Living Among Majesties
What draws David’s delight is that God’s people are set apart for his purposes. These people reflect, however imperfectly, the majesty and glory and beauty of God’s own holiness. Henry Scougal once said, “The worth and excellency of a soul is to be measured by the object of its love.” And so, David looks upon those who love God, he sees their worth and excellence, the majesty of their souls, and he says, “These are my people, and I love them.”
Tucked away in Psalm 16 is a shocking statement:
As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones, in whom is all my delight. (Psalm 16:3)
“All my delight?” Could King David mean that? Could he really mean that all of his delight is in the people of God? He could. He says the saints are “the excellent ones.” This word is an important word, found throughout the Bible. Elsewhere it is translated as majestic.
O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! (Psalm 8:1)
So then, as the name of the Lord is majestic and excellent, so the people who bear that name are majestic and excellent.
Ordinary and Majestic
This word for majestic (or excellent) can also be translated as mighty or noble. It’s often linked to glory, power, and magnificence. Mountains, ocean waves, massive cedars, great cities — all of these are described in the Bible as majestic. When used of people, the word often refers to princes, rulers, and lords, those who have official positions of authority over others.
David Mathis explores the meaning of this biblical term as applied to God:
In our language, as in biblical terms, the word captures not only greatness but also goodness, both bigness and beauty, awesome power together with pleasant admiration.
God’s people have a kind of grandeur about them, one that calls forth awe and wonder from David. Such grandeur may not be visible physically, but, as C.S. Lewis reminds us, someday it will be. “It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship” (The Weight of Glory, 45).
When Dante encounters the apostles Peter and James in Paradise, he bows down before these “great and glorious princes.” After an encouragement from his guide Beatrice, he raises up his eyes “unto those mountains that had bowed them” (Paradiso, canto 25, lines 38–39). Dante, like David, is awed and delighted by the saints, who are as majestic as mountains.
Mankind and My Odd Neighbor
It’s important to note that David doesn’t delight in the saints merely as they will appear in glory; he delights in the saints “in the land.” In other words, these are real people, on earth, at the present time. How easy it is to love mankind in general, and yet how difficult to love particular individuals. As the old joke says, “I love humanity; it’s people I can’t stand.” The Christian variation of this is to love what Dietrich Bonhoeffer calls “the visionary ideal of community” (Life Together, 27).
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A Sad Day in the PCA: Disagreement, Nuance, Or…
Written by Benjamin T. Inman |
Tuesday, November 29, 2022
I disagree with his assertions about Overture 15. I leave argument aside. I disagree that concerns expressed in terms of the reform of the church deserve to be greeted as malicious. I leave argument aside. I disagree that mendacity has been the substance of the controversy around Johnson, et. al. I leave argument aside. I disagree that the PCA should construe coming advocacy around officers, race, and worship as a time to discern who is honest rather than how to honor Christ. I leave argument aside. I disagree with TE LeCroy’s admonition for the PCA. I do not think he is lying.Teaching Elder Tim LeCroy has published a heart-felt and scathing admonition for the PCA. He is grieved. He speaks of many liars, many unrepentant liars, particular organizations which have been undeterred by his rebukes. He warns the PCA– not just about deception, but real degeneracy.
I write to express my disagreement and to invite others to disagree. I think that TE LeCroy is mistaken. He will think that I am mistaken. We disagree. I do not accuse him of prevarication. If he follows my lead here, he may change his mind– then, we would no longer disagree. I would be shocked if he revealed himself to have lied. I don’t think he lied. I think he disagreed.
Disagreements are not surprising, and they are not un-Christian. No, they are not even un-Presbyterian. The scathing admonition might be faulted by some, as “intemperate.” Yes, that is un-Presbyterian, though the very word is perhaps one of our pets. Presbyterians may have single-handedly kept the word from obselescence. We don’t do intemperate speech, but we mention it when necessary. You know that we are serious about “intemperate.” We vote on it.
