Is Unbelief a Sin?

Your weekly dose of Spurgeon
posted by Phil Johnson

The PyroManiacs devote some space each weekend to highlights from The Spurgeon Archive. The following excerpt is from "The Sin of Unbelief," a sermon on 2 Kings 7:19. Spurgeon originally preached it on 14 January 1855 at New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

nbelief hath more phases than the moon, and more colors than the chameleon. Common people say of the devil, that he is seen sometimes in one shape, and sometimes in another. I am sure this is true of Satan's first-born child—unbelief, for its forms are legion.

At one time I see unbelief dressed out as an angel of light. It calls itself humility, and it saith, "I would not be presumptuous; I dare not think that God would pardon me; I am too great a sinner." We call that humility, and thank God that our friend is in so good a condition. I do not thank God for any such delusion. It is the devil dressed as an angel of light; it is unbelief after all.

At other times we detect unbelief in the shape of a doubt of God's immutability: "The Lord has loved me, but perhaps he will cast me off to-morrow. He helped me yesterday, and under the shadows of his wings I trust; but perhaps I shall receive no help in the next affliction. He may have cast me off; he may be unmindful of his covenant, and forget to be gracious." Sometimes this infidelity is embodied in a doubt of God's power. We see every day new straits, we are involved in a net of difficulties, and we think "surely the Lord cannot deliver us." We strive to get rid of our burden, and finding that we cannot do it, we think God's arm is as short as ours, and his power as little as human might.

A fearful form of unbelief is that doubt which keeps men from coming to Christ; which leads the sinner to distrust the ability of Christ to save him, to doubt the willingness of Jesus to accept so great a transgressor. But the most hideous of all is the traitor, in its true colors, blaspheming God, and madly denying his existence.

Infidelity, deism, and atheism are the ripe fruits of this pernicious tree; they are the most terrific eruptions of the volcano of unbelief. Unbelief hath become of full stature when quitting the mask and laying aside disguise, it profanely stalks the earth, uttering the rebellious cry, "No God," striving in vain to shake the throne of the divinity, by lifting up its arm against Jehovah, and in its arrogance would

"Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod,
Re-judge his justice—be the god of God."

Then truly unbelief has come to its full perfection, and then you see what it really is, for the least unbelief is of the same nature as the greatest.

I am astonished, and I am sure you will be, when I tell you that there are some strange people in the world who do not believe that unbelief is a sin. Strange people I must call them, because they are sound in their faith in every other respect; only, to make the articles of their creed consistent, as they imagine, they deny that unbelief is sinful.

I remember a young man going into a circle of friends and ministers, who were disputing whether it was a sin in men that they did not believe the gospel. Whilst they were discussing it, he said, "Gentlemen am I in the presence of Christians? Are you believers in the Bible, or are you not?"

They said, "We are Christians of course."

"Then," said he, "does not the Scripture say, 'of sin, because they believed not on me?' And is it not the damning sin of sinners, that they do not believe on Christ?"

I could not have thought that persons should be so fool-hardy as to venture to assert that "it is no sin for a sinner not to believe on Christ." I thought that, however far they might wish to push their sentiments, they would not tell a lie to uphold the truth, and, in my opinion this is what such men are really doing.

Truth is a strong tower and never requires to be buttressed with error. God's Word will stand against all man's devices. I would never invent a sophism to prove that it is no sin on the part of the ungodly not to believe, for I am sure it is, when I am taught in the Scriptures that, "This is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men love darkness rather than light," and when I read, "He that believeth not is condemned already, because he believeth not on the Son of God," I affirm, and the Word declares it, unbelief is a sin.

Surely with rational and unprejudiced persons, it cannot require any reasoning to prove it. Is it not a sin for a creature to doubt the word of its Maker? Is it not a crime and an insult to the Divinity, for me, an atom, a particle of dust, to dare to deny his words? Is it not the very summit of arrogance and extremity of pride for a son of Adam to say, even in his heart, "God I doubt thy grace; God I doubt thy love; God I doubt thy power?"

Oh! sirs believe me, could ye roll all sins into one mass,—could you take murder, and blasphemy, and lust, adultery, and fornication, and everything that is vile and unite them all into one vast globe of black corruption, they would not equal even then the sin of unbelief. This is the monarch sin, the quintessence of guilt; the mixture of the venom of all crimes; the dregs of the wine of Gomorrah; it is the A1 sin, the masterpiece of Satan, the chief work of the devil.

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Unfathomable unbelief

by Dan Phillips

And he said to them, "Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?" (Luke 24:38)

Is this really a rhetorical question?

Our unbelief has to be unfathomable to God, as was the disciples' to Christ. It is as if He were saying,

"What basis have I ever given you for doubting Me? I told you that I would be rejected, handed over to the chief priests and scribes, beaten, condemned, crucified, killed (Luke 9:22, 44; 18:31-33). You didn't believe that would happen, but it did. I also said I'd rise again from the dead (Luke 18:33). Did you disbelieve? Again? Why?"

To say that God knows and understands all things is not to say that God finds everything understandable, if you take my meaning.

It is clear that the Lord does not see doubt as a virtue. But beyond even that, He seems to find unbelief unbelievable.

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The churchless Church

by Frank Turk

Yesterday I threatened to blog Kent's comment on Phil's post, and frankly I've lost interest in the 12 mistakes thing (I'll finish it, just not today), so rather than admit it was a boring idea I'll blog Kent's comments here under the heading of "other kinds of mistakes".

Kent said this:

I agree wholeheartedly. How could I not? It's Scripture. It's also what we do. We go out and preach the message, unvarnished, every week. Whether we grow numerically, according to Jesus, is dependent on the condition of the soil (Mt. 13).

