John Mark Hicks

When the division between Churches of Christ and the Christian Churches was recognized by the religious census of 1906, the theological perspectives among the Churches of Christ were fairly diverse. While there was an ecclesiological consensus to separate from the Christian Churches, there was considerable diversity between the three major representative “traditions” among Churches of Christ which threatened that formal unity.

In Kingdom Come Bobby Valentine and I identified this diversity in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as (1) the Tennessee Tradition (or Nashville Bible School tradition, represented by the Gospel Advocate published in Nashville, Tennessee edited by David Lipscomb), (2) the Texas Tradition (represented by the Firm Foundation published in Austin, Texas edited by Austin McGary and others), and (3) the Sommer Tradition (represented by the Octographic Review published in Indianapolis, Indiana edited by Daniel Sommer). I continued the exploration of this typology in an essay honoring Michael Casey by looking at the decade when the Churches of Christ emerged as—to use David Lipscomb’s own 1907 language—a “distinct and separate” body from the Christian Churches and all other religious bodies. 

My essay “The Struggle for the Soul of Churches of Christ (1897-1907): Hoosiers, Volunteers, and Longhorns” was just published in And the WORD became Flesh: Studies in History, Communication and Scripture in Memory of Michael W. Casey, ed. Thomas H. Olbricht and David Fleer (Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2009), 54-71. I have uploaded an expanded version of this essay to my Academic Page.

1907 is my terminus ad quem. While the 1906 census symbolizes the division, the public discussions of this official recognition took place in 1907. 1897 is my terminus ad quo. Lipscomb, who hesitanted to sever relations with the Christian Church, opened 1897 with this observation: “I am fast reaching the conclusion that there is a radical and fundamental difference between the disciples of Christ and the society folks” (“The Churches Across the Mountains,” Gospel Advocate 39 [7 January 1897] 4). Between 1897 and 1907 the Churches of Christ became a distinct identifiable religious body in the United States.

Whatever differences Hoosiers, Volunteers, and Longhorns had, they were united against a common foe–the Christian Church. While there are obvious sociological and sectional dimensions, even causes, of the division between the Churches of Christ and the Christian Church, there were also significant hermeneutical and theological grounds as well. Editors at the beginning of the 20th century thought these were the primary reasons for separation. The primary hermenutical ground was a Reformed regulative principle discerned through the command, example and necessary inference. The primary theological grounds were the rise of higher criticism and a developing ecumenicism among many in the Christian Church.

Nostalgia easily recalls an ideal unity when it never existed. Though the Firm Foundation, Octographic Review, and Gospel Advocate were heremeneutically and ecclesiologically united in a common front against the Christian Church, there was significant theological diversity among the journals. Theological differences among Churches of Christ ranged from polity issues (e.g., number, qualification, selection, ordination and authority of elders) to materialism (e.g., soul sleep), from mutual edification to located evangelists, from the corporate practice of the right hand of fellowship to the necessity of confession before baptism, from a prescribed order of worship to legitimate uses of the contribution on Sunday, from women working outside the home to female participation in the assembly, from involvement in politics to institutionalism (including Sunday Schools and Bible Colleges), from debating the relation of the kingdom to the church to whether the Sermon on the Mount applies to Christians, from war-peace questions to social involvement in temperance movements, from the nature of special providence to reality of contemporary miracles, and from biblical names for the church to eschatology (millennialism, renewed earth theology).

My essay, available on this website in an expanded form than published in the book, focused on four significant issues that illustrate the different orientations of each of the three traditions: (1) Rebaptism; (2) Indwelling of the Holy Spirit; (3) Institutionalism; and (4) Sunday School.

In general, though not exclusively, the Tennessee Tradition embraced dynamic divine action in the world as the in-breaking kingdom of God, the Indiana Tradition stressed the non-institutional character of that kingdom, and the Texas Tradition rejected any semblance of dynamic divine action other than a cognitive understanding of the Bible which iteself resulted in divisive ecclesiological debates within the Texas Tradition. As the Tennessee Tradition stressed “divine dynamics” rather than “human mechanics,” in the language of the Nashville Bible School graduate R. C. Bell, this central “apocalyptic” vision shaped how almost every theological concept was appropriated. The Texas Tradition, relatively devoid of divine dynamics, embraced human cognition and ability as the critical factor in humanity’s relationship with God, understanding the law of God aright, and practicing it with precision. Though the Indiana Tradition shared some formal characteristics with Tennessee, it stressed non-institutional ecclesiology and opposition to worldly wisdom, wealth and power as the centerpiece of its agenda. The Tennessee Tradition is more dynamic than the other two traditions, and both Indiana and Texas tended to focus on ecclesiological form and function in ways that the Tennessee tradition transcended with an eschatologically-driven kingdom vision.

The critical turn in the story of this essay is the loss of a dynamic sanctifying presence of God in the hearts of believers through the personal indwelling of the Spirit as symbolic of the broader loss of “divine dynamics” within Churches of Christ as a whole. At an earlier point in the history of the Stone-Campbell Movement, the movement had generally chosen Fanning’s Baconian rationalism over Robert Richardson’s openness to the work of the Spirit beyond the sacred page. The first decades of the 20th century were a similar turn. The Texas Tradition ultimately won the day on the nature of the indwelling Spirit among Churches of Christ. The loss of dynamic divine power in sanctification and the reduction of the Spirit’s work to an empirical epistemology of the word fostered debates over patterns and mechanics rather than an emphasis on the transforming, enabling and sanctifying life in the Spirit.

Blessings.

My wife and I returned refreshed and renewed from our lengthy vacation. We visited family and then cruised the beautiful waters of the Caribbean. The generous folk of the Sycamore View Church of Christ had given us a travel voucher from AAA in appreciation for our ministry with the church in 2007. We finally used it, and it was truly renewing.

My favorite part of cruising, other than sharing time and places with my wife, was reading on the deck of the ship with the Atlantic in front of me, my wife beside me, and shaded sunlight beaming around us while feeling the gentle breeze of God’s creation. That setting could make even a bad book tolerable. 🙂

So, what did I read? Here is one…and I will tell you about others in future posts.

Roger Olson, Finding God in the Shack: Seeking Truth in a Story of Evil and Redemption. It is, of course, no substitute for reading The Shack, but it is a sympathetic reflection on the theological themes present in Paul Young’s modern parable. While I have already blogged at length on the novel (the first in my pastoral series is here and the first in my theological review is here), I read this book for several reasons. First, I am speaking on The Shack for three different venues in June and July (a bible class at Woodmont Hills [beginning this Sunday], a Wednesday night series at Harpeth Hills [beginning this Wednesday], and at the Lipscomb Summer Lectures on July 2-3). So, it was a way of reminding myself of some themes and hearing another perspective. Second, I respect Olson’s scholarship in historical theology (especially since he often cited my dissertation on Arminius in his recent book on Arminianism) and consequently I thought I would receive a balanced, thoughtful assessment of The Shack (which I did).

