Look! There in the Wilderness: It's a Pilgrim, It's an Exile, It's... Patiently Enduring Man!

When I initially saw the trailer for the film Iron Man, I think I actually laughed out loud (and not the good kind of laughter, mind you). But to my surprise, it has received a 93% on the Tomato Meter, which culls together of all the reviews a film receives nationwide. Plus, I was told today that Robert Downey Jr.'s character doesn't actually have superpowers, he's just rich and can afford to invent the cool gadgets that make him a superhero (you know, like Bruce Wayne). So maybe I'll swallow my pride and see Iron Man after all.

Still, I think the whole "superhero" phenonmenon betrays a not-so-subtle theology of glory that is very American, not to mention evangelical/postmillennial. By contrast, Reformed confessionalists ought to feel a certain discomfort when such "super," "amazing," and "fantastic" expectations are imported into the Christian life.

Now if Reformed amillennialists could sponsor their own superhero, it would be a huge box office flop. Picture, if you will, (drumroll please)... "Patiently Enduring Man." In addition to the "P.E." embroidered on his otherwise unremarkable chest, he would known for his ability to stand in long lines without getting too annoyed, sit in the waiting room at the dentist's office and calmly read two-year-old issues of People magazine while waiting for his name to be called, and basically be content to plod his way through largely ordinary and humdrum life.

And while Batman is portrayed on the big screen by Christian Bale, and Spiderman by Toby McGuire, Patiently Enduring Man would be played by Michael Gross, the guy who starred as Mr. Keaton on Family Ties.

You see, as woefully unsexy and unappealing as the virtue of patient endurance may be in the world's eyes, it is what the believer in this age is called to exhibit. And if such a calling just isn't "authentic," "urban," or "contextual" enough, it's best you bow out of the game now, rather than run the risk of facing the same fate as that archetypal Patient One, whose gig was such a box office flop that they crucified him for it.

Whose Kingdom? Whose Glory?

John McWhorter, in his book Doing Our Own Thing: The Degradation of Language and Music, and Why We Should, Like, Care, argues that the day of oratory and rhetorical skill is all but over. Jesus’ disciples would probably have agreed after hearing his less-than-rousing speech following his "triumphant" entry into Jerusalem (on a donkey).

After years of insisting that "My hour has not yet come," our Lord finally declared, "The hour has come for the Son of man to be glorified" (John 12:23). At long last, the majesty would be restored to languishing Israel, and her preeminence among the nations would once again be apparent. The crowd was primed for revolt, and a mere call to arms from their Messiah surely would have resulted in a great military exploit to overthrow Rome and put their King in his rightful place.

What they got, however, was a cryptic illustration about a seed needing to die in order to grow, and then a bunch of morbid stuff about losing their lives and carrying crosses (vv. 24-26). "What could this possibly have to do with the kingdom?" the scribes, Pharisees, and proto-Dispensationalists must have been asking.

And we’re still asking. The American church wants glory, relevance, and her "best life now." The cross may have been fine for Jesus to die on, but not us (we have our inalienable rights, you know).

So here's my question: Is it a "theology of glory" to expect the American church to surrender its "theology of glory"?

Here a Sacerdotalist, There a Sacerdotalist... Everywhere a Sacerdotalist

We have seen that evangelical and Reformed believers offer very different answers to the question "How does one 'get religion'?" The next question we will ask to determine the nature of the relationship between these two branches of Protestantism is, "What does the Christian faith look like once it is acquired?"

Again, not surprisingly, the answers differ. While the evangelical may dismiss "sacramental faith" (whether in its Reformed, Lutheran, Anglican, or Roman Catholic versions) as too institutional, "churchy," or sacerdotal, the fact is that his faith relies on sacraments a-plenty, just not necessarily the ones Jesus came up with.

For example, practices such as daily quiet times, altar calls, listening to Contemporary Christian Music, and attending "afterglows" are all considered important - yea vital - to growing in the Lord. In fact, even pastors themselves have become sacraments in some megachurch contexts. After all, the authority of the pastor's message often rests upon his witty personality, godly life, and dynamic speaking style (you know, the things that Paul deliberately did not employ, much to the disappointment of his Corinthian audience).

In stark contrast to this stands the faith as understood by confessional Reformed theology. To those of this persuasion, the Christian life follows a regular, Sabbatical pattern that centers upon the corporate worship of God by his gathered people on the first day of the week. Like their evangelical brothers and sisters they too place great emphasis upon sacraments, but only upon those instituted by the Lord himself. Baptism, then, initiates us into the household of faith, and that faith is nurtured and strengthened by means of the bread and cup of Communion.

I would even venture to suggest that the nature of confessional Reformed Christian living, particularly its dependance upon the ordinary ministry of the local church, when contrasted with the high-octane, subjective quest for spiritual experience so characteristic of evangelical pietism, is such that the former respresents what Luther called a "theology of the cross," while the latter betrays a "theology of glory."

Are dangers reserved solely for one or the other? Are these systems necessarily opposed? If so, does this mean that Reformed believers have no place for subjective piety?