Good Mourning

As with the first beatitude, the second focuses more on the outward circumstances, rather than the inner disposition, of its subjects. Just as “blessed are the poor in spirit” describes a willingness to suffer material loss for the sake of the kingdom rather than a sense of inner, spiritual bankruptcy, so “blessed are those who mourn” has more to do with lamenting the seeming suspension of God’s justice in this world than it does with feeling sad in our hearts.

Comparing Matt. 6:4 with the corresponding beatitude in Luke’s gospel is helpful here. He doesn’t say “blessed are you who weep in your hearts,” but “blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh” (6:21). The contrast, then, is not between the inward and the outward, but between the present and the future.

I mean, anyone can mourn—it’s as easy as reading the morning paper, getting irritated, and resolving to do something about the direction this world is heading. The hard part of the beatitude is the second half (the part that postpones our comfort to a future time). In a word, what we do with our mourning reveals where our heart’s treasure lies. And if this is true, we may justly shudder as we consider the this-worldly nature of the hope that characterizes much the evangelical and Reformed church.

What makes this beatitude especially astonishing is how different its ethos is from that which was espoused in the Old Covenant law. Even a cursory reading of the second half of Deuteronomy 28 will amply demonstrate that, according to Moses, “Cursed are those who mourn.” Israel, as an earthly type of heavenly glory, was expected to exhibit military might and material abundance as tokens of God's favor, and any failure to prosper was indicative of Yahweh’s displeasure. Jesus, it seems, overturns that principle altogether, and Paul, echoing him, actually appeals to his own experience of what used to be considered covenant curses in order to validate his own apostleship.

From a human perspective, it’s no wonder these men were killed.

A New Topic for Fridays

Now that we have dedicated the last several Fridays to discussing (read: arguing about) the best music, films, and television of the past three decades, I would like to focus our attention for the next few Fridays on arguably the best rock band of the last thirty years: U2.

In my view, a question like "Which U2 album is the best?" is virtually unanswerable—not because they’re all great, but because there are, by my count, four distinct U2s.

Let me explain….

The albums released in 1980, 1981, and 1983 (Boy, October, and War) are so different from what they put out during the rest of the decade that they belong in their own category. The same goes for ’84, ’87, and ’88: The Unforgettable Fire, The Joshua Tree, and Rattle and Hum form a threesome (I almost said “trinity”) that stands on its own. And the other two U2s, of course, are Nineties U2 (1991’s Achtung Baby, 1993’s Zooropa, and 1997’s Pop) and New Millennium U2 (2000’s All That You Can’t Leave Behind and 2004’s How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb).

Early ‘80s U2 was awesome. Growing up in Orange County I used to listen to KROQ 106.7 as a kid, and to this day I remember where I was when they played "New Year’s Day" in 1983. As a lad of ten I recognized how good these guys were. I went to Licorice Pizza (!) and bought War (the best of the first threesome), and the rest, as the fella said, is history.

My favorite song on War is, brace yourself, "Like a Song" ("Angry words won’t stop the fight; two wrongs won’t make it right; a new heart is what I need; O God, make it bleed"). "Drowning Man" and "New Year’s Day" are runners up.

And I don’t care what anyone says, I like the October album, which was their sophomore effort (you know, the one about God?). I have a killer, and very rare, live version of "With a Shout" ("I want to go to the foot of Mount Zion, to the foot of he who made me see"). Best song on their debut album Boy? Either "Another Time Another Place" or "Shadows and Tall Trees" ("Do you feel in me anything redeeming? Any worthwhile feeling? Is this life like a tightrope hanging from my ceiling?")

And yes, I own the original British LP of Boy with the shirtless kid, Peter Rowan, on the cover. Jealous?

A Confession

I got to, umm, come clean about something. Whew, this is awkward.... OK, here goes: In the interest of full disclosure, I have to admit that I've been two-timing you all by agreeing to contribute to another blog. But I promise, it's just blogging, it means nothing to me. You, the faithful reader of De Regnis Duobus, you're the one I really care about. When I'm with them, I'm thinking about you the whole time, I swear.

So... we cool?

The Curse of the Dollar-Shaped Plank

Sometimes I wonder if the reason we interpret "Blessed are the poor in spirit" to mean "Blessed are the people who feel poor on the inside" is because American culture is so oblivious to the sway that money holds over it that we feel we have no other choice but to read this beatitude in such a way that it makes no demands upon our lives. I mean, it's either that or we have to sell one of our Hummers (and that ain't gonna happen).

All cultures have their blind spots, including us. I mean, we have no problem recognizing the faults in other cultures, or in American culture of times past, but diagnosing similar traits in our own is another story. For example, we look at the fact that Muslim females wear those black robes with their faces veiled and lament the way Islam treats its women, while at the same time rarely seeing the demand for Botox, Calogen, and surgical augmentation as glaring testimonies against how we Westerners view our own.

We can wonder with great sanctimony how antebellum Southerners could claim to be disciples of Jesus while simultaneously being owners of slaves, but when a Fortune 500 CEO moves his company's manufacturing to a sweatshop in Malaysia so he can pay the workers $.09 an hour without having to worry about those pesky labor laws to protect them from oppression, we don't call that "slave-owning," we call it "smart business."

We watch those WWII documentaries and wonder how the German population could just sit back passively as Jews were being slaughtered, while feeling no more guilt than the Germans over the 1,000,000 innocent men, women, and children we have killed while liberating Iraq.

My point is simply that if we desire to interpret the Gospels correctly, we need begin by recognizing the dollar-shaped plank that we have firmly lodged in our collective eye.

Blessed Poverty

I just began a series of Sunday morning sermons on the Beatitudes and, after studying and reading in preparation over the past week, I've come to the conclusion that, to quote The Princess Bride, they don't mean what we think they mean.

On the first, "Blessed are the poor in spirit," we almost invariably hear that Jesus is describing the internal state of spiritual bankruptcy that results from our realizing our own sinfulness in the presence of a holy God.

Herman Ridderbos argues, however, that the blessed person described as "poor in spirit" is the one who willingly foregoes earth for heaven. In other words, when we submit to actual poverty (or some other this-worldly affliction) for the sake of Christ and his kingdom, we will be recompensed in eternity with the kind of treasure that cannot pass away.

Consider the fact that in Luke's version of the beatitudes it is the person who weeps now who is contrasted with those who will weep then, and the person who is hungry now with the one who will be lacking then. When Abraham denies the rich man his request for relief from torment in Luke 16, his rationale is that on earth he enjoyed good things while Lazarus the beggar experienced only bad things, and now it's time for the turning of the tables. After the rich young ruler left Jesus sorrowfully because of his many possessions, Jesus told the disciples that if they leave behind houses, lands, or family for his sake they will receive a hundredfold in the new world and will inherit eternal life. And the occasion for James's rebuke of the rich was that they "have lived on the earth in luxury and self-indulgence" and have thereby stored up a treasure-house of curse and condemnation for the last day.

Returning to the beatitudes, then, it is perfectly consistent with the rest of the New Testament to understand "blessed are the poor in spirit" to be describing the person who lays up his treasure in heaven to such a degree that he actually enjoys less of it here.

Off to Presbytery....

I will be in Eugene, OR, for presbytery until Saturday evening. Prayers, as always, are appreciated.

JJS

Ten Great Films of the New Millennium

Yes, I realize that I am bumping up my Friday Feature to Wednesday, but I will be in Oregon for presbytery from Thursday until Saturday, and I know what pop culture buffs you all are. So without further ado, here are my ten favorite films of the new millennium:

The Lord of the Rings Trilogy: Unlike many, I am willing to forgive Peter Jackson for his modifications to Tolkien’s story (with the possible exception of Legolas’s varial-kickflip-ollie-to-frontside-smith-grind on an Orc shield down the steps of Helm’s Deep in film two). The stand-out actors, in my opinion, are Sean Bean as Boromir, Bernard Hill as Theoden, and of course, Elijah Wood as Frodo. I’m not sure if I like Fellowship of the Ring or Return of the King better, but I am leaning toward the former.

Memento: This is obviously the work of Christopher Nolan since, like all his films, its protagonist suffers from short-term memory loss, with the color footage taking place in reverse sequence and the black-and-white footage occurring in proper chronological order. I love judging films by their directors.

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford: This film was simply amazing. Casey Affleck should have received, at the very least, a Best Supporting Actor nomination.

Garden State: Natalie Portman has been a favorite actor of mine since I saw her in Leon (called The Professional in the U.S.). Zach Braff, who wrote and directed it, basically rises from the dead as the film progresses, going from a medicated zombie to a young man who confronts his past and falls in love. Plus, The Shins play on the soundtrack.

Before Sunset: This film just rips your heart out, doesn’t it? I hope they continue to revisit this project as Ethan Hawke and Julia Delpy grow old.

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: Though this only showed on Showtime, I am counting it as a proper film. It chronicles the last gasp of the Sioux, and does a wonderful job of putting a human face on both the victors and the victims. If you’re prone to white guilt, stay away.

Napoleon Dynamite: Pure genius. “Back in ’82 I coulda thrown a pig-skin over that mountain.”

The Departed: Great cast, great acting, and the scene in which they’re driving to the final showdown as Dropkick Murphys’ “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” is playing—well, it makes you wanna drink and fight.

V for Vendetta: Terrorism never looked so cool, and neither did a girl with a shaved head.

Juno: I wish Ellen Page had been old enough to play Lindsey Weir on Freaks and Geeks. Sure, there are times when this film is a bit too self-conscious and clever, but I loved it anyway. My favorite line is when Juno’s father says, “Geez, Juno, I thought you were the kind of girl who knew when to say ‘when.’” and Juno responds, “I don’t really know what kind of girl I am.”

Honorable mentions: High Fidelity, Batman Begins, 3:10 to Yuma, The Village, Michael Clayton, Snatch, Ocean's 11, and Serenity.

