Jared C. Wilson's Blog, page 8

How to Kill a Church

Want to fatten a church for slaughter? The steps are below.

This is a true story.

1. Launch a “church for people who don’t like the church” with a dynamic leader with big ideas and self-help teaching.

2. Care less about biblical depth, discipleship, and leadership character than inspirational messages, excitement, and creativity. Make sure the success is built around the leader’s “brand” so that he and the church are largely synonymous.

3. See the place attract large crowds.

4. See the success go to the leader’s head. Make excuses and accommodations as his short temper, control issues, and lack of accountability begin to take their toll. Accept the loss of numerous quality leaders as the collateral damage necessary to win the attendance war in your city’s ministry marketplace.

5. Continue staking everything on a “killer weekend experience” to the expense of discipleship, community, and mission. Marginalize (or get rid of) anyone who does not get the vision.

6. Watch the leader eventually crash and burn.

7. As the church hemorrhages attendees who were there for “the brand,” fail to learn your lesson and hire a similarly dynamic leader to replace the one who’s fallen. (Make sure he’s at least nice.)

8. Make sure only yes-men ascend to leadership as the new leader tries to rebuild a better version of what crashed the first time.

9. Watch as the new leader drifts further and further away from biblical teaching and more into the world of quasi-spiritual wanderings. Make sure anyone who sees red flags in occasional New Age-type teaching and embrace of heterodox spiritualities can’t do anything about it. When those people leave, don’t care.

10. Watch as liberal theology takes root and slowly drives more and more people out the door. As money dwindles, and staff along with it, take no steps to correct course. Go “all in.”

11. Follow the “new kind of Christianity” all the way to barely-Christianity, and close the doors on what used to be a thriving megachurch.

12. Wonder what went wrong.

This isn’t the only way to kill a church. Some churches dwindle and die through no fault of the leaders. But if you want to kill a church, this is a time-tested way to do it.

Join My Spring Ministry Coaching Cohort

I’m now accepting applications for my Spring ministry coaching cohort with Tailored Coach. If you’re interested in developing greater gospel-centrality in your ministry — if you’re in your first five years at your church or leading a revitalization/transition work, in particular — this could be a great opportunity to learn from other men in the trenches and get some help “dialing in” on some key issues.

6 months of group meetings featuring short applicational lectures with Q&A via Zoom

Cohort access 24/7 via private Slack group

Individualized help with pastoral, practical, or personal matters.

Here are some subjects I’ve helped pastors with in the last two seasons of the cohort:

– Developing both content and delivery with preaching.

– Getting a grasp on gospel-centered philosophy for ministry.

– Transitioning from attractional to gospel-centered paradigm.

– Troubleshooting small groups, discipleship process, membership development.

– Leadership development.

– Navigating staff issues or areas of conflict in the church.

– Family/work balance.

– Personal disciplines and devotional life.

– Marriage and family issues.

– and more

More details, including schedule and application access at my page at Tailored Coach.

I’m especially interested in helping guys in their first decade of ministry, particularly with issues of finding identity in Christ and how to pastor from that, as well as relational dynamics in ministry and leadership. Space of course is limited, and we start Feb. 7, so if you or someone you know is interested, apply soon!

Pastoral Residency at Liberty Baptist Now Open to Applicants

We are about to wrap up our first residency in the Pastoral Training Center at Liberty Baptist Church, and applications for the 2019-2021 residency are now open!

If you are a current or prospective student at Midwestern Seminary, this would be an ideal complement to your studies, and we do hope you’ll consider applying. Perhaps this opportunity can be part of your decision in choosing Midwestern for your seminary education. Our aim is certainly not to try replicating the seminary experience but instead to provide the experiential context and personal discipleship/coaching that will support and buttress your educational training. If you’re not a seminary student but are following a call to vocational ministry, PTC may still be for you, and we can customize your training to offset some of the deficiencies formal education would normally fill. Led by me, the residency consists of study, group meetings, one-on-one discipleship, and opportunities for service at Liberty and beyond in a variety of hands-on roles.

Interested? The first program starts this September and the deadline to apply is March 30. Applicants must be 18 years of age and in pursuit of a call to vocational ministry. Space is limited to maximize the effectiveness for everyone involved, so don’t delay in applying.

Learn more about The Pastoral Training Center and apply here

When the Soul Feels Its Worth

In the early 1970s, cosmetics powerhouse L’Oreal tapped into the surging feminist movement by pitching their high-quality makeup under the guise of empowerment and gender equality. They even acknowledged the typically higher price of L’Oreal products, but, as their first spokesperson said in a now-iconic television ad, “I don’t mind paying a higher price. Because I’m worth it.”

