I am an idolater

So, Theresa has signed the blasted letter. And I’d better write something too. I have been practically inactive on here since the US presidential election, and I need to have a stern word. With myself, mainly. 

The last years have seen a resurgence of nationalism across the world – or across the “West” – that has been pretty disturbing in its manifestations and consequences. From the rise of more or less overtly racist parties across Europe, to the outpouring of frustration at a complacent Westminster in the Brexit vote and its accompanying hate incidents, and on to "America first! America first!" and the petty, self-obsessed tweets from the Trump, we have seen a descent towards tribalism and barbarism that comes as a shock. 

What has been a particular source of grief, though sadly not of surprise, is the degree to which members of the Church have attached themselves to this movement. Christians I know personally and respect highly became vocal supporters of the Orange One, explicitly in the hope that he would “Make America great again.” Such thoughts are not the exclusive preserve of Unitedstatesian Christians. That slogan is merely the American outcropping of the same stratum seen in Brexit, Le Pen, AfD, the Dutch Freedom Party and the rest. Here too Christians are on board with the nationalism; in the U.K. “taking our sovereignty back” was espoused not merely as a necessary political re-balancing, but as a theologically-driven crusade. 

Now, it may possibly be faintly discernible in what I have written that I did not vote in favour of Brexit, that I find the Washington Tweetmeister utterly detestable, and all support for him perverse. If you have picked that up, you are with me so far. Which is good, because this piece is not actually a rant against Hilary-hating, Obama-bashing, Breitbart-swallowing “Christian” America, nor against Brexiteer-believers in the U.K.  

No. It’s a rant against me and my kind. Not for being “sore losers”, because actually, in a democracy, you are allowed to go on arguing for what you believe even after a decisive vote – as an 11 year old Farage started doing in 1975. No, this rant is an attempt to deal with the utter, appalled misery into which 23 June and 8 November plunged me. It is wrung out of me as a confession that our misery and fear are merely the other side of the Trump and Brexit coin. They are manifestations of the same unbelief and idolatry.

For this wave of nationalism is a wave of idolatry. I say that as a patriotic Briton, an Englishman. I love my country, and do not have any special desire that it slide into oblivion. However, the UK will pass – and much of its glory has already gone. Nebuchadnezzar's dream of a statue is as relevant today as it was in the days of the Babylonian empire. Babylon – passed away. Persia – came and went. Greece – faded. Rome – disintegrated. And the British Empire is now just the skeleton of a shadow. I would recommend to North Americans, especially to Christians, that every time they look themselves in the eye in the shaving mirror, they tell themselves, “My country will disappear”. Before the recent election, a Trump supporter stateside urged me not to look at the candidate, but to read the GOP platform. I duly did so – but the first line of the preamble was enough for me. “We believe in American exceptionalism”: that’s idolatry, right there. Whether or not any country was great, is great or will be great, all nations are merely the dust on the scales of the One who really rules, and all will be utterly eclipsed by his coming kingdom. America is no exception: it will go – is going – the way of all the others. 

And that is where those of us who oppose Brexit may fall into exactly the same sin as those with whom we disagree. For Europe too will pass. Absolutising the need to get out of it and absolutising the need to stay in it are BOTH idolatrous. The greatest issues that we face as human beings CANNOT be dealt with by either being in OR out of the EU, they cannot be solved by either a Donald or a Hilary. And to the degree to which our anguish at Brexit or our dismay at the current POTUS is the mirror image of the triumphalism and hope of those who rejoice at last year's results, we are guilty. We are not to put our trust in princes, and nor are we to fear them – rather we are to fear the One who has power over body and soul for eternity. 

When we buy into the extreme, all-eclipsing passion which has characterised the Brexit and presidential debates, we not only run the risk of seriously damaging our unity as Christians (and much damage has been done that way), but we also reveal the degree to which we have ceased to really believe the gospel. I mean, really believe it, in a way that relativises every political issue, every ideological difference, every contemporary cultural chasm. And you may say, “Ah, but the gospel has political, ideological and cultural ramifications!” And of course it does. But not in such a way that I can bemoan our exit from the EU as if the EU were in and of itself the Kingdom of God, or rejoice in Trump's election as if he were the Messiah. 

That may appear to leave a loophole. “Oh, but we didn't mourn/rejoice like THAT!” Well, you could have fooled me! I have had to preach at myself for months in order to write this, so I know how deep the rot has gone. The drip feed of this-worldly thought has taken its toll, as has the desire, in the age of aggressive “toleration”, to avoid sticking our heads above the parapet with the actual gospel. That fear is certainly killing the Salvation Army in the U.K., and I don’t think we are alone in that. Christians in other churches, even in more consistently evangelical ones, are falling into the same trap.