When Irony and Iconoclasm Intertwine

One of pop media's greatest weapons is the art of subversion. Comparing the U2 of the '80s with the U2 of the '90s is a perfect example of what I mean. The former were earnest, heart-on-our-sleeve do-gooders who felt it their duty to remind us, often, of just how evil a place this world really is.

But the U2 of the '90s was the exact opposite. They were cocky, gauche, and ironic. They embodied, down to their eyewear and platform shoes, the rock 'n' roll stardom they once sought to avoid. When asked in 1991 what their forthcoming album would sound like, Bono replied, "It sounds like four guys chopping down The Joshua Tree." Though they lost their vision a bit with their Popmart tour, the ZooTV era of '92-'93 was all about satire, mockery, with plenty of Ecclesiastes and The Screwtape Letters thrown in for good measure. Of stardom, Bono sang:

"They want you to be Jesus,
They're going down on one knee;
But they'll want their money back
If you're alive at thirty-three."

My point is that sometimes truth can be communicated more effectively by a smirk than a megaphone. Sometimes crawling into a culture and subtly mocking its idols from within is more interesting than standing without and casting sanctimonious stones. In a word, with his program The Colbert Report, Stephen Colbert is a greater ally of the Left than Al Franken could ever be with his book Rush Limbaugh is a Big Fat Idiot.

You can't watch Alec Baldwin's character on 30 Rock without feeling a tinge of pity for anyone that in love with the free market (and himself). You can't listen to Bright Eyes' "At the Bottom of Everything" without seeing the vanity of having to run "in this endless race for property and privilege to be won." And you certainly can't listen to "Love Is Blindness," the last song on U2's Achtung Baby, without feeling the hopelessness of having "all the secrets, but no one to tell."

Then again, it makes one wonder what Bono was really saying when, every night on that tour, they followed "Love Is Blindness" with their closing song, "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You."

Ten Good Shows of the Oh-Ohs

The usual disclaimer applies: This list is not a tacit endorsement of plane crashes, crooked cops, outplaying/outwitting/outlasting, or the mafia.

1. Lost: Possibly the best program on television. Now that they have a finite amount of shows before they'll call it quits, I am expecting them to stick to the story and stop wasting our time with people like Paulo and Nikki (what do you take us for anyway?).

2. Alias: A perfect example of a show that didn't know when to quit. Once Michael Vaughn told Sidney he wasn't really Michael Vaughn, I quit watching. But the first few seasons were killer. Ms. Bristow, I feel your pain.

3. Battlestar Galactica: Post-apocalyptic stories fascinate me, as do ones where our servants become our masters. This one has both. Starbuck has even grown on me.

4. Arrested Development: So good, and so sad no one figured it out in time. Sigh.

5. The Office: The British one is way better. There, I said it.

6. 24: Just because I liked the first few seasons of this show does not mean I endorse anything the CIA has done since its inception. How's that for an unexpected disclaimer?

7. The Shield: Not many show bring out the good ol' moral dilemma like this one does. Come on, admit it: You liked Shane despite what a scoundrel he was.

8. The Daily Show: Stewart/Colbert '08. 'Nuff said.

9. Survivor: How many seasons has this show run? Seventeen or something? And it's still intriguing, not to mention the most genius format for a reality TV show ever. I hope Ozzie wins.

10. The Sopranos: Despite the lack of good ol' fashioned family values, this show is really good. One thing I especially appreciate is the fact that it does not, in any way, shape, or form, glamorize the lifestyle it depicts. Bada bing, bada boom, fuhgetaboudit.

Honorable mentions: 30 Rock, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Rescue Me, Dexter, Firefly, and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Which Came Last, the Chicken or the Egg?

Since the dawn of Puritanism (at least) we have heard that in order to prescribe a cure for man's spiritual ills, you must first diagnose his disease.

Rubbish, says G.K. Chesterton.

In his little book What's Wrong with the World, Chesterton decries what he calls the "medical mistake":

"The first great blunder of sociology... is stating the disease before we find the cure. But it is the whole definition and dignity of man that in social matters we must actually find the cure before we find the disease."

Though Chesterton was a contemporary of Geerhardus Vos, the former spent his life in England and, as a Roman Catholic, was probably unfamiliar with the Princeton divine. Nevertheless they both seemed to agree on at least one thing: Man can only be understood if we contemplate his telos or end.

Chesterton uses the famous "Chicken or Egg" quandary to illustrate his point. He says that the real question is not which came first, but which comes last. One is a means, he argues, and the other is an end.

"Leaving the complications of the human breakfast-table out of account, in an elemental sense, the egg only exists to produce the chicken. But the chicken does not exist only in order to produce another egg. He may also exist to amuse himself, to praise God, and even to suggest ideas to a French dramatist."

The fixation upon eggs rather than chickens (or upon present conditions rather than the divine object), Chesterton concludes, is as morbid and poisonous as insisting on asking what is wrong while forgetting to ask what is right.

Returning to Vos, we may safely conclude, therefore, that though all divine image-bearers share in the collective ache of Romans 8:22-23, for the believer life is a pilgrimage with a destination, while for the unbeliever it feels more like a hamster-wheel.

Hence his burden, hence his frustration... and hence his art.

Do Pagans Make the Best Vosians?

I just preached from Romans 8:18-25 where Paul gives, in the words of John Murray, his commentary on Genesis 3:17-18. The creation has fallen under curse and, therefore, groans under the weight of its bondage to decay, longing for the liberty that will accompany the glorification of the seed of the woman.

Yes, this relates to the way the believer should think about popular culture.

If the sub-human created order can recognize that something is amiss, then, to argue from the lesser to the greater, it would follow that the same insight can be found among non-believing humans as well. After all, if Ecclesiastes is an account of life "under the sun," then all who behold this age from that vantage point can reasonably conclude that it is but an unmerry merry-go-round, a wild goose chase without the wild goose.

What is pagan art if not a commentary on Ecclesiastes? What is Edvard Munch's The Scream, or The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby," or the Wachowskis' Matrix trilogy if not a commentary on the inexplicable longing on the part of the human soul for something it has never seen but knows is out there?

Paul's point in the passage cited is that the cosmos groans, but "we who have the firstfruits of the Spirit" ache with an even greater frustration. Or at least we should. But if the unbelieving world displays, through its art and other media, an even greater frustration with earth than many believers exhibit, what does that say about where our true devotion lies?

This is why eschatology is so crucial. If Vos's dictum that "eschatology precedes soteriology" is true, then this means that this groaning for glory is part and parcel not of redemption, but of the created order itself. Simply put, you're supposed to feel like a fish out of water (or to correct the simile a bit, you're supposed to feel like a fish in water who longs to be free from it and to enter a new element that it knows, somehow and for some reason, is better).

Could it be that when Christians place their hopes in a transformed culture or a nation recaptured for Christ while their pagan neighbors listen to Bright Eyes while longing for escape, that the latter, rather than the former, are doing a better job at being divine image-bearers?

Great Albums of the Oh-Ohs

Beginning with this week’s Friday Feature we turn from the Nineties to the Oh-Ohs, or whatever they’re called. We begin with what are, in my humble opinion, the best albums of the first 4/5 of the present decade.

1. Chutes Too Narrow (The Shins): The guys sort of got onto our radar via the film Garden State (though I was already listening to them, of course, but it was nice to have the rest of the culture catch up to me). This album, their sophomore effort, is probably their best, as it captures the best elements of Oh Inverted World (their debut) and Wincing the Night Away (their most recent).

2. Show Your Bones (Yeah Yeah Yeahs): Karen O is the new Joan Jett.

3. The Crane Wife (The Decemberists): It was a toss-up between this album and Castaways and Cutouts, which was the first of theirs I heard. They’re so unique, combining cool instruments (like cellos and hurdy-gurdies) with Colin Meloy’s macabre lyrics, often involving phalanxes, dirigibles, and killer plays on words like this one: “Within sight of the baroness, seething spite for this live largesse; By her side sits the baron, her barrenness barbs her.”

4. Our Endless Numbered Days (Iron and Wine): Hushed, subtle, and oh so beautiful. Makes ya wanna grow that beard.

5. Quiet is the New Loud (The Kings of Convenience): The best of Lo-Fi. Plus, since I didn’t include anything by Feist I had to give Leslie a shout-out here since she sings with these two Norweigan guys.

6. In Rainbows (Radiohead): Not only is this their best effort since OK Computer, but they totally messed with the entire music industry by releasing it independently on their website for however much their fans felt like paying. I love anarchy, especially in the U.K.

7. Neon Bible (Arcade Fire): This band from Montreal has like ten people in it or something, and in concert they are so entertaining, switching their diverse and sundry instruments at random. They're one of the few bands whose stock rose significantly after seeing them live.

8. Hot Fuss (The Killers): What the heck is "Somebody Told Me" about anyway?

9. I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning (Bright Eyes): I love this line from "At the Bottom of Everything": "We must blend into the choir, sing as static with the whole; We must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul; And in this endless race for property and privilege to be won, we must run, we must run, we must run." The satire is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

10. Boxer (The National): Thank you, ACD, I am forever your humble servant for telling me about these guys. Singer Matt Berninger is like a Leonard Cohen for the new generation.

Honorable mentions: Accelerate (REM), Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga (Spoon), Seven Swans (Sufjan Stevens), Runaway Found (The Veils), Our Ill Wills (Shout Out Louds), Favorite Worst Nightmare (Arctic Monkeys), Final Straw (Snow Patrol), How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb (U2), Transatlanticim (Death Cab For Cutie), American Idiot (Green Day), A Rush of Blood to the Head (Coldplay), Rock Steady (No Doubt), Brushfire Fairytales (Jack Johnson), Stadium Arcadium (Red Hot Chili Peppers), Make Up the Breakdown (Hot Hot Heat), Turn on the Bright Lights (Interpol), and Yours Truly, Angry Mob (Kaiser Chiefs).

