John Stott’s Evangelical Truth

Posted on May 20, 2008 by Wyman

That titan of twentieth century theology, Karl Barth, near the end of his life was asked what the greatest thought he ever had was. He is said to have responded, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” We may safely believe this was the case, for great men seem to move closer towards the fundamental tenets of their worldviews, not further from them, as they approach the end of life.

It is not surprising, then, to find John Stott seeking to formulate and express the bedrock truths of the faith in this tremendous book. In short, he does a masterful job. After a brief survey of many proposed lists of Evangelical “essentials,” Stott boldly suggests his own:

“It would therefore, in my view, be a valuable clarification if we were to limit our evangelical priorities to three, namely the revealing initiative of God the Father, the redeeming work of God the Son and the transforming ministry of God the Holy Spirit. All other evangelical essentials will then find an appropriate place somewhere under this threefold and trinitarian rubric” (p.25).

This is what might be called “simple brilliance.” By positing these essentials in a trinitarian format, Stott has achieved an undeniably Biblical schema that can be easily remembered (and taught). Evangelicalism is in desperate need of such a system. Over against these essentials, Stott argues that there is room in the tent for disagreement over the particulars of certain adiaphora (matters indifferent). This list of twelve is sure to raise the hair on the backs of some necks. Some of these are: baptism, the Lord’s supper, church government, worship, charismata and women (in ministry). Stott does not argue that these issues are unimportant. Anybody who knows even a little about Stott and his flirtation with annihilationism knows that he is not one to avoid controversy. However, he argues that Evangelicals may honestly disagree with some of the details of these issues but still hold to the title.

This book will delight some and enrage others. However, if a true theology of consensus is going to be achieved that avoids a “lowest common denominator” faith on the one hand and a presumptive, arrogant faith on the other, this will undoubtedly be the result. Stott has given it a go that, while not perfect, is commendable. You will be changed by this work.

Timothy George and John Woodbridge’s The Mark of Jesus: Loving In a Way the World Can See

Posted on May 3, 2008 by Wyman

What a unique and interesting book Timothy George and John Woodbridge’s The Mark of Jesus: Loving In a Way The World Can See is. The title and content are meant to pay homage to Francis Schaeffer’s tremendous little book, The Mark of a Christian, and to Schaeffer’s idea of love as the “final apologetic.” Maybe it’s best to see this book as an update and extension of Schaeffer’s work.

Much has changed since Schaeffer wrote, and yet so much has not. What has not changed is the need for the Christian witness to be grounded in love and borne on the wings of love. With the rise of Islam and an increasingly tendentious religious scene in the United States (and around the world, for that matter), there has never been a better time for a renewed call for the final apologetic.

Love is the final apologetic because it cannot be refuted or argued against. Our arguments for Christ or against other religions can be bandied about, debated, and dissected, but genuine love for people cannot be. This is the case that George and Woodbridge are making, and they do it well. This is not, by the way, a lapse into sentimentalism. Strong arguments and truth claims are needed. But when these are buttressed by love, how much stronger they become.

Anything by Timothy George is worth reading (and I’m sure by Woodbridge as well, though I’m not as familiar with him). It is nice to see a popular level book by Dr. George, and I do hope he will do even more of these. Of course, being from the pens of two academic, this book occasionally wanders in fields that some might find a bit tedious. The long chapter on the rise of fundamentalism was fascinating, but I did occasionally wonder, while reading this chapter, who exactly this book’s target audience is? Regardless, that chapter in particular is important and helps explain a great deal about media terminology in covering religious realities in North America as well as about how people view evangelicals and fundamentalists. Furthermore, the authors do a good job in this section of questioning the oft-repeated supposed linkage between Christian fundamentalism and Islamic fundamentalism.

There’s helpful and practical wisdom here about what Christian ecumenism should look like. The authors refuse to sell doctrine down the river in exchange for dialogue and peace. No, we are to hold to our biblical convictions and seek to communicate them clearly. But we communicate our convictions with hearts of love and understanding.

Personally, this is a word I needed to hear. I suspect it’s a word we all need to hear. I highly recommend this book.

