John Mark Hicks

I am pleased to receive an answer to my response to Renew’s review (first installment) of my book Women Serving God. I appreciate the tone and care in this piece. I reproduce, with Renew’s permission, their response below in toto from their Facebook page. My response follows their text below.

Renew wrote:

Reflections on Part 1 of On Gender and the Bible
(a Response to John Mark Hicks)
By Renew.org

Many thanks to John Mark Hicks for engaging us in dialogue about his recent book Women Serving God. We are grateful for the gracious tone he responded with and we appreciate him as a brother in Christ. We agree with John Mark on a great many important things, including the importance of arriving at biblical views of gender and church ministry.

In addition, there is a great deal in his book which is admirable. Very importantly, he champions servant leadership, encourages leaders not to stifle giftedness, and calls us back from traditionalism to the standard we should all affirm: the Word of God. Hicks writes, “Sadly, control and power are more often at play among the people of God than self-giving service” (146). This is a sad, true observation, and one which has often gone under the radar even as Christians have busily tried to cultivate correctness regarding these issues.

It will become clear in upcoming articles that we at Renew.org arrive at different conclusions from Hicks when it comes to the meaning of some biblical texts relevant to this topic. Our first article, however, dealt with how we interpret the Bible as distinguished from Hicks’s methodology. We are writing this to engage with some of Hicks’s responses to our first article.

A Possible Overstatement

It is true, as Hicks notes, that he never uses the word egalitarian to describe his position. Likewise, the point of Women Serving God is not to give a sustained argument about leadership structure in the church or in the home. Rather, the point of Women Serving God is more modest: he argues for full participation of men and women in their areas of giftedness when the church assembly is gathered. For this reason, we might have been overreaching to call Hicks’s position “egalitarianism.” He has the right to label his own position, and we don’t want to attach a label which isn’t the best fit.

Elsewhere, Hicks has defined egalitarianism as “the full equality of role relationships and functions within the leadership and ministry of the church. This position denies male headship as a theological value and opens all functions in the church/assembly to the church/assembly to women. There are evangelical (those who believe in biblical authority) and non-evangelical versions of egalitarianism.”[1] From this definition, we see that Women Serving God is arguing for at least some of the egalitarian perspective as he has defined it, although he hasn’t yet dealt specifically with leadership offices per se (i.e., “functions within the leadership”).

To be fair, however, Hicks gives arguments in his book which match the egalitarian position as we have seen it articulated by others. Whenever male authority is mentioned in his argument, it is implied to be something which is merely situational, with no binding implications. This is true of the maleness of the first human (121), the maleness of the Old Testament priests (138), the maleness of Jesus (143), and the maleness of the 12 apostles (148).

Whether or not the label fits, Hicks has certainly set up premises for an egalitarian conclusion. He is right that leadership is a gift the Holy Spirit gives to men and women (Romans 12:8). However, add in the idea that male leadership in the Bible is merely situational, and it takes no imagination at all to land on a church structure with female elders and senior ministers. The argument for egalitarianism has practically already been made. Yet the label “egalitarianism” can bring in unwanted or unintended connotations which we didn’t mean to import by calling his position egalitarian.

Q: A subjective hermeneutic?

It is indeed all too easy to use the label “subjective” for other people’s interpretations which you don’t like. Hicks is absolutely correct that the “blueprint” when it comes to gender roles “is not as clear as we have sometimes assumed” (26). To look at someone’s honest hermeneutical attempts and immediately cry, “Subjective!” would be ungracious and unfair.

When we use the word subjective, it isn’t because Hicks is trying to use cultural discernment in reading the text (as he points out, aren’t we all?). Rather, when it comes to Hicks’s hermeneutics regarding gender issues, it’s a selectivity which suggests subjectivity. He seems to be selective in what he emphasizes. Hicks articulates his case in a way that makes it appear the Bible is overwhelmingly stacked against the norm of male authority, except for one verse: 1 Timothy 2:12. Numerous times (116, 152, 153, 157, 160), he sets the rest of the Bible against this single verse when it comes to male authority in the assembly. Indeed, it was his one remaining “firewall” to embracing the full participation view.

To be fair, his book does present a defense of a particular position, and he is marshalling the best evidence for the full participation view. As a defense of a position (and since this isn’t a systematic theology of the entire Bible), there is going to be selectivity involved when it comes to which passages receive emphasis. When does selectivity therefore become problematic?

Being selective when it comes to Scripture becomes problematic when it brings about an overemphasis which overshadows other important truth. Hicks’s sincerity and diligence cannot be called into question. Still, in the interest of showing each and every actual and possible instance when women held positions of leadership in the Bible, there does seem to be an unfortunate overshadowing of a norm of godly male leadership which God set forth in both Old and New Testaments.

For example, the Persian Queen Esther gets her own subsection as a political and religious leader over God’s people, yet the book contains no mention of God’s pattern of placing kings over Israel (with the only queen in Israel being the usurper Athaliah). Shouldn’t either fact be just as frankly acknowledged? Another example: In describing Eve, Hicks uses language such as “powerful helper or rescuer,” “full and empowered partner,” and “the one whose creation fully equips humanity” (121-22). Meanwhile, Hicks implies that Adam holds “no hint of any rank or authority” before the Fall (123). That language feels a bit imbalanced, and the presentation a bit selective.

Q: The full story?

One of the definitive features of Hicks’s hermeneutic is to read each text through the lens of the eschatological goal (i.e., the new creation). When reading and applying Scripture, it is indeed imperative to know where we are in the storyline of Scripture. Likewise, we shouldn’t attempt to fossilize ourselves in First Century cultural norms; we should be diligent about effectively and faithfully contextualizing the kingdom of God in whatever culture we find ourselves in.

Still, we wonder if Hicks’s way of framing the Bible’s big-picture story of the Bible is complete enough. Is it the case that the complementarian view bloats a few texts (most notably, 1 Timothy 2:12) out of all proportion so that the larger trajectory of Scripture is muted and truncated? On the contrary, we suggest that it is soft complementarians who are best positioned to apply the whole of Scripture. While we gladly acknowledge the glorious giftedness that the Spirit pours out on woman and man alike (i.e., numerous passages of Scripture), we also recognize godly male leadership as a norm that God employs in both Old and New Testaments (i.e., numerous passages of Scripture).

It seems that Hicks minimizes the latter of these two Scriptural realities. Is the maleness of Old Testament priests significant, given that many ancient pagan civilizations had priests and priestesses? Probably not, Hicks concludes; he suggests that the maleness of the Old Testament priests was probably no more theologically significant than having something to do with women’s menstruation periods: “The sanctity of blood probably excluded women from the priesthood due to their menstrual cycle” (138). We are told that the maleness of the apostles is no more instructive of how Jesus wants the church to be led than their ethnicity as Galilean Jews (148). However, why was it that the apostles chose ethnically diverse men to lead in the Acts 6 distribution of food? And when the church branched out into Gentile territory, why was it that Paul continued to plant churches with male elders? There appears to be a norm of godly male leadership over the church, something which traces back to the church’s Founder. When you deemphasize this norm of godly male leadership which spans both testaments, you end up deemphasizing seemingly relevant parts of Scripture’s storyline. Even when it comes to the first stage in the storyline—Gen. 1-2—Hicks claims there is “no hint of any rank or authority” for Adam, yet Gen. 1-2 is precisely where Paul goes when establishing gender distinctions in church and marriage (1 Corinthians 11:8; 1 Timothy 2:13-14; Ephesians 5:31).

This metaphor is an oversimplification; so please don’t take this as a summary statement of Hicks’s position. But it’s almost as if the big-picture story of the Bible is being portrayed as a train which could move forward unimpeded, if it weren’t for a single log in the way. The train symbolizes full participation in the assembly with no gender distinctions in leadership, and the log is 1 Timothy 2:12. The log, we are told, can be removed if rightly interpreted. Could it be that, in keeping with the train metaphor, a more accurate portrayal would be that a healthy church moves forward when everybody’s giftedness is recognized and encouraged, and that the norm of godly male leadership—properly understood and humbly exercised—is not logs to be removed but rather railroad ties upon which a gifted church can move full speed ahead?