We have become simply more passionate, more committed, more brave, more evangelistic about our particular political hopes and fears than we are about Jesus. Christians who love the EU and Christians who hate the EU are together being diverted from the real mission. Trump-lovers and Trump-haters are together losing the plot. And, dare I say it, theological liberals and theological conservatives are identical in practice if they are not actually talking about God’s work in Christ. You may believe in the authority of scripture as a unified, God-breathed book, you may cling to the centrality of the atonement achieved at the cross, you may sign up to the awful, eternal, populated nature of hell, but you might as well be Rob Bell if you only ever talk about Brexit, and share recipes or pictures of kittens.

For all the heat and aggression generated by recent events, feeling and speaking passionately about politics is simply less scary than talking about God’s message. In a ‘church’ where believing the gospel makes you the target for derision, it is hard enough making the basic affirmations of your faith INSIDE your community, let alone outside. But for myself I know I have to do this. I have to move on from recent events, move up to the higher issues that face us all, move back to what the gospel has always really been about. We have to lay aside idolatry and fear, and live as citizens of the eternal kingdom.

So here’s my head above the parapet. Here’s my creed. Here’s what I really have to stand for:

I believe in God the Father, Creator of the heavens and of the earth. I believe that the nations are the dust in the Almighty's scales and will all pass away. I believe that the leaders of nations are set in place and pulled down by his authority. I believe that talk which absolutises the greatness or destiny of any earthly country or union of nations is intrinsically idolatrous. 

I believe in Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son, conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered and died under the authorities of earthly kingdoms, was buried, and the third day rose from the dead. He ascended to heaven and is seated on the eternal throne at the right hand of God the Father almighty. From there he will come to judge the kingdoms and peoples of the earth, those who have lived and died in every era. Jesus Christ will give the verdict and pass the eternal sentence on every one of us. 

I believe in the Holy Spirit, whose transforming power in the lives of sinners is the only hope for this broken, fragmented and rebellious world.

I believe in the holy catholic church, which is the present manifestation of the eternal kingdom, the only community on earth whose continuity is assured for ever.

I believe in the forgiveness of sins, which is the best possible news, given that sin and guilt and judgement to come are the most pressing issues facing any human being. 

I believe in the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting, these eternal realities so relativising all earthly goals and political concerns that my anxiety to talk about them should all but drown out any comment I may make regarding laws, treaties, unions and presidents. 

Amen.

I so need God’s help!

Messengers of the Gospel - A Postscript

I had broadly planned my last blog post before the welcome weekend for new cadets. As it turned out, on the Sunday at WBC London, the UK Territorial Commander himself spoke of exactly what it means to be a Messenger of the Gospel. He too made clear that that should include all of us. Much of what he said stole any thunder from my forthcoming piece, which left me running the risk of looking like I was trying to steal his! Such is life. 

TC Clive Adams was as direct and to the point as I have ever heard him. Perhaps as direct and to the point as I have ever heard anyone in a major SA gathering. He summarised the gospel message, highlighting the gravity of the problem of sin (however much we don’t like using the word), the crippling, universal inability that sin means for us, the awful reality of hell, and the centrality and uniqueness of the cross-work of Jesus in atoning for our sin and opening the path to life. He was serious and he was sober and he was visibly moved. When he had finished there was a strong response in the hall, with extra chairs being needed to enlarge the mercy seat. 

My own reaction throughout his sermon was tears of relief and happiness to just hear the gospel. Here was the truth, presented with care and passion. It was thematic rather than expository, the themes unfolded with deliberate precision, firmness and love. The night before, I had actually said to Sarah that I was considering leaving the Army for lack of gospel clarity and hope; here was the very message to steady and encourage me. I wept with joy that anyone in a big SA gathering would publicly and strongly affirm the points he made. 

And it is that sense of surprise and relief that makes me write this postscript. With one arguable exception, at no point did he go a single doctrinal step beyond what every soldier and officer says they believe when they make their commitment and covenant. He proclaimed to cadets of the Salvation Army doctrines that they themselves will publicly affirm at their commissioning in two years, truths to which every soldier and officer in attendance has subscribed. And yet, what was striking was how out of the ordinary it was. And the fact that, alongside the widespread reactions of glad receptivity and personal commitment following from what he said, there was also a palpable undercurrent of shock and some negativity.

In the Salvation Army we have multiple belief streams. We have diverse approaches to truth coexisting, sometimes happily, sometimes with tensions, occasionally clashing severely. That diversity is perhaps more visible on Facebook than it usually is in major formal gatherings, but it is there nonetheless, and can surface. I’ve written before about the need to recognise that diversity, and to work out how to talk to one another within it. But for me, Saturday’s meeting highlighted two paradigm shifts with regard to doctrine that need to occur if the Salvation Army in the UK is to recover its role as an evangelistic, growing church. 

