Usually, when someone calls you “a real piece of work,” it’s not a compliment. We say such things about those we think are odd or whose behavior is hard to understand. But in a famous soliloquy, Shakespeare’s Hamlet declares: “What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god!” Yet Hamlet’s opinion of humanity is mixed. He calls human beings “the beauty of the world” and “the paragon of animals.” But he also asks, “what is this quintessence of dust?”
John Calvin and Sebastian Castellio used to be compatriots. Until they weren’t. Calvin was initially so impressed with Castellio that the iconic Reformer invited him to serve as rector at the college of Geneva. Things changed when Castellio started to disagree with Calvin. The two Reformers began to take aim at one another, with Castellio publishing tracts that criticized aspects of Calvin’s theology and Calvin answering him in kind. One of Calvin’s responses was entitled ABrief Reply in Refutation of the Calumnies of a Certain Worthless Person. The first line reads, “There has come to my notice the foolish writing of a worthless individual, who nevertheless presents himself as a defender and vindicator of the glory of God . . . .”
I thought of Calvin’s essay recently, when the furor over John MacArthur’s dismissal of Beth Moore’s ministry erupted. When MacArthur was asked what he would say to Beth Moore in one or two words his answer was, “Go home.” MacArthur’s remark was relatively tame compared to Calvin’s, at least when you consider that in the Reformer’s day theological disputes often ended in prison or even death for those who disagreed. I guess we live in a kinder and gentler age by comparison. But that doesn’t make disagreement more comfortable for us. Especially when it is between people that we look up to. Listening to Christian leaders that we admire when they disagree with one another can be like listening to your parents fight. We aren’t sure whose side we should take. We just want it to stop.
Listening to Christian leaders that we admire when they disagree with one another can be like listening to your parents fight.
In our digital age, where it only takes a click of the mouse to enter the fray, it is easy to turn a disagreement into something more. Like players pouring out of the dugout to protest a bad pitch, each side piles on the other using their words as fists. The fact that our theological brawls are mostly verbal may not be as much of an improvement over the old days as we thought. It is true that we no longer burn people at the stake. But we do occasionally burn one another in effigy via social media. Words can be weapons. “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment,’” Jesus warns in the Sermon on the Mount. “But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.”
I suppose it might be
different if our verbally violent exchanges led to mutual agreement. But they
do not. How can they, when the views in contention are mutually exclusive? Neither
side can capitulate to the other without compromising their convictions. Each finds
it equally difficult to speak in moderation. The greater the conviction, the
stronger its expression. Perhaps the best we can hope for is that both will eventually
agree to disagree, but neither side can say that the other is right.
Don’t misunderstand me. The tone certainly matters. 2 Timothy 2:24–25 warns that “the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone, able to teach, not resentful. Opponents must be gently instructed, in the hope that God will grant them repentance leading them to a knowledge of the truth.” In other words, if we are going to disagree, and we are going to disagree, we need to learn to disagree like Jesus. But what does that look like? Is it the gentle Jesus of the children’s hymn, who is meek, and mild? Some envision a Jesus who never said a harsh word to anyone. But that is not the Jesus described in the Gospels. The Jesus of Scripture called those who rejected His teaching “blind fools” and “hypocrites” (Matt. 15:7; 23:17). He grew angry when the religious leaders tried to accuse Him of Sabbath-breaking for healing a man with a shriveled hand (Mark 3:5). He made a whip of cords and used it to drive out those who bought and sold in the temple courts (John 2:15).
Some envision a Jesus who never said a harsh word to anyone. But that is not the Jesus described in the Gospels.
Likewise, the same apostle Paul, who wrote that the Lord’s servant must be gentle, is the one whose disagreement with Barnabas over ministry personnel was so sharp that the two of them went their separate ways (Acts 15:39). Was their dispute a sin? I guess it might have been, but the Scriptures don’t call it that. Paul also said that he wished those who were preaching circumcision to the Galatians “would go the whole way and emasculate themselves!” (Gal. 5:12).
If we look beyond the New Testament, we can find other examples of strong disagreement expressed in passionate language. There is Moses, the Psalms, and the prophets, of course. When the returned Jewish exiles compromised their lifestyle, Nehemiah rebuked them, called down curses, beat some of them, and pulled out their hair (Neh. 13:25). I am not saying that moving forward we should adopt Nehemiah’s behavior as a pattern for our disputes, only that we shouldn’t be so shocked to find believers with opposing views expressing themselves with conviction.
