What does it mean that the church is “catholic?”

I was all of five years old. My father served on the staff of College Hill Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati. The children were not typically welcome at the worship service. That may be my fault. I am told that on one special occasion, when children were welcomed into the service, I committed a faux pas.

The congregation was reciting together the Apostles’ Creed, in a slow and stately manner. They paused briefly after affirming their belief in the Holy Ghost. Into that silence erupted my incredulous and frightened voice, “GHOST!?!?”

I don’t believe I’m the only one to be shocked at the church’s early confessions. Both the Nicene and the Apostles’ Creed affirm our belief that the church of Jesus Christ is “catholic.” Because this word has by and large fallen out of our common usage, save for as a part of “Roman Catholic” many are unaware of its meaning. Many churches seek to solve this problem by substituting for “catholic” the word “universal.” Which clues us in on what we actually mean by confessing the church is Catholic.

The world is a big place, and the church a big church. For all the divisions we might suffer from, there is a deep unity among the differing segments of the true church. The Baptists may disagree with the Presbyterians on this matter or that. But both agree that they are both a part of the one church.

This doesn’t mean, of course, that every church claiming to be a church is part of the catholic church. Deny any essential of the faith and you are not a part of the church. Which is one of the very reasons why we have creeds to begin with.

It is not, however, merely secondary doctrines that seem to separate us but do not. The catholic church also transcends national boundaries. The Dutch and the Scots are part of the catholic church. The Korean and the Nigerian are part of the one true church. We are all one body. Dividing the church runs afoul of the inspired wisdom of Paul who tells us that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek (Galatians 3:28).

“Roman Catholic” church then is a contradiction in terms, affirming both that it is Roman and universal. “Roman catholic” on the other hand, while still false since Rome does not affirm the gospel, is not a contradiction in affirming it is in Rome and is a part of the universal church.

Why does this matter? Read through 1 Corinthians to get a picture of the destruction wrought in the body of Christ when one part seeks to either deny or diminish another part of the church. This is no esoteric theological minutia. Rather it is an affirmation of the whole of the body that Jesus came to redeem. It means all our brothers and sisters in Christ are our brothers and sisters, and ought to be loved and served as such. Let us not fear but love the catholicity of His church.

This is the forty-eighth installment of an ongoing series of pieces here on the nature and calling of the church. Stay tuned for more. Remember also that we at Sovereign Grace Fellowship meet this Sunday June 15 at 10:30 AM at our new location, our beautiful farm at 11281 Garman Road, Spencerville, IN. Please come join us.

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At Least I’m Honest About It

Every culture and subculture has its own taboos. Not all of them are the same, however. Given that we are all human, how can we explain the divergence of cultural standards? Why does one culture find adultery to be a mere peccadillo, while another considers it the unforgivable sin? Why, in polite society in Victorian England didn’t they call a table leg a table leg? For fear of offending delicate sensibilities. On the other hand, there were more brothels in London than there were churches. The answer may get at the grave sins of our own broader culture.

Certainly a culture committed to ethical relativism, the notion that there is no objective right and wrong, will hang its moral hat on its stunted view of the command of Jesus that we judge not, lest we be judged. (Cheerily skipping over the too embarrassing reality that they are judging the judgers, and thus judging themselves.) Accusing someone of wrongdoing is just about as bad as it can get in the world — not to mention the evangelical world. Not far behind that grand taboo, however, stands this one. We can commit this sin or that. We can manifest this grave character flaw or that. But to really earn your way into the rogue’s gallery, you must commit this heinous sin — hypocrisy.

Jesus, of course, had some harsh words for hypocrites, “Woe to you scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence” (Matt. 23:25). Hypocrisy is a real sin, something to be ashamed of, something to repent for. It’s shameful to its core. But there is something to be said for it. In fact, Francois de La Rouchefoucauld said this about it, “Hypocrisy is the homage that vice pays to virtue.”

The hypocrite is caught up in whatever sin he is caught up in, plus hypocrisy. But he has this going for him: he recognizes virtue, desires to be perceived as virtuous, despite his lack. We hypocrites cover our sins because, while we certainly commit them, we recognize them as sins. While it is far better to be good than to look good, in either case we confess, however feebly, the reality of the good.

This, I believe, is the driving force behind this cultural taboo. We post-moderns hate hypocrisy not because we have such an abiding commitment to honesty, but for the same reason we judge so harshly those who judge, because we are dishonest enough to pretend there is no such thing as virtue. Those who hide their vice by masquerading it as virtue commit the one cardinal sin — affirming the reality of sin. They break the social contract by confessing a higher standard.

Hypocrisy to the broader culture isn’t just the one deadly sin, but avoiding hypocrisy is the means of atonement for sin. People argue, “I may be selfish and egotistical, but at least I’m honest about it.” Or, stranger still, philanderers suggest, “I may have broken my marriage vows, but at least I’m honest about it.” This proud confession of sin is a diabolical perversion of true repentance. We “acknowledge” our sin in that we admit to committing them. But we dismiss the sin because in admitting it we make it no longer a sin. Imagine if the serpent were to confess, “I rebelled against the Maker of heaven and earth, and sought to topple Him from His throne. But at least I’m honest about it.”

If we were honest about our sins, we’d not only admit to committing them, but recognize them for what they are. Each and every one of them is rebellion against the Maker of heaven and earth, an attempt to topple Him from His throne. Were we honest about our sins, we’d not cover them up. We’d cover our eyes, because to look at them is simply too painful. If we were honest, we’d admit that what we are usually doing when “admitting” our sins is copping a plea. Maybe, we rationalize in the quiet of our hearts, if I admit to this, they won’t see these other sins. If we were honest about our sins, we would admit that all our games fail us, that all our sins follow us.

The world is not happily pursuing their vices without a care in the world. They are instead pursuing their vices under the cloud of an ever-present knowledge of who they are. The defining quality of every culture not built around the Gospel is the haunting of sin. Which is why the solution for every culture, just as it is for every member of that culture, is the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

He did not “honest” away our sins. He did not relativize our sins. Instead, He paid for them. He bore the wrath and fury of His Father that was due for our sins. He knows them more intimately than we ever will. And yet, glory be to the Father, they have been washed away in His blood.

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Multiple Stops on the My Ways/Your Ways Highway

Right beside “Judge not, lest you be judged (Matt. 7:7), in the list of most misused texts we find this in Isaiah:

“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, Nor are your ways My ways,” says the Lord.
9 “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, So are My ways higher than your ways,
And My thoughts than your thoughts”
(55: 8, 9).

This text reminds us that we should never expect that we could understand the hows and whys of all that God does. It is, however, an abuse of the text when we use it to cover the contradictions in our own thinking. There we are making an argument in defense of some error. A friend points out that our argument requires asserting both sides of a genuine contradiction. Rather than retreating and repenting we try to fortify our folly with this text.

It doesn’t work. God’s ways are not our ways, but neither are they nonsensical, unthinkable, contradictory. God is the creator of the pi we’ll never get our minds around, but He does not, indeed could not, create a square circle. He is not the author of confusion.

All of which is prolegomena to my point. Again, God’s thinking is beyond our thinking. But is that really His point here? Is God really saying through the prophet Isaiah, “I’m really smart. You wouldn’t understand.” I don’t think so. This Word from the Lord is saying something much more damning to us, and glorifying to Him.

The context of the quote is not Isaiah emphasizing the transcendence of God. Isaiah does that, for certain, in other places. Here in this chapter, however, the emphasis is not only on God’s nearness to us, but His kindness and grace toward us. Come and buy without money. Let your soul delight itself in abundance. The words immediately preceding “My thoughts are not your thoughts”? “For He will abundantly pardon.”

The contrast between us and God that God expresses through Isaiah here is less between our puny minds and His all-knowing mind. Instead it is between our puny, selfish, cold hearts and His infinite, giving, overflowing heart. God is calling on us to believe in His posture of benevolence toward us. This is why when we buried my father I wrote this epitaph for his tombstone, “He was a kind man, redeemed by a kinder Savior.”

While we are certainly sinfully stupid enough to occasionally think we know better than God, we are stupidly sinful enough to often think we are kinder than God. We are not. His ways are not our ways. Our way is to destroy our enemies. His way is to redeem His enemies. Our way is to hold grudges. His way is to forgive.

His thoughts are not our thoughts. We think victory is found in asserting our rights. He thinks glory is found in laying down His. We think being wronged burns bridges. He thinks reconciliation is worth the cost of His only begotten Son. No, He is not like us.

He is, however, making us more like Him. His Spirit is bringing forth fruit. His Son is washing us with the water of the Word. And He is leading us back to Him, promising that we will be like Him, for we will see Him as He is.

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Grandparenting; Sigh, Ops; Pride, Prejudice & More

This week’s Jesus Changes Everything Podcast

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Status Report: Measuring Ourselves By Ourselves

We are fools. That’s a good starting point. Every mother’s son of us was made in the image of God. We are all together by nature children of wrath. Our heavenly Father is remaking those of us who have been born again by His Spirit, His children, through His grace. Yet, at every step along the way we face the compulsion of judging ourselves by ourselves. We want to know how we stack up against other image bearers.

How silly to think the petty things that distinguish us from each other could compare with the august majesty that we all have in common. We insist sin has wreaked less havoc in and through us than it has in and through others. Which is rather like arguing that we destroyed Hiroshima less potently than Nagasaki. We loudly insist that our sanctification is more potent than another’s. How could we believe our actual holiness has a measurable significance in relation to our imputed righteousness, His righteousness that covers us?

The essence of what we are, humans, sinners, saints, is shared equally among each respective group. Yet we want to measure and emphasize the minuscule differences. And of course we botch up these tiny measurements. Our thumbs are too clumsy for such fine tools, and our eyes too myopic. We grade ourselves on one curve that inflates our virtues, and grade others on a curve that inflates their vices. All because the important thing to us isn’t what we are together, but what we are alone, what sets us apart from everyone else. In judging ourselves by ourselves we forget ourselves and what we really are.

What defines me truly is precisely what I have in common with so many others. My dignity is wrapped up exclusively in His image in me. My shame is wrapped up exclusively in my common sin. Best of all my glory is wrapped up in the glorious truth that I am among the many brethren of the First Born, and that because of His covering of me. Where I stand in line with all the others in each of these categories can’t possibly matter.

This doesn’t undo appropriate roles I find myself in. Some I am called to lead, as a husband and father, as a teacher, as a pastor. Others I am called to follow, as student, as a congregant, as a citizen. Remembering all we have in common, however, reminds me that I do not lead because I am greater than those I lead, nor that I follow because I am lessor than those I follow. My children, my students, my flock, these are all my brothers. And my teachers, my elders, my civil leaders, they too are all my brothers. I have no reason to lord it over anyone because all that is good in me is our common Lord.

I’m in good company in my folly. The disciples, for three years jockeyed for position. The saints ever since have marched in their footsteps, trolling for honors. I pray, however, that I might treasure this trophy, attain this accolade, secure this status- that I would be a world-champion repenter. And for that, I repent.

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What does it mean that the church is holy?

The Nicene Creed affirms that the church is one, holy, catholic and apostolic. I discussed what is means that the church is one here. When the creed affirms that the church is holy it is making at least three important points.

First, the church is holy in a forensic sense. That is, our affirmation is not suggesting that the church’s members are somehow morally pure. It is instead affirming that because of the work of Christ for us we are declared by God to be just. Our sin was punished at Calvary. His righteousness has been imputed or reckoned to us. In this sense we are holy.

Second, that said, we are holy in that we are being changed. In the first instance we are speaking of our justification. Here we speak of our sanctification. The root of that term is “sanctus” which is Latin for “holy.” While we still struggle with the remains of sin in us, sin’s power over us is broken. We have been given a new heart, from which we cry out for God’s mercy in Christ. We have been indwelt by the Holy Spirit.

Jesus Himself said that “By this all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another (John 13:35). This love is a kind unknown by those outside the kingdom. We are indwelt by the same Holy Spirit, and so are united in a way the lost cannot fathom.

Third, we are holy in that we have been set apart from the world. We have a tendency to think of “holiness” strictly in terms of moral purity. While this is a part of what the word means, equally important is its meaning of being set apart. The church is called to be holy in this way.

There are, in fact, two Greek words in the New Testament that are translated “church.” The first is “kuriake.” This has the same root as “kurios” which means “Lord.” The church is those who belong to the Lord. The other term so translated, however is “ekklesia” from which we get our English word “ecclesiastical.” In the Greek the word might be literally translated as “the called out ones.”

We are set apart, called out, from the world, into His presence, from the darkness into His marvelous light (I Peter 2:9). Part and parcel of this is putting behind us the ways and patterns of this world. We are commanded not to be conformed to this world but to be transformed by the renewing of our minds (Romans 12:2).

The church then is those who have been declared to be righteous. Those who have been called to grow in righteousness. Those who have been set apart from the world. Without the first, the latter two are not possible. Out of the first, the latter two we pursue.

This is the forty-seventh installment of an ongoing series of pieces here on the nature and calling of the church. Stay tuned for more. Remember also that we at Sovereign Grace Fellowship meet this Sunday June 8 at 10:30 AM at our new location, our beautiful farm at 11281 Garman Road, Spencerville, IN. Please come join us.

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The Faith of Demos: The Doctrine of Demons

While written creeds have their advantages, unwritten creeds have a few as well. With a written creed we are able to nail down precise language. We can affirm this and deny that. Everyone is able to make a conscious decision about whether or not they agree. This, in turn, mirrors at least one of the benefits of an unwritten creed. First, it leaves more wiggle room. Second, if the creed is unwritten, there is no place to sign on the dotted line. If there is no list of signatories, it’s so much easier to simply assume that everyone is on board. It’s not an easy thing to deny a creed that hasn’t really been written.

Sociologists and historians often wrangle over exactly what it means to be American. In a debate reminiscent of psychologists arguing the old “nature versus nurture” conundrum, these scholars dicker over whether American culture is defined by kinship or ideology. Are we Americans because our ancestors came mostly from western Europe, or are we Americans because we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal? Is our corporate identity the result of genetic history, or the history of ideas? Is it un-American to dislike baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and Chevrolet, or is it un-American to hail from Mexico?

Whichever side one takes, we all have to share this creed, to make this confession — that there is now, and has always been, a series of unwritten commitments we are supposed to share as Americans. Even if we think that to be American is to be anglo, we still have to confess the reality of these unwritten creeds. These may and probably will change over time (another “benefit” of having them unwritten), but they are there nonetheless. Just as with theological creeds, these creeds serve to bring unity out of diversity. In our day, however, we are unified by a creed that of necessity divides us.

The central pillar of faith for our culture, that form of unity that forms our “unity” is simple. “There is no such thing as true and false.” This is the one, unspoken, unifying principle to which everyone is expected to submit. This unifying creed, however, cannot unify. It is, by its very nature, divisive. Historical creeds exist to say, “Here is where you and I agree.” Our modern, or, rather, postmodern American creed affirms, “You and I cannot agree. And even if we did, it wouldn’t mean anything.” Our creed affirms we each have our own truth, create our own world, are locked into a solipsistic cage.

Our creed also suffers from this obvious weakness: it is patently and immediately false. We are united around a creed that cannot even stand under its own weight. Our creed, if it is true, is false. And if it is false, it is false. Which tells us it is false. If it’s true there is no true and false, we cannot say it’s true there’s no true and false. This absurdity may have some entertainment value to us. Keep in mind, though, this quicksand is the very pillar and foundation of our culture. Suddenly, it’s not so funny.

A greater irony than the absurdity of the creed, however, is the fanaticism of its adherents. It did not become our national creed by a slow and steady winning of adherents. Instead, we have a culture that shrilly demands that all men everywhere bow before this principle. That we all bend our knee and confess with our tongue that there is no such thing as truth. If we don’t, we must be, figuratively, at least for now, crucified.

Our first creed, long before we embrace the Three Forms of Unity, or the Westminster Standards, or even the Apostles’ or Nicene Creeds, is the first creed of the church: “Jesus is Lord.” This Jesus is not a truth. He is not true for me. He is instead the truth. This confession of ours, even as it ran headlong into the creed of Rome, “Caesar is Lord,” runs headlong into the great American Creed.

Because we confess that Jesus is Lord, we cannot confess that there is no such thing as truth. This, in turn, is why we evangelicals are finding ourselves more and more compared to the Taliban. This is why Islamic fundamentalism looks to the watching world to be the same thing as evangelical fundamentalism. For now they are content to disparage our character, to paint us in the public eye not merely as unsophisticated rubes, but as dangerous foaming-mouthed fanatics.

And so we should be. Our calling in this context isn’t to negotiate. We ought not labor to show the watching world how reasonable we can be, when reasonable is defined as embracing their creed. Our calling instead is to stand upon the rock, to stand firm and confess our creed with all the greater vigor. Let them despise us for not joining in their “unity.” Let us instead be united to the one who told us to be not surprised when we are hated for His name’s sake. Let us instead seek His kingdom and His righteousness. Let us confess His name before all men, that He might confess our name before His Father.

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Finding Judgey McJudgerson: A Comic Tragedy

It is both tragic and comic when it happens. I fear we miss the tragedy in the comedy. Person A makes an observation that Person B has done something wrong. Lied, or cheated, or some such. Person B offers as his defense something along these lines toward Person A, “How dare you judge people? You are the absolute worst, because you judge, judge, judge. What the world needs is fewer judgers like you.”

The comedy should be pretty obvious, as Person B flails his arms and legs, hoisted on his own petard. He, of course, is clearly, immediately and comically exposed as one who judges people. Person A simply said, “You did wrong” while Person B said, “You are the absolute worst.” Comic lack of self-awareness.

Where then is the tragedy? Person A, of course, can point out the contradiction. Hopefully, Person B will blush and see what he’s done. He will, however, go right back to his starting premise, that judgers, other than him, should be judged. The tragedy is that this account doesn’t merely reveal flawed reasoning. It reveals a dark, foolish and prideful heart.

The problem is less that the laws of logic have been shamefully violated. The problem more is that Person B is not just guilty of whatever Person A may have noticed but is guilty of the primordial sin, pride. While Person B is busy accusing Person A of being Pharisaical, Person B is proudly announcing, “I thank you Lord that I am not like other men. I don’t judge people, like this Judger over here. I overlook all the politically correct sins, and valiantly seek to destroy evil men like Person A.”

To put it more succinctly, the problem is less that he falsely accused Person A of sinning in pointing out his sin, more that he falsely denies that he himself is a sinner. This, however, is precisely the kind of sinners we all are. While it’s true that not all sins are equal, contra commonly accepted “wisdom,” it is also true that all sinners are sinners. All bad enough sinners that we constantly want to prove we’re not as sinful as the other guy.

We may not be. Or we may be. But it doesn’t matter. Our sinfulness is horrific enough. Hitler and Stalin may well be arguing in hell right now which one was better. We, who are headed to heaven by His grace, foolishly do the same on earth. In our pride we humbly confess that we are sinners, then reveal our pride by announcing “but we’re not THAT kind of sinner.”

We do not acknowledge the universality of sin in order to make it disappear. As if “Everyone’s a sinner” is somehow good news, a comfort. No, we acknowledge the universality of sin as horrific news, a terror. No sin has ever or will ever be overlooked. Every sin, however small, is committed against an infinitely big God. And every sin either has been or will be fully punished.

God’s grace doesn’t make those sins nothing. It makes our sins those that have already been punished. Our message to the world isn’t, “You can be good like me” but rather, “You are bad, like me. Let me tell you about the one good Man, and what He did for His own.”

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Grandparenting; National Senility, Outside the Box and More

This week’s Jesus Changes Everything Podcast

Posted in apologetics, Devil's Arsenal, Jesus Changes Everything, Lisa Sproul, Month of Sundays, philosophy, politics, RC Sproul JR, Sacred Marriage, seasons | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Children: A Precious Blessing From the Lord

It’s a staple of pastoral humor. You can pretty much count on some quip coming from the pulpit when summer vacation starts, bemoaning the burden of children home from school, and when it ends, celebrating the blessing of shipping children off to school. It makes me cringe every time. First, because it must be hurtful to the children. Second, because it reflects the ethos of the world around us and third, it belies the very Word of God. The Bible teaches that children are a blessing from His hand (Psalm 127). The Bible is correct, and we are wrong.

We are wrong on two counts. First, children are a blessing. They are expensive- financially, physically, emotionally. They have the power to break our hearts. They are sinners who sin against us, and against whom we sin. None of which changes the truth- they are gifts, blessings. We know this, of course, when we aren’t giving way to cultural flippancy.

What parent would not give up everything to save his or her child? Yet, we grumble against them. We embrace sundry technologies specifically designed to make our marital unions barren. We send them away to be educated, and then grumble that they come back changed. Children, however, are blessings in more ways than we can count. They love us, encourage us, inspire us, help us. They receive our love, lap up our encouragement, seek to please us and leave room for us to help them.

The second point, however, is equally important. Children are a blessing, from God. Children do not come to pass by mere natural forces. They come from His hand. Which means we are fools to be anything but grateful. He not only gives every good gift, but every gift He gives is good. Even with the expenses, even with the broken hearts. They are gifts made by Him, given by Him, to us. Who would ever say to the God of heaven and earth, as He offers us a gift, “No thank you.”? Who would ever say, “Maybe later, thanks.”? We would, because we are fools.

Reformation requires of us that we re-form our thinking, our priorities, that we cast off the wisdom of this world that is nothing but foolishness. We receive the biggest bang for our reformational buck when those re-formations happen at the most foundational levels. There are precious few things more foundational than how we look at children and God’s relation to them. If we saw them for what they are, perhaps we’d not only want more of them, but want of them more. If we knew from Whom they came perhaps we’d strive more diligently to direct them back, to raise them in the nurture and admonition of the Lord (Ephesians 6:1).

Too often the church and the family see one another as competitors, for time, resources, energy. Both, however, are creations of the Lord of Creation. He calls us to love both and to serve both. And to give thanks for both. Gratitude may well be the very bedrock of Reformation. Lord, help us to give thanks.

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