What's Better: Pizza or iPods?

When the question is asked whether something is "good," the query is so general that it is virtually impossible to answer. Since people love it when you answer a question with a question, an honest reply would be, "Good at what?"

God is good, but he's mostly good at saving me from my sins, not for helping me understand how to replace my muffler. The Christian religion is good, but mostly at preparing a people for the age to come, not for cleaning up the present one. Pizza is good, but it's pretty much only good for eating, not for playing MP3s.

So turning from pizza to art, how do we determine which art, or music, or films, are good? Well, we often hear that various forms of art are "good" when they corresepond to reality, biblically defined. OK then, what does this tell us about someone like Picasso, whose art is often less realistic than impressionistic? And don't get me started on Bob Dylan, who can't carry a tune if his life depended on it. What I'm saying is that sometimes the disconnect between art and reality is the whole point.

If art is not intended to be overtly didactic or preachy, then may it not simply describe rather than prescribe? Anyone familiar with U2's Zoo TV Tour understands the power of an artist's wearing another's shoes (or in this case, sunglasses) in order to subtly mock and subvert a culture's idols, often without their getting the joke.

So when you look at René Magritte's depiction of a wooden, saxophone-shaped thing with a bowl on one end in his painting entitled "This Is Not a Pipe," how ought we to respond to it? On the one hand he is right, it is not a pipe but a painting of a pipe. But on the other hand, is his intentional subversiveness dangerous for the Christian who believes that Jesus once held bread in his hand and said "Hoc est corpus meum"?

If common grace is a legitimate category, and if Van Til was right about unbelievers borrowing capital from the theist's worldview in everything they do, then perhaps we actually sell ourselves short when we equate the non-holy with the unholy, the profane with the destructive, and the secular with the "bad."

Thou Shalt Not Kill People Who Like Bach

In his widely-acclaimed book All God's Children and Blue Suede Shoes, Ken Myers argues for objectivity with respect to our standards for evaluating various forms of art. He writes:

"In an age of egalitarianism and relativism, it is easier than ever to regard matters of taste as wholly private and personal. I like Bach, you like Bon Jovi, praise the Lord anyhow. But is aesthetic judgment purely a subjective and neutral matter? Is 'beauty' exclusively in the eye of the beholder? Is something 'beautiful' just because I like it, or does it have some objective quality rooted in creation that allows me to recognize that it is beautiful?"

There is no doubt that there are objective standards rooted in creation. For example, just about every culture we know about thinks that murder is wrong. Despite the fact that they have no access to special revelation, the works of God's moral law are written upon their hearts, enabling them to recognize that moral standard without needing to be taught it.

Assuming that "thou shalt not kill" is a fair example, it would seem that in order for the argument for objective standards to be at all meaningful, the standard in question must be one that most people can recognize by virtue of natural law. After all, we have a label for those morally color-blind people who fail to see such standards: we call them "sociopaths."

Some questions that proponents of Myers's view need to answer, then, include:

1). If standards for music are as rooted in creation as standards for morality, then are those who fail to like Bach as culpable as those who fail to not kill people who like Bach?

2). Is it simply a coincidence that the objectively good forms of artistic expression by people like Beethoven, Shakespeare, and Rembrandt are almost all produced by white, western Europeans? Are there any Oriental, African, or Middle-Eastern contributions to the canon of the objectively beautiful?

3). Why is the overt expression of violence repudiated when produced by "homeys," but it is the bedrock of the "western canon" when produced by Homer?

4). Do you think Mona Lisa is beautiful? Not the painting, but the actual woman in it (you know, the one with no eyebrows).

5). How, pray tell, can I get my hands on a copy of the rulebook that lists the universally-applicable criteria for beauty?

Leithart Study Committee Meeting

The Pacific Northwest Presbytery's committee to examine the teaching of Peter Leithart is meeting again tomorrow morning at 9am. We are planning to report our findings to the presbytery later this month, so, as always, prayers are appreciated.

Thanks.

Some Great Nineties Films

This week’s Friday Feature lists ten amazing films of the nineties. And to make the usual disclaimer, listing a film does not mean I therefore endorse all of its content, any more than reading Macbeth is a tacit shout-out to regicide.

1. Braveheart: Virtually flawless, and that without CGI. A friend and I saw the midnight sneak preview in Budapest and were just blown away. Mel Gibson as William Wallace is great, but Robert the Bruce steals the show: “My hate will die… with you.”

2. Twelve Monkeys: Best time-travel movie ever, especially because it’s one of the few in which the past cannot be changed. And Brad Pitt is brilliant.

3. The Big Lebowski: What made this a-here story that Sam Elliot unfolded so perfect was that the plot was so convoluted, and The Dude was about the most ill-equipped person to deal with it. This film, for me, will forever be associated with the “Big Lebowski Night” that a few of us seminarians celebrated with Darryl Hart, which consisted of, among other things, In ‘n’ Out Burger, White Russians, and a bowling tournament featuring the Nihilists vs. the Caucasians, complete with a Big Lebowski Cup which Darryl made out of a Folgers can and stick-on letters.

4. Forrest Gump: Call me sappy, but I love this movie. Only a great film can make you nostalgic for a period of time during which you weren’t even alive (not that I need more reasons for nostalgia, mind you).

5. The Usual Suspects: So unique a film, so unexpected an ending. And what a cast.

6. Good Will Hunting: If you’ve not seen the extended scenes on the DVD, you must. It’s hard to believe that Matt Damon and (pre-toothjob) Ben Affleck were unheard of until this film came out. In my opinion, this movie represents the best work from either of these actors (though for the latter that’s not saying much). And is it me, or could you slay a thousand Philistines with Minnie Driver’s jawbone?

7. Se7en: I’m still shuddering, especially about how eerily correctly a serial killer can understand and interpret natural law (excuse the profanity, all you Barthians).

8. Fight Club: OK, this is the last Brad Pitt film, I promise. Though some see Tyler Durden as the butt of David Fincher’s joke, I like to think that that honor belongs to you, the American consumer.

9. American Movie: You probably haven't heard of this one, but you must see it immediately. You will swear after ten minutes that it is a "mockumentary" akin to Waiting For Guffman, but, unfortunately, it is very real. Words fail to capture the horror and glee that we felt when DRD's own "ACD" found this film on VHS at some thrift store while we in seminary and screened it for us. Long live Mike Schank, vot-ka, and scratch-off lotto.

10. The Matrix: Ever feel like Neo, and that "there is no spoon"? If you see this film while simultaneously reading Orwell’s 1984, I’d say you need a healthy dose of Vosian eschatology to cure your depression.

Honorable mentions go to Reality Bites, Dances With Wolves, The Shawshank Redemption, Rounders, Before Sunrise/Sunset, The Sixth Sense, and Donnie Brasco.

Art: Take It, Leave It, But Don't Redeem It

Continuing our look at the relationship of the Christian to popular culture and media, I now turn to those who insist that the "missional" believer (or church) must embrace the genres of film, television, and music in order to "speak the language of the culture."

Appeal for this position is often made to I Cor. 9:19-23 where Paul claims to "become all things to all men in order to save some." Unfortunately for the "contextualists," Paul's demographic sensitivity is rather wanting, as seen in his placing all of humanity in one of two broad categories (Jew or Greek). It's kind of the equivalent of a missions conference holding a seminar called "Ministry to Non-Whites."

More damaging to the "incarnational" approach is the incarnation (the one of Christ I mean). One would think that something like, say, God becoming a human would be sufficiently accomodating without my quoting Panic! At the Disco in my sermons in order to "connect with the kids."

To our point, then, I would argue that it is a tad ironic that those who laud "authenticity" would advocate the believer's consuming pop media simply in order to build a bridge to people that wouldn't otherwise exist (anyone remember Mr. Rosso?). Just admit it: if you thought your dad was lame for saying "like, totally" to you when you were a kid, then it's a pretty safe bet that when we say "mos' def'" to ours the response is a similar rolling of the eyes. What... ever.

And finally, I often wonder why it's just white culture whose art is co-opted for missional purposes (either in its bourgeoisie, high-brow, wine-and-cheese expressions, or in its bohemian, arthouse, po-mo variety). I could be wrong, but if there are hip hop- or flamenco-inspired worship services in the PCA, I've never run across them.

Maybe Oscar Wilde was right, and "all art is useless." If art could talk, perhaps it would say, "Take me or leave me, but please don't redeem me."

Little Kwik-E-Mart on the Prairie

As I mentioned last week, some Christians take the view that the proper approach to pop culture is to abstain from it altogether. Whether it be television shows like Lost, films like Juno, or music by bands like Death Cab For Cutie, if the subject matter is not wholesome and family-oriented, then it must be the (only other) alternative: destructive.

Some thoughts....

First of all, for those with tender consciences (the modern-day equivalent of those in Paul's day who abstained from eating meat sacrificed to idols) it would seem that the best approach to pop media is to not participate at all. "Happy is the one," says the apostle, "who does not condemn himself in what he allows."

Still, some questions need to be answered. For example, is the purpose of art to edify us in Christ? If so, then Lost or Juno don't exactly do the trick. But if not, then the degree of sanctification a program or film produces is incidental to whether or not it is worth watching. And while we're at it, can something like "sanctification" happen by the medium of film in the first place, or does it happen through the media gratiae, the means of grace? What I'm asking is, is there a tertium quid (third way) besides edification or destruction where pop art may find its purpose?

Further, is "wholesome family values" a proper ruler by which to measure the appropriateness (or lack thereof) of pop art? Have we conflated having nice, wholesome families with God's design for us in Christ, thereby insinuating that Christ died in vain? And if the answer is that art is appropriate when it points us to God's overarching telos for his creation, then does that only happen by citing positive examples, or can it happen negatively by means of counter-examples? In other words, can we "grow" equally by watching The Simpsons as we can from watching Little House on the Prairie? And just because a story is set in a context a hundred years ago, does that means its admittedly more repressed expressions of sin are any less sinful?

