate society clothing itself in Christian garb.
The evangelical influential set today largely inhabits certain circles that are different from those of many of the believers whom their institutions are intended to serve. They tend to dwell in urban and suburban locations (esp. Nashville, Wheaton, New York City, or southern California); to work in media (like magazines or major publishing houses) or the academy (esp. seminaries); to be involved in large churches with congregations so voluminous as to cut them off from the bulk of their people, or in major denominational agencies (same issue); and to relate to the church (perhaps better, parachurch) in a way different from many believers (hosting podcasts, writing journal articles, participating in conferences).
We have, in other words, an evangelical intelligentsia, literati, smart set, culturati, establishment, elite, or whatever we wish to call it, and the geographic, vocational, and ecclesiastical circumstances of its members lead them to have a different perspective upon many affairs than that of the bulk of believers today. I do not say that such people are invariably wrong, only that they exist, and that their differing circumstances and beliefs distinguish them from the mass of evangelicals today. People in such circumstances tend to be more cosmopolitan, and to be concerned not only with the immediate affairs of their own community or church but with those of the wider world or church.
This is perhaps not surprising. The Gospel Coalition and major publishing houses are not trying to reach a single denomination or city, but all the people who have access to their productions. Their efforts are not exclusively local in orientation, and this tendency to always think in light of influencing the wider world seems to influence their cultural and political preferences. Indeed, the point of journalism, to use the examples of World or Christianity Today, is to take something that happens in one place and make it the knowledge of people in other places who would not know about it otherwise. Or again, the point of book publishing is to take the ideas of one person and broadcast them to the world so that they do not remain confined to his immediate circle but can influence people beyond the reach of his personal acquaintance. So also with conferences, which exist to gather people from all over to congregate around a common set of beliefs, or with seminaries, which inculcate a certain set of ideas in people of diverse backgrounds and then send them out to carry those beliefs to the ends of the earth. In each case the point of the endeavor is, in a sense, anti-local, the desire to propagate a given set of knowledge to as wide an audience as possible, whether by journalistic reporting, publishing books or other media, or training suitable propagators of the knowledge.
Such endeavors are often beneficial. But they do seem to inculcate in their participants a habit – that of thinking always in large terms of whole audiences, nations, and, dare we say it, markets – that influences their politics and culture otherwise, and which tends to set them at odds with other believers who do not spend all their time laboring and living in such circumstances. The many believers who perform manual labor, reside in small towns or the country, are in the more remote and less prestigious parts of the nation (‘flyover country,’ the South or Midwest), and who inhabit the lower echelons of wealth and educational attainment tend to think more locally, and to focus on their immediate circumstances rather than those of other people in other places.
Indeed, I can attest, as someone who inhabits such circles, that I do not care what happens on the other side of the county where I live or in its seat, except on those occasions, regrettably numerous, when they wish to interfere in the happiness of my own immediate community by some nonsense like a new tax, debt spending, or some grandiose and unneeded infrastructure project. In saying that I speak politically from my own circumstances, naturally, but I do think that they set me and the legions who feel similarly at odds with those evangelical elites (the term is used without derision) who are perpetually finding causes célèbre to expend their energies upon. Causes, most of which entail worrying about things far removed from their places of residence, disregarding the principle of comity of nations, or otherwise involve neglecting one’s own affairs to busy oneself with discussion about those of others. They inhabit a culture that thinks and acts in such a way; many of us in the pews do not.
The problem is that the former set, controlling the levers of public evangelical opinion as they do, seem utterly oblivious to the fact that there are many of us who not only think differently but also somewhat resent the suggestion that we ought to adopt their manner of thinking. It seems to be felt – and sometimes explicitly stated – that one ought to care about every matter under the sun, which is brought to the world’s attention, irrespective of how far removed it is from the circumstances of one’s daily life. Many of us disagree and would say that the world and the church would be happier if people put more effort into their own lives and stopped worrying so much about those of others. I speak from my cultural circumstances (rural Southern laborer) when I say that, but it has scriptural warrant (Prov. 26:17; Lk. 12:13-14; 1 Thess. 4:11), and we could wish that others would recognize they too speak from their circumstances and would be rather less prone to assume their culture of ‘care about everything, everywhere, all the time’ is the proper Christian one and admits of no dissent.
