Hills worth dying on.

Part 2:  What Essential Tenets are NOT...


Before I jump into trying to explain my convictions behind a statement of Essential Tenets of the Reformed faith, I want to say a little about what such a statement should NOT do.  This is important because there has been considerable resistance among Presbyterians regarding the idea of a list of Essential Tenets.  This has been surprising to me.  But as I've thought about it, it seems to me that much of the resistance comes from misunderstandings about what such a list would do.

1.  Some will say that we cannot identify a list of the essential tenets of the faith because God alone is Lord of the conscience.  This is an historic phrase from our tradition and it is a good one.  Certainly, it is God and God alone whom may bind our theological conscience in terms of what we should believe.  We can fully affirm this statement, especially as understood in its full context.  John Calvin believed that there are primary (non-negotiable) matters of theological conviction, and secondary matters.  The primary principles related to (1) the proper worship of God and (2) “the source from which salvation is to be obtained.”  Other matters (such as church government) were secondary.

In response:  Essential Tenets do not bind the conscience where it ought be free.
It is precisely in matters of faith and worship, where the scriptures have spoken clearly, that we are BOUND by the scriptures and are not free.  In every area that is NOT an Essential, then yes, God alone shall bind our conscience and our beliefs.  In terms of the Essentials, these are the convictions that we have held as true and non-negotiable throughout our history.

2.  Others oppose a list of Essential Tenets out of a fear that they will be used as an exclusionary list of required beliefs.  This is often refered to as a subscription approach.   One must “subscribe” to every thing we believe in order to be a part of our fellowship.

In response, Essential Tenets are not a subscription document.  They are not an attempt to identify what every Presbyterian ought to believe about every issue.  Essential Tenets are not an exhaustive checklist of required beliefs.  Essential Tenets will never be used as a criteria for membership.  Prospective members will still be asked only if they trust Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, turn away from sin and rely on God’s grace, and will be active participants in our covenant community of faith.

In terms of identifying people for ordained offices in the church, however, Essential Tenets could and should serve as a useful guide for committees to use in determining if a person’s beliefs, regarding the foundational truths of the faith, fall within the orthodox boundaries of our Reformed Christian tradition.

3.  Those who are opposed to any effort to identify a list of essential tenets will often insist that such a list diminishes the Confessions.  As Presbyterians, we place great significance on our Book of Confessions - the historic documents that explain our faith.   We believe that these Confessions are “authentic and reliable expositions of what Scripture leads us to believe and do.”  Opponents of any list of essential tenets will say that it is enough to be familiar with the Confessions and to be guided by them.

In response:  Essential Tenets are NOT a replacement for the Confessions.
Richard Mouw suggests that we have fallen into a historical museum approach to understanding the Confessions.  We use words like “guided by” or “look to”.  You go into a museum and spend some time looking at the exhibits.  Perhaps you pick up an aesthetic sensitivity to the items being displayed.  You walk out feeling as if you learned something.

It seems to me that this is actually the most likely way to diminish the Confessions.  As Reformed Christians, we are after something more from our interactions with and reliance on the Confessions.  If they are “authentic and reliable expositions of Scripture,” then we ought to engage the Confessions with a sense of humility and a desire to be taught, shaped, even transformed.  Perhaps we engage the Confessions in the same way that we engage a sermon we listen to on Sunday morning.  

Essential Tenets does not diminish the Confessions in any way.  Instead, the Confessions are simply a summary of the foundational convictions that are embedded throughout those very Confessions in the first place.  Should one enter into a study of the Confessions with a list of the Essential Tenets in hand, that person would discover, on virtually every page, why these Tenets can and should be called “Essential.”

4.  Essential Tenets are not the end of the story.  They are not enough.  They don’t say anything about alot of things that are critically important.  These Essential Tenets are not an attempt to say everything that ought to be said about what we ought to think or do.  They are, instead, an attempt to identify the foundational convictions (the center pole if you will) around which we will build (in our Spirit led, covenant communities) our life together as people of God.


Next - my list.

Hills worth dying on.

The Essential Tenets of the Faith - An introduction.

"Do you sincerely receive and adopt the essential tenets of the Reformed faith..."  That is #3 in the list of 9 questions that make up my ordination vows.  I answered gladly, "I do."