Stacy Rinehart’s Upside Down: The Paradox of Servant Leadership

Posted on April 5, 2008 by Wyman

I found myself walking away from this book with something of a love/hate relationship. I loved it because his overall premise is absolutely correct: the church has abandoned a model of servant leadership, as exemplified by Christ Himself, for a model based on power. This abandonment has resulted in hierarchical structures of leadership and an almost wholesale acceptance of business tactics and strategies in the church. Most tragically, Christian leaders and churches are now looking to secular business principles instead of the power and presence of Christ to lead them.

Who could disagree with this diagnosis of the modern church scene? I can’t. In this regard, Rinehart’s call for a return to servant leadership stands as a call that must be heard today if the church is going to speak with power in a dark world.

Yet, I found this book frustrating for the following reasons:

1. In his reaction against excessive hierarchical structures in the church, Rinehart almost seems to lapse into an anti-structuralism. At the very least, he should have guarded against this by speaking of the proper uses of leadership structuring in the church.

2. In his attempt to argue that the modern church has abandoned the model of the early church, he rather frequently lapses into historical glosses and romanticization. He pictures the early church as having almost no formal leadership structures. He does not, for instance, discuss how the Council of Jerusalem fits into his view of the early church, or how Paul’s and Acts’ seeming allusions to leadership structures and offices within the early church fit either.

3. He has rightly called for a return to the doctrine of the priesthood of the believer but has not mentioned the potential abuses of this doctrine on the other end of the spectrum: church members who sluff off any pastoral leadership on the basis that they too are priests. Bonhoeffer has addressed this problem elsewhere, and it is certainly as real an issue as the neglect of this doctrine which Rinehart admirably bemoans.

4. He does not discuss the office and function of the pastor.

5. He gives a too-pristine picture of the early church as a sort of utopian community of people who made decisions together and who recognized no earthly authority in the church.

6. His synopsis of church history and the decline of a functioning laity is too simplistic and categorized.

7. He laments The Didache as being the product of a church which had abandoned the model of the early community of believers and does not discuss in any real detail the possible positive reasons why the early Christian community might have needed to formulate such a manual.

8. He almost seems to suggest that the drawing up of confessions of faith and church polity manuals is inherently wrongheaded. I do not think he really believes this, but one would wish that he would discussed how we might rightly articulate doctrine and polity without relapsing into a cold adherence to extra-biblical formulations.

There is much to like about this book. The overall point is right on the mark. I was, in fact, deeply convicted by his proposal that we return to a model of servant leadership. However, Rinehart paints with too broad a brush, and a closer look at some of the details would have been nice.

Henri Nouwen’s Out of Solitude

Posted on September 20, 2007 by Wyman

One could make the argument that the most powerful things in life are simple and brief – a passing word of encouragement from a friend, a glance from one’s spouse, a child’s laugh, a moving quotation from an esteemed leader, or a teaching of Jesus. In short, human beings are never truly moved by the mind boggling and the complex. We are moved by powerful simplicity. The greatest spiritual teachings have never needed an interpretive flow chart.

With this in mind, I would like to recommend to anyone reading this review that they purchase Henri Nouwen’s Out of Solitude and read this short and simple little book – not because of its shortness and simplicity, but because of its power. I was given this book by a friend who recently rediscovered the importance of solitude in his own walk with the Lord. His only instruction was that I read it more than once. I have just finished my second time through it. It will not be the last time.

This book consists of three sections that were originally delivered by Henri Nouwen as sermons at the United Church of Christ at Yale University. Section one deals with solitude. Section two deals with care. Section three deals with expectation. Through introductions and conclusions to each section, Nouwen shows that these three facets of the spiritual life (solitude – care – expectation) stand together and, properly understood, progress into each other. The book also includes photographs by Ron P. van den Bosch that mirror the content of the text in their subtle strength.

