My own theological position

I thought it might be useful to lay out exactly what my own theological position is. I have said repeatedly that I am a monergist or Calvinist, but I should probably define a little better what I mean by that.

• The basics: I believe in One God revealed in Three Persons eternally distinct; I believe God created the world by His word and sustains it by His power; I believe God the Father has planned all history and superintends it, and has a will and plans for all history; I believe Jesus is fully God and fully man, was born of a virgin in Israel around 1 CE (give or take a few years); I believe Jesus suffered and died on the cross as a substitutionary atonement (or expiation), paying for the sins of myself and all believers throughout history, both before and after the cross; I believe that on the third day He rose again and ascended into heaven; I believe the Holy Spirit is God and is given to all believers as a Seal and a Sign of salvation; I believe the church consists of all believers throughout history from the Garden of Eden through the end, and God saves each one of us in the same way (solely by His grace, solely through faith); I believe that only through personally repenting of our sins and exercising faith in Christ's atonement can we be saved, although the body of believers has a real part to play in not only the discipleship and growth of Christians but also their conversion itself (e.g., loving others, preaching the Gospel, teaching God's word, holy living);I believe Jesus is coming again in righteousness to judge the living and the dead and to usher in the fullness of His kingdom, and that He will create a new heaven and a new earth (though at present we cannot really imagine what that will be like). In short, I believe what historic orthodox Christianity teaches, because I think that's what the Bible teaches.
• As regards soteriology, I am a monergist (aka five-point Calvinist). I take the first point (man's total depravity due to the influence of sin) very seriously, and I believe that if you do take that point seriously, the only conclusion you can draw is the monergist one.
• As regards eschatology, I don't have any dogmatic position. I believe the Bible is (intentionally) unclear on eschatology, and I think we should not be any more dogmatic than the Bible gives us warrant to be. I think the Bible generally teaches pre-millenialism, but I generally lean toward a post-tribulational understanding rather than the popular pre-tribulationalism of the "Left Behind" series and the dispensationalists. It seems to me the pre-trib position is plausible, but neither required by nor does it explain best the Biblical text.
• As regards baptism, I believe the Bible indicates believer's baptism. I understand the arguments for paedobaptism but the lack of real examples or mandates for it in the Bible leans me toward credobaptism.
  
• As regards pneumatology, I certainly believe that every believer in Jesus is indwelled by the Holy Spirit and also believe that as believers we are empowered by the Holy Spirit to do God's will. I do not believe there is any specific "second blessing" (e.g. speaking in tongues as at Pentacost) but rather the daily empowering by the Holy Spirit to do what God wants us to do. I am not a cessationist in the strict sense, since I believe the spiritual gifts (including sign gifts) have a place today as in all church history. However, I do not believe certain people have specific sign gifts - tongues, healing, etc.; that sort of individual gifting ended with the apostles, the foundation of the church. Now, I believe God can (and does) endow certain people with certain sign gifts at certain times; yet I don't think that any person can say "I have these sign gifts, you don't." I've found that this middle-of-the-road position ends up putting me at odds with both cessationists and continualists.
  

I lay these out because you have to have specific positions on specific points. Anybody who says they don't (and who is sincere) is not being truthful with themselves. However, I am also a great believer in "mere Christianity": that we are not saved by this or that theological position, but by the blood of Jesus Christ shed on Calvary, and that is more important than any particular theological position one may hold. I greatly respect many people whose theology I would differ with, and I confidently expect to see many of them in heaven one day. This is because the Bible says that to be saved we must repent of our sins and believe on the Lord Jesus Christ; not that we must be Calvinists or Arminians or Pre-Tribulationalists or Process Theologians.

In fact, I think it is a very interesting question exactly how much you must know to be a Christian or, to put it more properly, how much error God will allow you to hold to after He saves you. I have discussed this with my friends, but I do not pretend to have an answer; in fact, I think nobody does. That will have to be another blog posting. What I do know is that if we really realize our sinfulness, confess that sinfulness to God, and cry out to Him to be saved, then He will save us; this is why I believe so strongly in evangelistic methods like the Way of The Master and why friendship evangelism without conviction of sin is just friendship, not evangelism. That I believe the Bible teaches that at that point He has already saved us, and we are appropriating that salvation through our repentance and faith is rather less important. Important, but not That Important.