“Because I’m worth it.” This—and its second-person variation, “Because you’re worth it”—became L’Oreal’s slogan for years after, enduring to this day. Is this what women’s equality with men is worth?—paying more for cosmetics, which, let’s be honest, actually has more to do with looking attractive in a male-dominated world than female empowerment?

Women certainly are worth it. But “it” has to be more than budget-stretching shampoo and mascara. What a pittance that is compared to the sheer worth of any human soul.

The currency of our day is human worth, sometimes metaphorically in the consumerist mirages we treat like paradise and, sadly, sometimes literally in the depraved markets of pornography, prostitution, and human trafficking. Prostitution, they say, is the oldest profession in the world. I don’t think they just mean vocationally. Since that snake held out those sweet promises to that first woman, he was in a way saying, “This is what you’re worth.” And she sold her soul. And so did her man. Selling our souls short is the oldest profession.

But there is something older. Two words about us that pre-date our spiritual prostituting of our selves for illusions of fulfillment.

First, there was the divine word: “It is good.” God looked out over his creation, with man and woman as its crown, and saw that it was good “indeed” (Gen. 1:31). But there was a point where it wasn’t quite good enough. Do you remember? It was the time between the creation of man and the creation of woman. God made man, saw that he was alone, and decided that wasn’t good (Gen. 2:18).

And this is where that second word, older than the oldest profession, comes in. This is the oldest “profession,” in fact, the oldest human utterance, a profession not in the sense of vocation but in the sense of evocation.

And the man said:

‘This one, at last, is bone of my bone

and flesh of my flesh;

this one will be called “woman,”

for she was taken from man.’

(Gen. 2:23)

You can likely see from the formatting in your Bible that this is Hebrew poetry. This means that the first human words recorded spoken were actually sung. The oldest human words in recorded history were a love song.

“At last.” You can practically hear Etta James’s soulful voice sumptuously spilling over the text. “At laaaaast . . .”

“Bone of my bone. Flesh of my flesh.” God ordained marriage then as the only human relationship that can be rightly described as “one flesh.” Which is why, forever after, every marriage has been perfectly fulfilling.

Okay, sorry, I know I lost you there.

And it’s because we lost us somewhere, way back there, shortly after this first love song, after this first union before reunion was ever a thing, way back in that garden when the first Jerry Maguire declared to the first Dorothy Boyd in that first living room, “You complete me.”

Our hearts rose. Our eyes misted. Why? Because we all know the power of “You complete me.” We suspect we’re worth it. We hear it echoing in the dim memories of the garden we all carry around in our souls. But in the bones and flesh of our reality in exile, after the profession changed, we know that, after all, it’s just a movie.

But what if it isn’t?

What if every romantic movie, every romantic song, every insipid Hallmark Christmas show and every flimsy Hallmark Valentine’s card, every stupid TV commercial that leverages romance and human fulfillment to sell makeup and blue jeans and bubble gum—even every lustful glance or scroll or click—is not because love isn’t out there, but because somewhere it is? As C. S. Lewis has said, “If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

And what if, despite our failings and flaws, despite nearly everything we see with our longing eyes and know with our tired minds or even feel with our aching bodies, that other world was real and coming quickly? What if despite our fears it’s not true and despite our foolish settling for rom-com fairy tales, we actually are worth it? Just maybe not in the way the sellers of makeup think.

This is why, I believe, Christmas strikes so many of us as warming and cheering and magical and at the exact same time hollow and superficial and, for some reason we can’t quite put our finger on, not quite satisfying. We enjoy getting baby Jesus out of his box in the attic and putting him in his place of honor in the family room, but somewhere between December 25 and December 31, right back into the darkness he goes, next to the dismantled toddler bed and the extra furnace filters. We know it’s Jesus who completes us. And we know plastic Jesus will not do. We want to be known. We want to be held. We want to look into his eyes and be seen.

So until the day he returns, we long. We pine. In sin and error, sure. But also in just plain ol’ lovelorn loneliness. All the cosmetics—commercial or religious (and is there even a difference any more?)—can’t do the trick. They promise us to match our worth, but they can’t deliver.

But one day, when he appears—a thrill of hope. The weary world rejoices. At last, the soul will feel its worth.

Do not settle for less than union with the One who made you. Today may feel empty. But yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

Love Actuarially

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

— 1 Corinthians 13:7

Love is fulfillment by way of emptiness. It would not seem to work that way. This is why nearly every worldly notion of love—and even some churchy notions of love—try to get at the fulfillment by way of filling. We want our eyes filled with sex, our ears filled with platitudes, our bellies filled with morsels, our minds filled with daydreams.