The first has to do with the nature of “Doctrine” in itself – or “The Doctrines” in themselves. I know that sometimes they are honoured as much in being ignored as being looked at; I've lost count of the number of Salvationists who have told me that there was a cursory or even dismissive discussion of the doctrines when they became soldiers. Or no discussion at all. 

And one gets the impression that when we do look seriously at doctrine, it tends to be primarily with a view to just such moments of transition. Doctrinal study occurs in preparation for our key steps of commitment – be it preparation of recruits for soldiership or cadets for commissioning. Approached like that, it is all too easy to see the doctrines as a static test, a one-off exam, a hurdle to be jumped. But doctrine is actually doctrine. It is the stuff we teach. It is a summary of our message. Doctrine is what we say, what we proclaim. It is an active, dynamic, exciting concept. “We who are being commissioned today are looking forward to getting these truths out into the communities which we serve.”

The trouble with the word “doctrine” is that for some reason it gives the impression of stuffy dustiness, of staticness. It is not only in TSA that “The Doctrines” are those old statements which are signed ‘at the beginning’ and never more referred to. But that isn't and can't be and mustn't be the case for any church. We should be saying, “Here is the centre of our message!” This is what we talk about, what we proclaim: God in his glory, his Word in its authority, his Son in his wonderful person and atoning work, his Spirit and his holy-making transformation, the eternal urgency of it all. When a senior officer proclaims the doctrines of the Salvation Army at a welcome service for new cadets, and that is cause for remark or even complaint, it does leave you wondering what he is supposed to be preaching!  We need to recover the Doctrines as Message, as Teaching and Preaching synopsis.

The other paradigm shift that is needed is to accept that the Salvation Army doctrines are a statement of specifically evangelical doctrine. Actually, they are a statement of a subset of evangelical doctrine; the eleven sections are a description of specifically Wesleyan belief and exclude evangelicals of other streams. They are more restrictive than the breadth of Evangelicalism, and deliberately so. 

Now, one of the oddities in Salvation Army theological circles is the frequent affirmation that the opposite is the case.  It is said that the doctrines were always very flexible, very broad, very accepting. The implication is that our statement is actually wider than evangelical doctrine. Indeed, despite the Army’s own self-description as an “Evangelical part of the Christian Church” (see, e.g. here), it seems fairly common to show disdain even towards the word evangelical. Given the awful mess the term finds itself in through association with Trumpery and the like in the USA, I can empathise, but historically there is no doubt that our doctrines position us squarely in one specific part of the movement called evangelicalism. 

The view we need to recover can be shown diagrammatically like this: against the backdrop of all the “non-evangelical” options out there, evangelicalism classically defines itself in terms of its beliefs. Salvationism, with its roots in the Methodist New Connexion, is a narrower subset within the evangelical family. Anyone coming to the SA doctrines with previous experience of the great, detailed, 17th century confessions (Westminster, Savoy, London), and then of the short 19th and 20th century doctrinal bases of the evangelical movement (EA, IVF, WEC, OMF etc) would immediately recognise the SA statement as falling into the pattern of the latter group. They would also quickly spot that we have a distinct Wesleyan slant that has deliberately excluded Calvinists, who would be welcome alongside Arminians in the other evangelical bodies. 

In contrast to this, a common view at present is shown in the second diagram. What is frequently implied, or even explicitly stated, is that the Doctrines are somehow wider and more flexible than evangelicalism, taking in views that would certainly be regarded as non-evangelical historically and at present. 

That the first diagram corresponds accurately to our historic and present identity is borne out by the excellent introduction to our Handbook of Doctrine:

Our doctrinal statement, then, derives from the teaching of John Wesley and the evangelical awakening of the 18th and 19th centuries. While there was significant correspondence between evangelicals in the mid-19th century, indicated especially in the nine-point statement of the Evangelical Alliance of 1846, the distinctives of Salvation Army doctrine came from Methodism. The Salvation Army Handbook Of Doctrine Page xviii

The tendency to emphasise the breadth and liberty implicit in the doctrines often leads to discussing them with an emphasis on flexibility and diversity of interpretation rather than from the standpoint of definite and clear shared truth. Sometimes one feels that the driving motive for this claimed flexibility is precisely the accommodation of non-evangelical views while “affirming” the doctrines. Beliefs that the SA founders were deliberately and explicitly excluding are now accepted as falling within the range permitted by a new, elastic reading of the founders' words. It is that reading which is an innovation, and insofar as it seems to permit people to say they believe the doctrines while actually believing something else, it is a danger to the movement. 

