Words That Are Worth More than a Picture
Today, we need the Apostles’ Creed more than ever, but in our current church culture, there is a tendency to reject words for an emotional experience. Far too often, we see performance-driven worship use imagery to draw us into a higher emotional state.
I read an article a while ago that has stuck with me. The author described how, during a conversation with several people, he was asked, “What do you believe?” By his own admission, he struggled to come up with just the right words to describe his faith, and by the time he had something, the moment had passed.
You may have been in a similar situation; I know that I certainly have. Yet my answer was almost automatic:
I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.
And in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; he descended into hell; the third day he rose again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Ghost, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting.
Now that may have been more than the questioner was looking for, but it does describe what I believe and what orthodox Christians have believed for over two millennia. (This is the old English version that I memorized as a child and the one I still use—I just like to say, “from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.” A modern English version can be found here.)
In the small, rural south Florida Presbyterian church where I grew up, the Apostles’ Creed was an integral part of our worship service. Every Sunday, the pastor asked us, “Christian, what do you believe?” And we responded with the Creed. By the time I was five, I knew it by heart—quite an accomplishment for someone so dyslexic that I still have trouble with the order of the alphabet.
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The Ruling Elder’s Reasonable Service in the Courts of the Church
Doctrine matters. We live in times when all truth is under attack, especially orthodox Christian teaching. The higher courts of the church are essential to preserve truth and to ensure that the church’s ministers teach and live in accordance with sound doctrine. Ruling elders are part of the firewall that protects the sheep of today and tomorrow from error and wolves.
Some presbyters seem to believe that entering the arena of ecclesial/denominational controversy is—to quote the military supercomputer in the prescient 1983 teen movie WarGames—“a strange game. The only winning move is not to play.” In the film, the drama was supplied by the assumption that thermonuclear combat led to the mutually assured destruction of all participants.
A ruling elder’s participation in the courts of the church, though, need not necessitate mutual assured destruction, to stick with Cold War imagery. Rather, the goal is the peace and purity of the church; the hope is divinely assured edification and protection of Christ’s flock. The Great Shepherd rules the church, but he does it mediately through weak and fallible men—presbyters—who are always plural in the New Testament and in biblical presbyterian order. This means power is not concentrated in one or a few elders or (as we shall see below) in one type of elders. Weakness and fallibility (also known as the fact of total depravity) demand the plurality of elders and the accountability of courts we find modeled in Acts and the Epistles.
The fact of total depravity means the ruling elder’s service in any level of the church courts can be less than enjoyable. A newly ordained ruling elder may soon be shocked by discipline cases and thorny issues in his local church. Romantic notions of the eldership are quickly dispelled. There may be trouble enough “at home,” but a presbyterian ruling elder’s responsibilities and concerns ought not end at the local church’s property lines.
Called To Enter Into The Conflict
“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door”—so said Bilbo to his nephew. One might say the same to a ruling elder sent for the first time to presbytery or General Assembly, even though attending the higher courts of a presbyterian church may not be physically dangerous—apart from hours of sitting in uncomfortable chairs! The biggest casualty is lost time for ruling elders who are usually otherwise employed in the service of occupation or family when the courts meet. There are yet more participation costs. Showing up regularly can get you tasked with more responsibilities (such as committee service) since ruling elders are often in short supply. There is a steep learning curve for most ruling elders and staying in touch with and informed about the wider church is tough for a ruling elder. Little about the church courts is familiar, especially to a new ruling elder. The rules and processes of church courts can be bewildering. And there’s controversy and conflict. The problems of other churches and pastors and disagreements about doctrine and practice are anything but pleasant.
Gresham Machen famously wrote, “In the sphere of religion, as in other spheres, the things about which men are agreed are apt to be the things that are least worth holding; the really important things are the things about which men will fight.” The church doesn’t need men who look for fights or love to fight, but she does need ruling elders who bring common sense and practical experience to the courts…and who are willing to fight for truth and good order when needed. Total depravity means the need often arises.
Can’t pastors (teaching elders in Presbyterian Church in America parlance) be trusted to handle the affairs of the wider church? History says otherwise, and the polity of the PCA requires otherwise. The PCA has arguably the most robust principle of the parity of elders among conservative presbyterian denominations.