Will the Christian Family Bookstores in a century from now be looking back wistfully at such wholesome tokens of Americana as the Griffin family's Quahog, the Dunder Mifflin Paper Company, and Colonel Kwik-E-Mart's Kentucky Bourbon?

Some Nineties TV Favs

A brief disclaimer: The inclusion of a program in this list is not an endorsement of all its content (any more than watching a baseball game betrays a tacit approval of “stealing” [of bases or other items]).

1. The X-Files: From the inversion of the traditional gender stereotypes (Mulder being the intuitive one, Scully the scientist) to the fact that it made “alien-human hybrids” a normal topic of conversation in the breakrooms of the mid-nineties, this show, despite it lasting a couple seasons too long, was awesome. Gotta love the Smoking Man.

2. Seinfeld: From “master of my domain” to “yada yada yada,” from “sponge-worthy” to “not that there’s anything wrong with that,” any show that can inspire so many catch-phrases deserves its rightful place in pop culture lore.

3. Space Ghost Coast to Coast: The concept is just brilliant: take old Hannah Barbera cartoon footage and edit it to make it into a talk show on which contemporary celebrities are interviewed. I loved the one where Space Ghost asks Michael Stipe of REM, “Hey Michael, is that you in the corner?” “Yes,” Stipe replies, “that’s me in the corner.” If you don’t get it, just move on.

4. Friends: The chink in the armor was Courtney Cox (she’s way better playing a witch than a nice girl), but the cast as a whole was superb. Chandler became a bit annoying once he fell in love with Monica, and Ross got a bit too goofy for my taste, but it was a great show nonetheless. My favorite line of the series was when Ross, who had moved and now needed to ride the train to work, remarked that he’d “been given the gift of time” to read while commuting. “That’s funny, because last Christmas I was given the gift of space,” Chandler replied. “We should, like, put them together and make a continuum.”

5. Freaks and Geeks: That little Jewish kid’s a riot. I just wish Ellen Page had been old enough to play Lindsey.

6. ER: OK, I get it that Dr. Ross left his day job as a pediatrician to star in movies like Ocean's Eleven and O Brother Where Art Thou?, but he could at least have shown up for Dr. Green's funeral for crying out loud. In all seriousness, this show kept my interest until about five or six years ago. Great cast(s), good character development.

7. Mystery Science Theater 3000: I’m still kicking myself for not coming up with this idea first. Under the right circumstances, the running commentary I provide on horrible films is top-notch. It’s just one of the services I offer.

That's all, folks. Cut me some slack for not listing ten, I was overseas serving the Lord during most of the decade while you all were sitting on the couch watching TV....

Abstinence, Indulgence, and Speaking the Lizingua Francizzle

Well, I'm a bit bored with Sam Harris, and if the dearth of interaction is any indication, so are you. Ever the one to chameleonically adapt to the whims of the people, I'll take an open-ended haitus from dissecting Letter to a Christian Nation and turn our attention to something that our Friday Features have got me thinking about.

Let's talk about the Christian and pop culture.

There are a few schools of thought with respect to this issue. There are those who see no middle ground between abstinence and abuse. For these folks, any indulgence in secular culture, be it film, television, or music, is threatening and potentially harmful to one's spiritual life. Curiously, this rarely applies to non-Christian books (provided they're old) or sports. But I digress....

Others embrace the whole pop culture thing, often under the guise of what they call "incarnationalism" or "contextualization." By this they mean that since Jesus embodied the gospel in a form that his people could relate to and understand (i.e., that of a Jewish man), we must follow his lead and seek to speak to our culture in its own lingua franca and with its own adopted forms. As long as they're white.

Still others either refrain from pop culture for non-spiritual reasons such as taste, time, or lack of interest, or engage in it for equally non-spiritual reasons such as, well, liking it.

What do you think? Is "this much" too much, or is "too much never enough"? Are certain media acceptable while others out of bounds? How may one's engagement in pop culture, or lack thereof, benefit/harm his spiritual life? Are there discernable and/or distinct trends among evangelicals and the Reformed?

And can we ignore the role our eschatology plays in all this?

Thou Shalt Not Commit [Yawn...] Adultery

In his Letter to a Christian Nation, Sam Harris next turns his sights on the supposed indispensibility of the Decalogue for shaping a nation's moral character. He notes that the first four commandments "have nothing whatsoever to do with morality," but rather forbid all non-Judeo-Christian expressions of worship (on pain of death, he adds). Commandments 5-9 do address morality, Harris concedes, but he then expresses doubt about whether anyone obeys these commands because of the commands themselves, since:

"Admonishments of this kind are found in virtually every culture throughout recorded history.... It seems rather untimely, therefore, that the average American will receive necessary moral instruction by seeing these principles chiseled in marble whenever he enters a courthouse."

Harris then points out that if God exists and is to be taken seriously, then we must admit that we his creatures are not free to only obey the commands we like while disobeying the ones we dislike, nor can he simply relax the penalties he has imposed for our breaking his commands.

A few thoughts:

1. Sam Harris has a greater appreciation for common grace and natural law than many evangelical and Reformed believers today.

2. Though he wouldn't state it in this way, Harris rightly points out that the Decalogue, as such, is not "the moral law," but is a summary of that law covenantally formulated for those to whom it was originally given.

3. Unlike many non-believers, Harris actually sees the law (whose works are hardwired into him) not as suggestions to improve his earthly life while threatening no ill-effects if ignored, but as non-negotiable and inflexible expressions of who God is (if he existed).

4. But like all non-believers, Harris cannot fathom the transition from an obviously broken law to a program of redemption according to which the law's demands are honored, God's justice retained, and yet sinners are pardoned.

So I give Harris a point against the evangelicals for recognizing that a Judeo-Christian ethic is not indispensible for a just society, but the theonomic Reformed fare no better than their fundamentalist counterparts within evangelicalism on this score. Give Sam another point for recognizing the spiritual nature of the law and the serious consequences for breaking it, but as expected, he gets no points for recognizing a gospel he is blinded from seeing anyway.

Ten Killer Albums of the Nineties

For our Friday Feature we will transition from the Eighties to the Nineties. Now I realize that some of you are, well, old, but please try to keep up, mmkay?

1. OK Computer (Radiohead): No need to defend this one I trust. Plus, "Exit Music (For a Film)" is really haunting and beautiful.

2. Urban Hymns (The Verve): What happened to these guys? "And I'm a million different people from one day to the next...", what a great line.

3. Achtung Baby (U2): The best song on this album, which is also the least appreciated, is "So Cruel": "Between the horses of love and lust we are trampled underfoot."

4. Nevermind (Nirvana): I was never a huge grunge guy, but I'd never live down the abuse if I left this one off. Plus, after Kurt sang "here we are now, entertain us!", we all knew that what would never entertain us again was guys in lipstick and spandex.

5. August and Everything After (Counting Crows): Their only really good album. Didn't this guy date, like, all the girls from Friends at one time or another?

6. Jagged Little Pill (Alanis Morrisette): Love her or hate her, Alanis brought a scary dose of girl anger to the airwaves (that guy from Full House is still holed up in a bunker I bet). She paved the way for Fiona Apple, Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, and all those cool girl singer/songwriters who enjoyed such success until 1998 when someone put on a schoolgirl uniform and went "Hey-yey-yey-yey-yey-yey!"

7. (What's the Story) Morning Glory (Oasis): Long live the fab four redux.

8. No Need to Argue (The Cranberries): Dolores O'Riordon has such a unique voice, and she's pretty fearless. Listen to "Zombies" and you'll see what I mean.

9. Tragic Kingdom (No Doubt): How can I not include these fellow Orange County locals? Who else would immediately recognize the words from the beginning of Track 14 ("Remain seated please. Permanecer sentados por favor") as being from the Matterhorn ride at Disneyland?

10. Third Eye Blind (Third Eye Blind): These guys went way downhill after this one, but their debut's a keeper for sure (for "Semi-Charmed Life" alone, although the whole things great).

Honorable mentions go to Tidal by Fiona Apple, Dookie by Green Day, and Before These Crowded Streets by The Dave Matthews Band.

OK, discuss....

WWMLKD?

Sam Harris needs a good, confessional, two-kingdoms suckerpunch (given in the love of Christ, of course). With every page I read of his Letter to a Christian Nation, the more I wish I could spend some time with him to administer that, umm, corrective myself.

The next section of his book deals with ethics. He remarks that "the idea that the Bible is a perfect guide to morality is astounding, given the contents of the book." He then goes on to cite all those verses about parents hitting their kids with rods, Israel chucking rocks at a guy for picking up sticks on the wrong day of the week, and how we should be nice to our slaves (unless, of course, they irritate us). The New Testament, he argues, doesn't offer much by way of improvement (despite the Golden Rule, which Harris likes but points out was somewhat well-worn by the time Jesus came on the scene). He then admits that someone like Martin Luther King is often seen as "the best exemplar of [the Christian] religion." The problem with this view, Harris argues, is that King learned his nonviolence not from Jesus but from Mohandas Gandhi. "The doctrine of Jainism," Harris concludes, "is an objectively better guide for becoming like Martin Luther King Jr. than Christianity is."

Where to begin?

Oh! I know: how about with the fact that Harris has no idea what the point of Christianity actually is?

Now, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he has been spending too much time with those evangeliberals whose entire understanding of Scripture is that it is essentially the same as William Bennett's Book of Virtues, only with a leather cover and those thumb-index thingies.

If I could explain one thing to Harris, as well as to the theonomists, Christian Nationalists, and others who have been fueling his crusade, I would say that the Bible is not intended to be read as a "perfect guide to morality," neither is the aim of Christianity to make the world a kinder, gentler place for our kids to grow up in. In fact, our religion is pretty useless for just about everything short of re-doing what mankind ruined by summoning a new, heavenly city from the ashes of the earthly one.

