Hermann Sasse, a twentieth-century Lutheran theologian, had this to say regarding humanity's efforts to create an ideal church:

Ubi Christus, ibi ecclesia, 'Where Christ is, there is the church'. With this saying one of the oldest church fathers spoke of the mystery of the church. The saying also sums up Luther’s faith in the church. It is not the power of our faith, nor the holiness of our life that constitutes the church, but rather that 'Where Christ is, there is the church'. When the church is called a holy people, a communion of saints, it is not to be understood in the way it has often been understood in the history of the church: 'the church should be a holy people, therefore only the holy shall belong to her. Away with all the unholy! The honour of Christ demands it!' When the worst of sinners must be excluded from the fellowship, one must then begin to classify sins in order to determine which ones lead to exclusion. How often has not that been attempted, both in the past and more recently. How imposing was the strictness of the ancient church, when people sought to create a holy and pure church (as also happens now). Or consider the Donatists, who demanded that at least the clergy should be free of mortal sin. Whenever the attempt has been made to create an ideal church, the end result has always been bitter disappointment. The community of saints turns into a community of Pharisees.

As the Dutch theologian, Herman Bavinck, notes in the fourth volume of his Reformed Dogmatics, 'according to Scripture the characteristic essence of the church lies in the fact that it is the people of God' (298), of which Christ is the head. The church exists because Christ 'gathers, protects, and preserves for himself a community chosen for eternal life and united in true faith' (Heidelberg Catechism, Q&A 54).

The church is not primarily an institution, nor is it a group of people who live perfectly holy lives or believe all the right things. To be sure, the church does have an institutional character, and its members do strive to be increasingly holy and to be faithful to Scripture in their doctrine. But none of these precede the fact that the church people of God, over which Christ is Lord.

(HT: Anthony Bradley, via Paul McCain)

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John Stott, in discussing the necessity of pastors to be sincere in what they preach, cites a story in his book, Between Two Worlds, about the 18th century philosopher, David Hume:

A friend once met [Hume] hurrying along a London street and asked him where he was going. Hume replied that he was going to hear George Whitefield preach. 'But surely,' his friend asked in astonishment, 'you don't believe what Whitefield preaches, do you?' 'No, I don't,' answered Hume, 'but he does.' (269-270)

Whitefield had a transparent sincerity that attracted Hume. So it must be with us. John Poulton has said, "The most effective preaching comes from those who embody the things they are saying. They are the message."

That couldn't be more true.

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Earlier this year, I was in a discussion on what role home visitation should play in the ministry of a church. Home visitation basically entails a visit by the pastoral staff or elders of a church to each family or member of the congregation in their respective homes to inquire about their spiritual well-being, and to provide support, encouragement, and instruction. A few days ago I quoted the Puritan minister, Richard Baxter, on this very issue. Baxter understood how crucial it was for the minister (and by extension, the elders or other pastoral staff responsible for spiritual oversight) to engage in this sort of work. It would not be a stretch to say that for Baxter, the very life of the church, or at least its vitality, hinged on faithfully carrying out this practice.

To be honest, I was quite shocked by the response of most of those I was talking with; most felt reticent about their churches engaging in such a practice because it would infringe on the privacy of the members of the church and would implicitly communicate that the leadership of the church was seeking some sort of totalitarian dominance over the lives of its parishioners.

At first I thought maybe they conceived of this as an antiquated practice, done in the days when ministers were not as conscious of being relational or relevant (to borrow a few modern terms) in their ministry. But then it occured to me that perhaps part of the reason some might hesitate to engage in such a practice is simply because they are living in a culture that incessantly bombards them with the message that they are autonomous individuals, subject only to their own authority and responsible only for themselves. The 18th and 19th centuries wove into the fabric of Western – and especially American – culture an aversion toward authority, which has largely defined the Christianity of this culture as well. The emphasis turns on the individual as the primary unit, whether it is an over-emphasis on personal salvation or turning subjective experiences and feelings into objective standards of theology and practice. In turn, this means the individual has full responsibility over their life and spirituality, and the church is there to serve them and meet their felt needs.

But that's not how it is supposed to work in the church.

When you are baptised into the church, either as an infant or later in life upon professing faith, you are brought into a family. You are no longer an autonomous individual, but you have been bound to the community of believers who have a shared identity as those called by God to be his people. Naturally, this does not entail giving up your individuality – indeed, Scripture lauds this as a great gift to the church – but it is a declaration that you now belong to a covenant family, living a shared life together as children of the heavenly Father.

If you have spent any time living with as part of a family, you understand this already. Each member of the family has his or her own life, of course, but the nature of family life, even something as simple as living in the same house, means that these individual lives are going to constantly cross paths. And this crossing of paths is not something that family members try to avoid, but they recognise it as an important part of their life together. A family supports each other, encourages each other, and will call each other to account if need be.

Like a family, this is how it is to be in the church. Your life becomes the life of the others you live together with. While you certainly retain a measure of responsibility for your personal life, this responsibility is also taken up by the other members of the church. Many congregations will make vows to either the parents of a child or to a professing believer on the occasion of their baptism to support them, pray for them, and nurture them in their Christian walk. An extra measure of responsibility for this task is given to the leaders of the church. Paul's letters to Timothy and Titus make the importance of spiritual oversight very clear. Likewise, the author of the letter to the Hebrews, clearly a pastor himself, makes mention at numerous points of looking after the spiritual well-being of those he wrote to.

When I was growing up, my father served as an elder in Christian Reformed congregations in Toronto and Bradford, Ontario, for many years and he will tell you that home visitation was among the most blessed and fruitful time of his ministry as an elder. This was largely because he came to really know the members of the congregation under his oversight, and he then knew how to minister to them more effectively. Now, of course, there are some factors that will determine how successful this practice is, and perhaps key in this regard is ensuring the church has godly elders or pastoral leaders; this was a major concern for Baxter in his discussion of the matter.

I know that there are plenty of pastors and church leaders who understand all this and practice it in one way or another. But I think there is a lot of wisdom and benefit to be gained from practicing it in a systematic way, ensuring that during a period of a year, each member or family of a congregation gets to visit with the church leaders responsible for pastoral oversight. This method has something of a proven historical track record since it has been done for centuries. The simple act itself of stepping into someone's home is an intentional way of deepening the level of intimacy and trust in the relationship of the pastor and parishioner. It is a very concrete way of saying to each member of the church, 'We care deeply for you.' All of this lends itself on the one hand to fostering the spiritual growth of a congregation, and on the other hand to strengthening the bond of fellowship of the church as the members come to understand what it means to be a family.

The Christian life was never meant to be lived alone. Don't think of spiritual oversight as an intrusion into your private life, but welcome it as a blessing. God intends for the leaders he appoints to the church to shepherd his flock because, in Isaiah's words, we all like sheep will go astray and turn to our own ways. The church was designed from the beginning to be a family, and her members are intended to live their life together. Our journey through life is enriched and deepened when we travel with others and help each other stay on the path.

So make a cup of tea, invite the leaders of your church into the living room, and share your lives with each other. Because in the end, it's all about the family.

(Below I've attached a PDF file of a chapter on home visitation from a book my father was given when he first became an elder, called The Elder's Handbook. I believe the authors come out of the Christian Reformed Church. It contains a bit of rationale for the practice, as well as some practical tips for how to do it. I think there are some really helpful suggestions here.)

elder_visitation.pdf (1802 KB)
View this on posterous

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I am a big fan of getting together with a bunch of theologically-minded guys and spending a few hours together now and then talking about what we have been reading, working through issues that come up in our ministry, or mulling over big questions we have been asking and wrestling with. The preferred setting for this is a pub or coffeeshop, although I'm also perfectly happy to do so while working under the hood of a car, or walking down a city street, or sitting in my living room.

John Stott wished for this sort of thing as well, as a means for ministers to keep their minds sharp and to build each other up. He writes of this being a good practice with a proven historical track record in his book, Between Two Worlds:

I often find myself wishing that local clergy gatherings, whether denominational or interdenominational, could be more effective in stimulating thought. When we meet, we are no doubt obliged to transact some business, but we could also encourage one another in study. The second half of the eighteenth century was the great time for the founding of societies for English clergy, especially evangelicals. The first was Samuel Walker's 'Clerical Club' in Truro (c. 1750), whose purpose was to 'strengthen each other's hands in the work of the Lord'. During the following years about ten others arose in different parts of the country. 'Why may we not meet to pray, when others meet to play at the bowls?' asked Thomas Robinson of Leicester. 'Why may we not have deliberative assemblies, when others of our brethern have their dancing and drinking assemblies? Why may we not seek to edify each other, whilst they care not if they corrupt one another?' The most famous and influential of these clubs was the Eclectic Society, founded in 1783 by John Newton, ex-sea captain and slave trader, but at that time Rector of St Mary Woolnoth in the city of London, and his friends. They met every other Monday. 'We begin with tea,' wrote Newton (the teapot is preserved in the Church Missionary House in London); 'then a short prayer introduces a conversation for about three hours upon a proposed subject, and we seldom flag.' He added that the group deserved to be called the Royal Society since 'I trust the members are all of the royal family, and the King Himself condescends to meet with us.' (190)

Not mentioned in Stott's list is the 'White Horse Inn' of Cambridge, or even Martin Luther's frequent practice of having students over to his home for dinner and home-brewed beer to talk about all kinds of different issues; undoubtedly there are many more groups like these. This sort of thing is, I think, a very healthy practice and worth engaging in on a regular basis. Blogging, of course, is one outlet for me to work through all kinds of things I read and think about and questions I am working through, but I would never substitute it entirely for face-to-face conversation with friends, colleagues and mentors. That kind of interaction is invaluable.

So, who'd like to go get a drink or a cup of coffee?

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One of the best known works of the Puritan minister, Richard Baxter, is The Reformed Pastor, written around 1656 while he was vicar of St Mary's Church in Kidderminster. The content had originally been composed by him for an association of ministers from Worcestershire, and Baxter had intended the book to help them in their efforts to form godly, worshiping communities in that county.

Having been on my shelf for some time (and now that I am post-serminary and thus afforded time to read whatsoever I desire), I began to read the book the other day. I was immediately taken by something in Baxter's dedication, where he urged his fellow ministers to be intimately involved in the lives of their parishioners. The responsibilities of a pastor went beyond what took place during a Sunday service; it included the nurture of the families and individuals within the congregation, visiting with them to teach, admonish, and encourage them in the faith. Baxter makes six points in regard to these responsibilites (slightly paraphrased here):

1. People must be taught the principles of religion, and matters of greatest necessity to salvation.
2. They must be taught it in the most edifying, advantageous way.
3. Personal conference, examination, and instruction, hath many excellent advantages for their good.
4. Personal instruction is recommended to us by Scripture, and by the practice of the servants of Christ, and approved by the godly of all ages.
5. We should perform this great duty to all the people, or as many as we can; for our love and care of their souls must extend to all. If there are five hundred or a thousand ignorant people in your parish or congregation, it is a poor discharge of your duty, now and then to speak to some few of them, and to let the rest alone in their ignorance, if you are able to afford them help.
6. It is not less certain, that so great a work as this is should take up a considerable part of our time.

This being only the dedication, Baxter does not elaborate on the points made, but something of the importance he attaches to this aspect of pastoral work comes out already in this short list. Just a few pages later, however, he issues a far more urgent plea to ministers for engaging in pastoral work among their flock:

You have put your hand to the plough; you are doubly devoted to [God], as Christians, and as pastors; and dare you, after this, draw back and refuse his work? You see the work of reformation at a stand; and you are engaged by many obligations to promote it: and dare you now neglect the means by which it must be done? Will you show your faces in a Christian congregation, as ministers of the gospel, and there pray for a reformation, and for the conversion and salvation of your hearers, and for the prosperity of the Church; and when you have done, refuse to use the means by which all this must be effected?

Baxter continues by saying that this aspect of their work as ministers is just as important as their preaching. This kind of involvement in the lives of the members of a congregation fosters a relationship in which the minister demonstrates great love and care for the parishioner and, in turn, the parishioner is given to humbly respect and submit to the authority of the minister. Now, this is not a totalitarian sort of authority, but the authority of one who has been called by God to shepherd his flock in a certain place. The authority is not derived from himself, but from his call and ordination to faithfully teach and proclaim the whole counsel of God. And his carrying out of this work is solely for the purpose of nurturing the faith of the congregation, for building them up and edifying them in order that they might increasingly live for the glory of the Lord, and as faithful witnesses to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

For this reason, a minister's work does not take place only within an hour and a half time slot on a Sunday morning; in reality, it is a task that is never crossed off his 'to-do' list. Baxter understood the gravity and immensity of the minister's calling, and that is why he wrote this book. I am really looking forward to going deeper in this book and learning from Baxter's pastoral wisdom.

In a day or two, I will return to this issue with some thoughts on the place of this type of pastoral work in the church today.

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Jamie Smith, professor of philosophy at Calvin College, published a book in the fall of last year called Desiring the Kingdom: Worship, Worldview, and Cultural Formation, which was probably the best book I read in 2009. I was a little late in noticing this, but in January he gave a lecture at Calvin that highlighted the main themes of the book. The lecture is excellent (as is the book, which you definitely should read), and there is a lot to glean from it. Enjoy.

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Ellen Charry, professor of systematic theology at Princeton Theological Seminary, wrote a book about a decade ago called By the Renewing of Your Minds: The Pastoral Function of Christian Doctrine. She argues, using the example of some of the most significant theologians in history, that theology must be done first and foremost for the service of the church. Theology is a key component of discipleship and an essential part of growth in faith. In a chapter on the Swiss reformer, John Calvin, she notes:

[Calvin] was concerned with engaging Christians in understanding God deeply and personally...he believed that Christians need moral strengthening and that God is the proper agent of reform. Training in godliness is the purpose of his Institutes of the Christian Religion, stated in the opening paragraph of his prefatory address to King Francis I, which accompanied the first (1536) edition: 'My purpose was solely to transmit certain rudiments by which those who are touched with any zeal for religion might be shaped to true godliness'... And in the prefatory note to the final (1559) edition, Calvin repeats that he had 'no other purpose than to benefit the church by maintaining the pure doctrine of godliness' through his 'zeal to spread [God's] Kingdom and to further the public good'... Calvin begins by identifying himself as an aretegenically oriented teacher of the church who understands the implications of theology for public life.

If we take doctrine and piety as belonging to two separate fields, one academic and the other pastoral, we will never understand Calvin. For Calvin, the purpose of treating articles of religion is to enhance godliness. If that treatment is comprehensive, so much the better. The modern academy eliminated spiritual and moral formation from scholarly inquiry, rendering the modern disciplines of marginal use to the church. Calvin would stand down from this decision (199).

Calvin's perspective here (and, by extension, Charry's) is the reason I maintain such an interest in theology. While one can certainly study theology at an academic level, that person then has a responsibility – indeed, a duty – to use the fruits of that study in service of the church and for the building up of the body of Christ. I noted last year how Jamie Smith makes this same contention, and was reminded of his words again today as I was reading this portion of Charry's book. One of my professors at RTS, John Frame, would frequently make the same observation. His defintion of theology as "the application of God's Word by persons to all areas of life" makes the point explicitly. It's not just intended for the ivory tower of the academy.

(As a side note, I find it odd that given Calvin's perspective on theology, we treat the Institutes as some sort of rigorously academic textbook, when instead Calvin intended it for the people in his congregation, as a means to help them understand the Bible more fully, and thus as a tool for discipleship.)

The church needs theology, there is no getting around it. Jesus commanded his disciples to make disciples by teaching them all that he had commanded them. Growth in faith correlates with a growth in knowledge. Theologians, do your work for the service of the church that God's people might increasingly learn to live for his glory.

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John Stott is well-known for his advocacy of expository preaching. In his book, Between Two Worlds, he says that to "expound Scripture is to bring out of the text what is there and expose it to view. The expositor prizes open what appears to be closed, makes plain what is obscure, unravels what is knotted, and unfolds what is tightly packed." The intent of such preaching is nothing more than setting forth the truth of Scripture in a manner that is plain – and excuse the buzzwords  – relevant and applicable.

Stott goes on in his book to set out what he feels are some of the strongest arguments for expository preaching, one of which is the recognition that exposition imposes limits upon the preacher. He writes,

It restricts us to the scriptural text, since expository preaching is biblical preaching. We are not expounding a passage from either secular literature or a political speech or even a religious book, let alone our own opinions. No, our text is invariably taken from God's Word. The very first qualification of expositors is the recognition that we are guardians of a sacred 'deposit' of truth, 'trustees' of the gospel, 'stewards of the mysteries of God.'

Not many people like the idea of being confined by something, or being limited by something external to themselves, but when it comes to preaching, there really is no other option if we are to faithfully proclaim the truth of Scripture. Stott quotes Donald Coggan, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, who noted that it was, in fact, a joy to be confined as a preacher by the Word of God:

The Christian preacher has a boundary set for him. When he enters the pulpit, he is not an entirely free man. There is a very real sense in which it may be said of him that the Almighty has set him his bounds that he shall not pass. He is not at liberty to invent or choose his message: it has been committed to him, and it is for him to declare, expound and commend it to his hearers... It is a great thing to come under the magnificent tyranny of the Gospel!

I quite like that, the "tyranny of the Gospel." It is, indeed, an absolute authority that we come under when we submit ourselves to Lordship of Jesus Christ and his Word. It demands our complete and unfailing loyalty. But yet it is under that authority that we find the most faithful and the most powerful preaching.

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The denomination I am currently affiliated with, the Presbyterian Church in America, has been holding its annual General Assembly this week in Nashville. This is always an important time for the denomination, as the leaders of our churches gather together to discuss the future of the denomination and how the churches can continue to remain committed to the shared mission of being "faithful to the Scriptures, true to the Reformed faith, and obedient to the Great Commission."

Due to my schedule, I haven't been able to follow the assembly as closely this year as I was last year, but I tuned in for a little while last night. As they were deliberating on different matters, I was reminded of a something I read in The House Where God Lives, a book on ecclesiology by Canadian theologian, Gary Badcock, published toward the end of last year. What he says here is worth thinking about as meetings like the PCA's General Assembly happen. Consider this:

'I believe in the church.' In this confession of Christian faith there are, ultimately, grounds for hope. The church is what it is not because of some program, system of thought, or pattern of practice. It is what it is, in the final analysis, because God graciously chooses to deal with us as sinful creatures. As a result, the church is more than a hollow shell in which humans think theological thoughts, dream religious and moral dreams, and do good deeds. Hence neither the existence nor the renewal of the church is strictly our task; this is just as well, because on account of our half-formed thinking, our sloth, and our disobedience, the church in itself is bound to be a disappointment. God is able to renew the church, but this is entirely despite the fact of its limitations and sinfulness, despite its wrong-headedness and outright lies at times, rather than because of any inherent holiness or wisdom it possesses. Therefore, the renewal of the church does not even depend on an ecclesiology; in the end, even the theologian who labors to say as much must fall silent, give thanks, and pray.

What is absolutely required here is neither a theology nor a strategy but what [we may call] 'God's lightning,' the free action of God that strikes unexpectedly, in ways that surpass what we can ask and in the end is totally independent of our answers or our imaginings. For the renewal of the church takes place as God reaches out in power, truth, and love by his Word and Spirit, so that God himself comes to us – God, the unutterable one who transcends all our theological systems and stratagems alike, the one who judges all things and who makes all things new. The renewal of the church, though a goal toward which we can surely work and concerning which we can think, is ultimately something for which we must pray and wait. This is what I intend when I speak of the church as 'the house where God lives,' that is, affirming what is sufficient for our needs in this age and in all ages, and affirming what is finally the one great theme of ecclesiology as a question of Christian doctrine (337).

By no means, of course, is this a call for us to sit idly by and wait for God to work. Indeed, the work of meetings such as General Assembly is very important for the life of the church. But what Badcock wants us to realize here is that while our work is important, in the end it is nothing if God is not in it. When we stop and think about it this is perhaps an obvious truth, but in our day to day work it is easy to let something so simple – despite it being so crucial – slip from our minds.

To that end, let us continually be in prayer for the Spirit to be at work in our churches bringing life and renewal as we strive to be faithful to the one who called us, and as we labor in our mission to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ. To him be the glory forever.

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A few weeks ago I was on a plane, and sitting a few seats over across the aisle from me was a Haredi Jew. I had seen Haredis before, but for whatever reason, I was intrigued by the man and spent a portion of the flight watching him. He read quite a bit from a book printed in Hebrew and at one point he was even working on a paper or some other document in Hebrew on his laptop. When they served the food they had a special kosher meal for him, which did not look all that appetizing (apparently his thought too, as he barely ate any of it).

As I watched him fiddle around with the food, I suddenly found myself a little frustrated, and I wanted to grab him by the shoulders, give him a good shake and say to him, "Why don't you get it? How can you immerse yourself in the Tanakh and not see that Jesus is the Messiah? How can you not understand?" After we landed and he went off to baggage claim I stood there for a moment watching him walk away as the thought continued to roll through my mind.

This past Sunday our adult Sunday School class was studying Romans 9, a passage in which Paul struggles with a similar frustration. His frustration is much greater than mine, however, since he laments the failure of his own people to put their faith in Christ as the promised Messiah. As we looked at the passage, I was struck by an element of Paul's struggle that was entirely lacking in mine. He says, in Romans 9:1-5,

I speak the truth in Christ—I am not lying, my conscience confirms it in the Holy Spirit— I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, those of my own race, the people of Israel. Theirs is the adoption as sons; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises. Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of Christ, who is God over all, forever praised! Amen.

When Paul thinks of the Jews, he has "great sorrow and unceasing anguish" in his heart. How great this anguish must be if he nearly wishes himself cursed and cut off from Christ for their sake!

It is to my shame that I did not feel sorrow and anguish for the Jewish man on the plane. Yet I shouldn't just feel sorrow for this particular Jewish man, or the Jewish people in general, but all those throughout the world who don't know the Lord. That sorrow comes more naturally, perhaps, if we are talking about those close to us who aren't believers, but when we start to think about those much more distant from us, both relationally and physically, it's much easier to let our thoughts pass over them.

Not so with Paul. He devoted his life to proclaiming the gospel to the world, and while he here confesses his anguish for the Jews, his life made it evident that he felt this sorrow for all those who did not profess faith in Christ. I am not saying, of course, that we all need to be career missionaries, but only that our hearts would be filled with the same love and compassion for the people in this world.

Lord, give us the heart of Paul that we too may earnestly desire to make the gospel of Jesus Christ known to the nations.

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I began to read John Stott's book on preaching, Between Two Worlds, this morning. He opens with a brief historical sketch examining the place of preaching in the thought and practice of some of the notable church leaders down through history. I was a little surprised to read this about some of the great Catholic figures in the Middle Ages:

'The Age of Preaching', wrote Charles Smyth, 'dates from the coming of the Friars... The history of the pulpit as we know it begins with the Preaching Friars. They met, and stimulated, a growing popular demand for sermons. They revolutionzed the technique. They magnified the office.' Although Francis of Assisi (1182-1226) was a man more of compassionate service than of learning, and insisted that 'our acting and teaching must go together', he was nevertheless 'as committed to preaching as to poverty: "Unless you preach everywhere you go", said Francis, "there is no use to go anywhere to preach." From the very beginning of his ministry, that had been his motto.' His contemporary Dominic (1170-1221) laid even greater emphasis on preaching. Combining personal austerity with evangelistic zeal, he traveled widely in the cause of the gospel, especially in Italy, France and Spain, and organized his 'black friars' into an Order of Preachers. A century later Humbert de Romans (died 1277), one of the finest of Dominican Ministers General, said: 'Christ only once heard Mass...but he laid great stress on preaching.' And a century later still, the great Franciscan preacher St Bernardino of Siena* (1380-1444) made this unexpected statement: 'If of these two things you can do only one – either hear the mass or hear the sermon – you should let the mass go, rather than the sermon... There is less peril for your soul in not hearing mass than in not hearing the sermon' (21-22).

Recognizing, of course, that it is a much more recently composed document, it is nonetheless interesting to note that the Catechism of the Catholic Church seems to exalt the Mass over preaching, in contrast to what the Medieval leaders taught: "The Eucharist is 'the source and summit of the Christian life.' The other sacraments, and indeed all ecclesiastical ministries and works of the apostolate, are bound up with the Eucharist and are oriented toward it" (par. 1324).

However, despite the declaration on the primacy of the Mass, when you turn to the section of the Catechism that speaks about Scripture, it appears that it is to be viewed on the same level: "For this reason, the Church has always venerated the Scriptures as she venerates the Lord's Body. She never ceases to present to the faithful the bread of life, taken from the one table of God's Word and Christ's Body" (par. 103), and, "'The Church has always venerated the divine Scriptures as she venerated the Body of the Lord': both nourish and govern the whole Christian life" (par. 141).

Does this mean, then, that Scripture in and of itself, or perhaps as interpreted and contained in the tradition of the Church is on equal footing with the Mass? Does the nourishment that comes from Scripture come through the preaching of Scripture, or in some other way? Or is the Catechism simply saying that the two are equally important?

Given my limited knowledge of Catholicism I may be missing something simple and obvious on this matter. Therefore, please discuss below.

*On a side note: the story of Bernardino's missionary work on the ever-authoritative Wikipedia page is quite interesting. He seemed to have been something of a medieval Whitefield.

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Saint Augustine, in his role as the bishop of Hippo, would frequently note that he understood his primary responsibility to be the preaching and exposition of Scripture. But on the anniversary of his ordination, he preached a sermon that gave a little more insight into his other pastoral responsibilites as bishop. He asked for their prayers, for the work of a bishop and a pastor was no small calling:

The turbulent have to be corrected, the faint-hearted cheered up, the weary supported; the gospel's opponents need to be refuted, its insiduous enemies guarded against; the unlearned need to be taught, the indolent stirred up, the argumentative checked; the proud must be put in their place, the desperate set on their feet, those engaged in quarrels reconciled; the needy have to be helped, the oppressed to be liberated, the good to be given your backing, the bad to be tolerated; all must be loved.

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One of the most interesting chapters so far in the book I've been reading, Urban Ministry: The Kingdom, the City, and the People of God, has been the chapter on the role of the city in the Old Testament. In the previous post, I quoted a portion of Harvie Conn and Manuel Ortiz's discussion on the role religion played in the city, where they made the point that like anything else, the life of the city is either lived in service to or in rebellion to God.

In the Ancient Near East and in the Old Testament this was no different. Conn and Ortiz write, "The lifestyle of the city is religion made visible, faith reflected either toward God or against him" (93). Today, if you live in a city that does not honour the God of Scripture, you do not necessarily need to expect that life will be exceedingly difficult, but this was not the case in the cities of the Ancient Near East. Conn and Ortiz note that "in these ancient city-states with their autocratic territorial gods, the ruler or king interpreted the will of the gods. And the people served as slaves of the gods and of their earthly, royal regents" (94). When the ruler was convinced that he was an agent of the gods, then it was total obedience to his rule that became the highest virtue, naturally resulting in tyranny against the people he ruled over.

In this context that Israel was called to be radically different. Already before they took possession of the Promised Land, God instructed them regarding what type of king they should have to reign over them, giving them a portrait of a king that was the polar opposite of the kings of the Ancient Near East (Deut. 17:14-20). And further, it was not just Israel's kings that were to be different, but her entire society and culture. Her cities were to be places where justice and mercy reigned and life was to be found in abundance for all who lived in fidelity to the covenant Lord.

In dramatic contrast to all this, Yahweh called his people to a new model for urban life. Israel was to be the exhibition place for God's redemptive grace in the city and the empires that formed around God's people in history. At the heart of the model was a new theological vision, a covenant relationship between the suzerain God and his servant community. At the core of that vision was a concept of divine kingship new to the ancient world, and to demonstrate it, a new sociopolitical organization (95).

It is not insignificant that the Promised Land God gave to the Israelites was at the very heart of the Ancient Near Eastern world. He called Israel to be examples to the nations surrounding her of justice and righteouness. "Israel's social and political identity as a people of righteousness was to mirror the righteousness of God" (97). And what's more, their covenantal commitment to God meant that they would reject loyalty to the gods of the surrounding city-states, and would also reject how those societies were ordered. "Out of the covenant notion that Yahweh is king and Israel is Yahweh's kingdom (Is. 43:15) was to come a new social and political order of rule" (97).

Over against an urban world where justice and righteousness could mean oppression and disregard for the weak and the poor, hesed (compassionate, merciful) love forbade taking advantage of others in the name of law (Matt. 23:23). In God's new social order it was not simply justic that must be maintained; it was love and justice (Hos. 12:6). Yahweh's delight was 'kindness, justice and righteousness on earth' (Jer. 9:24; Is. 16:5)...Israel's identity was established by the doing of justice, righteousness and love to the cosmic God and to the Israelites' neighbors.

The Torah pointed to the social reflection of that calling. Israel was to be a benevolent and just society embodying the exclusive kingship of Yahweh, its benevolent and just Lord. As a people, Israel was to be the image of God, exhibiting the glory of God in love toward God and human beings. (98-99)

Living according to God's law would mean that Israel lived in a way that was diametrically opposed to the surrounding nations. In her cities she would show concern for the weak and the poor and would make no economic or class distinctions. Justice and compassion would transcend not just these barriers, but even the divisions of ethnicity. The alien and stranger would be invited into the community that worshiped Yahweh as the sovereign Lord. Under the covenant law, all were equal. Kings too were subject to keeping the law. The people did not serve the kings, but all of Israel served the high King of heaven. The majestic temple of her capital city, Jerusalem, would demonstrate this in a very real and tangible way.

The parallel with us as the new Israel is clear, I hope. Just as God placed his people in the middle of the world, as it were, so he places his church in the midst of the world as well. As his covenant people, called to live according to his rule, we are to demonstrate through our words and our actions that the Kingdom of God has arrived. We are to invite those around us, in our cities, towns and villages, into the beauty of this life lived in service to the sovereign Lord, for it is here that a new societal order is found. It is here that life is found in abundance, life that is richer and fuller than anything that the world can offer. It is a life of true freedom and blessing, where true justice and righteousness are found. And it is our task to work to bring this peace and this prosperity to our cities.

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A couple of weeks ago when I posted that I was heading out of town to pursue a few potential options regarding what I might do now that I am finished seminary, I was intentionally vague. Saying I was heading 'out of town' was hardly sufficient to describe the scope of the journey I actually went on, because my travels didn’t just take me out of town, but out of the country. And more, I didn’t just leave the country, I left the continent. I actually spent a week in the United Kingdom.

Not many of you will know, but I have been in conversation with a few churches there over the past several months, and just a few days ago I accepted a position as an assistant minister at a church in England. So, we are moving to the other side of the Atlantic. But all of this needs a little background before I get to the details.

For the last ten years or so as I have contemplated where and how God might use me in ministry, I have thought that someday, somehow I would try to find an opportunity to serve the church in Europe. I have a number of friends serving in different European countries right now and am aware of how much need there is for the gospel in Europe. Greater Europe Mission, an organisation that one of my friends serves with, reports that less than two percent of Europeans are evangelical Christians. That is a staggering statistic for a continent which once claimed the name of Christendom. The UK fares a little better, with evangelicals making up about five or six percent of its population. Nonetheless, with the vast majority of the population apathetic toward the gospel and a continuing influx of people from other parts of the world who have had little contact with Christianity, Europe has become a major mission field.

When we moved to Florida in 2007 and I began my studies at Reformed Theological Seminary, one of the first people I met was an Englishman. Over the next few months as we chatted and got to know each other, he began to encourage me to think about getting involved in ministry in the UK. 'You wouldn't have to learn another language, and since you come from Canada you likely won’t find the culture that foreign,' he told me. But the thought had only lingered in the back of my mind until about a year ago when Robin and I began to really consider the possibility. The idea grew on us, and as we began to pray about it we started to think that maybe this was something we should pursue.

In February of this year, I began to make contact with some different people and organisations I knew in the UK to see if there was any real possibility of working with a church there. Within just a few days I started to receive replies from a few people wanting to talk further and discuss some different options. After some good conversations via email and Skype, I decided it was time to make a trip over there, and so from 2 to 9 June, I flew over to visit a couple of churches to seriously explore some of those options.

As you might suspect by this point, the trip was very good. Here are the details, then – I’ve accepted a position as an assistant minister at St John Newland Church (which is the church in the photo above), in the city of Hull (about 150 miles north of London). In addition to traditional ministerial responsibilities such as preaching, I will be responsible for coordinating various community outreach projects. There will be many different ways in which we can serve at St John's because by UK standards, the church is a something of a 'mega-church', with an average attendance of around 250 on Sundays. I know that this will be an excellent fit for me; I got on very well with the ministers there during the week I spent with them. They are solid, godly men, and I resonate deeply with their vision and the mission of St John's. I was also taken by the warmth of the church community and their shared desire to be witnesses of Jesus Christ.

For those of you who know anything about England, Hull does not really top the list of cities to visit in the UK – although I would say that after spending a week there, the stereotypes are exaggerated. But Hull does come very near the top of the list if you are ranking the least-churches cities in the country, claiming one of the lowest percentages of church attendance in Britain. In other words, there is a lot of work to be done there, and a church as solid and faithful as St John's is, I believe, the best thing for the city. We are looking forward to joining the church in serving this city.

Now, it won’t take you long to discover that St John’s is an Anglican congregation. The Church of England is in bad shape on many levels, not least in its departure from historic orthodoxy. However, there are still a few very good churches there contending for traditional, Reformed expressions of orthodoxy, of which St John’s is one. It may surprise you that I am making this move, given my background, but there are a few reasons I have chosen to do so (which I may elaborate on in the future), in addition to the fact that I've been drifting toward the Anglican evangelical tradition over the past few years.

First, if you are Reformed and paedo-baptist, there really is no other option in England. Second, an issue like church polity is a grey area from my perspective – I’ve not been persuaded up to this point that Scripture clearly reveals one form of government over another; it's a secondary or even tertiary issue for me (to borrow from Richard Pratt's 'cone of certainty'). And third, there is a sense in which the Church of England remains the best avenue for reaching the community – having been a part of British culture for so long, many people are still accepting of it and turn to their local parish church for certain things, even if just weddings and funerals. But that is a point of contact, and a great opportunity to reach out to people. In the end, of course, the denomination is not the church, and so despite what may be happening there, St John's has remained faithful and I am looking forward to the privilege of serving with and alongside this church.

Timetables and dates are subject to things outside of our control, such as how quickly visas are processed, but right now it looks like we might be able to be in Hull and begin work there sometime in October. We ask for your prayers in these next few months as we prepare to make this move and make our new home in England. We also ask for your prayers in the coming years as we minister to God's people at St John's and in the city of Hull. Our only desire is that God would use us and the congregation of St John's to faithfully proclaim that Jesus Christ is Lord, and to make known the good news of the Kingdom of God.

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The March edition of Comment magazine—yes, I'm a little late in picking up on this—has three articles dealing with each aspect of the biblical story: creation, fall, and redemption. Understanding the biblical narrative in this way is characteristic of the school of thought known as neocalvinism, which Comment roots itself in. All the pieces in this three-part series are excellent, and all worth your time (as is Comment as a whole—incidentally, Comment publishes five times more material online than in print if you wanted to read it on a regular basis). A taste of each piece follows.

First, Al Wolters writes on a biblical view of creation:

The first thing most people think of in connection with creation is the so-called 'natural world'—that is, the physical and biological world. We think of stars and galaxies as well as molecules and atoms, of trees and flowers as well as birds and beasts. But that is a very limited view of creation. In the biblical view, creation is everything which God has ordained to exist, what he has put in place as part of his creative workmanship. To be sure, this includes the great variety of physical entities and processes, and the enormous diversity of flora and fauna that God has created 'according to their kind,' but it also encompasses much more. Creation includes such human realities as families and other social institutions, the presence of beauty in the world, the ability to appreciate that beauty, the phenomena of tenderness and laughter, the capacity to conceptualize and reason, the experience of joy and the sense of justice. An almost unimaginable variety of objects, institutions, relationships and phenomena are part of the rich texture of God's creation.

Then David Naugle addresses the consequences of the fall:

[The fall] is the second 'act' in the overall narrative of the Scriptures, the next major theme in a biblical view of life and the world. First, there is the good news of creation, but now we have the bad news of the fall. It introduces fundamental conflict into the biblical drama, which must be resolved before God's story ends. It shows, contrary to other worldviews, that evil is not rooted in creation itself, but in the moral rebellion of the human race against the divine authority of the holy God. I sometimes call this episode the 'uncreation' because of the damage it did to God's very good world: how it twisted his intentions for humanity, for our knowing and loving and culture-making, and for all the earth.

And finally Jamie Smith paints a wonderful portrait of God's all-encompassing redemption:

Our good Creator has not left us to our own devices. While we ruptured the plenitude of creative love, our condescending God has also ruptured our brass heaven, along with our desire to enclose ourselves in immanence, appearing in the flesh—our flesh—as the image of the invisible God. Jesus of Nazareth appears as the second Adam who models for us what it looks like to carry out that original mission of image-bearing and cultivation. The Word became flesh, not to save our souls from this fallen world, but in order to restore us as lovers of this world—to (re)enable us to carry out that creative commission. Indeed, God saves us so that—once again, in a kind of divine madness—we can save the world, can (re)make the world aright. And God's redemptive love spills over in its cosmic effects, giving hope to this groaning creation.

So our redemption is not some supplement to being human; it's what makes it possible to be really human, to take up the mission that marks us as God's image bearers. Saint Irenaeus captures this succinctly: 'The glory of God is a human being fully alive.' Redemption doesn't tack on some spiritual appendage, nor does it liberate us from being human in order to achieve some sort of angelhood. Rather, redemption is the restoration of our humanity, and our humanity is bound up with our mission of being God's co-creative culture-makers.

Be sure to read all of the articles in their entirety. It is this three-part framework (alternatively construed as wonder, heartbreak, and hope) that forms the point of view from which Comment looks at the world, a point of view which, my friend and the magazine's editor Gideon Strauss writes, manifestly reveals the love of the triune God. This love "evokes—from our whole person and in unity with the whole people of God—a life of worship, a love of our neighbours, and a respectful caring and disclosure of all of creation. Lives ordered by the love of God are ordered well, and can be lived well."

Abraham Kuyper, in that oft-quoted dictum, rightly declares that all of life is to be lived under the Lordship of Jesus Christ. Our worldview needs this truth as its foundation. We do not begin to live our lives well, to borrow Gideon's words, unless we begin with the recognition of His total claim over all of creation and His holistic work of redemption. Indeed, as Cornelius Van Til once said, "Man cannot be man unless God is God."

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Since I have a few posts in the pipeline about the city, building on yesterday's post, I found this to be quite interesting. Andy Crouch talks about a shift in how we identify ourselves—previous generations would define themselves by their work, but today's generation finds the identity of place much more important. I've observed myself that people will often ask where you are from before they ask what you do, although this may have to do with the fact that I live in a very transient place, one which very few people call 'home' in the sense of being born and raised here.

Watch the clip and let me know what you think.

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While I was away this week, I had some time to start reading Urban Ministry: The Kingdom, the City & the People of God, co-authored by Harvie Conn and Manuel Ortiz. It really is an excellent book, although I've discovered that just reading through it is not sufficient—I am going to have to go back to the beginning armed with my trusty pencil and ruler and take the time to pore over the material and mine the gold from this thick volume.

One of the themes Conn and Ortiz develop in the book is that the city is a fundamentally religious place, a theme I will be looking at in the next few posts as I continue to work through the book. In ancient history, the religious character of the city was much more overt, but the more subliminal religiosity of today's cities does not obscure the fact that it still remains a fundamentally religious place. Conn and Ortiz write that in the city we find

urban mazes searching through the city for meaning and order to existence—quests that never escape their religious origins. With organized systems that structure religion around the supernatural, building temple and mosque. With unorganized common or folk religions that focus hopes for safe air travel in the 'spirit of the air' embodied in a straw idol and then discard it at the Kimpo airport in Seoul as the plane is boarded. With the surrogate religion of the great England bowler Harold Larwood, who claimed, 'Cricket was my reason for living.' With the unorganized invisible religion that finds its answer to the yearning of the heart in sex or ideology, work or family (191).

Of course, this is just a testament to the reality that human beings are themselves, at the core, religious beings. Conn and Ortiz cite John Calvin in the first book of his Institutes of the Christian Religion:

God himself has implanted in all men a certain understanding of his divine majesty. Ever renewing its memory, he repeatedly sheds fresh drops...[All men] continue to retain some seed of religion. So deeply does the common conception occupy the minds of all, so tenaciously does it inhere in the hearts of all! Therefore, since from the beginning of the world there has been no region, no city, in short, no household, that could do without religion, there lies in this a tacit confession of a sense of deity inscribed in the hearts of all (I.iii.1).

