Rise up, you men of the cross, sisters of the crown, soldiers of Christ endowed with his very Spirit. Come and speak. Come and die. Come and serve. Come and overcome. Come and stand firm.

What assassin better cloaks himself than Satan? He is a rumor whispered, a rustling of the bush, a cutthroat who leaves no witnesses. Everywhere he devastates, yet, seldom perceived, he attacks by submarine. Out of sight, out of mind, he burrows to the roots; we only see the forest dying.
In the West, a shy assassin, he conceals himself within a joke—a horned Halloweener dressed in red, brandishing a plastic pitchfork. He chuckles along with freethinking societies, nodding that his existence is but a ploy to maintain religious power or a fairy tale to parent naughty children. As Master of the air, this Pied Piper plays his music, his hiss, full of sweetness and song, suggesting softly of fruit able to make one wise.
Scripture unearths and names him. Slanderer. Accuser. Adversary. Tempter. Deceiver. Evil One. Prince of Demons. Great Dragon. His arrows, venomed, sink to the heart. His chariot wheels, when meant to be heard, quake the brave. His crimson fingers colored a third of heaven’s host. Great was their war; great is their war. Their skirmish toppled heaven; the serpent spoke on earth.
If the lights turned on, if we could see with physical eyes the god of this world and his troops arrayed about us, fetal would be man’s position. Staring at the beautiful face, hearing the capturing voice, would we be tempted to worship? Would most kneel, trembling, or try to crown him king? Though he remains absent from news channels, dire is our station; extreme, our contest; savage, our enemy.
Yet forward, Christ calls us; to a bloody victory we march. Onward, to a clash forbidding cliché. Advancing, for as Bunyan reminds us, we have no armor for our backs. But what can stir our blood and steel our mettle before such a terror? As great generals of the earth ride up and down the battlefront to rouse great deeds, men of God reached for words.
A Summons
Overhear Paul’s call to battle as he writes Christ’s troops in Ephesus. To begin, he does not undersell their foe. They cannot meet the like on earth.
We do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. (Ephesians 6:12)
Not against flesh and blood, but against spiritual forces, bodiless battalions. Not against a race of slaves or inferior beings, but against rulers and authorities and cosmic powers. Not against fortresses of stone, but against towers in the heavenlies. We are not outmanned but outspecied. Do trees array for battle against the forest fire? Do sheep march on a pack of wolves? Does wheat charge the sifter? Does flesh dare ascend the hill to demonic spirits? If words hold heat to waken courage, what words can help us keep rank against such terror?
To War
As if he can see the uncertainty in our eyes, the apostle cries, “Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might” (Ephesians 6:10). Mount no steed of your own strength. Paul rides to the front lines as the Levites did the Israelite armies of old: “Let not your heart faint. Do not fear or panic or be in dread of them, for the Lord your God is he who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies, to give you the victory” (Deuteronomy 20:3–4). Stand! Stand! Stand! in the Lord (Ephesians 6:11, 13–14).
Stand upright, men of God; grip the hilt firmly. Your God is with you. Let not unbelief unhorse you now. As the fiends drum and hell hollers, one is with you higher than they, who greets their joint armies with a laugh. Stand firm. Withstand in this evil day. Take not one step back.
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In a social context where Christian orthodoxy can seem bigoted, dehumanizing, and grotesque, and where people have no shortage of ways to make their criticisms heard, believers are tempted to mimic the response of animals faced with danger: fight or flight. The former feels like humility, but risks timidity and cowardice. The latter feels like courage, but risks slander and pride. However, the faithful option is humble courage. If we mistakenly think in terms of a spectrum with humility and timidity at one end and pride and boldness at the other, then we will end up justifying vices as virtues. The way of Jesus, by contrast, combines exemplary humility with astonishing courage, most powerfully as Christ goes to the cross.

The West is not as post-Christian as many imagine. No doubt there are places on earth, including Middle America, where it might feel like the wider culture is currently rejecting Christianity at an unprecedented rate. But the milieu that characterizes post-Christendom is still (despite itself) irreducibly Christian.
Imagine a cryogenically frozen Viking waking up in twenty-first-century Scandinavia, or a Mayan exploring contemporary Mexico, or Asterix and Obelix encountering German social democracy, or French laïcité. As “secular” as those places might feel to many of us, their values would seem deeply Christian to anyone who had not experienced them before.