To put it more simply, I would explain the difference between the law and the gospel, (and hint: neither of them asks, "What Would Martin Luther King Do?").

Can Harris Habeas the Corpus Christi?

As we continue to consider Sam Harris's attempt to "demolish the intellectual and moral pretensions of Christianity" in his book Letter to a Christian Nation, we come now to a glaring flaw in his argument. Part of the problem is that Harris is confused about whom he is attacking, as should be apparent when he writes:

"Consider: every devout Muslim has the same reasons for being a Muslim that you have for being a Christian.... The Koran repeatedly declares that it is the perfect word of the creator of the universe. Muslims believe this as fully as you believe the Bible's account of itself."

Harris asks his readers why they don't lose sleep about whether to convert to Islam since they (most likely) cannot prove that Gabriel did not appear to Muhammad in his cave and give him his commission. The burden of proof, he says, is not on you to disprove it, but on them to prove it, which they cannot do. Well, since you know what it's like to be an atheist with respect to Islam, you can now hopefully understand why Harris is one with respect to Christianity, as well as all other religions that rest on an unsubstantiated and unverifiable claim to divine authority.

It is at this point that Harris's confusion becomes apparent. A typical evangelical would have a difficult time responding to this argument since his faith is largely based upon his experience of Jesus not unlike that of the Muslim (or the Mormon for that matter). But if Harris's opponent is, as he claims, someone who believes in Christianity "because it is true" (such as a confessionalist), then this argument presents no problem at all.

I believe the doctrines of Christianity because Jesus rose from the dead, not because he was visited by some angel in his secret bat-cave and then wrote a tell-all book about it later. The resurrection of Christ is something so profound that it has not only not been disproven (even by his enemies immediately afterward, or for 2000 years since), but it immediately, as in a few weeks later, began to alter the course of history.

To put it another way, Christianity, unlike Islam or any other religion, is instantly disproveable. So if Harris can habeas the corpus Christi, then he will have succeeded in his aim of destroying the Christian religion. But even if he can and does, he still will have been wrong that we believed for the same reason that Muqtada al-Sadr does.

Atheists 1, confessionalists 1, evangelicals 0.

Atheists 1, Evangelicals 0

An atheistic friend of mine approached me at a coffeehouse the other day and dropped a book on the table that he had just finished. I glanced at the title and read: Letter to a Christian Nation by Sam Harris, a New York Times bestselling author.

Harris's primary purpose for this little volume, he says,

"... is to arm secularists in our society, who believe that religion should be kept out of public policy, against their opponents on the Christian Right.... I have set out to demolish the intellectual and moral pretensions of Christianity in its most committed forms" (viii, ix).

In Chapter One, Harris sets the stage for his case by pointing out, helpfully, that the Christian he is arguing against believes the teachings of the Bible not because they make him feel good, but because he believes they are true. Furthermore, Harris concedes, if these doctrines are indeed true, then he will spend eternity in hell for rejecting them with contempt and encouraging others to do the same: "If the basic tenets of Christianity are true, then there are some very grim surprises in store for nonbelievers like myself."

How's that for honesty?

Before I begin my series of posts interacting with Harris's book, I must point out that this author seems to understand the issues involved in the debate over the Christian faith with more clarity than most evangelicals do. If Christian Smith's study of the religion of American teens is any indication, the adherents of what he calls "moralistic therapeutic deism" would stare blankly through glossed-over eyes at the suggestion that they believe in Christianity "because it is true." Even if "truth" were a valid category to judge a religious faith, it is beside the point, most evangelicals would argue. Jesus makes them happy.

Score 1 for the atheists.

Top Films of the Eighties

In no particular order, here are the best films of the 1980's....

1. Fletch: Chevy at his best. No slapstick, just good ol' fashioned sarcasm. And if your favorite scene is where he dreams he's playing for the Lakers and Chick Hearn says that he's "six-five, with the afro six-nine," then your sense of humor has been weighed and found wanting. Just stick to Vacation....

2. The Untouchables: Kevin Costner, Sean Connery, and Andy Garcia at their finest. 1634 Racine will be forever haunted after that bad guy "brought a knife to a gun fight."

3. Say Anything: The last great film of the decade. The only thing that would have made it better is if Lloyd Dobbler (played by John Cusack) has spoken directly to the camera. Kind of like....

4. Ferris Bueller's Day Off: "'Something-D-O-O economics? Voo-Doo economics." Ben Stein's cameo was worth the price of admission (which was like $3.00 back then).

5. Top Gun: I love it when people's egos write checks their bodies can't cash. I also love it when Maverick says, "That's clasified; I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

6. Pretty in Pink: If The Psychedelic Furs perform the theme song of a film by the same title, it's going in my top ten, so just deal with it. Plus, it's directed by John Hughes. As was....

7. The Breakfast Club: Simple Minds' "Don't You Forget About Me" is one of the best songs of the decade, and John Bender's character was pretty unforgettable (which is fitting). The best line of the film was Judd Nelson to Emilio Estevez, who played Andrew the wrestler: "You know, I wanna be just... like... you. I figure, all I need's a labotomy and some tights." And Carl the janitor? He should have his own TV show. (Maybe he does, and it's called Scrubs).

8. The Empire Strikes Back: The best of the six (and the one with which George Lucas had the least to do). Did you know that after Princess Leia told Han Solo, "I love you," that Harrison Ford improvised his response, "I know"?

9. Lethal Weapon II: It's not every day that a sequel beats out its predecessor, but this one did in my view. Martin Riggs's character got way more complex, and the bad guys are just so evil (and racist). I love when Clapton's "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" plays after Mertaugh gets shot.

10. Raiders of the Lost Ark: The most powerful line is where Indiana and Marcus are studying the lore surrounding the ark of the covenant, and after seeing an illustration of the wrath of God falling upon his disobedient people, Indy exclaims, "Good God!" His colleague retorts, "That's what the Hebrews thought."

Honorable mention goes to Back to the Future, E.T., and Hoosiers.

It's All Fun and Games Until the Malediction

Building upon my last post in which I began to consider Romans 7:14-25, I would now like to answer the question, "Why, exactly, did the Mosaic law produce such despair in its subjects?"

The answer, I would argue, is found in the works principle that clings to the entire Old Covenant. I realize that it is not uncommon to hear Reformed theologians muse about "the law" and how it functions in a covenant of works versus in a covenant of grace, but since I understand law as being itself covenantal, I can't help but see "Do this and live" as being part and parcel of the law of Moses as a whole. In short, we cannot wrest the kinder, gentler bits of the Mosaic law from their broader covenantal context.

Stephen Westerholm writes:

The Sinaitic legislation was accompanied by promises and sanctions, and Paul includes these when he speaks of the law. Thus the law offers life to those who perform its commands (Rom. 10:5; Gal. 3:12; cf. Rom. 2:13, 25; 7:10), while it pronounces a curse on transgressors (Gal. 3:10, 13). When the law has been transgressed, its curse becomes operative, so that the law of God, like sin and death, can be personified as a hostile power from which people need deliverance (Rom. 4:5; cf. 5:20; 7:6).

If I've said it once I've said it, like, eight times, but there's no better way to kill a person's buzz than by threatening to kill him and his family (which is what the law does).

Given the fact that Moses' commands are always accompanied with God's maledictory oath to curse the transgressor, is it any wonder that the subject of Romans 7 is so defeated?

A Tale of Two Struggles

I just preached on Romans 7:14-25, and it really struck me this past week how different the struggle in this chapter is from the one described in Galatians 5:16-18.

The former is a struggle between who the subject is and who he desires to be. The latter, on the other hand, is a struggle between who the subject is and who he was but is no longer.

In Romans 7, the "wretched man" says the following about himself: he is carnal (v. 14); he is sold as a slave to sin (v. 14); he has been taken captive by indwelling wickedness (v. 23); and he is powerless against temptation (v. 18). In a word, when the war is waged between his will-power to obey the law and his native corruption, the best defense he can muster is the ability to serve God in his head while sinning with his body (v. 25).

The subject of Galatians 5, however, has been "for freedom set free" by Christ (v. 1), is "called to freedom" (v. 13), is "led by the Spirit" and is consequently "not under the law," for he "belongs to Christ Jesus" (v. 24), has "crucified the flesh" (v. 24), "lives by the Spirit" (v. 26), and is therefore called to "walk by the Spirit" (v. 26).

Furthermore, the struggle in Romans 7 is a battle between ego and nomos ("I" and "law"), while the conflict in Galatians 5 is between sarx and pneuma ("flesh" and "Spirit").

And finally, in Romans 6:14 Paul draws the direct connection between being under the Mosaic law and being under sin's dominion. Now if the subject of Romans 7 explicitly claims to be under sin's dominion, we have no choice but to conclude that he is therefore under the Mosaic law. The Galatians, however, are explicitly told that they are not under the law, but rather, they are led by the Spirit.

So yes, two very real struggles are depicted in these texts. But one is from the perspective of a carnal slave who wishes he could be spiritual but can't, while the other is from the standpoint of a Spirit-led son who keeps forgetting who he is, and falling back into what he used to be.

Totally Tubular TV

Fridays are notoriously slow blog days, and yet lo! and behold!, our new Friday feature last week raked in a whopping 42 comments in a single day. Apparently where your treasure is, there your blogging will be also.

That said, I give you, in no specific order, the ten most tubular TV shows of the Eighties:

1. The A-Team: Imprisoned by a military court for a crime they didn’t commit, they promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground where they survive as soldiers of fortune. How they do it is anyone’s guess since they have never succeeded in actually shooting anyone with those guns they carry around.

2. Family Ties: Before they brought in Andy (who grew like four years over the course of a single summer), and before Tina Yothers’s head got really massive, this show was top-notch. Remember A.P.K.’s framed photo of Nixon by his bedside? And the bleeding heart of Steven Keaton cannot but shine as a beacon even still. And Scott Valentine’s Nick will live on for years to come, whispering in our hour of distress, “Hey. Al-lex.”

