Doctrinal comings and goings in an age of apostasy

The recent kerfuffle with Rob Bell’s new universalism-promoting book “Love Wins,” and some of the rebuttals, remind me of a previous bit of speculation along a similar line. Which doctrines get jettisoned first among Christians in an age of increased relativism? Not so much among the secularists and the “left”– these have consistently adopted the spirit of the age. But what about those within the Christian faith who still claim Scripture as their rule of faith, who should know better? I’m thinking that there are both good and bad beliefs which come to be rejected by self-identified conservative Christians who live in times like ours, where the culture itself becomes hostile to Christianity.

One of the least popular teachings today, perhaps, is the doctrine of hell, the finality of God’s judgment after death, and the belief that no one is saved apart from faith in Christ. This is what Rob Bell takes on in his book. Perhaps in an age, in a family, in a neighborhood where everyone we knew was Christian, we could deal with it. But as the world gets smaller, and as so many watch their loved ones drift away from the faith, this teaching becomes more and more emotionally difficult to embrace. Furthermore, as I noticed while reading an article by a slightly-to-the-left Baptist a few years ago, the creedobaptist teaching of “age of accountability” may make this doctrinal rejection easier to swallow. After all, if one already holds (moreso in the name of “fairness” than because it’s biblical) the idea that you can’t say that a certain group of people would be condemned or held accountable for “not being able” to have faith in Christ, what keeps you from believing the same, not about babies, but about those who have never heard the Gospel, or even those who reject God later in life? Though many creedobaptists have rightly come out against the premises in Bell’s book, there’s a fine line between these assumptions.

Another commonly-jettisoned belief among Christians may be the importance or significance of an entire body of consistent doctrine, in the name of ecumenism (perhaps an increasingly desperate ecumenism by those who feel that all the Christians are disappearing or losing power and influence). Postmodernism may not have led to a wholesale rejection of absolute truth among conservative Christians, but it has led to a disdain and rejection of labels, and certainly of denominational and confessional subscription. Check Facebook if you don’t believe me.

It would be nice to believe that Christian triumphalism has taken a hit amongst conservative Christianity now that it’s more evident that not everyone around us is a Christian, but I have a feeling that this only results in a kind of sullenness at the loss of power, an increasingly isolated “us vs. them” mindset, and a bunch of bitter preachers yelling at their congregations for not transforming the culture enough, for being content with being “the tail and not the head” as Christians supposedly should be, for not all starting their own individual “ministries” which would surely “allow” God to work powerfully in our culture again.

I don’t have any evidence that “once saved, always saved” is encountering any sort of decline in popularity because of the increased falling away of many, but I do hope it does. Understandably, some may try to cling to the teaching even more strongly when they see the children they raised, who praised Jesus so sincerely and without guile as a young person, abandoning Christianity as adults. They at least understand that it would be daft to pretend that this person never really had faith to begin with. It could be that with so many visibly and obviously falling away, that Christians start to become aware that falling away is indeed possible. I don’t say this because it’s a wonderful thing that people are leaving the faith and that this proves a doctrinal point, don’t mistake me! Doctrine isn’t something to win points over, but something that gives us Jesus. Bad doctrine takes away Jesus and takes away our assurance by replacing his abiding, forgiving presence with speculations about election or screwy (and damning) ideas of being saved apart from faith in him. Doctrine is always practical, and in the case of “once saved, always saved” it would be nice to let more know that just because it calls itself a doctrine of “assurance” doesn’t mean that it’s very assuring.

Which teachings, good or bad, do you think are losing ground among Christians in the light of the turn of our cultural tides?

“I didn’t see Jesus on the cross!”

My 3-year-old daughter was in the bathroom while I was watching the latest Greek Tuesday on the video podcast Worldview Everlasting. As it was ending, I heard her whimpering. I went in to ask her what was wrong. She was crying, tears running down her cheeks, and said, “I didn’t see Jesus on the cross!”

“On the cross? What cross do you mean?”

“On the computer.”

“Ohhhhh! Don’t worry, ToddlerK, I’ll play it again for you! Just finish up in here.”

Then we came back to the computer, and I replayed the ending credits, which concludes with a shot of Jesus on the cross. She was fascinated and brightened up. “There’s Jesus on the cross! I saw him, I saw him!”

Would that all believers would be that grieved when they are denied Jesus on the cross. Would that we’d all take such joy in that sight as well.

Last week’s Issues, Etc. soundbite of the week

“There’s a false humility that undergirds almost all of evangelical piety, and it’ll go something like this: when you pray, you don’t just pray and ask God for things, when you pray you GIVE God things, you give Him thanks, you give Him praise, you give Him your life, etc. When you worship, it’s not about getting something from God or getting something out of it, or as Rick Warren said, ‘It’s not for your own benefit’– it’s for God! You’re giving HIM something, you’re praising Him, you’re glorifying Him for his gifts and for who He is… and this comes across as this GREAT humility; it’s not about you, it’s about standing there serving God.