There was much I liked about the book, but I was also somewhat (mildly) disappointed.  Olson reviews The Shack positively. He does not think Young’s parable is heretical in relation to the Great Tradition of the church (the ecumenical councils), though he recognizes that many of its points would be heretical within some denominational traditions (e.g., Reformed theology)–and even Olson’s own writings have been regarded as heretical by some on some of the same points that The Shack would be condemend (e.g., human freedom).  If Olson is critical of The Shack‘s theology, it is on issues like prevenient grace, regeneration, ambiguous atonement theology and ecclesiology.   But his criticisms are rather mild.

My disappointment, however, was with the ahistorical reading of the novel, that is, there was no consideration of Young’s own purpose, background or metaphors for his journey. There was little recognition that the “shack” functions as a metaphor for the woundness of one’s life and the journey of recovery toward healing.

I understand that a novel may stand alone without an author’s background providing the hermeneutical frame for reading it, but this publication gives us hints and clear clues that we should read this novel within the frame of Young’s own life.  For example, it was written for his children so that they could understand how his vision of God had changed through his redemption as a fallen minister. The acknowledgements at the end reveal that the “shack” is a metaphor for the soul’s woundness. Indeed, in Young’s own life, the “shack” is his own murdered childhood (Missy).

If we don’t understand that, then we will misread the intent of the parable. While Olson recognizes that the novel is not a “systematic theology,” he does tend to read it through the lens of a discipleship manual or, as he put it, “trusting God, following Jesus and being transformed” (p. 123). But this misses the point, I think. The Shack is about Young’s recovery journey, about his own redemption, through an encounter with God that is telescoped into two-day dream. It is not a discipleship manual, nor an ecclesiology, nor a systematic theology. It is an expanded parable of a Jobian prodigal son who returns to discover the Father’s love. I think Olson misses the metaphor and thus the real impact of the redemptive story Young narrates, especially about Young’s own life.

Another example of this is how one perceives the ending. For some, as it was for Olson, it was “all sweetness and light” (pp. 129ff). Though recognizing the parallel with Job, the “happy ending” is off-putting because it is disconnected from the reality of Young’s own personal recovery. His children recognize their father’s “happy ending”–it is his real story. His vision (the way he thinks about God, relates to God and experiences God) changed his life and God recovered him for ministry through this novel. It is not everyone’s “ending,” but it is Young’s.

Despite this, however, Olson’s book is a light (too much so perhaps for my tastes) review of The Shack‘s theology in the light of biblical and historical concerns as well as existential realities. He reflects on the themes through Scripture but also in the light of historical theology. He recognizes the criticisms of the book–yields to a few of them (very few), but ultimately recommends the book as a way of walking through significant themes that daily challenge believers.  I would recommend Olson’s book as a healthy interaction with Young’s novel.

Given some recent comments, I thought I would share my review of a recent book that will soon appear in Restoration Quarterly. The author, Keith Stanglin, is a friend and former student (indeed, he was my Graduate Assistant for several years) at Harding University Graduate School of Religion. He now teaches at Harding University in Searcy, AR, after receiving his Ph.D. in historical theology at Calvin Theological Seminary (2006). Those interested in the Calvinism/Arminianism discussion might be interested to see his syllabus on that topic which has a significant number of helpful reading assignments and bibliography.

Keith D. Stanglin. Arminius on the Assurance of Salvation: The Context, Roots, and Shape of the Leiden Debate, 1603-1609. Brill’s Series in Church History, Volume 27. Leiden/Boston: Brill, 2007. 285 pages.  Price? Don’t ask.  🙂

2009 is the 400th anniversary of the death of Jacobus Arminius. While many have identified themselves as “Arminian” since his death, few have pursued scholarly and technical examinations of Arminius’ context and theology. Keith Stanglin’s thorough and substantive analysis is a welcome reprieve from cursory and superficial conversations about “Arminianism.” Indeed, this is the first monograph wholly focused on Arminius’ soteriology with special reference to its epistemology (how do I know I am saved?).

Based on his dissertation at Calvin Theological Seminary, Stanglin—who is Assistant Professor of Historical Theology at Harding University—makes several significant contributions to the study of Arminius. He contextualizes Arminius’ theology in the framework of Reformed theology and the debates that consumed his Leiden professorship from 1603-1609. This contextualization includes a comparison with the soteriology of Arminius’ contemporaries (e.g., William Perkins, Franciscus Gomarus). Further, he utilizes Arminius’ full Latin corpus, including unpublished Leiden disputations, as the basis for his analysis. This enables Stanglin to interpret Arminius’ soteriology in the specific context of his Leiden controversies. This has a significant impact on how one reads and understands this oft misunderstood Dutch theologian.

Stanglin argues that Arminius, despite his detractors, proposed a doctrine of assurance that was suited to the pastoral needs of believers. Arminius’ understanding of election is conceived in such a way that it preserves the love of God as the fundamental ground of the believer’s assurance. On this basis he rejected both unconditional election and irresistible grace, which are the primary soteriological differences between Arminius and Gomarus. Since faith is a “resistible gift, then defection from faith also may happen by free choice” (p. 141). According to Stanglin, apostasy was possible in Arminius’ soteriology.

Given the possibility of apostasy, what does assurance mean to Arminius? This is the major burden of the book and Stanglin rigorously explores Arminius’ “epistemology of salvation” (pp. 143-235). Assurance, for Arminius, is fiducia (a trusting tranquility that rests in God’s love for us) that avoids the twin pitfalls of desperatio (despair) and securitas (from sine cura, meaning, without care or careless; a kind of presumption). Arminius’ pastoral experience in Amsterdam from 1588-1603 alerted him to these dangers. He witnessed some despair as they suffered from the plague but also saw others arrogantly presume their election. While his contemporaries agreed with his concern about disperatio, Arminius “was a lonely voice in the struggle against securitas” (p. 152).

Stanglin demonstrates that securitas was usually understood as a negative quality arising from pride (e.g., Augustine and Luther). While Calvin used securitas and fiducia interchangeably (loosening the securitas from its historic moorings), he hinged securitas on the attitude of “godly fear” and distinguished between “simple security” and “carnal security” (pp. 163-4). Stanglin argues that early Reformed Orthodoxy (e.g., Gomarus) equated fiducia and securitas while Arminius wanted to preserve the historic caution against securitas as the fruit of pride. This did not undermine certainty (certitudo) but it did exclude presumption (praesumptio). Unfortunately, for Arminius, his assault on presumption took place at the moment when securitas had become a “new normal” for the Reformed understanding of assurance (p. 175). While characterizing securitas negatively, Arminius did affirm that fiducia yields assurance and certainty.

Interestingly, it is precisely because Arminius wants to avoid despair and presumption that he opposes unconditional election. On the one hand, Reformed soteriology may produce despair because ultimately authentic faith is practically indistinguishable from “temporary” faith (p. 183) and the despair this creates is “focused” on the believers’ inability to discern whether they are included in “God’s immutable decree” (p. 187). On the other hand, Reformed soteriology may produce an unhealthy security that leads to presumption due to a lack of godly fear about salvation. Unconditional election provides no functional deliverance from these two hazards.

Precisely because he rejects unconditional election Arminius affirms that fides yields fiducia which yields certitudo. The evidence or testimony that yields this conclusion is both objective—which is primary—and subjective. The subjective includes faith, testimony of the Spirit, good works, and the struggle between the flesh and the Spirit, which does not differ from his Reformed contemporaries (p. 204). The difference comes in the objective. For the Reformed the objective is God’s eternal decree. For Arminius it is the love of God.

Significantly, Stanglin argues, “Arminus views God’s love of humanity as something more than mere means (uti) towards the goal of his own glory (which is Reformed supralapsarianism, JMH), but as approaching enjoyment (frui), the beatitude of the creature as the end that God enjoys” (p. 220). In other words, the goal of God’s love is not his own glory as if God is egocentric but rather enjoying the communion of his creation. This is the fundamental ground of assurance—all believers know they are beloved. This belovedness, which Reformed believers cannot know absolutely since they cannot see into the divine decree, yields a present certainty without despair or presumption.

Stanglin has effectively and persuasively argued that assurance was not only significant for Arminius but it was his “principal” soteriological concern (p. 243). It was because the Reformed doctrine of predestination could not provide a “healthy doctrine of assurance” that Arminius dissented from the Reformed Orthodoxy of his colleagues. Assurance, then, was “both the point of departure and the conclusive goal of his system” (p. 244).

This is a significant book. It is one of only a few critical and substantial treatments of Arminius available. We can only hope that it will encourage others to follow Stanglin’s lead.

Peter Abelard (1079-1142), who pioneered the scholastic method of theologizing, produced a volume entitled Sic et Non (or, “Yes and No”) for use in teaching through the dialectic method. It is a composition of quotes from earlier theologians and fathers on a variety of topics, but they are arranged oppositionally, that is, some theologians say “Yes” and others say “No.” He does suggest that some may be harmonized by understanding the semantic variation of key terms (thus the use of dialectics), but he does not attempt to harmonize them.

Todd Deaver–not to rank him with Abelard in the history of Christian thought (sorry, Todd)–has done something similar. He has given us the “Yes” and “No” to the questions of fellowship, boundaries and salvation among conservatives (traditionalists) with Churches of Christ in the past thirty years. His new, self-published book Facing Our Failures: The Fellowship Dilemma in Conservative Churches of Christ points out that the presupposition that “every practice considered to be unauthorized in the New Testament is grounds for breaking fellowship” is incoherently explained, inconsistently applied, and ambiguously stated among traditional Churches of Christ (p. 18).

It is ambiguous because many disagree about what is unauthorized and what is unauthorized (his list on pp. 52-56 is impressively documented; e.g., praying to Jesus in the assembly).  It is inconsistenly applied because fellowship still exists (or is claimed) between those who disagree about what is authorized and what is unauthorized (e.g., why is instrumental music in the assembly grounds for breaking fellowship when clapping during songs or singing during the Lord’s Supper is not?).  It is incoherent because the method by which this is discerned is unclear and inconsistent (e.g., what is the deciding factor or criterion? the assembly?).

Todd meticulously cites and details these problems.  Though the inconsistencies pointed out have been previously noted by others (there is a long history of this since the 1960s), what makes Todd’s book valuable is his thorough grounding of his argument in the writings of conservatives (traditionalists). We are able to see the problem unfold through the contrasting words of conservative writers themselves (thus, Sic et Non). And Todd does this without malice, sarcasm and with great appreciation for the faith and commitment of the traditionalists he cites.

Further, Todd does not simply contrast–unlike Abelard. Rather, he seeks to understand what is at the root of the contrary statements, explores possible harmonizations, and probes the inner logic of the conservative position. 

Todd concludes that the paradigm is the problem (chapter five:  “Our Paradigm is the Problem,” pp. 81-104).  If any doctrinal error (and if not any, then which ones, and how do we decide) excludes us from the fellowship of God as per the traditional interpretation of 2 John 9, and “persistence in any unauthorized practice warrants the breaking of fellowship,” and “our salvation depends on” identifying the correct “limits of fellowship,”  then Todd believes conservatives (including himself among conservatives) are in quite a pickle.  He asks:  “Who among us has the boundaries of fellowship figured out completely and with absolute certainty?” (p. 88).  No one, he concludes, and this entails that the paradigm itself is flawed and “extreme.”

Todd searches for consistency within the conservative position and he fails to find it. “We consistently withdraw from those who worship with the instrument because we believe such is without scriptural authority,” he writes, “yet we continually fellowship some who do other things we believe to be just as unauthorized” (p. 106).  And, at the same “we teach that we cannot fellowship those who bind where God has loosed, and we maintain fellowship with many brethren who oppose as sinful practices which we believe to be authorized” (p.  107; e.g., supporting children’s homes from the church treasury).

At root, Todd has deconstructed the ecclesiological perfectionism of the conservative (traditionalist) understanding of fellowship and authorized practices. Such perfectionism on fellowship and boundaries is unattainable (and, I would add, not intended by the authors of the New Testament). This was the “sole purpose” of his book (p. 108).

Todd does not offer a solution to the problem; that is not his purpose and there is no solution within the current paradigm. Rather, he suggests that what is needed is a “theological shift” (p. 110) whereby we turn to a different paradigm. 

I trust that this “shift” is partly a shift from ecclesiological perfectionism to Christological centrism. Many, including myself,  have suggested this as a way out of our incessant dividing and infighting (see my series on theological hermeneutics).  The value of Todd’s book is that is a fearless, fair and friendly demonstration that the current paradigm among conservative (traditionalist) Churches of Christ is a dead end–and, I would add, ultimately harmful and destructive.

Thanks, Todd, for your work.  I encourage those interested in the documentation and argumentation to purchase and read the book. The dialogue will continue at Todd’s new website “Bridging the Grace Divide.”

Spiritual formation the hard way?

Spiritual formation–being formed into the image of Christ by the Father through the power of the Spirit so that Christ is formed in us from the inside out–comes in at least two ways. Neither are easy; both are difficult. Neither are instantaneous; both are processes.

There is a disciplined, habitual approach to spiritual formation. These are the historic practices of solitude, prayer, Scripture reading, and simplicity of life–those four are common to all traditions of spirituality (and the last one is the probably the most absent among American Christians). There is a growing renewal of these spiritual disciplines in the life of the church and among many Christ-followers.  Disciples are trained in the spiritual life through concentrated attention to practicing the presence of God. Any disciple who ignores them places their spiritual life in danger.

In this post, it is a second mode of spiritual formation that captures my attention.  I recently finished Gary Thomas’ Authentic Faith: The Power of a Fire-Tested Life.  Thomas, whose book Sacred Marriage was quite enriching to my wife and I, is a prolific writer about Christian spirituality. He is the founder of the Center for Evangelical Spirituality and, I might add, a favorite writer of our good friend Jim Martin. Authentic Faith is an exploration (he calls himself a “tour guide”) of spiritual formation through fiery trials.

Solitude, prayer, Scripture reading, and simplicity shape our inner life as intentional, daily habits. We set aside time and orient our lives through these practices.  But the fires of life erupt without warning; they come out of nowhere. We don’t see them coming.  They happen to us.  Our daily habits may prepare us for them–that is the value of the training, but we have no control over them.

These fires burn through our lives in many different ways.  Physical suffering–whether cancer, chronic illness, genetic disabilities–is one fire.  It is, as Thomas calls is, the “discipline of suffering.”  But there are other fires as well such as “the discipline of waiting,” “the discipline of mourning,” “the discipline of sacrifice,” “the discipline of contentment,” and “the discipline of social mercy.” 

One of the more helpful chapters for me was the “discipline of forgiveness.”  When we are betrayed, insulted, gossipped about–when we are sinned against, this is something that happens to us. We did not ask for it. In fact, we perhaps never imagined it.  It is a trial, a test. It is a burning fire that will either destroy us or refine us. It is a moment when we will reject God’s heart of forgiveness for others or we will embrace his mercy for ourselves as well as for others. It is an occasion for spiritual transformation.

Our circumstances are beyond our control.  “Stuff” happens!  It can be very ugly, horrid, evil stuff, or it can be seemingly minor frustrations and unmet expectations. Both, however, are opportunities for spiritual growth.

When “stuff” happens, God is present in ways that transcend our ability to grasp but is also present to lovingly refine and/or purge us. It becomes part of the process of transformation just as Jesus himself was formed spirituality through his suffering (he was made perfect by the things he suffered, Hebrews 5:9).

“Stuff” hurts.  But the hurt, by God’s grace and power, is a way forward into the Father’s heart, participation in the Son’s suffering, and communion with the groaning Spirit.  Living through and processing the “stuff” is part of becoming an image or icon of Christ in this world. 

I recommend Thomas’ book.  Though I think the chapters are rather uneven–as are the chapters in my own books (especially the chapters written by Bobby Valentine!)–the book will help you process how the “stuff” in your life, your “shack,” may actually become an occasion for spiritual transformation.

Below are some books that I have recently read which I recommend.  I don’t recommend everything I read, of course.  🙂  But these are worth the time….

Devotional/Meditation.  Currently, my wife and I working through Kenneith Boa and John Alan Turner’s The 52 Greatest Stories of the Bible.  The book is divided into Monday through Friday readings.  Each week is devoted to a different biblical story (e.g., creation in Genesis 1-2 for the first week).  Monday retells the narrative, Tuesday summarizes theology (Orthodoxy), Wednesday guides our affections/emotions (Orthopathy), Thursday guides our actions (Orthodpraxy), and Friday suggests four prayers related to each of the previous four days. My wife and I utilize the book like this:  we read a section of the biblical text containing the story, then we read the appropriate section for the day, and then pray the prayer tied to that section.  Each day we read a portion or all of the biblical text that contains the story for the week. So, we use the book Monday-Thursday.  We use other resources for Friday-Sunday.

The daily readings are brief (a page or two) which is managable for a daily meditation in conjunction with reading the Biblical text.  They are well-written, thoughtful, and generate discussion.  The theology is basic (which is good) and stated in a way that offers a helpful perspective in an interesting way. Sometimes the theological language may assume some background but it is generally explained in a way that most anyone can grasp.  My wife and l look forward to working through these readings in conjunction with reading the Biblical text.  It is basic, refreshing, and thought-provoking.

Marriage.  My wife and I have also read Boundaries in Marriage by Henry Cloud and John Townsend.  Their previous 1998 book Boundaries: When to Say Yes, How to Say No to Take Control of Your Life was a wonderful book that I recently read as well.  They apply those priniciples to marriage in this more recent work.  It is filled with helfpul insights, and any marriage can benefit from working through it.

Recovery/Counseling/Men’s Groups.  Nate Larkin tells his story of sexual addiction in Samson and the Pirate Monks: Calling Men to Authentic Brotherhood.  Larkin is the founder of The Samson Society and this book is the story of his life and the society’s founding. But the book is about more than sexual addiction.  It describes how men can gather for mutual accountability toward the goal of spiritual formation and overcome any kind of addiction or sin in their life. The book also counsels how to begin and conduct a meeting of the Samson Society. I first learned about the society from a Christianity Today cover article on pornography addiction. Every male needs a male accountability group which can be a place to confess sin, receive support, and become a man after God’s own heart.

History.  Nathaniel Philbrick, Mayfower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War.  This is a history of the Puritan migration to what we call “New England.”  It is a vivid telling of the Mayflower genesis, journey and founding community.  He takes the story into the wars between colonists and native Americans in the 1640s when the Puritans became permanently planted.  I have studied Puritan theology, but I enjoyed reading about them from this angle.  Their theology, of course, is part of this story, and we see some of its negative effects on relationships with the land and native inhabitants.  I found this book a fair treatment, pointing out the positives and negatives of the Mayflower community. The history is sobering, and reminds us how Christians be either salt or dung to their world.

I really enjoyed reading Fergus M. Bordewich’s Bound for Canaan: The Epic Story of the Underground Railroad, America’s First Civil Rights Movement.  From its beginnings in the Quaker communities of Philadelphia and North Carolina, the history of the Underground Railroad is told in wonderful style and with detailed information.  There were many interesting facets to this book as it gave both a sweeping picture of the story and detailed the lives of many involved, both black and white.  The deep south, for example, did not provide much opportunity for escape except–and rarely–by sea.  Rather, it was mainly the border states.  Tubman, for example, was from Maryland.  It was interesting to read about the legal as well as religious situation of African Americans–e.g., Frederick Douglas removed his membership from an integrated Boston church to an all Black church because they refused to serve the Lord’s Supper as seated but mandated that Whites eat/drink first, and how civil rights were denied to free blacks in the north (e.g., denial of the vote, inability to testify in court, etc.).  Bordewich clearly demonstrates how the Abolitionist movement in its origins and national prominence was clearly a Christian movement…though opposed not only by Christians in the south but also by almost all Christians in the north at first until after Uncle Tom’s Cabin was published and popularized. The Abolitionist movement was itself primarily fueled by the revivalists of the burned over districts of New York. This was an extremely interesting book.

Theology/Ministry.  James Choung’s True Story: A Christianity Worth Believing In has created quite a stir in Evangelical circles.  His book and the controversy surrounding it received attention from Christianity Today. The book provides a simple but faithful way of telling the gospel story on a napkin!  I think he succeeds admirably.  It is a huge improvement over the “four spiritual laws.” I recommend this book for those who want to present the gospel in a clear but basic way that takes into account the “big picture” of God’s story.  This is a gospel presentation that takes account of the larger insights that N. T. Wright and Brian McClaren write about–kingdom theology, social justice, community, mission, etc. Evangelicals who critique his work do so on the basis that he does not give enough attention to personal sin, penal substitutionary atonement, and the afterlife.  I think this is the strength of his book.  He does not deny these themes, of course, but gives the gospel a wider angel through the lens of the kingdom of God–which, I think, is the message of Jesus himself (see my post on Luke).

His diagram comes in four parts:  designed for good (creation), damaged by evil (fall), restored for better (redemption), and sent together to heal (mission of the church towards eschatological renewal).  This is a wonderful summary, and it takes into account multiple levels.  It is cosmic (how we relate to creation–part of the good for which we are designed is as stewards of nature), relational (relationships among human beings–prophetic relationship toward biogtry is part of the gospel message), and relationship with God (personal, individual as well as communal).  It is an evangelistic tool that moves, as Choung describes, from mere/single individual descision to life-long spiritual transformation and discipleship, from individualism (not merely a “personal” relationship with Jesus) to community (belonging to a community), and from preoccupation with afterflife (“going to heaven”) to missional life (kingdom of God in the here and now as well as the future). See Choung’s website for further discussions of his diagram, video examples, etc. I highly recommend this book as an effective summary of the gospel which is useful for evangelistic strategy.

Thanks to everyone for their well-wishes by email and comments.  I appreciate them very much.  My wife and I had a wonderfully relaxing, peaceful and calm time in the mountains of Virginia as we camped together. It was a blessing to see God’s good creation, sit by the fire at night and spend lots of time simply talking.  Fasting from electronics has also been a blessing though I now–somewhat reluctantly–return to the virtual world of blogging.

During this season of rest I have been reading books in four major areas. I want to recommed a few from my reading list over the past monts that have been particularly helpful to me.

Marriage

Gary Thomas, Sacred Marriage (2000). “What if God designed marriage to make us holy more than to make us happy?” What a good question! This book suggests that marriage is a spiritual discipline designed to transform us into the image of God by relating to another person in an intimate way. This book is filled with helpful insights about the nature of marriage as a holy adventure whereby we become selves-in-relation rather than selves-in-isolation. It brings together many good theological themes (relationality, community, etc.) with effective psychological insights.

Tim Gardner, Sacred Sex (2002). Sex is a spiritual celebration of oneness.  That may seem like a truism for many but Gardner’s exploration of that theme is quite significant. This is not a manual about technique. Rather, it is about the spirituality of the sexual relationship itself.  Sex, in this context, is a spiritual discipline by which we explore, practice and experience communion. It is an act of worship in a committed relationship. Men–despite the common mantra–do not need sex (sex is optional; we can live without it!), but couples need a oneness that sexual relations express. Sexuality is more about oneness than orgasm.  I found the spiritual emphasis refreshing.

David Schnarch, Passionate Marriage: Keeping Love and Intimacy Alive in Committed Relationships (1998). This is a more explicit book about the sexual relationship. It uses the sexual relationship to look at the whole nature of love and intimacy in marriage. The premise of the book is about differentiation as a key to intimacy. Rather than co-dependency or emotional fusion, couples need a sense of self in order to be in relation with their partner. Healthy partners make for a healthy realtionship. When the relationship is unhealthy, both partners–not just one–is sick.  Both need a sense of self. They need a sense of being “separate” in order to be “together” in a healthy way. For example, he describes a technique called “hugging to relax.” Can you hug for more than five seconds without being uncomfortable? Hugging for a sustained time where centered-selves enjoyed the togetherness of the present moment rather than escaping into the future or resenting the past is a window into the nature of the intimacy a couple shares. I’m still in the process of reading this one, but with just a few chapters completed I can appreciate how it is already helping me.

Spiritual Disciplines

Joshua Choomin Kang, Deep-Rooted in Christ: The Way of Transformation (2007). This book came highly recommened by Terry Smith of Woodmont Hills church in Nashville. Jennifer and I use this in our nightly devotional time.  It is 52 chapters but we are using it on a daily basis.  It encourages the use of spiritual disciplines to root ourselves in Christ.  While not discounting spiritual experiences at all, he suggests that spiritual discipline (measured, consistent, deep, regular and focused) is the way of transformation.  I believe I have had many spiritual experiences but without spiritual discipline (which has sometimes–ok, oftent–been lacking in my life) I find my way of transformation can be shallow rather than rooted. We are enjoying discussing this book.

Gary Thomas, Devotions for a Sacred Marriage (2005).  Also 52 chapters, my wife and I use this in our devotions once a week. Against the background of his book, the specific devotional challenges and meditations are quite helpful as they generate discussions about our marriage between Jennifer and myself.

Trauma and Recovery

Tian Dayton, Trauma and Addiction: Ending the Cycle of Pain Through Emotional Literacy (2000). I enjoyed Dayton’s Heartwounds: The Impact of Unresolved Grief on Relationships (see my post on the book) that I immediately when to this book to read in more depth about the connection between trauma and addiction. Whatever one’s addiction (alcohol, drugs, sex, shopping, gambling, frenetic activity, eating, workaholism, etc.), it is linked to trauma in one’s life (whether childhood or adult). These addictions present themselves as solutions but they are actually symptoms of a deeper problem. Trauma–without effective coping strategies–creates emotional illiteracy. Rather than medicating the pain of the trauma through addictive substances or behavoirs, emotional literacy enables people to move through their trauma. Dayton suggests that we not only psychologically hold on to these traumas but also somatically so that when we experience renewed trauma our bodies as well as pysches react to the new trauma with all the power of the unresolved trauma in our past. This creates a need to medicate with whatever addiction has been our coping strategy. Part of the resolution to this need is to re-experience the trauma somatically as well as psychologically through psychodrama. This was an enlightening book to me.

For a long time I have been aware of 12-step programs, recommended them and even read some (but very little) of their literature.  But in the last three months I have read lots of their literature and have proceeded to work the 12-steps for myself. It is quite liberating. It is a simple, focused and supported program of recovery from any addiction (from alcoholism to workaholism). No one can appreciate the depth of spiritual development that can take place through the 12 steps if they are not familiar with them or worked them. I believe it is a deeply spiritual process that is rooted in the principles of spiritual transformation.  I recommed reading its literature on the 12 Steps (e.g., Tweleve Steps and Twelve Traditions).  Celebrate Recovery is a Christianized version of the 12 steps which I am also finding quite helpful. [And everyone needs recovery of some kind–we are all sinners, and we all seek transformation and recovery from sin, including pride, selfishness, etc.]

Specifically on this topic, I found Steps of Transformation: An Orthodox Priest Explores the Twelve Steps by Father Webber Meletios (trained in psychology and an Orthodox priest) wonderfully refreshing. Here is a book that combines the insights of 12 step programs with biblical text shaped by the spirituality of Orthodox theology. This is a rich combination filled with theological reflection on spiritual disciplines, spirituality and recovery.

History

Henry Wiencek, An Imperfect God: George Washington, His Slaves, and the Creation of America (2004). I love to read historical materials, especially biographies. This particular work is not a biography per se but rather examines Washington’s relationship to slavery. It argues that Washington was originally as morally and psychologically embedded in the slave culture of Virginia as any other gentleman planter in the eighteenth century. Washington even sponsored a Williamsburg raffle of slaves (including breaking up families) in order to secure payment for a debt owed to him in 1769.  However, through relationships with mullatoes from his own family tree (e.g., his stepson fathered a child, his wife had a stepbrother who lived at Mount Vernon, etc.), his experience with African Americans during the Revolutionary War (one fourth of his army at Yorktown in 1781 was black), and ultimately his repugnance toward breaking up families through sales, Washington began to see the immorality of slavery.  His Last Will and Testament freed the slaves in his possession rather than leaving them to his heirs to sell. If one is unacquainted with the development of slavery in eighteenth century Virginia, this is an illuminating read.

So, besides blogging, I’ve been spending my time immersed in these sorts of materials.  My journey continues….