Ours is not a statement endorsing male leadership per se. We’ve all experienced how power-hungry males in leadership can completely wreck whatever they touch—including churches. Instead, ours is an endorsement of humbly following God’s way of doing church. We share this goal with our brother John Mark, but we suggest that there is a fuller way of incorporating all the relevant Scripture regarding this important topic than the model we read in Women Serving God.[2]

Two Final Observations

Hicks takes issue with our statement that he “interprets away the key texts.” As he puts it, “It is rhetorical flourish rather than an argument.” Hicks is right that we made that assertion without making the argument. That argument will come in future articles, in which we will do a deep dive into these key texts. For now, please note that it’s a point well taken, and we should have waited to make such a claim until we presented the argument on which it is based. We anticipate waiting until after we have published the rest of the series before we respond to any of Hicks’s future responses to our articles.

Finally, we want to close with a very helpful statement from Hicks’s book, followed by a single reflection. Here’s his statement: “It is time to honor all the gifts God has given to women and for male leaders to recognize those gifts, share God’s mission with the other half of the church, and hear the gospel through the faithful voices of our sisters” (207). Yes, there are areas of disagreement we have with Hicks’s argument, but let us punctuate this summary statement of our brother with an “Amen.” This statement is precisely what we want to see in our churches.

[1] See John Mark Hicks, “Hermeneutics and Gender,” https://johnmarkhicks.com/…/2…/06/hermeneutics-and-gender.doc.
[2] For more on this fuller way of incorporating all the data, please read “Q: Is there a better way than seeing WDWD passages and WKSP passages as exceptions to each other?” at https://renew.org/on-gender-and-the-bible-what-john-mark-h…/.

My Response

To be sure, there is overlap in my position and egalitarianism, specifically the full participation of women in the assembly. At the same time, egalitarianism typically involves a much broader vision than I articulate or defend in this book. The term “egalitarianism” has connotations and associations that would have distracted from what I was doing in this book, and some of those associations are not commitments I share. My book focuses on a specific question. I appreciate Renew’s recognition that I wanted to keep this focus and not import extraneous meanings often associated with the term egalitarianism into their review of my book.

I’m not clear as to how my selectivity (which we all do in marshalling an argument or proffering an interpretation of Scripture, as Renew notes) is subjective when I address the perceived male patterns that supposedly ground male authority over women in the assembly.  They seem to think I ignored that. More on that in moment.

The only two instances of my supposed subjective selectivity noted are: (1) I call attention to Esther, but I don’t mention the Kings of Israel, and (2) I imply that Adam did not hold any rank or authority before the Fall.  I’m not sure how these are examples of selectivity, especially #2. I don’t think Genesis 2 teaches that the man held any authority or rank over the women before the Fall unless one adopts a misreading of Paul’s understanding of Genesis 2. The book addresses this in relation to both 1 Corinthians 11 and 1 Timothy 2.

As to (1), I don’t see how this is subjective selectivity when the point of the section in which I talk about Esther is discussing the activities of women in the story of Israel. As a godly ruler, she exercised religious and political authority among God’s people. (Athaliah ruled in ungodly ways, just as many men did.) Male kings also exercised authority as well, which is uncontested and well-known by students of Scripture. Both did. And that is the point. Both did.

I do address each of the points raised to support the “norm of godly male leadership”—male priests, Jesus as male, male apostles, and male elders. The reader can see how I address those topics in the book. More on that in a moment. At the same time, it is important to remember that Scripture also pictures women who exercise authority and leadership over men like Deborah and Esther (consistent with the theology of creation since God does not sanction what violates the divine intent in creation, right?). It is not a uniform “norm of godly male leadership.”

I am grateful to see the affirmation of reading Scripture through the lens of the eschatological goal (new creation). Is it true, however, that I bloat the significance of 1 Timothy 2:12 for soft complementarianism?  Is this not the primary text, if not the only one, in the New Testament that is used by soft complementarians to delimit women from preaching or speaking authoritatively in the assembly (however authentein, “exercising authority” or “usurping authority,” is understood)? What other text does a soft complementarian (limited participation) use since 1 Corinthians 11 & 14 are typically understood to permit rather than prohibit the participation of women in the assembly, even encouraging praying and prophesying in the assembly (unless 1 Corinthians 14:34-35 prohibits “judging” as an authoritative function)? I am open, however, to hearing how the Corinthian texts might supply a principle or prohibition that grounds the “norm of godly male leadership.” I will await that discussion.

The part of the story Renew thinks I too easily dismiss is the thread of male leadership from priests in Israel to Jesus as male to male apostles to male elders. Thus, my understanding of the story, Renew claims, is incomplete. There is an assumption that this trajectory entails a pattern or norm of male leadership and authority over women. In the Lord, however, women are priests. Jesus represents all humans, and the goal is to conform all humans to the image of Christ. Nowhere does Scripture ever limit the gifts or authority of women because of the male gender of Jesus. The Twelve was limited to Jewish males, but this places no limit on the gift of apostleship Post-Pentecost (others than the Twelve are called apostles without being included in the Twelve, including a woman, Romans 16:7). Even if I grant only male elders for the moment (which I do not explicitly contest in the book), does this limit the gifts of women in the assembly? Is there a role in the assembly that belongs only to male elders? What text would provide that limitation other than 1 Timothy 2:12? So, we are back to 1 Timothy 2 as the lone text for delimiting the participation of women in the assembly.

Permit me to drill a bit deeper for a moment. Renew asks, “why was it that the apostles chose ethnically diverse men to lead in the Acts 6 distribution of food?” We are not told why. If we understand this as part of a pattern or “norm” of male leadership, would we not have to say a woman should never have that kind of function in the ministry of benevolence within the church? If we are going to use the exclusive male selection in Acts 6 as an example of a pattern or norm of male leadership and authority, then we must be careful to make sure that part of the pattern is carried out in the contemporary church? If that is a blueprint pattern, then may women ever serve as deacons? May they lead benevolent ministries? In what ways may they “serve tables” or are they excluded from serving the sorts of tables Acts 6 envisions? The illustration of Acts 6 and male leadership, it seems to me, highlights the danger of seeking male patterns where there are none explicitly identified or explained as such. This is the danger of inferences. This argument would exclude women from “serving tables” and ministries for which they are gifted and for which we have examples in Scripture, even as deacons (Phoebe, for example). It seems to me this illustrates how one might mistakenly discern a male “norm” and extrapolate from it more than intended by the story of God or the narrator (Luke).

It is nowhere stated that male priests are chosen because of some pattern or “norm” of male leadership rooted in creation. It is an inference that fits a particular way of reading. This inference, even if correct, is tempered by the fact that, in the Lord, women are priests who offer sacrifices of praise and serve as well as men. There are many examples of this kind of movement in Scripture. Why are not eunuchs chosen as priests in Israel? They are, nevertheless, priests in the Lord. Just as with eunuchs, there may be reasons for the exclusion of women from the priesthood that have nothing to do with the “norm” of male leadership.

Contesting my claim that there is “no hint of any rank or authority” for the man over the woman in Genesis 1-2, it is suggested that Paul sees it there. I don’t think he affirms that. In my opinion, that is a misreading of Paul. But we will get there when we discuss 1 Corinthians 11:8-9 and 1 Timothy 2:13-14 in later posts.

I appreciate Renew’s concern to combat male abuse and power-seeking male leadership. I fully believe Renew wants to embrace God’s design for humanity. Where we disagree, after we fully incorporate “all the relevant Scripture,” is whether God intends women to fully participate in the assemblies of the saints or not. I think “all the relevant Scripture” answers “Yes”.  Renew thinks otherwise.  We will let the readers judge as they walk with us through the various texts in future posts.

Renew, thank you for the response.  It is much appreciated, and I look forward to further discussion through the blog posts.

I am grateful for the attention Renée Sproles, Bobby Harrington, and Daniel McCoy give to my new book, Women Serving God, at Renew’s blog (their blog is over 7700 words but it covers Scot McKnight’s book as well; my response is only 2700+). I am happy to engage the conversation they have begun, and I look forward to future installments of their review. Sproles has her own book on this topic, which I read as part of my own study, entitled On Gender: What the Bible Says About Men and Women–And Why It Matters.

I have a strong affinity for the work Renew is doing, especially their commitment to discipleship and disciple-making. I have attended Renew events, read their books, and enjoy friendships with many people associated with Renew. I am grateful for how they accentuate discipleship among churches through their organization. Yet, apparently, we find ourselves in a disagreement about the full participation of women in the assembly, which is the focus of my book.

I sense a basic concern is that somehow “Western elite values” are going to strip away biblical commands and render obedience to the will of God ineffective. Of course, I would oppose any such agenda myself. Yet, this, as I understand it, is part of the resistance to the full participation of women in the assemblies of the saints. I expect that we will see textual and theological arguments that demonstrate that is what is happening. I look forward to seeing the explanation.

I did not use the terminology egalitarian or egalitarianism in my book. I made no sustained argument about the relationship of husbands and wives (family) or church polity (bishops or elders). My focus was solely on the assembly and the level of participation by women in worshipping assemblies of churches of Christ. Sproles puts “egalitarian” in quotes. Though some may think she is quoting me, I do not use the term.

In relation to the assembly, it seems the only difference (as far as I can see at this point) between myself and Renew’s belief statement is the function of the “lead teacher/preacher role in the gathered church” (a phrase that does not appear in Scripture). I’m not sure how the function of “elder/overseer” plays out in the assembly in Renew’s understanding. Are there gifts and functions in the assembly that belong only to the “senior minister/pastor” (as Sproles names it). Perhaps solo preaching? Policy announcements? Officiating at the table? I anticipate that will be clarified as we move along in the reviews.

Hermeneutics

Renée’s first topic is hermeneutics (since we have met, I’d rather use her first name as a friend and sister in Christ). Good hermeneutics and theology matter, and without one, the other is skewed. This is why I wrote Searching for the Pattern first because it lays out my understanding of hermeneutics in the context of the churches of Christ. I only briefly summarize it in a few pages in Women Serving God.

Seeking a Theological Point?

Without reading the first volume, I can understand how one might think I’m only interested in drawing out a theological point or even a “timeless theology” (her words, not mine, even though they appear in quotes with the potential misunderstanding they are my words) from the “baggage of culture” (her words, not mine, even though they appear in quotes with the potential misunderstanding they are my words).

As I suggest in both Searching for the Pattern and Women Serving God, the theological point, in agreement with Renée, is the coherent story of God, which is the drama of God from creation to new creation; it is the pattern of God’s activity within the biblical drama. I’m not looking to draw a “theological truth from a time-bound biblical command” (her words). Rather, I am looking for the theological story (pattern, which is the gospel itself) that gave rise to that command and seeking to live obediently within that story in conformity to the meaning of that command.

For example, I agree with her baptismal example. My Searching for the Pattern has a case study on that topic. We follow Jesus into the water, participate in the gospel through baptism, and obediently conform to the gospel when we are baptized. Baptism and the gospel of Jesus are deeply and pervasively linked in the New Testament and, I would add, by the backstory in Israel. We are not immersed because it is an abstracted command as part of a blueprint hermeneutic. It is a gospel-formed command to follow Jesus into the water that is embedded in the kingdom story. For more, see my case study in Searching for the Pattern.

Subjective?

The search throughout Scripture for this coherent story, which is Renée’s own hermeneutic, is mine as well. To call it “subjective” is unhelpful. Precisely, in what way is it “subjective”? My approach is no more subjective than every hermeneutical reading of Scripture, but it is not so subjective that it necessarily privileges “culture” over the story of Scripture itself (which I sense is the real concern). I look forward to seeing examples where I supposedly do this with the text and discussing them.

At the same time, everyone reads Scripture with some cultural discernment (is that the subjectivity?). That is why women don’t wear veils, congregations don’t require holy kisses, or women are not forbidden to wear gold in assemblies even as women participate in limited ways through prayer, testimonies, etc. (soft complementarianism). Is it possible that this rejection of wearing veils and resistance to holy kisses is a case of “stripping away the teachings of Scripture on gender” in light of “Western elite values”? Is the privilege of wearing gold to the assembly a “Western elite value” that ignores Paul’s expressed desire? Might not soft complementarianism also be a failure to resist “Western elite values” when the historic tradition of the church silenced women in the assembly (including limited participation as it is understood in soft complementarianism), insisted on head coverings for centuries until only recently, and the early fathers objected to jewelry?

Four-Point Hermeneutic

I agree with the four points in Renée’s stated hermeneutic, though we both would want to elaborate their meaning and application. I incorporate each into Searching for the Pattern (I only slightly touch on #4 in that book). Principle #1 is applied throughout Women Serving God, especially Parts 3-6. I assume her second principle is conducive to understanding the role new creation plays in the biblical story as the “rule” (or canon; Paul’s word) by which we walk as disciples of Jesus (Galatians 6:15-16). I also assume her third principle also asks, “what does this mean?” without attempting to “wriggle out of obedience” (is that what I am trying to do?). I also assume her fourth principle gives space to critique the understanding of the traditions of the church, even if they are very early (such as a monarchical bishop, or that the early church fathers were not soft complementarians). I would add a fifth point: to read Scripture through the lens of the act of God in Christ by the power of the Spirit, the eschatological goal (new creation) and its presence in the world, and the pattern we find in God’s incarnate example and the outpouring of the Spirit in Acts 2. This is a major part of the coherent story, it seems to me. We might say it is part of the second principle, which I have accentuated and made more explicit. But perhaps that fifth principle (as I stated it) is the rub and is excluded or conceived differently. I’m not sure; is it? How does Renée’s hermeneutic think about the function of new creation in telling the story of God in the Bible?

There seems to be a misunderstanding that I make a claim to “move beyond” Scripture in some way (which Renée puts in quotation marks though I never use those words). I never say that or intend that in the book. I don’t want to “move beyond” the coherent story in Scripture or the pattern present in it. Scripture points us beyond some specific circumstances (Artemis cult in Ephesus, silencing women who are interrupting speakers in the assembly) and some specific applications (veils, wearing gold, washing feet, it is better not to marry [1 Corinthians 7], etc.), but we don’t move beyond the coherent theology in the text. I don’t want to move beyond but understand the commands of God rooted in the gospel and God’s story. The question is, what does Scripture teach?

There is a sense, of course, in which we all “move beyond” Scripture in that we address topics, problems, and issues that are not specifically addressed in Scripture. For example, where does Scripture address cloning? But we don’t “move beyond” Scripture in the sense that we abandon the coherent story of God or subvert it. Rather, we apply that story to the new questions and situations that arise as we follow Jesus in the present context.

Trajectories in Scripture

I agree that salvation is both personal and communal, both individual and social; indeed, it is also cosmic. All my theological thought and teaching has been soaked in that very point for over thirty years. It is not “either personal salvation or new creation; it’s both.” I agree 100%. I’m not sure if Renée thinks I believe otherwise—she can’t get that from this book or my other writings. (In reading the review, sometimes I feel like my book is not is under review even though my name is associated with the idea. Perhaps this is the problem of reviewing two books at once as views and purposes are too easily conflated.)

The story of Scripture is God at work to transform persons, communities, and the creation; and the goal of that transformation is conformation to the image of Christ so that Christ fills all things. God will achieve that goal in the final consummation, and new creation is already at work in the church as a mission outpost of the kingdom of God here and now. In what ways does the final consummation (new creation) show up in the present? What is already present that belongs most fully to what is not yet? That is the reason for thinking about a new creation hermeneutical dimension—and I do so precisely because Paul did.

As Renée notes, there are trajectories in Scripture (e.g., movement from Mosaic to New Covenant; including—I would add—the inclusion of women as priests in Christ, how women now inherit without male instrumentality in Christ, rejection of polygamy, etc.). I suggest another is the movement from creation to new creation. There are key moments in that trajectory, including the Call of Abraham, Exodus, Incarnation, Cross & Resurrection, Pentecost, and New Heaven and New Earth. There are key texts within Scripture that interpret these moments.  Those texts help us understand the trajectory.

I don’t think I choose a text in the abstract. Rather, I am seeking the coherence of the story (Renée’s hermeneutical point #2) and how texts reflect, embody, or teach that trajectory within the story. What significance Galatians 3:28 has in the context of God’s coherent story is a matter for discussion. Highlighting that text is not necessarily cherry picking but paying attention to the movement toward new creation (new creaturehood in Christ) within the story of God.

Renée asks, “Why is the paradigm shift primarily to ‘oneness’ and not to citizenship in God’s kingdom or something else?” I only use the word “oneness” twice—once in terms of its reality in creation and new creation (p. 139) and about oneness at the table of the Lord (p. 146). I don’t suggest that citizenship and oneness are two ultimately different things but rather citizenship in the kingdom of God includes oneness and moves us toward the fullness of that oneness or unity we will experience in the new heaven and new earth. This is the goal of God from the beginning (John 17:20-26), and it is reflected in our union with Christ. It is the unity and fellowship of the Spirit.

Culture

There is always a danger that culture will reshape the theological story. This was part of my point in Part 2 of Women Serving God. The danger is not only found in present culture but in past cultures as well. For example, many leaders and teachers in the American Restoration Movement used 1 Timothy 2:12 to deny women the vote, silence women from leading prayer or speaking in any form in the assembly, prohibit women from teaching adult Bible classes with men present, prohibit women from teaching twelve year old baptized males in Bible class, exclude women from baptizing others, or exclude women from public careers in society. Renée and I are on the same page. We must not permit culture to subvert or override the coherent story of Scripture.

Anyone’s search for that coherent story can “lead us right off the pages of Scripture,” not just mine. Of course, the opposite danger is that some read Scripture so rigidly and in conformity to their traditions that they will, as Jesus put it about the Pharisees, make a convert “twice as much a child of hell as” the teacher (Matthew 23:15). To be clear, I don’t think that is what Renew is doing, but I don’t think I am leading people “off the pages of Scripture” either. But I do suggest that Renew might consider embracing full participation rather than a limited one for women in the assembly. Perhaps it is tradition that hinders that full participation rather than a coherent biblical theology.

While Renée seems to think that the net effect of my understanding is “to subsume the way of Jesus under the authority of a given culture,” I think that must be demonstrated. It is certainly not my intent. I assume we will see the evidence for this marshaled in future installments.

I think Renée misunderstands a significant point in my book. I am not opposed to the proper functions of authority within the community of faith that are rooted in God’s gifts to the community. Authority per se is not a bad word for me; I use it often in the book. When Renée states that I believe “hierarchy and authority are antithetical to equality, mutuality, and unity,” she is mistaken. I think hierarchy and authoritarianism (which is the word I used in the context she quoted) are antithetical, but authority and equality/mutuality/unity are not. Her extended quotes from my book come in the context of my opposition to sacerdotal hierarchical authoritarianism around the table and its misuse of “authority.” Contextually, I am referring to Jesus’s opposition to Gentile leaders who wrongly use authority (“The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those in authority over them are called benefactors;” Luke 22:25). Jesus contrasts that use of authority with how his disciples ought to relate to each other. The table is a place for the priesthood of all believers, shared places at the table, and mutual service.

Where we disagree, I presume, is that she understands Scripture to teach male authority over women (at the table?) in the assembly in some form or function. I don’t think that is part of the Bible’s coherent story. I look forward to the future discussion of the role of male authority in the assembly as well as the argument for grounding that male authority in creation ontology or essence (which I address in Women Serving God).

I do not, as Daniel & Bobby write, use Galatians 3:28 to undermine “authority.”  It does, however, undermine male authority just as it undermines ethnic authority (Jew vs. Gentile) and economic authority (slave vs. free) as boundaries for the pouring out of the Spirit’s gifts and the exercise of those gifts in the assembly.

It seems to me that Scripture is full of liberation, mission, and the hope of new creation: exodus, ministry of Jesus, resurrection, new creatures in Christ, and cosmic liberation of the creation (to name a few).  Let’s talk about what that entails for the giftedness of women in the assembly rather than projecting what it might mean in the hands of others. What does it mean in my book?

On Interpretation

It is unhelpful to say “Hicks interprets away the key texts,” as Bobby & Daniel do. (I imagine the only key text about which we might disagree in terms of the assembly is 1 Timothy 2, but I may be wrong.) That is a charge that needs demonstration, which I assume is coming in future installments. But why say that here, and why say it that way? It is rhetorical flourish rather than an argument. I don’t want to interpret “away” anything. I want to understand the mystery of God (the gospel of godliness) revealed in those texts. Let’s talk about what my book actually says rather than deflecting the question to what others might do with it.  When we discuss the details of the book’s argument, then readers can decide whether something is explained “away” or not.

It is fair to call it a reinterpretation, though these texts have always been under various forms of reinterpretation and diverse understandings throughout history. The church has historically reinterpreted other texts (e.g., slavery, veils, holy kiss, wearing gold, washing feet, age limit on the support of widows, etc.). Perhaps some texts need reinterpretation (or the revival of old interpretations long forgotten) in order to hear the coherent story (including new creation) more fully because centuries of male authority have given us the wrong lenses with which to read the text. Perhaps we need a moment like Peter had at Simon’s house in Joppa to help us see what we could not previously see so that we might read Scripture more appropriately and more fully in the light of what God did in Christ by the power of the Spirit.

I am grateful for the opportunity to participate in this dialogue. I hope we can proceed with some reciprocity, respect, and mutual love without rhetorical embellishments. 

Peace and grace from our Lord Jesus Christ to my siblings, Renée, Bobby, and Daniel. Rick, my dear friend, I suppose I’ll see in you in future installments. Peace to all.

Does God invite women to fully participate in the assemblies of God?

My new book, Women Serving God, addresses this question. It is now available on Amazon in both Kindle ebook ($9.99) and print ($14.95).

In addition, I have produced a teaching/discussion study guide for the book designed for small groups or Bible classes.

Among churches of Christ, the voices of women are typically silent and excluded from visible leadership in assemblies gathered for prayer and praise. In this book, I tell the story of my own journey to understand how women have served God throughout the unfolding drama of Scripture. I describe my movement from the exclusion of the voices of women and their leadership in the assembly to a limited inclusion, and finally to the full inclusion of those voices and their leadership. Along the way, I describe some of the history of churches of Christ as well as my own history but ultimately focus on the meaning of biblical texts and how they support the full participation of women in the assemblies of God.

Three women, Claire Davidson Frederick, Jantrice Johnson, and Lauren Smelser White, respond to and extend John Mark’s thoughts.

John Mark is detailed, fair, and vulnerable about his own journey and our collective journey in Churches of Christ. I recommend John Mark as a trustworthy guide. Dr. Sara G. Barton, University Chaplain, Pepperdine University, Malibu, CA

Do we believe that the Holy Spirit equally equips both women and men to carry out Jesus’s message of reconciliation? Dr. Hicks is a trusted guide in navigating the depth of scripture and the complexity of our cultural moment. Drink deeply from this well! Dr. Joshua Graves, Otter Creek Church, Brentwood, Tennessee.

With characteristic depth, rigor, and generosity, Hicks offers his own journey toward embracing the inclusion of women’s voices in the assembly. Hicks writes with a familiarity of Restoration Movement history that few can boast, with an accompanying dedication to searching the scriptures. Amy McLaughlin-Sheasby, Instructor in the Department of Bible, Missions, and Ministry, Abilene Christian University.

This book is a gift to twenty-first century Churches of Christ. Part autobiography, part history, part exegesis, and part biblical theology, Hicks’s exploration of the Bible’s teachings on the role of women in congregational gatherings offers several invaluable components. Dr. James L. Gorman, Associate Professor of History, Johnson University

JOHN MARK HICKS is Professor of Theology at Lipscomb University in Nashville, TN. He has taught for thirty-nine years in schools associated with the churches of Christ. He has authored or co-authored eighteen books, lectured in twenty-two countries and forty states, and is married to Jennifer. They share five living children and six grandchildren.

Below I summarize the point of Searching for the Pattern: My Journey in Interpreting the Bible.

Growing up in Churches of Christ, I embraced and practiced a hermeneutic that sought an implicit blueprint for the work and worship of the church in Acts and the Epistles. Through a filter of generic/specific distinctions, coordinate associations, the law of silence, and expediency (among other rules for authorization), I shifted through the commands, examples, and inferences within the New Testament to deduce a blueprint, which then became the standard of faithfulness and a mark of the true church.  And if everyone agreed upon and practiced the blueprint, we would be united! Part I of my book tells this story.

The inadequacies of this approach as well as its subjectivity (every conclusion and most steps along the way were inferences) created doubts. This is not how the apostolic witness called people to gospel obedience. They did not read Scripture or write Scripture with a blueprint lens. Something different was going on. This is described in Part II of my book.

The problem is the location of the pattern. The pattern is not found in an implied blueprint in Acts and the Epistles. Paul does not call people to obedience based on a blueprint located in the practices of the church. Instead, he calls them to obedience based on the pattern manifested in the incarnation, life, death, resurrection, and exaltation of Jesus. This is the gospel we obey—the story of Jesus—rather than a blueprint we have inferred from the text but is not explicitly there. This is my point in Part III of my book.

Hermeneutics, even a theological hermeneutic which I promote in the book, always involves inferences. We cannot escape them; every application is an inference. But here is the significant point: the pattern is not an inference. On the contrary, it is the story in which we live. It is the narrative air we breathe. The pattern of God’s work through Christ in the power of the Spirit is clear, objective, and formative. It is the story told in Scripture; it is an explicit pattern.

We will find unity when we confess the same pattern, and the shame of our division is that we already confess the same pattern.  Our pattern is God in Jesus through the Spirit, or our pattern is Jesus. Here we are united, and our hermeneutics (whether blueprint or theological) must not undermine that unity but provide ways to embody it.  That is the point of Part IV of my book.

This is one meditation from the published book by John Mark Hicks, Around the Bible in 80 Days: The Story of God from Creation to New Creation (Abilene: Leafwood Press, 2022).

John Young, an adjunct instructor at Amridge University and a Ph.D. candidate in history at the University of Alabama, has written a brief history of Churches of Christ entitled Visions of Restoration (Cypress Publications, 2019; 111 pages).  Brevity sacrifices detail and nuance, but that is acceptable when the purpose is to offer something easily digestible for the reader. Young, I believe, accomplishes his purpose and provides readers with an accessible introductory volume.

At the outset, he recognizes that restorationists live in the tension between primitivism (e.g., we are the church of the New Testament) and historical tradition (e.g., our history has defined contours). This is complicated by the fact that the restorationist tradition finds other expressions in Puritanism (e.g., John Owen) and other 19^th century movements in New England (Elias Smith) and Virginia (James O’Kelly). Consequently, it is difficult to navigate both the historical tradition of Churches of Christ and its restorationist claims. Young, it seems to me, rightly sees the tension, and he addresses the historical tradition (“present day Churches of Christ are…a modern movement which seeks to restore” the New Testament church, p. 5) without discounting the theological claim itself (he does not argue whether the theological claim is true or not but recognizes the intent and judges that perhaps it is the “most thorough” of restorationist attempts). As such, Young’s book is a history of a modern movement, a historical tradition deeply connected with places, events, people, and ideas.

Young introduces readers to the “Big Four”: Barton W. Stone, Thomas Campbell, Alexander Campbell, and Walter Scott. Recognizing the revivalist context of Stone’s early beginning and the move out of sectarianism by the Campbells, and Scott’s five finger exercise, Young’s brief summaries are helpful.

Young recognizes that the 1832 union between the Stone and Campbell groups was neither simple nor easy. Many in Stone’s group were uneasy with Campbell and some united with the Smith and O’Kelly groups rather than Campbell. Campbell himself, which Young does not note, was not enthusiastic about this union because he was rather suspicious of Stone’s lack of evangelical Orthodoxy (with good reason, especially Stone’s Trinitarianism and Christology). Nevertheless, the united movement became the 5^th largest Christian group in the U.S. by 1870.

Though union propelled the movement from the 1820s to the 1870s, “some cracks in the foundation” emerged just prior to the Civil War and exploded after the Civil War. I think Young is correct that the division is both theological (a difference over the application of the received hermeneutic) and sectional (the aftermath of the Civil War—both in terms of politics and sociology). One of the more helpful points Young makes about this division between the Churches of Christ and the Disciples of Christ—formally expressed in 1906—is the role political thought played in the separation, especially as southern congregations were skeptical of government and northern congregations were more nationalistic. The election of James A. Garfield was heralded as a great moment by northern Disciples but lamented by many southerners (notably David Lipscomb).

I do appreciate how Young recognizes both the theological and sociological dimensions of the division. There was a significant hermeneutical chasm between the Disciples of Christ and the Churches of Christ, which resulted in different views on instrumental music and the missionary societies. And there was also a deep sectional, sociological, political, and economic divide as well. Young correctly gives weight to both. By the 1880s, congregations were dividing over the instrument, and by 1906 the Churches of Christ were primarily located in the Confederate states and the Disciples of Christ were located in the Union states. Sectionalism as well as theology had an impact.

Young offers an interesting interpretation of the history of Churches of Christ after their separation from the Disciples.

On the one hand, the one-cup congregations and the non-Sunday School congregations separated themselves from the primary trajectory of Churches of Christ as independent movements.  This happened in the 1900s-1920s. Another group separated itself in the 1990s, and Young helpfully devotes a chapter to the rise of the International Church of Christ  (with its roots in the Campus Evangelism of the 1960s-1970s among Churches of Christ).

On the other hand, other divisions were exclusions rather than separations, and the exclusions mitigated damage to the church’s perceived uniformity, though this was accomplished not only through theological argument but also by personal attacks and political maneuvers (e.g., quarantines and exclusion from places of power in the schools and platforms at the lectureships). In this way, dispensational premillennial congregations were marginalized and excluded as were non-institutional congregations.

Another typically excluded group, to which Young devotes a chapter, are African American congregations. He identifies key figures, and assesses similarities and differences. But they all shared the same problem: Jim Crow culture. In this way, African American congregations were also excluded, though not for theological but racial reasons. Hopefully, that is changing.

Another group, to which Young devotes a chapter, is the history of women among Churches of Christ whose voices have been excluded. There is some diversity in the beginning and among the Disciples of Christ, but Churches of Christ muted female voices in the assembly. There was some pushback from women Selina Holman of Tennessee and—Young does not discuss this—leaders like Daniel Sommer. In assemblies in Sommer’s circles, the female voice was heard in prayer, exhortation, reading Scripture, and leading singing. Generally, women were excluded on the theological grounds: their sex demanded their public silence in both church and society (until suffrage changed the social landscape). Hopefully, that is changing.

The 1960s saw the emergence more educated, socially conscious, and pneumatically open thinkers and congregations who expressed themselves through publications like the Restoration Quarterly, Mission, and Integrity. This was countered by the rise of publications like the Spiritual Sword and Contending for the Faith. This was the beginning of a hermeneutical struggle as the former increasingly rejected the received hermeneutic for what their critics called a “new hermeneutic,” and the latter became increasingly involved in the politics of the evangelical right (which is a reversal of what characterized much of the Churches of Christ in the late 19^th century). These two groups within Churches of Christ, as Young puts it, are increasingly “drifting apart.”

Young leaves us with two groups “drifting apart.” The unity movement did not bear the fruit of unity. And this is because, as the title of the book suggests, there were competing “visions of restoration.”

In some ways, this is a sad story. In other ways, there is a freedom that gives birth to the hope of renewing life in God’s redemptive work rather than in our theological opinions. Let us hope, pray, and struggle for that renewal.

Keith D. Stanglin, The Letter and Spirit of Biblical Interpretation: From the Early Church to Modern Practice (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2018). 274 pages.

Presentation at the 2019 Christian Scholars Conference in Lubbock, Texas.

I welcome this book on several levels.

For me, and for others who have worked vocationally in historical theology, it is a welcome reacquaintance with past figures. I found myself renewing friendships with Gregory of Nyssa, Erasmus of Rotterdam, Calvin of Geneva, and even the Dutch Remonstrants whose influence was much greater than their numbers.

In addition, the purpose of this nostalgic journey is the rehabilitation of the spiritual sense of Scripture or theological hermeneutics. Stanglin, following Paul, calls it the “letter” and the “spirit,” or the literal and spiritual, senses of Scripture. The spiritual sense seeks theological understanding beyond, though not irrespective of, the literal sense, especially where the literal sense is equated with the authorial intent of the human writer.

Both of these concerns are germane to my own work, and I noted a kinship between Keith’s interest and my teaching over the past thirty-seven years.  This interest commits Stanglin to an exercise in “retrieval exegesis” (211) or “retrieval theology” (11). By this, he intends to “provide critical understanding of and appreciation for both premodern and modern exegesis” in search of “a balanced and fruitful interaction between the letter and the spirit” (11).

I applaud this goal, and in pursuing it, Stanglin highlights the spiritual while not vacating the literal sense. In other words, one agenda of the book is to sanction theological interpretation and propose it as a healing balm for the woes of the splintered and chaotic practice of modern historical-critical exegesis.

My old friends appear one after another in Stanglin’s analysis. Such a survey is, of course, selective and Keith acknowledges this. I have no significant misgiving about his choices. Irenaeus, Origen, Aquinas, Erasmus, Luther, Calvin, Spinoza, and Lessing are obvious and important, even necessary, choices. I found three particularly significant because they intersect with my own interests.

First, Irenaeus is foundational to Stanglin’s reading of the patristic tradition. A central conviction, which lies at the heart of a theological hermeneutic, is present in the bishop. Keith characterizes it in this way: “the Scriptures display a fundamental unity that allows this kind of typological and intertextual play within the bounds of this grand story of redemption” (31). Irenaeus knew that everyone reads the text against the background of a hypothesis, which norms what the text can mean or gives boundaries to the meaning of a text. Received through catechism, baptism, and liturgy, the church wears the Regula Fidei as a set of glasses through which Scripture is read, and with this lens even the illiterate are able to discern between the illegitimacy of the Gnostic hypothesis and the truth of the received narrative (34). Irenaeus, then, establishes two key principles that are part of Stanglin’s ultimate conclusion about theological hermeneutics: analogia scripturae and analogia fidei (206, 222-3).

Second, though seemingly a minor character in the narrative (three pages in the text, 141-144), Stanglin’s attention to William Perkins—arguably the primary influence on seventeenth century English Puritans—is important for several reasons. On the one hand, Perkins represents Reformed scholasticism, and, on the other hand, anticipates a modern reading of Scripture through a rational lens, though that rationality serves a different purpose than critical exegesis.  As Keith notes, Perkins believed there was only one sense of Scripture, the literal one, but he subsumed other traditional senses under that rubric. For Perkins, the literal sense, with his attendant use of typology and allegory, served the theological agenda of Scripture, that is, to deduce a system of theology. Perkins practiced a theological hermeneutic that accentuated the unity of Scripture through an eminently rational lens. Assuming a theological system as part of the text, Perkins employed positivistic distinctions between generic and specific, between explicit and implicit teachings of Scripture in order to deduce that system. Later, mid-20^th century leaders among Churches of Christ, as heirs of the Puritan Reformed tradition, would do the same with generic and specific, with explicit and implicit distinctions, though they sought an ecclesial pattern more than a systematic theology. In this way, Perkins is like a hinge upon which the church swings from premodern to modern exegesis but without being fully committed to either.

Third, I cannot fail to comment on Alexander Campbell, who takes up four pages in Stanglin’s narrative (169-172).  I think Keith is fundamentally correct. Campbell embraced nuda scriptura, which seems to undermine the Irenaean function of the Regula Fidei. Campbell does not have a regulated reading in the sense of a Rule of Faith external to the text of Scripture, but he does read Scripture with a hermeneutic regulated by an inductive sense of God’s narrative which Campbell thought was helpfully summarized in the Apostles Creed. For Campbell, the rule of faith is the internal dynamic of the narrative itself. This inscripturated narrative functions as a canon within the canon and renders the Rule of Faith as an external summary unnecessary, though it might be helpful as a rehearsal of facts.  In this sense, we might say, he read Scripture through his own inductively inferred rule of faith.

Also, Scripture, according to Campbell, is subject to “all the rules of interpretation which we apply to other books” (Millennial Harbinger, 1832, 111). He follows Moses Stuart on this point, who—more than any other writer—shaped Campbell’s historical-grammatical consciousness. Campbell published Stuart’s article entitled, “Are the same principles of interpretation to be applied to the Scriptures as to other Books?” (Millennial Harbinger, 1832, 64.) It was a rhetorical question. For Campbell this is rooted in the nature of language itself, and if one wants to understand the “doctrine of the New Testament,” one must understand the “proper meaning of words, whether literal, allegorical, typical, or parabolical.” In other words, as Campbell says, “The Bible means what it says.” (Millennial Harbinger, 1831, 490.) And, we might add, only what it says. This hermeneutical commitment, along with his linguistic and hermeneutical optimism, grounded his pursuit of the restoration of the ancient order towards the goal of ecclesial unity.

While Scripture’s proper meaning is singular, it is sometimes “literal” and sometimes “figurative” (parabolic, allegorical, typological). Campbell is willing to name this “figurative” meaning as “spiritual,” but he fears the word carried the baggage of “Origen” where “every word” in the Bible had “a spiritual sense.” This gave the term “spiritual” a negative appearance (a “malem partem”) and thus it was “discarded even where it might have been tolerable.” (Millennial Harbinger, 1831, 491.) Stanglin is correct. “Campbell takes the classic Protestant angle of folding the spiritual sense into the literal” (171). There is no “double sense” (Millennial Harbinger, 1832, 111), but every text has a particular sense, which may be literal or spiritual (figurative). “We object not,” Campbell wrote, “to the allegoric, parabolic, and typical sense; or, to express it in one word, the figurative sense. But we do not expect to find any other than the literal sense except where figures are used.” (Millennial Harbinger, 1831, 491-2.).  In other words, every text of Scripture has only one meaning or sense (he quotes both Luther and the Westminster Divines in support). If the literal does not yield that single sense, we look to the figurative (which is the spiritual sense). We can only move to the spiritual sense when the literal is non-sensical, or where there is a specific indication that a figurative meaning is in view. In other words, we cannot read the Old Testament the way the apostles read it. In this way, Campbell represented the rise of modern exegesis and expected to find no legitimate meaning in text other than what is accessible by its plain words.

Stanglin grounds the legitimacy of theological hermeneutics in the historic practice of the church that has lived under the Rule of Faith (analogia fidei) for almost two thousand years, the unity of Scripture (analogia scripturae), and the primacy of the literal sense to which any spiritual sense is tied. Keith also rejects several significant modern presuppositions, including (1) the neutrality of reader and (2) the single sense of the text limited to the intent of the human author. I wondered, however, whether he also rejected the modern assumption of the passivity of the reader. I don’t think so, but I want to press the point a bit.

For example, Stanglin suggests the spiritual sense of Scripture is not merely an application of the text but “in some sense meant to be found in the text” (217) and, at the same time, it is an interpretation or “appropriation” (217). I presume this meaning is intended by the divine author and discerned by the human reader. The reader is not passive but is the means by which God opens up new meaning so that a kind of “this is that” appears “when ’that’ is something new and apparently far removed from the original ‘this’” (217).

Theological hermeneutics, then, is where ecclesially-formed, believing readers co-create meaning with the text (1) within liturgical life of the church, (2) in the confidence of the sacramental function of Scripture, and (3) the transformative presence of the Holy Spirit. Such readers, inhabited by the indwelling Spirit, listen to hear how “this is that” and see what is not explicitly there. It seems to me that Stanglin’s proposal could use more emphasis on these three points, particularly the hermeneutical role of the Spirit. Though these three points are present in one form or another, his proposal is more epistemological than sacramental or liturgical. Nevertheless, the seeds of a fuller sacramental and liturgical picture are present in his work.

By way of illustration, permit me to probe one of Keith’s examples. Might “bread” in the Lord’s Prayer refer to Eucharistic bread? Tertullian thought so (On Prayer, 6).[1] In fact, Tertullian preferred what he called “the spiritual understanding”—Jesus is the bread of life who “authoritatively ranked” his body “as bread” when he said, “This is my body.”

Keith asks, “Did Jesus or Matthew intend” eucharistic bread? “Does it matter?” (240). I appreciate the controls Keith suggests on theological interpretation. They give theological interpretation a wide berth, perhaps too wide for modern historians. But I don’t think too wide for ecclesial theologians.  

In terms of the Lord’s prayer, “bread” is literally present, and Eucharistic bread does not subvert or contradict the literal meaning.  Further, “bread” is an important theme in redemptive history, which often has a double sense. Manna, for example, is both physical and spiritual nourishment since Christ is the spiritual food Israel consumed in the wilderness, according to Paul. Eucharistic bread in the Lord’s Prayer is not only consistent with the Rule of Faith but, given the liturgical context of its practice, points us toward the Eucharistic bread.

If we read the Lord’s Prayer in this way as part of the liturgy of the church where it is recited just prior to the distribution of the bread and wine, we see spiritual interpretation doing its good work. It illustrates how the church legitimately co-creates meaning that is beyond the explicit statements in the text. It illustrates how Scripture is multivalent and capable of new meaning in new situations irrespective of the human author’s intent.

But is the spiritual meaning in the text? In one sense, yes, because it is situated within a grand story that gives such meaning to bread. And we might surmise that the divine author intended it as a meaning inherent in the text. But in another sense, it is not, but that is okay. The church—as a faithful reader—is called to co-create meaning with the text for the sake of the formation of the people of God into the image of God. This is Scripture’s sacramental function within the liturgical life of the church. Given God’s history with God’s people and given the confession of the Rule of Faith and its practice within the church, the text itself gives rise to meaning beyond the human author’s intent.  The church hears the word of God, understands its depth and profundity, and performs it liturgically and ethically.

Stanglin’s contribution identifies an overlapping harmony between modern and premodern interpretation though differences remain. There is a common ground between the methods where they might mutually enrich each other. The exploration of this common ground while recognizing how the differences entail quite distinct hermeneutical practices will be an ongoing task of the contemporary church.

[1] E. Evans, Tertullian’s Tract on Prayer (London: S.P.C.K., 1953) 11-13.

“The mission of the Spirit…is equal in importance to the mission of the Son.”

This is probably the most provocative as well as evocative sentence (p. 107) in Leonard Allen’s new book entitled Poured Out: The Spirit of God Empowering the Mission of God (ACU Press, 2018).

The mission of God (missio Dei) involves a “double sending—two missions: the mission of the Spirit and the mission of the Son.” One is incomplete without the other. Allen suggests the “mission of the Son,” who is the “central content of the gospel,” becomes “operative and effective through the mission of the Spirit,” which empowers the ministry of the church, gives the church the experience of divine life, and forms the church into the image of Christ (p. 108). While the Father is the source of life, and the Son is the model of life, the Spirit is the one who brings life “so that we actually experience it” (p. 70). Consequently, “the missions of the Son and of the Spirit are equal, each according to its distinct function” (p. 108), as both the Son and the Spirit are sent by the Father into the world to accomplish the divine mission (which includes the functions of both the Son and the Spirit).

Allen’s book seeks to restore the place of the Holy Spirit in the church’s theology of Trinity, mission, and formation. While there are significant and rather comprehensive discussions of the latter and the former, the heart of the book is the relationship between Spirit and mission.

Allen provides a nice summary of the fundamental point of the book (p. 179):

I have developed a three-part thesis: (1) with the receding of (neo-) Christendom, a strong new focus on the mission of God has been emerging; (2) at the same time an unprecedented focus on the Holy Spirit has also emerged [especially in the Global South, JMH]; and (3) the renewal of mission and the Holy Spirit go hand in hand.

This conjunction means that every Christian is a missionary in our new post-Christian context (particularly in the West), and it means that every Christian is a charismatic, that is, indwelt and gifted by the Spirit for mission.

I highly recommend this book for study in small groups, congregational classes, and personal reflection as well as a guide for a homiletic foray into a congregational focus on the Holy Spirit in the assembly’s worship and learning of God.

To my mind, this is the most significant book to appear on the Holy Spirit among Churches of Christ since Robert Richardson’s 1873 A Scriptural View of the Office of the Holy Spirit.

Review of Jacob Arminius: Theologian of Grace, by Keith D. Stanglin and Thomas H. McCall.  New York: Oxford University Press, 2012.  This review first appeared in Restoration Quarterly 56 (2014): 258-259.

This book is long overdue. While the shelves are filled with scholarly summaries of Augustine, Luther, Calvin, and Wesley, this is the first book-length rigorous exposition of the theology of Arminius. MCall and Stanglin intend their work as a complement to the magisterial 1971 Arminius biography by Carl Bangs. They write within the framework of a renaissance of Arminius scholarship (whaich began in the 1980s) that is more objective (as opposed to polemical) and contextual (recognizing a Reformed scholastic setting) than previous studies that heralded him as either saint or sinner.

The subtitle reflects their specific intent. They explain Arminius’s theology of grace in the light of the topics that most consumed his attention in the first decade of the seventeenth century and what “recent scholarship has found to be central.” Through a “constructive synthesis,” McCall and Stanglin “attempt to show what “makes him tick” (21). Grace is a pevasive theme that drive his pastoral and theological interests. This stands in contrast with some interpreters who think Arminius subverted the Reformed understanding of grace by “elevating autonomous human free will and introducing anthropocentrism into Protestantism” (22). On the contrary, Arminius consistently maintained the necessity and sufficiency of grace.

While developing his perspectives within the heart of the Reformed faith, the authors argue that Arminius had a “different theological starting point” from that of his opponents. Arminius begins with a theology of creation whose central feature is a love for the creation as well as a love for righteousness (God’s faithfulness to God’s own self). Out of this dual commitment, God “free–not of necessity–obliged himself to creation and set limits for his own actions” (93). The drama of redemption, then, is driven by God’s love for creatures coordinated with God’s own sense of justice. Arminius’s understanding of predestination, sin, and salvation arise from this fundamental theological orientation.

McCall and Stanglin place Arminius in the trajectory of Irenaeus, the Eastern Orthodox, Aquinas (Jesuit interpretation), and Molina (whose “middle knowledge” he adopts) in contrast with the line that begins with Augustine, continues through Aquinas (Dominican interpretation), and finds expression in Calvin.

The authors have succeeded. Their work will become a standard resource for the theology of Arminius in the foreseeable future, just as Bang’s biography has been for over forty years. Historical theologians, students of Arminianism and Calvinism, and those engaged in contemporary discussions of neo-puritanism (the young, Reformed, and restless) owe to themselves as well as to fair sense of history to digest this book carefully.

Several weeks ago, Michael Shank asked—by email—if I would review his new book, When Shovels Break, on my blog. Since I reviewed his first book Muscle and a Shovel, I thought it brotherly to say “Yes” to his request, just as I have responded to all his communication with me in the wake of my review of his first book.

In his new book, Michael continues the narrative of his life story after his baptism. We follow him through several moves, jobs, and diverse circumstances. Michael tells how he lost his way—spiritually, emotionally, physically, and ethically. I will leave those details to his confessions within the book. Readers will discover them, and I do not need to rehearse them here.

What is important about such a confession is how Shank uses his own story to tell a story of restoration and renewal, to offer an example of how one deeply entrenched in their own despair might yet return with joy and experience God’s grace.

The book is intended for those who, like him, had left the faith and find it difficult—if not impossible—to return. In essence, just as he offered a plan of salvation for “alien sinners” in his first book, so here he offers a “plan for spiritual success in this life which will lead to our ultimate spiritual success—eternal life” (pp. 367-8). It is a “prevention” plan, which is the “power of God’s instructions” (p. 364). This “plan” (or “program, a blueprint, a syllabus, a game-plan, a living strategy” or “call it whatever you like”) provides a means for securing one’s calling and election based on 2 Peter 1:5-9.

This is a “success” book–a how-to-return-and-prevent-losing eternal life, and it is offered in several steps.  This book, in the way Shank frames it, is for those who want success.

Shanks suggests if we remember how God has purged us from sin and pursue the virtues Peter lists, we will walk a path of “success” spiritually, even if there are hard knocks along the way. His last seven chapters are the seven virtues: virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, goodness, brotherly kindness, and love. Indeed, the call to pursue these virtues is a welcome one, and it does provide a kind of “prevention” strategy.

The book is not only concerned with prevention. It is primarily an invitation for those who have left God to return to God (pp. 223, 364, 282, 302, 348, 416, 421). Everyone can appreciate the value of such an invitation.

On this point I have significant appreciation for some of the topics he addressed, and he addressed them out of his own experience. They appear in his five steps for “coming back to God”—yes, just as in the plan of salvation for “alien sinners,” there are also five steps in coming back to God. These steps are outlined in chapters 38-42, and to these steps God responds with “awesome love and grace” (p. 346, chapter 43).

His five steps are essentially: (1) confess your sins and forgive yourself, (2) forgive others for their inattentiveness and gossip about your past, (3) pray and release your resentment against and disappointment with God, (4) recognize how God has used circumstances—even negative ones—to bring you back to God’s self, and (5) seek out friends to help in your return.

These are helpful, especially self-forgiveness (see my post) and releasing our resentment against God (which I have called “forgiving God”). And just as the hypocrisy and gossip/slander of Christians often hinders others from returning to God, returnees must learn to forgive those who have mistreated them in their sin, whose hatred has hindered their return, and whose gossip has made it more difficult. These are good reminders.

So, I have an appreciation for how Shank correlates his own experience, the experience of those he has interviewed, and the reality of the church in our American experience with the process of emotionally and spiritually returning to God in the midst of fallible and imperfect communities, that is, churches.

Nevertheless, I do think the book is lacking in significant ways.

First, the theological atmosphere disturbs me. Shank emphasizes divine instructions, steps, and self-resolve, but does not give sustained attention to the role of the Holy Spirit in sanctification and renewal. Indeed, there is little, if any, acknowledgement of the work of the Spirit other than the Spirit is the one who gave us the Scriptures or instructions. The “plan” appears as something we work toward “success” rather than a life the Spirit empowers us to live with the Spirit’s guidance through the Scriptures. The book, though couched in narrative, practically offers us a business plan for “success.”

Shank’s model is in danger of creating the kind of situation he rightly wants to avoid. He is concerned believers will become disappointed in God and despair over their circumstances, as he did himself. This is a legitimate concern, but the theology that drives Shank’s “plan” is one of self-reliance, that is, we have to work the plan, work it well, and only then will we succeed. That places tremendous pressure on the believer to achieve and perfect their lives rather than depending upon God’s empowering Spirit who works through us and in us as well as depending upon God’s gracious acceptance, even in our struggles. Of course, Shank believes God gives us all we need, but what we need is simply instruction rather than empowerment. In the end, it all depends on us working the plan, and then God’s “awesome grace and love” will be apparent.

Second, the hermeneutical (interpretative) lens through which Shank reads the Bible is the same as that which produced his first book, and I critiqued that in my first review. The same proof-texting of Scripture emerges here, and the same assumptions about reading Scripture are present. I will offer one perspective to illustrate this. Interested readers can read the first review to see more examples.

While rightly pointing out “the scriptures must remain in their intended context for the Truth to be found and understood properly” (p. 325) and “we must put effort into allowing the Bible to interpret itself (p. 326), he insists the “commands of God are easy to identify” and “no deep interpretation is needed” (p. 210). “The big things are easy to interpret” (p. 210).

These “big things” are: one body, the church; one baptism in water; Lord’s Supper every first day of the week; and singing without mechanical instruments (p. 210). Essentially, these items do not need interpretation, or at least “deep interpretation” (though, if we remember the first book, they do need a lot of muscle and a shovel to dig out since they are not readily available to the superficial reader).

Yet, it is exactly “interpretation” (hermeneutics) that is the key to reading Scripture well, and interpretation is necessary at every reading of Scripture.

Shank insists no one has a right to “private interpretation,” by which he means a “personalized” or “individual” interpretation. If he means Scripture should be read in community, I agree. But he does not say that. Rather, he quotes 2 Peter 1:20-21 to support his claim (pp. 326-7), and this is proof-texting itself. Peter’s point is that Scripture does not arise out of a prophet’s own interpretation (that is, out of his own autonomous thinking)—it is not about reading Scripture but about the origin and production of Scripture.

What Shank seems to want to say is something like this: there is a public, obvious, and clear meaning to Scripture to those who actually study it in context, and there should be little debate about it since “even the most uneducated can understand the Bible.” In other words, on the important stuff—though one needs muscle and a shovel (so maybe it is not so “clear”)—it is eminently clear what the Bible means, particularly the “big things.”

The problem, however, is discerning the “big things,” and Shank identifies these as church patterns (which are, strangely, the very ones Churches of Christ find unique to themselves in some sense—reading it through Shank’s eyes) rather than on the larger themes of mercy, justice, and humility. In the end, his legal hermeneutic is intended to defend church practices rather than encourage merciful, gracious, and humble living.

Third, his ecclesiology (the way he thinks about church) emerges in the context of liberal vs. conservative ideology. He wants to eschew both liberalism and conservativism within the “brotherhood.” Shanks simply wants to be nothing more than a “New Testament Christian” (p. 211).

He identifies the “liberal subset” with: wider fellowship than Churches of Christ, “some use mechanical instruments, some accept any previous baptism [the historic rebaptism controversy, JMH], some have this new ‘praise team’ thing….some of them disregard the Bible’s qualifications of an elder, and then there’s the whole DMR [Divorce-Marriage-Remarriage, JMH] situation” (p. 197). He identifies the “conservative subset” with “the non-institutional [particularly those who forbid treasury money for orphanages, JMH], the one-cuppers…” (p. 198). There are so “many factions that we lose count” (p. 199).

Now, of course, Shank positions himself in the middle, “Biblical” ground among these questions. Liberals and Conservatives are extremes—in the former “every religious person is saved” and in the latter “almost no one is saved except the tiny group that meets together” (p. 199). Shank occupies the right ground because he has correctly and rightly understood the Bible whereas these others have not.

Interestingly, Shank asks conservatives, “So why do our brethren feel as though they can make the kind of judgments they make on others in our brotherhood?” (p. 200).

That is a good question. Perhaps Shank should answer it in regards to those whom he calls “liberals,” especially since both are “good-hearted, God-fearing people who have been baptized into Christ and who are sincerely trying their best to do what God wants them to do” (p. 209).

It seems to me Shank might want to give the same grace to the “liberals” he offers to the “conservatives” in the previous quote. The difference for Shank, it appears, is something like this:  he has collected the “commands of God” that are “easy to identify” and labeled them essentials since “the big things are easy to interpret” (p. 210).

This ease is rooted more in his hermeneutical and ecclesiological presuppositions than the text of Scripture. He does not recognize his own interpretative moves and the “pattern” he imposes on the text.

What we both need is a dose of humility and grace to the other in our interpretations as we each do our best to read Scripture well and live out our faith in the present with mercy, justice, and humility.

Shank’s two books essentially provide a kind of 1950s theology of the church driven by a 1950s way of reading the Bible. His first book provides the “first law of pardon,” and his second book provides the “second law of pardon,” as those “laws” were typically described in Churches of Christ in the 1930s-1950s. With both, one is now fully instructed as to how to be “faithful to the church,” as his first book put it.

May God have mercy on both of our feeble hermeneutical attempts, and may we both rest in the grace of Jesus our Lord whose awesome love abounds for us of all.