Nouwen makes a compelling case that solitude served as the primary component of Jesus’s ministry. He contends that it was in His moments of solitude that Jesus reveled in His “oneness” with the Father. Consequently, all other facets of His earthly ministry sprang from this solitude. He then contends that solitude is no less important in our lives. Without it, Nouwen argues that we will live our lives in constant search of success, affirmation, and the pleasing of others over and against unity with God. Solitude therefore stands as the cornerstone of our spiritual lives – “A life without a quiet place, that is, a life without a quiet center, easily becomes destructive.” (p.21)

It is only of out solitude that we will learn to care. As a pastor, I found this section to be perhaps the most powerful. Nouwen states that we are more consumed with fixing people’s problems than with caring for them. He notes that “care” essentially means “to suffer.” Who can deny that we are a results-oriented society? This is a very real temptation in ministry (i.e., to want to fix but to forget to care) but it is a truth that is no less applicable to all Christians.

Lastly, Nouwen points to the Christian’s eschatological hope as that which keeps care from becoming “a morbid preoccupation with pain” (p.51). In his discussion of expectation, he highlights two aspects: patience and joy. His discussion of patience is particularly moving. In it, he notes that we will not understand what it is to truly live until we understand that life’s unexpected surprises, calamities, and joys are themselves opportunities for living and growing in patience and hope. He ends with reminding all of us that the expected consummation of all things in the coming kingdom of God is the only basis for true joy.

I highly recommend this book to anyone who would like to reexamine the most basic aspects of their walk with Jesus. Nouwen shows us that solitude, care, and expectation are much more difficult to attain and achieve than we had imagined. He also shows us that we simply cannot know what it is to be a Christian and a human until we do attain these things.

H. Richard Niebuhr’s Christ and Culture

Posted on September 20, 2007 by Wyman

Christ and Culture represents a cogent and systematic approach towards the categorization and evaluation of the Church’s interplay with culture throughout space and time. It is a seminal articulation, as evidenced by the strong feelings that it elicits from modern authors writing in the same field today, fifty-two years after its initial appearance. One begins to sense, when surveying a merely random sampling of modern works on the subject, that there is something of a Niebuhrian specter over the entire field which one may resist, acquiesce to, or curse, but never ignore or deny.

Niebuhr’s foundational contention is bold and provocative in its Christological assertions. He quotes approvingly Rabbi Klausner’s contention that Jesus threatened culture “by abstracting religion and ethics from the rest of social life” and postulating a concept of an otherworldly, a-cultural kingdom.1 Niebuhr speaks of Christ and culture as “two complex realities” and argues that “Christ leads men away from the temporality and pluralism of culture” and towards a radical devotion to God.2 To prove this contention, he points to the claims of the early antagonists to Christianity and their perception that Christ presented a threat to their culture.

It must frankly be asked whether or not this picture of Christ is true. Did Jesus teach a radical devotion to the God outside of culture and in so doing not only not concern Himself with the advancement of culture but frankly disregard it as well? This assertion would appear to be a gross oversimplification, and we may defend this by a number of means.

To begin with, there is no explicit evidence in the instructions of Jesus that this was His intention. Such a bold claim should ideally be able to point to some extant biblical claims to this effect. In truth, given the radical nature of Klausner and Niebuhr’s claim and given the far-reaching implications of such a claim, one would hope to see an abundance of such evidence.

Instead, what the Gospels offer us are claims that are either enigmatic or seemingly contradictory to Niebuhr’s Christology. Mark 12:17 (“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s.”) may be seen as postulating a radical dichotomy between the Way and the culture, but it could also be read as a theological statement about the supremacy of God, the recognition of which might, in actuality, cause His followers to enrich and guide culture. Furthermore, John 17:11,15-16 (“I do not ask that You take them out of the world…They are not of the world.”) could be read as an expression of Jesus’ desire that His people live with no regard to the culture, but it is perhaps better to see it as an appeal to the Father on behalf of His followers who will be exhibiting other-cultural values (yet not necessarily a-cultural values) in the dominant world system. Furthermore, the salt and light word-picture given by Jesus in Matthew 5:13-16 would appear to flatly contradict Niebuhr’s picture of Jesus through its emphasis on such restorative, preservative, and life-sustaining mediums.

