Historical study implicitly reminds us that the contours of our social, cultural, and material context could have been different from how they are. It challenges us to consider whether some of those alternatives and paths-not-taken might actually be more conducive to growth in godliness than those down which we are currently walking. 

On the most recent episode of the Deep Roots Podcast, Tim Ward, Eric Ortlund, and I had the chance to talk about church history. Specifically, we touched on the whys of church history. As in, why bother with it all? At a theological college like Oak Hill, church history traditionally sits alongside biblical studies, systematic theology, and practical theology as one of the four main areas for study and reflection. And yet, unlike the other three, which all have a fairly straightforward and obvious relevance for the training of future church leaders, the need for church history sometimes seems less obvious. Retracing the issues and controversies of a hundred years ago can seem a bit remote from the pressing needs of ministry today. So, why do we bother with it?
If we were to survey Christians and ask them why someone ought to bother with church history, I suspect that most people would suggest that history is helpful to us insofar as it provides lessons to learn and models to emulate. So, for example, to study the life and martyrdom of Thomas Cranmer (1489-1556) is to learn what Christian courage and resolve can look like. The historical account of Cranmer’s last days becomes a vivid piece of practical instruction and an inspiration to all believers who face hostility and persecution. Or we might consider the great preachers of the eighteenth-century evangelical revival and be renewed in our zeal for evangelism and mission. This is surely a right and good use of church history. Whether through Paul’s exhortations to emulate his own life and example (e.g. 1 Cor. 11:1; Phil. 3:17), or the catalogue of saints celebrated for their faith in Hebrews 11, the Bible itself gives ample warrant for reflecting carefully on the lives of other Christians.
But as we look to the past for examples to imitate, we should recognise that there is more to the story than simply finding and highlighting the virtues and good deeds of exceptional individuals. That is a good thing to do, but, having done it, we can also start to consider how the historical contexts in which exemplary men and women lived might have helped to shape them into the kind of people that they were. In so doing, we move towards one of the deepest and most profound reasons for studying church history: namely, to develop a keener sense of our own place within the flow of historical events. What do I mean? By default, we all tend to imagine that the circumstances which characterise our own time and place represent a very natural, obvious way of being and doing. The way I dress, prepare my food, structure my time, and fill my leisure hours are often simply assumed as givens, and I live them out without much active reflection. In a hundred different ways, great and small, the cultural and social trappings which collectively constitute my manner of living, thinking, and relating to others are simply ‘the way things are’ – or so we easily assume.
Read More
Related Posts:

The 1647 Confession affirmed that “magistrates may lawfully call a synod of ministers, and other fit persons, to consult and advise with, about matters of religion” (WCF 31.2 [1647]), and the magistrate may be present at such synods “to provide that whatsoever is transacted in them be according to the mind of God” (WCF 23.3 [1647]). Yet in affirming that the magistrate should preserve peace “in the Church,” suppress blasphemy and heresy, and prevent “all corruptions and abuses in worship,” the Confession also clearly stated that “The civil magistrate may not assume to himself the administration of the Word and sacraments, or the power of the keys of the kingdom of heaven” (WCF 23.3 [1647]). This is a rejection of Erastianism, as the Westminster Assembly denied the magistrate’s authority over the church “in sacred things” (in sacris), only affirming his authority “concerning sacred things” (circa sacra). 

T. David Gordon wrote an article for the Aquila Report on April 10, 2024, in which he criticized the Presbyterian Church in America’s petition to the civil magistrate against gender reassignment interventions, including transgender surgeries on minors. This started as Overture 12 to the 2023 PCA General Assembly, which led to a letter being sent to the federal government. The presbyteries could then adjust the letter to send it to their state magistrates, and Gordon’s Ascension Presbytery did just that. Gordon filed a protest, and his article seeks to defend his objection to the petition.
Gordon gives several reasons for his opposition to the PCA petition, but as a way of summary, his position relies on the following three arguments. First, the doctrine of the spirituality of the church forbids a joint church assembly (such as a session, presbytery, or assembly) from speaking to the civil magistrate, even when touching on moral issues. Second, the only exceptions to this prohibition are when the magistrate makes a request of the church and humble petitions in “cases extraordinary” (WCF 31.4), which Gordon argues refers to when the civil magistrate directly interferes with the church (or as A. A. Hodge says, “where the interests of the Church are immediately concerned”). Third, such petitions to the magistrate are not a good use of time and resources.