A Disagreement
“Memorial and Pastor Johnson tried to get people to listen to explanations of their ministries and their theology.” And, apparently, some people agreed with their representations; specifically he cites the Standing Judicial Commission. Others, LeCroy laments, stopped their ears and refused to listen. I do not have a particularly wide knowledge of the PCA, but I can substantially confirm the point, if not the opprobrium attached to it.
I have encountered numerous men over the last couple of months with a similar narrative:
In 2018 I started listening to Johnson, et. al., sympathetically, and then in 2022 the cumulative weight of my attention and patience brought me to a slow but definite position. I stopped listening to understand and interact; instead, I started listening to counter these developments in the church.
I think this sounds like the reasonable people who ended up, well, disagreeing with Johnson’s claims. At some point they stopped simply listening, but that is not to be faulted.
“That is not to say that there weren’t many people of good will with honest concerns and questions. Some of these folks pursued their concerns and questions in the right way: by engaging in honest dialog, following Presbyterian process, and seeking to understand and believe the best about Johnson and Memorial. Some of these folks were persuaded of the overall orthodoxy of Johnson while holding some valid concerns. Others, while not persuaded, continued to engage in an honest and charitable way.”
So, there was a disagreement. In the midst of honesty, dialog and process– some people concluded Johnson, et. al., are orthodox and others concluded they are heterodox. That is disagreement about a serious matter. Somehow, the ugly conclusion was still charitable and honest.
What is a charitable and honest (both) demeanor for concluding a minister is unwholesome? Might one disagree at this point? Must one consent silently to those who think otherwise? Might one express– temperately– a dour and unhappy and honest side of a dialog?
There is one matter about which there is no disagreement. Disagreement does not give license for lies. Disagreements are serious matters. Lies are wicked.
Not JUST A Disagreement
TE LeCroy has not given a heart-felt vindication for his side of the disagreement. Nor has he published a scathing analysis and criticism of the contrary view. This is not just a disagreement. He has assailed “a vast majority,” “many of them pastors and elders.” He has put his finger on names: “The Aquila Report, The Gospel Reformation Network, and Reformation 21, . . . Presbycast.”
More than differing with others, rather he has accused:
“. . . communicating an array of false information . . spreading false information . . . refused to acknowledge their error . . . continued to repeat the lies . . . doubled down on the lies . . . They stopped their ears against any just defense.” Disagreements are serious matters. Lies are wicked.
What is the difference between a disagreement and a lie? I disagree with TE LeCroy’s representation of Greg Johnson. His list of lies disseminated in this conflict is recognizable to me. I have heard all of those assertions– with nuances which are absent from LeCroy’s terse catalog:
” . . . that Johnson, doesn’t believe homosexual temptation is a sin, that he denies sanctification, that he says that homosexuals can never change, that he calls himself a gay Christian, that he identifies with his sin; that the PCA is ordaining unrepentant homosexuals, that the courts of the PCA have gone liberal and are ineffective to engage in true church discipline, that there are those in the PCA who are advocating for celibate partnerships.”
I have listened (and relistened) to a good bit from Greg Johnson and read his prose. My familiarity with Johnson’s voice makes these purported lies each quite plausible to me– if my familiarity with the dispute is allowed to remember nuances. I have heard these assertions before, though with nuances. I recognize them, although, here, they were unadorned with nuances. They were rather different, but they were not lies. I think, maybe, Mr. LeCroy and I differ on this. I disagree with him. I don’t think he is lying.
A Disagreement about Nuances
It seems Mr. LeCroy acknowledges that people may disagree about these matters:
“. . . valid concerns and frustrations . . . Yet, none of my frustrations or concerns amounted to the level of heretical belief or practice. They were at the level of things that myself and others believed were unwise and unhelpful, but not worthy of censure or excommunication.”
He suggests something of a spectrum: unwise > unhelpful > heretical practice > heretical belief > censure > excommunication.. Is the use of such a scale merely as mechanical as reading a thermometer? Might people charitably and honestly differ on this? Is the contrast really between agreeing or lying? Is that a nuance?
Mr. LeCroy specifies what he found predominantly unhelpful or unwise with Johnson, et. al:
”They . . . expected mature believers to read the nuance in the things they said and did. But understanding of nuance is not something one can expect these days. These days nuance is treated as the enemy of the truth.”
Johnson, et. al., required people to understand their nuances, but nuance attracts an adversarial attention. Nuance somehow short circuits truthfulness.
Is nuance the enemy of truth? Or does nuance fail to guarantee agreement? When people assert that a particular nuance is a distinction without a difference, or an instance of equivocation, or a fallacious appeal— are they expressing their disagreement or lying through their teeth? Disagreement is a serious matter. Lying is wicked. Nuance is not the distance between them.
A Demonization of Disagreement
Mr. LeCroy’s grief is fitting. A historic congregation has departed our communion, and it has done so with articulate recrimination. The truth of their assertions deserve sober consideration as the PCA moves forward. There is no duty to agree with such assertions, but there is a duty to take them seriously.
“I believe there will be a reckoning for all these lies. For those who have won this battle, this is not the way battles should be won in the Church of Jesus Christ.” Those are strong words. Again, only a fool would not weigh them and reweigh them. Remember how slow we can be when corrected.
I don’t have the impression that many people believe a battle was won. Partisans think that decisive conflict was avoided. The questions are not actually settled; the acrimony obviously lingers. People do lie, but people also disagree. Those who have avoided the battle must recognize that confusing prevarication and disagreement will most certainly reap more than a dust devil or two.
If deliberation is reduced to discernment of which speakers are lying– what confidence should you have in any vote? Unless you get your way. Consider the revulsion of getting your way and wondering if some in the majority were lying. Or does that matter if you’re getting your way? How horrible if a court of Christ’s church replaces disagreement and deliberation with distrust and dominant voices.
I imagine demons both agree and disagree dishonestly.
Mr. LeCroy goes on in his admonition. I disagree with his assertions about Overture 15. I leave argument aside. I disagree that concerns expressed in terms of the reform of the church deserve to be greeted as malicious. I leave argument aside. I disagree that mendacity has been the substance of the controversy around Johnson, et. al. I leave argument aside. I disagree that the PCA should construe coming advocacy around officers, race, and worship as a time to discern who is honest rather than how to honor Christ. I leave argument aside.
I disagree with TE LeCroy’s admonition for the PCA. I do not think he is lying.
I encourage others to do the same.
Benjamin T. Inman is a Minister in the Presbyterian Church in America and is member of Eastern Carolina Presbytery.
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From “Woe Is Me” to “I Belong Here”
The dividing barrier of sin has been torn down by the cross, and as a result, the children of God are welcome into His presence. And as such, we should come—even boldly—into that presence. This is what the Bible tells us to do.
What do we mean when we say God is “holy?” We are familiar with the word – we use it as an exclamation in phrases like, “Holy cow!” or “Holy moly!” or worse. So we use it frequently enough. We are familiar with the word; perhaps even too familiar. Perhaps we have become far too comfortable with a God who is holy.
The basic meaning of holy is one of separateness. Sacredness. Something that is not common or like other things. Now I don’t know if you’ve ever found yourself in a place where you clearly do not belong. Maybe it’s a fancy restaurant where you’re the only one wearing t-shirt and flip flops. Or maybe it’s in the middle of a very serious conversation you walked in on your parents having. Whatever the case, you get this sense all of a sudden that you are in a place that is too serious for you. And it’s uncomfortable.
The holiness of God reminds us just how separate and sacred God is. He is not meant to be treated trivially, and those who do so do so at their own risk. This is part of what the prophet Isaiah discovered.