But the problem is, it’s a false humility. Because undergirding it is this assumption: I have something that God doesn’t. I mean, if you’re giving something to God, what you have to assume is: “I’ve got some praise and God wants it, so I’m gonna give it to him. I’ve got some effort and God wants it, so I’m gonna serve him with it. I’ve got some sort of special insight and God doesn’t, so I’m gonna give it to him.” And that is really nothing other than idolatry! God does not need anything from us… God is not interested in getting things from us, but rather in giving things to us. So when we pray, we ask God for things, that’s what prayer is. And when we worship, we’re receiving things from him. It might seem like a kind of a selfishness or arrogance to Rick Warren, but it’s exactly how the Bible gives it to us. God is the giver and we are on the receiving end of His gifts. That’s what it means to be a Christian!”

-Pr Wolfmueller

Ooh, pretty stuff.

This is some beautiful blog candy.

Chief of sinners though I be…

My last post involved hearing a verse that is sometimes taken as “Gospel” as heavy Law. Today I’m hearing something that tends to be taken as Law as Gospel.

It came from singing “Chief of Sinners Though I Be” to my kiddies. This is one of the songs that is being illustrated in my forthcoming book of hymns for children and, funnily enough, it was my original illustration idea that caused a bit of a double take while singing the hymn today. The end of the song is as follows:

“When my wayward heart would stray/ Keep me in the narrow way;/ Grace in time of need supply/ While I live and when I die.”

I stopped on the words “keep me in the narrow way.” It’s such a common idiom. What does it mean? It is a reference to Jesus’ words in Matthew 7:13-14. “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.” From this, we’ve developed the phrase “straight and narrow” to describe a life of moral excellence, that tightrope that we must stay on to make our way through life and eventually to heaven. But hold on. That’s not what this phrase means at all! What is that “narrow way” that we ask Jesus to keep us in?

It was the illustration for the hymn that came to mind: the prodigal son on the road, his father running to meet him. The road was narrow and cross-shaped.

It is Jesus who is the Way, the narrow way, the only way to the Father (John 14:6). We are asking to be kept in Christ, in the way of repentance, the way of the cross. Repentance: contrition over sin; returning to faith in the Savior, confident of his forgiveness and acceptance.

Examples like these make me realize just how easy it is to make squeaky-clean moralism run rampant all over the Gospel. When the answer to the question is Jesus, and the point of the whole text is Him, how easy is it to replace Him with our own good Christian deeds? Wasn’t that yet another mistake of the prodigal son? “Maybe if I promise to work hard at being a really good boy from now on, my father will take me back as hired hand.” He can’t even get his rehearsed speech out before the Father embraces him, lavishly pours out his gifts of love and acceptance on him, and starts the party.

As we move into the season of Lent, this narrow way is before our eyes. It’s a darker way, the valley of the shadow of death. Many will even avoid the season in general, eager to move on to the joy (and triumphalism?) of Easter. But the way to Easter is the way of the cross, suffering and death, the Via Dolorosa. When my wayward heart should stray, may God keep me in this narrow way, and grace in time of need supply, while I live and when I die.

Micah 6:8 gave me a smack-down.

“He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

It’s a favorite verse for a lot of people, but I’m reading it and trembling in my boots.

Now, I don’t deny that the new man reads of God’s Law and takes joy in the will of God that it reveals. The Law can work on us in a number of ways. But have a read-through of Micah 6, all of it, and then tell me that this verse is nothing but sweetness and light to you.

The first five verses of Micah 6 will probably remind you of the Reproaches used in the Good Friday service, if you have a connection with that tradition. Few elements in a church service convey such poignant grief as do these Reproaches.

What I’m reading in Micah 6 is a fearful accusation of God against his people, whom he has called, delivered, and upheld– and who have turned against him. It is as if he’s saying, “I’ve given you everything; given, and not demanded payment. You think you can pay me off, think that I need anything from you? What I have given you is good, for your own good and your neighbors’. And so I’ve called you to be my people and to walk with me, and to be just and merciful to your neighbor as I have been do you. This is precisely what you’re NOT doing. You are full of evil deeds.”

I mean, go ahead and like the verse; hear it as a call to repentance from a God who loves us. This is true. But let’s consider the gravity of this verse and its context, rather than approach it casually. As a word of Law, it accuses as well as instructs. Putting a happy face on the Law does not turn it into a word of Gospel, or even a word of motivational-speak. We need to hear the Law as Law. Good Friday is coming. Then we can also hear the Gospel as Gospel.

New Draw Boldly