The third argument is somewhat subjective, and I will not give it focused attention. Gordon may be correct here that a large number of individual statements against government action are more effective than a denominational statement. I will only note that a joint assembly statement may add to the effectiveness of individual statements, as well as embolden individual Christians, including pastors, to speak on a topic (in this case, speak against the practice of transgender surgeries). While many federal magistrates may ignore the PCA statement, future magistrates might very well heed the call. The future effectiveness of such a petition is unknown, and it is too early to pronounce it as a poor use of time and resources.
Therefore, I would like to focus on Gordon’s first two arguments concerning the spirituality of the church and Westminster Confession of Faith 31.4. I believe there are at least six problems with Gordon’s article opposing the PCA petition to the civil magistrate. 
First, Gordon’s Conclusion—That the Church Cannot Speak against the Monstrosity of Transgender Surgeries on Minors—Is Absurd on Its Face and Must Be Rejected.
The medical establishment and doctors are mutilating humans—cutting off genitalia and women’s breasts—upon request. Yet just because something is voluntary does not mean it should be permitted by civil government. Moreover, these procedures are even being performed on minor children, who cannot possibly understand the significance of what is being done to their bodies. Future prospects of marriage and the potential for reproduction are being destroyed. This “choice” is being made by those who cannot legally vote on political candidates or purchase a beer, and at least in the case of minors, it certainly involves duress and pressure. Instead of prosecuting the perpetrators, American magistrates are permitting this monstrosity. T. David Gordon agrees this is awful, but he is arguing that the church—the only institution that might speak up—is not to correct the magistrate in such a situation. The conclusion is absurd, and therefore Gordon’s reasoning must be in error.
Second, Gordon Leaves Joint Church Assemblies No Room to Correct the State When It Gets Out of Line, Removing a Proper Check on the State.
This is tied with the previous point, but it gets to the broader principle. God has instituted the family, church, and state as the three major institutions of this world. Only the church and state are large-scale institutions. So what happens if either of those institutions gets out of line? As a proponent of the “Reformed two kingdoms” (others call it “radical” or “modern” two kingdoms), Gordon does not seem to think the state can correct the church or outlaw heresy. However, he also returns the favor by holding that the church (as an assembly) cannot correct the state. Of course, we are not speaking about force. We are simply speaking of the church’s prophetic witness against the evils of the state. Now to be fair, Gordon thinks individual Christians may speak to the state, and he even leaves room for preachers to speak to transgender surgeries from the pulpit. This at least accounts for the practice of Old Testament prophets and the Apostle Paul correcting magistrates in the book of Acts. However, Gordon seems inconsistent here. For if preachers in their capacity as ministers may speak to the state, why may not ministers in joint assemblies do the same? To affirm the permissibility of such joint assemblies to speak to the state is not to sanction all statements as wise or prudential. We are simply saying such statements are permissible before God.
Third, Gordon Leaves Joint Church Assemblies No Room to Speak to Moral Issues If They Relate to Civil Government (Apart from Request), Which Unjustifiably Limits the Church’s Application of the Word.
Following the language of the Westminster Confession, Gordon rightly says that the church in its joint assemblies should only speak to “ecclesiastical” issues, not “civil affairs”— “Synods and councils are to handle, or conclude nothing, but that which is ecclesiastical” (WCF 31.4). Gordon recognizes there are two exceptions here: (1) synods and councils may “intermeddle with civil affairs which concern the commonwealth…by way of humble petition in cases extraordinary,” (2) and synods and councils may intermeddle with civil affairs “by way of advice, for satisfaction of conscience, if they be thereunto required by the civil magistrate” (WCF 31.4). 
One problem is that Gordon argues that the exception for humble petition in “cases extraordinary” (WCF 31.4) only refers to cases that immediately concern the interests of the church (see below). However, the other problem is that Gordon tends to place moral issues under the category of “civil affairs” and then define “ecclesiastical” as only referring to issues directly within the church. Yet moral issues often affect both church and state, and the church is not prohibited from speaking to issues simply because they have some relation to the state. In other words, there are many things that are moral and thus “ecclesiastical” and not purely political issues (or what WCF 31.4 calls “civil affairs”). 