But the bigger question is...what did I actually say yes to?  There is no official list of what those essential tenets actually are.  There have been many attempts to develop such a list.  Some presbyteries have adopted official statements on what they believe are the essential tenets of the faith.  But in many other presbyteries, and on the denominational level, any movement towards identifying the essential tenets of the faith has been  met with significant opposition.  At my very first Presbytery meeting here in Southeastern Illinois, we were divided into groups to talk about a motion to adopt the Essential Tenets document that was put together by San Diego Presbytery.  In our group, I took a risk and spoke up first to say that I'd always found it strange that I was asked in my ordination vows to sincerely receive and adopt a set of beliefs that no one will actually identify.  I spent the rest of the meeting listening to the group bash the idea of trying to tell someone what they ought to believe.

It has been suggested that our current approach leaves us in a position similar to that of the European Union.  The nations of the EU have a shared currency (the euro) but each nation has been allowed to develop their own fiscal policies.  Each nation in the EU has taken different approaches to how they understand and implement the use of their shared currency.  They have the same currency, but don't use it in the same way.  And this has significantly undermined the stability of the EU, from a financial perspective.  How can they grow when their own perspectives undermine each other?

Presbyterians suffer from a similar problem, though with a bit of a twist.  Though we, in theory, have the same currency (Jesus Christ), we have very different perspectives on how we understand the implications and underpinnings of faith.  The bigger challenge is that we cannot even agree on our "currency," which is to say our core convictions about Jesus Christ.

Our inability or refusal to identify the core, shared content of our faith makes it increasingly more difficult to move forward together (as churches, as presbyteries, even as a denomination) in terms of working out how we connect with and support one another and even moreso - how we share in mission together.  (Side point - when I say "share in mission," I'm not remotely talking about mission projects or sponsoring missionaries.  I'm talking about shared understanding of the mission of God and how we are to be people of that mission.)

Presbyterians often use the metaphor of a "Big Tent" to describe our denomination.  It is big enough to contain many different perspectives and opinions.  I genuinely believe that is one of the strengths of our denomination.  However, if we cannot identify and agree on the poles that hold up that tent, then we are not under a tent at all.  Instead, we are all wallowing around under a great, suffocating blanket of confusion.

I have come to believe that we desperately need to be able to identify the essential tenets of our faith.  Theology matters.  The content of our faith matters.  Not every theological expression is appropriate or acceptable.  There are some core convictions which support the big tent of our faith.  To be sure, within the bounds of those core convictions, there is tremendous room for different perspectives.  But I've grown to believe that it is precisely those essential tenets that create the room within which we can have the other hard conversations in the first place.

Over the next 2 weeks, I'll be blogging my thoughts on these Essential Tenets.  I hope you'll feel free to chime in.  I don't pretend to have final answers to these questions.  In fact, tomorrow's post will talk about what a list of essential tenets is not, and what it cannot do.

Peace

Slow down, you dern speeder.

I'm driving to work this morning, off in my own little world.  I think I was actually having an imaginary conversation (out loud - hand gestures and all) with someone I don't really want to talk to.  As I'm driving along talking animatedly, all of a sudden I notice a police car parked on a side street just to my right, looking right at me.  I look down at the speedometer and I'm going 42 in a 35.  I know I'm about to get totally busted.

As I pass the officer, I make eye contact and actually mouth the words, "Sorry" to him.  Because that will help, right?  I drive on past, just waiting for him to pull out behind me with lights on.

But he doesn't.  He let me go.  (See - saying sorry DOES help!)  I could barely believe it.  The cop showed me mercy.

Not 2 blocks later, as I'm very carefully driving the speed limit, I get passed by another car who was probably going at least 43.  And, I'm not kidding, my first thought as I watch the guy pass me is, "Where's a cop when you need one?"

I get shown mercy and not 30 seconds later want to see someone else denied that very same mercy.

Well, at that point I'm feeling a little ashamed of myself, when all of a sudden I realize that this is exactly what we do in the church.  All too often, we are quite content to enjoy our church experience and we just don't make much of an effort to invite others to come and taste and see the goodness of life with Christ.  We've been shown incredible mercy by God and we don't care much if others get to experience that mercy too.