Which, you know, is right from one perspective -- that we are called to preach the word, in season and out of season.

But here's a funny thing: I think Kent is making the same mistake that the people he is criticizing are making, only on the "do nothing" side of the fence. Here's what I mean, by way of first letting Kent elaborate on his own point:

Which brings me to a few questions. Why do even conservative evangelicals put so much emphasis on an invitation methodology (inviting unbelievers to some special event, many times with music)? Young pastors are generally convinced that to be a "success" (get big), they need a slick website, a kewl brochure, snazzy greeters, comfortable, casual dress, expansive parking, an especially decent building, and some events, especially around holidays, that will attract in unbelievers. This type of strategy was taken further by the Warren types and even more so by the emergent. In other words, it has become a matter of degree. Why should they stop their extremes if conservative evangelicals are using essentially the same strategies, just toned down?

Now, here's the thing: what if someone has all those things Kent mentions not in place of preaching the word, but actually as a result of preaching the word?

This is the mistake I think Kent is making, and I am sure he will amend and expand his own remarks in the meta as he sees fit: I think Kent operates under the assumption that either [a] preaching the Gospel mostly cannot be "successful" in terms of numbers exploding, or [b] preaching the Gospel does not really produce anything but saved people who will come to church and sit to listen to more.

And this, frankly, is the error of modern evangelicalism. Here's what I mean: as Phil said so well yesterday,

In other words, it is not just the strategy of preaching that seems foolish to human wisdom. It is the message itself. The gospel is an announcement that seems foolish and naive to the fallen human mind.

But what's at stake is not just eternal salvation: what is also at stake is the church itself -- which even Kent would admit has something which happens locally and communally.

The evangelical mistake is this: if we make a community with attractive values, maybe we can then slip the Gospel in sideways and draw people to Christ. It makes the community consequences of the Gospel the objective rather than something which is caused by the objective.

Kent's mistake is that he thinks that somehow the right effects of the Gospel somehow condemn a preacher if they are manifest. And let's face it: the right effects of preaching the Gospel in the New Testament include a growing church where there are some who are "in the church" but not "in the Gospel" -- as well as an "invitation methodolgy", welcoming greeters for outsiders, some obvious place of worship, and psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs (notice Paul's range there, btw: from "inspired praise and worship" to "didactic teaching in music" to "songs which merely edify or encourage" -- a distinction Kent will surely reject). I mean, what do you do with a Roy Hargrave or a John MacArthur or a John Piper if Kent is actually right?

The evangelical error is to put the cart before the horse; the Kent error is to have no cart at all. So when he says this:

Should anyone be given the impression the music will "help" the gospel? Where in Scripture is that concept? We might say we don't believe that it does, but if it is what we do, are we not betraying our belief with our practice?

we have to wonder something: what kind of church does the Gospel produce, in Kent's view of things? Does it have any cultural effect at all? Are there saved people doing things in it, or does doing things automatically make you emergent and therefore a pariah?

It is unfortunate that I am going to have a day away from internet access today. I hate that. But I am sure there will be enough for the rest of you to kick around here that I can clean up the mess when I get back tonight.

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A Few Words on 1 Corinthians 1:21-22

by Phil Johnson

"It pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save them that believe."

hat can be taken two ways. It might mean that although preaching seems a foolish strategy, that is the strategy God chose anyway.

Idiomatically and contextually, however, it makes more sense to interpret that verse way it has been translated in most of the modern versions: "It pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe" (ESV, emphasis added).

In other words, it is not just the strategy of preaching that seems foolish to human wisdom. It is the message itself. The gospel is an announcement that seems foolish and naive to the fallen human mind.

What is it?

According to 1 Corinthians 15:3-4, it's the news that Christ died for our sins and then rose from the dead. That, of course, is shorthand which Paul develops more thoroughly throughout his epistles. But notice that even the Cliffs-Notes version is full of ideas like propitiation, justification, and resurrection—and it culminates in a demand for repentance and a call for faith. So it's nothing the typical person wants to hear, and in the mouth of a determined preacher or Bullhorn Guy who persists in proclaiming it anyway, it sounds like sheer foolishness.

But Paul says this supposed "foolishness" is actually the wisdom of God, which is wiser than men. It's the most potent weapon we could unleash against the sin and darkness that holds people in bondage: the gospel, a message worldly people will always and invariably deem absolute foolishness, until the Lord opens their hearts to receive it.

Paul is directly arguing against the mindset that prevails in most of modern evangelicalism. The driving concept behind church growth and church marketing today begins with The idea that we need to find out what people want and adapt both our message and our delivery accordingly in order to reach them effectively. Pastors expend great amounts of energy taking opinion polls and canvassing their communities to find out people's tastes and preferences (especially with regard to style and subject matter). Then they make it their main object to reach those "felt needs."

Now there's no question such an approach has sometimes been effective in drawing huge crowds. You can see it in several of the largest churches in the country. But can it be effective in the long-term? Is it more effective in reaching people for Christ, so that their lives are transformed and they truly live for him?

The answer to that question is clearly no. It is not a biblical strategy. It is precisely the thing Paul says not to do.

Does anyone seriously think Paul would have passed muster with any of the self-styled experts giving pastors marketing advice these days? No wonder he died virtually alone, after reporting to Timothy, "All who are in Asia turned away from me" (2 Timothy 1:15). Paul made the biggest marketing blunder of all: he failed to deliver what his "customers" wanted. In fact, he knew full well what people's preferences were, and he flatly refused to cater to them.

He makes this explicit in 1 Corinthians 1:22:

"For the Jews require a sign, and the Greeks seek after wisdom."