This may have been one motive for any angst at the TC’s sermon; by appearing to foreclose the question of “flexibility” through affirming the doctrines, he seemed to make that elasticity and the whole business of “exploring interpretations” look redundant, or worse.  Certainly, what he had to say entered into sharp confrontation with simple unbelief. I cannot forget being told “No one believes those crazy doctrines!” by an SA employee some years ago; however much that statement came out of immaturity and the desire to shock, I think it was a manifestation of a mindset with which the TC came into conflict at the welcome weekend.

I know I am an oddity in TSA. I can’t even sign the doctrines myself! But I am honest about that, and I don’t sign them. And I am trying to honour them. And I don’t think I am alone in longing for one thing, and one thing alone, to dominate again in our church – we want Jesus and his gospel. We long to hear about God and his creation and our fall into sin, and new hope through his Kingdom coming in Jesus. We long to hear about Jesus’ life and kindness and wisdom and death and resurrection and the coming of his Spirit. We long to hear about repentance and faith and assurance and growth and holiness and hope and homecoming. We long to hear about heaven and hell. We long for the old, old story. We long for a message which is recognisably the message of our Founders. We long for Blood and Fire – the atoning work of Christ, preached in the power of the Spirit.

That is what God gave us through the TC last Saturday night. We don’t yet know whether the hardest task for the Messengers of the Gospel is going to be to go on preaching the authentic message when they are ridiculed by the world... or ridiculed by the church. But until the headline “Territorial Commander Affirms the Doctrines at Cadetsʼ Welcome; All Present Agree Fully” sounds a bit less Babylon Bee, I fear that it may be the latter.

If Jesus is the answer, what's the question?

This article was, I suppose, my manifesto for many years. I preached Psalm 2 possibly more than any other text, and when I wandered away from God it was with this text ringing in my ears. It is huge, powerful, frightening, comforting, glorious and thrilling. It is also practically unknown. Now I'm back, I have gone back to it, and find it still resonates.

The phrase, 'Jesus is the answer' is a cliché of Christianity. In Brazil, there is even a denomination with this name. Unfortunately it has been noted by sharper-witted critics that the phrase can be defused with the retort, 'What's the question?' In the process they expose a shift and a sloppiness in the church.

If we could interview first century Christians and ask them to sing a song about Jesus, like as not it would have been Psalm 2, judging by the number of times the New Testament quotes it. Psalm 2 was fundamental to the apostles' thinking about Jesus, yet nowadays very few Christians would sing it or even understand how it relates to Jesus. Times have changed!
 

We don't know exactly when the Psalm was written. Was it a coronation Psalm? Was it written at a time of threat to national security? Whatever the original context, we know how the New Testament uses it, and that is the key I want to use to open the text.
 

The psalm is organised like a play in four scenes, with various speakers: the narrator (David); the rulers of the earth; the LORD in heaven, and his Son, the Messiah.

Scene 1 - verses 1-3     David Speaks
 

'Why do the nations rage

and the peoples plot in vain?...'
 

David has been looking at the world, reading his paper, watching the news. He sees the activity of the nations and their rulers, and describes it as raging and plotting. And he asks, "Why? Why is the world like this?"
 

Verse 2 tells us. The behaviour of the people of the world can be summed up as opposition to the Lord and his anointed, his Messiah.
 

In verse 3 we hear the rulers of the world describing the aim of their rebellion. They want to be rid of certain bonds and cords which, as the word 'their' tells us, come from the LORD and his Anointed. According to the world leaders, God has tied them up. It is complaining language: 'God's laws are tying us down and we want shot of them!'
 

David has found the thread linking thought, conversation and behaviour in all cultures. He has found the principle that moves and shakes the movers and shakers of our planet. From atheists shaking their fists at God, to the overturners of morality, to the sleek religious manipulators, the preachers of false religions, the self-congratulating hypocrites who claim Christian faith - All want to overthrow God and his Messiah. And, by nature, without a drastic change, all of them means all of us.
 

If we could distil all the words of all the top people, we would hear one sentence: 'Let's get rid of God and his Christ'. The psalm is saying: 'If the human race gets a chance, we will murder our Creator'.
 

And we know it is true, because when we got a chance, we did. The rebellion came to a head in Jesus' death. The early church saw Psalm 2.1-3 fulfilled in the unlikely alliance that brought about the crucifixion. The murder of Jesus was no ghastly aberration in our basically decent behaviour: it was the logical outworking of our attitude to God ever since the fall.
 

And so the curtains close on the first scene. When they reopen we are in heaven.

Scene 2 - verses 4-6     The Lord Speaks
 

'He who sits in the heavens laughs;

the Lord holds them in derision...'
 