In the case of transgender surgeries, apart from the question of legality, the church may certainly condemn transgender surgeries as immoral and offensive to God. That is a proper application of natural law, as well as the Word of God—“A woman shall not wear man’s clothing, nor shall a man put on a woman’s clothing; for whoever does these things is an abomination to the LORD your God” (Deuteronomy 22:5, NASB 1995). Gordon does not say whether he thinks such a statement merely against transgenderism as a moral issue would be permissible. However, if we grant that the church may make such a statement, there is no obvious reason why the church may not also inform the state of its position. One could argue the punishment for performing transgender surgeries is purely political and thus the church should not speak to this question. However, the question of the morality of transgender surgeries is in fact a moral question. And moving from morality to legality is not a huge step. If the church can establish that a particular practice is of great wickedness and harm to the community, then it almost certainly follows that the state should seek to prevent such a practice for the good of all. Thus, the issue of transgender surgeries is “ecclesiastical” and not purely a “civil affair.”
Fourth, Gordon’s Focus on the 1861 Spring Resolutions Leads to a Misunderstanding of Charles Hodge’s Position on the Spirituality of the Church.
In 1861, many of the Southern states seceded from the United States, and then at the General Assembly (Old School), Presbyterian pastor Gardiner Spring of New York introduced resolutions calling for “unabated loyalty” by the Assembly to the “federal government.” Known as the “Spring Resolutions,” these were opposed by the Southern Presbyterians who left to form a Southern Church, but they were also opposed by Northerners like Charles Hodge because they sought to decide a purely political question—whether Christians owed loyalty first to their state or to the federal government. There was disagreement on this question. And since the Bible does not tell Christians what to do in such a situation, the church as an institution should not speak to it. The Spring Resolutions effectively condemned secession as sinful.
Read More
Related Posts:

Paul came proclaiming “the testimony of God.” He did not come preaching personal preferences, pop culture, political ideology, scientific theories, or sociological studies. He did not come proclaiming the testimony of man but the testimony of God. I love how Paul refers to the Word of God, that is the 66 books of the Old and New Testaments, as God’s “testimony.”

And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling, and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God (1 Corinthians 2:1-5).
In his book, The Soul Winner, Charles Spurgeon tells the story of a young pastor who, after preaching one Sunday, asked an older minster in his congregation for some feedback. The old minister was hesitant at first, but the young pastor pressed him until he said, “If I must tell you, I did not like it at all; there was no Christ in your sermon.” “No,” replied the young man, “because I did not see that Christ was in the text.” “But do you not know,” asked the old preacher, “that from every little town and village and tiny hamlet in England there is a road leading to London? Whenever I get hold of a text, I say to myself, ‘There is a road from here to Jesus Christ, and I mean to keep on His track till I get to Him.’” To which the young man said, “but suppose you are preaching from a text that says nothing about Christ?” The old man said, “Then I will go over hedge and ditch [to] get at Him.”
The Apostle Paul held and was held by the same Christ-exalting conviction. When summarizing his 18-month ministry to the Corinthians he said simply, “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2). It was a reminder the Corinthians desperately needed because after Paul left them, they forgot the gospel and fell into gross sins and divisions. So, Paul wrote this letter hoping to reignite their affections for Christ and reinforce their confidence in simple gospel preaching as the primary means by which God saves and sanctifies sinners.
What is good preaching? What is a faithful ministry? Upon what and upon whom must we build our faith? We can find answers to these questions and more in the opening lines of 1 Corinthians 2 and we see that a faithful minister must preach Christ crucified in reliance upon the Holy Spirit.
I have dedicated an entire shelf of my library to books on homiletics, the art of preaching. But none of those books, nor all of them combined, can rival the simplicity and glory of Paul’s compact, how-to preaching manual before us, the first chapter of which could be entitled, What to Preach? Paul writes, “And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom” (1 Corinthians 2:1).
Paul came proclaiming “the testimony of God.” He did not come preaching personal preferences, pop culture, political ideology, scientific theories, or sociological studies. He did not come proclaiming the testimony of man but the testimony of God. I love how Paul refers to the Word of God, that is the 66 books of the Old and New Testaments, as God’s “testimony.” This is the only time he employs this phrase.
