The feint is a rather critical part of any battle strategy. There are few occasions where a direct, unambiguous assault will work out well. We want instead to keep our enemy guessing, unsure as to whether we will be coming at this flank or that, whether we will circle around his troops, or if our dive bombers will descend from the clouds. The devil is no different. He too wants to tie up our attention, our resources, defending land he is not attacking. Long after modernism lay in the ash heap of western civilization, too many Christians were still firing sorties against it. While we were guarding against Darwin, Derrida slipped between our lines.
The same is true in the church. We who are the far right side of the evangelical spectrum have stood guard over the past several decades, watching out for weaknesses in our theological defenses. We have rightly strengthened our bulwarks on the inerrancy of Scripture. We have wisely strung razor wire around the pure message of justification by faith alone. We have done our apologetical spadework on both the past resurrection of Jesus and the future return of Jesus. These are all good things, even necessary things. Despite these defensive maneuvers, however, the gates of hell have marched right into our sanctuaries, and raised up its banners in our holy places. We have not guarded that place where we are always the most vulnerable, our character, our integrity, our holiness.
Were we honest we would recognize that in our day at least, churches have been torn asunder less by sloppy theological thinking and more by sinful hearts. Church splits are rarely over an honest disagreement over a discreet biblical (or unbiblical) doctrine. Neither, despite the cliché, are they over the color of the carpet. Instead church splits happen because trust is lost, because suspicions thrive, because factions multiply. Churches are torn asunder more by roots of bitterness than they are by heresies. And it all starts with unguarded tongues. These are the flaming arrows that the seed of the serpent fires into our midst, turning the beauty of the body into ashes. While we were pulling sentry duty against Socinianism, while our floodlights searched the skies for German liberalism, whispers infiltrated the camp and we were undone.
Gossip is real. And gossip is precisely as destructive as the Bible says it is. It begins with an unguarded word, the raising of a simple question, “Do you think the elders are being sufficiently attentive to x?” What follows is open-ended speculation, “I wonder why the elders haven’t sufficiently looked into x?” The next step is a more tentative accusation, “Could it be that they aren’t paying enough attention to x because they are split on the issue?” Then we choose sides even where there are no sides. “I’m sure Elder Jones has brought this to their attention. After all, when I mentioned x to him he paid attention to me, and promised to bring it up at the next session meeting.” Eventually, either Elder Jones adds fuel to the fire by joining up with Mrs. Grundy and her complaint, or he too gets tied to the same stake, for having allowed himself to be won over by the wicked faction on the session. It doesn’t much matter what x is. It doesn’t much matter which side we are on. The hunt is afoot, and we are swept away in all the pathos. Our hunger for drama, our need to be in the know, our insatiable appetite to be engaged in the great battle will not be sated until the entire church has burned to the ground. Then we sadly move on to the next church, and start it all over again. We walk on to the next battle convinced that we have boldly defended the faith, no matter the cost.
It is not a hard thing to cast yourself as the hero. It is not a challenge to stand firm on your convictions. It is not a hard thing to pick up the prophetic mantle and expose those we think have lost their way. What is hard is keeping on the path. What is difficult is cultivating the fruit of the Spirit, like love, and patience. What stretches our faith is the practice of humility. We all want to be Luther, when God has instead called us to be quiet.
Jesus promised the disciples that the gates of hell would not prevail against His church. This, of course, is because Jesus builds His church upon the rock. That rock, contra Rome, isn’t Peter, but is instead the profession of Peter, that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. As we plant ourselves on that truth, then we can fight back. First, we remember that Jesus is the Messiah. He is the one who came to save us from our sins. When our focus is what Jesus has done with our sins, it is difficult to focus on the sins, real or imagined, of others. I’m not the Christ. I wasn’t put on the planet to save anyone. I’m the one that needs to be saved.
Second, we remember that He is the Son of the living God. He is almighty, all powerful. He sees all things and knows all things. If our elders are plotting evil, He is able to stop it. We are to look to Him, rather than to take these things upon ourselves. Our calling is to pray, and to pray in all confidence. We pray that the church would be pure, knowing that Jesus has promised to purify His church. Our calling is to rest in Him, to be still and know that He is God.
This too we must do when, despite our best efforts to stay outside the fray, our local church implodes. It is a tragedy when this happens. But the church moves on, carried forward by the prayers of its people, and by the power of its Lord.