"Eat Mor Chikin . . . Just Not Today?": Reflections on Clumsy Evangelical Cultural Engagement

Though I've had some fun with the Chick-fil-A controversy over the past week, I've also had some more serious questions rattling around in my head. Brighter folks actually figured out what they thought in advance, and wrote about it days ago. They also tended to write in traditional essay form, whereas I've just tried to answer my own questions in a goofy self-interview thing. So it is what it is . . .


How many Chick-fil-As (hereafter CfA) are there within five miles of your home?
Four or five.

Did you check on that before you moved there?
Of course.

Why are so many people eating CfA today?
Probably one or more of several reasons, depending on the person.
1) Because it's tasty, and this made a good excuse to eat a piece of nicely-seasoned white meat chicken, fried under pressure in peanut oil to retain it's juiciness. I mean, it's not like the big-city mayors were putting the squeeze on White Castle.
2) Because CfA has become a symbol for the culture war. Evangelical Christians and other cultural "conservatives" feel like they're losing their grip on the America that they know and love, and they want to put their money in the pockets of someone who's on their side, rather than another politician who pretends he is.
3) Because this issue has been cast as a gay-rights issue, and that's one of a relatively small number of issues that's particularly polarizing—as illustrated by the decisive role traditional marriage initiatives on swing-state ballots had in the 2004 election.
4) Because there's a very real First Amendment, religious freedom issue in play. Right or wrong, there is no question that a wide spectrum of religious Americans feel that their rights are increasingly and unprecedentedly threatened by numerous local municipalities, the current presidential administration, judicial decisions, and cultural-commercial forces.
5) Because this was a way to cast a sort of vote, and in a public way. Unlike the polls in November, people know what you're voting for when you stand in an hour-long line. It created a social media event that could be splashed all over Facebook and Twitter.

What message did it send?
I'd be stunned if CfA didn't smash its previous single-day all-stores sales record. That says there's still a significant commercial force that's poised, at least in some cases, to overwhelm any negative impact of a boycott. I'm sure it also sent another in a long series of "us vs. them" messages—that evangelicals hate/fear/are disgusted by the homosexual lifestyle and those that practice it.

Is that latter message the one people were trying to send?
I don't think that's what it was about, at least not for the most part. My sense is that this was about a perceived threat to a way of life, not a statement about a category of people.

Why the breakdown in communication then?
Both sides are at fault. The cultural progressives tend to label theological or ideological disagreement as intolerance. And intolerance must not be tolerated! (As D.A. Carson has pointed out, they're completely blind to the irony of their own inconsistency.) They assume that disagreement—especially one that leads to a moral conclusion—entails personal animosity, even hatred. Cultural progressives can't separate ideas from the people that hold them. That poisons public discourse, whether it's in the political, cultural, or—in this case—commercial sphere.

Evangelical cultural conservatives have sent mixed messages on whether they're more interested in conserving culture or proclaiming the "evangel"—the gospel. That's probably because evangelicals themselves aren't too sure. If you ask a cultural progressive what evangelicals are, he's going to tell you they're religious people who want to impose their beliefs on America by getting political power. Gospel theology is going to be the furthest thing from his mind. And that shouldn't surprise us, because most evangelicals don't talk much about the gospel, and many of them couldn't articulate authentic gospel theology, let alone live a life that's shaped by it. They're certainly not interacting with non-Christians in a way that portrays an accurate picture of the gospel. And by "an accurate picture of the gospel," I mean a biblical understanding the universality of both human depravity and the offer of grace and forgiveness. These foundational truths have not penetrated cultural evangelical hearts in a transforming way: We are all equally deserving of the full outpouring of divine wrath, and none of us has merited the grace we have received.

Should believers have eaten at CfA today?
That depends on two things, I think: 1) why they went, and 2) what the outcome was. Both are difficult to assess, but the latter is particularly troublesome. This opens a conversation that's much too large to resolve in this context, but suffice it to say that I believe Christians may, even should, engage publicly in political and cultural issues. Nevertheless, we walk an arduous path when we do. What will that engagement communicate about our priorities? To what degree will our mission as ambassadors be compromised? How will we guard our own hearts from the corruption that accompanies proximity to power and the hope of possessing it? And what do our Facebook posts and tweets communicate to the hundreds of people reading them, many of whom are presumably not believers and justifiably draw conclusions (whether accurate or not) about what is most precious to us?


Did you eat CfA today?
Yep, sure did. (But only once.) I chose not to rub my homosexual neighbors' or unbelieving Facebook friends' noses in it, but that doesn't mean my presence and money didn't contribute in some way to a cultural polarization that's rooted in miscommunication and misdirected priorities, and which ultimately obscures the gospel.

Apologetics: Fertile Soil for Heresy?

Though I didn't attend T4G this year, one of the themes I appreciated from the talks and the panels was the explicit recognition that a desire to see people embrace the gospel often dilutes the gospel through attempts to make the gospel palatable to unbelievers. In this panel discussion, Peter Williams said we need to be careful to understand that apologetics often leads to heresy. Al Mohler argued that apologetics‬, detached from biblical authority, becomes a mechanism for denying Scripture.


Not all apologists and apologetic approaches make these concessions. (See "White, James R.") In fact, my experience is that many apologists understand the centrality of Jesus' resurrection to the Christian faith better than most evangelical pastors. (Thank you again, Christopher, for all those reminders of how badly we pastors fail on this point.)

Having said all that, I've been listening to a series of apologetic addresses in secular contexts. I've been grateful for some of them, but I have to say I've been more disappointed than encouraged. Few things are more frustrating to me than when the person designated to represent the orthodox Christian position, simply doesn't.

Here's one example from John Stott's Veritas Forum at Harvard University. In response to a comment about the arbitrariness of demands for faith in Christ, and a question about the people who've never heard, Stott replied:

With regard to those, for example, who have never heard the name of Jesus, I would want to say this—that the only people that I feel fairly confident will be lost on the last day are those who have heard and have deliberately rejected the word of salvation which they have heard and understood. That seems to be very clear in the New Testament. But with regard to those who've never heard, I don't find the New Testament clear at all. Certainly, none of us deserves to go to heaven, and none of us can enter the presence of God in heaven by our own morality or righteousness. Christians certainly can't. We don't trust in our own righteousness to get to heaven, and nor can anybody else. Self-salvation is out, because if he caught a glimpse of the majesty, the glory, the holiness of God, we know that we're utterly unfit to come anywhere near him in the tattered rags of our own morality. So I know that, and I'm prepared, therefore, to leave the rest to God. Meanwhile, our responsibility is to take the good news that, by his grace, we've come to accept, and to spread it—make it known—as far as we can.

In addition to the point I make about apologetics above, I believe these comments also serve as an illustration of the fact that people who write really good things can also believe things that are contrary to Scripture. They also provoke a discussion about the influence of ecumenism and perhaps even the long-term effects of paedobaptist ecclesiology—how it may predispose its adherents to embrace ecumenism because they've already deliberately welcomed unbelievers into the church. But those conversations are for another time.

An Alphabet Soup of Militancy

In this interview, Rick Phillips (senior minister of Second Presbyterian Church in Greenville, South Carolina) describes the struggles within the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA) over the regulative principle of worship, Roman Catholic-derived forms of the Lord's supper, and theistic evolution. It's a fascinating perspective from a militant conservative, if you're at all interested in the PCA or the broader trends within American evangelicalism. Phillips sounds as if he wouldn't be a bit surprised if the denomination split down the middle within the next decade.

Though the PCA's membership in the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE) hasn't yet become a focal point of contention, Phillips expressed his frustrations and hopes that the relationship could be severed. For any of you who appreciate irony, Phillips couldn't resist mentioning that Bob Jones University (BJU) prohibits faculty and staff from attending his church, precisely because of the PCA's affiliation with the NAE—an organization that Bob Jones Jr. helped to found. Perhaps he might be more fondly received if he were to abandon his defense of the regulative principle and host, say, a local drama team. [wink]

Shirking the Problem of What Is Good

I'm not sure whether it's more remarkable to me that G.K. Chesterton wrote these words from Heretics when he was about 30 years old, or that he wrote them over a century ago:

Every one of the popular modern phrases and ideals is a dodge in order to shirk the problem of what is good. We are fond of talking about "liberty"; that, as we talk of it, is a dodge to avoid discussing what is good. We are fond of talking about "progress"; that is a dodge to avoid discussing what is good. We are fond of talking about "education"; that is a dodge to avoid discussing what is good. 

The modern man says, "Let us leave all these arbitrary standards and embrace liberty." This is, logically rendered, "Let us not decide what is good, but let it be considered good not to decide it." He says, "Away with your old moral formulae; I am for progress." This, logically stated, means, "Let us not settle what is good; but let us settle whether we are getting more of it." He says, "Neither in religion nor morality, my friend, lie the hopes of the race, but in education." This, clearly expressed, means, "We cannot decide what is good, but let us give it to our children." 

(p. 13 in this edition, paragraph break added)

A Very Brief Recommendation

Some of the most fruitful times I've experienced in church staff meetings have been those occasions when we've thought through the theological foundations for why we do what we do. Obviously, there's an abundance of tools for generating those conversations, not least among them, Scripture itself.

One non-inspired book that I've found to be unusually helpful for guiding our examination of pastoral ministry is Charles Bridges' The Christian Ministry. You won't agree with Bridges across the board. You certainly shouldn't. But it raises a wide range of important conversations. It's also an old book, and a significant advantage of using an old book is that we can explore the underlying, abiding principles that shape our ministry while maintaining some distance from the pressures that perpetuate our allegiances to our traditions.

I've just learned that the book is now available in paperback at a much lower price than the Banner of Truth hardback. And it's on Kindle for less than $1.

On the Unbiblical Meta-Narrative and Christology of Both Dispensationalism and Covenant Theology

I've been eagerly anticipating publication of this book since before I started dating my wife, made first contact with the church where I now pastor, got married, moved halfway around the country, and had three children. Which in my universe is, well, just over three years, actually. (We had twins.) But it felt like much longer.

On several occasions in the past couple years I've referred to a chapter written by Steve Wellum, one Kingdom Through Covenant's co-authors, which formed the backbone—literally and figuratively—of Tom Schreiner and Shawn Wright's book on baptism. That chapter is available for free here. I've also just listened to a dense, provocative lecture by Wellum on the relationship between limited atonement and Baptist ecclesiology. (The best part of that lecture was Wellum pointing out how Reformed (non-Baptist) ecclesiology is actually incompatible with limited atonement, much to the consternation of his forthcoming book's Presbyterian publishers.) I wouldn't be surprised to see some of that material in Kingdom Through Covenant as well. I'm less familiar with Gentry, but somewhere out there is an insightful lecture from him on what holiness is, as the language is used in Scripture, not pop theology.

All that to say, I suspect that Kingdom Through Covenant is a volume that'll be quite helpful to those of us who perceive significant unresolved problems with both the dispensational and covenantal systems. How well it answers those questions remains to be seen, but I'm confident that it'll delve into some of the issues and texts that apologists for those systems too often avoid. Because of that, I hope even theologians who disagree will engage rigorously with its arguments.

I haven't found it on the WTS site yet, but Amazon lists it at a remarkable price for an 850-page hardcover, though there's some speculation this may be an introductory, limited-time offer.

And finally, as he always does, Justin Taylor has quite a bit more info and some links here, including lengthy quotes from both Wellum and Gentry outlining problems with the Christology and meta-narrative of the two traditional systems.

