One thing that we in the PCA-- and in the broader church-- must be careful of is the difficulty of sectarianism. Frankly, it is something that we have been far too careless about, and that must change for the church to move forward in this century in the United States.

When I say sectarianism, this is what I mean: when we are quick to dismiss, divide from, or decry because of a disagreement over ANY issue, large or small, we might be sectarians. When our nuances are different from someone else’s, so we determine that they are wrong by default, we are being sectarian. When we decide that we understand what someone else believes better than they do, and we castigate them for those beliefs, we are acting in sectarian ways.

Let me illustrate: the position of the Westminster Confession of Faith-- our denominational confession-- on the observance of the Sabbath, is fairly straightforward. Essentially, the Sabbath day must be preserved from ALL activities apart from worship and passive rest (the one accepted exception to this being “deeds of mercy”). Basically, a Christian ought to return home from corporate morning worship and retire to his prayer closet until rejoining the congregation for evening worship, according to the WCF.

This raises a lot of questions, like what should a Christian do about meals? Must they be simple and plain, requiring the sparsest of work? Is a parent who attends to the needs of an infant child sinning because of the work involved (or is this a deed of mercy)? How does this apparently strict observance of the Sabbath square up to the New Testament portrayal of the Lord’s Day as a time of celebration, feasting, and delight?

Consequently, I don’t know ANYONE who is ordained who doesn’t take some exception to the WCF’s position on the Sabbath; the classic exception is phrased something like, “I think it’s okay to throw the baseball with my kid in the backyard.” In some (many?) presbyteries, this is not even considered an exception of any substance; in ours, for example, this is normally judged as an exception of primarily semantic nature (although I’m personally confident that the Westminster Divines-- the guys who wrote the WCF-- would not agree).

In other words, we have nuances to our theological convictions. Here’s where sectarianism comes in: when my nuances are different from your nuances, I am acting in a sectarian manner if I say that your nuances are wrong by default, simply because they aren’t just like mine. I am sinning when I do this, in several ways: I am exhibiting pride in my nuances, rather than a humility that acknowledges that I could be wrong; I am failing to exercise biblical discernment in considering the position of the other; I am dividing from my brother over what is (often) an issue that should not break fellowship, rather than preserving the unity the Christ Himself emphasized ought to define us.

Yet, sadly, this happens all the time in the PCA. In fact, it happens all the time in much of the church. It has defined the manner in which several denominational debates have played out over the past decade or so. It has caused harm to the reputation of the church both within and outside of her walls.

Another illustration: a friend of mine was one of the speakers for the Conversation on Denominational Renewal a little more than a year ago. (Actually, a few of those guys are friends, and I won’t say which one I speak of now.) This same friend had presented the same ideas that he offered at the Conversation at another meeting, where 50 or 60 key leaders in the PCA were gathered. Afterwards, my friend was talking privately with one of the bigger names in the PCA-- known inside our denomination and outside of it as a man of some stature, whose name you would probably know if I offered it (but I won’t).

My friend said to this man, “Whether you aim to or not, you are one of the few people in a position to shape the future of the PCA. Here’s what I want to know: is there room in your PCA for a guy like me?”

After a moment’s pause, this leader responded, “I don’t know.”

This is sectarianism at its fullest. My friend is openly and publicly inviting others to consider with him how the PCA could be better: more biblical, more united, more loving in our presentation of truth, more faithfully living out our theology. Yet for this leader, there might not be room for such a guy-- because my friend doesn’t “look” exactly like him.

This is what causes denominations to splinter over reasons that make no sense a hundred years later. This is why there are more than 44 Reformed denominations in the United States alone. This is what keeps us from having a vital ministry of evangelizing the lost: because we’re too busy killing and eating our own people, and others look on that and wonder why they would ever want to be a part of it.

