"Worship and Life": Tearing Asunder What God Hath Joined?

It occurred to me recently that as someone who has recently had a new book published, I'm not doing very much by way of promoting it (unless you count blogging about Dark's sacramental worldview and Newman's theory of doctrinal development, which I'm guessing you don't). So in the interest of reaching those of you who have yet to purchase Dual Citizens: Worship and Life Between the Already and the Not Yet, I will begin a brief walk-through of the book in the hopes that your interest will be piqued.

In what was originally Chapter 1 but is now the Introduction, I offer a lengthy defense of the book's subtitle. The reason for this is because distinguishing between "worship" and "life" has fallen way out of vogue these days, with it becoming more and more fashionable for pastors, authors, and theologians to insist that "all of life is worship." But as I seek to demonstrate, if there is no distinction made between worship and life, between cult and culture, between the sacred and the secular, then what inevitably ends up happening is not that the mundane gets elevated, but that the holy gets trivialized.

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What follows is a biblical defense of the doctrine of the two kingdoms, much of which was taken from here, here, here, and here.

The reason I belabor this point about the distinction between the earthly and heavenly kingdoms is not, as is so often assumed by transformationist types, because we two-kingdoms folk are Gnostics who are all about world flight. Quite the contrary, it is the two-kingdoms advocate who is in a position to affirm even more loudly than the transformationist the goodness and legitimacy of creation (as I argue in this piece I recently wrote for the White Horse Inn blog). You see, if we look at culture and think, "So much untransformed creation, so little time," we are not really appreciating art or music for what it is, only for what it can become. And once we apply this standard more broadly to, say, jobs and the people who hold them, we run the risk of dehumanizing people simply because they don't love Jesus like we do.

But when we learn to appreciate earth for its own sake while still refusing to confuse it with heaven, we then can give true expression to our dual citizenship, engaging in secular pursuits without shamefacedness provided our love for this world is not greater than our longing for the next one. As Rich Mullins sang, "Nobody tells you when you get born here how much you'll come to love it, and how you'll never belong here."

I end the Introduction thusly:

Let the reader always remember, however, that being a pilgrim means more than just being homeless. There is a final destination, an eternal city, a true the­ocracy that awaits all who have been baptized into Christ Jesus. In this heavenly abode, there will be no serpents to distrust or Canaanites to dispel, for "No lon­ger will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever" (Rev. 22:3–5).

Do you long for this "building of God, a house not made with hands" (2 Cor. 5:1), compared to which the sufferings of this present time appear as mere trifles unworthy of mention? I hope that you do, for this is what it means to be a pilgrim.

A Tale of Two Covers: A Coincidence, or Divinely Ordained?

Which Came Last, the Chicken or the Egg?

More from Pilgrim Theology....

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A second qualification that must be made before we admit to the charge of escapism concerns whether or not our “being too heavenly-minded makes us no earthly good.” If we spend all our time hoping for harps and halos, it is asked, when will we ever find the time to work toward earthly happiness and humanitarianism?

As Kreeft points out, the charge that heavenly-mindedness diminishes earthly goodness is not necessarily true (though in some cases it might be). Let us answer the question with a question: Who is more likely to quit smoking during pregnancy, the mother who plans for an abortion or the one who plans to give birth? The answer should be obvious. Roads that actually lead somewhere are usually better maintained than dead-end ones, and likewise, when our earthly sojourn is seen as just that—a sojourn on the way to our heavenly home—then it is reasonable to assume that this pilgrimage will be taken with great seriousness and care. If death is not the end of the road, but actually ushers us into the presence of the God who gave us life and demands an account of how we lived it, then is it not to be expected that the pilgrim with an eye on his destination will live more purposefully than will the tourist, the goal of whose trip is to get as much bang for his buck? [1]

In short, we must realize that if we long to live like the divine image-bearers that we are rather than like the animals that the Darwinists want us to be, then the first thing we must do is dwell less upon our past and more upon our future. The chicken is indeed produced by the egg, and, likewise, we are the product of our ancestry in some sense. But all of that pales to the deeper question of what the chicken is for. Sure, the “origin of the species” is important, but not nearly as important as its final destination.

[1] See http://www.peterkreeft.com/topics/heaven.htm

Will the Real Escapist Please Stand Up?

I'm a bit uninspired of late, so until I think up something new to talk about (suggestions welcome), enjoy this excerpt from my book, Pilgrim Theology....