Nevertheless, living in the world of late modernity obviously presents plenty of challenges for orthodox believers.
Is Christianity Losing?
Whatever we call the religious outlook of our societies — secularism, post-secularism, post-Christianity, or something else entirely — people are still skeptical toward Christianity and in some cases downright hostile.
The pagan gods of Mammon, Aphrodite, Apollo, Ares, Gaia, and Dionysus still trouble modernity in varying levels of disguise. Renouncing them to follow Christ is still costly. It is still harder for a rich person to enter the kingdom than for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle (Matthew 19:23–24). The church still bears many flaws, and the cultural influence of Christianity has often served to magnify those flaws to those outside her doors.
An internal, psychological challenge compounds those external, cultural ones: some Christians feel like they are losing. In some countries, this is a question of sheer numbers. For a variety of reasons, including prosperity, fertility, and the privatization of postwar life, the percentage of people in church on Sundays has steadily fallen in many Western nations since the Second World War (while rising substantially in parts of the Majority World over the same period). Even in America (often seen as an outlier), over two-thirds of churches are in numerical decline. At the same time, there is a widely held perception that Christian convictions have become increasingly marginal in public life, which in many cases is clearly true.
Five Responses of Faith
That decline in numbers and of perceived relevance has met with varied responses from the Western church. Some of those responses (repentance, prayer, a renewed commitment to discipleship) are certainly positive. Others (fear, hostility, and the pursuit of influence or power by compromising morally or theologically) are plainly negative.
Some observers remain optimistic and argue that things are not as bad as they seem; others think they are a good deal worse. Some argue the church needs a radical change in strategy; others claim the challenge is not really a methodological one at all, and the church should essentially hunker down, get used to life on the margins, prepare to suffer for what she believes, pray, and trust that the God who brings life to the dead will do something new.
So, how do we live by faith in a culture losing its faith? In my book Remaking the World: How 1776 Created the Post-Christian West, I consider how the church responded to a similar crisis nearly 250 years ago — in particular the celebration of grace, the pursuit of freedom, and an articulation of Christian truth — and I suggest the last two centuries have only served to elevate the importance of these three responses. In this piece, I’ll mention five additional responses which, though perhaps obvious, are nevertheless vital for believers in an age like ours.
1. We Suffer Well
It’s hard to overstate the role that suffering has played in the expansion of Christianity.
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In a recent issue on Reformed scholasticism there is an article arguing that John Owen was a scholastic by Christopher Cleveland. That article consists in the main of the author’s analysis of how Owen used scholastic methods in his own work, but also mentions how he used concepts taken from the thought of Aquinas. Hence we read that “Owen demonstrates several of the characteristics of the scholastic approach in his writings” and that “the Thomistic distinction between God’s simple intelligence and knowledge of vision . . . found in Thomas’ Summa Theologica[,] is used by Owen in Display of Arminianism.”

The online magazine Credo, about whose notions I have written before, when it is not declaring the alleged glories of Platonism (comp. Col. 2:8), allowing Lutheran interim pastors to imply Anglo-Romanists are Reformed, or publishing materials by members of Romanist religious orders (participation in which we regard as sinful, Westminster Confession XXII.7), has been straining to re-popularize scholasticism, and has especially been commending the thought of Thomas Aquinas.
In a recent issue on Reformed scholasticism there is an article arguing that John Owen was a scholastic by Christopher Cleveland. That article consists in the main of the author’s analysis of how Owen used scholastic methods in his own work, but also mentions how he used concepts taken from the thought of Aquinas. Hence we read that “Owen demonstrates several of the characteristics of the scholastic approach in his writings” and that “the Thomistic distinction between God’s simple intelligence and knowledge of vision . . . found in Thomas’ Summa Theologica[,] is used by Owen in Display of Arminianism.” As concerns the latter statement this analysis may be correct; I am not sufficiently well read in Owen or Aquinas (two notably difficult authors) to say. But the method seems wanting, and fairness commends allowing Owen to speak for himself. Following are a series of mentions of Aquinas and the scholastics in some of Owen’s works so that you may judge, dear reader, whether Owen would concur with his description as a scholastic. All works cited are hyperlinked and are available through the Post Reformation Digital Library, a wonderful resource whose executive board is moderated by a sometime Credo contributor, David Sytsma. In some cases I have regularized capitalization and spelling somewhat for readability.