If Paul followed the wisdom of modern church-growth experts, what do he have done? He would have given the Jews a sign, and he would have dialogued about philosophy with the Greeks. That is the very approach many people today try to follow. They usually don't consciously and deliberately abandon the gospel, but they try to mold it and shape it so that it sounds like wisdom to people who are seeking a message with some philosophical sophistication.



But notice what strategy Paul actually followed instead: "We preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness" (v. 23). The Jews want a sign; we give them a stumblingblock. The Greeks want wisdom, we give them foolishness.

Now, why did he do that? Did Paul just want to be perverse? No. Keep reading: "We preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God."

The gospel is the greatest sign of all, and it is the greatest wisdom of all unto them which are called. The elect see it, even if no one else does. It is "the power of God"—more potent than any cosmic sign. And it is "the wisdom of God"—wise enough to make all the wisdom of this world seem like mere foolishness by comparison.

But it only one class of people recognize the power and the wisdom of the gospel: "them which are called"—the elect. They are the ones who will respond to the gospel.

And they will respond. Jesus said, "All that the Father giveth me shall come to me" (John 6:37). "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me" (John 10:27). Those who are called effectually by the Holy Spirit will recognize the wisdom and power of God in the gospel. That's why we must proclaim that one message, and not obscure it with political rhetoric, philosophical arguments, or other useless forms of earthly wisdom.

What seems mere foolishness to the worldly mind is actually the only thing that can reach sinners because it is the true wisdom and power of God.

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Gospel Lite

Tastes Great; Less Filling
by Phil Johnson

The defining principle of historic evangelicalism was an unwavering devotion to the gospel. But the broad movement that calls itself "evangelical" today no longer stands for any clear point of view and can't seem to find consensus on even the most basic of gospel truths. How did that happen?

I wrote the following article for GraceTrax Magazine, a publication of Riverbend Church, Ormond Beach, FL (where Roy Hargrave is Pastor). The article covers a lot of ground that will be familiar to longtime PyroManiacs readers, but since it also intersects with the discussions in several of our most active recent comment-threads—and I'm technically on vacation this week—I decided to post it in full, rather than write something specially for the blog. For info on subscriptions to GraceTrax, click here.

he word evangelical used to be a good one. The term dates back at least to William Tyndale, and it refers to the belief that the gospel message—the evangel—is the vital heart of all Christian truth. To a real evangelical, everything that is of primary importance in Christianity is embodied and summarized in the gospel, and any belief system based on an aberrant gospel is not authentically Christian.

Evangelicals' passion for keeping the gospel at the center explains why historic evangelicalism has always been theologically conservative, biblically based, warm-heartedly evangelistic, and dynamically experiential.



But the contemporary evangelical movement has become something completely different. Evangelicals can't even seem to agree among themselves anymore about what the gospel is or whether the factual and doctrinal details of our message are really even all that important.

It is remarkable that almost every trend in the evangelical movement today attempts to redefine the very points of gospel truth earlier evangelicals had universally deemed essential. That's true of the New Perspective on Paul, for instance, which proposes a wholesale reinterpretation of what Paul meant by "justification." It's true of Open Theism, which redefines God Himself (denying His sovereignty and His foreknowledge) and then relentlessly shaves the hard edges off every doctrine thought to make Him seem "too harsh"—starting with substitutionary atonement. It's especially true of postmodern and Emergent approaches to Christianity, where almost anything goes and every truth of Scripture, including the gospel, is reimagined daily.

Yet postmodernism, Open Theism, and the New Perspective (along with several other ideas and movements that aren't really evangelical at all in the historic sense) have managed to make themselves at home under the broad tent of the contemporary evangelical "movement."

How did it come to this?

For the past fifty years or so, people calling themselves "evangelical" have been systematically watering down the gospel; filtering out the hard parts; and trying every way they can think of to tone down the offense of the cross. They have been serving up "gospel lite"—a pale imitation of the true gospel, specially distilled to taste good and go down easy. As more and more "refinements" have been made to the recipe, few people in the movement seem to be asking whether the message we're now collectively proclaiming to the world even has enough gospel left in it to be considered authentically evangelical. (It's my conviction that the correct answer to that question is no.)

The problem can be traced, I think, to a craving for academic respectability and worldly admiration. In the middle of the 20th century, several leading evangelicals proposed a whole new kind of evangelicalism—less militant, more tolerant, and (above all) shrewd and market-savvy about public relations. They seemed to operate on the assumption that the way to win the world is by making the evangelical movement and its message as appealing as possible to worldly people. In other words, let's "sell" Christianity the way Budweiser sells beer.

Why not? If they like us, surely they'll like Jesus, too.



The early compromises were subtle—just a shading of the message here and there to make it sound more positive and winsome. Instead of starting with sin, the way Romans 1 does, evangelicals decided that God's love made a more harmonious opening note for our gospel presentation: "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life."

By the 1970s evangelical preachers seemed to have little to say about sin and human depravity. And the wrath of God was hardly mentioned even in a whisper. The problem of sin was never actually denied, mind you—it was merely shifted more and more into the background. The gospel's call to repentance was dropped in favor of urging people to seek "a personal relationship with God."

Soon evangelicals weren't mentioning sin at all anymore. It was as if they suddenly forgot that the human dilemma is all about eternal and spiritual matters. Instead, by the mid 1980s, the issues that dominated evangelical pulpits were temporal and psychological: low self-esteem, interpersonal relationships, a sense of purpose in life, a feeling of belonging, and (of course) how to be happy, healthy, wealthy, and successful. The gospel was presented as the answer to all those questions, and little else.

By the 1990s, some evangelicals were making scarcely any reference to the gospel at all. They were so bent on winning the world's admiration that their "outreach" strategy was reduced to trivial attempts to put some kind of spiritual-sounding spin on virtually every kind of worldly entertainment. And if they couldn't make something sound spiritual, they would sometimes do it anyway—just to entertain.

During the heyday of the seeker-sensitive movement in the early 90s, someone showed me a video featuring one megachurch's idea of how evangelism ought to be done. It was a 90-minute variety show, featuring comedy, drama, and dancing. Not one mention was made of the gospel and not one verse of Scripture was ever cited during the entire parade of acts. It was sheer entertainment. But then at the very end, an "invitation" was given, encouraging those who wanted their lives to be more meaningful to "accept Christ." Nothing in the entire presentation had given viewers any clue about who Christ is, what He did, why we need Him, or what it means to believe in Him. In other words, the gospel was totally missing.

I remember thinking even then that the quest for milder-than-ever flavors of Gospel Lite had already destroyed the evangelical movement.

Now, after several years of that kind of gospel-deficient ministry, multitudes of people who think of themselves as evangelical believers are suffering from severe spiritual malnutrition. And without any clear concept of the gospel to guide them, they are gullible, naïve, and susceptible to whatever false doctrine or spiritual ambiguity happens to be currently in vogue.

There's no denying that the evangelical movement has utterly lost its way. If that fact weren't already sufficiently clear, the point has now been punctuated emphatically—twice in the past year—with the resignations of top leaders from the movement's two most important umbrella organizations.

First it was the president of America's flagship evangelical society, the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE). Exposed in a sordid scandal involving repeated instances of infidelity, homosexuality, and drug trafficking, he admitted that he was a "deceiver and liar"—and that he had been so "for all of my adult life."

Fewer than six months after that story broke, it was revealed that the president of the movement's largest and most important academic fraternity, the Evangelical Theological Society (ETS), had quietly converted to Roman Catholicism. He eventually resigned from ETS—even though (judging from various evangelical op-ed pieces and discussions on the Internet) he might well have been able to hang onto his post as ETS president if he had so desired. Majority opinion within the organization appeared to be in favor of keeping him in office. It seemed as if no one could think of any fundamental difference remaining between evangelicals and Roman Catholics.

When the NAE president disqualified himself, evangelicalism's house organ, Christianity Today, was having its 50th anniversary celebration. The magazine had marked the half-century mark by sponsoring a series of articles about the future of evangelicalism. In the first of those articles, CT's editors more or less admitted they aren't sure what a correct definition of evangelicalism would be nowadays. But their working description of the movement began with the observation that evangelicals are now amazingly broad, diverse, and ecumenical. Those, of course, used to be the primary badges of liberal Christianity.

When the leaders of evangelicalism's two most important organizations both default within six months' time—one because of moral failure, the other because of doctrinal defection, we might conclude that the demise of the contemporary evangelical movement stems from a failure of leadership.

I think it would be a mistake to conclude that the blame for evangelicalism's demise lies merely (or even primarily) with the style or character of the movement's current or recent leaders. It's actually a much bigger and more widespread problem than that. The real root of evangelicalism's problems goes back to the whole movement's blithe and chronic neglect of the gospel as it is presented in Scripture—starting several decades ago. All those attempts to tone down and tame the gospel have changed the fundamental character of evangelicalism's message. By systematically doing away with all the hard parts of the message, evangelicals have essentially done away with the gospel itself.

It is not now and never has been a valid goal to make our gospel message more winsome, more politically correct, more sophisticated-sounding, or simpler than it already is. Since Scripture recognizes and makes no apology for the fact that the message of the cross is itself a stumbling block and mere foolishness to unbelievers (1 Corinthians 1:23-25), Christians who are determined to devise a smart-sounding or inoffensive message are not being faithful ambassadors for Christ. He has commanded what our message should be. Our only duty is to deliver it without altering the sense of it.

Evangelicals for the past half-century have done a miserably poor job at that task, and it's time to take our calling more seriously.

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Immanuel: a Christmas sermon

by Dan Phillips

My pastor and church graciously afford me an opportunity to preach during most Christmas seasons. Yesterday, I had the joy to preach on:

IMMANUEL

The link above will take you to the sermon. My aim was to set Immanuel in the context of the entire Bible, rather than viewing a single text or story in isolation. Here is the outline:

Introduction:

I. First Moment: the ____________

II. Second Moment: the __________________

III. Third Moment: the ____________

A. The Crisis

B. The Challenge

C. The Child

IV. Fourth Moment: the __________

A. Who Is This?

B. What Did He Do?

C. What Will He Do?

I hope it proves a Christ-exalting blessing to such as choose to listen. There are also potentials for interpretive points-of-argument in this, among our sharp and varied readership. (Hel-lo, hinges on Isaiah 7:14, one of the perennially highly-contested passages.) My schedule today is such that I may not be able to interact as I'd prefer, at least earlier-on, but I'll do what I can.

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Is it more "arrogant" to defend orthodoxy, or to tear it down?

Your weekly dose of Spurgeon
posted by Phil Johnson

The PyroManiacs devote some space each weekend to highlights from The Spurgeon Archive. The following excerpt is from "The Case Proved," where Spurgeon answered critics who complained that he was being overly harsh, too sure of his own position, and uncharitable in the tone of his published opinions about the erosion of orthodoxy in the Baptist Union at the outset of the Downgrade Controversy.

s it come to this, that if we use our freedom to speak our mind we must needs be charged with arrogance?

