Rob Moll wrote an article for Christianity Today last year called "Scrooge Lives!", a rightly judgmental and provocative piece demonstrating that Christians don't just hold on tight to their purse strings—they lock them away in impenetrable safes. Because of this, the Church's mission is seriously hindered.

That American Christians don't give is nothing new, but some of the statistics he presented were staggering and downright depressing. Be sure to read the article for yourself. Below, I've posted some of the most mind-blowing figures.

• American Christians—[defined as] those who say their faith is very important to them and those who attend church at least twice a month—earn more than $2.5 trillion dollars every year.
• If these Christians gave away 10 percent of their after-tax earnings, they would add another $46 billion to ministry around the world.
• American Christians could realistically increase their giving by $85.5 billion each year.
• The median annual giving for an American Christian is actually $200, just over half a percent of after-tax income.
• In absolute terms, the poorest Christians give away more dollars than all but the wealthiest Christians.
• $10 billion would sponsor 20 million children for a year, and just $330 million would sponsor 150,000 indigenous missionaries in countries closed to religious workers.
• $2.2 billion would triple the current funding of Bible translation, printing, and distribution. $600 million would be enough to start eight Christian colleges in Eastern Europe and Southeast Asia.

So, dear Christian who just spent $80,000 on a new Cadillac Escalade (justifying your purchase by sticking a Jesus fish to the back door so that you can "witness" as you drive around), did you know that that same $80,000 would put 36 indigenous missionaries in countries closed to religious workers? Should we even mention what could have been done with the money spent on that 5,000 sq. ft. house in the suburbs? Of course, Paul said not to muzzle our individual rights (1 Cor. 9:3-12)...didn't he? And that it doesn't matter what we give so long as our conscience is satisfied (2 Cor. 9:6-15)? What about James, who said we should look after ourselves (James 1:27)? Or Jesus, who said we can carry on as before and follow him (Matt. 16:24-28)?

The Reformer, Martin Luther, said, "There are three conversions necessary—the conversion of the heart, of the mind, and of the purse." It seems that last one might just be the hardest.

Let's take a cue from Tim Keller and be honest here. We're talking about nothing less than idolatry.

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If you know me personally, you might have sensed the urgency in the last post. For those of you who don't, and who did not pick up on it previously, I should note that I wrestle with how to think through and work toward the unity of the Church so much that I almost feel the effects of the struggle physically. It wears me out mentally, and I feel the tension in the pit of my stomach.

But then again, the pain I feel on account of the brokenness of the Church far outweighs the tension I feel, making it seem relatively tame and bearable.

And so I'll continue to struggle with it.

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It is not uncommon in the circles I travel in to see very rigid boundaries marked out as to what constitutes orthodoxy, those outside of the walls being excluded from fellowship with those inside. This sort of exclusivity that forces everyone else to think within your predetermined categories is not only absurd, it is sinful. Bavinck, from the fourth volume of his Reformed Dogmatics:

It [cannot] be denied that the endless divisions of the confessors of Christ offer the world an occasion for pleasure and scorn and give it reason for its nonbelief in the One sent by the Father, inasmuch as it does not see the unity of believers (John 17:21). As Christians we cannot humble ourselves deeply enough over the schisms and discord that have existed all through the centuries in the church of Christ. It is a sin against God, in conflict with Christ's [high-priestly] prayer [for unity], and caused by the darkness of our minds and the lovelessness of our hearts.

Given this, he writes, it is understandable that many Christians would make fervent attempts to unite the Church. However, this is then usually accomplished through violent means, or by some sort of syncretism and fusion. Ultimately, the power to bring the Church together as one does not reside with us.

The failure of all those attempts has something to teach us. History, like nature, is a work of God; it does not take shape apart from his providence. Christ, by his resurrection and ascension, became king at the right hand of God and will remain king until he has put all his enemies under his feet [1 Cor. 15:25]. He reigns also over the divisions and schisms of his church on earth. And his prayer for unity was not born of unfamiliarity with its history nor from his inability to govern it. In and through the discord and dissension, that prayer is daily heard and is led to its complete fulfillment. The profound spiritual sense in which the unity of his disciples was understood by Jesus necessarily excludes all violent and artificial attempts to introduce it. Christ, who prayed for it, is also the One—and he alone—who can bring it about. His prayer is the guarantee that it already exists in him and that in due time, accomplished by him, it will also be manifest in believers.

But while we know this to be true, it certainly does not give us an excuse to neglect seeking unity now. Our task is not to erect barriers, but to tear them down. Faithfulness to Christ requires it.

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As many children innocently prepare their costumes and empty bags or pillowcases for an enjoyable evening of collecting candy, Protestants will be battling the forces of Satan on two fronts tonight: boycotting Halloween, and gathering together for a few rousing rounds of Rome-bashing.*

Now, I don't enjoy Halloween (specifically what American culture has made of it) and have no problem with those who wish to abstain from participating in it; there are many good reasons not to. However, I am sure there are many doing so tonight who have no idea what they are actually boycotting.

More importantly, I am very thankful the Reformation happened—I am glad that the doctrines of grace were recovered, I am glad that the abuse of power by Church leaders was curtailed, and I am glad that I did not have to pay for St. Peter’s to be built pay for my relatives to be sprung from purgatory. In the Reformation, there is indeed something to be thankful for. However, I think Rae Whitlock has it right—would we even celebrate Reformation Day if it didn't conveniently fall on the same night as Halloween?