3. Manimal: Some guy turns into a panther for some reason. ‘Nuff said....

4. Mr. Belvedere: No more drips on the china or drop-kicking your jacket when you come through the door (who does that?), not on Lynn Belvedere’s watch. Brice Beckham really lit up the small screen as Wesley, whose perpetual battle with Mr. Belvedere should forever retain its rightful place in television history.

5. Diff’rent Strokes: Started out great, until Mr. Drummond changed his name to “George,” married some woman named “Ma’am,” and started calling his oddly small adopted black kid “Webster.”

6. Life Goes On: The Cork abides. I don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that—knowing Corky’s out there, takin’ her easy for all us sinners.

7. The Master: Lee Van Cleef as John Peter McCallister was just brilliant, with Timothy Van Patton as Max, the apprentice with the shady van complete with hamster and wheel. What is it about Dutch guys and Kung-Fu fighting?

8. The Facts of Life: When the boys you used to hate, you date, I guess you’d best investigate the facts of life (been sayin’ it for years). Remember the pre-Jo Polniaczek days when Tootie wore skates and Molly Ringwald was in the cast? And did you know that Nancy McKeon’s brother played Tommy on Alice?

9. It’s Your Move: Jason Bateman at his finest. A career like his is sort of above scrutiny, but I’m sure we’d all agree that he really hit his stride in those post-Silver Spoons, pre-Valerie days. Gotta love the Dregs of Humanity.

10. Knight Rider: Michael Knight, a young loner on a crusade to champion the cause of the innocent, the helpless, the powerless (too bad Zrim couldn't convince him that only Kuyperians believe in helping people and improving society). By the way, anyone remember the pilot where Michael and K.I.T.T. looked different?

Enjoy the nostalgia....

Overthrow at the End of the Ages?

Let's get back to some theology, shall we?

There has been a good discussion over at Green Baggins about the nature of apostasy under the New Covenant. As you may know, our friends in the Federal Vision love to appeal to Paul's warning in I Corinthians 10 to demonstrate that the Old and New Covenants are virtually the same with respect to our experience of divine grace and the ability to resist temptation.

To the text....

What I find interesting is that, after telling his readers that Israel's "overthrow" in the wilderness is "written down for their instruction," Paul reminds the Corinthians that it is upon them that "the ends of the ages have come" (v. 11). He then warns them against haughtiness, after which he assures them that God will be faithful to his promises to them, not allowing them to be tempted beyond their ability, but with every temptation will provide a means of escape (v. 13). Then in vv. 14ff he starts talking about the Lord's Supper.

Hmmm....

There are passages in which Paul highlights continuity exclusively, and there are passages in which he focuses strictly upon discontinuity, but this is one of those texts where he expresses both (with the weight toward the former, to be sure).

But even here, where he draws an analogy between Israel's overthrow and our temptations, the apostle cannot resist mentioning that we are set apart from those who went before us in that the Spirit of the risen Christ has descended upon the New Covenant people of God and has served as a "Helper" in the midst of temptation.

My point is that we can no more easily draw a line straight from the Old Covenant community to ourselves than we can assume, without proving, that the only difference between the subject of Romans 7 and that of Romans 8 is his mood, disposition, or degree of covenant faithfulness.

Review of Kingdom Coming

This review of Michelle Goldberg’s Kingdom Coming: The Rise of Christian Nationalism was published in the most recent issue of Modern Reformation. Sorry for the length....

***

A self-described secular Jew and ardent urbanite, Michelle Goldberg takes her readers behind the scenes of a movement she has dubbed Christian Nationalism, a “totalistic political ideology” that begins with the idea that “the Bible is absolutely and literally true” and extrapolates from this “a total political program... a conflation of scripture and politics that sees America’s triumphs as confirmation of the truth of the Christian religion, and America’s struggles as part of a cosmic contest between God and the devil.” Christian Nationalism, Goldberg argues, “claims supernatural sanction for its campaign of national renewal and speaks rapturously about vanquishing the millions of Americans who would stand in its way.” The “ultimate goal” of this movement is not fairness but dominion: “The movement is built on a theology that asserts the Christian right to rule. That doesn’t mean that nonbelievers will be forced to convert. They’ll just have to learn their place.”

Although this reviewer’s usual reaction to reading the theologizing of atheists is similar to that of watching the blind juggle (i.e., amusement mixed with horror), I was both surprised and disturbed at the accuracy of Goldberg’s portrayal of Christian Nationalist leaders and the theology that compels them (surprised, because it’s not every day that I come across a Jew who can navigate the labyrinthine relationship between Tim LaHaye’s Dispensationalism, D. James Kennedy’s postmillennialism, and R.J. Rushdoony’s Reconstructionism; and disturbed, because she understands the relationship of eschatology to cultural vision more clearly than most Christians I know. More on this later…).

Among the topics Goldberg examines are Christian homeschooling and its importance for raising up the next generation of faithful conservative politicians and lobbyists, the revisionist history necessary to instill in us the myth of the evangelical piety of our nation’s Founding Fathers, the politics of homophobia, Intelligent Design, the elitism of faith-based initiatives for the poor, and the politics behind abstinence-only education. Goldberg points out the incredible irony of the fact that Christian Nationalism’s closest allies in these cultural battles are none other than Islamic fundamentalists. According to a story from The Washington Post (the headline of which read: “Islamic Bloc, Christian Right Team Up to Lobby U.N.”), “American evangelicals have made common cause with Islamists at the United Nations” to plot strategy on social issues. The lines defining good and evil, it seems, have been redrawn according to cultural, rather than religious, ideals. This is nothing new, of course. If many Protestant denominational distinctives have been sacrificed for the sake of waging a common cultural war, why stop there? Muslims, if anything, are certainly good in a fight.

Though the Jesus of Calvinism has been dubbed “The Transformer of Culture” by H. Richard Niebuhr in his seminal work Christ and Culture, the degree to which the Geneva reformer (or for that matter, the second Person of the Trinity) advocated social transformation as belonging to the church’s mandate is still an open question. What is not open to debate, however, is the Christian Nationalists’ interpretation of Jesus’ Great Commission to his disciples prior to his ascension to the Father’s right hand. Also closed is any discussion about the cultural content of that Commission, let alone the deeper issue of whether it contains such cultural content in the first place.

The Christian Nationalist political agenda, Goldberg points out, is essentially a baptized version of the talking points of the Grand Old Party. Though a robust critique of the movement’s underlying eschatology falls outside Goldberg’s purview or expertise—but she has plenty to say about its politics—it seems, to this reviewer anyway, that the differences between the politicized versions of pre- and postmillennialism pale in comparison to their glaring similarities. Both are consumed with power and the flexing of political muscle, and both are fearful of losing their influence and fading into cultural obscurity.

Throughout Kingdom Coming Goldberg both advocates a return to the rationalistic epistemology of the Enlightenment and assumes, somewhat naïvely, that such “objective” thinking will forever cure religious mankind of the need to force our cunningly devised fables upon our neighbors. The notion, for instance, that an evangelical scientist can have anything meaningful to say about cosmic origins is absurd in Goldberg’s estimation. An atheist biologist, on the other hand, has no ideological axe to grind, and therefore may speak authoritatively without having to recuse herself due to a conflict of interest.

Aside from the biased nature of Goldberg’s pretended lack of bias, her overall point is certainly well-taken: Christianity has been co-opted and its true aims commandeered for political ends, and narrow ones at that. Conspicuous by its absence from Christian Nationalist rhetoric is any actual defense of their understanding of what a Christianized society would look like. Instead, with a “wink wink” here and a “nudge nudge” there, we are exhorted to elect officials who will restore godliness and Christian virtue to our once-glorious land. “Godliness,” of course, really means unbridled capitalism, and “Christian virtue” is code for maintaining U.S. foreign policy and the War on Terror. But what about those Christians who don’t believe that America is under a national, conditional covenant with God like Israel was in time past? What about the thousands of sincere saints who don’t think the U.S. Constitution belongs in the ark of the covenant along with the tables of the Decalogue and Aaron’s rod that budded? And what about those believers whose eschatology precludes them from identifying the eternal concerns of the kingdom of Christ with the earthly affairs of the kingdom of man?

It is human nature to desire to unite with others of a like mind. What is often lacking is some banner or common cause to measure our like-mindedness and give us a reason to come together. While it is perfectly legitimate for fellow-citizens of the civil sphere to rally together for a social cause, or for brothers and sisters in Christ to celebrate their unity in the gospel, what is altogether illegitimate is to collapse these two kingdoms into one (a mistake Calvin called a “Jewish folly”). When we label our unity “Christian” while defining it by the bullet points of a political party (on either side of the aisle), we sacralize the secular, trivialize the sacred, and misconstrue the nature of Christianity as a civil religion whose first great commandment can be swallowed by the second.

By Jason J. Stellman

Seattle: A Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy?

In a classic case of pots calling kettles "black," the good folks at Forbes Magazine have listed the city of Seattle as one of the worst offenders with respect to those deadly sins of jealousy and greed.

As evidence for the latter, Forbes argues that

"the Puget Sound region is the home to the richest man on the planet, Bill Gates, as well as Paul Allen and Steve Ballmer of Microsoft and Amazon.com's Jeff Bezos."

Plus, lots of cars are apparently stolen, so, you know, jealousy's an issue up here as well.

The damning nature of the evidence notwithstanding (!), I still wonder whether this city is the "wretched hive of scum and villainy" that is is sometimes portrayed as. I mean, this is the city that gained worldwide notoriety for protesting the World Trade Organization's ministerial meeting in 1999. This is the place where people eat Grape Nuts, live in trees, and worship Ralph Nader. Grunge was invented here for crying out loud.