Before proceeding, note that what we now call the scholastics were referred to as ‘schoolmen’ or ‘school doctors’ in Owen’s day, and that instead of scholasticism he speaks of ‘the schools.’ Owen did refer to Aquinas with appreciation in some occasions at least. In A Vindication of the Animadversions on Fiat Lux he spoke of “Thomas of Aquine, who without question is the best and most sober of all your school doctors.” Given what follows I am not sure that is quite as much a compliment as it first seems, however. Then too, Vindication is a polemic work written against a Romanist author: telling his correspondent that Aquinas is one of “your school doctors” seems to be saying he belongs in the camp of the papists, not the Reformation.
That is borne out elsewhere, as in his work Of Schisme Owen refers to “Thomas Aquinas and such vassals of the Papacy,” and says of him and others of like opinion on schism that “we are not concerned in them; what the Lord speaks of it, that we judge concerning it.” Note carefully Owen’s rejection of Aquinas’ opinion as false and as contradicted by the Lord’s revelation in scripture. In that same work Owen says that Aquinas regarded schism as damning sin: “Schism, as it is declared by S. Austin and S. Thomas of Aquin, being so great and damnable a sin.” That makes it a bit of an oddity that so many Protestants are falling all over themselves to lay claim to Aquinas, since his published works condemn us as lost schismatics laying under the threat of damnation for our ‘sin’ in refusing to submit to Rome.
Elsewhere in the work, discussing the enormous differences of opinion that exist within the Roman communion, Owen quotes the great Roman controversialist Bellarmine’s opinion that one of Aquinas’ teachings was “idolatricall” (fun phrase), namely “that of Thomas about the worship of the cross with latria.” On that same subject Owen says in Vindication that “Thomas contendeth that the cross is to be worshipped with latria, p. 3. q. 25. a. 4. which is a word that he and you suppose to express religious worship of the highest sort.” And again, that “the most prevalent opinion of your doctors is that of Thomas and his followers, that images are to be adored with the same kind of worship wherewith that which they represent is to be worshipped.”
(This is why I have elsewhere opposed the Aquinas craze on the grounds that it is not appropriate for God’s people to be so zealous about someone who commends idolatry, which is what is entailed in worshiping the cross.)
Owen’s opinion of the scholastics in general does not seem to be very positive. In one of the works that Credo’s article quotes, A Display of Arminianism, we find Owen discussing the question of whether before the Incarnation men living “according to the dictates of right reason, might be saved without faith in Christ,” a matter he says “hath also since, (as what hath not) been drawn into dispute among the wrangling Schoolmen: and yet, which is rarely seen, their verdict in this particular, almost unanimously passeth for the truth,” a statement he immediately follows with a quote from Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae (2. 2 ae. q. 2. a. 7. c.) as evidence. Perhaps my understanding of seventeenth century English is errant, but that reads to me as though Owen is saying ‘even the schoolmen, who argue about everything, seldom agree amongst themselves, and are seldom entirely right, concur that this idea is false.’ (And that that was Owen’s position as well is abundantly confirmed by his subsequent statement that asserting men can be saved apart from faith in Christ is “a wicked Pelagian Socinian heresy.”) It is noteworthy, however, that the several other mentions of the ‘schoolemen’ in that work are not so dismissive, some citing them approvingly.
Elsewhere Owen speaks of the principle reformers as being superior to the scholastics in defending trinitarian doctrine. Discussing his Romanist opponent’s arguments in Animadversions on Fiat Lux, he says that “from them [anti-trinitarian heretics like Servetus] a return is made again, to Luther, Brenz, Calvin, Zwingli, who are said to nibble at Arianism, and shoot secrets darts at the Trinity.” He rebuts this by saying that “all impartial men must needs confess, that they have asserted and proved the doctrine of it, far more solidly then all the schoolmen in the world were able to do.”