And then there is the way of Jesus. The Lord of the Universe who, not desiring to exploit his deity, empties himself. Obeys even in the personal famine of the desert. Commits even in the darkness of the garden. Serves even in his final hours. Even washes the feet of those who, if they knew better, should be hugging his neck! And he loves all the way to the cross. He loves all the way from his heart to the splattered ground beneath his pierced feet.

You and I? We would be running the numbers way back. We would see how big the mountain was, how insurmountable the task promised to be. We would compare the pain of love against the relative worthiness of the ones to be loved and think, This is not a favorable scenario. The odds are stacked against us. To love anyone that much hardly seems worth it. I mean, we’d inconvenience ourselves a little, maybe a lot for someone who really deserves it. But die to ourselves? Take up our cross? The risks outweigh the benefits. That kind of love is a liability. Or so it seems to the mind set on self-fulfillment, on the screenplayed romance of “you complete me”-ology.

For the joy that was set before him, he endured the cross, despising its shame (Heb. 12:2). True love isn’t “running the numbers” love, but “counting the cost” love.

Christian, the Lord knows you are not an asset to the organization. He knows what a tangled-up knot of anxiety, incompetence, and faithlessness you are. He knows exactly what a big fat sinner you are. He knew exactly what he was getting into. Eyes wide open, and arms too, he comes to embrace you. He’s not playing the angles, calculating the risks, hedging his bets. He emptied out to go “all in” on you.

That’s what love looks like. Love believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Anything less is less than love. Any grace meted out based on one’s worthiness of it is not grace at all (Rom. 11:6). Christ does not love actuarially. He actually loves. Believe it.

My Top Books of 2018

The best books I read this year. (Keep in mind that not all of these were published in 2018 —they were just the best books I read in 2018.)

In ascending order:

Some Honorable Mentions:

Some Pastors and Teachers by Sinclair Ferguson, The Monster of Florence by Douglas Preston, Harry Potter books 1 and 2, Retrieving Eternal Generation edited by Fred Sanders, Gilead by Marilyn Robinson, Can We Trust the Gospels? by Peter Williams, The Life and Diary of David Brainerd, On Reading Well by Karen Swallow Prior, Justification by James Buchanan, and So We Read On: How the Great Gatsby Came to Be and Why It Endures by Maureen Corrigan

10. Movie Nights with the Reagans: A Memoir by Mark Weinberg

From one of Reagan’s communications officers and a close friend of both President and Mrs. Reagan, this book uses different movies screened weekly by the President during his tenure—mostly at Camp David but also at the White House—as launching points to coverage of the presidency and also private moments with the Reagan family. As a child of the Reagan era weened on many of the ’80s films covered—Back to the Future, Red Dawn, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Ghostbusters, and so on—I really liked the pop culture lens. My favorite chapters were on E.T., mainly because Steinberg spends a fair amount of time sensitively outlining the significance of that film, and on Rocky IV, which apparently had some internal and informal influence on Cold War relations. The book also covers some movies Reagan himself starred in (Bedtime for Bonzo, Knute Rockne: All American), including the one where he and Mrs. Reagan (then Nancy Davis) played loved interests—Hellcats of the Navy. The chapters I enjoyed the most had clear connections between the movie and the Reagans’ reactions, as well as Steinberg’s personal friendship with both. The ones I liked least, the movies covered felt more like a pretense to talk about things unconnected. I especially appreciated, surprisingly so, the insider’s perspective on the private lives of the Reagans and their personalities. A good read for fans of either the Reagan presidency or ’80s films (as cultural artifacts)—or both.

9. Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?: Larry Norman and the Perils of Christian Rock by Gregory Thornbury

A fantastic inquiry into a complex figure. Larry Norman is perhaps the father of “Christian rock,” but he’s a lot more than that. He is really evangelicalism’s Bob Dylan—rabblerouser poet, honorary questioner of traditionalism while still a traditionalist—but unlike Dylan, he’s woefully unknown to contemporary audiences. As a Gen-Xer who came to appreciate Norman’s work after his prime but during the prime of most of his first-generation mentees (77’s/Mike Roe, Daniel Amos, Lost Dogs, and so on), I ate it up. Read it in nearly one sitting.