Still, maybe David Brooks was right, maybe all the alternative and countercultural edginess of Seattle has been blissfully wedded to the tech and espresso industry to form the perfect amalgam of bohemian and bourgeoisie: The "Bobo."

But either way, Seattle is a mirror held up to the rest of the nation, and if this city is greedy, other cities are certainly jealous of that greed (how's that for irony?). Microsoft is here. So is Boeing, Amazon.com, Starbucks, and Costco. When it comes to big business, we certainly can hold a candle to just about anywhere.

But how the citizen of the heavenly Jerusalem is to navigate these earthly waters of Babylon, well, that's another question....

Top Ten Albums of the Eighties

Things have been a bit, umm, heavy here at DRD of late, so maybe I'll start dedicating Fridays (which are slow blog days anyway) to some lighter fare.

Today, then, I give you, in no particular order, the ten best albums of the eighties (drom roll, please):

Green by REM

So by Peter Gabriel

Declaration by The Alarm

All of This and Nothing by The Psychedelic Furs

The Joshua Tree by U2

Porcupine by Echo and the Bunnymen

Urban Beaches by Cactus World News

Nothing Like the Sun by Sting

Kick by INXS

Synchronicity by The Police

I know, I know, I left some great stuff off the list. But if I think about it too long it'll become a top 100, and I just don't have the time....

Of Roses and Rifles, Crescents and Crosses

As was pointed out in the last thread, there is a stubborn insistence on the part of many American Christians that our nation's immunity to cultural Babylonianism inevitably results in our being the number one exporter of happiness to the rest of the planet. God uses this country, we are told, to be a providential source of blessing to the entire globe.

I cannot help but wonder if what we export is received in the same spirit in which it is allegedly given (I mean come on, those roses with which the Iraqis were supposed to greet our soldiers sure ended up looking a lot like rifles). Is it possible that others may not be particularly fond of the blessings we keep trying to give them?

Just because we say, really loudly and with lots of force, that we are just trying to help, doesn't always make it so. There is greater reason to believe that intense persecution by Muslim fundamentalists would be a blessing to the American church than there is for the idea that an American-style government and culture would be a blessing to the people of the third world. I mean, concerning the first scenario Jesus himself told us as much (Matt. 5:11-12), but that still doesn't make us actually desire it.

So maybe a healthy dose of national humility is called for, especially on the part of us Christians whose Bibles tell us that unchecked power, untold wealth, and greed euphemized as ambition, though as American as apple pie, are called in Scripture "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life" (I John 2:16).

If we don't want Islamo-fascist oppression here, and if they don't want our "free markets" over there, so what? Whether it comes dressed in camo and army boots, or in turbans and sandals, it's still Babylon.

And stamping it with a crescent or a cross won't change that....

On Babylon, Beasts, and White Picket Fences

I just preached from Revelation 13, where we are introduced to the beast from the sea and the beast from the earth (sometimes called "the antichrist" and the "false prophet" respectively). When we discover these beasts' project, we see that their aim is to combine military might and lofty religious rhetoric in order to bring about conformity to their sinister agenda of destroying the church by means of lies and deceit.

I can't help but wonder if, in our little parcel of earth, we haven't to some degree bought in to the lie that there's a protective force field around our nation that precludes our complicity in an agenda that is anything but godly and divinely-favored.

I recently heard a well-known Christian talk-show host (yes, he is Reformed) attempting to explain the difference between providence and redemption. He said, "You see, just because America has been the source of tremendous good in the world doesn't mean we hold a 'Most Favored Nation' status in God's redemptive plan. God uses us to providentially bless the world, but not to redeem it."

Indeed, for we wouldn't want to think too highly of ourselves, now would we?

As I heard that, I couldn't help but wonder if we see our heavenly citizenship as profound enough to help us handle the fact that our little corner of the kingdom of man is itself a suburb of Babylon, and no imagined myth of nobility or manifest destiny can change the earthly, fallen, and selfish motives that drive us "further up, and further in" to this Dream which we have been told we are blessed to enjoy.

Last time I checked, a dragon-empowered beast with ten horns, seven heads, and the authority to make war upon and conquer God's people is not likely to be stopped by stars, stripes, and white picket fences.

Semper Reformanda, But Nunquam Reformata

A good mate of mine, "ACD" (a resident scholar here at De Regnis Duobus), has taken a break from his doctoral work in Aberdeen to dig up the oldest reference to the phrase "semper reformanda" he could find. He writes:

"The earliest reference I've found to the notion of 'always reforming' is in Abraham Wright's (a.k.a. Abraham Philotheus) criticism of certain Scottish Presbyterians. Philotheus was dissatisfied with the state of affairs following the English Restitution; [he] says of [them] and [their] type: 'They could no more endure the Long Parliament with their Aristocracy, nor the Rump [Parliament] with their Oligarchy, nor the Protector with his Olivarchy, then their lawful Prince with his regular Monarchy. In a word, what they are in Church they are in State; always Reforming, but never Reformed.'"

So apparently, the earliest known usage of the slogan semper reformanda (a phrase that supposedly captures the spirit of the Protestant Reformation) was employed to characterize those who were little more than malcontents intent on spreading dissent among the ranks.

When we compare that description to those who insist upon using this slogan to force innovation in our Reformed churches today, I'd have to conclude that the shoe fits pretty well, wouldn't you?

It's OK to Fix It, But Only If It's Broke

If I had a nickel for every time I've heard that our churches need to be "always reforming" I would have, like, two dollars probably.

Think about this slogan for just a moment. According to this view, if our churches are not tweaking their theology always, then they're not living up to the spirit of the Reformation. Excuse me, but does it not seem a tad irresponsible to be constantly altering our theological formulations for no good reason?

Now of course, our confessions are not divinely inspired (though they are authoritative), and if or when the Bible demands a modification in our system of doctrine, we had better make the change.

But how often does something like this happen?

If you ask me, it's not every day that we make an exegetical quantum leap. Since the seventeenth century, I'd say that men like Geerhardus Vos, Herman Ridderbos, and Meredith Kline have significantly forwarded our theological conversation in ways that further, but do not contradict, our confessional orthodoxy. And when faithful and compelling exegesis demands we adapt, then by all means, let us adapt.

But I have no interest in "always reforming" for the sake of being innovative. "if it ain't broke, don't fix it," as the fella said.

Confessional Minimalism or Maximalism?

I have been thinking lately about the nature of the minister's relationship and obligation to the doctrinal standards of his church. Do we take a minimalist approach, which only asks that he not contradict the teaching of his confession, or is a maximalist approach to be preferred, which insists that he positively affirm his church's doctrines and promise not to stray outside the parameters of his confession?

Of the seven ordination vows a PCA minister must affirm, the second reads as follows:

Do you sincerely receive and adopt the Confession of Faith and the Catechisms of this Church, as containing the system of doctrine taught in the Holy Scriptures; and do you further promise that if at any time you find yourself out of accord with any of the fundamentals of this system of doctrine, you will on your own initiative, make known to your Presbytery the change which has taken place in your views since the assumption of this ordination vow?

In the light of this statement, one may reasonably enquire whether it is legitimate to posit an additional, supplementary version of a specific confessional doctrine which contradicts the confession's teaching, but claims the freedom to do so because it is just reflecting the broader teaching of Scripture on the subject in question.

For example, the Westminster Standards teach that union with Christ is a "special benefit" enjoyed by the "members of the invisible church," and that by this union "the elect... are spiritually and mystically, yet really and inseparably" joined with Christ (WLC 65-66). The "inseparable" nature of this union precludes "true believers" from "totally or finally falling away from a state of grace" (WLC 79). Finally, the various benefits of Christ's mediation, such as "justification, adoption, and sanctification," are given to "the members of the invisible church" as "manifestations of their union with him."

Now here's my question: If the phrase "union with Christ" is not found in the Bible, and if the various prepositional phrases used to denote this concept are also used in passages that plainly teach that the connection can be broken, then what is the responsibility of the expositor of Scripture at this point?

Should he (1) Teach that there are two kinds of "union with Christ," the Westminster kind and the John 15 kind? Or, (2) Teach that "union with Christ" refers to what the Standards are referring to, and insist that the John 15 phenomenon be called something else? Or, (3) Teach whatever version of "union with Christ" his passage is referring to without any qualification whatsoever?

Pacific Northwest Study Committee Meeting

Just a heads-up to those of you who are interested, our study committee that was appointed to examine the theology of Peter Leithart will be meeting tomorrow to see where we stand. Please pray for all of us involved, that we would discharge our duty with fairness, conviction, and brotherly love. We are due to report to presbytery in April.

Who Tramples Whom Underfoot?

I recently preached from Revelation 11, and as is the case all over that prophecy, this chapter offered a powerfully vivid metaphor to describe the church:

Then I was given a measuring rod like a staff, and I was told, "Rise and measure the temple of God and the altar and those who worship there, but do not measure the court outside the temple; leave that out, for it is given over to the nations, and they will trample the holy city for forty-two months" (vv. 1-2).

Some points of note: (1) The command to "measure the temple" involves measuring people, meaning the temple is not a literal structure; (2) The outer court is to be left unmeasured, and therefore unprotected; (3) The unprotected outer court is called "the holy city," a designation that elsewhere in Revelation refers to the Lamb's wife, the New Jerusalem (21:2; 22:19).

So according to this picture, the church is portrayed as partly measured and invincible, and partly unmeasured and vulnerable. As with the two witnesses in this chapter, who are hated by all and yet protected by God until their mission is complete, at which time their martyred bodies are raised and ascend to heaven, so the church is illustrated in an ironic and paradoxical fashion in order to demonstrate the bittersweetness of her earthly existence.

Now in continuing our Babylonian theme of late, I find it interesting that the divine description of the church, in the thinking of many sincere believers today, fits better when applied to the good ol' U.S. of A.