Is decision the same thing as Popery? It is playing with edged tools when the advanced men introduce that word, for we would remind them that there is another phase of Popery of which a portion of them have furnished us grievous examples. To hide your beliefs, to bring out your opinions cautiously, to use expressions in other senses than those in which they are usually understood, to "show," as The Christian World so honestly puts it, "a good deal of trimming, and a balancing of opposite opinions in a way that is confusing and unsatisfactory to the hearer," is a meaner sort of Popery than even the arrogance which is so gratuitously imputed to us.

It is, however, very suggestive that the letting in of light upon men should be to them a torment equal to an Inquisition, and that open discussion should so spoil their schemes that they regard it as a torture comparable to the rack and the stake. What other harm have we done them? We would not touch a hair of their heads, or deprive them of an inch of liberty.

Let them speak, that we may know them; but let them not deny us the same freedom; neither let them denounce us for defending what they are so eager to assail.

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A Certain Uncertainty

by Phil Johnson

One trademark of theological liberalism for the past seventy years is a reduction of faith to 'courageous ignorance.'"—Ronald Nash, Life's Ultimate Questions

omething that drives me crazy about the Emerging Conversation is the way endless disclaimers and qualifications are supposed to be piled onto every profession of belief. Even the most "conservative" Emerging types do this almost pathologically:

"I know some wonderful, sensitive people probably won't agree with me; and I certainly don't claim to understand everything about this doctrine perfectly; and I know a lot of people have gone overboard with it; and good people who are smarter than me see things differently than I do; and I admit that my opinion may be shaped too much by Western culture and Greek philosophy; but it seems to me that the Bible really does teach that God will punish evildoers if they won't repent."

Any assertion not so qualified risks being labeled "excessive confidence," which according to Brian McLaren is a "cancer" responsible for practically everything that's wrong in the world.



Except for one thing. When you start seeing what a noxious malignancy certainty is, then it's OK to be really, really confident about uncertainty itself. In McLaren's words, "Thinking along these lines, I became convinced that, yes, many of our world's worst atrocities were indeed the result of overconfidence" (Everything Must Change, p. 39).

You won't hear postmodernists or their Emerging-church cousins saying many things with that kind of settled conviction! But their doubts about certainty per se are unwaveringly emphatic.

No one nowadays can make biblical or evangelical assertions with such confident boldness without having every truth-claim subjected to deconstruction, slow torture, or strangulation at the hands of some post-evangelical critic.

What's worse, more and more of the loudest critics are pastors, seminary professors, Christian authors, and others who have teaching or leadership roles in the church. Most of them would never overtly "deny" biblical truth-claims, of course. (Such a denial would require more certainty than some of these guys are comfortable with.) But they seem to have a pathological need to smother every article of faith under a million and one qualifications.

"Hey, I'm not saying I don't believe in the virgin birth of Christ; I'm just saying if it turned out not to be true, it wouldn't really matter. So it seems like we just shouldn't make it an essential point of our doctrine. But who am I to say, anyway? And who are you to make such a big deal out of it? Instead of arguing about the relative importance of this or that doctrine, shouldn't we do something more profitable—like ministry?"

Uncertainty is the sole remaining cardinal virtue of postmodernism. The right to question anything and everything is likewise the only dogma postmodern orthodoxy accepts uncritically. And (as we see all the time in the meta here) it's one of a small handful of ideas Emergents and their admirers can always be counted on to defend militantly.

In other words, Emerging religion has canonized doubt. And—let's be candid here—many who say they prefer the label "missional" are making the very same mistake. In fact, even in supposedly conservative and fundamentalist venues where "Truth and Certainty" are formally affirmed, you'll find no shortage of Christian leaders willing to palliate their supposed "convictions" almost to death in order to sound more "relevant" to postmoderns. The result has been a dearth of vigorous theological conviction which makes the whole drift instantly irrelevant—because it's nothing but a thoughtless echo of what most of the world already believes (or disbelieves) about the knowability of objective truth anyway.



Ironically, the canonization of doubt as a virtue is also a clear echo of the very worst tendency of modernism (see the Ronald Nash quote above)—which means, really, that the "postmodern" skepticism of our Emerging friends isn't technically postmodern at all. Their modernist ancestors were fine with so-called scientific certainties; but they despised spiritual certainties—especially certainties grounded in the conviction that the Bible is truly God's Word. Emergent Christianity has expanded (not rejected) the modernist mindset by insisting on uncertainty about everything—except, of course, the infallible dogma of uncertainty.

Which is why Brian McLaren—who is certain about virtually nothing else—is so cocksure in his conviction that everything must change.

It's also why the convergence of postmodern, post-evangelical and Emergent trends is just a big, noisy ride to nowhere.

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Scariest man ever

by Dan Phillips

Who would you name?

Saul of Kish would be a good candidate. Such a promising beginning. Humble, modest, unambitious (1 Samuel 9:21; 10:20-22). Chosen by God, moved upon by the Spirit of God (1 Samuel 10:1, 10). Yet such a wretched, sad end to his life.

But no, Saul is not my candidate. You'll have long since guessed my proposal: Judas Iscariot. Most terrifying man who ever lived.

Such promise, such privilege; unlimited access to Truth Incarnate such as we can scarce even imagine.

And yet this is what he comes to:

"Then Satan entered into Judas called Iscariot, who was of the number of the twelve" (Luke 22:3)

And now, whatever Judas' childhood, his youth, his other accomplishments; whatever it took to bring Judas to this point or make him the man he was, everything is erased and overshadowed by this one event: Satan found in him a willing host. All his yesterdays do not matter. Whatever his family, his friends; his accomplishments, his hopes, his dreams. All are blotted out. All that remains is this: Satan himself made Judas his base of operations from which he could launch a killing strike on the Son of God.

And now, when we think of Judas, we think of this, we think of what came of this. Not of the preaching, the following, the miracle-ministry. No, Judas' name is the eponym of a traitor. We remember his treachery, and we remember his foul kiss.

But what was Judas? Was he an alien being, a creature from another race? No, he was a man, a human being, a child of Adam as you are, and as I am. In fact, but for the grace of God, he was just precisely like us.

If our theology enables us to read Judas' tale without a shudder and an earnest prayer, I daresay something vital is missing.

We may draw this observation: a man can be known for what comes of his devotion to God — or for what comes of his being a willing tool for Satan.

Judas Iscariot. Scariest man who ever lived.

Yet pause just one moment longer. I see in the shadows there a man who could be Judas' twin in some ways. He too was a big talker. He too was privileged, even more so than Judas.

He too caved, buckled, gave way before the trial. He too denied his Lord, and not once, nor twice, but thrice.

We remember his name, as well: Peter. "The Rock." We chuckled when we say it, and shake our heads, because of how "The Rock" crumbled.

But here's the difference. Judas' betrayal was his final act in relation to Christ. Peter's was not. Christ had prayed for Peter (Luke 22:32), and Peter repented, was restored. The book of Acts shows in Peter the fruits of repentance, of a genuine change of heart and mind.

If Judas is the scariest man who ever lived (and he is), then what is Peter? The most humbling man who ever lived, as we see our big mouths and lofty promises — and our feet of clay — in him?

Or possibly the most encouraging man who ever lived, because his repentance found forgiveness and restoration in the Lord's grand heart?

Both men rebuke the smug. Both men rebuke the overconfident. Both both men point us to Christ, to our need to walk with the Lord now, rather than rest on memories of having walked with Him yesterday.

A vivid view of these two men gives the appropriate edge to the words of Hebrews:

For we have come to share in Christ, if indeed we hold our original confidence firm to the end (3:14)

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession (4:14)

…by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us (6:18)

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful (10:23)

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, 2 looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God (12:1-2)

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More on the 12 mistakes

by Frank Turk



Pressed for time today, but we can knock off 2 or 3 from Winter's original list pretty quickly

6. The Mistake of Sending Only Money, Not Missionaries

Yeah, on the one hand, that's about right – that missions work is actually about sending a preacher – Romans 10 and all that.

On the other hand, Dr. Winter needs to decide whether or not he thinks missions agencies are the right sending vehicle – because if you're not sending money to missions agencies, the agencies aren’t going to be around very long. It certainly can't be "only money", but we have to send missionaries.

I think it is also useful to point out that if missions agencies are the right vehicle, they should prolly be in some way recruiting people for missions work. I'm just sayin' that if the missions agencies are going to do the work of the local church in the NT, they should do the work and not dabble in it.

7. The Mistake of Sending Short-Termers, Not Long-Termers

Amen. Talked about it already a long time ago. Willing to hear the other side, but this is the rule which is validated by the proper exceptions.

8. The Mistake of Not Understanding Business in Mission and Mission in Business

Yeah, this is the "kingdom Now" stuff which needs its own special kind of beating. If this means we ought to be "good stewards" of the stuff we have, who can argue? If this means somehow changing Microsoft and the United Nations into organs of the Gospel somehow ... it seems to me this is both an unreasonable expectation and a violation of being in the world but not of the world.

That's all I have time for today. Talk amongst yourselves.

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Fire!

by Dan Phillips

Our blog-title surely must raise some eyebrows, particularly among those who don't notice the Scriptural basis in Jeremiah 23:29 ("Is not my word like fire, declares the LORD, and like a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces?"). I suppose we might have called it "Hammermaniacs." In fact, on second thought, maybe that would have been a better.... Oh, wait, no: people would have thought of the wrong Hammer.

But I digress.

Each of us in the Pyro Triumvirate of Terror has lamented the pathetic state of "evangelicalism," and I think the three of us agree that the term has become almost useless, nearly as bad as "family values."

But now I have begun to wonder whether a little distinguishing phrase could redeem the venerable old label.

Perhaps it would help if we distinguished two kinds of evangelicals:

1. "Fire-in-the-belly evangelicals"
2. "Fire-sale evangelicals."

To elucidate:

Fire-in-the-belly evangelicals
This term would describe those gripped with the Biblical vision of God's holiness and man's sinfulness, humbled by their own depravity to the point where inerrancy is not an inconvenient doctrine but God's indispensable lifeline, awed by the atonement of Christ to the extent that its doctrines are neither periphera nor adiaphora, but life itself.

Fire-in-the-belly evangelicals don't sign confessions with an arched brow, a smug smile, and crossed fingers. They never condescendingly view the exercise as a silly formality that they'll loftily condescend to endure, in order to keep their tenure, or their membership, or their association. No; in fact, you couldn't physically stop them from confessing their faith, because the Object of their confession is everything to them. They take to heart the writer to the Hebrews' exhortation, "Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering," for the very reason that the author himself provides: "for he who promised is faithful" (Hebrews 10:23). They see clearly that an abandonment of the confession, or even a wavering or tentative confession itself, necessarily impugns the very nature and person of God.

These are the folks who don't view Jude's overriding concern ("I found it necessary to write appealing to you to contend for the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints," Jude 3b) as an antiquarian reflection of a bygone era. It isn't that they love to fight. Like Jude, they are also "very eager to write ...about our common salvation" (Jude 3a). But, also like Jude, they find it necessary to take up arms for the saving and sanctifying truth of God, when that truth is under siege from without, or from within.

And so, like Paul, when they view a landscape laden down with false doctrines and false gods (κατείδωλον [kateidōlon], Acts 17:16), they don't break out their cameras to take pictures of the lovely statuary, and start taking notes for cozy, adoring little travelogues on multiculturalism and the many paths different people take "to God." They don't take heretical blasphemy and "round it up" to the nearest orthodox position. Their spirits don't soar at the thought of how admired they will be, how grand and broad-minded their "generous orthodoxy" will appear to the world, what delightful niche they can carve out for themselves as "a different sort of evangelical."

No, again like Paul, their spirits are provoked within them (sharply and painfully so; incensed; παρωξύνετο [parōxuneto]), and they engage the opponent by proclaiming the truth (17:16ff.). They'll do this even if it gets them called to an inquisition (vv. 19ff.), even if it gets them mocked at (17:32a), or driven out of town (17:10, 14), or even beaten almost to death (14:19) and imprisoned (16:19ff.). When this happens, they do not regroup and decide to tone down or moderate their message; they rejoice and praise God for the privilege of suffering for the truth (16:25).

Can anyone imagine a fire-sale evangelical enduring such treatment?

Not once we know what they are. And so now we turn a sad eye to...

Fire-sale evangelicals
These are "everything-must-go" evangelicals, who will sell out on the cheap. Nothing is too precious to retain, everything is on the auction block, for a pittance. Perhaps this (h-t Justin Taylor) provides an example?

It's hard to imagine that these folks could happily echo Jeremiah's exclamation about the nature of God's Word. Their more honest version might be, "Is not my word like Jello, declares the LORD, and like a comfy chair that lulls the world's paramours to sleep?" They've certainly forgotten the Lord's words, "For what is exalted among men is an abomination in the sight of God" (Luke 16:15); to say nothing of His step-brother's hammer-blow:

You adulterous people! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God. (James 4:4)

I find it impossible to envision Fire-sale evangelicals being able, in good conscience, to say, "My eyes shed streams of tears, because people do not keep your law" (Psalm 119:136). What must they think, when they read "Hot indignation seizes me because of the wicked, who forsake your law" (v. 53), or "I look at the faithless with disgust, because they do not keep your commands" (v. 158)? It appears that these elite and refined souls are strangers to such passions.

How do they regard the wise man's words, "Those who forsake the law praise the wicked, but those who keep the law strive against them" (Proverbs 28:4)?

They make it their practice to do the very opposite!

How do fire-sale evangelicals respond when someone they regard as part of their guild commits what their elders-and-betters would have regarded as apostasy, or cozily entertains what would have seen as compromise at best or heresy at worst? Do they weep, do they strive, do they show indignation and repugnance for the defection? Or do they not rather offer warm collegial tea-room praise and support — while directing rivers of fiery wrath on anyone who would dare to take the traitors to task?

We know the answer to that last question, don't we? To fire-sale evangelicals, those who advocate (or model) defection from evangelicalism's central, Biblical, distinguishing doctrines are dearly-beloved and highly-regarded brothers and sisters — colleagues! — to be appreciated, lionized, and protected. But, by contrast, anyone who brings Biblical discernment and reproof to bear is a basher, a hater, an attacker; he is divisive, and has committed the Unpardonable Sin of "poor tone."

Contempt for God's truth, we observe, is forgivable. Contempt for those who display such contempt? Not so much.

"Ah, now," we hear, "we mustn't judge." And you know, on one level, I'm actually okay with that. Certainly none of us is qualified to invent truth, and then judge others by truths thus invented.

But is it okay for God to judge? Is that permissible? See, because I think He has judged. I think He has given us a preview of how He will find, in His court. Consider:

"...those who honor me I will honor, and those who despise me shall be lightly esteemed" (1 Samuel 2:30b)

"I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish that you were cold or hot. 16 So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I am going to vomit you out of My mouth" (Revelation 3:15-16 CSB)

"How can you say, 'We are wise, and the law of the LORD is with us'? But behold, the lying pen of the scribes has made it into a lie. 9 The wise men shall be put to shame; they shall be dismayed and taken; behold, they have rejected the word of the LORD, so what wisdom is in them? 10 Therefore I will give their wives to others and their fields to conquerors, because from the least to the greatest everyone is greedy for unjust gain; from prophet to priest, everyone deals falsely. 11 They have healed the wound of my people lightly, saying, 'Peace, peace,' when there is no peace. 12 Were they ashamed when they committed abomination? No, they were not at all ashamed; they did not know how to blush. Therefore they shall fall among the fallen; when I punish them, they shall be overthrown, says the LORD" (Jeremiah 8:8-12)

"...the lips of a priest should guard knowledge, and people should seek instruction from his mouth, for he is the messenger of the LORD of hosts. 8 But you have turned aside from the way. You have caused many to stumble by your instruction. You have corrupted the covenant of Levi, says the LORD of hosts, 9 and so I make you despised and abased before all the people, inasmuch as you do not keep my ways but show partiality in your instruction" (Malachi 2:7-9)

Knowing His judgment, may we embrace, and affirm, and echo, and apply it? Is that permissible today?

"Permissible"? Dare we do otherwise?

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Christianity Astray

by Phil Johnson



his post by Rob Bowman over at "Parchment and Pen" last week got me thinking again about the rapid erosion of evangelical distinctives and the major role the editors of Christianity Today have played in muddling the question of what differentiates historic evangelicalism from everything else—including Mormonism's aberrant doctrine of God.

So I hunted up an article published exactly three years ago in CT. It was an editorial that wagged a hypocritical finger at Anglican Church leaders for failing to deal with apostasy in their midst. The piece recounted how the Anglican Communion worldwide (American Episcopalians in particular) got to the point where they are today, rent asunder by a de facto schism over the question of whether sexually-active homosexuals qualify to be bishops in the church.