8. Believe Me: The Evangelical Road to Donald Trump by John Fea

I’ve struggled to understand for three years now the (white) evangelical turnabout—or apparent turnabout, I suppose—on matters of character, ethics, and witness in relation to the overwhelming and full-throated support by so many for now-President Donald Trump. As a child of the ’80s I recall how adamantly it was ground into us that “character matters,” that principle trumps party (pardon the pun). Well, Fea’s book is an accessible, thoughtful, and deft analysis of the deep, deep roots of nationalism, racism, and misunderstandings both exegetical and also historical that have plagued American evangelicalism from the beginning. If you have trouble making sense of how we got here, this book—mostly an American history lesson from a solid (conservative) scholar and partly a journalistic expose of the Trump campaign to election success—will help. As it comes from an evangelical, it’s an insider’s perspective on why so many of us insiders feel like outsiders at the moment. Not exhaustive; not airtight. But a good pointer in the right directions for diagnosis. (It is to some extent also a shorter and more specific version of what one might find in the recent book on The Evangelicals from Frances Fitzgerald.) Recommended, although know that Fea is not afraid to criticize (without rancor) some figures close to home.

7. God’s Forever Family: The Jesus People Movement in America by Larry Eskridge

Superb. Meticulously researched, exhaustively reported, and deeply insightful. Also incredibly and increasingly relevant to understanding modern evangelical history. Perhaps not for the reader with a casual interest in the Jesus People Movement—it is long and stuffed with anecdotal minutiae—the reader with real interest will probably find no better treatment of the subject. I loved it.

6. Evangelical History in Australia: Spirit, Word, and World by Stuart Piggin

Piggin’s depth of research provides simultaneously a broad(ish) overview of evangelical history in Australia yet still proves surprisingly and pleasingly thorough. I particularly enjoyed Piggin’s recounting of the early planting of Christian movements in the country and the later crusades of Billy Graham and their effect.

5. Apologetics at the Cross: An Introduction for Christian Witness by Joshua Chatraw and Mark Allen

I was struck by how comprehensive and yet accessible this new reference work on apologetics proves to be. This book is a masterful synthesis of where the church and world have been in worldview and mission and a reliable map for evangelistically navigating our secular age. Not your average reference book; sure to be a trusted and well-consulted resource for years to come.

4. Peace Like a River by Leif Enger

Believe the hype, because it’s not hype. All the praise is this book’s (and its author’s) marvelous due. Ostensibly about a mid-20th century Midwestern family’s search for a fugitive son, Enger’s novel is a sublime and patient meditation on family, faith, and justice. Sterling prose, poetic pacing, and rife with spiritual meaning. Really quite an astounding book.

3. Black Preacher to White America: The Collected Writings of Lemuel Haynes, 1774-1833 by Lemuel Haynes

I first became interested in Haynes’s historical and theological impact while ministering in Vermont, near where Haynes pastored (Rutland, Vermont, and also Granville, New York). I have been trying to track down as much on him as I can ever since. This particular volume is incredibly valuable—and incredibly rare. I had to interlibrary loan the version I read, because copies are hard to find and expensive to buy. I do hope somebody will publish a new edition of Haynes’s sermons at some point. They are in the public domain, so far as I know. This volume of his collected writings is a great window into history and a treasure trove of doctrinal wisdom preached pastorally and prophetically. And speaking personally, a few selections in this volume ministered quite profoundly to my soul.

2. Dying Thoughts by Richard Baxter

Few are better at soul-surgery and gospel application to the wounds than Baxter. This book, a meditation on his own fears and doubts and a theological appraisal of them, was a valuable devotional read for me this year, even as I finished my slow, two-year re-read of Augustine’s Confessions. A nice complement.

1. Communion with the Triune God by John Owen

Not for the faint of heart, but also very much for the faint of heart. I read this classic work of devotional theology over numerous lunch breaks spanning a couple of months. I especially profited from the latter part focusing on the Holy Spirit.

—

Previously:

My Top Books of 2017

My Top Books of 2016

Semper Reformanda Doesn’t Mean ‘Always Morphing’

And now, O sons, listen to me, and do not depart from the words of my mouth.

— Proverbs 5:7

As we cling doggedly to the theology our fathers fought for and passed down to us in good faith, the doctrinal dilettantes of the day nag, “What ever happened to semper reformanda?” and posit evolving boundaries and flexible orthodoxy, working on the assumption that our position in history gives us a better understanding of what the Bible really says.

The way we play with the shape of evangelical theology today arises from straight-up chronological snobbery.

Once upon a time in The New York Times I found this historical item related to the 2011 tsunami and devastation in Japan:

The stone tablet has stood on this forested hillside since before they were born, but the villagers have faithfully obeyed the stark warning carved on its weathered face: “Do not build your homes below this point!”

Residents say this injunction from their ancestors kept their tiny village of 11 households safely out of reach of the deadly tsunami last month that wiped out hundreds of miles of Japanese coast and rose to record heights near here. The waves stopped just 300 feet below the stone.