A personal note about Arminians and Calvinists

Reading over this blog, one might think one of several things about me. First, that I am obsessed with Arminians. Second, that I have a hate or disrespect for them. Neither of these can be farther from the truth.

Christ prayed that we (believers) would all be one. But this cannot mean agreeing all of the time. Heck, whatever we do we will not agree all the time. Perhaps Christ only meant agree all the time on spiritual things, that our oneness only extends when we are talking about "religion"? So might say my Catholic friends. But I see no such limitation in the text. And, as somebody has said, dividing things into the sacred and the profane is not a valid division. Holy and unholy, yes - pretty much everything in our lives is either done to the glory of God, or done against Him and His glory and will. Hard to imagine, but we are living on that (to pull in C. S. Lewis's quote) razor's edge every minute of our lives. But not sacred and profane. The most "sacred" thing in the world can be done in the most unholy manner (for example, in clown-led worship services); while the most "profane" can be done in the holiest manner (when I do something for somebody not because I want to or particularly feel good around it, but because I think God wants me to).

So, Christ prayed that we be one; but that obviously will not mean that we are all one of the same opinion. I think it must mean that we would be one in the sense that we loved one another and wanted the best for each other, and that we are working for the same overall goal. Namely, working for Christ's kingdom, for God's glory, etc. In fact, I think it means much the same as when man and wife are called to be "one." Anybody who ever thought that means "having the same opinions on every, or even, any subject" has obviously not been married. :-)

So, the fact that I take a different interpretation of Biblical passages does not, in itself, mean that I am not "being one" with my Arminians brothers and sisters in Christ. I should note, of course, that I am speaking solely of oneness with other believers; oneness with unbelievers is (as we say here in The South) a whole 'nother subject. But, as to believers, I can be "one" with them even if I hold a widely different theology than them.

One might object that we can hold different opinions on theology, but I should not talk about them. Thus, the fact that I disagree with Arminians is ok in itself; but I should not be talking about it here on the blog. That seems to me wrong on three counts. First, as long as I do it in a respectful manner - which I attempt to do - what is the problem? If you read my postings, I think you will note that I attempt to fairly portray both sides of the argument, even bringing up objections that a reader may never have thought of. In fact, I am intentionally not bringing up the kind of ridiculous strawmen often brought up by people of other theological stripes. For example, I have no desire to think of an analog to the infamous Bus Stop Analogy, or to present seriously a counter to John Wesley's statement about Calvinism stopping one from evangelizing. No doubt with free time on one's hands, a Calvinist could think up devastating-sounding equivalents that hit on Arminians. But what would be the purpose of that, except to dissuade people from being Arminians but not actually letting them consider the issues? How would God be glorified that way? If monergism is true (which I believe it is), we should not be afraid to confront the actual Biblical text; Bus Stop Analogies and clever but misguided redefinitions of words (like "Elected because I selected") are not only a waste of time, but disrespectful and thus unloving. It is these kinds of analogs and "arguments" that truly reflect a lack of "oneness."

The second reason it is wrong is like unto the first: because there is so much disinformation out there regarding Arminianism and Calvinism. See the examples above. It seems to me that some kind of antidote is called for; if I can play some small part in administering that antidote, all the glory goes to God.

Finally, there are a number of people around who claim to disdain both Calvinism and Arminian, to be "Biblicists" in place of those types of labels. If they are talking about Calvinism per se - following in lock step the teachings of Calvin - then I agree with them that Calvinism can divide people unnecessarily. (Curious how these types of people never seem to be that concerned that Arminianism divides people just as much as Calvinism.) In fact, the whole so-called "Calminian" point of view - which also divides people, I should note - deserves another post. For the time being, I should say that as long as there are folks out there claiming to be "Calminians" or "moderate Calvinists" but in reality being no such thing, an antidote is called for. Not to knock them down a notch - that is not at all my purpose. Rather, hopefully to help them think about some things they've not considered, rejected out-of-hand because of some presupposition.