In a courtroom, witnesses sit on the stand and give their testimony. They answer questions and tell of what they’ve seen and what they know as the jury searches for truth. How infinitely valuable then, is the book in which is written the testimony of him who knows and sees all? How trustworthy is the account of him who is not like a man that he should lie or the son of man that he should change his mind? How timeless is the word of him who dwells outside of time in eternity, without beginning or end? So, like Paul faithful preachers must proclaim the testimony of God gripped by a holy fear of straying from its ancient paths. Our sermons must be riveted to the Bible and uncompromisingly exegetical.
When we used microscopes in high school biology we were told to start on the lowest magnification and then click over to higher magnifications to zoom in on the plant cells or fish scales we were examining. Paul does the same thing here. Having identified “the testimony of God” as the body of truth he preached, he zooms in on the very heart of the Scriptures, who is the Lord Jesus Christ: “For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2).
Paul’s saying that to properly proclaim the testimony of God is to know “nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified.” Why? Because the testimony of God swirls like a heavenly hurricane around Jesus. That’s why Phillip told Nathaniel, “We have found him of whom Moses in the Law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph” (John 1:45). That’s why on the Mt. of Transfiguration the disciples saw Jesus standing with Moses and Elijah, the representatives of the law and the prophets. That’s why as the resurrected Christ walked along the road to Emmaus with his disciples, Luke writes, “beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself” (Luke 24:27). That’s why Paul said all of the promises of God find their “yes” and “amen” in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20).
But what, precisely about Jesus did Paul preach? Not just Jesus the divine teacher, or Jesus the wonder worker, or Jesus the moral example but, Jesus “Christ.” That is, Jesus the anointed one, long awaited Messiah, the Prophet like Moses whom God would raise up from among his brothers and who would speak the very words of God, the Priest after the order of Melchizedek that would intercede on behalf of his people and atone for their sins, and the King, great David’s greater Son, who would rule and defend his blood-bought people and whose kingdom would be everlasting, universal, and indomitable.
But there’s something more. Paul decided to know nothing but “Jesus Christ and him crucified.” Paul preached every sermon in the shadow of the empty cross. Why? Because it was on the cross that Jesus, the Seed of the Woman, the virgin born Son of God and Son of Man, the Offspring of Abraham, the Lion of Judah, Son of David, the Holy one of Israel, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the Prince of Peace, became the Lamb of God who bore the sins of his people. And on that Friday long ago, atop a hill called Golgotha, which means the skull, suspended between a cruel mob and blackened sun, Jesus hung naked and nailed to a tree where he endured in his body and soul the of God’s burning hatred for the sins of his people until the magazines of Heaven’s holy wrath were empty and the fires of hell which burned for his people, were extinguished in his blood.
Paul decided to know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified because that gospel of canceled sin by a loving God is the greatest news and only hope this world has ever heard; because while the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing it is the power of God to those who are being saved (1 Corinthians 1:18); because Jesus Christ is all together lovely, the fairest of ten thousand, the bright and morning star, the lily of the valley, the rose of Sharon, the balm of Gilead, the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, in whom the fullness of deity was pleased to dwell, bread of life, light of the world, the only door to God, the Good Shepherd, the resurrections and the life, the way, the truth and the life; because Paul’s highest hope and most ardent prayer was for his people to kiss the Son in love and embrace him in faith.
Well, if the first chapter of Paul’s preaching manual could be entitled, “What to Preach”, the second and final chapter could be called, “How to Preach.”  When I served as a youth ministry intern at another PCA church, we took an annual mission trip to Mexico. And we gave our students a detailed packing list that included sunscreen, bug spray, bottled water, Bible, double the pairs of underwear you think you’ll need. But if I remember correctly, the first item on the list was not something to bring, but something to leave behind. “Don’t pack your negative attitude.” Paul begins the same way; listing what he did not bring with him to Corinth: “And I, when I came to you, brothers, did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God with lofty speech or wisdom” (1 Corinthians 2:1).
Paul left his lofty speech and wisdom at home. He didn’t preach to impress. His style and his content were clear and plain that all might understand and believe the gospel he preached. He didn’t tickle the ears of his hearers with polished eloquence and Shakespearean sermons. There was a decided austerity to his style. He wrapped his sermons in sackcloth. He wanted his people to see Christ in his preaching so he refused to blind them by the glare of lacquered words. The old Puritan, Matthew Henry, said, Paul “preached the truths of Christ in their native dress, with plainness of speech.” Nor did he vaunt his learning to blow his hearers away. He didn’t come to make fans of Paul but disciples of Jesus Christ.