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“Ah,” says the skeptic, “isn’t all this talk of ‘heaven’ and ‘eternity’ just escapism, a desire for ‘pie in the sky when you die’?” It would be quite tempting (and truthful) to answer “yes” to this question. After all, the fact that heaven is ultimate while earth is only penultimate necessarily demands the conclusion that a willingness to settle for the latter is foolish at best, and masochistic at worst. Who wouldn’t hope to graduate from the temporal and attain the eternal, to “escape” the provisional and arrive at the permanent?

Still, the negative connotations inherent in the charge of escapism demand that we only admit to it if we are allowed to make some qualifications. First, heaven is to earth what the outside world is to the womb. If there is such a thing as birth, then it follows that the womb is only temporary. Likewise, if there is such a thing as the new birth, then earth must be temporary as well. Is it “escapist” for a fetus to want to emerge from the womb? As Peter Kreeft says, “‘There is a tunnel under this prison’ may be an escapist idea, but it may also be true.”[1] In other words, whether or not a hope is escapist is incidental to whether that hope is grounded in fact. If it is factual, then its being escapist is beside the point. Consider Kreeft’s parable:

There was a rumor among the caterpillars that they were destined to become butterflies. Some caterpillars believed it; others disbelieved; and still others doubted. Now what would be the reasonable attitude of each of the three groups of caterpillars toward this rumor? Which could reasonably call it escapist? Would not even the uncertain want to explore it further? For if it is true… it is not escapism. The charge of escapism therefore logically boils down to the charge of falsehood; only those who are certain the rumor is false can reasonably call it escapist. Otherworldliness is escapism only if there is no other world. If there is, it is worldliness that is escapism.[2]

We mustn’t miss Kreeft’s point here. The label “escapist” really only applies to the desire for heaven when the one applying it is certain that heaven does not exist. But once we recognize that such certainty is impossible, then the charge becomes mere wishful thinking. And if the unbeliever is merely skeptical about heaven’s existence rather than certain of its non-existence, then is it not he, rather than the believer, who is the real escapist? After all, sometimes heaven is that which we desire to escape from rather than to. Avoiding God is easier than embracing him. Before the prodigal can come home, he first must run away.

[1] Peter Kreeft, Heaven: The Heart’s Greatest Longing (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1989) 164, emphasis added.
[2] Ibid., 168.

Pilgrim Theology's Table of Contents

Pilgrim Theology: Worship and Life Between the Already and the Not Yet

Table of Contents

Introduction: A Tale of Two Kingdoms

1. Worship and Life: Tearing Asunder What God Hath Joined Together?

Part One: Pilgrim Theology and Christian Worship

2. Corporate Worship: The Covenantal Assembly of a Peculiar People

3. Irrelevance of Relevance: Grits, Salt, and the Assembling of the Saints

4. Resident Aliens: The Church as a Counterculture

5. The Power of Weakness: Why Christianity Works Best as an Underdog

6. Sabbath For Sale: Working for the Weekend, Redeeming the Nation, or None of the Above?

7. “Suburbylon”: Why Not Even White Picket Fences Can Keep the World Out

8. Reformed Piety: Closet Quiet Time or a Table in the Wilderness?

Part Two: Pilgrim Theology and Christian Life

9. The Big Picture: War Is Over! (Whether You Want It Or Not)

10. Egypt’s Unworthiness: Joseph, Moses, and the Vanity of Time

11. The Destiny of the Species: Which Came Last: The Chicken or the Egg?

12. Worldliness: Puritans, Pagans, and the Proper Place for Pleasure

13. New Covenant Sanctification: The Cross, the Spirit, and the Glory to Come

14. The Bragging Calvinist: Why the New Covenant Allows Boasting

15. Blessed Assurance: The Witness and the Whisper, the Earnest and the Ache

Pilgrim Theology: Worship and Life Between the Already and the Not Yet

Here is the first draft of the dust jacket of my book, which is due to be published in June by Reformation Trust (the publishing house of Ligonier Ministries).

Yes, you're expected to buy it, and no, you may not have a free copy....

Assurance in the Ache

We have seen that any genuine claim to assurance of salvation, however small in measure, is impossible without the work of the third Person of the Trinity, whose primary role in the economy of redemption is to “take what is [Christ’s] and declare it to [us],” revealing to us treasure that, without his testimony, “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has entered into the heart of man” (Jn. 16:14-15; I Cor. 2:9).

As the concept of marturia suggests when correctly understood, this assurance results from Spirit-wrought fiducia and Spirit-interpreted self-examination. Insistence upon the latter is no symptom of legalism, however, for the fact that the reflex act often results in crisis rather than complacency is itself evidence of our semi-eschatological conundrum wherein we, along with creation, groan for the full enjoyment of a redemption that we already partly possess (Eph. 1:7, 14). In this very Abba-confession the Scylla of the “already” meets the Caribdis of the “not yet,” for it is due to the present awareness of our sonship that we can call God “Father,” but it is because this adoption has yet to be consummated that this bold affirmation comes in the form of a fervent cry (Rom. 8:15).

There is assurance in this ache, however, for it is the expectant ache of a journeying son dispossessed “but for a moment” (II Cor. 4:17), yet at the same time a prince and heir of a kingdom that boasts “greater riches than the treasures of Egypt” (Heb. 11:26). It is because “assurance is glory in the bud, the suburbs of paradise,” therefore, that the yearning pilgrim can groan in “the hope that this dirge will not last long, but will soon drown in a song not sung in vain.”

Contending Earnestly Without Beating the Air

I know the timing of this may seem odd, especially in the light of the recent series on the Federal Vision, but I've been thinking lately about whether Reformed churches should define themselves negatively, and if so, against whom ought we to define ourselves?

To partially answer my own question, I would prefer we not always present ourselves, our theology, and our worship to others as anti-seeker, anti-Catholic, anti-New Perspective, et cetera, et cetera. Surely there is something deep, rich, and beautiful about Reformed theology and practice that should make it compelling to believers and nonbelievers alike, shouldn't there?

And if there is a battle waging and lines being drawn, it is not the same lines that were drawn in the sixteenth-century. Rome is not the enemy anymore, and in fact, I wonder whether we ought to define ourselves against any church or denomination that has a covenantal and confessional identity.

So now what? Are we doomed to weep because we, like Alexander, have no worlds left to conquer? Unfortunately we are still the church militant, and our theologia viatorum (pilgrim theology) precludes our laying down our weapons just yet.

But if we must "contend earnestly for the faith," it seems wise to expend our energy and efforts in the right direction (and a twelve-part sermon series on how Lutherans are closet-Eutycheans because of their doctrine of ubiquity seems somewhat wide of the mark).

I would argue that if we stop to consider where the loudest voice and greatest influence effecting how God is marketed to the world today is found, it would have to be broad evangelicalism. In fact, the more I interact with folks of this persuasion, the more I wonder to myself whether we even have a common religion anymore.

So here's my question(s): Am I reading the writing on the wall correctly? Ought we to define ourselves negatively as "not your neighbor's evangelical church"? Why or why not? How and how not?

Early Christian Exiles

The second-century Epistle to Diognetus furnishes us with one of the earliest examples of how the early Christians thought of themselves and their relationship to the pagan culture around them. In chapter five we read:

"For the Christians dwell in their own countries, but simply as sojourners. As citizens, they share in all things with others, and yet endure all things as if foreigners. Every foreign land is to them as their native country, and every land of their birth as a land of strangers. They are in the flesh, but they do not live after the flesh. They pass their days on earth, but they are citizens of heaven.

"They love all men, and are persecuted by all. They are unknown and condemned; they are put to death, and restored to life. They are poor, yet make many rich; they are in lack of all things, and yet abound in all; they are dishonoured, and yet in their very dishonour are glorified. They are evil spoken of, and yet are justified; they are reviled, and bless; they are insulted, and repay the insult with honour; they do good, yet are punished as evil-doers. When punished, they rejoice as if quickened into life; they are assailed by the Jews as foreign-ers, and are persecuted by the Greeks; yet those who hate them are unable to assign any reason for their hatred."

This glimpse into the pre-Constantinian church is a challenge to the triumphalistic attitudes of many today who are fond of (mis)quoting II Chronicles 7:14 to remind God of his "covenant promises" to prosper America.

If the Church were to slip even more deeply into cultural obscurity, if the people of God were made to pay a price for our faith, if believers were forced to relinquish our utopian visions of a this-worldly country "reclaimed for Christ" -- in a word, if we set our eyes upon the eternal City whose Builder and Maker is God, only then will we begin to understand the pilgrim existence that our brothers and sisters of old endured.

Exile, Cont'd

We have seen that the rules that govern God's people's relationship to culture are contingent upon their possession of the land. When the covenant community is sojourning in the land as strangers (Heb. 11:8-16), this relationship can be described as "pilgrim politics." The example of Abraham demonstrates, as we have seen, that the patriarchs were cultically and religiously distinct, but culturally homogenous.

But when Israel ceased to wander and settled in the land, the rules changed. Now they became a theocratic army whose mandate was not to dwell peacefully alongside the Canaanites, but to utterly destroy them.