“They knew the horrors of tsunamis, so they erected that stone to warn us,” said Tamishige Kimura, 64, the village leader of Aneyoshi.

Hundreds of so-called tsunami stones, some more than six centuries old, dot the coast of Japan, silent testimony to the past destruction that these lethal waves have frequented upon this earthquake-prone nation. But modern Japan, confident that advanced technology and higher seawalls would protect vulnerable areas, came to forget or ignore these ancient warnings, dooming it to repeat bitter experiences when the recent tsunami struck.

Their ancestors knew what they were talking about. They had learned the hard way. And they erected markers: Don’t build past this point. But we post-postmoderns are arrogant. We know better. We are smarter, more enlightened. And we have to accommodate more and more people. So we ignore the markers. We want to grow!

On this Reformation Day, we must be reminded again that semper reformanda does not mean “always morphing.” It does not mean that the faith is ever changing, progressing into something better. In many respects, to be always reforming is to be always returning to the gospel. It is to be continually sloughing off the baggage of doctrinal add-ons and distractions, cutting out the ever-rising innovations, theological and otherwise. To be always reforming is to keep going back to the ancient markers in the face of constant temptation and taunting from those who’d have us play with heterodoxy ever-newly. Let us keep contending, keep trusting, keep returning.

Follow the pattern of the sound words that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. By the Holy Spirit who dwells within us, guard the good deposit entrusted to you.

— 2 Timothy 1:13-14

Peter, Paul, and Race

Last week on Twitter I made the claim that Paul confronted Peter (as recounted in Galatians 2:11ff.) out of a concern for racial justice as an entailment of the gospel. The nuclear fallout was nearly immediate. Over the ensuing 24 hours, I had my exegetical aptitude, moral reasoning, and even my employment and masculinity questioned in a good old-fashioned social media dog pile. It was, to say the least . . . interesting.

So where do I get off? How can I make that claim? Am I an idiot?

Well, yes. But I don’t think for this reason specifically.

I do have to give credit to my friend Nate Pickowicz, because as far as I could tell, he was the only person to genuinely ask me, “Where did you get this?” Nate and I do not see eye to eye on the issue of “social justice,” but he’s a good brother, a good pastor, and a good-hearted inquisitor. I suspect we agree on more than either of us probably realize, but for now we break bread over a shared love for Jesus (and the New England Patriots), and I found his ability to ask for clarification refreshing, even if rare.

So here is my effort to explain what, in my estimation, actually would not have been seen as a controversial point two years ago. But that was before no evangelical—or really Reformed evangelical—could talk about race without immediately being put on the defensive. What I mean is, I was actually fairly shocked by the response. No, not the insults and potshots—that’s old hat in Christian social media land, sadly—but by the idea that what Paul is confronting Peter about “has nothing to do with race,” as many people informed me.

Let me begin by explaining what I meant:

The holy God has made all men equal. We are to show no privileged partiality for any reason, including social or cultural or racial. (Yes, I know there’s “only one race,” but in today’s parlance I am assuming most people know what is meant by the differentiation between “races.”) Thus, while the immediate circumstances of Peter’s hypocrisy involve upholding the Jewish ceremonial laws in leverage against Gentile believers, the implications are felt between Jew and non-Jew in the moment as playing favorites. This, as Paul says, is “not in step with the truth of the gospel,” because the gospel announces free grace. We are justified by grace alone received through faith alone, and the law cannot help us in that regard except to level the playing field of our universal neediness for salvation in Christ.

In sum:

Showing partiality is a violation of the gospel because we are justified by faith, not works, and in the gospel, God has made one new man out of the two (Eph. 2:15).

This, I don’t think, has ever been a controversial point among Reformed folk, and indeed many of those in the “anti-social justice warrior” camp have been saying the same thing for a long time, positing SJW’s as “reverse racists.” So why the freakout? I assume because of the phrase “racial justice,” which in the minds of many has become a junk drawer where only twist-ties and expired Domino’s coupons can be found, but never anything useful like batteries or super-glue.

But that is all I meant (and ever really mean) by “racial justice”—the treating of all persons, including historically or contemporarily marginalized or underprivileged people groups, as equals as a reflection of the just God who has made all persons equally in his image.

Exegesis, please.