It’s not unique to the PCA, either. Mark Dever’s recent rant about things he cannot live with, including Universalism, Racism, and Infant Baptism (which he further qualified by describing what a sinful practice infant baptism is) is another example of rampant sectarianism (not to mention irony).

Sectarianism is the real sin here-- and I believe it is a sin that we ought to exercise church discipline for.

Tags: PCA, Church Universal, theology, General Assembly, presbyterians, community, love, PCA Polity

Many of you have seen me wearing my clerical collar. I started wearing it not very long after I was ordained, but I don’t wear it all the time so many others have NOT seen it on me. Almost a year ago, I wrote about why I wear a robe in worship. Recently, a friend (and fellow pastor) saw me in mine asked that I write a similar post on them.

There are a handful of good reasons why I wear a collar.

First of all: It makes me recognizable as the pastor. When you go into the hospital, it is clear who is the doctor; when you walk into a courtroom, you can easily tell which person is the judge. They are wearing distinctive clothing that sets them apart. Likewise, when a police officer or a fireman comes to your home, you recognize them for who and what they are by the clothing they wear. So, when someone comes into the church-- or when a pastor visits someone in their home, at the hospital, etc.-- then he should be easily recognized as the pastor.

Which leads to the question, why can’t a pastor simply wear a coat and tie, or a suit? This brings up the second reason: It serves as the “uniform” of the pastor. Many professions have their uniforms, and it would seem odd for one to adapt the uniform of another. For example, it would seem strange for a court judge to start wearing a white lab-coat. When a pastor puts on a suit and tie, he is adopting the uniform of the secular business world. But I am NOT a business man; I am a pastor, and I ought to dress accordingly.

Contrary to popular misconception, the clerical collar is not Roman Catholic in origin. The current form of the collar (detachable) was actually invented in the early 1800s by a Scottish Anglican named Donald Macleodl however, its origins are actually thought to reach as far back as the 17th century as the daily street clothes of a pastor. It has historically been worn by Anglicans, Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans, and even Pentecostals, as well as Roman Catholics (who didn’t adapt the clerical collar as streetwear for priests until the 19th century).

Also, and to me this is one of the most important reasons: It presents me in the office I hold, not just as an individual. I am a pastor, not exactly because of who I am, but because of what God has called and appointed me to do. This calling and appointment has been verified by the local congregation I serve as well as the larger body (the Presbytery) that ordained me. When I show up for an event or circumstance that needs a pastor-- at the hospital, for example-- very often I don’t offer any real value as a person. When I show up in the capacity of my office, though, what I offer is the presence of something that is bigger and greater than just me: I offer the presence of a pastor. This is vitally important, and the clerical collar marks that capacity and presence distinctively.

Somehow we instinctively understand this; that fact brings to bear the next reason: it offers me opportunities for ministry that I wouldn’t otherwise have. Like many others who wear a clerical collar, I have been surprised at the number of times when a perfect stranger has approached me for prayer or counsel-- because I am wearing my collar. (Without exception, this has NEVER happened without it-- even when I have been introduced to someone as a pastor.) In the store, on the street, or at the hospital, I have had a number of occasions already where I have found this to be the case (and I only began wearing one last summer).

Similarly, it gives me access FOR ministry that I wouldn’t otherwise have. At least, I wouldn’t have it inherently. When I go to the hospital (without a collar) and identify myself as a pastor, then they are typically cooperative and allow me to visit my congregants wherever they are. When I’m wearing my collar, however, I don’t have to explain myself or make special requests-- I am instantly granted access to wherever I want to go. (I’ve joked with the son of one of our church members, who works at a local hospital, that my collar gives me as much access as his key-card!) This is true at a nursing home or funeral parlor as well. The benefit here is that, in moments that are timely or somewhat awkward, the collar answers questions before they need to be asked.