Niebuhr’s Christology has also been poignantly critiqued in the work of John Howard Yoder. In The Politics of Jesus, Yoder takes great pains to show that, far from ignoring culture or abolishing it, Jesus’ teachings offered a revolutionary political ethic that was a far cry from the simply sectarian privatized spirituality to which Niebuhr appears to limit His focus. Yoder argues that the cross was “a political alternative to both insurrection and quietism,” that Jesus was killed for sedition, not heresy, that the very forming of the disciples had “political import,” and that Jesus ushered in a quite this-worldly jubilee. Furthermore, Yoder contends that Christ represented and taught a new kingdom on earth then (as opposed to a merely future kingdom), that Jesus rejected precisely that separatistic a-cultural spiritualism which Neibuhr claims He adhered to, and that He sought to create “an alternative social group” and not simply an anti-social group.3 Through many other examples, Yoder demonstrates that Christ not only did have great concern for culture, but that the redemption of man in his entirety was the crux of His coming.

Yoder’s critique, which, while it may be forced and overstated at times, is quite solid in its central assertions, also calls into question Niebuhr’s understanding of the reasons why Christ and the Church were resented and resisted by the culture. Niebuhr argues that early Christianity was resisted because they threatened culture through disinterest in it and through directing “their hopes towards another world.”4 Niebuhr contends also that Christ was understood to have failed to motivate His followers to “human achievement” and that He fostered “intolerance” in His followers.5 However, it would seem that the opposite was the case.

Christ was resisted not because He bred indifference to the culture in His disciples thereby rendering them effectually useless in the construction of a better social order, but rather because He introduced a culture that stood in such radical contradistinction to the prevailing culture that it was seen as a threat to the power structures of the day. It was not, then, that Jesus and His followers were so intolerant that it engendered ire in those outside of the community of faith. Rather, they were so tolerant that their counter-cultural alternative threatened the very survival of the world’s norms. Thus, Christ may be accused of threatening culture, but for very different reasons than Niebuhr suggests. Most importantly, his understanding of the cultural and socio-political import and, indeed, thrust of Christ’s teachings is misguided.

Flawed though his Christology is, however, Niebuhr’s typology of Christ and culture may still be evaluated. This is because of the fact that his typology more readily reflects the Church and culture. The body of Christ and Culture is ecclesial more than Christological. Niebuhr expressed five types of approaches the Church has taken towards culture: “Christ Against Culture,” “The Christ of Culture,” “Christ Above Culture,” “Christ and Culture in Paradox,” “Christ the Transformer of Culture.” Before interacting with the individual types, we must deal with the overall typological structure itself.

Fairly serious charges have been leveled against Niebuhr’s framing of the problem by Stanley Hauerwas and William Willimon (who have rather famously claimed that “few books have been a greater hindrance to an accurate assessment of our situation than Christ and Culture.”).6 Hauerwas and Willimon argue that Niebuhr affirmed “Constantinian” social strategies and that he dismissed those outside of his own liberal tradition as being narrowly sectarian. They also argue that Niebuhr sacrificed the radical nature of the Christian community in his call to responsible participation in the power structures of the culture, and that, in his typology, he “failed to describe the various historical or contemporary options for the church” and “simply justified what was already there.”7 This last charge is a direct criticism of the typology itself.

Hauerwas and Willimon are, overall, quite persuasive in their critique of Niebuhr, but one suspects that they protest too much and have not adequately considered the qualifications which Niebuhr himself put on the types. In truth, Niebuhr recognized a “multiplicity” of approaches that churches and individual believers have taken towards culture. Furthermore, the categories are merely “typical partial answers” that have been recurrent throughout history.8 He saw the entire discussion as dynamic and ongoing. The types do seem insufficient with the benefit of fifty years of hindsight, but Hauerwas and Willimon go too far in their implication that Niebuhr was being underhanded by framing “the argument in such a way as to ensure that the transformist approach would be viewed as the most worthy” and by employing “subtle repressiveness” in his construction of the types.9

It must also be stated that Niebuhr’s methodology is commendable. In presenting each type, he offers an in-depth expression of its thesis, points to representative examples of the type, and then offers the positives and negatives of the position. Hauerwas and Willimon go so far as to be suspect of his affirmation of the positive aspects of each type, seeing in these affirmations a strategic ploy which subtly promoted pluralism as a virtue thereby preparing the reader to see Niebuhr’s own pluralistic position as the most admirable.10 It is difficult not to feel that Hauerwas and Willimon, for all of the brilliance of their own proposals concerning the problem of Christ and culture, occasionally lose themselves in the moment. There is no reason to suspect that Niebuhr was being anything other than objective and fair with the types, even if, as seems clear, he preferred one over the others.