I Disagree with Doug Wilson on Music & Culture . . . and So Does Doug Wilson.

I have a vague recollection of someone saying, more or less, that "the words Doug Wilson mumbles in his sleep are more perceptive and coherent than my most articulate moments." I totally feel that. If I debated Wilson on the utility of the yellow pages in the 21st century, and he took the affirmative, I haven't a shred of doubt he'd mop the floor with me. So while I find myself disagreeing with him fairly frequently, and on some significant issues, I'm not sure I've ever found his arguments easily dismissed, or his analysis naïvely simplistic.

That's why I was a bit surprised by his case for the three (and only three) appropriate grounds for condemning a musical form. I'm only interested in the second for the purposes of this post, and I'll get to it in a second. But first, here's the thrust of his conclusion:

Outside these [three] basic areas, if we reject a form of music out of hand because it is not the form of music we prefer, then we are trying to kick against the variegated world that the triune God created.

Now, I share Wilson's distaste for the snobbery that rejects "a form of music out of hand because it is not the form of music we prefer." And his second allowable critique does leave the door open for rejecting a particular form or genre "when that music declares openly its rebellion against God." But what if it merely declares its rebellion subtly? Is Wilson denying that's possible, or is he doubting our ability to discern it? I'm not the least bit certain the necessary conclusion is that I'm kicking "against the variegated world that the triune God created" because I think we need a more sophisticated approach than simply affirming every genre that's not explicitly rebellious.

And one reason I'm not so certain is that Wilson himself told me not to be.

Not so long ago, in his friendly but pointed critique of the most controversial portions of the Driscolls' marriage book, Wilson wrote:

I must read the Word to read the world, and I must read the world to read the Word. This extends beyond natural phenomena like planets, spiders, oceans, and lawn crickets. It also includes fallen human culture, and all its tawdry sins. I cannot understand the culture apart from the Word, but I do not approach the Word from "nowhere." . . . 

Legalists give application a bad name. Libertines give lack of application a bad name. They both lean against one another, and the only way out is to learn how to read culture like a grown-up. The only way out is to learn how to make the applications that the Holy Spirit is leading us to make. 

This is why we should not want to ban, discourage, or prohibit anything except what God has expressly prohibited, along with anything which the Spirit of God is leading us to discourage as we make necessary applications from the Scriptures. A whole host of scriptural requirements requires us to be able to read the culture in which we are making those applications.

And then he also wrote here, in a related post:

We need a hermeneutic that enables us to read our surrounding, unbelieving culture. Paul requires it here. Paul is saying that we have to look at what the pagans are doing and that we are to do something distinct from that. We have to learn how to "read" their lust, and write something different.

Put briefly, Wilson believes grown-ups are the sort of people who are equipped to deal with culture when its messages are subtle, not just when it tells you what it's doing in flashing neon. I agree with that Doug Wilson—the one who wrote back in January. He should talk to the Doug Wilson who was listening to John Mayer a couple weeks ago. And if I might, I'd like to listen to that conversation.

And now, on the off-chance Pastor Wilson catches a whiff and finds some response to be worthy of his time, I await my turn as his mop head.

Rant

I used to joke with a previous pastor that my long-term financial plan was to hit the separatist conference circuit with a talk entitled, "There and Back Again: My Time with [X pastor] at [X church] in the [X compromising association of churches] . . . and Why I Came Home." Some thought it was funny, possibly because it struck them as a sustainable career.

But eventually I realized thad I'd been beaten to the punch. It had occurred to me that there's a sort of person who attends an academic institution foreign to his circle of fellowship, all the while:

1. Knowing what he himself believes.
2. Knowing what the academic institutions he attends stands for.
3. Knowing that he believes that institution and its professors exist in a persistent state of compromise and disobedience to Scripture.
4. Intending to learn something from these disobedient compromisers.
5. Intending to use the education and academic imprimatur acquired from the compromised institution to advance his own institution and career.
6. Fully intending to excoriate the institution he attended throughout the rest of his career, once his credentials are signed and delivered.