Our God-fearing nation, we are assured, is hated by infidels, A-rabs, the French, and other unsavory types because our light on the hill is shining brightly upon their culturally backward societies, exposing their lack of megachurches and WalMarts (which are one and the same, really).

Well, I would humbly suggest that "the Gentiles" who "trample the holy city" are not Muslims who fly planes into our skyscrapers, but the very aspects of our society (yes, ours) that turn our churches into strip malls, our worshipers into consumers, and our God into a commodity beholden to the ebb and flow of the Market.

Babylon By Mirror

I remember listening a sermon by Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones in which he referred to the hymn "The Kingdom Come, O God" which contained this line:

O’er heathen lands afar
Thick darkness broodeth yet:
Arise, O Morning Star,
Arise, and never set!

He basically laughed, and lamented, at the idea that Great Britain was still thought of in his day as a place that needed to look "afar" to find "heathen lands." Look no farther than in the collective mirror, the Doctor argued, for there you'll find all the heathensim you'll ever want to see.

I wonder if transformationism in the spiritual kingdom is the mirror-image of its counterpart in the civil one?

Just as postmillennial transformationists feel compelled to "redeem the city," so many Americans (believing or not) feel the responsibility to "make the world safe for democracy." The latter has been called "the white man's burden," and perhaps the former should be considered the Christian version of Manifest Destiny.

If what is good for the pious goose is good for the pagan gander, then the secular version of judgment begining at the house of God may be the willingness to admit that we Americans don't need to get to "Babylon By Bus," we can just walk out our front door.

Who, us Babylon? I dunno, but Revelation 18 hits eerily close to home.

On Obstinate Optimism

I find it interesting, when I consider genres like the printed page or the screen (big or small), how rare a thing it is to come across a true tragedy. You know, the kind where Sauron takes the Ring, where Voldemort kills all the Muggles, and where the villain escapes at the end, leaving behind a trail of suffering and darkness with no evidence of "lux post tenebras" (as the fella said).

The reason for this is pretty obvious, I think: Deep down we need to believe that nice guys finish first, that only the good die old, that cheaters never prosper, that crime doesn't pay, and that honesty, at the end of the day, really is the best policy.

Problem is, none of this is true. Not in the here and now, anyway.

What if the story of man, in his earthly kingdom under the sun, is the consummate and archetypical tragedy? Now I know what you're thinking: "Well duh, Sherlock! Of course it is, look at all the suffering and misery out there." Yes, but perhaps we're not seeing the tragic nature of the human story with sufficient clarity and depth.

Let me put it another way: What if our collective earthly story, yours and mine, is actually swept up in and even contributing to the tragic nature of this present age? What if it's not merely the case that, despite America's most valliant efforts to rid the world of evildoers, suffering still exists out there among the swarthy and less civilized. But what if we Americans are ourselves culprits, contributing collectively to what we claim, on paper at least, to desire to eradicate?

I'll not elaborate just yet (or perhaps ever). I'm just wondering out loud if we American Christians are willing to accept the fact that our heavenly citizenship may be the only redeeming thing about our earthly lives.

I mean, we Reformed folk can resign ourselves to being outsiders looking into a broader church culture with which we feel little affinity, and we often do it with no small amount of moustache-twisting and sinister glee. But why can we so readily "tsk, tsk" those misguided evangelicals, while insisting that our secular corner of the earthly kingdom is on the right side of every battle, destined to don the white hat and ride off into the providential, common grace sunset?

When A Credit in Thine Account Ye Place, Pollute Ye May, Without Disgrace!

Call me behind the times or hopelessly out of touch, but last week I heard, for the first time, about carbon credits.

The way these credits work, as far as I can tell, is by allocating to a company a certain amount of credits which they can use to pollute the environment. Companies that pollute less, and therefore have extra credits which remain unused, can sell those credits to companies whose pollution levels exceed what their carbon credits will allow.

First of all, this sounds a lot like the Roman Catholic practice of selling indulgences, doesn't it? If you're going to sin, here's a pre-approved, divinely sanctioned excuse for it. Pretty soon we'll be hearing that the carbon credits still in the accounts of companies that go belly-up will be placed in a "treasury of merit" from which those with less than super-erogatory tendencies may draw.

Secondly, it drives me crazy that something like "environmental virtue" can be placed within the jurisdiction of the Market and treated as a commodity. Didn't there used to be things called "commons" which were, back in the day at least, big open spaces that belonged to everyone? Well, it seems the Enclosure Act that placed literal spaces (like parks and greenbelts) in private hands has extended beyond mere real estate and now includes all kinds of other things that are now up for sale.

I guess it just annoys me that everything from schools to street signs, hospitals to health care, and water to warfare are subjected to Market forces and treated as consumer products auctioned off to the highest bidder.

OK, enough ranting....

The Scandal of the Gospel

I just began a series of sermons called More Than Conquerors in which I plan to look at Romans 6-8 and focus on the topic of Christian living under the shadow of the cross, and in the power of the Spirit.

This morning I preached from Romans 6:1 and quoted Martyn Lloyd-Jones, who insisted that all faithful preaching must be mistaken for antinomianism, saying, "There is a kind of dangerous element about the true presentation of the doctrine of salvation."

You see, those who see the gospel primarily as a tool for individual or cultural transformation will inevitably be hesitant to give too much attention to something like grace. After all, if not even the law could cure our constant sinning, and then God just accepts us anyway, the conclusion that grace will curb our lusts sounds pretty absurd if you think about it.

"Give 'em an inch," as the fella said.

With all due acknowledgement of the dangers of the etymological fallacy, it is still interesting that the word from which we translate the "offense" that the scribes and Pharisees felt at Jesus' person and message is the Greek verb scandalizomai, from which we derive our English word "scandal."

I don't know about you, but if a person's understanding of the gospel isn't scandalous to my natural way of thinking, if it doesn't call into question everything I think I know, if it doesn't subvert the wisdom of this age, then when you preach it I can barely muster the energy to yawn.

Which is why my response to the idea that the gospel is simply the latest in a long line of self-help methods, or that New Urbanism is "kingdom work," is to wonder why Jesus had to be so attention-seeking as to die to accomplish such tasks.

If the gospel is as "earthy" as many claim, then I will echo the scandal of the scribes and protest alongside them the seeming overkill of the cross and resurrection.

The Right Error to be Wrongly Charged With

After expounding in glorious detail the gospel of justification by faith through the imputation to sinners of an alien righteousness, Paul the apostle begins the sixth chapter of Romans with the question, "What then? Shall we continue in sin that grace may abound?"

It seems to me that one of the key ways whereby we can determine whether we've understood one of Paul's arguments is by whether or not we are tempted to ask the question that he anticipates his readers asking.

So if, after reading the first five chapters of Romans, your first thought is that you can sin as much as you like since God's grace is so abundant, you're on the right track.

I know, I know... Paul's answer to the question is "no," but that doesn't change the fact that it's precisely the right question to ask.

The case can be made, therefore, that if Paul was constantly charged with preaching antinomianism (cf. Rom. 2:8), then this same charge will be made against those who preach a Pauline gospel today.

The question arises, then, concerning those in our circles who are sympathetic to the theology of the Federal Vision: In your zeal to remedy antinomianism, are you in fact undermining justification by faith alone? And if not, why do your critics all seem to think you are?

And what's more, Does it concern you that you are being charged with the exact opposite error with which Paul was charged?

I Knew It!

Many Reformed confessionalists have long suspected that our Federal Vision friends are guilty of smuggling the covenant of works in through the back door by their rejection of the law/gospel distinction in favor of "covenant faithfulness."

Now we have proof....

Federal Visionist and PCA pastor Mark Horne wrote, in response to yours truly, the following:

"And for the record, there simply is no invective strong enough to describe the crimes of Westminster West against the Bible and the Reformed Faith" (comment #87).

Let the reader note that this was written after FV Godfather James Jordan did a pretty good job of calling down imprecations against Reformed orthodoxy when he spoke of the PCA's Federal Vision study committee as "a pack of liars... so openly wicked and evil, and so totally tyrannical, that is makes the Papacy look like small potatoes by comparison," R.C. Sproul as a "clown," and the PCA more broadly as a "gaggle of fools."

So there you have it. Curse-sanctions do have a role to play this side of the cross and empty tomb after all.

They are to be invoked against Westminster Seminary California.

***

Update: If you are tempted to comment about the precise nature of the Mosaic curse-sanctions or the definition of "invective," please refrain (for that is not the point of my post). Plus, you may want to re-read the verse about straining out a gnat while swallowing a camel.

Take My Advice and Do Better....

I often like to joke about how I would be a great coach for just about any sports team. For example, if I were a batting coach on a baseball team, I would patiently instruct the hitter not to swing at balls, only at strikes. And while we're on the subject, if you do swing, be sure to actually hit the ball (what's the point of swinging and missing?). Oh, and another thing: if you do hit it, be sure to hit it somewhere where there's not a fielder standing there (he might throw you out). Aim better, is what I'm saying.

As amusing as I think I am when I bark such instructions at the TV screen while a bunch of people are gathered to watch a game, the fact is that many church leaders do the same thing when instructing their congregations, or the church at large.

Apparently, the church is supposed to "have an impact." Plus, it should definitely "bring in the kingdom," all the while not forgetting to "redeem the culture."

Is it me, or is this instruction about as helpful as "hit better," "throw harder," and "run faster"?

Thankfully, the Reformed confessions make the church's marching orders much more clear: the job of the local church is to make disciples by preaching the Word, administering the sacraments, and exercising discipline in the lives of its members.

Whatever impact or success that the church may hope for (things that are in God's hands), it will only come as the result of doing the things we are actually responsible for. Moreover, if the church refuses to give due attention to the preaching of the apostles' doctrine, fellowship, the breaking of bread, and the prayers, she has no business expecting God's blessing on her extra-curricular activities.

When properly understood, then, the advice the church needs to heed is both simple and specific:

Be the Church.