We who preach must decide the same. The temptation to make a name for ourselves is great. Sermon Audio download reports, book publishing, conference circuits, growing church attendance and budgets, even the well-intentioned praises of parishioners can become trip wires in which a proud man may become ensnared. So, we preachers must not overestimate our own sanctification and underestimate the power of indwelling pride. The 19th century Scottish theologian, James Denney, once said, “You cannot at the same time give the impression that you are a great preacher and that Jesus Christ is a great Savior.”
So, if Paul didn’t come with lofty speech or wisdom, what did he bring? Paul explained, “And I was with you in weakness and in fear and much trembling…” (1 Corinthians 2:3). These three things are connected. One flows into the other like pools of cascading water. Paul came in spiritual weakness in humble recognition that the task to which he’d been called was bigger than him. Paul must have felt like Ezekiel looking out over that valley carpeted with dry bones, of which the Lord asked, “Son of man can these bones live?” Paul knew that no matter how well he preached to the Corinthians, no matter how robust his reasoning, no matter how sacrificially he served them or how genuinely he loved them he could not change a single person. He knew that only the Spirit of God, who is the Lord and Giver of life, can open eyes blinded by sin. Only the Spirit can enlighten minds darkened by depravity. Only the Spirit can thaw hearts frozen in hate for God and fill them with love for Christ. Only the Spirit can burst the bonds of Satan and liberate captive wills to choose Jesus. Only the Spirit can fill the craters of doubt and unbelief with saving faith by which we receive and rest in Christ alone for our salvation.
Some people fear snakes, or spiders, or darkness. In view of his own weakness, Paul was afraid of something too: not creepy crawlies or cruel people or even death itself; Paul was filled with a holy fear and zealous longing for the souls of his people. Paul knew that the wages of sin is death in hell forever and man’s only hope was to trust the Christ of whom Paul preached. But Paul knew that the forces of darkness committed to keeping the Corinthians from coming to Christ even if it meant convincing them to hang their faith on Paul instead of the power of the Holy Spirit. In fact, Paul’s decision to preach unadorned sermons was born of his awareness of his own weaknesses and the inability of eloquence and human sophistication to save a soul. So, he said in 1 Corinthians 2:4-6: “and my speech and my message were not in plausible words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might not rest in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.”
The preacher who believes that he is truly powerless and that the greatest sermon he could ever preach is insufficient to move the needle of one heart one degree towards God unless the Holy Spirit owns it will be a praying preacher. The church that yearns for the kind of preaching that saves sinners, the kind of preaching that transforms society, the kind of preaching that sparks revival in our land and rattle the gates of hell, will beg God for it in prayer.
Many years ago, I visited the historic Independent Presbyterian Church in downtown Savannah. I was blown away by the beauty of the architecture: the copper crowned steeple, Savannah shutters, hardwood box pews, vaulted ceiling, marble baptismal font, and especially the massive pulpit. As I gazed up at the pulpit, my friend who was also an intern at the church at that time, turned to me and asked, “Do you want to get in it?” “Do I!” I replied. So, he opened a secret door at the base of the pulpit which led to a secret staircase. And as I ascended those stairs something caught my eye at the top: a small brass plaque. I noticed that the finish of the wood surrounding the plaque had been rubbed away by the ministers who would touch the plaque as they went to preach each Lords Day. And as I got closer I was able to read the plaque. It said, “Sir, we would see Jesus.”
May we privileged preachers decide with Paul to live and preach with our hands on that plaque. May every sermon, every text, every Sunday beam with Christ and him crucified, Christ and him buried, Christ and him resurrected, Christ and his ascended, Christ and him seated ruling and reigning, and Christ returning in glory to judge the living and the dead. And may the church demand it of us, like those unnamed Greeks who said to Phillip long ago, “Sir, we would see Jesus” (John 12:21). And in seeing him, may we be made more like him and bear much fruit to the glory of God.
Jim McCarthy is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America and is Pastor of Trinity PCA in Statesboro, Ga.
Related Posts: