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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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 love John Calvin.

What we have so far said of the Sacrament abundantly shows that it was not ordained to be received only once a year—and that, too, perfunctorily, as now is the usual custom. Rather it was ordained to be frequently used among all Christians in order that they might frequently return in memory to Christ's Passion, by such remembrance to sustain and strengthen their faith, and urge themselves to sing thanksgiving to God and to proclaim his goodness; finally, by it to nourish mutual love, and among themselves give witness to this love, and discern its bond in the unity of Christ's body...

Luke relates in The Acts that this was the practice of the apostolic church, when he says that believers '...continued in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in prayers' [Acts 2:42]. Thus it became the unvarying rule that no meeting of the church should take place without the Word, prayers, partaking of the Supper, and almsgiving. That this was the established order among the Corinthians also, we can safely infer from Paul [cf. 1 Cor. 11:20]. And it remained in use for many centuries after...

Plainly this custom which enjoins us to take communion once a year is a veritable invention of the devil, whoever was instrumental in introducing it...The Lord's Table should [be] spread at least once a week for the assembly of Christians, and the promises declared in it should feed us spiritually. None is indeed to be forcibly compelled, but all are to be urged and aroused; also the inertia of indolent people is to be rebuked. All, like hungry men, should flock to such a bounteous repast. Not unjustly, then, did I complain at the outset that this custom was thrust in by the devil's artifice, which, in prescribing one day a year, renders men slothful all the rest of the year.

– Institutes of the Christian Religion, IV.xvii, 44-46.

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I am in the middle of writing a paper on the relationship of the church and salvation, and it includes this, from John Calvin's seminal work, the Institutes of the Christian Religion:

Let us even learn from the simple title ‘mother’ how useful, indeed how necessary, it is that we should know her. For there is no other way to enter into life unless this mother conceive us in her womb, give us birth, nourish us at her breast, and lastly, unless she keep us under her care and guidance until, putting off mortal flesh, we become like the angels (Matt. 22:30). Our weakness does not allow us to be dismissed from her school until have been pupils all our lives. Furthermore, away from her bosom one cannot hope for any forgiveness of sins or any salvation, as Isaiah (Isa. 37:32) and Joel (Joel 2:32) testify. Ezekiel agrees with them when he declares that those whom God rejects from heavenly life will not be enrolled among God's people (Ezek. 13:9). On the other hand, those who turn to the cultivation of true godliness are said to inscribe their names among the citizens of Jerusalem (cf. Isa. 56:5; Ps. 87:6). For this reason, it is said in another Psalm: "Remember me, O Jehovah, with favor toward thy people; visit me with salvation: that I may see the well-doing of thy chosen ones, that I may rejoice in the joy of thy nation, that I may be glad with thine inheritance" (Ps. 106:4-5; cf. Ps. 105:4). By these words God’s fatherly favor and especial witness of spiritual life are limited to his flock, so that it is always disastrous to leave the church (IV.1.iv).

Cyprian said it best: Extra Ecclesiam nulla salus—Outside of the church there is no salvation.

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When talking about the assurance of salvation, we often look to Scripture for the promises of God's faithfulness, such as we find in Romans 10:9, or we point to the work of the Holy Spirit in assuring us of our faith (see Heidelberg Catechism Q&A 21). Yet, especially in Reformed circles, we seldom mention the assurance that comes to us in the Lord's Supper. Consider what Herman Bavinck has to say in the fourth volume of his Reformed Dogmatics on the profound nature of the Supper:

Of primary importance in the Lord's Supper is what God does, not what we do. The Lord's Supper is above all a gift of God, a benefit of Christ, a means of communicating his grace. If the Lord's Supper were only a memorial meal and an act of confession, it would cease to be a sacrament in the true sense. In that case, like prayer, it could only be obliquely and indirectly called a means of grace. The Lord's Supper, however, is on the same level as the Word and baptism and therefore must, like them, be regarded first of all as a message and assurance to us of divine grace.

...[Christ] makes of [the] elements a meal in which the disciples consume his body and blood and thus enter into the most intimate communion with him. This communion does not merely consist in their sitting at one table, but they eat one and the same bread and drink one and the same wine. Indeed, the host here, in granting the signs of bread and wine, offers his own body and blood as nourishment and refreshment for their souls. That is a communion that far surpasses the communion inherent in a memorial meal and an act of confession. It is not merely a reminiscence of or a reflection on Christ's benefits but a most intimate bonding with Christ himself, just as food and drink are united with the body.

...Calvin, accordingly, correctly remarked against Zwingli that the meaning of eating Christ's body and drinking his blood is not exhausted by believing. Believing is a means, a means that is even temporary and destined to become seeing, but the communion with Christ engendered by it goes much deeper and endures forever. It is a mystical union that can only be made somewhat clear to us by the images of the vine and the branch, the head and the body, a bridegroom and his bride, the cornerstone and the building that rests on it. It is this mystical union that is signified and sealed in the Lord's Supper.

Often there seems to be a hesitancy in Reformed circles to say too much about the Lord's Supper for fear of sounding like some of the Lutherans or the Roman Catholics. Yet perhaps the opposite then becomes a problem as well, and they end up saying too little about it. It is not uncommon to hear the charge that the Reformed understand of the Lord's Supper is much more Zwinglian than Calvinist, and while the accusation might not be entirely fair, you can see the warrant for it. When a church holds the Lord's Supper only four or five times a year and goes to great lengths to emphasize the symbolic and memorial nature of it, it severely diminishes the significance of it.

But the invitation to the table is an invitation to enter into intimate communion with Christ. It is an invitation to "taste and see that the Lord is good" (Ps. 34:8). It is an invitation to be united with Christ when physically partaking of the elements. It is an invitation to have a foretaste of the coming marriage supper of the Lamb (Rev. 19:6-10). It is an invitation to receive—not just to remember—His grace.

If you do not believe that the Supper actually does something in the first place, there is no impetus to frequently come to the table. But when you truly understand the Supper as a means of grace, how could you not run to the table at Christ's invitation to receive that grace as often as you can?

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