“Faith alone” as a Reformation slogan has a particular referent: justification. Faith is the sole instrument of justification. And “faith alone” does not mean that our attitudes and actions do not matter in the whole of the Christian life. Genuine faith, which alone justifies, is a “faith working through love” (Galatians 5:6). Nor does “faith alone” mean — and this may need fresh emphasis in some circles — that faith is less than an act of the whole soul, we might say, including the will and what we call “the heart” or the emotions. To put a point on it, faith is an expression of the whole inner person, not the intellect alone. As Paul himself says in Romans 10:10, “with the heart one believes and is justified.”

Shallow enough for a child to play at the shore, and deep enough for an elephant to drown.
As has often been said, such is true of the Christian gospel and Scriptures and doctrine. So in the cascading recovery and resurgence of Reformed theology in recent decades, many stripped off their socks and waded into the tides. As they did, memorable slogans served as great entry points for new students, but also became potentially distorting categories for those who never matured beyond the basics.
Many of us learned the past, present, and future aspects of salvation: I was saved. I am being saved. I will be saved. Of course, we came as well into TULIP: total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, and perseverance of the saints. So too we learned the “five solas” (as they came to be known in the twentieth century): faith alone, grace alone, Christ alone, Scripture alone, to the glory of God alone.
Of the five, “faith alone” might be the most frequently distorted — both caricatured by foes and misunderstood by friends. “Faith alone” for what?
How to Be Accepted by God
Often the instinctive response of new initiates to the question, “‘Faith alone’ for what?” has been “for salvation.” However, salvation is often a more general category, as we see in the past, present, and future aspects above. The more particular focus we’re looking for is justification.
It was specifically justification that was the material principle of the Reformation — that is, How does a sinner have right-standing with God Almighty? Or, how do the ungodly come to be fully accepted by the holy God? The Reformers answered that such a fundamental divine embrace, justification, rests on the basis of Christ’s person and work alone (not ours), and is received by sinners through the instrument of faith alone, not our own doing, whether in whole or in part. Basis: Christ. Instrument: faith.
Again and again, Protestants opened, as Luther had, to the apostle Paul’s epistle to the Romans. They sought to follow and explain his overall argument. And they pointed to particular verses, like Romans 3:28: “One is justified by faith apart from works of the law.” Here “works of the law” is not a loophole but an intensifier: “works of the law” are acts commanded by God himself under the terms of the old covenant. What works could be more good and righteous than those expressly issued by the mouth of God? And yet, Paul writes, God’s full acceptance of sinners, in Christ, is by faith, not by obedience even to the best of commands. In Christ, we are justified by faith, “not because of works done by us in righteousness” (Titus 3:5; so also, among others, Galatians 2:16, 21; 5:1–3; Philippians 3:9).
Note well that “faith alone” as a Reformation slogan has a particular referent: justification. Faith is the sole instrument of justification. And “faith alone” does not mean that our attitudes and actions do not matter in the whole of the Christian life. Genuine faith, which alone justifies, is a “faith working through love” (Galatians 5:6). Nor does “faith alone” mean — and this may need fresh emphasis in some circles — that faith is less than an act of the whole soul, we might say, including the will and what we call “the heart” or the emotions. To put a point on it, faith is an expression of the whole inner person, not the intellect alone. As Paul himself says in Romans 10:10, “with the heart one believes and is justified.”
Not Only True but Desirable
Luther and Calvin both spoke of such whole-souled faith, exercised not only in the reason but in the will and emotions. Groping for language, Luther preached in a sermon on Luke 16:1–9, “Faith is something very powerful, active, restless, effective, which at once renews a person and again regenerates him, and leads him altogether into a new manner and character of life, so that it is impossible not to do good without ceasing.” Faith does not amount to solely the calculus of the bare intellect but expresses more and affects more.
Calvin too saw justifying faith as manifestly more than an exercise of the mind, referring to justifying faith as a “warm embrace” and “pious affection.”
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Our joy and happiness on the Sabbath morning and evening should come not from the elaborate displays of outward means, but from the inward assurance of gospel peace. Lastly the worship that happens in that room should emulate these principles as well. Really all that should take place in a Presbyterian service are the means of grace: preaching, singing, praying, communion, and baptism. 

