The Story of Us
Rather than focusing on Christ’s death, burial and resurrection as testified by a multitude of reliable witnesses and written in advance throughout the Scriptures, many Christians today have chosen to proclaim a different gospel entirely. This new and improved gospel is The Story of Us. This story is one that is perceived to be much more credible and effective than the story of Jesus, because, unlike the story of Jesus, it can’t be refuted.
In her book, Spirituality for Dummies, Sharon Janis writes, “In a nutshell, spirituality relates to your own personal experience and relationship with the divine…Dogma can muddy the waters of a spiritual path.”1 Similarly, in his book Conversations with God, Neale Donald Walsch writes that “leaders, ministers, books, and even the Bible itself are not authoritative sources.” In fact, he claims that God specifically directs us to, “Listen to your feelings…Listen to your experience. Whenever any one of these differ from what you’ve been told by your teachers, or read in your books, forget the words. Words are the least reliable purveyor of truth.”2 Madonna apparently agrees with this advice. In her song, “Bedtime Story,” she sings, “Words are useless, especially sentences. They don’t stand for anything. How could they explain how I feel?”
Of course, if words are so useless and unreliable, perhaps we could ask why Madonna and Neale Donald Walsh felt compelled to use so many of them. But the more important question to ask is why so many people in our day are attracted to the view that feelings and experiences are more important than words and ideas. Taken to the extreme, this is actually a recipe for anarchy. As just one example, if the words of various “traffic laws” begin to be thought of as “useless” and drivers end up focusing more on their own internal feelings (such as “the need for speed”), then a simple trip to the grocery store will increasingly become hazardous to your health.
The preference for feelings and experiences over words and ideas is ubiquitous in our day, even in the sphere of American Christianity. Doctrine is presented as cold, dull, and divisive—what we really need is an authentic “personal relationship with Jesus.” Unfortunately, few seem to have noticed how similar this is to the “spiritual-but-not-religious” approach of writers like Sharon Janis and Neale Donald Walsch. At the end of the day, spirituality relates to our own personal experience, which is why it holds our interest. Dogma, on the other hand, is rooted in the beliefs and ideas of other people, which is inherently more complicated and definitely less captivating.
If you think about it, those who suggest that doctrine is cold, or that “dogma muddies the water of true spirituality” are actually guilty of spreading their own doctrines and dogmas. Curiously, it’s a kind of “anti-dogmatic” dogma, but at the end of the day, it’s dogma just the same—words and ideas are being employed in order to affect the way we think. So while it’s common to hear, even in conservative Christian circles that “true Christianity isn’t a bunch of doctrines, it’s a personal relationship with Jesus,” perhaps we should follow up that assertion with a few questions, such as: “Who is Jesus?” “Was he a man, an angel, or God incarnate?” “Is he still alive?” “Did he actually atone for sin or not?” All these doctrinal questions simply can’t be avoided.
Nearly a century ago, J. Gresham Machen observed that “What many men despise today as ‘doctrine’ the New Testament calls the gospel.”3 His point was that the gospel, which lies at the very heart of our faith, is itself an announcement of a particular set of facts. In fact, the word “gospel” (Gk. euangelion) simply refers to the announcement or proclamation of “good news.” Paul famously gives a succinct summary of the gospel message in 1st Corinthians 15:
I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, 2 and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word that I preached to you—otherwise you believed in vain. 3 For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, 4 that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, 5 and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. 6 Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have fallen asleep. 7 Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. 8 Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me… 14 And if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain.
We should pay close attention to the specific “words” and “sentences” employed in this important passage, since it happens to convey the beliefs and ideas of the earliest Christians. Specifically, Paul decided to unpack the main tenets of the gospel, which he calls the thing of “first importance.” He’s not attempting to generate religious experiences or to inspire certain feelings but is simply reminding the Corinthians of a particular series of events that had recently transpired. These events had to do with Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection, which had been announced centuries in advance throughout the Hebrew Scriptures. And he concludes by saying that if Christ was not actually raised from the dead, then Christianity is a waste of time—“your faith is in vain.”
So, according to the very clear words of 1st Corinthians 15, Paul didn’t think of the gospel as a spiritual tool for lifting you up when life gets you down. He didn’t provide us with tips and instructions to deepen our relationship with the divine or suggest that we follow our hearts wherever they happen to lead us. No, the thing of first importance was that Jesus died for our sins, that he died and was buried, and that he rose again on the third day, in accordance with the Scriptures. And, of course, all this is dogma.
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Can You Focus on the Bible Too Much?
Jesus accused the Bible-focusers of not hearing God’s voice. They didn’t see his form. He had already borne witness to the Messiah in his word, but that word hadn’t landed in their hearts. They read the Bible. They studied it and memorized it. But they didn’t believe in Jesus, its principal subject. Jesus goes on to say, “I do not receive glory from people…How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God” (John 5:41-44)? They loved the Bible because it gave them glory.
