Sharpe's little blog

Some seminary friends and I were talking the other day about ordination. And, in that first sentence, I just eliminated the interest of many people. Not only was it a seminary conversation, but it was a seminary conversation about ordination. Why anyone outside of seminary should be interested in that is beyond me. And that’s ok. Seminary breeds strange, esoteric thoughts sometimes. I want to write about them. You don’t necessarily have to read them. I’m not even going to bother to try and convince you that something good will come at the end. If you’re not interested in seminary or ordination now, this post won’t make you care about it. Go do something fun with your 12 minutes.

Anyway, we got to talking about what exceptions we were likely to take to the Westminster Standards. In the PCA, you have to say where you disagree with the Standards. For the most part, the Standards are an extremely reliable, well-written, and accurate systematic statement of true, Biblical theology. However, we also recognize that it is a non-inspired document, and therefore subject to scrutiny. For example, most ordained men in the PCA think that the Standard’s statements on Sabbath-keeping are too stringent (basically, they say that you can’t do anything fun, because the Sabbath is a solemn day). So the other guys in presbytery expect you to say that you disagree with something in the Standards. If you say that you have no differences with the Standards, it’s only proof that you’ve not read them closely.

One exception that is rising in popularity is paedo-communion, which is believing that you can give communion to children before they are accepted as church members. Someone told me once that it was the 2nd most-cited exception, behind the aforementioned sabbath exception. This surprised me, but it could be true. At the same time, it’s a rather dicey exception to take now-a-days. Paedo-communion has largely been associated with the Auburn Avenue/Federal Vision movement. To take this exception opens you to a lot of scrutiny, as many within the PCA believe that FV is a direct attack against the purity of the Gospel.

I don’t know all about that. I really don’t. I’ve been in seminary for 3 years now, and I have very little idea what the heck the FV is all about. And I don’t think it’s just me. So far as I can tell, a big part of the problem is that every critical assessment of FV that I’ve ever seen has been attacked by FV proponents, stating that the critic has completely misunderstood FV. And that might be the case. I’m not going to try to tell you that Guy Waters or Ligon Duncan has a perfect understanding of FV. But how is it that EVERY outside assessment has missed the point? Really — how many theological doctors does it take to rightly discern the thought of these guys? Maybe it’s just me being cynical, but I’m far more inclined to conclude that there is something hazy either in the thinking or the writing of the proponents, which is the major cause of the din. Yet I’ll be quick to say again that I haven’t taken the time to read up on all this myself, nor do I plan to (unless presbytery tells me to). I’d really rather spend my time learning about Islam or getting to know my agnostic/atheistic neighbors or praying for my friends than studying an esoteric theological controversy that makes sense to .002% of the world.

So why am I writing this? Well, none of my friends are FV proponents. Most of them feel similarly to me, that the whole thing makes no sense in the first place. But some of my friends were saying that they still don’t understand the traditional arguments against the practice of paedo-communion. After all, if children are members of the covenant community, as we Presbyterians readily affirm, why would we hold back the elements and means of grace from them? If we were to use Paul’s instruction about “each man discerning his heart” before he partakes, then we could never admit a mentally-retarded person to the table.

I got to thinking and wondering and asking myself why I disagree with paedo-communion. I found myself developing a reasoning that I hadn’t heard articulated before, and one that got me rather excited. So I thought I’d write it down here so that I wouldn’t forget.

To me, the big problem with paedo-communion has to do with the charge upon the elders of the church to maintain the purity of the sacraments. We refer to this in the Presbyterian church as the “fencing of the table.” The minister invites all those who trust in Christ to come to the table and commune with God and receive the blessing of His body broken and blood poured. He also warns those that refuse His Lordship to not take the elements in vain, lest they take condemnation upon themselves (again, echoing the warning from Paul). I should also back up and re-iterate that the sacraments are instituted by Christ and entrusted to the Church for the encouragement and empowering of the People of God. This is why you don’t just baptize someone, but you baptize them in a local church and into a covenant community of faith. This is why you don’t just take any bread and wine at any time and call it communion, but you partake as a community. The elders, as the under-shepherds of the church, are uniquely tasked with maintaining the purity of the sacraments and ensuring the spiritual health of the congregants such that they do not take the elements in vain.

What happens in most cases with paedo-communion is that the fathers in the family are tasked with the responsibility of maintaining the purity of the elements for their family. Instead of waiting for the elders to receive the child as an examined and recognized adult member of the community of faith, the father takes the role of ensuring that his child is ready to receive communion. And this is a huge mistake. As I stated a while back, complementarianism and Biblical male-headship does NOT mean that fathers are the same as elders in the local church. It is the responsibility of a father (and mother) to entrust that their child is raised up in the fear and love of the Lord. And it is the responsibility of the church to support them in that work. That does not mean that the father suddenly becomes the de-facto elder for that nuclear family.

It’s an old metaphor, but it bares repeating: it’s alot easier to change the direction of something that’s moving than of something that’s standing still. So often, I stay frozen rather than moving – as though inaction were morally neutral itself.

What prompted this rather odd little piece of pithy-ness? Well, I’m playing piano at chapel in the morning. My roommate has an appointment with his witch-doctor, so we were going to be down a pianist. And the 2 songs I had in mind would certainly benefit from a piano. Thing is, I’ve never led from piano before. I’ve backed up people for weddings and worship before. I’ve improvised for an hour or so at different informal socials. But I’ve never played and sang lead with a band. And I’m nervous. I really don’t think I’m very good, and I’m scared I’m going to be falling behind on the beat and the songs will turn to rhythmic mush.