Tom Hervey is a member of Woodruff Road Presbyterian Church, Five Forks (Simpsonville), SC. The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not of necessity reflect those of his church or its leadership or other members. He welcomes comments at the email address provided with his name. He is also author of Reflections on the Word: Essays in Protestant Scriptural Contemplation.
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Review: Losing Our Religion
Losing Our Religion is an autobiography disguised as an indictment of evangelicalism, and not a very ecumenical one at that. Moore is not interested in convincing the reader. He does not make arguments but rather opts for emotive reflections, flippant diagnostics. It is a self-indulgent project and others of Moore’s sentiment and experience indicate the accuracy of this characterization.
Russell Moore is not quite an ex-vangelical, at least not yet. He has not lost his faith, he assures us, but he has lost his religion. Put another way, he has not left evangelicalism. Evangelicalism, he thinks, has left him. Given that evangelicalism initiated the divorce, it is she, not Moore, in need of repentance. An altar call, a come to Jesus moment, is overdue.
Moore’s new book, Losing Our Religion: An Altar Call for Evangelical America (LOR) is first and foremost autobiographical. As a species of “nonvert,” Moore’s story is a personal, emotive, experiential, internalized journey with external events providing only the occasion for expression, or post hoc justification, thereof.
The book is nearly always polemical in tone but hardly ever polemical in substance. Moore does not seem all that interested in convincing the reader of anything other than the worthiness of the author’s own cause—his personal credibility apparently meant to bear the load of otherwise rarely corroborated claims and analysis. Rather, Moore offers a cathartic experience for other not-quite-ex-vangelicals who have exited Southern Baptist institutions, or the Convention itself, over the past few years. Victimhood is the currency of choice in Moore’s story, and those who share his story—all one-time Big Eva members—are now positioning themselves as a sort of evangelical ex-pat cadre possessing a unique ability to critique their former country because of the trauma endured there.
At the outset, Moore’s insistence that 1) he hasn’t changed his “theology” (6), but that 2) it is the “religion” of evangelicalism that has morphed into a “cold, lifeless dogma or tribal belonging,” is difficult to accept (19). In 2004, Moore was expending his energies at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and the Council on Biblical Manhood and Womanhood warring against the feminization of God, warning of the revolt against natural gender and concomitant gender roles, and cautioning against evangelical accommodation of post-Lawrence v. Texas (2003) cultural norms on marriage and family. In other words, his primary concern was leftward drift in evangelical political sensibilities and ethics.
Fast forward to today and, as editor-in-chief of Christianity Today, Moore is calling for new line drawing in the “gender wars” between egalitarians and complementarians. As Aaron Renn has expertly observed, Moore’s call for a realignment, a reset, of evangelicalism should be read as an expression and application of the late Tim Keller’s strategy to “redraw the boundaries of the movement by eliminating complementarianism and replacing it with anti-fundamentalism.”
Indeed, the last chapter (“Losing Our Stability”) of LOR, in a section labeled, “Embracing New Communities and New Friendships,” features a mea culpa for “Russell Moore, circa 2007” who criticized Beth Moore as a “gateway drug” to feminism. Presumably, the male Moore is referring to his article from the period in the Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society championing biblical patriarchy. Russell Moore circa 2023 describes the old, masculine Russell as “arrogant” and “mistaken.” (228). It was he, not Lady Moore, that was the real “theological lightweight.” (230). (Last year, he tweeted that, in fact, Beth Moore is a “gateway drug to sanity,” not feminism.) In this way, Moore admits his own shifts away from accepted, standard evangelical convictions, at least on this front. But the gender wars are not what really irked him.
What instigated Moore’s break with evangelicalism (often used by him interchangeably with the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC))? What explains his shift, at least in terms of emphasis, on key cultural and theological issues?