In a recent conversation, a respectable gentleman accused me of coming dangerously close to “bibliolatry.” Bibliolatry means “worshiping the book,” and the term usually refers to the practice of revering the Bible too highly. According to Wikipedia (that never-ending fount of contemporary insight), the term may characterize “either extreme devotion to the Bible or the doctrine of biblical inerrancy.”
I’ve heard such comments before, particularly from young people who want to follow God but who don’t want to study the Bible. The thinking goes like this: “The Bible is good, but you shouldn’t focus on it too much.”
Now the argument isn’t always sophomoric. Some time ago, the evangelical philosopher J.P. Moreland delivered a paper to the Evangelical Theological Society, arguing against “the idea that the Bible is the sole source of knowledge of God, morality, and a host of related important items.” He’s concerned with Christians who take the Bible to be “the sole source of authority for faith and practice. Applied to inerrancy, the notion is that the Bible is the sole source of such knowledge and authority.” Moreland clearly believes the Bible to be both inerrant and final in its authority. But, he says, if Christians consider it to be the only authority for faith and practice—that is, for the Christian life—they are “over-committed” to it.
So is it possible (and unhelpful) to focus too much on the Bible?
The Easy Answer
Of course it’s possible.
Jesus often clashed with other teachers who focused too much on the Bible.
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Peter, Put Away Your Sword
The way of the cross is not the easy way or the natural way. But it’s the Jesus way. So put your sword back in its place and pick up your cross. Either way we perish, but one leads to true victory.
I can’t say I blame Peter. His Master was under attack, the one he left everything to follow. His best friend was being betrayed and falsely accused right before him. If you’re going to carry a sword, you must be prepared to use it. And what better time than then? It was his duty to protect Jesus, an honor even.
So Peter decided to fight. And it was over as quickly as it started.
The sword unsheathed. The flash of metal in the torchlight. The servant clutching his ear, or what was left of it, in pain. Then the stern rebuke.
“Put your sword back into its place. For all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?” (Matthew 26:52-54).
As Peter chose the sword, Jesus chose the cross.
That night in the garden and the days that followed were a rollercoaster ride of failure and redemption for Peter. His transformation became evident in the stories that followed in the Acts of the Apostles.
But with the completed scriptures today, we can see the radical difference in post-Pentecost Peter in his New Testament letters. Rather than spilling ink on all the incredible events he witnessed like walking on water, the Transfiguration, the empty tomb, he chose to write as a humble leader to humble exiles.
He clearly grew a lot. The lessons he learned fill the space between his words. And this is especially evident when he instructs the early believers on how to deal with hostile authorities. Like that night in the garden, powerful people in the first century sought to destroy Christ and his disciples. The Roman Empire led by Nero was beginning to grow tired of these Christians. The antagonism from the culture around them was pressing in.
No doubt, some of these early Christians were ready to reach for their swords.
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David C. Lachman (1939-2023): A Tribute
Written by Frank J. Smith |
Monday, September 4, 2023
Dr. David C. Lachman (27 October, 1939 – 27 August, 2023) went to be with the Lord at the age of 83, after a period of slow decline beginning in 2018. He died peacefully in his own bed at his home of 41 years in Wyncote, PA, surrounded by his wife and three children. He is survived by his wife of 51 years, three children, and 12 grandchildren, his sister and brother, and relatives.David was a gentleman in so many ways—polite, respectful, calm, quiet, peaceful, unflappable, and indeed gentle. At an early age—when he was six years old—he had been conquered by God’s grace, and the resulting Christian character shone through for more than seven decades. His care for those in need was demonstrated when he was a caseworker, walking without fear on streets in dangerous neighborhoods in Philadelphia.
David was also an eminent scholar. He earned five academic degrees from four institutions: B.A. (Houghton College), M.A. (University of Pennsylvania), B.D. and Th.M. (Westminster Theological Seminary), and Ph.D. (University of St. Andrews in Scotland). His dissertation on the Marrow Controversy was published by the Rutherford House. He was one of the general editors of the Dictionary of Scottish Church History & Theology. And he co-edited Worship in the Presence of God: A Collection of Essays on the Nature, Elements, and Historic Views and Practice of Worship, published in 1992.
Producing that 400-page book took a decade, taken up with recruiting authors, cajoling them into turning in their chapters, and a painstaking, word-by-word and comma-by-comma reviewing of their submissions. I was the other co-editor of that volume. It was my brainchild, but without David’s careful editing work and patient dealing with other authors, coupled with the intellectual respect he commanded, it would never have come to fruition. This book was the first one in the twentieth century that promoted not just certain elements of worship (such as Psalmody) but the whole doctrine of worship from the perspective of the Westminster Confession of Faith. Perhaps the best way to illustrate the work’s significance is the fact that a noted writer who has vehemently rejected the regulative principle of worship felt compelled to write a whole book attacking Worship in the Presence of God.
