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“Every man is justly held to be morally responsible, to a certain extent, for the state of his own parish. This is the glory of the Parochial System. Whilst it leaves any man to dissent from the Church, who chooses, it makes sure, if carried out properly, that every man in the land, in the mountain or valley, in the dense lane or stately square, has some one ‘to care for his soul.’  As the whole world is made up of families, and will never be full of peace until every man takes a Christian charge of his own, so this whole land consists of parishes, and will never be right until every minister does his utmost for carrying Christian instruction, by the aid of another, if not personally, to every family within his territory.  No other plan can make sure none are neglected.”

– James Begg (1808-1883)

Writing more than a century before the McDonaldization of the Church, Thomas Chalmers (1780-1847) exposed the fallacy of faith in structures for evangelization.  It is a “Quixotic imagination, that on the strength of churches alone, viewed but in the light of material apparatus, we were to Christianize the population – expecting of these new erections, that, like so many fairy castles, they were, of themselves, to transform every domain in which they were placed into a moral fairyland” (Works 18:109).  While perhaps most evangelicals would probably deny the bald proposition that the building can birth a believer, yet it is very easy subconsciously to think that outward can allure the natural man out of his state of spiritual rebellion.  The fact is, if you build it, they just won’t come.  It is fleshly to think otherwise, for the arm of the flesh – and the fleshly mind – are powerless.

Yes, but what if it is well stocked with professionals?  Professional preachers, counsellors, and administrators?  All with D.Mins?  What if the attractive building is complemented with wide array of wonderful programs for young and old, and for every other conceivable demographic slice?  If you build that, will they come?  No doubt.  But then there is coming (Jn. 6:24-26), and there is coming (Jn. 6:65-66)!

Yet, church buildings are of  value.  Chalmers believed as much and zealously campaigned for the provision of more church buildings in his day.  By his efforts, more than 200 were built in the 1830s throughout Scotland.  But buildings are nothing unless they are furnished with a faithful ministry.  What is more, he contended, they must not serve the public indiscriminately.  To the church and its ministry a fixed, geographical district ought to be assigned for its regular and faithful cultivation.  A church ought to be a neighborhood church, a parish church, with a busy parish minister.  

Build that, and they will come.  Those whom the Father draws, that is.

A. C. Cheyne (1924-2006), a recognized Scottish Church History scholar summarizes the central ideas inherent in Chalmers’  “territorial parish.”  It was a “manageably small area housing a community of some two thousand souls who lived, worked and worshipped together, with a church and a school at its center and a minister and a kirk session to attend to both its spiritual and its temporal necessities: here, he argued, was the basic – he would even have said the redemptive – unit of Scottish society.  Here was the means of national regeneration.”   In my reading of Chalmers, I would suggest that he would say the preaching of the Gospel was the means.  Yet, he certainly saw the territorial parish as the most efficient vehicle for getting that Gospel preaching to every man, woman, and child.

Call me a curmudgeon.  Or an arch-conservative, allergic to all things new.  And I will freely admit that I romanticize earlier days, fully aware that they were never so rosy as I fancy them.  But I am just not ready to jump on the small (‘cell’) groups bandwagon like so many other Reformed folks.  I have already raised some questions on the subject in a previous post.  I really do question how ecclesiologically Reformed it is after all.

But here’s another thing that makes me nervous of them.  I fear that they detract from a robust pulpit ministry, from Lord’s day to Lord’s day.  In some circles, cell groups aim to provide meaningful biblical study for preachers who want their Sunday services to be ‘seeker sensitive.’   In my judgment, that makes cell groups a crutch for an impotent ministry.

Related, it seems that they are now being touted (or maybe I’m just noticing it) as suitable vehicles for ‘missional’ outreach.  Unbelievers need a ‘safe’ place to be welcomed, where they will not feel judged.  So we can win them over to church, with all its trappings, through the back door.  Now, I am all for loving unbelievers and making them feel loved.  But what about public preaching as a means of grace?   What of God’s choice of the foolishness of preaching?  What of the scandal of the cross?  And does that scandal come in bold face through the small groups, or is it in the fine print on page 236?