Now, I wonder, what adjectives might we apply to that sort of scheme?

Respectable? Shrewd? Savvy? Ironic? Disingenuous? Reprehensible? Doomed?

You pick.

Special Thanks to B.B. Warfield

I'd like to thank B.B. Warfield for supplying an answer to my question in yesterday's post, regarding the reason evangelical leaders may take a stand on an issue like homosexuality as it emerges among megachurches. Warfield had this to say in his volume, Perfectionism, regarding opposition to Charles Finney's revivals that focused on methodology rather than theology:

That it was "the new measures" rather than the Pelagianism of "the Western revivals" which in the first instance at least offended the Eastern brethren is no doubt due in part to the general fact that it is always external things which first meet the eye [emphasis mine]. The external things in this instance were shocking in themselves; and their rooting in a doctrinal cause was often felt but vaguely or not at all. 

Pelagianizing modes of thought, derived from the same general source from which Finney had himself drunk—the "New Divinity" taught at New Haven—were moreover widely diffused among the New England clergy themselves. Men of this type of thinking might be offended by Finney's practices on general grounds, but could scarcely be expected, for that very reason, to assign them as to their cause to a doctrine common to his and their own thinking. And that the more that there were as yet no adequate means of ascertaining what the doctrinal basis of Finney's preaching was. Only his actual hearers were in any real sense informed of his teaching. 

When a little later he began to publish lectures and sermons the scales fell from men's eyes. The discerning had no difficulty then in seeing the correlation between his practices and his doctrines, or in clearly understanding that the phenomena of his revivals which gave most offence were merely the natural consequences of the fundamental fact that they were Pelagian revivals. (p. 33)

Thanks also to the Piedmont Baptist College library for helping me pick this up cheap in a Wake Forest used bookstore, and also to the fine folks out there who've helped the leaven of Warfield infiltrate our ranks. I think you know who you are.

Waves Obliterate Lines in the Sand: On Megachurches and "New Liberalism"

This morning I read Al Mohler's article, "Is the Megachurch the New Liberalism?" and I have to confess, I didn't see it going where it did. Fundamentalist that I am, I was strongly inclined from the outset to answer Mohler's title question, "Yes." (Or maybe, "Duh.") But I was still caught off guard by what was at best a colossal brain cramp by a megachurch pastor, and at worst a landmark compromise.

As Mohler notes, Guinness and Wells—not to mention MacArthur—have been sounding this alarm bell for decades. But his piece made me reflect on the curious role homosexuality has played in American Protestantism. We've seen denomination after denomination slouch towards Gomorrah (to borrow Judge Bork's phrase), long before these recent skirmishes over sodomy. And now the lines of that battle have infiltrated the megachurch movement.

Attentive readers will know that the odor of the "new liberalism" has long wafted within the megachurch movement. Like the mainline denominations, many megachurches have accommodated the culture, distorted the mission, and marginalized the offense of the gospel—all while selling truckloads of books explaining how they did it. Acceptance of homosexuality is an effect, not a cause. 

What's most curious to me is how homosexuality is a sort of Maginot Line among congregations and leaders that still do have some residual conservative instinct. Do they now take a stand because homosexual behavior is more easily explained to the Joe Public in the pew than complex matters of biblical interpretation and authority? Because of the remaining cultural "yuck factor"? Or perhaps because it's simply the last line of defense before, well, there's nothing left to defend?

Perhaps we need to remember that the Maginot Line didn't work out so well for the French, and the fortifications of contemporary evangelicalism are nowhere near as stout. We cannot afford to be the sort of people who pick and choose when to contend for the faith based on which turf we think might be easiest to defend. Our Enemy will deftly circumvent such cowardly strategies. Waves obliterate lines in the sand.

What's more, the ground on which we take a stand reflects a great deal about what's most precious to us.