Now, if you’re tracking with me there, you will want to know where I get that from Galatians 2. (If you’re not tracking with me on the whole equality thing and “no partiality” thing, you need another blog post entirely, and I’m not up to writing it.) Here is the passage in question:

But when Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood condemned. For before certain men came from James, he was eating with the Gentiles; but when they came he drew back and separated himself, fearing the circumcision party. And the rest of the Jews acted hypocritically along with him, so that even Barnabas was led astray by their hypocrisy. But when I saw that their conduct was not in step with the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas before them all, “If you, though a Jew, live like a Gentile and not like a Jew, how can you force the Gentiles to live like Jews?” (vv.11-14)

The immediate theological circumstance/context is about food laws (and circumcision), to be sure. This is in large part Paul’s thrust in the entire letter, rebuking the Judaizer heresy and stumping for the soteriological foundation of sola fide. But the idea that there is no ethnic component to the Jew/non-Jew dynamic is, frankly, strange. And I don’t think I’m the innovator in noting it as a serious matter at stake in Peter’s sin, but rather it is those who deny it has any bearing at all who are advancing something new.

Paul brings up Peter’s separating himself from Gentiles (to play favorites) and forcing Gentiles to follow Jewish customs (by implication) to rebuke Peter’s circumstantial legalism, which is manifested in the sin of cultural partiality. In v.15 he uses the phrases “Jews by birth” and “sinful Gentiles” to bring up not just an apparent difference in theology but also an alleged difference in biology. Jews = faithful, Gentiles = sinful. That’s the assumed dynamic many Jewish believers subscribe to, which Paul is tweaking by, in vv.16-17, going on to say that even Jews are saved not by their customs but by their Christ. It is faith that justifies, not religion. This makes Jew and Gentile equal in both their sin and in their Savior.

To deny that the Jew/Gentile dynamic has nothing to do with racial issues is to overlook a whole lot of biblical history, including more recently to this context the four Gospels, where racial tensions are an undercurrent throughout Jesus’s ministry and, by extension, the apostles’. Think of how ethnic Jews considered those “half-breed” Samaritans. Or just the general uncleanliness of any non-Jew. That was not purely about religious observance; it bled then, as it does now, into areas of ethnic vainglory. (I mean, it’s not like the only time and place in history racial superiority existed was during the days of the antebellum American South.)

Paul’s addressing of this point is perhaps more direct in Romans 9, where he is distinguishing carefully between ethnic Israel and spiritual Israel, the children of physical descent and “the children of the promise,” but it’s a serious component of both Christian mission in the days of the early church and apostolic teaching on unity in Christ. The Jew/Gentile unity is a tension point with all the weight of Isaiah’s prophetic word on Israel as a light to the nations, and all the eschatological vision of Revelation 5:9 at stake.

Anybody else see this?

Am I the first guy to see this? According to some of my exegetical helpmeets on Twitter, yes. But, actually, no. John Piper preached an entire sermon on racial harmony from Galatians 2:11-16. That was back in 2006, before race became as taboo a subject as it is today, and well before many of my critics considered Piper a heretic. I’m not too concerned about Piper’s orthodoxy, and he may very well be wrong to get that from this, but at least I’m in good company. More recently (2015), Southern Seminary’s Jarvis Williams cited Galatians 2:11ff. on the issue of race in the church for 9Marks. (See also Williams’s entry in the compilation Removing the Stain of Racism from the Southern Baptist Convention, which includes further treatment of the passage.) New Orleans Baptist Seminary’s DeAron Washington made the direct connection, as well. Timothy Cho makes the connection between Galatians 2 and ethnic pride, as well, writing at Core Christianity:

In Galatians 2, the Apostle Paul publicly rebukes the Apostle Peter for drawing back from fellowship with the Gentiles out of fear of a Jewish Christian faction that believed that Gentiles needed to become Jewish before they could be fully included in the church. This “circumcision party” had made ethnic and racial identification an additional condition for Gentiles to become children of God.

I know, I know—as the argument will go, these are all “social justice warriors” not to be trusted. But modern examples are numerous, from various sources of varying theological stripes and emphases. (Just Google “Galatians 2:11 and race” and see for yourself.)

Here’s noted Marxist* John MacArthur on this passage, by the way: “So what you had was the Jews holding to their own dietary laws and a kind of developing racism toward Gentiles. We saw the racism even in the day of Jonah, where he didn’t want to see Gentiles repent. Jews resented, hated Gentiles; and they kept separate.”

In one important critique of the New Perspective on Paul, Tom Schreiner nevertheless notes (pdf), “The new perspective has reminded us of a truth that could be easily forgotten. Jews and Gentiles are one in Christ. Ethno-centricism, racism, and exclusivism are contrary to the gospel.” This would be an odd thing for a stalwart of contemporary Reformed theology to say if Pauline justification had no entailments for ethnic pride or race.