We’ve all heard the jokes about Presbyterian’s being anti-fun, the so-called frozen chosen. The seen, but not heard denomination. The post you are about to read is going to sound like it came from the official spokesman of the “Presbyterians against anything nice” coalition. Maybe it’s true, maybe I am the grumpiest Presbyterian alive, but my goal here today is not to get hits or cause trouble. Rabble rousers are boring people. Men who seek out controversy don’t have enough to do and they aren’t really seeking to win converts to their position. They just like to see the fight.
At the end of the day I’m really a harmless little fuzzball who just wants Presbyterians to be Presbyterians, Baptists to be Baptists, and Anglicans to be Anglicans. Good fences make good neighbors. If you know where the other person stands it makes it easier to know where you stand.
The topic I’d like to get into today is about the meeting space. Some call it the “sanctuary”, others the “preaching hall”, and whatever you want to call it is fine by me. I’m not interested in getting into arguments over words. There are legit reasons why some people demur from the sanctuary term, and why others like it as a description of where we meet for worship. Christians who are members of long-standing congregations likely are used to a more traditionally-expressed term than church plants and/or younger churches. But regardless of where you meet or what you call it there are certain things as Presbyterians we should expect to see, and not see.
In this brief piece I want to talk about some of the reasons behind the austere look favored by the Reformed, where it came from, and why it matters. To be sure there is a sense in which in the New Testament it doesn’t matter where we meet with God’s people. As men and women who descend from Covenanters who hid in vales and caves to lift up the psalms to the Lord and be fed by His word we should acutely feel that. This is also a very American, if not Western, question. I’ve never been to the nations of Africa, but it is a safe assumption through pictures and the witness of native believers that what is expected in Malawi is different than what is to be understood in South Carolina. Part of the beauty of Presbyterian worship is that you don’t need a fancy place with a bunch of pomp and circumstance. All you need is a Bible and Christians. The Scriptures contain the text for instruction and the book of songs to sing, the people have the voices to raise to Heaven.
What more do you need?
Having set the stage let’s get to…setting the stage. One of the first things that marks a Presbyterian meeting place is that the pulpit should be in the center. The Reformers replaced the altar with the stand upon which the Minister placed his Bible. The symbolism was meant to testify to the fact that the preaching of the word was at the forefront of Christian worship. Having a split chancel (two pulpits up front, one to the left and one to the right, usually one larger than the other) usually grants the central space to a table. This is a return back to the Roman rite. As vital and important as the Supper is to the souls of believers we don’t believe it is the primary means of grace.
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You are not the sum of your traumas, feelings, and perceptions of reality. You are who God says you are. This means you are either a rebel against God & reality, or you are owned as a beloved child of a loving Father, who through Christ has adopted you into the warmth of His Heavenly Household. This therapeutic age has left mankind swimming in the instability of his own feelings. What godly counselors do is point the way to the immovable foundation of truth in God’s Word.

The typical modern individual is haunted by two conflicting notions: there’s something deeply wrong with me, and it must be the fault of everyone and everything other than me. This being the case, we have ordained a priesthood of therapists who offer us soothing words of insanity: speak your truth, triggered by your trauma, validate your feelings, be true to yourself, follow your heart.
The hope is that by vocalizing our feelings of hurt and trauma to a therapist, and hearing them validate our feelings, we might enjoy robust life, soundness of mind, and tranquility of emotions. But the Word of God comes to us as rock, as foundation, as immovable glory. It doesn’t budge, no matter how frenzied our feelings might be. Our therapeutic age denies the sufficiency of Scripture. It insists on viewing self in a psychologized light, instead of letting the light of God’s Word reveal the truth about the inner man. 
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