The institutional church is comprised of individuals who gather on the Lord’s Day and then scatter into the world to live out their respective callings before God. Consequently, the institutional church’s primary ministry on Sunday is not to reform the institutions of this world, or even reach the world for Christ, but to build up the saints in their worship of God. To that end, it is primarily on Sunday that the church’s members become equipped to fulfill their respective callings in the world, which includes (a) the mission work of the institutional church as well as (b) bringing biblical precepts to bear upon the ideologies of political, economic, and social institutions.

This interview conducted by Crossway caught my attention. It has to do with the institutional church, its spirituality, and Christian nationalism. My interest is limited to how the institutional church, which is made up of many members, is to relate to temporal yet lawful institutions in the world.
I find two quotes from the interview to be a bit puzzling.
“No other institution is called to go into all the world and preach the gospel. The family? No. The state? No. The university? No. The publisher isn’t called to go into all the world and preach the gospel. That call is given to the church. And if the church becomes chiefly a political, economic, or social institution, it becomes an institution that is just one more form of kind of shouted political slogans in the cacophony and all the noise of our very polarized politicized age. If the church just becomes that, it loses that voice. It loses its proper agency. It loses its grip and its grasp on the gospel. And if the church loses the gospel, who has it? Where is the gospel? The church is called to preach the gospel to the world.”
It is one thing for the institutional church to become a political mouthpiece from the pulpit, and quite another thing for the institutional church to posses a proper political zeal in the world. It seems somewhat obvious that one size doesn’t fit all.
A Christian congressman who spends fifty hours a week embroiled in the political battle for the life of the unborn, or defending the rights of the oppressed, can be running God’s errand. Yet it’s hard to apply the same balance of work and life to the institutional church’s pulpit ministry. Consequently, phrases like “the church becomes chiefly a political…”, and “the church is called to preach the gospel” should connote different meaning, with vastly different contextual demands, depending upon the respective callings of the many members of the one institutional church.
Back to Basics:
The institutional church is comprised of individuals who gather on the Lord’s Day and then scatter into the world to live out their respective callings before God. Consequently, the institutional church’s primary ministry on Sunday is not to reform the institutions of this world, or even reach the world for Christ, but to build up the saints in their worship of God. To that end, it is primarily on Sunday that the church’s members become equipped to fulfill their respective callings in the world, which includes (a) the mission work of the institutional church as well as (b) bringing biblical precepts to bear upon the ideologies of political, economic, and social institutions.
Institutional church members hardly can avoid interacting with, if not even being members of, other institutions such as family, civil government, and education. Accordingly, the institutional church’s members must be equipped to pull down the philosophical strongholds of the age lest they become (a) fideistic (b) impotently silent in her witness and / or (c) taken captive by the elementary principles of the world. To that end, there is a Christian duty to be able and willing to disarm the enemies of God, not just with kindness but a winsome word in season that has the power to tumble the institutional gods, if not at least silence their idolatrous worshippers.
Leaving aside how a minister of the gospel might train its congregation to think biblically in all areas of life (yet without hindering the church’s spirituality), as a general rule we might hope that the minister’s Sunday sermon would be heavier and more exhaustively focused on exegesis and indicatives, and perhaps lighter and more generally focused when it comes to personal application and imperatives regarding influencing the institutions of this world. That should be a given.
Admittedly, men like Jerry Falwell and D. James Kennedy likely lapsed into seasons of spiritual amnesia regarding their gospel-calling by turning their focus toward civil and political interests. Notwithstanding, such spiritual infidelity does not so neatly apply to the church’s members who on Monday morning scatter into the world in the service of the church militant. Indeed, when all is well, we can expect the church’s message on Sundays to look vastly different from its members’ message(s) the other six days of the week. Need it be even said that the minister who is preaching to his congregation the riches of the first fourteen verses of Ephesians has a different set of providential constraints and freedoms than the Christian plumber who is changing out a hot water tank, or the Christian businessman who accepts an invitation for a beer after work with his politically minded and irreligious colleagues?
Read More
Related Posts:

Whatever symbolism men may wish to impose on the covenantal sign that God set in the cloud, we must return again and again to the truth of Scripture and to the God who has aimed the arrows of His wrath at Himself so that we might not receive them for all eternity.