Niebuhr depicts his first type, “Christ against culture,” as that approach which rejects culture, sees it as fundamentally evil, and turns from culture’s political and societal expressions in an attempt to find protection and avoid spiritual contamination. Those who use this approach view the Church as “a third race” which stands apart from the fallen culture.11 Representative of this type were Tertullian and Leo Tolstoy.

Niebuhr’s handling of 1 John under this type illustrates one of the deficiencies of his approach: the tendency and temptation to force the scriptures into these categories. Admittedly, he does qualify that no book of the Bible fits neatly into any of these categories, and that 1 John simply “contains the least ambiguous presentation of this point of view.”12 However, Niebuhr’s rather conjectural assertion that the author of 1 John was so sure of the imminence of Christ’s return that he gave little thought towards creating a cultural ethic or set of instructions in this area reveals a certain tendency towards eisegesis in his handling of the text.

Even so, Niebuhr’s critique of this position is quite thorough and balanced. He correctly notes that those who have adopted this approach often end up influencing and advancing the culture as well as drawing from the culture at the same time. In short, the great Achilles’ heel of this type is its assumption than one can truly detach oneself from the culture. It is, in actuality, impossible, and even those that have adopted this approach end up trafficking in cultural forms of thought, speech, and interaction.13 This approach appears to be naïve of the cultures’ role in forming who we are.

As balanced as Niebuhr’s handling of the “Christ Against Culture” type is, it must be noted that there are subtle but serious problems that arise here as well. By lumping “Protestant sectarianism” in with the ascetic and nearly monastic Tolstoy and the legalist Tertullian, Niebuhr appears to imply that viewing the Church as a separate culture (i.e., “sect”) means abandoning it to irrelevance. Yet, there is a powerful school of thought, of which Hauerwas, Willimon, Yoder, Clapp, and many others are a part, which have convincingly shown that the Church as a separate people among the people not only has the potential to redeem the culture but is, in fact, the model which Christ himself taught. That is, there is a form of sectarian engagement which the Niebuhrian categories cannot allow.

For instance, Christian political thinkers Timothy Sherratt and Ronald Mahurin would almost certainly be considered by Niebuhr to be in the “Christ Against Culture” category. They see Christians as inhabiting a unique culture, a Kingdom within the culture, so to speak. However, they argue that the ethics of the Kingdom will enrich the culture even though they will do so through the use of non-cultural tools (i.e., the infusion of love instead of power into the political process).14 Furthermore, Lawrence E. Adams has demonstrated that, given the inner turmoil and self-contradictions of American public opinions, and given the willingness of the American culture to follow leadership which is clear and engaging, “the acting out” of kingdom principles within the community of faith, regardless of any use of or involvement in the normative cultural power structures, will likely prove to be its most effective tool in reaching the culture.15 Thus, the suggestion that all sectarianism is a form of negation and isolation proves to be too simplistic. In truth, a sectarianism that would offer the wider culture a powerful display of countercultural ethics, political, economic, and otherwise, might possibly be the best way of engaging the culture.

Niebuhr’s handling of “Christ in Culture” is quite admirable and balanced. Those in this camp are theological liberals, those who seek to wed what is best in Christianity with what is best in culture. They are “this worldly” and are concerned less with the purported miracles of Scripture than with human achievement and attainment. The Gospel is posited in cultural terms, and Jesus is seen as the apex of civilization. These are the enlightened ones, rationalists whose Christianity ultimately ends up being a vague form of Gnosticism wearing a Christian jacket.16

While pointing out that Fundamentalist critics of cultural-Protestantism are often guilty of the same cultural loyalties and societal causes (albeit, of a different stripe) as those they criticize, Niebuhr actually repeats many Fundamentalist objections to this position. He points out, for instance, that those who have adopted this approach do not seem to draw others to Christ, that they must, of necessity, compromise on the scandal of Christ in order to accommodate to culture, and that they seem to open the door for mere humanism.17 Consequently, his overall tone of this position is one of rejection.

Niebuhr classes his final three types under the umbrella term “the church of the center” and argues that these churches represent “the great majority movement in Christianity.”18 The “church of the center” expresses itself, according to Niebuhr, in three ways: through the synthesis of Christ and culture (“Christ Above Culture”), dualistically (“Christ and Culture in Paradox”), and with a conversionist emphasis (“Christ the Transformer of Culture”). This grouping together is important insofar as it implicitly relegates separatistic strains to the realm of the tangential. At this point, Haurwas, Willimon, and others who are arguing for the creation of a radical culture within the culture seem justified in their frustration with Niebuhr. Again, separatism and sectarianism are too easily dismissed by Niebuhr’s types as being those approaches which impact culture only incidentally. Clapp, Yoder, Hauerwas and others have very convincingly shown that this is simply faulty.

The synthesist is the believer who understands the distinction between the Lordship of Christ and the temporality of culture, but who nonetheless seeks to bring Christian verities to bear on his immediate culture. He seeks a unified system, though not, like the “Christ of Culture” believer, to the point of sacrificing the supremacy of Christ. There is no confusion in his mind about his priorities. Christ is preeminent. However, he wants to see the Kingdom lived in the culture now.

In many ways, Francis Schaeffer is the champion of this approach. Through his use of culture in apologetics and his call for a return to a Christian America, Schaeffer, who clearly reflects elements of “Christ the Transformer of Culture” as well, represents a modern attempt at the synthesis of Christ and culture. Yet, Schaeffer offered tragic but clear affirmation of Niebuhr’s criticism that synthesists “tend, perhaps inevitably, to the absolutizing of what is relative, the reduction of the infinite to a finite form, and the materialization of the dynamic.”19

This is seen nowhere more clearly than in Schaeffer’s most blatant call for Christian engagement with the culture, A Christian Manifesto, a book which was instrumental in the solidifying of Jerry Falwell’s Moral Majority in the 1980’s. Here, Schaeffer bizarrely attacks Christian lawyers and intellectuals for the “loss” of the culture to the humanist worldview and rather shrilly calls for Christians to see the “conservative swing in the United States,” as evidenced by the election of Ronald Reagan in 1980, as a temporarily opened window which offers Christians the greatest opportunity to impact the culture.20 In so doing, Schaeffer “absolutized the relative” (i.e., a political opportunity in a particular election) and reduced the “infinite to a finite form” (i.e., the Church within the structures of the state). In this, Niebuhr’s evaluation of the synthesists proves not only amazingly accurate, but prophetic as well.

Ultimately, Niebuhr appears to favor “Christ the Transformer of Culture.” He refers to the adherents of this position as belonging to “the great central tradition of Christianity” and seeks to show how this position avoids the extremities of the others. Once again, those who see Christ as being “against culture” are relegated to the category of largely irrelevant and reactionary separatists. True engagement, according to Niebuhr, comes in operating within the structures of the culture. His appeal to this position as being not merely a position, but a “motif” which runs through “the Gospel of Matthew and the Letter of James through Paul’s epistles to the Fourth Gospel, or proceeds from Tertullian, the Gnostics, and Clement to Augustine, or from Tolstoy, Ritschl, and Kierkegaard to F.D. Maurice” further reflects his admiration of it.21 Clearly, then, Niebuhr sees this type as that which not only has the widest biblical support but is also so pervasive that those of other types inevitably return and partake of it. Indeed, for Niebuhr, this type strikes something of a via media between “the anti-culturalism of exclusive Christianity, and against the accommodationism of culture-Christians.”22

Yet Niebuhr’s optimism for this position has proven to be naïve. One must question whether or not such an optimistic understanding and approach to the Church’s interaction within culture is truly able to impact culture and, perhaps more critical to the question at hand, to avoid cultural accommodation. The charge that such an approach merely reinforces a “Constantinian” approach to culture, downplays the restorative and reforming power of a community exhibiting other-cultural values in the midst of the dominant cultural system to change that system, and binds the church to necessarily ineffectual means is frankly difficult to contest. Furthermore, it has perhaps been demonstrated in the fifty years which have elapsed since the initial publication of Niebuhr’s work, that the optimistic liberalism of his approach has simply not achieved the type of results that adherents to this position might desire.