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Gospel Norm
The gospel shouldn’t be a rarity; it should be a normality, and when shared frequently with and to others, good news can become normal—in the best sense. While Christ alone does the work in human hearts, he wants them to hear the message from our mouths.
Bravery began for me in the depths of Detroit, where there are gas stations, funeral homes, and my high school all within a mile radius. Though the layout and events were abnormal, this was my norm. It was my norm for friends from middle and high school to pass away and for daily shootings and theft to occur.
When this is your norm, you yearn for good news.
I was at the tender age of seventeen when I became a Christian, and I felt compelled to tell everyone what Jesus did. My presentation wasn’t perfect, but my heart longed to point people to Jesus—sometimes through prayer, buying them a meal, or verbally sharing the gospel.
Detroit, on the daily, has its fair share of bad news; even if you turn the TV off you can’t channel out the bad news and brokenness that seems to be around the corner. People turned to robberies and raids because they did not have enough money to make ends meet. I remember the countless times of gathering families together in a circular style, hand in hand as we prayed for them as they lost a son to a shootout. My goal became to meet the brokenness with the beauty of the gospel. At seventeen, I didn’t have silver or gold to offer—even if I wanted to—yet I had Jesus, and he’s better than all the fool’s gold of this world.
I decided that whoever walked by, I would talk to them about Jesus. I’m aware that this is an introvert’s nightmare. This meant I crossed paths with many different types of people, more than I can remember. Some mumbled as they kept moving, and some cursed at me and cursed God. I heard the arguments from every party: atheist, agnostic, spiritualist, and so forth.
One young girl stands out to me. She lived on the opposite corner of my childhood home. I took the relational approach of complimenting her and making jokes before getting deeper.
As I asked her about her walk with God, her eye contact disconnected, and she began to tell me she was pregnant and hadn’t finished high school. After getting it off of her chest about the baby that was in her belly, she looked me in the eyes for a religious reaction—you know that one where your eyebrows raise into your hairline and your mouth goes so sideways it almost reaches your ear.
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We Are Not Home Yet
As believers, we are called by God to train our minds and hearts to firmly latch onto the biblical teaching that we are passing through this world as pilgrims and strangers. We can never allow ourselves to become comfortable here. We are merely sojourners passing through this world on our way to glory. From the first promise of redemption in the garden (Gen. 3:15) to the glorious heavenly vision of the City of God (Rev. 22), the totality of the Bible focuses on the pilgrimage for which God has redeemed His people.
When God called Abraham to leave his family and his homeland, he “went out, not knowing where he was going” (Heb. 11:8). “By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise” (11:9). Moving from place to place, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob walked by faith in the promises of God. The Lord had promised Abraham that he would inherit the land; yet, the only land he ever possessed during his pilgrimage was a tiny plot that served as a burial place for him and for his wife, his children, and his grandchildren. The act of burial was the last great act of faith. It proved that he was looking for something better—the hope of the resurrection. Abraham never had a permanent home until he died. When he died in faith, he settled in “the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10).
Joseph also lived and died as a pilgrim and stranger on the earth. Abraham’s great-grandson spent the better part of his life as an alien in a foreign land. He was cut off from his earthly family until the end of his father’s life. He was instrumental in the rest of his brethren coming and dwelling in a foreign land. When he died, Joseph “made mention of the exodus of the Israelites and gave directions concerning his bones” (Heb. 11:22). By charging his brethren to take his bones up from Egypt and into the promised land (which would not occur until some four hundred years after he died), Joseph was teaching the Israelites that there was a better city—one for which God would raise him up, body and soul.
After Moses fled from Egypt into the wilderness of Midian, he married the daughter of the Midian priest Jethro and fathered a son with her. Moses named his firstborn son Gershom (literally meaning “stranger there”). Scripture teaches us the rich biblical theological meaning of this name in Exodus 2:21–22, where we read: “Moses was content to dwell with the man, and he gave Moses his daughter Zipporah. She gave birth to a son, and he called his name Gershom, for he said, ‘I have been a sojourner in a foreign land.’”
We discover the secret to spiritual pilgrimage when we read:
These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. (Heb. 11:13–16)