As to the question of whether I have a hate or disrespect for Arminians, I have to meet this suspicion with straight denials. To borrow the old phrase, "some of my best friends are Arminians." This is totally true. Some of the men and women whom I most respect and love are Arminians and would disagree with me strongly on much of what I've written here. But that does not diminish by one iota my love and respect for these people. Most of them are better people than I will likely ever be; the best of them have a certain quality about them that is only describable as "holiness." My pastor, for instance, has a holiness about him and his entire family that I despair of ever matching. He is not holier than I wish to be, of course - but I have many years of bad habits lamentably built up in my life, and bad habits, repeated for 20 years, die hard. That's an explanation, not an excuse.

What's more, some Arminians - not all, of course - are far more evangelistic in their actions than I am. I am thinking of a certain associate pastor at our church who will share the gospel with absolutely anybody. I am asking God to change me, to help me be more like that; to be bolder about sharing the gospel. As well, I am studying evangelism training such as Way of the Master. Most Arminians, of course, do not have this kind of fervor (just as most Calvinists don't); but some do, and I love and respect them for it.

So, I pray to be like the best of them in holiness and in love for the lost and action to help unbelievers get to the point of saving faith in Christ. But that does not mean that I have to agree with them, just as it does not mean they have to agree with me.

How I got where I am, theologically (part two)

Last time (you might want to read that article first), I talked about my pre-Christian life. In this installment I want to describe my life as a follower of Christ. As I said previously, after the birth of our son, we joined a very liberal Episcopal church. How much so? Well, the associate rector (a woman who seemed more interested in fighting "fundamentalism" and taking part in AIDS marches than evangelism) unequivocally told me that the Bible was NOT the word of God; while the rector (a man, an extremely nice and avuncular fellow who I believe was saved himself yet tragically deceived) told me that he and I disagreed on the issue of ordination of practicing homosexuals because I "believe[d] in following what the Bible says." Yet, even in that church, there was a believing remnant; I played on the worship team with one such woman. God has His people all around.

Anyway, while in one sense it was the worst place we could have been, in another sense it was one of the best. Because, when I started to be really convicted by the Holy Spirit, and even at that point I realized that I could not turn to the church leadership for spiritual guidance, I called upon my soon-to-be old friend and now fellow Anglican C. S. Lewis. I found the books that my old friend Lee Braddock had given me several years earlier, dusted them off, and started reading: and was instantly convicted not only of the logical sense of Christianity, but also of its rightness. In a flash, Christianity seemed to me the right thing; not just right because it made me happy or made sense, but ultimately and finally Right. This is one of the many reasons why I believe in the monergistic ("Calvinistic," if you prefer) view of salvation: shortly before, I not only had no interest nor desire for the things of a Christian God; they seemed (to my Unitarian-leaning mind) not just illogical but totally wrong, a violation of the universe. Now, they were ultimately Right. I was devouring C. S. Lewis books and intensely interested in learning more and more. Against my will, I was converted, and (in accordance with what monergism teaches), it instantly became my will.

At first we all become followers of our teachers, and thus, following C. S. Lewis (a pretty pure Arminian if ever there was one), I became an Arminian believer in Jesus Christ. What Lewis wrote about God not foreseeing our belief, but rather just seeing it made some sense to me. It was about this time I first heard the sorry "Corridor of Time" analogy: "God looks down that corridor of time and discovers who will believe in Him, and thus He elects them." That analogy made little sense to me even at that time (for reasons I will note below), but the Lewis analogy of God being above time as we might be above a piece of paper and look down at the squiggles on the paper made at least some sense. I was still bothered somewhat - after all, didn't God make the paper, too? - but I was satisfied for the time being. I bought wholeheartedly Lewis's rejection of Total Depravity and his argument about God not wanting to create armies of puppets (and thus libertarian free will was mandatory).