The real measure of our gratitude for what God has done is what we then do in response.

Because God has shown us so much grace and mercy, may we be compelled to invite others into that same experience of grace and mercy.

The best valet service in the world.

Don Miller reposted this article on his blog.  I love this story.  As Don says, this story makes me want to work an awful lot harder at serving people.  Incredible stuff.  

OK, church, how can we learn from this?

Reprinted from The Today Show food column called “Bites.” It lives here.

By Wilson Rothman

My birthday tradition of the past few years has been a visit to Canlis, one of Seattle’s mainstays for celebration seekers and the well-to-do. Founded in 1950, it’s outlasted most of its competition, yet manages to stay fresh — it recently received culinary accolades in both Food & Wine and Saveur. The food is surprising and exquisite, the wine pairings are perfect. So why, whenever I describe Canlis to friends, do I always end up going on and on about the valet parking?

It’s simple in the way the best magic tricks are: When you pull into their carport, a friendly guy in a jacket and sneakers greets you, takes your keys and vanishes with your car. No tickets, no names, no nothing. Then, two or three hours later, as you’re walking out the huge glass doors, your car glides up. Glides up. It isn’t waiting there for you, but is easing in just as you are easing out.

Now let me say that Canlis isn’t one of those cute little restaurants with eight tables where the owner is also cooking all the food. It has the capability of serving hundreds, with a huge dining room, a piano bar and multiple private party spaces. The first time my wife and I went, there was, in addition to the restaurant’s typical business, a gathering of 100 people in an upstairs room, arriving and leaving in large clusters.

How in hell can they park and retrieve all of those cars, without one single ticket or name? The tech nerd in me got to brainstorming possibilities.

Maybe closed-circuit cameras throughout the restaurant could help valets track the movement of guests. Perhaps they screenshot you walking through the door, and digitally assign your keys to that image.

Or maybe it’s based on payment: Assuming they somehow manage to confirm your name or table with the hostess, what if they got an instant message when you pay your check, alerting them to ready your vehicle?

I could go on — something to do with proximity-detecting lasers, or perhaps RFID tags secretly stuck onto your clothing — but instead I decided that the best bet was to ask. I called up co-owner and third-generation scion Mark Canlis, and begged him to divulge the secret.

“I’ll tell you, and you’ll tell everyone else, but no one will believe it,” Canlis said to me. “They [his valet-parking crew] care a whole lot more than anybody else does.” What’s that supposed to mean?

“For 60 years, someone has stood out there, welcomed the cars in, shook the guests’ hands and let them in the restaurant,” Canlis said. “There are no tickets, there’s no fancy computer system, no chits, no counting cars, no secret book. They just remember. The whole thing is from memory.”

Canlis does admit that there’s a lot of secret chatter happening outside what he calls “the bubble,” the happy place where each party remains oblivious to the frantic work of the staff. If you look hard enough, you can spot valets on the prowl, and even notice a few blind spots where servers could tip off the car jockeys to the status of a given diner.

But back in the beginning, there really was a magic trick, or at least a magician.

Canlis 

Dick Sprinkle was in charge of valet parking at Canlis from 1950 to 1990.

“In the early days, when my granddad opened the restaurant, he called his buddy Dick Sprinkle in. Essentially he had a photographic memory. He remembered your wife, and your next wife, and all your children. He knew when you upgraded from one car to another,” Canlis said.

Sprinkle’s total recall capabilities proved that large-scale valet parking could be done without tickets or names, but when it came time to replace him, they couldn’t exactly advertise for another valet-parking savant. Sprinkle’s replacement, Shawn Leuckel, had to teach himself — and his whole staff — how to pull it off without superhuman powers.

“Shawn does not have a photographic memory, he just practices,” Canlis said. “He’s hired 30 or 40 guys [since joining in the 1980s], and every one of them learns. They work their tails off.”

What’s the point of this, when it would be so easy to just hand out tickets? “The whole feel of the restaurant is that you’re coming to our home. Why would I turn you into a number? It’s not fine dining, it’s not service. I am shocked when I go to a restaurant and they turn me into a number.”

Even Canlis himself, on occasion, has to park cars. He says the staff doesn’t necessarily expect him to be as skilled as Dick Sprinkle, but he’s got to hold his own. “I have to be proficient. I can successfully memorize my five cars. I had to practice that. You know, 3 Series BMW with the really dirty wheels; Asian gentleman, super sharp suit, open collar, blue Jetta; tattered pair of jeans, huge scrape across the car.”

For the valets, the game of memory continues all night long. “‘Here comes table 23, she’s got the red dress on, he’s got the Armani suit. This one? No, this one!’ And they tear off running,” Canlis said. “Their uniform includes running shoes — they run a lot.”

Re-thinking Sunday Mornings

"Worship is not so much what we do, but what we let God do in and for us." - Eugene Peterson.


It is incredibly difficult to divorce ourselves from the tendency to evaluate based on our personal preferences.  Virtually every aspect of our culture is driven by this tendency.  Perhaps it is the fact that, as consumers, we have so many choices (arguably more than any previous generation ever): an infinite variety of options for just about every conceivable product or service.

Whatever the reason, it's pretty obvious - we are master consumers and our consumption is shaped by our deeply felt personal preferences.

Even on Sunday mornings.  I'd bet that if we're honest, most of us evaluate a worship service on any given Sunday based on how good the sermon was, or the music, or the coffee.  Shoot, I know I do that.  This is not to say that we shouldn't strive for excellence.  We absolutely should.  But...I can't help but think that when we are in evaluation mode during worship, our minds might not be focused on the right things.

When I read the above quote, I was instantly convicted.

Here's the question I'm asking myself - and I'm inviting you to ask yourself as well:  What if I walked out of a worship service and allowed myself only one evaluation:  "How effectively and completely did I open my heart to allow God to work in me?" What if I walked into a worship service with excitement, wondering what God would do in me that morning?   I wonder how different our experience of worship might be if we were that focused on giving God full access to our hearts.

What do you think?  Do you experience this tendency while sitting in a worship service?  Is it possible to step out of our consumer mindset?  How might we challenge each other toward that goal?

Spiritual Dieting

In the book of John, a conversation is recorded between John the Baptist and his disciples.  Jesus has just begun his public ministry and John's disciples are basically struggling with jealousy.  The crowds that previously were being baptized by John are now going over and listening to Jesus and being baptized by Jesus.  John responds to his disciples with this quote:

He must increase, I must decrease.

Less of me, more of Jesus.
This is, in a short and simple phrase, the heart of discipleship.  Paul says it a little differently when he talks about dying to self and living or Christ.  In the book of Luke, Jesus gets at the same idea when he says, "Deny yourself and take up your cross daily."

Less of me, more of Jesus.
How often do you approach your relationship with Jesus this way?  How often do we invite God to shine a spotlight into our hearts and reveal the tendencies, the habits, the attitudes, the behaviors that need to decrease?

But here's the thing.  This is NOT just about trying to stop doing things.  It's about Jesus INCREASING in me.  It's about a more fruitful life.  It's about more peace, more joy, more purpose.  It's about an ever increasing awareness of God's presence and God's plans for me.

The bottom line is that until we decrease (until we get out of the way), there isn't room in our lives for more of Jesus.  So I decrease, in order that Christ may increase.

Today, I challenge you to ask God what it might look like for you to clear a little space (loose a little "weight") so that there is a little more room for Christ in you.

Raising the bar for Ordination?

Last week, the ordination vows changed in our denomination.  The previous standard required that candidates for ordination practice “fidelity in marriage between a man and a woman or chastity in singleness.”

The new statement on the standards of ordination reads:

“Standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life (G-1.0000). The governing body responsible for ordination and/or installation (G.14.0240; G-14.0450) shall examine each candidate’s calling, gifts, preparation, and suitability for the responsibilities of office. The examination shall include, but not be limited to, a determination of the candidate’s ability and commitment to fulfill all requirements as expressed in the constitutional questions for ordination and installation (W-4.4003). Governing bodies shall be guided by Scripture and the confessions in applying standards to individual candidates.”