And we ask - how is the LORD reacting? As the crowd storms the gates, trying to overturn his rule and dethrone his Messiah, how is he taking it? Is he hiding behind the sofa? Is he waving a white flag from the window? No - he is laughing at the rebellion.
 

He speaks. What does he say? 'I am sorry, but my choice of King for the world seems rather unpopular; perhaps we can discuss alternatives?' No. He says that business is as usual. 'My King has been enthroned already. He is reigning. This rebellion against me and my Christ has made no impact whatsoever - he shall reign.'
 

This absolute certainty clarifies the nature of God's laughter in verse 4. This verse might seem to be a problem: how can God laugh at sin? Is sin funny?
 

The psalm says: 'No. It isn't funny - but it is laughable'.
 

We have all seen a toddler throw a tantrum in public. He really loses it, fists flying, legs kicking - even attacking his dad. Dad simply picks up the child, puts him under his arm and walks out. And, without in any way condoning a sin, we... smile. Why? The toddler is so puny, his rebellion is laughable.
 

That is how sin is. The greatest efforts of the human race, the strongest politicians, the subtlest philosophers, the most popular 'celebrities' who shape a generation's lifestyle - all of this is a ludicrous attempt to overthrow God. The attempt is so doomed, it is hilarious. The rebellion is crazy - for the Son is reigning, and it is his voice that we hear in the third stanza.

Scene 3 ˘ verses 7-9     The Son Speaks
 

'I will tell of the decree:

the LORD said to me, "You are my Son..."'

The Son speaks - but what he says is to report what the Lord has said! This always reminds me of John 12:49, though I wouldnt press the echo as being a deliberate link.

This stanza is the richest in NT connections, and much could be said about it. But we can notice two simple points about the Son...
 

a) His absolute and universal rule, and his total destruction of the rebellion.
 

This psalm defines the word Christ. It is not Jesus' surname, but his job description. He is God's anointed King, who will rule all people, everywhere, forever. Specifically, he will crush the rebellion, judging every pretender to his throne with awesome power.
 

In other words, he is the most frightening person in the universe. This appalling revelation is not confined to Psalm 2. It connects with many other texts, not least the horror at the end of Revelation 6, where all kinds of people cry out to the mountains to fall and hide them from the face of God and from the wrath of the Lamb.
 

And here we see the great question that faces humanity. Where can we hide from the wrath of the Christ?. Greater than global issues of environment, war or famine, or personal issues of health, employment or housing, we all face the issue - the judgement of the Lord and his Messiah.
 

In other words, before we can say, 'Jesus is the answer', we need to say, 'Jesus is the question'. This is where the gospel begins - here is the clarity which has drained out of world evangelicalism over the last 150 years. Jesus is our great problem. All of us are rebels. There is a King appointed to smash our rebellion. His name is Jesus.
 

b) He will announce the putting down of the rebellion before he does it.
 

But we also need to notice the future verb here. The King who will put down the rebellion says that he will announce that fact. By God's own purpose, he tells us rebels in advance what he is going to do. By God's mercy, a warning is issued of impending doom, and it is the Rebel-Smasher himself who gives it.
 

What kind of enemy does that? The kind that sincerely desires the rebels to see their error for themselves, to down arms and make peace, recognising where the real authority lies, who the real King is, and living in joyful peace with him.
 

This is where gospel preaching begins. Before people can see that Jesus is the answer, they must see that he is the question. The will of the Lord and of his Christ is that people hear that question.

David now steps to the front of the stage to lay that question on his hearers...
 

Scene 4 - verses 10-12     David speaks
 

'Now therefore, O kings, be wise;

be warned, O rulers of the earth...'
 

David speaks to his own peer group - the world leaders - but, by extension, to all of us. He says to us all, 'Wise up! Think! What is the point? Why go on in your ludicrous, laughable rebellion?'
 

Specifically, David gives two commands:
 

* Serve the Lord. Obey God. Fear him. Be glad - seriously, tremblingly glad - that you have the chance to wise up, that he didn't smash us all aeons ago!
  

* Kiss the Son - a sign of respect and homage and recognition. Bow and say: 'You are the King, Lord Jesus, I owe you total allegiance and trust'. Anyone who has seen the Godfather movies will remember how kissing the hand is a sign of submission and of belonging - perhaps especially the chilling moment at the end of the first when Al Pacino kisses Brando's hand - in that case he had tried to get away from the crime family, but now he commits, he does obeisance, and he is accepted. The context is the moral opposite in Psalm 2, but the Mediterranean cultural reference, even with thousands of years intervening, is just the same.
 

Kiss the son means 'Get right with God; repent and trust in Jesus!' Stop rebelling and put things right - now!
 