In addition to this collection of essays, David’s other major contribution to the literature of the doctrine of worship was a 2005 article he co-authored for The Confessional Presbyterian, “Reframing Presbyterian Worship: A Critical Survey of the Worship Views of John M. Frame and R. J. Gore.”
David’s academic prowess was put to good use in the classroom, as he taught courses at Westminster Theological Seminary and Puritan Reformed Theological Seminary. But his church history expertise also came in handily in his chosen profession, which was that of antiquarian bookdealer. For almost half a century, he transported treasures of the British Isles to America, importing tons of tomes—duty free, he would gleefully note, as antiquarian collectibles are not subject to tariffs. What made him particularly successful was his virtually encyclopedic knowledge of books and Bibles.
Another aspect of his scholarship was his writing introductions to various reprint editions of old books. Examples include two works by James Durham, The Dying Man’s Testament to the Church of Scotland, or, A Treatise Concerning Scandal; and A Commentary upon Revelation; a book by Thomas Murphy, Pastoral Theology: The Pastor in the Various Duties of His Office; and a magisterial volume by George Gillespie, Aaron’s Rod Blossoming; or, the Divine Ordinance of Church Government Vindicated. He wrote three entries for the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, and contributed a chapter to The Doctrine of the Church, an audiobook featuring Westminster Seminary faculty members.
David became one of the key suppliers of rare Bibles to multiple prominent displays, private and public. Again, another example of his scholarship being put to practical use.
And there was another dimension where his scholarly ways served a public good, which was his life as a churchman. Ordained as a ruling elder in the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA), he took his churchly duties seriously. He often attended presbytery and General Assembly meetings. He served as a parliamentarian of Philadelphia Presbytery, and also on the Assembly’s Committee on Constitutional Business.
And he was not afraid to engage in ecclesiastical battle, when such became necessary. Like the founder of Westminster Seminary, J. Gresham Machen, a minister who was known as “Mr. Valiant-for-Truth,” and an academic who was no ivory-tower theologian, David was willing to fight for what he believed. As acknowledged by everyone, he was principled, and not hesitant to do what he thought was right, no matter the cost.
David employed his intellectual and writing talents in ecclesiastical journalism. For several years, as part of a reform movement within the PCA, he edited a magazine called The Presbyterian Advocate. In a way reminiscent of the efforts of the Presbyterian Journal, which had exposed doctrinal decline in the Southern Presbyterian Church, The Presbyterian Advocate tirelessly targeted bureaucratic gibberish. Consideration of his journalistic efforts leads me to note that though he was respected, he was not always loved—in point of fact, many times, he was feared by churchmen, not because he was mean-spirited, but because they instinctively understood that he had a better grasp of the principles at stake.
His going on the offensive theologically speaking should not be viewed as being contradictory to his general genteel nature. David was like a Medieval noble knight who respects women, is kind to children, and can even be compassionate toward his opponents. At the same time, with lance-like accuracy, David punctured pomposity and skewered inconsistency. One memorable editorial, which pointed out the nonsense in a particular denominational publication, ended with words from Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky”: “’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.”
That last anecdote illustrates another side to David, which was his sense of humor. He enjoyed a good joke—and he could laugh at himself, too.
I would be remiss if I did not mention that in addition to everything else, David was a friend. I knew him for four decades. He often lent a sympathetic ear to me as I wrestled with various struggles, whether personal or in the ministry. Many a time during the period when we were putting together that book on worship, and even after we had completed it, I would call him at, oh, around midnight, and talk into the wee hours of the morning. I thereupon was anointed by the Lachman children of having attained, along with others, the honorable status of being one of the “lunatic fringe.”
David C. Lachman was a good man and a great man. He may not be known as widely as some of today’s PCA superstars, but his contributions to church history will be celebrated in generations to come. At times, it takes the fog of war to dissipate before we can see clearly who the true heroes and the truly significant figures are. I can think of at least three ways that his work will be seen by historians as impactful.
One, he set a pattern of faithfulness—of commitment to principle—which can encourage others to follow.
Two, he was fundamentally correct on the principles for which he contended.
Three, his actions demonstrate both tactical and strategic positioning. For example, David’s journalistic endeavor was a harbinger of today’s bloggers—largely laymen—who are active in the current reform efforts in the PCA. Also, his writings on worship helped lay the foundation for a rediscovery of historic Presbyterian worship.
A gentleman and a scholar. A churchman and a friend. Dr. David C. Lachman lived a full life. I will miss him. I already miss not being able to pick up the phone and give him a call (even if, in recent years, doing so was at more reasonable hours!). But I look forward to seeing him again, robed with the Redeemer’s righteousness, and engaging with him in perfect worship that will be pure and entire, throughout all eternity.
Sometimes, in reflecting on heaven, David would say that he didn’t know exactly what it would be like, except that it would be far more wonderful than we could imagine. Indeed. May God give all of us that childlike, wonder-filled faith and hope on our pilgrimage toward the Celestial City.
Frank J. Smith is Pastor of Atlanta Reformed Presbyterian Church.Related Posts:
