Kevin DeYoung's Blog, page 38
May 15, 2016
May 12, 2016
15 Discernment Diagnostics
We’ve been working through 2 Timothy on Sunday evenings. Last week I preached from 2 Timothy 3:6-9. It’s a passage–like many in the pastoral epistles–that deals with false teaching. Paul warns against the folly of false teaching (and against the folly of falling for it).
Which leads to the question: what is false teaching and how do we spot it?
Obviously, there is no foolproof scheme for identifying false teaching. Biblical discernment takes years of prayer, preaching, and practice. But there are certain questions that may be help us sift the good from the bad. Here are 15 discernment diagnostic questions I suggested to my congregation.
1. Does the teaching sound strange? This is not fool proof, of course—predestination may sound strange at first. But sound teaching should make biblical sense for those who have read through the Bible every year, go to church every Sunday, and have gone to Sunday school for decades. As an initial question, the longtime Christian should wonder “Why have I never heard anything like this before?”
2. Does it sound too good to be true? Not in the next life, mind you, but in this life. Promises of never failing material well being or relational ease or emotional tranquility are not to be trusted.
3. Does it involve trinkets or relics or holy water? Christianity entails some mystery, no magic.
4. Does it involve prophetic words? Christians may define prophecy differently. I’m not thinking here of a word fitly spoken, or powerful preaching, or wise counsel. I’m talking about “the Lord told me” sort of communication that tell other people what to do and cannot be tested or sifted according to Scripture.
5. Do angels or aliens or seed money play a major role in the teaching? Enough said.
6. Does it feature prominently the word “code”? Bible Code, DaVinci Code, Omega Code. Just stay away.
7. Does the teaching involve secrets? This was the appeal of Gnosticism. It purported to lead the initiate into the realm of secret knowledge. This is what makes me nervous about Masons, Mormons, and even many fraternities and sororities. Unless national security is involved, be wary of groups that are held together by tightly held secrets. Books with “secret” in the title are usually suspect too (Lesslie Newbigin’s The Open Secret being the exception that proves the rule).
8. Does it rely on a cartoon view of God? False teaching tends to cast God as either as a autocratic strongman or a friendly face passing out beads at Woodstock? By contrast, the God of the Bible shines forth with (to use Jonathan Edwards’ phrase) a host of diverse excellencies.
9. Does the teaching use big themes to negate specific verses? We should always interpret Scripture with Scripture, but we must not allow amorphous themes like love or justice or grace to flatten the contours of Scripture.
10. Does it promote an unmediated approach to spirituality? Mysticism, in its technical sense, can be defined as an approach to God apart from mediation. False spirituality tries to foster intimacy with God that does not go through the mediated revelation of Scripture and does not lead one to the mediation of Christ on the cross.
11. Does the false teaching traffic in under-defined terms and slogans? Liberalism starts with an inattention to words. It is the triumph of orthodoxy to be careful with language.
12. Does the teaching neglect the need for repentance? Beware the feel good invitation for everyone to come to the wide open arms. The coming of the Kingdom is not good news for sinners. It is good news for sinners who repent.
13. Does the false teaching or teacher seem obsessed about one person, one doctrine, or one idea? An unsolicited exposé running into the hundreds of pages likely reveals more about the author than the subject.
14. Does it result in an unbalanced presentation of the truth? True Christianity walks the tight rope between complementary biblical truths—truth and grace, Christ as God and man, salvation by faith alone and the necessity of the obedience of the Christian. It was usually the heretics who were guilty of resolving biblical tensions in ways that were too neat and tidy.
15. Does the teaching fit with the Bible’s story line of sin and salvation? How can a holy God dwell in the midst of an unholy people? If the teaching doesn’t make sense as a plot line in that story, I’m suspicious.
Mature Christians do not cast a critical eye on everyone and everything a hair’s breadth different from them. But they are discerning, and they are careful. Guard your heart. Guard your home. Guard the good deposit.
May 9, 2016
Me, the Lord, Pizza, and Celiac Disease
I trust you will forgive a more personal post than usual. For better or worse, the easiest way for me to communicate with a lot of people at the same time—including my church, my friends and family, and the many kind people who invite me to their city or country (and always ask what I like to eat)—is through this blog. I hope I can manage to talk about myself without being self-serving.
Two weeks ago I was diagnosed with Celiac disease, an inherited autoimmune disorder in which the body reacts abnormally to normal food substances. In short, the body gets gluten and starts attacking itself.
When a person who has celiac disease consumes gluten, a protein found in wheat, rye and barley, the individual’s immune system responds by attacking the small intestine and inhibiting the absorption of important nutrients into the body. Specifically, tiny fingerlike protrusions, called villi, on the lining of the small intestine are lost. Nutrients from food are absorbed into the bloodstream through these villi. Celiac disease can be associated to other autoimmune disorders and, undiagnosed and untreated, it can lead to osteoporosis, infertility, neurological conditions and in rare cases, cancer. (University of Chicago Medicine Fact Sheet)
A Year I Won’t Forget
As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been to the doctor more times in the past year than in the rest of my life combined. I’m not exactly sure when I first noticed Celiac symptoms. I remember a time in seminary laying prostrate on the ground because I was so lightheaded and unnaturally fatigued that I wondered if I was going to pass out. About 7 or 8 years ago I went to the doctor after several bouts of what I labeled for my wife as “my faint feeling.” They did some blood work and hooked me up to a couple heart machines–everything looked fine. I went about life figuring I just had a bad couple of months. I would still get my faint feeling–which sometimes felt like extreme fatigue, sometimes like a general wobbliness, at other times like I was coming down with the flu–but the episodes were short lived (20-30 minutes) and intermittent (every few months).
Fast forward to last March. I was in Charlotte for an RTS event. The weather was gorgeous, so I set out on an easy 3-4 mile run. Half way through I felt like I could barely walk straight, let alone keep running. I chalked it up to an early morning flight and warmer weather than I was used to. Once I got back to Michigan I continued to feel a bit off. Then I had a major stomach bug for the better part of a week. Once all of that cleared, a general feeling of lightheaded-dizziness-fatigue set in and didn’t lift for two months. I stopped driving for weeks. I felt terrible almost every day. I wondered if losing 35 pounds in 18 months was about more than just exercise. I found almost no joy in preaching. Sundays became a profound struggle.
On most days I took multiple naps but still felt tired. I tried caffeine and protein. I tried to keep exercising. I tried sleeping in. Nothing seemed to work. It doesn’t sound that bad to describe it in retrospect, but I remember last spring as the worse months of my life (and yes, I know I have had a very good life). It constantly felt like I was going to fall over or fall asleep standing up. I curled up in my bed or on the couch in quiet desperation more times than I care to remember. I cried with my head under the covers on more than one occasion. I had the elders pray and anoint me with oil. I didn’t understand why I was feeling so bad and if I would ever feel better.
Meanwhile, I was going to the doctor every few days. My family doctor was sure it was stress, which was probably a contributing factor (it often is), but I always felt like there was some underlying illness that the anxiety about being ill was only making worse. I saw a cardiologist, an allergist, and an ENT doctor. I had blood work multiple times, a stress test, a Holter monitor, a full battery of inner ear exams, an EKG, a CT scan, an MRI, and no doubt some other tests I can’t remember. Everything was normal. I didn’t have a tumor or MS or a thyroid problem or cancer. Which, as anyone who has been through umpteen doctors will tell you, is great news and terribly frustrating. If I look so healthy, why do I feel so sick?
Once I got used to the symptoms, things got better. I learned not to panic when I felt bad. I learned that I wouldn’t be miserable every day. Some days were normal, even some weeks. Other days were blah. Some were debilitating. By fall I wasn’t feeling faint and fatigued as often, but I started to develop a nasty rash (I won’t go into details) on my knees and elbows. It cleared up after a few weeks, but then it would come back again. I started itching in new places. My allergist said it was seasonal allergies. Once the season passed and the horrible keep-you-up-at-night and want-to-rip-your-skin-off itching did not, I went back to my allergist. She listened patiently, but didn’t know what to say other than that I had “the itch.” Then on a whim, she said, “Why don’t I order some new blood work. I’m sure you don’t have Celiac, but let’s check just to make sure.” Good idea.
I didn’t expect any answers, but I was still eager to get the lab results. That’s a strange thing about doing the doctor circuit. You don’t want to have something, and you are desperate to have anything. The doctor called me on Christmas Eve and let me know that one of the results (the tissue transglutaminase antibody) was consistent with Celiac. She suggested I go off gluten for a month and see if that helped. I tried for 5 days and gave up. After the holidays, I went to another doctor who ordered an even more Celiac specific test (endomysial antibodies). That also came back positive. I showed the results to a doctor in my church who gave me the bad/good news: “I have people come in all the time wanting these tests. Everyone thinks they have gluten problems. I never see anyone test positive. You just did.”
I started reading more medical websites than anyone should read (but we all do it anyway) and books like this and this. From everything I had read and had been told, it seemed 98% sure I had Celiac disease. The last step was to have an endoscopy and get my intestines biopsied. Although my symptoms weren’t mainly GI related, this was the only way to get a definitive diagnosis. If I had Celiac, the villi of my small intestines would look like they were under attack. Fortunately, I couldn’t get in to see a specialist until after our seven week UK trip. This meant two more months of feeling up and down, but I was feeling pretty well most of the time and not eager to change my entire life before traveling overseas. Since I needed gluten in my system for the test results to be accurate, I just kept up my carb-heavy diet like normal.
A Diagnosis I Didn’t Expect, But Then I Did
Which brings us back to the present. I had the endoscopy at the end of April–a very minor procedure, but still the first time I’ve ever had any procedure of any kind (I even have all my wisdom teeth). I’ve known for five months that this diagnosis was extremely likely, so in a way I was relieved to know that there was a reason for the way I was feeling, and it had a name and a definite plan of action. On the other hand, until that phone call it didn’t really, finally, and fully hit me that my life would never be the same. Please, please, don’t misunderstand me. There are a hundred diagnoses worse than this. I’m not dying. I don’t need surgery. I don’t have any new medications to take. In fact, I should start feeling better (and avoid nasty long term complications) if I simply change the way I eat. So one week in to my gluten free existence, it doesn’t feel like a big deal.
And, at the same time, it does. Anyone who knows me knows that I eat like a five year-old–a really picky five year-old who gives his parents fits. I’m not kidding. It’s one of the most distinctive (annoying? endearing?) things about me. Don’t tell your kids, but I eat almost no vegetables. For fruit, I do mainly apples and bananas. For decades, I’ve lived on cereal, hamburgers, hotdogs, chicken nuggets, macaroni, and pizza. In other words, gluten, gluten, and more gluten. You would be hard pressed to find someone more ill-suited to cut wheat out of his diet. My wife can testify that out of 14 lunches and dinners per week, I normally eat pizza for 5-7 of them. Between Hot N Ready’s, frozen pizzas, leftover pizzas, and going out for pizza, pizza has been roughly half of my food after 9:00 in the morning. There are plenty of gluten free options for pizza and pasta and all the rest, and I’ll probably try them all. But the loss of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, the loss of a Chick-fil-A sandwich, the loss of Chicago deep dish, not to mention the loss of convenience and community will be felt. Eating will now take forethought. Fast food will be almost impossible. Traveling will mean extra planning and preparation. There’s no way around it: this is going to be a massive change.
The Road Ahead
With so many grocery stores and restaurants now offering gluten free options, it has probably never been easier to cut out gluten from your diet. There are cookbooks and recipes and specialty products galore. It’s not at all odd to go to a restaurant and ask your server for the gluten free options. And yet, the gluten craze has certain drawbacks. Terms like gluten sensitivity, gluten intolerance, gluten allergy, and Celiac can be used interchangeably, when they are not identical. Unlike an allergic reaction, the consumption of gluten can cause long term damage in those with Celiac disease. I’ve been told it’s like falling down and scraping your knee. You can choose to do it every month and hope the knee will heal, but after awhile the knee isn’t going to work right, and it may not get better. Which is why those with Celiac shouldn’t use the butter knife that just scraped a piece of bread or fry their eggs in a pan that just fried up a grilled cheese. Caution is the name of the game.
There is an element of the diet that feels like a new challenge to conquer. I’m excited to eat all the unadorned bacon I can eat in the next fifty years. But I can already tell there will be tough days. It’s the permanence of it that is hard to fathom. I’ll see a commercial or walk by a restaurant or see my kids eating something and think, “Will I really never eat that for the rest of my life?” It’s amazing how much joy we get from eating food, anticipating food, and sharing food. This won’t be easy.
Don’t waste your weakness–if it’s true for cancer, it’s certainly true for Celiac. I don’t know what lessons the Lord is going to teach me, but I’m sure there will be plenty. I will be more sympathetic to those who struggle with chronic illnesses (often invisibly), and unless I have very good reason to think otherwise I will take them at their word that they feel as bad they say they do. I will be more quickly moved to compassion when brothers and sisters bounce from doctor to doctor not knowing what’s wrong. I will be more sensitive to “weak” people with allergies and ailments and other inconveniences (to themselves and to others). And hopefully in my own newfound weakness, I’ll learn to rely on the Lord more and lean on my own gifts less.
So it’s not a big deal and a really big deal at the same time. Over time I imagine it will slide toward the former, but right now it feels more like the latter. I led the church in Communion on Sunday with a rice cracker–weird. It still seems strange that this is my new lot in life. I suppose Celiac should make me long for the wedding supper of the Lamb, but right now it’s making me hungry for monkey bread.
May 8, 2016
Monday Morning Humor
The guitar player from this band should team up with the drummer from this church. (By the way, before everyone cries foul, apparently this was a rehearsal, so we can cut the kid some slack.)
May 5, 2016
Happy Ascension Day
More on Ascension Day in a moment, but first a scene from The Lord of the Rings.
******
The about-to-be-formed Fellowship of the Ring has gathered at Rivendell to weigh their options. Elrond, the ancient leader of the Elves is in conversation with Gandalf, the wise wizard.
Elrond: Gandalf, the Enemy is moving. Sauron’s forces are massing in the East. The Eye is fixed on Rivendell. Now you tell me Saruman has betrayed us. The list of our allies grows thin.
Gandalf: His treachery goes deeper than you know. At Falcraft, Saruman has crossed orcs with goblin men. He is breeding an army in the caverns of Isengard. An army that can move in sunlight, and travel great distances at speed. Saruman is coming for the ring.
Elrond: This evil cannot be concealed by the power of the elves. We do not have the strength to stand against Mordor and Isengard both. The ring cannot stay here. This peril belongs to all Middle-Earth, and they must decide now how to end it. The age of elves is over. My people are leaving these shores. Who will you turn to once we are gone? The dwarves hide in their mountains seeking riches and care not for the troubles of others.
Gandalf: We must place our hope in men.
Elrond: Men! The race of men is weak, failing. The blood of Numenor is all but spent, its pride and dignity forgotten. It is because of men that the Ring survives. I was there, three thousand years ago, when Isildur took the ring. I was there when the strength of men failed.
Pretty cool, uh? And the scene has everything to do with Ascension Day.
*****
Today is Ascension Day in the life of the church, the 40th day of Easter (or 39 days after Easter Sunday). Celebrating Ascension Sunday (this coming Sunday) is not essential (though Bucer and Calvin argued for retaining the “Five Evangelical Feasts” in the church calendar: Christmas, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension, and Pentecost). Christians can disagree on how to remember the key events in Christ’s ministry, or if holy days are appropriate at all. But whether we remember Christ’s birth, death, resurrection, ascension, and pouring out of the Spirit—that’s not an option.
And is there any part of Christ’s life on earth that we think about less than his ascension? Everyone knows about his birth—that’s what Christmas is for. His death, burial, and resurrection are pretty well covered by Holy Week. But who cares about Ascension Day? Most of us know the stories of his miracles. We’re familiar with his sermons and parables. We could talk about the people he healed, the demons he cast out, and the Jewish leaders he ticked off. We are well-versed in what Jesus did on earth. But who thinks about how he left this earth? Or why it matters?
So how does Christ’s ascension benefit us? The Heidelberg Catechism (Question and Answer 49) mentions three ways.
First, Christ’s ascension benefits because we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous (1 John 2:1). Our Lord Jesus in heaven pleading our case, so that whenever Satan accuses us in our conscience or dates to lay a charge against us before the Father, Jesus, Christ, God’s own Son and our flawless advocate, stands ready to defend us and plead His own blood for our sake. Think about that. Christ is our prayer partner in heaven. He intercedes for us before the throne (Rom. 8:34).