With that in view, Conn and Ortiz ask a pressing question: "Who waits in the urban shadows of these dead-end mazeways distorted by sin, these blurred human paths along which we stumble through the city, blindly searching for links to the cosmos and its norm, to the riddle of our existence?" (191). Whoever these people are, let it be the church that shines light into those shadows, being the presence of Jesus and his Kingdom in the city. We are called as the people of God to "seek the peace and prosperity of the city" and to "pray to the Lord for it" (Jeremiah 29:7). The best thing for any city are churches that actively seek to love and serve their cities.

In a place where a plethora of idols compete for its citizens hearts, in a place where meaning and purpose is distored or even lost, in a place where people's identities can be reduced to nothing, let us proclaim the message of the gospel that crushes all idols, provides total meaning and purpose, and gives people their ultimate identity as citizens of the Kindgom and children of the King.

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I'm heading to the airport later this morning to fly out of town for about a week. Some things have popped up on the radar in the last couple of months with respect to what I might do now that I am finished seminary, and I'll be meeting with few different people to discuss those options.

A few days ago I had a couple of posts on the go, but the power went off here at the house and I lost them and just haven't had the time to write them again. When I return I will resume normal posting, and hopefully have an update on our plans.

Prayers for safe travel are appreciated, as well as that the Lord would make his leading clear.

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I remember reading the following, from Eugene Peterson's Working the Angles: The Shape of Pastoral Integrity, somewhere before, a few years ago. When I saw that John Barach had posted it, I copied and pasted it here because it is characteristic of Peterson's incisiveness and wisdom, and his ability to systematically expose the rampant consumerism at work in American evangelicalism. Here he laments the way the pastorate has become just another tool used to satisfy the wants of the consumers in the pew.

For a long time I have been convinced that I could take a person with a high school education, give him or her a six-month trade school training, and provide a pastor who would be satisfactory to any discriminating American congregation. The curriculum would consist of four courses. Course I: Creative Plagiarism. I would put you in touch with a wide range of excellent and inspirational talks, show you how to alter them just enough to obscure their origins, and get you a reputation for wit and wisdom. Course II: Voice Control for Prayer and Counseling. We would develop your own distinct style of Holy Joe intonation, acquiring the skill in resonance and modulation that conveys an unmistakable aura of sanctity. Course III: Efficient Office Management. There is nothing that parishioners admire more in their pastors than the capacity to run a tight ship administratively. If we return all telephone calls within twenty-four hours, answer all letters within a week, distributing enough carbons to key people so that they know we are on top of things, and have just the right amount of clutter on our desks — not too much or we appear inefficient, not too little or we appear underemployed — we quickly get the reputation for efficiency that is far more important than anything that we actually do. Course IV: Image Projection. Here we would master the half-dozen well-known and easily implemented devices that create the impression that we are terrifically busy and widely sought after for counsel by influential people in the community. A one-week refresher course each year would introduce new phrases that would convince our parishioners that we are bold innovators on the cutting edge of the megatrends and at the same time solidly rooted in all the traditional values of our sainted ancestors.

(I have been laughing for several years over this trade school training for pastors with which I plan to make my fortune. Recently, though, the joke has backfired on me. I keep seeing advertisements for institutes and workshops all over the country that invite pastors to sign up for this exact curriculum. The advertised course offerings are not quite as honestly labeled as mine, but the content appears to be identical — a curriculum that trains pastors to satisfy the current consumer tastes in religion. I’m not laughing anymore.) [7-8]

Pastoral ministry is not about giving people what they want. Instead, it is about giving people what they need. While at first we may, with Peterson, laugh a little about this, we too must come to the point where we are not laughing about this anymore. When it is all said and done, this is not just a matter of wants versus needs, or likes versus dislikes. The reality is that this a matter of life and death.

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John P. Burgess, in his book, After Baptism: Shaping the Christian Life, writes the following:

Hunger and thirst...teach us that humans ultimately live in a state of dependence. If we understand them rightly, we have to confess that we receive life as God's gift. Even the energies that we expend in taking care of ourselves and our basic needs are finally sustained by powers and forces beyond ourselves. Every day of our lives, we are dependent on food and drink to keep us alive. We never eat and drink once and for all; we have to eat and drink again and again, and so we continually pray, 'Give us this day, our daily bread.'
 
So too we are dependent on God's grace for our basic identity. We can never simply choose to be whoever we want. Nor will we ever know ourselves well enough to say, 'I finally have it all together. I have no need of God or others.' Dependence on daily bread symbolizes our dependence on God for our life's meaning and purpose. Our baptismal identity, like our physical energies, must be renewed every day. We need daily sustenance in the life to which Christ has called us. For that reason, 'one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God' (Matt. 4:4).
 
This daily sustenance comes to Christians in Word, sacrament, and patterns and rhythyms of life together. God feeds us again and again. God continually renews our capacity to receive Christ's self-giving love and, then, to offer our very selves to God and others. 'Give us this day, our daily bread' is never just a call for physical nourishment, but is also a plea for the bread of heaven that is life in the risen Lord.
 
In the end, Jesus himself must feed us and quench our thirst. He declares, 'I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty' (John 6:35), for 'the water that I will give them will become in them like a spring of living water gushing up to eternal life' (John 4:14). Christians have found this spiritual food and drink whenever they have celebrated the Eucharist. Baptism first marks us in our new identity in Christ, while the Eucharist gives us strength to persist in our baptismal identity, even in the midst of trial and temptation. Baptism sends us into the world, and the Eucharist offers us food and drink for the journey. Baptism tells us who we really are, and the Eucharist deepens and confirms our identity. Font leads to table. The helpless baby we place in God's hands will surely receive the basic nutrition that she needs to live out her baptism (122).

The Eucharist is not just a memorial. Through it Christ sustains us and gives us life. Let us stop starving ourselves of the nourishment he gives.

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