What about commentaries?

I was told no reputable commentaries touched on this dynamic. Well, not quite. Barclay depicts the ethnic tension as background for the passage this way:

The trouble was by no means at an end. Part of the life of the early Church was a common meal which they called the Agape (Greek #26) or Love Feast. At this feast the whole congregation came together to enjoy a common meal provided by a pooling of whatever resources they had. For many of the slaves it must have been the only decent meal they had all week; and in a very special way it marked the togetherness of the Christians.

That seems, on the face of it, a lovely thing. But we must remember the rigid exclusiveness of the narrower Jew. He regarded his race as the Chosen People in such a way as involved the rejection of all others. “The Lord is merciful and gracious” (Psalms 2:5). “But he is only gracious to Israelites; other nations he will terrify.” “The nations are as stubble or straw which shall be burned, or as chaff scattered to the wind.” “If a man repents God accepts him, but that applies only to Israel and no other nation.” “Love all but hate the heretics.” This exclusiveness entered into daily life. A strict Jew was forbidden even to do business with a Gentile; he must not go on a journey with a Gentile; he must neither give hospitality to, nor accept hospitality from, a Gentile.

Schreiner in a footnote in his commentary appears to critique Scot McKnight’s reading of racism into Galatians 2, but it seems clear to me that he’s correcting the fact that that’s all McKnight sees. He has eschewed the (Reformed reading of the) doctrine of justification by faith—which is undoubtedly the point—in favor of the New Perspective on Paul in seeing the situation solely about ethnic inclusion. But you don’t have to deny racial implications to affirm the Reformed reading, and you don’t have to deny a Reformed reading to affirm a racial implication, as these other examples have shown. This is born out in the previously cited Schreiner piece, when he notes:

The new perspective has actually, whether or not one agrees with its interpretation of works of law, reminded us of something very important here. The division between Jews and Gentiles, and the inclusion of the Gentiles was a very important theme for Paul. It is evident from reading Galatians, Romans, and Ephesians (which I take to be Pauline) that the inclusion of the Gentiles into the one people of God through Christ was a major issue for Paul. A defense of the old perspective does not lead to the conclusion that we can’t learn anything from the new perspective.

To be clear, Schreiner is not saying “racial reconciliation” is the prevailing theme of Paul or of Paul’s concern in Galatians, only that we ought not deny racial vainglory as an implication—a “major” one, in Schreiner’s words. Which, to be clear, is what I’m saying as well.

In the Galatians entry in the IVP New Testament Commentary series, Walter Hansen describes the ethnic context this way:

All the Jewish believers in Antioch were subservient to Peter’s authority and followed his example. As a result the church was split into racial factions: Jews were divided from Gentiles. It is important to note that Paul accuses Peter and the rest of the Jewish believers in Antioch of hypocrisy, not heresy: the rest of the Jews joined him in his hypocrisy (v. 13). Their action was inconsistent with their own convictions about the truth of the gospel. They were more influenced by their common racial identity as Jews than by their new experience of unity in Christ with all believers of every race.

These are not marginal references. They are scholarly sources. You can disagree with them, obviously. But the idea that nobody serious has seen race as having any bearing on Paul’s confrontation of Peter is simply not true.

What about the gold standard?

In Martin Luther’s masterpiece commentary—one of my favorite books of all time—he speaks of the complexity of Jew/Gentile relations in their fullness. “Hereby it is evident,” he writes, “that Paul speaketh not of ceremonies or of the ceremonial law, as some do affirm, but of a far weightier matter, namely, of the nativity of the Jews . . .” He goes on to contrast Peter’s circumstantial trusting in Jewish heritage (and all that that entails) for righteousness with “faith in Christ.”

Now, I want to go back to my earlier clarifications: I am not saying Galatians is about race. I’m not even saying Paul’s ultimate concern is the sin (whether of racism specifically or legalism generally), but rather the gospel: that no person is justified by anything—whether religion or race—except for faith alone in Christ alone. But the idea that there are racial justice concerns in the Jew/Gentile tension and Paul’s rebuke of Peter is not weird, new, or even wrong. Paul is concerned that Peter know, and we know, that racial justice, properly understood, is an entailment of the gospel.

* This is just a joke. John MacArthur is not a Marxist. But neither are 95 percent of the evangelicals labeled that way on Twitter.