Ultimately, the dismissal of “sectarianism” as irrelevant and reactionary is too simplistic. It inappropriately neglects the great potential for cultural transformation through the establishment of a community of believers who see themselves not merely as consumers and manipulators of existing cultural models but rather as harbingers of a radical new Kingdom ethic which might be exhibited among the larger culture, thereby creating a distinct new alternative to decaying cultural norms.

1 H. Richard Niebuhr, Christ and Culture (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 2001), 3.
2 Ibid., 39.
3 John Howard Yoder, The Politics of Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2002), 36-39,62,96,106.
4 Niebuhr, 6.
5 Niebuhr, 6-7.
6 Stanley Hauerwas and William H. Willimon, Resident Aliens (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1989), 40.
7 Ibid., 40-41.
8 Niebuhr, 40.
9 Hauerwas and Willimon, 40-41.
10 Hauerwas and Willimon, 41.
11 Niebuhr, 49.
12 Ibid., 46.
13 Niebuhr, 66-69,72.
14 Timothy R. Sherratt and Ronald P. Mahurn, Saints as Citizens (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1995), 38.
15 Lawrence E. Adams, Going Public (Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press, 2002), 131,133,152,154.
16 Niebuhr, 85-90.
17 Niebuhr, 108,113.
18 Ibid., 117.
19 Niebuhr, 145.
20 Francis Schaeffer, A Christian Manifesto (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books, 1982), 47,50-51,73-74.
21 Niebuhr, 190-191.
22 Ibid., 206.

Bono’s On the Move

Posted on September 8, 2007 by Wyman

What to say about Bono’s little book, On the Move? Actually, the book is Bono’s speech at the February 2, 2006 National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, D.C. (video and audio here). Thomas Nelson Publishers felt that the speech needed to be published in an accessible and attractive format, and to this end they’ve succeeded admirably.

The book is comprised of the text of Bono’s speech as well as numerous pictures that Bono has taken during his trips to Africa over the last twenty years. It’s a small hardback volume that costs around $12 retail. All of the royalties go to the Onecampaign, a grassroots effort seeking to bring much-needed assistance to the continent of Africa.

Bono, the lead singer for the great Irish rock band U2 is a well-known and occasionally irritating philanthropist. He seems to realize this about himself, as do others. He begins his speech with some self-deprecating observations about his “messiah complex” and the odd irony of a rock star with a luxury home in the south of France (an interesting tidbit that he offers) lecturing others on alleviating poverty. His methods have been criticized by some, and there does seem to be some merit to at least some of the concerns, but by all accounts Bono seems to have a sincere and earnest desire to see a very real wrong addressed in Africa.

In his speech, Bono bemoans the indifference that too many wealthy people in the West have concerning the fact that 6,500 Africans die of AIDS every day. He recounts how a friend’s observation about the year 2000 being “the year of Jubilee” really got his wheels turning about how wealthy nations could help Africa by forgiving debt and working to alleviate avoidable calamaties by sending medicine and promoting economic development in Africa. In this speech, Bono calls on the President (who was present) to push for the United States to give an additional 1% of the federal budget to Africa.

Bono seems to have a genuine and impressive knowledge of the Bible. He reveals that his mother was Catholic and his father Protestant. In Ireland, of course, this makes for spiritually schizophrenic children, and, in Bono’s case, it made for a child who was skeptical about church but very interested in God and in scripture. This is evident in the speech. Bono’s scriptural observations seem more substantial that the customary sampling we get from rock starts…which almost always consists of Jesus’ warning to the self-righteous Jews about “casting the first stone” against the woman caught in adultery.

Bono also offered some theological reflections that I believe were well-said. For instance, he sees the tragedy in Africa as primarily an issue of justice rooted in and rising from the inherent dignity of all God’s people. In this, he is correct. We should care for the plight of those in Africa first and foremost because of a robust understanding of the imago Dei.