And David gives two motives for wising up, giving up the rebellion and recognising the Son:
 

* If you don't, he will destroy you, and you do not know how close that destruction may be.
 

No one knows what a day will bring. If we are alive as rebels it is by Christ's mercy. The breath we use to say, 'There is no God, I'm going to live my way' is his gift.
 

And he can withdraw that gift. As recent celebrity deaths have warned us, no one can guarantee a very long life - accident and illness can take away the richest and most powerful. Every rebel life, every person who screams their hatred for God and his Christ, their atheism or immorality, every proud religious hypocrite who wants to be looked up to and admired for their decency, everyone who just gets on with life ignoring God altogether - every rebel hangs suspended over eternity, and it is Jesus who holds the rope. Be wise, or you will regret it forever.
 

* If you do, you will be happy and secure now, and for ever.
 

Where can I run, to escape the anger of the most dangerous person in the universe?
 

The last part of verse 12 tells us. The only place I can run to escape the wrath of the Jesus is... Jesus. Jesus is the question - and Jesus is the answer! There is complete shelter in the Lamb from the wrath of the Lamb. This is the authentic gospel.
 

It was my own son who pointed out that the greatest inadvertent commentary on Psalm 2 is Gimme Shelter, which happens to be my favourite Rolling Stones song.

Oh, a storm is threat'ning
My very life today
If I don't get some shelter
Oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away

Love, sister, it's just a kiss away!

How does this work? How is Jesus both problem and solution?

How can you escape from a bush fire, which is leaping forward at you before a strong wind? You can't outrun it - how can you escape death? The only way is to light a fire and let the wind drive it ahead of you - the same wind that is driving death toward you - and stand in the burnt patch. When the fire comes, it will already have consumed the patch where you are, and you will be safe.
 

Jesus is coming like a fire, bringing death to rebels. But the fire that he brings has already fallen in one place in this world. On Jesus himself, at the cross.
 

Jesus is our burnt patch. He is our shelter. For he has already borne the fire of the Lord's anger against our rebellion. And if we stand on him, we are safe.
 

Stand on him. Now. And you will never ever regret it.

The Awfully Big Adventure of being a Traditional Christian

Society is changing. That is a truism because that is what society does. Hairstyles and fashions come and go – one generation’s cutting edge is another generation’s ridiculous. Ideas and philosophies wax and wane in the same way: perhaps in longer cycles, but with just as finite a life span as a mullet or crepe shoes. 

 

I think it was William Inge who said, “Whoever marries the spirit of this age will find himself a widower in the next.” Despite this wisdom from the good Dean, the church has always had at least a wing that has been determined to cosy up to the latest wave of

fashionable thought. 

In fact, society, even at its most Christian-influenced, is always going to be in tension with the church. In its thought-life it will be in conflict with God’s revelation. The swirling and apparently chaotic currents of politics and human thought can be summed up as “the heathen raging and the peoples imagining a vain thing” – a superficially confused and meaningless roar of white noise that in reality has one thread running through it – opposition to God and his Messiah. The church’s role is to provide a prophetic voice that challenges society in that rebellion. 

Charles Finney

When the church – or parts of it – capitulate to the zeitgeist philosophically and ethically, the church loses any possibility of maintaining that prophetic role. This has happened time after time, in one way or another. The grafting in of imperial power structures and pagan practices into the church through and after Constantine emasculated us for centuries. The Protestant Reformation both benefitted from and was compromised by Renaissance humanism and the political and personal desire of kings and princes to loosen the authority of the Roman see. Finney’s methodologically driven individualistic Arminianism fitted just too neatly into the new American Dream where the salesman was king.  And many churches failed to see that 

Churchmen with Nazi leaders 

the hopes of German renewal offered by the National Socialists in the 30s were utterly incompatible with the gospel; their compromise has damaged the impact of some denominations to this day. 

In all of these cases, I think the church would have claimed to be culturally relevant, to be moving with the times, to be at the cutting edge, to be maintaining its prophetic voice. And in every case we can now discern, with hindsight, the damage that was done and the weaknesses that were left. 

Over the last decade the pace of change in the West feels as if it has picked up. Ideology which was creeping in through the humanities departments of the universities when I was an undergraduate is now quite suddenly dominant. As a Biology undergraduate at the turn of the 80s I lived in a staunchly Modern world. The heroes were Dawkins and Maynard-Smith – and if as a Christian with qualms about evolution you found them to be villains, you knew exactly what weapons you needed to fight them. But right back then, very strange things were being said by my friends studying sociology and social anthropology which I simply couldn’t get a handle on. Truth is all relative?? What is true in one culture is not true in another? The meaning of  a book is defined by the reader, not the author?? Frankly, it seemed crazy, utterly stupid, nonsense. I was a thoroughly Modern man. (And still, to be honest, feel most comfortable when the discussion is controlled by those presuppositions.)