I clipped and saved that article in December 2004, because the disconnect seemed so profound between what CT's editors said and what they actually do. Their analysis of the Anglicans' failure was right on. But they themselves have been doing the very same thing to the evangelical movement.

The editorial catalogued about a half-century of low points in Episcopalian infidelity, starting with Bishop James Pike, who first openly expressed doubt about the doctrine of the Trinity back in the 1960s. According to the editorial, "[Pike's] fellow bishops, afraid that church discipline would seem medieval to the rest of America, only mildly rebuked him and dropped the issue."

CT's editorial then smugly intoned, "This failure of nerve gradually opened a hole in the church that truckloads of aberrant critics have since driven through."

That's really rich, coming from CT, whose own reportage on Mormon-Evangelical ecumenical rapprochement for more than a decade running hasn't managed to muster any kind of rebuke at all—mild or otherwise—for those within the ranks of CT's own evangelical constituency who have decided Mormonism is sound enough on the Trinity to be regarded as a version of authentic Christianity rather than a quasi-Christian cult.

In fact, the CT editors themselves have apparently accepted a broad enough view of Christ's deity that they are now comfortable saying "Mormons hold firmly to the deity of Christ." Moreover, they're so set in that view that they are not interested in publishing any reviews or articles challenging their position.

But wasn't that precisely the state of things in the Episcopalian Church in the 1960s? Too many Episcopalian leaders were unsure whether Bishop Pike's denial of the Trinity was really all that serious. CT knew better in those days. They understood that Pike's attack on historic and biblical Trinitarianism was a flat-out denial of essential Christian truth.

Today's CT editors are making the very same errors that earlier generation of Episcopal bishops made.

And don't think for a moment that re-imagining Trinitarianism in order to accommodate Mormonism is the only way CT has been demolishing the boundaries of historic evangelicalism. The magazine has consistently treated Open Theism as fodder for opinion polls and evangelical "dialogue." CT's editors have been annoyingly more obsessed with the tone of the conversation than they are with the truth of the issue; more concerned about what's "collegial" than they are with what's biblical. At times, CT's sentiments have even appeared to be on the side of those who reject the historic evangelical commitment to God's full omniscience.

CT's coverage of Emergent neo-liberalism has likewise been unnecessarily generous.

So it was ironic to see an editorial in CT taking a previous generation of Episcopal leaders to task for dealing with 1960's heresies pretty much the same way CT routinely deals with the abandonment of core evangelical principles today.

All that aside, the editorial was essentially correct. The foundation was laid years ago for the current rift in the Anglican movement. In fact, the real roots of the problem go back to Archbishop William Laud in the early 17th century, and Richard Hooker a generation before that. Hooker canonized the principle of via media (the "middle road") as the Anglican approach to Reformation, church polity, and theological controversy. Laud enforced the resulting lukewarmness and formalism of the Anglican hierarchy against everyone in the church who believed Scripture, not politics, should guide the church. Compromise has been central to the ethos of Anglicanism practically since the start of the Protestant Reformation. (Read the CT editorial for a partial inventory of recent Anglican controversies, and realize that these are only the tip of a massive, ancient iceberg.)

What I said last week about Fuller Seminary could be said of Christianity Today as well: CT's proneness to compromise is rooted in its founders' thirst for academic respectability. The pattern has been clear and is getting clearer every day with the increasing radicalization of evangelical fads. Every time a new trend, controversy, or challenge to evangelical principles arises, CT leads a stampede in whatever direction its editors think the via media lies. The resulting dialectic has dragged key sectors of today's evangelical movement into territory some of the most liberated free-thinkers of our grandfathers' generation would have probably deemed too radical.

Christianity Today has been instrumental in opening several holes in the fences around the evangelical movement. They have then paved roads for truckloads of dissidents—who are now doing the same thing to the broader evangelical movement that Bishop Pike and those who came after him did to Anglicanism in the past half century.

I'm certain I'm not the only longtime reader of Christianity Today who has that perspective. I just thought someone should actually say it right out loud.

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On Catering to the "Spiritual Tastes" of Carnal People

Your weekly dose of Spurgeon
posted by Phil Johnson

The PyroManiacs devote some space each weekend to highlights from The Spurgeon Archive. The following excerpt is from "Resurrection with Christ," a sermon originally preached 12 April 1868 at the Metropolitan Tabernacle.

he blind man has not come into the world of light and color, and the unregenerate man has not come into that world of spirit, and hence neither of them is capable of judging correctly.

I sat one day, at a public dinner, opposite a gentleman of the gourmand species, who seemed a man of vast erudition as to wines and spirits, and all the viands of the table; he judged and criticized at such a rate that I thought he ought to have been employed by our provision merchants as taster in general. He had finely developed lips, and he smacked them frequently. His palate was in a truly critical condition.

He was also as proficient in the quantity as in the quality, and disposed of meats and drinks in a most wholesale manner. His retreating forehead, empurpled nose, and protruding lips, made him—while eating, at least—more like an animal than a man.

At last, hearing a little conversation around him upon religious matters, he opened his small eyes and his great mouth, and delivered himself of this sage utterance, "I have lived sixty years in this world, and I never felt or believed in anything spiritual in all my life."

The speech was a needless diversion of his energies from the roast duck. We did not want him to tell us that. I, for one, was quite clear about it before he spoke. If the cat under the table had suddenly jumped on a chair and said the same thing, I should have attached as much importance to the utterance of the one as to the declaration of the other.

And so, by one sin in one man and another in another man, they betray their spiritual death. Until a man has received the divine life, his remarks thereon, even if he be an archbishop, go for nothing. He knows nothing about it according to his own testimony; then why should he go on to try to beat down with sneers and sarcasms those who solemnly avow that they have such a life, and that this life has become real to them?

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