Finally, it “completes” my representation of the church. I’m firmly convinced that the pastor is always the public face of the local church. Regardless of whether he intends to be, the community around the church will regard him as such; this is a big reason why we have big problems church-wide when one of our pastors commits a significant act of indiscretion, no matter whether it would normally be “private” or not. Wearing a collar reminds others of this, and it reminds the pastor of this, too: I am conscious of the fact that I am a representative of the church more when I’m wearing my collar than when I’m not. (Some might argue that this would be a reason for all Christians to wear a uniform, which might be a bit odd; I don’t think it quite goes that far, though I think uniforms do have that benefit.)

A fellow PCA pastor in St. Louis has written a very helpful article about this, entitled, “Why I Wear a Minister’s Uniform.” If you read it, you’ll see that I share a lot of these reasons in common with him. That’s not simply because he and I agree, but, I believe, more because these things are all true of clerical collars.

Tags: Pastoral ministry, Church Universal, Evangelism

One of my former co-workers once said to me, “I don’t get this whole Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.”

I said, “Have you ever read, listened to, or watched his ‘I Have a Dream’ speech?”

“No,” he replied.

That explained it all to me.

This year, MLK Day has peculiar significance, as you know. If YOU don’t “get” it, then let me offer the following as an introduction to what makes it so important.

Martin Luther King, Jr. was a Christian Pastor and preacher, and was compelled by the convictions of his faith to speak out against the oppression and racism that was so prevalent in his day, and in many ways remains so in ours (if perhaps more subtly at times). His speech-- almost a sermon-- entitled, “I Have a Dream,” draws on the heritage of our country and what the ideas and principles behind the constitution stand for; more importantly, though, it draws even more heavily on biblical themes, particularly themes of redemption, love, and longing for glory, and is a heralding call to everyone-- ESPECIALLY Christians-- to live out these biblical principles.

In short, King responded to racism, hate, and oppression by calling for MORE Christianity, and a closer adherence to biblical Christianity.

Here is the text of “I Have a Dream”:

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Here is the speech on video:

Tags: Faith & Life, Cultural Discernment, rhetoric, Church Universal, love, community

I agree with 99% of what Michael says here about “what [he] means by Post-Evangelical.”

I find much of the baggage of evangelicalism stifling to my faith, my ministry, and the life of the church. I appreciate his gentle critique, and find it helpful to have some new categories to think in.

What do you think of it? Could you consider yourself a “Post-Evangelical” according to these criteria?

Tags: Faith & Life, Pastoral ministry, Church Universal, community

Not long ago, I was talking with an acquaintance about the liturgy at Hickory Withe Presbyterian Church. I specifically mentioned that we were beginning to make use of the liturgical calendar more intentionally. He wrinkled his nose, furrowed his brow, and replied, “I don’t know... that’s sort of like the Roman Catholic and orthodox churches.”

I said, “Sort of.”

He responded, “But aren’t you a Presbyterian church?”

Even though we talked about it for a few more minutes, I could tell the conversation was over at this point.

This fellow, and many like him, approach such matters from the same perspective: they are inherently suspicious of anyone-- or anything-- that is different from what they understand and practice. In this case, his experiences and personal practices had suggested to him that all Presbyterians had plain, unadorned, even stoic worship that varied not by season nor circumstance. Therefore, he concluded, any church that diverged from this path, even though they may be Presbyterian, was not practicing proper Presbyterian worship. They-- and in this case, we-- must be in error.

Why must this be the case? Is it so that the Roman Catholics or Eastern Orthodox are utterly wrong? Could it be possible that they might teach and/or practice some things with which we might disagree, but not all things? Couldn’t the same thing be true of other Christian traditions?

When faced with questions such as these, I’ve found that “Suspicion because of difference” will grant my premises. Yet, when it comes to actually practicing this, they have no interest, and in fact they are sometimes fearful.

This is natural, I think: we are all fearful of what we don’t know and understand. Most of us are insecure enough to interpret differences as a conscious and active condemnation of our point of view, rather than simply a thoughtful and purposeful acceptance of another point of view. And we are prideful enough to look on something that is different from what we do, think, or feel as wrong by default.

But we must be careful when our default position is to be suspicious of something simply because it is different. Look at it this way: most, if not all, of how you spend your time today, what you think about, and the beliefs that you hold, are inherently different from what you did, thought, or believed a decade or two ago. In many of us, the differences are drastic-- and we are grateful that they are! In fact, if someone cannot honestly say that this is at least somewhat true of them-- that they are a good bit different today than 10 years ago-- then they either aren’t being honest with themselves or they haven’t demonstrated any personal growth over that time.

If I, 10 years ago, had met the “me” from today, would I even recognize myself? Would I be suspicious of the differences I saw in this other person? If that is true of me-- and you-- then shouldn’t we give those who are different from us some benefit of the doubt?

What are we looking for when we demand conformity to our own images in this way? Are we simply looking for affirmation? Are we attending to some deep insecurities that cause us to second-guess ourselves, and therefore others as well?

Or are we asking for some shibboleth that Scripture itself doesn’t require? Tim Keller once said, “No matter where you are, there is someone to your right, as it were, who thinks you sold out the Gospel.” Is this what we’re getting at when we get so suspicious so quickly?

Two nights ago I had a conversation with someone who noted that, in visiting a different Presbyterian church, he had observed a surprising number of things that harkened back to Anglican, Eastern Orthodox, and Roman Catholic practices. He was surprised.

“Why?” I asked him. “I think John Calvin and Martin Luther would have wanted it that way.”

“Do you really think so?” He asked.

“Yes-- after all, Luther and Calvin didn’t want to not be Roman Catholic-- they simply wanted the Roman Catholic church to be biblically faithful.”

But we forget that. And we forget that our differences-- whether they be about worship practices, liturgical calendars, theologies of baptism, or how actively we must pursue a certain social agenda-- ought not be something that we are inherently suspicious of.

One of my favorite TV shows was (and is!) The West Wing. In one episode, a group of Chinese refugees were trying to flee religious persecution in their homeland, and President Bartlett (played by Martin Sheen) was seeking affirmation that they were legitimately Christians and not just being coached. Meanwhile, China is demanding that the refugees be returned.

Instructive. After all, this is the sum of it, and any further shibboleth that I construct is wrong. Let’s be a bit less suspicious.^*


*Don’t get me wrong here: I’m not suggesting that it is wrong to have theological standards for, say, ordination-- but simply that when I don’t “get” the way another Christian practices their faith, I must be careful not to assume that their faith therefore isn’t real.

Tags: Faith & Life, love, Liturgy, community, Church Universal

The title came from a description that a pastor gave about what his church was doing by offering refuge to folks fleeing the path of Hurricane Gustav. This ironic statement echoes exactly what my friend Craig and I recently dialogued about on his blog. What’s wrong with this picture?

This quote demonstrates how thoroughly the ideas of “postmodernism” have influenced even the church. Without getting deeply into all of the aspects of postmodern philosophy, one thing that is notable is how the shifts in philosophy have led to consequent shifts in the seat of authority-- when, by “authority,” I mean the arbiter of truth, stability, and purpose. Follow with me:

Whether he realizes it or not, this pastor (quoted above) has clearly become convinced of the Post-Modern position, at least as far as whose role and duty it is to care for those in need. Historically, the Church has been the default institution that would be assumed to be charged with caring for the needy. In that sense, it would be just the opposite: the governmental services would be filling the gap the Church left.

How is that our mindset? Do we recognize that the Church’s job-- not the government’s-- is to attend to the needs of those in need? Do we understand the implications of this for the way that we vote or take up political activity? When we believe that the fundamental and primary solutions to our social and community problems is to vote the “right” person into office, have we sold out our biblical view of the church for a Postmodern illusion of solutions?

Tags: Cultural Discernment, Faith & Life, Philosophy, Church Universal