Nervousness is not an ordinary thing for me. So much of me is used to playing in front of people that I’m good at telling myself that I’m not nervous, or at least it should not paralyze me. But this scares me. So I’ve been asking myself questions; like why is this such a big deal for me? This gets me in something of a spiral, where I get to wondering if the only reason why I want to play piano is to prove that I can, to impress people, to get kudos. When I get to thinking that, I think it would be a better idea for me to just stick to guitar and let the sonic space be absent rather than feed my pride.

But then I talked with my roommate, and he started telling me about how he had to just push himself out there past those fears of not being adequate. I realized how I do need to get through that if I’m going to grow as a pianist and worship leader.

That still leaves my mixed motives, doesn’t it? That’s where the metaphor comes in. I realized tonight just how much I depend on myself to fix myself and my motives before I’ll be good enough to be used by God. Which is, of course, the complete antithesis of the Gospel. It’s His job to sanctify me as I follow Him, not mine to clean up my act before I take any steps.

This stuck out to me this week as members of a worship leader list-serve I subscribe to had been talking about offertories. A member said that a young man began attending the church 2 weeks ago and was dropping hints about wanting to play an offertory, and the worship leader didn’t like the idea of providing audiences for eager performers. And much of me does agree with the worship leader. This guy sounds like he needs to check his motives.

What changed in me tonight, as I thought about that, is how quick I am to pass the buck on that. I take a second look at what I just said: that “he needs to check his motives.” And that’s sort of true. This guy probably does need to develop his character some before he is offered what may be seen as a platform in the church. But who’s responsibility is that? I confess that my first thought is that the guy needs a time-out to go and think about himself and God and whatnot and he can come back when he’s fixed his attitude. Where’s the gospel in that? Where’s the investment in community? Where’s discipleship?

I’m waking up to the ways that I give up on myself and others in the self-righteous pursuit of pure motives, and I want to repent.

My roommate has a theory. He tells me that since we watched 300 a month ago, I’ve been working out almost constantly. Balderdash, I say. I was working out before that. Besides, those guys were totally helped out by body paint and lighting. But I have been more consistent in getting to the gym in the past few weeks.

Most recently, I discovered a little site called Map My Run. Using Google Maps, it allows you to calculate the distance of your run, and from there get your pace and calorie count. I discovered that I’m close to becoming addicted to taking 5-6 mile runs at 10 at night. I’m not sure yet if that’s a good thing or a bad thing…

I remember the first time I heard Rob Bell. For those who don’t know (and didn’t just click on that link!), Rob is the pastor of Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids, which is not to be confused with Mark Driscoll‘s Mars Hill Church in Seattle. My first exposure to Rob was listening to an audio recording of his first book, Velvet Elvis. The book had caused quite a stir among some of the conservative reformed watchdogs because of Rob’s rather loose interpretation many traditional doctrines, and he has been accused of devaluing the necessary importance of those doctrines.

But I’m not here to add to that fire. There are plenty of sites that are willing to do that. Happy Googling!

I remember I was talking with a friend of mine, telling him about my reaction to the book. Really, I didn’t see what Rob was saying as being so hugely dangerous like those watchdogs. And I could quickly see why Rob was becoming so popular among the 20s and 30s in evangelicalism. But there was still something that didn’t sit right – and it had everything to do with what I figured made him so popular.

As I told my friend, Rob has a very different preaching style. It’s not hugely polished. He stutters and pauses and searches for words. But he’s very genuine in that way. He sounds like he’s just talking to you — even when he’s reading the manuscript of his book. He is emotional, as his voice rises and falls and speeds and slows down. It’s obvious that he’s passionate about what he’s communicating, and wants to transfer that energy to his audience. And it’s infectious. He does it very well.

It’s probably just my cynical nature, but I quickly found myself wondering — “what if it’s just a shtick?” Because, like I said, Rob’s great at it. Since listening to his book 3 years ago, I’ve watched all the NOOMA videos, and I added his podcast to my rotation. And I realize how much of his draw for me is found in his style, and that’s not a bad thing. I think that it makes him much more effective. It communicates that the Jesus he is talking about is real and visceral and vital to his life. It communicates that he’s a real person with disappointments and hopes and relationships. It’s an amazing in-road to a generation that is cynical and disconnected and saturated with slick marketing. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t just one more example of that same slick marketing.

This seed of cynicism came back this weekend. I found out through an acquaintance’s blog that the first two episodes of TROMBONE PLAYER WANTED was available for free off of I-Tunes. TPL is a series of short management/effectiveness films by Marcus Buckingham around his Simply Strengths management plan. Never heard of Marcus? Neither had I. But my acquaintance seemed to think it was a “great resource”, and so I decided to give it a look.

To my surprise, there was the same stuttering voice, the same searching for words, the same music and subtle B-storyline being told through cut-scenes throughout the film. Marcus had the exact same shtick as Rob. To at T. I did a little searching and realized that the films were made by the same people that made the NOOMA videos, so you could easily say that Marcus just decided to copy Rob. That very well could be what’s happening. But it still crawls under my skin in an odd way. And it’s not helped by the fact that I really disagree with some of the stuff Marcus was saying – that’s a whole other thing.

To be clear, I’m not saying that I think that Rob is a fake. I’m really not. I’m saying I’m amazed at how possible it is to fake and copy what Rob does. And that makes me nervous. Thanks to post-modernism, we’er all familiar with the idea that the way you communicate is very much a part of what you communicate. And seeing Marcus — it makes me wonder who we’re fooling when you do a sylistic cut-and-paste. And why exactly would you do that in the first place?