Moore tells us up front: “The issues—political fusion with Trumpism, Christian nationalism, white-identity backlash, the dismissing of issues such as abuse as ‘social justice’ secularism, and several others.” In Moore’s telling, these are the “issues” dividing the church and “almost every friendship I know.” (11).
This was when the “altar call”—Moore’s euphemism for the essence of evangelicalism that also signals an unrepentant evangelicalism—the “Come to Jesus” meetings, changed. “I hadn’t changed my theology, or my behavior, at all,” he writes. In Moore’s mind, “pro-life and pro-family” stances were perfectly consistent, even in the present context, with being “pro-racial justice and pro-refugee.” “What I had done, as the president of [the Southern Baptist Convention’s Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission], was refuse to endorse Donald Trump.” (6).
All his troubles began with his never-Trumpism. Moore, a self-professed adherent to the Billy Graham Rule, was simply maintaining a Biblical sexual ethic for politicians. What Moore was punished for, in his telling, is nothing but moral consistency. He is a true evangelical, a victim of reactionary evangelical tribalism.
Paradoxically, the Moore of LOR is something of a reactionary tribalist himself. It is the Christian nationalists who are “secular,” it is the Trumpsters that are cynical, it is the disaffected white middle Americans that are identitarians, and so on. Evangelicalism may be a big tent revival but not big enough for the likes of them. Moore—and all sensible people—has not changed, or at least not changed for the worse. On the contrary, he has broken free from his “Stockholm syndrome level of loyalty to my Southern Baptist identity.” (9).
The last straw was the sexual abuse report published by the Houston Chronicle (7-9). Moore claims he was chastised behind closed doors by Southern Baptist leaders for platforming Rachel Denhollander—he does not name her explicitly, as is his practice throughout the book for both friend and foe. This is anecdotal and lacks any corroboration in the book, as is the alleged resultant campaign of “psychological warfare” against him. And so, Moore’s narrative remains unassailable; the reader must accept the author’s experience and the precipitating facts cannot be debated.
What is clear is that this period of Moore’s life affected him deeply, acting as his religious crucible:
“On the other side of the reverse altar call, I started to question everything… That began a period not just of questioning all my assumptions, but also of simultaneously grieving my lost religious home and my own burdened conscience, recognizing complicity in participating for so long in something that now seemed both inane and predatory. I couldn’t help but wonder if the plot twist to the story of American conservative Christianity was that what we thought was the Shire was Mordor all along. I pretend that all of that is past me, but it lingers, in the ringing in my ears of the stress-induced tinnitus that persists to this day, and that fact that I am still waiting for one sleep without nightmares about the Southern Baptist Convention. But here I am, an accidental exile but an evangelical after all.” (10-11)
Anyway, that’s the formula, the bridge too far: Donald Trump—or rather, mass evangelical electoral support for Donald Trump—coupled with the supposed coverup of sexual abuse in SBC churches. Why could Beth Moore see the light when others—those more aligned with Russell Moore circa 2007 on the egalitarian-complementarian divide—could not? A reassessment was in order lest evangelicalism descend into a morally dubious, hyper-masculine, fundamentalist hellscape. (He calls the post-2016 era an “apocalypse.” (171)) But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
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We Should Improve
Written by James C. Pakala |
Sunday, January 15, 2023
We should improve by recognizing rather than completely ignoring certain other occasions of the Church Year. If this had been done historically, a huge benefit could have been the impeding of rampant secularism. Our culture makes much of Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day and Halloween, for example, but they are totally ignorant when it comes to Ascension or Pentecost, and do little regarding Easter apart from bunnies and eggs.By “we” I basically mean those of us who as Christians are not in one of the ancient Churches (Armenian, Coptic, Ethiopic, various Orthodox, Roman, etc.) or in the Anglican or Lutheran traditions. There are 35,000 denominations in the world though obviously the number, whatever it is, constantly changes with splits, mergers, start-ups and terminations. Then there are the countless independents and mavericks. Although “we” as I use it here are fewer as individuals (in global statistics) than those in the Christian traditions I am excluding, we do account for almost all of the 35,000 denominations and all non-denominational churches. Why do I say we should improve? Although I am sure that we could do so in various ways, only one is my focus here.