For those who already agree with his views, MacArthur’s remark was simply a tersely stated biblical correction. For those who disagreed, it was a case of mean spirited bullying and prejudice. But given the nature of MacArthur’s convictions, it is hard for me not to see the resulting outrage as somewhat disingenuous. How could MacArthur have said any different, given what he believes? Of course, he might have said nothing at all. I suppose that would have been more polite. But when he said that Beth Moore should “go home,” I suspect he meant it literally. Likewise, I think Beth Moore was right to be equally dismissive of John MacArthur’s suggestion. Her implied response to him, posted on Twitter, stated, “I did not surrender to a calling of man when I was 18 years old. I surrendered to a calling of God.” In a subsequent tweet, she added, “Whether or not I serve Jesus is not up to you. Whether I serve you certainly is. One way or the other, I esteem you as my sibling in Christ.”
The real rancor in this dispute didn’t come from MacArthur or Moore, so much as it did from their followers and other observers who piled on via social media. Those who took issue with MacArthur criticized his tone, but what they ultimately objected to was his view. Would they have felt any better if he had expressed his remarks with a sweet smile and a soft-spoken explanation, supported by extensive Scripture references? I doubt it. What was really at issue for them was not whether he should have used a different tone, but whether he had the right to hold his convictions at all. The same is true on the other side. In the end, both sides in the controversy essentially share the sentiment that MacArthur expressed. Each would like it better if the other would go away. Neither is likely to do so anytime soon.
In the end, both sides in the controversy essentially share the sentiment that MacArthur expressed. Each would like it better if the other would go away.
So how should we manage disagreements like this in the
church? We can start by recognizing that complete agreement is unlikely, if not
impossible. Our differences matter and they are not always able to be
reconciled. If merely holding the opposite conviction is incivility, then
incivil we must be. But it may help to recognize that not every doctrinal disagreement
is a matter of life and death. It has helped me to sort through these matters by
drawing a distinction between three levels of doctrine. First, there is a basic
shortlist of fundamentals. These are the truths that are foundational to the
Christian faith. They are so essential that if you eliminate them you no longer
have Christianity. These are the truths that show us which hill we should die
on.
Second, there are those truths over which Christians
disagree and which are important enough to warrant a separation in fellowship
or practice. These doctrines are essential to one’s theological identity or
express convictions which shape essential ministry practices. But we would
still consider those who hold views different from ours to be Christians. The
difference between MacArthur and Moore falls into this category.
Third, are doctrines that we might call disputed matters.
These are doctrines about which we will agree to disagree. We cannot all be
right about them. Perhaps we are all wrong. But we will fellowship and minister
together in spite of our differences. These truths are important, but they are
not so important that tolerating those differences does damage to our identity
or compromises our practice.
Of course, distinctions like these, which look neat on paper
or in a diagram, are always messier in practice. One person’s disputed matter is
another’s distinctive and sometimes even their fundamental. We will not always
agree. Where convictions are strong, we should expect that their expression
will be equally strong. Beth Moore is right when she observes that even in our
differences we remain siblings in Christ. And anybody who has taken a long trip
in the family car knows that siblings don’t always get along.
The other day I was thinking about the stuff Christians hate. In particular, I was thinking about the people Christians like to hate. Well, maybe hate is too strong. Let’s say, the people that Christians like to dislike. Or maybe, the people that Christians like to deplore. I was reviewing an article for a conservative publication which included a quote from a noted theologian whose views have sparked controversy in the past. I wondered if I should mention it to the editor. There was nothing wrong with the quote. But you know how these things go. Sometimes the mere mention of a name is enough to spark outrage among Christians. It’s not what is said that prompts the reaction. It’s the person who said it. We often don’t even understand the nature of the controversy. We just know that someone told us that the author said something somewhere else that was bad.
Concerns about what people have said or written are reasonable,
especially when it comes to the faith. It’s
not so surprising that we don’t understand finer details of such matters. Most
of us rely upon the opinion of others to help discern good teaching from bad. It
isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The Bible says that it is the duty of the church’s leaders to warn God’s people about
false doctrine. Even theologians depend upon other theologians for their
opinions.
I’ve noticed that our tastes in these matters also tend to
be cyclical. That was the question I wrestled with when it came to the quote.
We hated this guy five years ago. But do we still hate him today? Well, maybe
hate is too strong. Let’s say that he
made us uncomfortable. We didn’t doubt that he was a Christian. As far as I know, his Christian walk is
exemplary. But people in my theological
tribe disagreed with his position, some of them
strongly. But after a while, something changes. We feel differently.
Maybe we decide this issue that separated us wasn’t that important after all. Perhaps
we are tired of controversy and decide to
overlook it. Or more likely, some new person or issue captures our attention and pushes our discomfort with the
other guy to the margins.
If we wait long enough our old enemy might even become a new
favorite. It’s like furniture. The ugly furniture my parents used to decorate our
house in the 1950s is now hip. Theology
is like that too. Some of the people we used to decry are now merely thought to
have been misunderstood. When I was in
seminary, my conservative teachers considered Karl Barth to be a liberal. Today
he is insightful.
This doesn’t just
happen with people. When I started to follow Jesus, I smoked a pack and a half
of cigarettes a day. I liked smoking. Well, all except for the cancer part. But
in general, I like the smell and the way I felt when I smoked. I thought it
made me look intellectual. Then an older believer I respected told me that
serious Christians don’t smoke cigarettes, so I quit. It wasn’t easy for me. It
took me a while. It took the grace of
God.
These days, such a warning would be considered legalistic.
Christians don’t hate smoking anymore. Indeed, I know some Christian leaders
who are proud of the fact that they smoke. Of course, it has to be the right
kind of smoke. Cigarettes are still considered gauche among conservatives, but not cigars and pipes. They are a common
accessory with a certain brand of pastor.
He is usually Reformed, young, and bearded. The nagging issue of cancer is
still there. But we won’t think about
that today. We can think about that tomorrow when
the doctor calls with our test results.
The same leaders who don’t hate smoking don’t hate drinking
anymore either. They have cast aside the old misgivings some Christians used to
have about the consumption of alcohol. They consider abstinence to be an
outdated vestige of the sort of legalism that once claimed: “real Christians don’t smoke, drink, or chew or go with
girls who do.” Jesus drank, they point out. He changed water into wine. Paul advised
Timothy to “use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake” (1 Tim. 5:23). Not only
does this new order of Christian leader like to drink, but they like to post
selfies of themselves drinking on social media. This practice seems to be a
kind of manifesto, a testimony to Christian liberty.
However, just like smoking, to
be truly acceptable, it must be the right kind of drinking. It has to be craft
beer or at least wine. One can hardly imagine Jesus tipping a can of Bud. In
the interest of fairness, I must confess that I am not a neutral observer on
this issue. Both my parents were addicted to alcohol. I also recognize that,
although the Bible does condemn drunkenness, it doesn’t condemn the consumption
of wine outright. I understand that not everyone who drinks is a drunk. But I
also know that ten percent of drinkers consume
sixty percent of all the alcohol that is sold.
Maybe alcohol isn’t as hip as we thought.
The list of things we used to
hate is growing, but that doesn’t mean we hate fewer things, it just means we
have exchanged the items on the old list for new things. There is still
plenty of stuff for Christians to hate. For example, we hate to sit down while
singing in church. We hate to go to church on Sunday night. We hate to go to
church on Sunday. Some of us hate to go to church, period. We hate one another’s
politics. We hate the music in church if
it’s not ours. Sometimes we even hate each other.
It’s a challenge to hate the right things. We often fail to
get it right. Some of us don’t want to hate anything. Others hate everything. We
seem to have a penchant foolish alliances, like Jehoshaphat, the king of Judah. I sometimes wonder if the
prophet would say to us what he said to him: “Should you help the wicked and
love those who hate the Lord?” In the end, our real problem it isn’t about what
we hate at all. It’s about what we love.
I have often heard the church criticized for its lack of interest in theology. The church, we are told, is theologically illiterate, more interested in entertainment than in doctrine. But if there is any truth in this complaint, I do not think the church is entirely at fault. I hold the church’s theologians at least partially responsible.
In his book A Theology of Preaching: The Dynamics of the Gospel, Richard Lischer quotes from an article by Walter Wink that was published in The Christian Century over thirty years ago. In the article, Wink criticizes the theological scholarship of his day saying, “The American scholarly scene is one of frenetic decadence with the publication of vast numbers of articles and books which fewer and fewer people read. Most scholars no longer address the lived experience of actual people in churches or society. Instead they address the current questions of their peers in the professional guild.”
After thirty years, this tendency has not diminished. If you doubt this, simply scan the topics scheduled to be presented at any meeting where professional theologians gather. If the average church member is disinterested in theology, it is partly due to the fact that the church’s theologians are mostly in conversation with themselves. Indeed, it has been my experience that many church members are interested in theology but don’t label it as such. They are asking fundamental and profound questions about the nature of God’s relationship with humanity, the origin of evil, and about their own personal significance. Meanwhile, the church’s theologians, who have been reflecting on these questions for over two millennia, are talking among themselves.
Nowhere is this more evident to me than in our seminaries and Bible colleges, where practical theology is treated as a “soft-science” and preaching is seen as primarily the domain of those who intend to be pastors. Most of the theology majors I meet aspire to be professors rather than pastors. They are not terribly interested in preaching. Yet most church members get their theology from the pulpit. It is in the home and the workplace not the academy that the battle lines of theological controversy are drawn. Those who step into the pulpit are the church’s first line of defense.