Why are Reformed people enthusiastic about this?  Am I off, or is this broad evangelicalism, low churchism, or even anti-churchism sneaking in under the radar?

“There is a deed or Grant of Christ made to Sinners, in the free Offer and Call of the Gospel . . . Tis true indeed, the eternal Destination, the Purchase and Application of Redemption is peculiar only to the Elect; but the Revelation, Gift and Offer is common to all hearers of the Gospel, insomuch as the great Mr Rutherford expresses it, the Reprobate have as fair a revealed Warrant to believe, as the Elect have.  Every man has an Offer of Christ brought to his Door who lives within the Compass of the joyful Sound, and this Offer comes as close to him, as if he were pointed out by Name.  So that none have reason to say, The Call and Offer is not to me, I am not warranted to embrace Christ . . . We have God’s commission to preach this Gospel, and to make offer of this Christ to every creature sprung of Adam, Mark xvi.15, and the event of the Publication of this Gospel among sinners follows in the next Words, He that believeth this Gospel shall be saved, he that believeth not shall be damned.”

Ebenezer Erskine (1680-1754)

James Bannerman (1807-1868), one of the “Disruption Worthies,” wrote a comprehensive two-volume work on the Presbyterian doctrine of the Church, The Church of Christ.  It is a definitive treatment of the subject and really ought to be on the shelf of every Reformed minister, if not of every Reformed head of household.

The following quote comes from a selection in the first volume on the subject of the necessity of a friendly connection between the Church and State.  One of the reasons is that the State cannot be altogether neutral to the universal claims of the of the Kingdom of God within its boundaries.  While the Church does not have a right to interfere in the sphere of civil government, yet it demands audience from king and people of all lands.  Her warrant comes from none less than the Most High:

[The Church’s] first principle and first duty is that of aggression. The ministers of the Gospel claim it as a right to go into every nation, however fenced around and guarded from intrusion, and to demand an entrance in the name of Him who sent them, even although the magistrate should bid them depart from his coasts. Further still, the messengers of the Cross arrogate to themselves thee title to enter into every human dwelling where a sinner is to be found, – seeking admittance in the name of the Saviour of sinners, that they may negotiate with the inhabitant in behalf of their Master, however sternly the door may be closed against them by jealousy of their errand, or hatred to their cause.

It has been the eloquent boast of freedom in our country, that every man’s house is his castle; and that, be it but a straw-built shed, open to every breath of heaven, yet fenced about by the protection and the sanction of law, there even ‘the king cannot and dare not enter.’  But where the king cannot enter, there the missionary of Christ claims to be admitted; and, with a higher warrant in his hand than that of human law, bids the gates be lifted up, that with the Gospel he may enter in” (The Church of Christ, 1:142).

Too often we fail to appreciate this authoritative dimension to missions.  While the servant of the Lord must not strive, but be patient with all men, yet he is not go to into the world hat-in-hand.  Mission forbids timidity, for we have been sent by the King of kings.   No, we should not force entry, for the weapons of our warfare are not carnal.  Yet alternately, we should not so ‘respect’ the boundaries of men when our Lord counts it no trespass.  It is His claim after all, the deed and grant of His Father.  And the warrant is in our hand.

So let us go.  Aggressively.

The practice of Reformed catechesis is quite counter-cultural.  Having given it a little thought, a few reasons come to mind.  1. Catechesis is an authoritative discipline.  It deals not with opinions, but with dogma.  Not with suggestions, but with commandments.  Not tips and hints, but with divinely mandated means of grace.  2. Catechesis is churchly in orientation.  It is by the church and for the church.  It presumes that membership in the Visible Church – nothing less than the Kingdom of God on earth – is a high privilege, and involves serious preparation.  3. Catechesis is rigorously intellectual.  While seeking to reach those of the smallest capacities, even the “little ones” without offending them, it yet pushes everyone under its influence to think and think deeply.  4. Catechesis is thoroughly covenantal.  It has always had the next generation of the church in view, preparing baptized children to lay hold of the promise that is their birthright (Acts 2:39).  While catechesis leaves regeneration to the sovereignty of the Spirit, it does not leave children to cut their own religious path.  It cuts the path for them.  We do not blush to say that in catechism, the church indoctrinates its children.  5. Catechesis is catholic.  By catholic, I mean that it does not deal with secondary matters, much less the novel, but with the faith once delivered to the saints.  The things “most surely believed among us” (Luke 1:1).  It is not provincial, pedaling its own idiosyncratic theology (African theology, feminist theology, etc.), but it holds forth what unifies all true believers in all ages.  There is “one body, and one Spirit . . . one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all” (Eph. 4:4-6).   6. Catechesis is confessional.  Contra biblicism, catechesis affirms that the Spirit leads his Church into all truth, and that the Church has a responsibility to articulate that truth using its own words.  Further, it delimits what we must believe from what we must not – heresy.  7. Catechesis is biblical.  “To the law and to the testimony.”  If one seriously studies the great catechisms of the Reformation, one will be confronted not only with lengthy footnoted proof texts undergirding each proposition.  He will also see how their very language is shaped by the Scriptures.  Not surprisingly, then, catechesis is rejected precisely because men will not receive the Word of God.

The Church frequently gets its axiology – its theory of value – dead wrong.  To value is fundamentally human.  It is instinctive and inescapable, a testament to the fact that man is the offspring of God.  But when the Church fails to discern between the values of  “the present evil world” and her Lord, it has just plain sold the farm.  A Church that doesn’t defend its axiological borders (God’s rather) has in effect seceded to the enemy.  And so she comes under Christ’s condemnation, “Ye are they which justify yourselves before men; but God knoweth your hearts: for that which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God” (Luke 16:15).

Thomas Chalmers (1780-1847) may have been in favor of religious establishments. (Bravo!)  But he was hardly for a sycophant ministry beholden to the state, much less a political party:

“It appears to us that a Christian minister cannot keep himself in the true path of consistency at all, without refusing to each of the parties all right of appropriation. . . He who cares for neither [of two rivaling political parties] is the only independent man; and to him only belongs the privilege of crossing and re-crossing their factious line of demarcation, just as he feels himself impelled by the high, paramount, and subordinating principles of the Christianity which he professes. . . But turning away from the beggarly elements of such a competition as this, let us remark, that on the one hand, a religious administration will never take offence at a minister who renders a pertinent reproof to any set of men, even though they should happen to be their own agents or their own underlings; and that, on the other hand, a minister who is actuated by the true spirit of his office, will never so pervert or so prostitute his functions, as to descend to the humble arena of partisanship.  He is the faithful steward of such things as are profitable for reproof and for doctrine, and for correction, and for instruction in righteousness” (Collected Works 11:34-36).

Now, this is anything but a call for the clergy remain aloof from all things political.   Instead, it holds out the high principle of ministerial allegiance to heaven, which may make the man of God unpopular or put him on a collision course with the powers that be – whoever they be.  This was the legacy of Knox, the bold gadfly of Queen Mary.   This was the costly legacy of the John the Baptist and of so many of the prophets who preceded him.  May God grant us a double portion of their spirit.  And so let us stay out of anyone’s pocket – except God’s.

The architects of the Reformed Churches in the 16th century were trans-generational thinkers. As those who rediscovered Covenant Theology, this should be expected. In reading the First Book of Discipline (1560), one will encounter explicit and repeated concern for future generations as justification for church policy decisions. For “the profite of the posterity to come.” Like good fathers, they wanted what was best for their bairns, and their bairns’ bairns as well!

Does this paternal, trans-generational concern shape the way we ‘do church’?  Is what we do in doctrine, worship, and government really in the best interests of the rising generations, or is it more candy to placate the over-indulged? Are we correcting and cultivating, or just coddling?