Back in 2015, one of my sons asked me why there were so many rainbows on the television and internet. Most of us have have seen them on children’s books and clothing from our earliest days–and in recent years placarded on the television and internet–yet many have never stopped to ask the question, “What symbolism did God invest the rainbow with from the the day in which He first set it in the sky?” There is a rich biblical-theological answer to that question, and it would serve us well to consider what we are taught from the Genesis narrative–as well as from the rest of redemptive history. In his sermon, “The Hope of Noah,” Sinclair Ferguson explains the covenantal and redemptive nature of the bow in the sky:
“As with all of God’s covenants in the Bible…He always adds physical signs to them to reassure us. Yes, His word is enough–His word is His bond–but we are doubters; and so He gives us visible signs that say to us, “I really meant what I said; look at the sign!” And here he says to Noah, “I’m going to give you a sign–the bow in the cloud.” And, of course, we know what that is, the bow–the multicolored rainbow–but actually the word used in the book of Genesis is not rainbow, it’s warbow–the bow of war, the bow of battle. It is a picture of God, after hostility has ended and He has established His new creation, flinging His bow of war, His bow of judgment, into the skies as a reassurance to Noah, ‘Now, that there is reconciliation, you may enjoy the peace that you have with Me; you can be sure that there will never again be this kind of judgment on the earth, until, of course, the cosmic final judgment of all at the end of time;’ and so Noah, begins to enjoy the fruit and the spoils of war. Some scholars have even suggested, over the centuries–if you think about the rainbow as God’s military bow transformed into an ornament of great beauty, that hostility has ceased and that there is no arrow in the bow–that, if He has thrown the bow into the sky that way, the only place the arrow could have gone was into His own heart.’ I wonder if Noah ever could have pondered, ‘If God has thrown His bow into the sky, where is His arrow, and why does it point thus heavenward into His heart?’ And, of course, the rest of the story of the Bible will pick up on that idea–it’s only as God takes the judgment to Himself, into His Son Jesus Christ, that we might enjoy full and final reconciliation with Him.”1
Read More
Related Posts:

Written by T. M. Suffield |
Saturday, March 26, 2022
Paul writes in 1 Corinthians chapter 12 about the church being a ‘body’. He’s arguing against an idea some people in Corinth had that certain kinds of gifts were better than others, and that people with the ‘better’ gifts were due extra respect. He instead teaches them that all gifts are equal in value and all are necessary. The body needs all of its different parts to function properly.

When Aesop, busy imagining tortoises volunteering for foot races, said “in union there is strength” he was acknowledging a truth that we all recognise. Like O2 used to tell us when trying to flog phone contracts, we’re better connected.
That’s easy enough to say, but when it comes to doing something about it we swiftly decide that unity may not be worth the pain it seems to bring. Turns out that we think being joined with others is the best way to achieve something worthwhile, right up until someone asks us to join with others to do that.
That’s how I tend to react anyway—it’s easy to say that people need other people until you have to actually do something with other people.
Unfortunately, we’re all a little bit more awkward than we would like, and our brokenness makes it hard for us to be in community with others. It doesn’t come that easily. The church is supposed to be united (Ephesians 4): a lofty and laudable goal, almost impossible for mere mortals. The biggest issue church unity has is that any given church is full of people. The biggest weapon in the fight for churches to be united communities is the Spirit of the living God.
You see, God isn’t like us. He’s united as part of his nature. He’s three persons, but somehow still completely one. God is Triune, and simple: somehow God can be diverse without being made of parts, three and yet more united than I manage when I’m just on my own.
And in Jesus we find even more union, he’s the perfect union of God and man. Paul’s favourite way of describing our state after Jesus rescues us is that we are ‘in Christ’. In Romans 6 he says we are united to him. We become one with him, and by extension with all of the Trinity.
Jesus then gives each one of us his Spirit to unite us to each other by shared experiences, speaking the same truth to each of us.
A. W. Tozer uses the analogy of tuning an instrument. When you tune lots of pianos with the same tuning fork, they are automatically in tune with each other. When followers of Jesus are tuned to Jesus by the Spirit, we automatically become in tune with each other. We don’t have to strive for unity to find it, we follow Jesus and find our hearts are knit together with our fellow travellers.
A friend of mine talks about a game he likes to play in the pub, looking around at groups of people who are sat together and trying to figure out what they have in common. You can usually make a decent guess. Maybe they’re work colleagues, or play football together, or they’re old school friends. If the church is working as it’s designed to, it becomes really hard to play the game.
Read More