After about a year at the Episcopal church, I knew we had to leave. The end finally came when I realized that the church would be teaching my kids things radically opposed to what I believed to be the truth. So I started looking for another church, and quickly found a solid, Bible-teaching church pastored by a graduate of Dallas Seminary. Again, my beliefs changed somewhat: I became a pre-tribulational, "Calminian" (which term I will write about soon) in the mold of Dallas Seminary and Lewis Sperry Chafer. This was clearly, to my maturing Christian mind, much closer to the truth. The Bible was held up as the standard of belief (rather than feelings and uninspired pure reason).

Then, I came upon a book that would change my beliefs forever: "The Gospel According to Jesus" by John MacArthur. (Books have played quite a part in my spiritual journey, haven't they?) In it, MacArthur made a convincing argument - both practical and Biblical - against the "easy-believism" or "anti-Lordship salvation" message taught largely by Dallas Seminary graduates. It made total sense to me, the same way Lewis had made in my initial conversion. Why would God allow people to be saved, only to live the exact lifestyle they had always lived? I read all the anti-Lordship arguments: about how "repentance" in the Greek really just meant "changing your mind." That seemed woefully inadequate. Clearly, if God had a purpose in salvation (which He surely does), He not only wants us to change, but He Himself will empower us to change (though His Holy Spirit). I was still primarily a believer in decisional regeneration - make a decision to believe, and you're in - but it was clear the anti-Lordship view took that way too far. What I didn't realize, of course, is that anti-Lordship is the logical consequent of decisional regeneration: if I make the decision, I'm saved, no matter how I live my life. But, again, I was happy, and more mature in Christ. I also, following Dallas Seminary teachings, was a believer in "once saved, always saved." Now, even at that time, it didn't make total sense to me - if I made the decision to believe, why can't I make the decision to "unbelieve"? - but, again, I left that as something to learn on another day.

We spent the next 7 years at that church, generally learning and growing as a Christian. Almost three years ago, for various reasons we switched to Cornerstone Chapel, where we now attend. And, the more I learned and read, the more the "Calminian" position I espoused started bothering me. The anti-Calvinist position of Calvary Chapel was actually a great help, because it brought my discomfort into clearer focus. First, what about that decision thing? Why can't I decide to unbelieve? Along with that was the whole idea of libertarian free will and the belief (which I had inherited from C. S. Lewis) that God had to give His creatures free will because He respected our freely-given love so much. What bothered me was this: if God is so intensely interested in giving me free will to believe or not, why is it, once I believe, that He takes my free will away from me? In other words, if I have the free will to accept or reject Him before I'm saved, then why do I not have that free will after I'm saved?

At the same time, I was becoming increasingly troubled by the famous "Corridor of Time" or Lewis's example of God looking down on His creation from outside time like we'd look down at a piece of paper, like some 3-dimensional visitor to Flatland. (I should mention that, though Flatland has no specific religious aspect, and in fact is quite anti-authoritarian, it too played a part in opening my mind up to the possibility that God might intrude into my nice, neat, atheist / materialist world.) My troubles were three. First, let's say that God is not determining my future; rather, my future is laid out on that piece of paper or corridor. But didn't God make the piece of paper/corridor? If so, how can it be that He is not in control of it but simply observing it? This seemed to me to imply that God is somehow subservient or at least co-equal to the corridor or paper; an idea which is right at home in the pantheon of Greek gods or even in Flatland (where the sphere did not control the flat plane, and in fact was bothered by the concept of 4-dimensional beings when the hero of the book brought it up) but not in Christianity. Second, if God can look down the corridor and see what I'm going to do, I still have no free will. My future is determined, not by God, but by the corridor; it only looks to me like I have free will. (I once had a discussion with a very intelligent and caring agnostic who brought up this same point.) This was unacceptable; for one thing, I'd far rather depend on a loving, perfect, and righteous Father God to determine my salvation than some impersonal corridor or sheet of paper. Finally, I saw no Biblical support for the corridor or paper: they may be interesting analogies, but when I looked to the Bible for support, I found none.