Second, Christ’s ascension benefits us because we now have our own flesh in heaven; our lives are hidden with Christ who dwells in glory above (Col. 3:3-4). Christ’s flesh in heaven is a guarantee that ours will be there too someday. Our hope is not an eternity as disembodied souls but real, resurrected, material human bodies in God’s presence forever. Christ’s body is the first one there, but not the last.
Third, Christ’s ascension benefits us because we get the Holy Spirit as a result. As Jesus Himself explained to His disciples, “It is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you” (John 16:7). This was no knock on His own earthly ministry, but Jesus understood that as a man He was limited to one place at a time. But once He ascended to heaven, He could send another Helper (John 14:16) to give us power from on high and to be with us forever.
Think about the implications of Christ’s ascension. The ascension means we are in heaven, right now. Through union with Christ, we truly are not citizens of this world. Colossians tells us to set our minds on things that are above, because our lives are hidden with Christ who dwells there (3:2-3).
The ascension also implies that “asking Jesus into your heart” does not mean inviting a kind friend or comforting therapist into your life. It means—if we are using the non-biblical phrase in a biblical way—that we are expressing our desire to be one with the king of the universe. The Jesus who lives within our hearts is sitting exalted at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.
Most staggering of all, the ascension means that God has granted all rule, power, authority, and dominion (Eph. 1:21-22) to a man! This is why the scene I mentioned at the beginning from Lord of the Rings has everything to with Ascension Day. Yes, men have stumbled badly. Sin has wrecked havoc on the world because Adam reached for the fruit like Isildur grabbed hold of the ring. Elrond was right: the race of men is weak, failing. But Gandalf was more right: we must put our hope in men. One with our flesh reigns in heaven. One from our race will return as King. A man sits on Gondor’s throne, and the race of men will reign once more (2 Tim. 2:12).
The good news of this holy day is that Jesus Christ is exercising the dominion that man was made to have from the very beginning (Gen. 1:28). The ruin of the first Adam will be undone by the reign of the second. Because of Christ’s ascension, we know that the incarnation continues, Christ’s humanity lives on in heaven, the Spirit lives in our hearts, and a flesh-and-blood, divine human being rules the universe.
May 2, 2016
A Missing Ingredient in Good Preaching
What made Billy Graham’s preaching effective? Grant Wacker’s answer to that question–in his very readable biography America’s Pastor–is multi-layered, but it’s his last point that got my attention.
The cumulative effect [of Graham’s preaching] left its mark. Visitors of all stripes, including those who self-consciously rejected Graham’s message, commented on his manifest sincerity. No one doubted that he believed everything he said, absolutely, without mental reservations. That trait recurred in uncounted reports.
And so did the appearance of utter effortlessness, like a professional athlete executing a play. Of course it was not effortless, but he made it look that way. Visitors did not feel that he was unprepared or did not know what to say or did not want to be there. In truth, before crusades began he prepared with days or weeks of physical exercise, study, and prayer. Graham acknowledged the tension of speaking to thousands of people, a tautness undoubtedly intensified by radio microphones and rolling television cameras transmitting every word and gesture to millions more. One crusade chairman said that before Graham went on, he carried “an inner and very finely controlled tension . . .a man under immense strain.” Yet when he entered the pulpit, his biographer William Martin aptly said, “fear departed and fire roared.”
One more ingredient, rarely noted but crucial, was simply old-fashioned enjoyment. Clearly the evangelist loved his work. He was comfortable in his own skin. How could he not be?
I wonder, brother preacher, if your people know that you enjoy your work? Maybe they know exactly what you feel about preaching; namely, that you are exhausted and the whole thing has become a relentless chore to you. Every pastor goes through Sundays and seasons where the burden seems heavy and the yoke anything but light. I know what it’s like to step into the pulpit not planning for a home run or a double off the wall, but just hoping that I might leg out an infield single. And yet, I hope there is still joy in the labor. And I hope my people can see it.
Does your church know that you are glad to be their pastor? Can they sense you like what you do? Are they aware (which probably comes through in being blissfully unaware of anything else) that you are comfortable being who you are? If you find old-fashioned enjoyment in preaching, you could still be a bad preacher–unfaithful, unbiblical, and all the rest. But without a genuine joy–at least more often than not–in the proclamation of God’s word, it will be hard to be a very good preacher over the long haul.
Could it be that simply being happy in being a pastor is one of the missing ingredients in your preaching ministry and in your pastoral work?
May 1, 2016
April 28, 2016
What I Have Learned About Pastoral Care By Going to the Doctor
In the past twelve months I’ve had more doctor’s appointments than in the rest of my life combined. Nothing life threatening, just lots of tests and follow ups and rabbit trails. It’s been hard, and good for me, to be on the other side of receiving care. As a pastor I’m used to people coming to me with the problems. I’ve not been the one making appointments to tell other people about my problems.
Visiting umpteen doctors–some wonderfully compassionate, and some, well, not so much–has helped me see from the other side of the table what it looks like (and doesn’t look like) to care for hurting people. Here are six simple lessons I’ve been reminded of in the past year.
1. Ask questions. The doctor walks in and says, “So, what’s been going on?” You try to keep things short and summarize your confusing symptoms into three minutes. Now what? In many cases, the doctor would glance over some charts, take a peak at some notes, and then move on to a diagnosis. Not helpful. Just like it’s not helpful when people want to talk to us about their problems and we don’t bother to really listen. Whenever I go to the doctor, for me or with someone else, I’m always encouraged when he asks a lot of questions. Hear me out. Be interested in my story, or at least pretend that you are. Try to get to the bottom of things. Keep poking and prodding. It’s always discouraging when someone already knows what’s wrong with you before they stop to hear from you.
2. Don’t be rushed. This reminder follows naturally from the first. It’s usually obvious when a doctor or a pastor or a friend is all too ready to be done with the conversation. They look at their phone. They give unenthusiastic verbal cues. They yawn. I understand we are all busy. I don’t like people wasting my time, and I don’t like wasting other’s time. But if you are in any kind of helping profession–or if you just want to be a good spouse, parent, of roommate–people need to know they have your undivided attention. No one wants to feel like an item on the to do list.
3. Give the person the benefit of the doubt. When you deal with people all the time, you learn to be a little skeptical. You’ve seen fakes. You’ve seen people just hungry for attention. You’ve seen people who always feel like the sky is falling. It’s natural that pastors or doctors or social workers would grow accustomed to questioning the stories they receive. And yet, even if this represents hard earned wisdom in some instances, I think our first instinct must be to trust what people are saying. As I tried to explain some very nonspecific symptoms to my doctors, it was discouraging when some acted as if I probably didn’t know what I was talking about. After awhile I would preface my remarks by saying, “I don’t like going to doctors. I’m not a hypochondriac. I am really feeling what I’m telling you I’m feeling.” Maybe we will have reason to doubt their sense of things over time, but as a starting place I want to think that people are not making things up or trying to deceive me.
4. You don’t have to fix it. I never once went to the doctor expecting that he or she would listen to me for 30 minutes and then prescribe a pill that would take care of everything. I wasn’t looking for a silver bullet. I was, however, eager for someone to patiently listen and then try his best to think of any ways things could get a little better. I know as a pastor I’ve too often put a lot of pressure on myself to solve whatever is ailing someone. Even as the person is sharing her hurts and struggles with me, I’m thinking, “I need something really wise to say when she gets done talking. I need a great insight or the perfect Bible verse.” I’ve felt like I needed to fix something. But most spiritual problems, like most physical problems, have a long, complex history which don’t allow for easy solutions. My job is to point to God, not to be God.
5. Follow through. I can’t tell you how encouraging it was when a doctor or nurse would respond to my email, return my phone call right away, or get back with a test result when they said they would. Conversely, it is hard to describe the level of frustration when the opposite occurs. We all make mistakes. We all drop the ball. I’m not looking for perfection and neither are my parishoners. But consistent follow through makes all the difference. Especially when working with scared, hurting, anxious people, do what you say you are going to do. Following through with small promises builds trust and demonstrates care.
6. Express compassion. When you have no idea what else to do, don’t underestimate the power of simply telling people, “I’m sorry.” Or, “that sounds awful.” Or, “I wish there was more I could do to help.” These little expressions of compassion mean much more to hurting people then they will let on. At times even a sympathetic look or heartfelt sigh from the doctor proved to be good medicine. If you want people to know you care, show it in your face and speak it with your mouth.
April 26, 2016
What Does It Mean for an Overseer to Be “Above Reproach” and “Well Thought of By Outsiders”?
According to 1 Timothy 3:2 an overseer (whom I take to be the same as an elder or pastor) must be “above reproach” (cf. Titus 1:6, 7). Along the same lines, verse 7 says “he must be well thought of by outsiders.” What do these two requirements mean?
Not This
Let’s start with what the requirements cannot mean. Surely, Paul is not saying that a man who would serve as an elder or pastor must be without any enemies or any accusations, for elsewhere in his correspondence to Timothy, Paul intimates that many have opposed him, deserted him, and been ashamed of him (2 Tim. 1:8, 15, 16; 4:10, 14-16). Moreover, we know from Paul’s other letters he was accused of being everything from fickle and foolish, to overly weak and overly harsh (2 Cor. 1:12-23; 10:1-10). Likewise, in Acts, Paul is often derided as a rabble-rouser, a violator of the Torah, and an enemy of the law of Moses (e.g., Acts 21:27-36). Paul was certainly not above reproach in the eyes of his opponents, neither did he have a good reputation with all outsiders.
We see this same dynamic even more plainly with Jesus. If anyone could be labeled “controversial” or “embattled” or “haunted by serious allegation” or “surrounded by scandal,” it was Christ. He was accused of being a glutton and a drunkard (Luke 7:34), a false prophet (Luke 7:39), a Sabbath breaker (Luke 6:2, 7), a friend of sinners (Luke 7:34), insane (Mark 3:21), demon-possessed (John 10:19-20, 31-33), and a blasphemer (Matt. 26:57-67). He died as a convicted criminal with hardly a public friend in the world. He was, as Rich Mullins put it, “a man of no reputation.”
So unless we want to exclude Paul and Jesus from serving as an overseer in the church, we must conclude that being above reproach and being well thought of by outsiders must mean something other than, “everyone likes this guy; he has no enemies and no accusations against him.” Not only is this standard untenable for almost anyone who has a public profile in today’s social media world, it’s not biblically consistent. The qualifications in 1 Timothy and Titus must mean something else.
But That
Even if Paul did not mean to disqualify himself (or Jesus!) from ministry, he must have had someone or something in mind.
It’s telling that Paul begins both lists—the one to Timothy and the one to Titus—with the requirement that an elder be above reproach (1 Tim. 3:2; Titus 1:6). This characteristic serves as a general heading for the entire list of qualifications. In other words, a man is “above reproach” when he is known to be a man who is faithful to his wife, sober minded, self-controlled, a good manager of his home, gentle, respectable, and so on. Since Paul is writing to pastors or local churches, it stands to reason that the arbiters of whether an overseer is “above reproach” are those on the local level who are close enough to attest (or contest) a man’s character. The gist: your elders and pastors should be examples of godly graces and Christian maturity.
If the requirement to be “above reproach” focuses on the discernment of the local believers, the qualification to “be well thought of by outsiders” concerns the wider non-believing community. Again, knowing what we do about Jesus’ public ministry, the requirement must not be pressed to mean that the elder must be universally beloved by the unregenerate world. Rather, the issue for us, as it was for Ephesus, is that “the leadership of the church should bring no unnecessary disrepute upon the church through improper and immoral actions” (Mounce, Pastoral Epistles, 183).
Let me give an example. I’ve mentioned on this blog before that my wife and I try to be involved in our kids’ (public) schools. We’ve served on committees, raked the field at baseball games, kept times at track meets, and volunteered in a number of small ways. On top of this, I go to the same gym several times a week and frequent almost all the same restaurants, striking up conversations whenever I can. All of this means I manage to be around a lot of “outsiders.” If they think my blog is whack, my views are repulsive, and they believe all kinds of nasty things about me (which I hope they don’t, and I think they don’t), that would not mean I have fallen foul of 1 Timothy 3:7. If, however, most of the outsiders who know me from school or from the restaurant or from the pool know me to be rude, untrustworthy, undependable, and hypocritical, then my church should be take notice. The key, I think, is that even if a pastor cannot have a good reputation with outsiders everywhere (probably impossible for anyone with more than a handful of Twitter followers), he should be respected (even begrudgingly) by the outsiders who see him up close.
In short, the idea behind “above reproach” and “well thought of” is largely the same: the elder-pastor-overseer must live a life of Christlike character and virtue that is not easily refuted by those who know him best. The closer you look, the better the mature Christian appears.