As an addendum to my series on Calvinism and Arminianism I want to connect this discussion to the conversions of Barton W. Stone and Alexander Campbell.  Both first approached God through the lens of Calvinist theology and preaching.  Neither could find assurance through that preaching because they were not certain of God’s love for them. Both, however, came to the certainty of salvation through the acceptance of the universal philanthropy of God. That God loves everyone is an indubitable ground of assurance for those who hear the gospel, according to Stone and Campbell. Here are their stories in their own words.

Barton W. Stone (1772-1844)

When I first entered [Guilford] academy, there had been, and then was, a great religious excitement. About thirty or more of the students had lately embraced religion under the ministration of James McGready, a Presbyterian preacher of exceeding popularity, piety, and engagedness. I was not a little surprised to find those pious students assembled every morning before the hour of recitation, and engaged in singing and praying in a private room. Their daily walk evinced to me their sincere piety and happiness. this was a source of uneasiness to my mind, and frequently brought me to serious reflection. I labored to banish these serious thoughts, believing that religion would impede my progress in learning–would thwart the object I had in view, and expose me to the frowns of my relatives and companions. I therefore associated with that part of the students who made light of divine things, and joined with them in their jests at the pious. For this my conscience severely upbraided me when alone, and made me so unhappy that I could neither enjoy the company of the pious nor of the impious.

I now began seriously to think it would be better for me to remove from this academy, and go to Hampden-Sidney College, in Virginia; for no other reason than that I might get away from the constant sight of religion. I had formed the resolution and had determined to start the next morning, but was prevented by a very stormy day. I remained in my room during that day, and came to the firm resolution to pursue my studies there, attend to my own business, and let every one pursue his own way. From this I have learned that the most effectual way to conquer the depraved heart, is, the constant exhibition of piety and a godly life in the professors of religion.

Having formed this resolution, I was settled for a short time, until my room-mate, Benjamin McReynolds, a pious young Virginian, politely asked me to walk with him a short distance in the neighborhood, to hear a certain preacher. I consented, and walked with him. A crowd of people had assembled–the preacher came–it was James McGready, whom I had never seen before. He rose and looked around on the assembly. His person was not prepossessing, nor his appearance interesting, except his remarkable gravity, and small piercing eyes. His coarse tremulous voice excited in me the idea of something unearthly. His gestures were sui generis, the perfect reverse of elegance. Every thing appeared by him forgotten, but the salvation of souls. Such earnestness–such zeal–such powerful persuasion, enforced by the joys of heaven and miseries of hell, I had never witnessed before. My mind was chained by him, and followed him closely in his rounds of heaven, earth and hell, with feelings indescribable. His concluding remarks were addressed to the sinner to flee the wrath to come without delay. Never before had I comparatively felt the force of truth. Such was my excitement, that had I been standing, I should have probably sunk to the floor under the impression.

The meeting over, I returned to my room. Night coming on, I walked out into an old field, and seriously reasoned with myself on the all-important subject of religion. What shall I do? Shall I embrace religion now, or not? I impartially weighed the subject, and counted the cost. If I embrace religion, I must incur the displeasure of my dear relatives, lose the favor and company of my companions–become the object of their scorn and ridicule–relinquish all my plans and schemes for worldly honor, wealth and preferment, and bid a final adieu to all the pleasures in which I had lived, and hoped to live on earth. Are you willing to make this sacrifice to religion? No, no, was the answer of my heart. Then the certain alternative is, you /39/ must be damned. Are you willing to be damned–to be banished from God–from heaven–from all good–and suffer the pain of eternal fire? No, no, responded my heart–I cannot endure the thought. After due deliberation, I resolved from that hour to seek religion at the sacrifice of every earthly good, and immediately prostrated myself before God in supplication for mercy.

According to the preaching, and the experience of the pious in those days, I anticipated a long and painful struggle before I should be prepared to come to Christ, or, in the language then used, before I should get religion. This anticipation was completely realized by me. For one year I was tossed on the waves of uncertainty–laboring, praying, and striving to obtain saving faith–sometimes desponding, and almost despairing of ever getting it.

The doctrines then publicly taught were, that mankind was so totally depraved, that they could not believe, repent, nor obey the gospel–that regeneration was an immediate work of the Spirit, whereby faith and repentance were wrought in the heart. These things were pourtrayed in vivid colors, with all earnestness and solemnity. Now was not then, the accepted time–now was not then, the day of salvation; but it was God’s own sovereign time, and for that time the sinner must wait.

In February, 1791, with many of my fellow students, I went some distance to a meeting on Sandy River, in Virginia. J. B. Smith, president of Hampden-Sidney College, Cairy Allen, James Blythe, Robert Marshall, and James McGready, were there. On Lord’s-day President Smith spoke on these words: “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” In his description of a broken and contrite heart, I felt my own described. Hope began to rise, and my sorrow-worn heart felt a gleam of joy. He urged all of this character to approach the Lord’s table that day, on pain of his sore displeasure. For the first time, I partook of /40/ the Lord’s supper. In the evening the honest J. M’Gready addressed the people from “Tekel, thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting.” He went through all the legal works of the sinner–all the hiding places of the hypocrite–all the resting places of the deceived–he drew the character of the regenerated in the deepest colors, and thundered divine anathemas against every other. Before he closed his discourse I had lost all hope–all feeling, and had sunk into an indescribable apathy. He soon after inquired of me the state of my mind. I honestly told him. He labored to arouse me from my torpor by the terrors of God, and horrors of hell. I told him his labors were lost upon me–that I was entirely callous. He left me in this gloomy state, without one encouraging word.

In this state I remained for several weeks. I wandered alone–my strength failed me, and sighs and groans filled my days. My relatives in Virginia heard of my situation, and sent for me. My altered appearance surprised them. My old mother took me in private, and asked, what is the matter? I told her all. She wept much. She had always been a praying woman, and a member of the Church of England; but from this time she more earnestly sought the Lord,–united with the Methodists, and lived and died a Christian. My visit proved to be a blessing to several of my relatives, who were awakened to a sense of their dangerous condition, and inclined to turn to the Lord.

After a few days stay in Virginia I returned to the academy in the same state of mine. Soon after I attended a meeting at Alamance, in Guilford county. Great was the excitement among the people. On the Lord’s-day evening a strange young preacher, William Hodge, addressed the people. His text I shall never forget, “God is love.” With much animation, and with many tears he spoke of the Love of God to sinners, and of what that love had done for sinners. My heart warmed with love for that lovely character described, and momentary hope and joy would rise in my troubled breast. My mind was absorbed in the doctrine–to me it appeared new. But the common admonition, Take heed lest you be deceived, would quickly repress them. This cannot be the mighty work of the spirit, which you must experience–that instantaneous work of Almighty power, which, like an electric shock, is to renew the soul and bring it to Christ.

The discourse being ended, I immediately retired to the woods alone with my Bible. Here I read and prayed with various feelings, between hope and fear. But the truth I had just heard, “God is love,” prevailed. Jesus came to seek and save the lost–“Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.” I yielded and sunk at his feet a willing subject. I loved him–I adored him–I praised him aloud in the silent night,–in the echoing grove around. I confessed to the Lord my sin and folly in disbelieving his word for so long–and in following so long the devices of men. I now saw that a poor sinner was as much authorized to believe in Jesus at first, as at last–that now was the accepted time, and day of salvation.