Yet such statements are rather weak in comparison to the extended condemnations of the scholastics that appear in Animadversions and Vindication of Animadversions. In the first he speaks of his papist opponent’s “gallant commendation of the ingenuity, charity, candor, and sublime science of the school-men.” Owen’s response to this “gallant commendation” is strong:
I confess, they have deserved good words at his hands: These are the men, who out of a mixture of philosophy, traditions, and scripture, all corrupted and perverted, have hammered that faith, which was afterwards confirmed under so many anathemas at Trent. So that upon the matter, he is beholden to them for his religion; which I find he loves, and hath therefore reason to be thankful to its contrivers. For my part, I am as far from envying them their commendation, as I have reason to be, which I am sure is far enough. But yet before we admit this testimony, hand over head; I could wish he would take a course to stop the mouths of some of his own church, and those no small ones neither, who have declared them to the world, to be a pack of egregious sophisters, neither good philosophers, nor any divines at all; men who seem not to have had the least reverence of God, nor much regard to the truth in any of their disputations, but were wholly influenced by a vain reputation of subtility, desire of conquest, of leading and denominating parties, and that in a barbarous science, barbarously expressed, until they had driven all learning and divinity almost out of the world. But I will not contend about these fathers of contention: let every man esteem of them as he seems good.
A similar passage in Vindication is equally strong and expounds this theme:
I confess the language of your schoolmen is so corrupt and barbarous, many of the things they sweat about, so vain, curious, unprofitable, their way of handling things, and expressing the notions of their minds, so perplexed, dark, obscure, and oftentimes unintelligible, divers of their assertions and suppositions so horrid and monstrous; the whole system of their pretended divinity, so alien and foreign unto the mystery of the Gospel that I know no great reason that any man hath much to delight in them. These things have made them the sport and scorn of the learnedest men that ever lived in the communion of your own church.
And further, after some obscure Latin and ancient allusions:
They are not like to do mischief to any, unless they are resolved aforehand to give up their faith in the things of God to the authority of this or that philosopher, and forego all solid rational consideration of things, to betake themselves to sophistical canting, and the winding up of subtility into plain non-sense; which oftentimes befalls the best of them; Whence Melchior Canus one of yourselves says of some of your learned disputes, Puderet me dicere non intelligere, si ipsi intelligerent qui tractarunt. ‘I should be ashamed to say I did not understand them, but that they understood not themselves.’ Others may be entangled by them, who if they cannot untie your knots, they may break your webs, especially when they find the conclusions, as oftentimes they are, directly contrary to scripture, right reason, and natural sense itself.
And following more allusions:
But whatever I said of them, or your church, is perfectly consistent with itself, and the truth. I grant that before the schoolmen set forth in the world, many unsound opinions were broached in, and many superstitious practices admitted into your church: and a great pretense raised unto a superintendency over other churches, which were parts of that mass out of which your popery is formed. But before the schoolmen took it in hand, it was rudis indigesta (que) moles, ‘a heap, not a house.’ As Rabbi Juda Hakkadosh gathered the passant traditions of his own time among the Jews, into a body or system, which is called the Mishnae or duplicate of their law, wherein he composed a new religion for them, sufficiently distant from that which was professed by their fore-fathers; so have your schoolmen done also. Out of the passant traditions of the days wherein they lived, blended with sophistical corrupted notions of their own, countenanced and gilded with the sayings of some ancient writers of the church, for the most part wrested or misunderstood, they have hammered out that system of philosophical traditional divinity, which is now enstamped with the authority of the Tridentine Council, being as far distant from the divinity of the New Testament, as the farrago of traditions collected by Rabbi Juda, and improved in the Talmuds, is from that of the old.
Lastly, he says in Vindication:
Some learn their divinity out of the late, and modern schools, both in the Reformed and Papal Church; in both which a science is proposed under that name, consisting in a farrago of credible propositions, asserted in terms suited unto that philosophy that is variously predominant in them. What a kind of theology this hath produced in the Papacy, Agricola, Erasmus, Vives, Jansenius, with innumerable other learned men of your own, have sufficiently declared. And that it hath any better success in the Reformed churches, many things which I shall not now instance in, give me cause to doubt.
The folks at Credo will say that such vehement anti-scholastic rhetoric is directed against later scholastics like Gabriel Biel, not Aquinas or other “sounder scholastics.” The above make that seem doubtful, however, especially that last quote, and they draw into question whether Owen would concur with his classification as a Reformed scholastic of Thomistic inclinations. Let the reader judge for himself.
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, available through Amazon.
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