Why We Don’t Preach Gospel-Centered Sermons

Lately I’ve had numerous discussions with ministry leaders about why it’s so difficult to find truly gospel-centered preaching. Even among those who otherwise affirm the biblical necessity of prioritizing Christ in our preaching, it is sometimes rare to encounter sermons that do not treat Christ and his grace as an option or afterthought. Why is this so? Why, despite an abundance of helpful resources and exemplary models, do we still have a hard time turning the homiletical corner to preaching Christ? Here are three possible explanations:

1. We lack the conviction.

Some lack the conviction to preach gospel-centered sermons simply out of ignorance. They have not had access to examples of it. They’ve not been trained to preach that way. They are unaware—ignorant, in the dictionary sense—of the possibility of Christ-centered preaching. Others are aware of the option but have rejected it. For whatever reason—whether not seeing the value or alternatively affirming a different hermeneutic—they do not think gospel-centered is the best way to preach. Whatever the reason, they do not see Christ’s words to his disciples on the road to Emmaus or Paul’s words about Christ being the yes to every biblical promise as instructive for proclaiming an expository message in a Christocentric way.

2. We lack the competency.

This reason may be most common. Many preachers have not been trained adequately to preach in a gospel-centered way. Their profs didn’t teach it. Their pastors didn’t model it. Their experience has not bent toward it. They affirm the value theologically, but they have trouble in the actual sermon composition of “getting there” exegetically. Many preachers end their sermons with an evangelistic invitation and suppose this is gospel enough. And certainly, a gospel invitation at the conclusion of a message is better than no gospel content at all! But some preachers just can’t figure out how to preach Christ from the biblical text in natural, biblical ways. They want to, but don’t know how.

Finally, however, is a reason I think may be more common than we realize, and one that is not often considered, because it steps beyond our gifts and into our character.

3. We lack communion with Christ.

I don’t mean that non-gospel-centered preachers aren’t Christians. I just suspect that many who lack the aroma of Christ in their preaching actually lack the aroma of Christ in their spiritual lives. They have probably gotten so accustomed to the routine of ministry, that the Scriptures and the Christ within them has become more a matter of feeding others rather than feeding one’s self. The Bible has become something dealt out, rather than first something dwelled in.

At the inaugural Gospel Coalition Conference in 2007, Tim Keller gave the seminal talk “What Is Gospel Centered Ministry?” That message contains the now-classic “Jesus is the true and better” application. At the end of that homiletical run, Keller said something that has stuck with me ever since I first heard it. He said, “That’s not typology; that’s an instinct.” Of course, what he was doing was typology. But I think what he meant was that Christ-centered preachers almost cannot help preach Christ. They would have to make themselves avoid preaching the gospel. If anything, the temptation is to “jump over” the immediate exposition of the text to, as Spurgeon famously said, “make a road to Christ.”

In other words, if we are regularly communing with Christ, reading the Scriptures in a devotional sense in a daily and disciplined way, the instinct is there to preach Christ. It is a spiritual impulse that (super)naturally finds its way into our sermon preparation. How could a gospel-centered preacher not preach a gospel-centered sermon?

It’s just a theory, but perhaps the reason so many preachers who read all the gospelly books and blogs, listen to all the gospelly podcasts, and follow all the gospelly Twitter accounts still struggle to preach gospelly sermons is because they are not in regular communion with the Christ who is the center.

But it’s not too late, brothers. It’s not too late to refashion our conviction to Paul’s resolution, to work diligently in exegetical competency toward gospel-centeredness, and to return afresh to daily rest in our Savior.

But if I say, “I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,” his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.

— Jeremiah 20:9

Persecuted Christians Are Telling Their Story; Here’s an Easy Way to Listen and Respond

1 in 12 Christians around the world face severe persecution for their faith. But we don’t always hear about these acts of harassment and violence, because restrictive governments or militants often prevent their stories from being publicly told.

Open Doors is trying to change this. This non-profit was founded by Brother Andrew, a man best known for smuggling Bibles behind the Iron Curtain during the Cold War.

In addition to providing Bibles, leadership training, trauma counseling, legal advocacy, emergency aid and other support in more than 60 countries, Open Doors also collects research about persecuted Christians to ensure the world is aware of their plight. Each year, they release the World Watch List – a comprehensive report that draws attention to the top 50 countries in the world where it is most difficult to be a Christian.

And now, Open Doors is inviting you to hear and respond to these stories as well.

Today, Open Doors USA is releasing Pray for the Persecuted, a free app that will connect American Christians with persecuted believers around the world. 3-5 times per week, app users will receive a notification about a prayer need from a persecuted Christian living out their faith in the world’s most difficult regions.

You can click “I prayed” to let persecuted Christians know you are standing with them in prayer, and you can even share prayer requests via social media to let others know about our brothers’ and sisters’ stories.

Go here to download and try it now.

(This is a sponsored post.)