From this time till I finished my course of learning, I lived devoted to God. The study of the dead languages and of the sciences were not irksome but pleasant, from the consideration that I was engaged in them for the glory of God, to whom I had unreservedly devoted my all.

                   From Stone’s Autobiography (1847), 37-41.

For more on Stone’s conversion, read the excellent account by D. Newell Williams, Barton Stone: A Spiritual Autobiography, pp. 17-28.
 
Alexander Campbell (1788-1866)

Every person who will reflect, and who can reflect upon the workings of his own mind, will readily perceive how much trouble he has experienced from mistakes. Nay, much of his present comfort is derived from the correction of former mistakes and misapprehensions.–Who that has read John Bunyan’s conversion, John Newton’s, or Halyburton’s, or any of those celebrated standards of true conversion, has not observed that glaring mistakes and erroneous views were amongst the chief causes of their long and gloomy trials; and that their after peace, and joy, and hope, arose from the correction of mistakes which the errors of education had thrown in their way.

For example: The numerous speculations on the different kinds of faith has pierced with many sorrows innumerable hearts. In all the varied exhibitions of Christianity, much stress is laid on faith. And as soon as it is affirmed that he that believes shall be saved, and that care should be taken that faith be of “the right kind,” the attention of the thoughtful is turned from the truth to be believed to “the nature of faith.” The fears and agonies which are experienced are not unfrequently about “believing right.” The great concern is about true faith. This person is looking in himself for what he has been taught are the true signs of regeneration, or of the faith of regeneration. He is distressed to know whether his faith is the fruit of regeneration, or whether it is mere “historic faith.” Unable to find such evidences as he is in quest of, he is distracted, he despairs, he agonizes. He tells his case. He is comforted by being told that these are “the pangs of the new birth.” He draws some comfort from this consideration, which increases or decreases as these pangs are supposed to be genuine or the reverse. Thus he is tossed to and fro in awful uncertainties, which are more or lees acute according his moral sensibilities. By and by he hopes he is regenerate, and a calm ensues, and he is joyous because he fancies he has been regenerated. Thus his comforts spring not from the gospel, but from his own opinion of himself.

Another, under the same system, receives no comfort because he has not found the infallible signs in himself of being a true believer. He despairs–he is tormented. He concludes that he is one of the reprobates. He is about to kill himself. What about? Not because there is no Saviour, no forgiveness, no mercy. Not because the gospel is not true; but because it is true, and because he cannot find in himself the true signs of genuine conversion. Thousands have been ruined–have been shipwrecked here. This the bible never taught. This case never occurred under the apostles’ teaching. It is the genuine offspring of the theological schools. It is the experience of a bad education. A few drops of acid sour a puncheon of the sweetest wine. And thus a few wrong notions convert the love of the Saviour into divine wrath–make the gospel of non-effect–embitter life–and make it better not to have been born.

I well remember what pains and conflicts I endured under a fearful apprehension that my convictions and my sorrows for sin were not deep enough. I even envied Newton of his long agony. I envied Bunyan of his despair. I could have wished, and did wish, that the Spirit of God would bring me down to the very verge of suffering the pains of the damned, that I might be raised to share the joys of the genuine converts. I feared that I had not sufficiently found the depravity of my heart, and had not yet proved that I was utterly without strength. Sometimes I thought that I felt as sensibly, as the ground under my feet, that I had gone just as far as human nature could go without supernatural aid, and that one step more would place me safe among the regenerated of the Lord; and yet Heaven refused its aid. This, too, I concealed from all the living. I found no comfort in all the declarations of the gospel, because I wanted one thing to enable me to appropriate them to myself. Lacking this, I could only envy the happy favorites of heaven who enjoyed it, and all my refuge was in a faint hope that I one day might receive that aid which would place my feet upon the rock.

Here this system ends, and enthusiasm begins. The first Christians derived their joys from an assurance that the gospel was true. Metaphysical Christians derive theirs not from the truth of the gospel, but because they have been regenerated, or discover something in themselves that entitles them to thank God that they are not as the publican. The ancients cheered themselves and one another by conversing on the certainty of the good things reported by the apostles–the moderns, by telling one another what “the Lord has done for their souls in particular.” Their agonies were the opposition made by the world, the flesh, and the devil, to their obeying the truth. Our agonies are a deep and solemn concern for our own conversion. Their doubts were first, whether the gospel were true, and, after they were assured of this, whether they might persevere through all trials in obeying the truth. Ours, whether our conversion is genuine. More evidence of the truth removed their first doubts, and the promises of the gospel, with the examples around them, overcame the last. A better opinion of ourselves removes ours. In a word, the philanthropy of God was the fountain of all their joys–an assurance that we are safe is the source of ours.

The experience of the Moravians differs from the experience of almost every other sect. They teach their children that God is love, and through his son loves all that obey him. This principle is instilled from the cradle. Their history does not furnish an instance of a work of conversion similar to those which fill the memoirs and magazines of all the different bodies of Calvinists. Perhaps enough has been said to prove our position, that “throughout Christendom every man’s religious experience corresponds with his religious education.” If not, a volume of evidence can be adduced.

From “Conscience–No. II,” Christian Baptist 3 (7 Feb 1826), 150-151.

About the same year in your life and mine, I began to examine most diligently the holy scriptures on the work of the Holy Spirit. I took your course, I noted down the passages, and have to this day upon the blank leaves of a Testament many references still extant, I had received an education different from yours in many respects; more evangelical as you would call it. From the age of sixteen I read devoutly, at intervals, the most “evangelical writers.” I bought “Baxter’s Call to the Unconverted,” and “Allen’s Alarm,” that I might be converted, hearing them highly commended by the pious. “Boston’s Fourfold State,’, Newton’s, Bunyan’s, and Hallyburton’s Memoirs, and all the converting books were sought after and read with avidity. The accompanying influences of the Holy Spirit, were prayed for most ardently on these and other works, as well as on the Holy Scriptures. After I had hope that I was converted, and differed much from those mere moralists of whom you speak, who called prayer and devotion, except in a stone house denominated a church, fanaticism; I say, after I hoped that I had passed from death to life, I began to examine this subject, and with the aid of the great and “evangelical Dr. John Owen.” He was a great favorite with me; I read most of his works and with especial delight his “Christo Logia,” or “the Person and Glory of Christ;” his “Death of Deaths in the Death of Christ,” the strongest work against the Arminians I ever read; his treatise on independent church government; and, above all, his work on the Holy Spirit, in two large octavos.–This work I ate up–I wrote it off in miniature on two quires of paper, in order to make my own of it. Not a verse that mentions the Holy Spirit, which he does not take notice of. I was thoroughly imbued with his systematic illustration of it. Other work of his I also read; but this became a text-book. So that I was, at the age to which you allude, perfectly indoctrinated into the right faith, as the evangelical christians called it. I think I informed you once before how laboriously and extensively I had examined the question of faith. For the space of one year I read upon this subject alone. Fuller, Bellamy, Hervey, Glass, Sandeman, Cudworth, Scott, M’Lean, Erskine, cum multis aliis, were not only read, but studied as I studied geometry. And I solemnly say, that, although I was considered at the age of twenty-four a much more systematic preacher and text expositor than I am now considered, and more accustomed to strew my sermons with scores of texts in proof of every point, I am conscious that I did not understand the New Testament; not a single book of it.