If you take a look at Isaiah 6, for example, you find that beginning to understand holiness is the beginning of learning about God. “Holy” is the cry that even now is ringing in the heavens to describe God. That’s what Isaiah encountered as he was taken up in a vision and saw the Lord:
“In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord seated on a high and lofty throne, and His robe filled the temple. Seraphim were standing above Him; each one has six wings: with two he covered his face, with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one called to another:
‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of Hosts; His glory fills the whole earth.’Isaiah 6:1-3
By calling God “holy” three times, the seraphim were pointing to the absolutely essential and foundational nature of God’s holiness. They didn’t chant “loving, loving, loving” or even “glorious, glorious, glorious.” They opted for holy, and therefore we must recognize that to understand a bit of who God is we must start here with this characteristic.
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A Resilient Church on the Fringe
The idea is to take an existing church and alter it so that it can be lean, effective, and build owned space. The goals are to make the institutional church cheaper, more agile, and more effective, whilst making the Christian community more resilient in the face of hostility and change.
Strategic Thinking for the Negative World
The church needs to change. I find this hard to accept. I am a rusted-on, curmudgeonly, conservative, traditional Presbyterian. I do not want to change anything. I’m the kind of Presbyterian that thinks Charles Hodge was a bit loose. But even Christians like me, perhaps especially Christians like me, need to face the fact that the church in the post-Christian West needs to rethink how it does things.
This is not a Rob Bell-style call for a watered-down faith nor Brian McLaren-style attempt to cloak liberalism in emergent church “orthodoxy.” You won’t catch me wandering off the reservation on doctrine or even ecclesiology. As I said, I am a curmudgeonly, traditional Presbyterian.
I am talking about how we organize our institutions. We need to rethink at a strategic level how we operate, how we spend money, how we invest in the future of our institutions, and how we create resilient Christian communities. The world of the twentieth century is passing away and the institutional arrangements that have undergirded the church will need to alter in the face of this.
My motives are not theological — hence my distance from Bell, McLaren, and even people like Mike Frost and Alan Hirsch. They imagined an ecclesial revolution from the perspective of either theological liberalism or a sort of Anabaptist primitivism. They were driven by ideals. The emerging and emergent church types believed change was theologically necessary. I do not agree with this.
I believe that change is necessary because of practical and political reality. It may turn out that some of the ideas I outline below will have some positive spin-offs for discipleship and community, some that people like Frost and Hirsch would welcome. Indeed, some of the ideas are needed for that reason, but this is not theologically necessary, nor are my prescriptions driven by high ideals. They are driven by that thing that every anabaptist primitivist despises: lucre.
The Future
I am no prophet. Even worse, I’m a cessationist. But I know that the future won’t look a lot like the past. Here are a few predictions, hopefully, founded upon reasonable suppositions, that undergird my analysis and constructive suggestions:The world as a whole is going to get poorer and more dangerous. To see why this is, read Peter Zeihan’s The End of the World is Just the Beginning. We might differ with some of the details in this book, but the basis of Zeihan’s analysis is demographics, and demographics, as they say, is destiny. Demographics concerning the number of workers, tax-payers, potential soldiers, retirees, and people drawing on their pension funds, are set for the next 20 years. So, too, is the number of deaths. Demographic decline is set to swallow the better part of the world. The economic decline will follow fast. And geopolitical and military chaos will ensue. Which will lead to trade chaos. Which will lead to more economic and military chaos. And so on. Add to this the reality that the United States world police force is going to withdraw from protecting the globalist economic trade order with its navy, and it is hard not to be pessimistic. Other outcomes are possible; e.g. during the Black Death, people and communities increased in wealth. But something akin to the scenario Zeihan outlines should be one we plan for.
Churches will decline in numbers and wealth, mainly because of the demographic shift. Boomers are dying. They built, funded, and shaped the cultures of, the Western church. Boomers are the reason the church is the way it is in an aesthetic sense (bad CCM anyone?), but they are also the reason we have so many privately-funded parachurch organizations and Christian education institutions. They are the reason why churches can afford multiple ministry staff. They were rich, they are rich, and they are … going to take that wealth to the grave. It will be gone before we know it, all of the greyheads that currently make up 50% or more of our churches will disappear, and even if they were all replaced numerically, there is almost no way that their wealth will be replaced. We have peaked, and it is downhill from here.