Finally, one more problem that came to mind was the adoption metaphor used in Scripture. I had been looking at particular proof-texts and ignoring the overall tone or message; as C.S. Lewis said in another context, claiming to see fern-seed but unable to discern an elephant in broad daylight. The adoption metaphor hit me when I realized that I was taking the typical "Calminian" view that, though I was eternally secure in the sense that God would never cast me out through my sin, I could get myself kicked out of heaven through unbelief. But my whole viewpoint changed after we adopted our daughter. What, I thought, could Danning ever do to get kicked out of the family? Could her simple unbelief in our authority, or even active opposition to us? No! She would still be our daughter forever, and I'd be doing everything I could to bring her back into a right relationship. But, if the Calminian view was right, she could get herself "unadopted" from us. I would never unadopt her, I thought: so how could God, far more loving than I, do it?

So, I read more, trying to make sense of everything I was reading in the Bible. Finally, thanks to radio broadcasts by the Bible Answer Man, I heard Dr. James White and finally realized that monergism was the answer to what was troubling me, theologically speaking. It was Biblically supported; it made sense; it was rational; it was emotionally satisfying; it was - if you understand it rightly and not caricature it - just. Now, I am not a mindless follower of Dr. White: I still disagree with some of the things he says, including some of what he has said about Calvary Chapel. But again, my mind was opened to the truth. Everything I had read in the Bible suddenly made sense. It wasn't MY decision for God that made me a Christian, it was HIS decision for me: and God doesn't change His mind or make wrong decisions. I was no longer depending on the Corridor of Time for God to make a right judgment of my belief or unbelief: I now knew that God will make the right decision, far better than I ever could. Finally, I didn't have to worry about why I could possibly believe in eternal security: once God adopts you into His family, you're there forever.

Does monergism answer all the questions? No. I still don't understand how we can have free will in any sense at all with God knowing and foreordaining the future. (Nor do I understand how I would have free will with God simply seeing and not foreordaining the future as my Arminian friends teach: a fact my agnostic friend quickly and ably pointed out to me.) But, though not understanding totally, I believe in monergism because the Bible teaches it, just as I believe in the Trinity because the Bible teaches it without totally understanding it. Really, though, it should not be surprising to us that God can understand things we cannot. After all, let's say I someday have the privilege of meeting Steven Hawking. Pretty much anything he would say would leave me totally confused. Does this mean I disbelieve him? No! My logical conclusion would be that because he's so much smarter than I am, he probably understands a lot more than I; and I'd assume that if I was as smart as him, I'd most likely agree with him.

If that's so, how much more true is it with God, not only infinite intelligent, but also infinitely wise, and not chained down by sin as we are, His understanding and judgments undarkened by sin? I can't begin to understand how He spoke and the universe instantaneously leapt into existence ex nihilo; so how can I fully understand His plan of salvation and interaction between His knowledge and will and ours? If God's plan and working could be totally comprehended (the Latin word, appropriately, means to grasp and totally take under control), God would be no greater than I. And that would be truly wrong.

That is where I stand now. I know I don't have all the answers. But I do know that I must tell the truth as I currently understand it, as I continue to grow and mature as a Christian, and with God's help working out His plan for my life, I will learn more and become closer to God and His understanding. I pray the same for you.

How I got where I am, theologically (part one)

I thought it might be useful to describe my own spiritual journey, in case it might be interesting or useful to somebody. I grew up in the Roman Catholic church, a "cradle Catholic." My mom also grew up a cradle Catholic, while my dad joined the church when they got married. Overall, we were very involved in the church: my family going to church every Sunday, my brothers and I going to CCD, at least until we were old enough to object sufficiently forcefully for our parents to let us stop. (Note for those who did not grow up Catholic: CCD is the Catholic equivalent to going to Sunday School. It stands for "Confraternity of Christian Doctrine," which I did not know until I googled it just now. We just always called it "CCD." Actually, I always thought it stood for "Catholic Christian Doctrine," which sounded right in my mind but looked really silly when I typed it.) My dad was an usher, and he "ushed" (as we called it) frequently. I also attended Catholic school from first to third grade, and had the experience of being in Sister Thomas Marguerite's class at Our Lady of Good Counsel school.