John Maynard Smith

But it is that Postmodern, relativist stream which now dominates our society, our culture, our media. Dawkins is a dinosaur, a representative of a bygone age. I’d still watch his teeth, but he is by no means a great force. No, the big issue is the dominance of the Relative. We are no longer modern, we are post-modern.  

And the church, of course, is tempted to buy into that. Given that society is ever less patient with absolutism and certainty, it is not hard to sense the potential “benefit” of running with that. In a world which rejects any idea of an overarching metanarrative, the church now says it’s wrong to see such an overarching narrative even in the Bible itself. In a world where sexuality has been utterly privatised, with behaviour and identity infinitely malleable, the church says that sexual/gender inclusion has always been central to the gospel when properly understood. In a world where everything must be affirmed, where all must have prizes, where negativity is the only negative, the church says that the gospel is one of self-realisation, that ultimately God's Love utterly dissolves every barrier, and that there is no hell to flee, because all will ultimately be gathered home. 

And, of course, such belief is always put forward as being brave and bold. Those who espouse the new approach are always ‘cutting edge’. They are always ‘reaching those the traditional church has failed’, they are ‘making a safe space for questioning people’, they are touching the lives of those who have been mistreated or marginalised by more restrictive forms. Traditional Christianity, on the other hand, is seen as staid, closed-minded, boring, harsh, irrelevant – a cause of the problems we face, not their solution. 

I want to challenge this. I want to challenge it because the post-modern wave will pass in its turn, and the church that has embraced it so passionately will be left a widower once again. But I also want to challenge it because it is nonsense. It is not the traditional stream of orthodox Christianity that is spineless, boring and unadventurous. The exact opposite is the case. 

There is nothing so boring and predictable and ultimately self-indulgent as “Christianity” when it ends up simply absorbing the zeitgeist, and not least because the church never does it as well as the world. But also because in the name of boldness, the church becomes just another yes-man, the culture’s parrot, squawking along to the current trend. It’s all so predictable! And tragically, the world finds it laughable – do you remember Not the Nine O’clock news and the CofE Satanists sketch? 

 

By contrast, standing for classic doctrinal orthodoxy, for belief in the inspiration and authority of scripture, for the uniqueness of Jesus in his person and work, for the reality of the future justice that he will bring when he returns, for a view of sexuality and marriage that has come to be hated and even outlawed, for the absolute need each of us has of personal regeneration, transformation through the direct working in us of the Spirit of God – believing and proclaiming such things is actually very scary. It requires real courage.  

We are entering a time in which it is very easy to imagine Christian pastors being reported to the police by members of their own congregations for things said in the pulpit. There is a great deal of hate and malevolence in our supposedly tolerant culture and, be assured, it will drive massive wedges into the church too. At such a time, thinking and speaking classic doctrine and classic morality takes a lot of nerve. And faith. 

The challenge is on. I have blown it in the past, destroying my ministry through spiritual coolness and moral failure. I don’t want to blow it again, through simply chickening out. I don’t have a public preaching ministry any more, but I know I must do what I can, which is write and agitate. Will you join the movement? :-) 

Terry Heyward on A Chralaig

The Salvation Army and the church in the West as a whole need adventurers. It needs bold compassionate people who will speak the truth in love.  People for whom the gracious welcome of a gospel-driven church is authentic and Christ-like. They do not deny the reality of sin, nor put grace and the challenge to repent into a false opposition. They know that Jesus tackled the would-be stoners of the adulterous woman ruthlessly, and spoke to her in firm kindness, “Go, and sin no more.”  That is Christ-shaped, bold grace. It is scary, because it offends both pharisaic-church and worldly-church, but it is good. So good.

The church needs people who will resist the incursion of the spirit of the age. People who will say No to making the gospel easier to believe, because they know that the gospel is always impossible to believe anyway. People who will not confuse resistance to the spirit of the age with simple conservatism, mind you, still less a hankering after the spirit of the previous age. (Vague, amorphous, viciously tolerant postmodernity is not necessarily any worse overall than spiky, proud, pushy modernity – it just has different points of weakness and rebellion.) 

The church needs prophets. It needs to learn again to raise its voice in gospel proclamation. I do not see Elijah on Carmel making a safe space for spiritual exploration, I do not hear Paul in Athens affirming the whole variety of spiritual experience. And I don’t imagine that the married monk of Wittenberg, or Wesley at Bristol, or Booth in Whitechapel were a particularly cosy listen. If the church is to proclaim the Living God and his Son, sent to save us, it will not be or feel particularly safe. I’m sorry folks, but we need to be a bit less Michael Mcintyre, and a bit more Stewart Lee.