As I write this it is early January but I am listening to glorious Christmas music on KFUO radio, a station of the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod. This is possible because for them Christmas does not end at midnight on December 25. It lasts until January 5, which in (pre-medieval) Europe came to commemorate the visit of the magi to Bethlehem. Incidentally, decades ago I read a fine commentary on Matthew that suggested perhaps there were fourteen magi and, along with their entourage, entering Jerusalem naturally got everyone’s attention in a big way. The idea of three, of course, stems simply from the mentioning of three gifts.
The independent church where I grew up sang a few of the eleven carols in The Service Hymnal (thankfully the Trinity Hymnal has 41) on the few Sundays preceding Christmas. Advent was never mentioned and no special services were held during the season (apart from an unrelated New Year’s Eve service). In the United States Christmas was not even a national holiday until 1870 (seven years after Thanksgiving). In seminary in the 1960s we had a Presbyterian who was appalled that there was a Christmas tree in the lobby and refused to have his own family even take note of the holiday (well, apart from his not having classes). Although his position was not unlike that of some—not all—of our forebearers, we pitied his wife and children at Christmas. The PCA church we attend has a wonderful Christmas Eve service and also observes Advent, although only somewhat recently did I learn that the Second Advent of our Lord is at least as much the focus of Advent as is His incarnation. That is the reason repentance is central (as reflected in three of the four wreath candles being purple).
We should improve by recognizing rather than completely ignoring certain other occasions of the Church Year. If this had been done historically, a huge benefit could have been the impeding of rampant secularism. Our culture makes much of Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day and Halloween, for example, but they are totally ignorant when it comes to Ascension or Pentecost, and do little regarding Easter apart from bunnies and eggs. Good Friday is not a holiday at all and some of our seminaries even held classes thereon at least until somewhat recently. At Army chaplain school I attended the Protestant service each morning, but catching wind that it was Ascension Thursday (marking 40 days after Easter) I went to the Catholic service where all the Scripture readings and everything pertained to our Lord’s Ascension. Asking a friend how the Protestant service was, I learned that after a couple of unrelated hymns the preacher’s focus was on how great it was that he became a chaplain.
James C. Pakala is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America; he is a Retired Chaplain, Army National Guard, and volunteer police chaplain.
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Knowing and Enjoying God by Tim Challies and Jules Koblun
This tendency to get off track in seeking God is why I am thankful for the book, Knowing and Enjoying God by Tim Challies and Jules Koblun. They have provided us with clear signposts showing us the road that often gets lost in the overgrowth of ideas. They have also done it in a unique way. Jules has provided every page spread with an artistically designed quote by a Christian author. Tim has collected these quotes over time, and he speaks to their truths on the remaining page. Each page can stand alone and be read as a daily devotion, but unlike most devotions, the flow of thought continues from page to page.
Knowing and enjoying God is humanity’s highest aim. It is what Jesus is talking about when he says, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God.” It is also the underlying call behind the warning, “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?” Martyn Lloyd Jones once said, “It is the greatest campaign known to man.” The problem is, we are often presented with misguided information on how we should do this. From drawing circles to walking prayer labyrinths, it seems we are seldom satisfied with the ordinary means of grace our good and gracious King has provided.
This tendency to get off track in seeking God is why I am thankful for the book, Knowing and Enjoying God by Tim Challies and Jules Koblun. They have provided us with clear signposts showing us the road that often gets lost in the overgrowth of ideas. They have also done it in a unique way. Jules has provided every page spread with an artistically designed quote by a Christian author. Tim has collected these quotes over time, and he speaks to their truths on the remaining page. Each page can stand alone and be read as a daily devotion, but unlike most devotions, the flow of thought continues from page to page. It is a book you can sit and read straight through if you choose.
I had the privilege of asking Tim why he felt it was important to write about this topic at this time. He answered,
I felt it was important to write about the means of grace because, though they are essential to the Christian life and faith, they are too often overlooked or even disparaged. Before I wrote about much else, I wanted to be sure I was writing about the very basics—relating to God and enjoying the friendship we share with him.
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