Overall, I was a pretty pious youngster: I got in trouble from time to time (including once conspiring with my middle brother to give our youngest brother a swirlie), but wanted to be a priest when I grew up. As my brother and I were altar boys, that seemed the logical next step. I went through all the normal sacraments - including being confirmed at age 13 with the confirmation name of "John." I was bummed because I wanted to pick a new name, like "Pious" or "Felix," but they said I should use my middle name. I'm still not sure what that bit about the name change is, maybe it's supposed to be like Saul to Paul or Jacob to Israel.

Needless to say, I was never a Christian during this time. Like most cradle Catholics (and increasingly but not surprisingly, increasingly many evangelical youths), I dropped away from Christianity in my teens. At college, I made a few attempts at going to church, but overall I derived more benefit from sleeping in on Sunday mornings after Saturday's party than sitting in church. As time went on, I started to doubt the existence of God. The behavior of some so-called "Christians" was a big part of it: I remember one guy who claimed to be a Christian, but was also a big drinker, and definitely was the biggest womanizer I knew: it was said that he could get any girl to bed on the first night, and as far as I knew that was the truth. I wasn't a Christian, of course, but even I knew that wasn't how a Christian ought to act. (I should mention that one of my own personal mission fields is Yahoo! Answers, and I can respond to many of the objectors to Christianity because, frankly, I've heard and thought it all before, and come through the other side when rationality took over instead of emotion.)

Over the next 15 years, I went through various stages of unbelief. Sometimes I would have considered myself an all-out atheist, saying the idea of a god was simplistic and for people who preferred easy, black-and-white answers to reality. Sometimes I would have just been considered an agnostic: sure, it's obvious that God exists, but nobody could ever know anything about Him, and He's certainly not the God of Christianity. (Isn't it nice how sure of things you can be when you say you can't be sure about anything? ) Other times, I really tried to be a Zen Buddhist. I read koans, attempted Zazen (aka "sitting"), read books like Lawrence LeShan's "How to Meditate." It seemed obscure, other worldly, incomprehensible: just like what I thought religion ought to be, and so different from the cut-and-dried "Christianity" I had believed in as a kid with the big old man in the sky, white beard, and all that.

Then, a guy with the good all-Virginian name of Lee Braddock witnessed to me. (He was the guy I mentioned in my article on Cursing Christians, who softly responded "that's kind of disgusting if you think about it" to my oh-so-clever vulgarism.) He gave me the C. S. Lewis books "Mere Christianity" and "The Problem of Pain," which I leafed through a bit but pretty much ignored at the time, but which had a huge impact on me later.

I ignored Christianity for the next 6 years (getting more intensely into studying Buddhism), when a force to be reckoned with came crashing on my neat little unbelieving world: my son JA. Seeing him, I instantly knew there was more to the world than I had been believing. The philosophies of the world (along with the liberal politics I had been imbibing) started seemingly increasingly wrong. Looking back, I was clearly under conviction by the Holy Spirit: at the time, all I knew was that I felt vaguely but unceasingly uneasy.

When JA was about a year old, Marcia made it clear she wanted us to go to church. I suggested trying to find a Buddhist temple (which she put the kibosh on), as well as trying to find a Unitarian church in the area. Unitarians are a very liberal (theologically and politically) group who we had attended a few years earlier. Thankfully, there were no nearby Unitarian Universalist congregations, or I might have wanted to join them. (Not that that would have stopped God from regenerating my heart, of course: but my life would have just been more difficult had I not yielded when I did.) So, lacking a Unitarian group to join, we picked the Episcopal church in town. This was a good choice, I thought, because it joined the two things I wanted most in a church: the same kind of traditions I had remembered from growing up ("smells and bells," the assistant rector of that church called it), and very liberal politics. However, even there, there were Christians. My face-to-face encounter with God had begun.

TO BE CONTINUED (don't you hate it when people do that?) ...