From “Reply to Robert B. Semple,” Millennial Harbinger 1 (March 1830), 136-137.

You say that the result of your inquiries was “a firm belief that without the influence of God’s Spirit directly on your heart, you could not be saved.” You add, “Well, sir, I sought it, as a sinner, a justly condemned sinner, and I have found it, thanks to sovereign grace!” That such is your conviction, and that you found the favor of God, I doubt not. But would not any other person, who sought with equal sincerity, have found all that you found? And if so, why do you ascribe it to a special grace in your particular case? The Lord promises the Holy Spirit to every one who asks, desiring it, just as certain as natural parents give good things to their crying children. Do only some of the asking children receive what they solicit from their parents? Again, let me ask, What did you find that was not before written? Any new promise, any special promise, any new light, which was not before as distinctly and as clearly proposed as God could propose it in human language? Had you not faith before you asked, and was not this faith a persuasion that God exists, and is the rewarder of all who diligently seek him? You could not have asked for any thing which you did not before believe God had promised to bestow. Could a child who never heard or believed that there was a diamond, ask for one? Your faith in God’s favor was established before you bowed your knee! The difficulty with you was a special interest in it. This I know, for my experience was like yours in this particular. I desired to feel a special interest, and for this I prayed. But mark this, brother Semple, if you and I had been taught that God’s philanthropy equally embraced all, and that all to whom the word of this salvation was sent, were equally warranted to appropriate it to themselves, this concern for a special interest never could have originated. It was a previous system assented to, which gave birth to these desires and prayers; otherwise as soon as you believed God’s promise through Jesus Christ, you would have found yourself embraced. No one in the primitive age ever made such a prayer as you and I were taught to make; no one languished then for a day or a week to be born again. All were commanded to reform, and, instantly, all who obeyed received forgiveness of sins. Our converts are sometimes agonizing before they are born again for months–for years. This destroys the figure, and it proves that a false philosophy has perverted us from the simplicity of the gospel.

From “Letter II. To Bishop Semple,” Millennial Harbinger 1 (April 1830), 178.

You can read more of Campbell’s story in my article entitled “God’s Sensible Pledge.”

My Comments

A recent publication by a former student of mine, Keith D. Stanglin, has deepened my understanding and conviction on this point. Arminius (and subsequent Arminianism) founded assurance “on the loving nature of the God who desires all people to be saved” (Arminius on the Assurance of Salvation [Leiden: Brill, 2007], 240). I am convicted, as Stone and Campbell, that God loves me because God’s love extends to all and not because I have become aware that I am elect or have discerned that I am elect. Rather, I perceive my election through faith in the God who loves me. There is no ground to doubt that God loves me because he loves everyone and thus my faith sees my election in the work of Christ for my sake. Christ, through faith, mirrors my election.

Calvinism cannot affirm that God loves everyone. Consequently, Calvinists must discernt through their faith and the signs of election that God does, in fact, love them. I think Arminianism provides a better (and more biblical) basis for assurance. The gospel proclaims that God loves every one of his iconic images in the world–every human being and that Christ died for everyone of them. This gospel message assures hearers of God’s love for them and by the power of the Spirit the gospel enables hearers to respond to that message in faith. Faith, then, becomes the means by which believers know they are elect in Christ.

At least in this respect, the Stone-Campbell Movement shares the same conviction as Arminianism: God loves every human person and desires their salvation.

In the recent past I read an amazingly insightful book by Tian Dayton entitled Heartwounds: The Impact of Unresolved Trauma and Grief on Relationships. Dayton is a leader in experiential therapy or psychodrama. While her work is not explicitly Christian, it is spiritually-based. It has been extremely helpful to me as it has opened my eyes to much of my own life, especially in the aftermath of my own participation in some psychodramatic experiences based on my own life. [If you are interested in the therapeutic technique of psychodrama read Dayton’s The Drama Within: Psychodrama and Experiential Therapy.]

The power of psychodrama is that it brings body and soul into relation with unresolved trauma or grief. It is not merely cognitive, but somatic and communal. When there is unresolved trauma in our unconscious, we revert back to that trauma when we are triggered by an analogous experience. We then react to the present trigger as if we are again experiencing the original trauma. Consequently, we tend to intensify feelings which may not be appropriate to the situation, or transfer feelings from the past event to the present which is totally confusing because the present does not objectively warrant those feelings. This confuses people in relationship with us, and somestimes we withdraw emotionally in order to protect ourselves from those horrendous past feelings.

Psychodrama provides a way to re-experience the past trauma in a safe environment in order to reconfigure its meaning. Psychodrama confronts the past in a concrete somatic and spiritual experience so that we symbolically but nevertheless authentically relive the past trauma. This confrontation undermines attempts to flee (escape) from the trauma, fight the trauma with intensified feelings or freeze our feelings (a kind of numbing).  While those strategies are helpful in the initial moments of grief as they protect us, if we are stuck in any one of them then the unresolved trauma will negatively affect our sense of peace and relationships with others.

Psychodrama offers an occasion for resolving the trauma. It resolves it by reorganizing a memory.  By entering the past drama through role play, one is able to gain perspective and assign new meaning to the experience.  The drama creates a new narrative–it is a redoing of the past through undoing the past. The new narrative provides a new frame of reference for drawing meaning from the event as we reconstruct the past with new awareness, perspective and insight.

Through one psychodrama last week I was able to re-experience the grief of Sheila’s funeral on May 2, 1980. I had not grieved like that since May 2, 1980. It opened again for me the floodgates of tears which I had unconsciously held in reserve through numbing and withdrawal. Psychodrama, as a therapeutic technique, was a blessing to me. Re-entering the narrative, I was able give it new meaning and see what I had not seen previously due to the overwhelming grief.

As I reflected on the meaning and process of that experience (and it was not my only dramatic reliving), I began to more deeply appreciate the psycho-dramatic nature of the sacraments themselves. Baptism, the Lord’s Supper and Assembly are dramatic re-creations of divine redemptive events; they are dramatic narratives that provide a frame of reference for meaningful lives within the story of God. They are interpretative events that somatically and spiritually root us in the redemptive story.

This is not only so at an individual level as we individually participate in the sacraments–we each have our own personal experience of God through these dramatic events, but it is also a corporate or communal experience. As we gather around or beside the waters of baptism, we re-experience our own baptism and we participate with the one who is being baptized. Thus, I do not particularly like private or familial baptisms–it robs the community of the psychodramatic experience. As we gather around the table, we experience the reality of community through eating and drinking together. As we assemble before the throne of God, we participate in the reality of “heaven on earth” as we worship with the saints in a way that transcends time and space.

The sacraments are divine invitations into redemptive pyschodramas. They are no mere symbols but actual means of divine encounter whereby we somatically, pyschologically, concretely and spiritually relive the story of God’s redemption. Sacramental experiences are both cathartic (a cleansing) and rehabilitative (reconstruction); they reconstitute the present for us so that we have a renewed narrative for living with meaning in the story of God.

I assemble with the saints to experience again the sacramental drama that provides meaning for my life in the place of futility, hope in the place of despair, and communal support in the place of isolation.