For me, the question is why we need a special night to celebrate the Reformation. It seems to be the equivalent of using Valentine's Day to tell your wife that you love her. As your love for her should be manifest each day, shouldn't our rejoicing in God's grace be something we do each day? This grace should pour forth from the preaching of the Word and we should taste it in partaking of the Lord's Table each Sunday. Do we really need a specific day to commemorate this?

No. And that is why the celebration of Reformation Day is not a day to celebrate some theological truths. It is, in effect, a day to celebrate the disunity of the Church. That, to me, is certainly not worth celebrating.

For some reason, Protestants seem to forget that while Martin Luther ultimately made the move and broke from the Roman Catholic Church, he did not do so immediately. He spent years in agony deciding whether or not to leave the Church he knew as mother and to go against Christ's call for unity in the body of believers (John 17:20-26, 1 Corinthians 1:10). Some of the earlier Reformers who went before Luther also tried earnestly to reform the Church from within. Separating from the Church was never the intention of these men, yet their valiant efforts to remain united seem to go unheralded.

Am I advocating a return to Rome? No. Do I think the Church will ever be one this side of our Lord's return? Of course not. But when you have to start constructing graphs that look like this (and this is just the American Presbyterians!) something is terribly wrong. And it is nothing to celebrate.

* I would be remiss not to mention the few gathering together to burn non-KJV Bibles tonight.

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Filed under  //   Church   ecumenism   Martin Luther   Protestantism   Reformation   Roman Catholic Church  

Our church met for a service on Maundy Thursday last week. It was essentially a Good Friday service, given the absence of the observance of Good Friday itself in the United States. In addition to the usual elements of worship, they incorporated a variation of the “Stations of the Cross” at the end of the service. It is on that part of worship that I had a few thoughts in reflection.

The Stations of the Cross was something new to me. I’d only heard of it before, but had never experienced or taken part in it. I knew that it had its origins in the Roman Catholic tradition and had been appropriated to a degree by more liturgical bodies like the Anglican and Lutheran traditions as well. When I arrived at the church and looked at the setup they had in the sanctuary, I could immediately tell, without prior knowledge of the practice, that this was a thoroughly de-Catholicized version of the Stations of the Cross. Beyond the name, it would likely not have been recognizable to a Roman Catholic. It tended toward the individualizing view of salvation characteristic of evangelicalism and placed more emphasis on the benefits procured by us in Christ's death, than on Christ and His passion itself.

I am not altogether opposed to the church doing that sort of thing, as I believe there is room for some diversity in how we express our worship to God. However, I do wonder why we appropriate a mish-mash of liturgical practices without appropriating the tradition those practices properly belong to. Evangelicalism’s non-committal nature has tended towards this sort of thing. Churches pick and choose the elements they like from various traditions, but do so without aligning themselves with that tradition. A prime example of this was the Emergent movement, which wanted to recover some of the flavor of the ancient Church, but in some cases rejected or shied away from the orthodox theology that belonged to the ancient tradition.

Perhaps this is even more of a problem in a Presbyterian church, such as I belong to. This church already belongs to a specific, historical tradition. Are we questioning the value of our Presbyterianism by adopting these different practices, and in doing so implying that our tradition is not quite good enough and needs to be supplemented with these other elements? R. Scott Clark, in his recent book, Recovering the Reformed Confession, argues that the Reformed tradition not only has its own doctrine and piety, but a specific practice as well. There are points at which I disagree with him on the details, but his overall point stands. Being a part of such a tradition, can we properly adopt a variety of practices from differing traditions without compromising our own? My gut reaction is to say we can’t.

Additionally, it seems to me that we adopt a posture of arrogance when we do this. In the case of the Stations of the Cross, we have taken a Roman Catholic tradition, removed many of the Roman Catholic distinctives, and infused it with characteristics that would cater more to our evangelical sensibilities while attempting to retain the mystic nature of the practice. In effect, we are saying that we can appreciate a centuries-old Roman Catholic tradition so long as we alter it to fit into our own mold. Granted, there are not many Roman Catholic practices that would fit in a Presbyterian church given the discrepancy in the theology and practice of these two traditions. But does that make our adoption and remodeling of it right? Again, my gut reaction is to say it isn’t.

These are just musings. My biggest concern is with the way we are so quick to jump at the chance to use certain elements of worship without fully understanding them or where they come from. In effect, we treat them as a sort of novelty. Whether our appropriation of these various elements without their accompanying traditions is done of out an innocent sort of ignorance, or worse, a brazen rejection of the original intention of the practice, on either level we demonstrate a great deal of disrespect to that tradition.

Perhaps more significant, though, is that we then devalue our own tradition. In modern evangelical churches, especially those linked to a specific denomination and tradition, I think it is fair to say that most of the members of such churches do not have a healthy awareness and appreciation of their tradition. In this case, I would tend to think that appropriating different aspects of other traditions has the potential to be injurious to cultivating a posture of respect for one's own historical tradition.

All that being said, I'm not really sure what to think about it. I would appreciate any thoughts you might have on this.

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