The basic result of this vote is that decisions regarding ordination will be made by local churches and Presbyteries, as opposed to the previous clause in our Book of Order specifically prohibiting the ordination of avowed, practicing homosexuals.  Our denomination has been hotly debating this issue for 3 decades and we remain deeply divided over this question.  Without question, this decision will result in joyful celebration for some; and it will cause grieving and distress among others.  I suspect that the media will make much of the decision (and I suspect that little of that will be fair or accurate).  It is my hope that we will be able to process this decision with grace and humility, making an effort to honor one another’s opinions and perspectives.

Right now, my intent is not to add more noise to the debate regarding God’s heart or the biblical standard regarding homosexuality.  Right now, I simply want to point out something compelling that I see in the new standards for ordination.

I think that in some respects we actually raised the bar.  With one single phrase in the new standards, I believe we elevated the conversation on what is required of a candidate for ordination.


The compelling phrase for me is: “Joyful submission to the Lordship of Jesus Christ.”

As I reflect on my own ordination experience and on countless conversations with others either going through the ordination process or serving on a committee overseeing candidates for ordination, I have rarely heard of anyone being asked about or encouraged regarding the idea of submission to the Lordship of Jesus Christ.  We are asked to confess that Jesus is Lord.  But, if we are honest, throughout the ordination process, that is simply assumed, at best.  

The new language for ordination standards roots the whole idea of ordination in a tremendously significant framework:  submission to Christ’s Lordship.

This past week, without realizing that the deciding votes were being cast, I started work on a sermon about the fall and the nature of sin.  The Genesis 3 account of Adam and Eve could perhaps be summarized as the decision to reject the Lordship of God.  God asked one thing of them - that they let him be God; that they let God tell them what is right and wrong; that they trust him as the source of truth and knowledge and goodness and life.  

But in taking the forbidden fruit, Adam and Eve chose to decide for themselves.  They rejected the Lordship of God and set themselves firmly on the throne of their hearts.

That was the sin of the Fall.  And it might be suggested that it is the nature of the sin in each of our own hearts.  We are quite sure that we know what is best for us; We consider ourselves able to fully provide for ourselves; in practice - we have no real need for God.  We have claimed that role for ourselves.

The new ordination standards call for “joyful submission to the Lordship of Jesus Christ.”  The implications are, frankly, all encompassing.  In essence, it means that for the pastor (or candidate for ordination, or for the Christian, frankly) a foundational part of my journey towards Christ is learning to identify the dark corners of my life where I have maintained control.  Joyful submission means that I am passionately enthusiastic about looking for ways I have not yet allowed Jesus Christ to be the author of my life.  It means examining every habit, every thought, every action, every attitude and holding it up to the light of Christ, asking God to redeem it and transform it in the image of Christ for the purposes of his kingdom.

What is exempt?  Nothing.

It includes my spending habits and my budget.

It includes my eating habits and my health.

It includes the way I drive and it includes what I drive.

It includes the way I speak.


It includes how I engage with my kids when I get home.


It includes the time I spend on my smart phone when I get home.

It includes what I look at on my laptop. 

It includes how I reach out to my next door neighbor.


It includes how I speak on the golf course and in the pub.

In includes my friendships.


It includes my marriage.

And yes it includes, even as a married man, my sexuality.

In each and every area, I am called and bound to joyfully submit to the Lordship of Jesus Christ.

In each and every area, I am compelled to ask “Jesus, I give this area of my life to you.  It is not my own.  It is yours. What would you have me do?  How can I live it for your glory.” 

In each and every area, to pray “Not my will, but thine.”

This is a tremendously high bar. 

Obviously we are not asking those wishing to be ordained to have successfully surrendered every area.  That is the essence of the lifelong journey of discipleship.  But we are, absolutely and without question, asking candidates for ordination to pledge and demonstrate that they will constantly try.  We are holding up, as the very root of ordination and the very heart of the disciple, submitting to Christ.  

Are we truly willing to ask this question of one another?  Are we genuinely committed to challenging each other to this standard?  I hope so.  Because I need help getting there.  I need the encouragement and the accountability and the challenge of my peers.  Without it, I am not sure I will pursue it with the steadfastness it deserves.  

It’s a high bar.  If we really mean it, I think I like it.