(Interestingly, the strictness and rigidity shown in Israel’s universal withdrawal from pagan culture only applied to those living within the bounds of the land of Canaan. Outside Israel’s borders things remained as they had always been under the Abrahamic arrangement. This is demonstrated by the fact that Solomon engaged in friendly dealings with delegates from Tyre (I Kings 5:1ff) and with the queen of Sheba (I Kings 10:1ff), without any hint that he was compromising or doing anything wrong.)

But what about the Babylonian captivity? What happened then?

Well, if the land plays such a significant role in determining God's people's relationship to the surrounding culture (as I have argued), then the situation during the exile is exactly what we would expect it to be:

"Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: 'Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.'" Jeremiah 29:4-7

God’s covenant people, once again, were exiles without a homeland. As resident aliens in a pagan land they were culturally similar to the inhabitants of the land while remaining religiously separate from them. When outside the borders of the theocratic domain, Israel returned to the pilgrim ethic that characterized the patriarchs before the institution of the Mosaic covenant. They engaged in such common cultural activities as building houses, planting gardens, taking wives, and producing offspring, all the while praying for the welfare of Babylon. In exile, Israel’s distinctiveness and particularity was once again solely cultic (which explains why Daniel was willingly instructed in the pagan arts and literature of Babylon and even agreed to advise his ungodly rulers, while at the same time refusing to defile himself by eating Nebuchadnezzar’s delicacies or worshiping Darius, Dan. 1:1-8; 2:16; 5:17; 6:13). As during the period between the Abrahamic and Mosaic covenants, Israel was religiously distinct but culturally homogenous.

But as Ezra 9:1-3, 10-12 shows us, when Israel returned to their land after their exile was ended the rules reverted back again to those of the theocracy: No more cultural assimilation. All of life -- the cultic and the cultural, the sacred and the secular -- was again to be considered holy.

In our next post we'll take a look at the cultural role of believers under the New Covenant. Hang on to your hats, because here's where things get really interesting....

A Biblical Defense of the Two Kingdoms: Part Two - Exile

We have seen that, throughout redemptive history, God's people find themselves in one of two situations: theocracy or exile.

A "theocracy" exists when God's dominion is coupled with a domain, his rule with a realm. In other words, for a theocracy to exist, God's people must have a land to call their own (such as the land of Canaan). In a theocracy, there are not two distinct kingdoms, but one. All of life is holy.

But what about the other condition, exile?

Exile is radically different from theocracy. When the people of God are without a homeland, they find themselves co-existing in two kingdoms, with a divine distinction being made between cult and culture, the holy and the common, and the sacred and the secular.

To demonstrate this, let's consider Abraham.

In the Abrahamic covenant, the patriarch was chosen from among the sinful members of the human race and made the father of a distinct people (Gen. 17:1-14). But it is the nature of Abraham’s distinctiveness that is important for our discussion. Abraham’s distinctiveness, as I will demonstrate, was not cultural but cultic. In other words, the covenant that God made with him contained no instructions governing his activity in the common grace realm, but he was to continue to participate in culture as he had done before—he conducted business transactions (Gen. 23:16), settled land and property disputes (Gen. 21:22ff; 26:26ff), engaged in warfare (Gen. 14:14), and showed appropriate deference to earthly kings (Gen. 20:17).

Exactly unlike Israel in Canaan, the patriarchs (Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob) and their descendents were called to coexist peacefully in the land that God had promised them, waiting in hope and journeying in faith until Yahweh would drive out the Canaanites forever (Heb. 11:8-22).

The situation of the patriarchs before the giving of the law, therefore, can be characterized as pilgrim politics which highlighted their status, not as a triumphant theocratic army, but as “resident aliens” and “tolerated sojourners” whose inheritance was not yet a reality.

Moreover, it was specifically in the cultic and religious sphere that Abraham’s particularity was displayed. This is seen most strikingly in the fact that the sacrament of the Abrahamic covenant—circumcision—was a bloody rite foreshadowing the sacrificial redemptive work of his true Seed (Gen. 17:9-14; Rom. 2:28-29; Col. 2:11). As OT scholar Meredith Kline has written, “Tolerated pilgrims, not triumphant possessors—such is the life of the nontheocratic community of faith, waiting while the kingdom is withheld.”

The patriarchal community, therefore, was culturally common but religiously distinct.

And such is the case with us today. As we await the true, heavenly theocracy our calling is to lead peaceful, quiet, and Christlike lives (I Tim. 2:2). We dare not take up the sword in the name of Christ, we do not wage our warfare in the voting booth, and we must not attempt to usher in the eschatological kingdom by cultural, secular, common grace means (II Cor. 10:4).

More to come....