John Wesley preaching

The church – in my own context the Salvation Army – needs leaders who will be brave and bold regarding the doctrines and moral positions of the church. Clearly, leading an international movement of this size is an appalling responsibility and an impossible challenge. The fact of our interaction with government and social services makes this no easier – arguably it makes fatal compromise almost inevitable. I do not envy the leaders’ role! But it is right to place the challenge – doctrinal incoherence and moral equivocation will not take the movement forward, and nor are they loving. Allowing the teaching of positions that directly contradict (for instance) doctrine 11 may seem gracious and kind, but actually it betrays every supporter who gives towards the army’s ministry in the expectation that the doctrines will be upheld. The dream of an “inclusive church” which refuses to call out sexual sin is very cruel and unloving towards the person who struggles with particular temptations and has the right to expect the church to give support in that struggle. Failing to call to repentance is not loving – it is a dereliction of duty that hurts people, now and eternally. 

We are in an adventure, folks, and it is going to be a wild ride. The bold path, the daring, courageous way ahead, clings to the line of God’s truth while every wind of changing culture tries to blow us off course. We will stick to the eternally relevant word even as fellow Christians scorn our “irrelevance". We will not be traditional for the sake of it – we long to see more light shining from the Word – but we do not see any light at all where the Word itself is despised. 

G K Chesterton

I do not follow Chesterton in every last detail of this famous piece from his book Orthodoxy, but the overall argument is stunning, and we need to recover it: 

 

…it is exactly this which explains what is so inexplicable to all the modern critics of the history of Christianity. I mean the monstrous wars about small points of theology, the earthquakes of emotion about a gesture or a word. It was only a matter of an inch; but an inch is everything when you are balancing. The Church could not afford to swerve a hair's breadth on some things if she was to continue her great and daring experiment of the irregular equilibrium. Once let one idea become less powerful and some other idea would become too powerful. It was no flock of sheep the Christian shepherd was leading, but a herd of bulls and tigers, of terrible ideals and devouring doctrines, each one of them strong enough to turn to a false religion and lay waste the world. Remember that the Church went in specifically for dangerous ideas; she was a lion tamer. The idea of birth through a Holy Spirit, of the death of a divine being, of the forgiveness of sins, or the fulfilment of prophecies, are ideas which, anyone can see, need but a touch to turn them into something blasphemous or ferocious. The smallest link was let drop by the artificers of the Mediterranean, and the lion of ancestral pessimism burst his chain in the forgotten forests of the north. Of these theological equalisations I have to speak afterwards. Here it is enough to notice that if some small mistake were made in doctrine, huge blunders might be made in human happiness. A sentence phrased wrong about the nature of symbolism would have broken all the best statues in Europe. A slip in the definitions might stop all the dances; might wither all the Christmas trees or break all the Easter eggs. Doctrines had to be defined within strict limits, even in order that man might enjoy general human liberties. The Church had to be careful, if only that the world might be careless.

  

This is the thrilling romance of Orthodoxy. People have fallen into a foolish habit of speaking of orthodoxy as something heavy, humdrum, and safe. There never was anything so perilous or so exciting as orthodoxy. It was sanity: and to be sane is more dramatic than to be mad. It was the equilibrium of a man behind madly rushing horses, seeming to stoop this way and to sway that, yet in every attitude having the grace of statuary and the accuracy of arithmetic. The Church in its early days went fierce and fast with any warhorse; yet it is utterly unhistoric to say that she merely went mad along one idea, like a vulgar fanaticism. She swerved to left and right, so exactly as to avoid enormous obstacles. She left on one hand the huge bulk of Arianism, buttressed by all the worldly powers to make Christianity too worldly. The next instant she was swerving to avoid an orientalism, which would have made it too unworldly. The orthodox Church never took the tame course or accepted the conventions; the orthodox Church was never respectable. It would have been easier to have accepted the earthly power of the Arians. It would have been easy, in the Calvinistic seventeenth century, to fall into the bottomless pit of predestination. It is easy to be a madman: it is easy to be a heretic. It is always easy to let the age have its head; the difficult thing is to keep one's own. It is always easy to be a modernist; as it is easy to be a snob. To have fallen into any of those open traps of error and exaggeration which fashion after fashion and sect after sect set along the historic path of Christendom--that would indeed have been simple. It is always simple to fall; there are an infinity of angles at which one falls, only one at which one stands. To have fallen into any one of the fads from Gnosticism to Christian Science would indeed have been obvious and tame. But to have avoided them all has been one whirling adventure; and in my vision the heavenly chariot flies thundering through the ages, the dull heresies sprawling and prostrate, the wild truth reeling but erect.