Persecution will increase. This should be obvious, given what the scriptures say about the normal mode of operation for the church. We have had it sweet for a long time, but in the West, that is coming to an end. Even if we recede into a form of out-of-favourism, where no one hates us but everyone ignores us, things will be hard. But if it ends up worse, if we are outlawed, if our schools are outlawed, if we lose tax exemptions for churches, if we are actively ostracised from society, then this will impact churches’ operations at an institutional level and also place a lot of pressure on laypeople.These are the main reasons the Christian church needs to rethink the way it does things. I firmly believe in God’s sovereignty. The Lord reigns, and earth ought to rejoice (Ps. 97:1). Nothing that God plans is thwarted, and there is no event, whether personal or world-historical, that is beyond God’s control (Job 42:2, Matt. 10:29–31). In other words, there is nothing about any of this is out of God’s control, and Christians should not worry.
But we should plan and we should be strategic. And note an important distinctive of what I am doing here: note the lack of theology. My reasoning is pragmatic. We will almost certainly have fewer people, less money, and therefore far fewer resources taken as a whole. Even if we don’t get squeezed by civil governments for more taxes or get the rug pulled some other way, we will have less money. Those darker possibilities need to be prepared for, too. But the even best-case scenario is not a good one, and the plausible scenarios are even worse.
In short, we need to consider changing. The church needs to change to survive and thrive. To use Nassim Taleb’s concept, we need to make our churches antifragile in a world that will despise us and possibly hate us.
Key Ideas for the Church in a Dangerous World
What should we do? How should we respond to this possible, perhaps plausible future? This is where things get uncomfortable. For a Presbyterian who is wedded to traditional denominational structures, theological colleges, and other such niceties of Protestant Christendom, this is hard. However, these prejudices are also a strength, because I am going to posit some models which could work even in traditional denominational structures.
I believe in the Presbyterian polity. You might believe in episcopacy, or something different. You might not really care about church polity. Let me again emphasize that the ideas below are not meant to make you think of (once again) Mike Frost and Anabaptist primitivism. They should make you think of keeping the ecclesial scaffolding you already have but changing the building inside the scaffolding.
To properly understand my prescriptions and ideas, on top of the basic assumptions about the future outlined above, there are two ideas that readers should grasp.Ecclesial institutions will need to be lean.
The church, in its organic form, will need owned space.Put another way, the institutional church will ideally operate with less real estate, whilst the organic church needs more. This may seem contradictory, but there is reason behind this.
An Institutional Church that is Lean
In the first instance, the institutional church is, at this point, a big target for people who hate Christ and his Church. And it has a big target on its back — property. Property makes the church more vulnerable. The church is more vulnerable to being inflexible, to be unwilling to adjust to the environment around her when she is laden with sanctuaries, seminaries, and office buildings. These are blessings when things are going well. These could be blessings when things are not going well.
But my sense is this will not be the case moving forward. They are a target. People who hate God and what Christians stand for can get at us via our property through legal avenues. Who is going to be targeting the church? Well, the same people who are chasing us now. Activists from left-wing groups, but possibly governments as well. This woke revolution is not just going to blow over. This is one reason to make the institutional church leaner.
But there is another one: mission. Buildings can be a vehicle for mission, certainly. But into the next age of the church in the West, I believe they will be a barrier to mission. They will create big legal and financial headaches for an institution that is under siege, and they will burden the church’s mission.
The church in the developing world offers a model. Where there is a high level of difficulty in establishing a local church ministry, churches grow and multiply when the church is lean. Churches grow and multiply when they use a model that is focused on homes and is, in turn, replicable. It is low on staff, low on overheads, and big on house churches with local pastoral leadership. It is a house church which, when it gets too big, plants a further house church with a new leader.
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