Regrettably, the speech suffers from some almost predictable liberal platitudes that really do make one groan. I am speaking here primarily of the part of the speech when Bono is calling for the equality of all peoples: black, white, rich, poor, gay, straight. Why oh why cannot those who read scripture see that there is a fundamental and qualitative difference between race and sexual activity? Why in a speech about the extremely worthwhile topic of helping the burning continent of Africa must Bono give a nod to the gay agenda? It is irksome. More tragic than that, though, is the fact that such drivel morphs Bono’s efforts into the very fountain that James warned against: the fountain that tries to send forth both bitter and sweet waters.

Bono doesn’t like self-righteousness. He says so more than once in the speech. Biblically, this is right on. Jesus didn’t like it either. Neither should we. Self-righteousness is always and ever seeking to work it’s diabolical ways in the house of God. But why do I have the sneaking suspicion that when Bono says “self-righteousness” he actually means “any criticism against any act (almost certainly sexual) that scripture clearly condemns as sinful”?

Anyway, the reader may also be put off by the latitudinarian co-belligerency in Bono’s speech. He is addressing a group of Christians, Jews, and Muslims, so he stresses that each of the major religions call for caring for the poor. This didn’t bother me. He’s right. They do. It reminds me of C.S. Lewis’s observation that Christians don’t have to say that other religions are wrong in every single assertion they make, only that where they differ from Christianity, Christianity is correct and they are not.

So, in all, this little book is a mixed bag. It has its strong moments, but I kept asking myself this question over and over again while I read this: “If this guy wasn’t a famous rock star, would I find this speech in any way compelling?”

But let me end on a high note. Bono has rightly called for attention to be given to one of the most devastating humanitarian crises of our age. He has given himself and much of his own fortune to this cause. Unlike some stars (cough – Sean Penn – cough), he really does seem to be more interested in helping than in photo-ops. He calls himself a believer and shows familiarity with the text of scripture. The fact that his morality at points seems to be more informed by the glitzy, vapid, left-leaning entertainment culture of which he is a part than a thoroughly biblical worldview should cause us to pray for Bono to see and hear the whole counsel of God, but it should not cause us to miss the strengths and truths of his compelling call for those who have much to give compassionately and sacrificially to those who have not.

Furthermore, Bono steers clear of the customary rejection of the Church that we find in so many members of the entertainment industry who say they are Christians. He doesn’t seem especially proud of his earlier skepticism concerning the Church. In fact, he says that he has been pleasantly surprised to see how many in the Church have been working on this problem in admirable ways for some time. In this, he is correct, but the Church can and do must more to address the horrendous tragedy of Africa.

Francis Watson’s Text and Truth

Posted on September 6, 2007 by Wyman

Francis Watson’s goal in Text and Truth is to argue for the merits of a new “biblical theology.” His impetus in this is the perception that the separation of theological studies from biblical studies and, within biblical studies, the separation of New Testament studies from Old Testament studies is predicated upon false assumptions and is, in reality, self-limiting and self-repeating. He argues that these two lines of demarcation (i.e., between theology and biblical studies and between Old and New Testament studies) have effectively removed any concept of text and truth. Instead, the theologian feels no right to interact with biblical studies in any authoritative and substantial way because that is a separate discipline. The biblical scholar does not interact in any substantial way with theology. And the New and Old Testament scholars do not interact with one another. The result of this is that no concept of biblical theology is achieved and a holistic treatment of scripture never occurs. Most tragically, however, is the lack of any notion of truth. The biblical scholar cannot make theological pronouncements and vice versa. Watson argues that these lines of demarcation are ideologically founded and that the wholesale rejection of biblical theology is as unmerited as a wholesale acceptance of it. He hopes to retain the positive aspects of the biblical theology movement of the mid-twentieth century while rejecting its flaws and thereby arrive at a true biblical theology that will integrate the theological and textual biblical studies (8).

Watson begins by noting that modern biblical studies have created a false dichotomy between the narrative study of the gospels and the historical-critical study of the gospels. The narrative study is concerned with each gospel writer’s telling of the story. These narratives are seen as containing fictional elements, but it is not the narrative critic’s job to interact with the text’s historiographical intent (33). Rather, the redaction scholar is concerned with identifying and elucidating the Markan Jesus or the Lukan Jesus through an evaluation of the gospel narratives. The historical critical scholar, however, does the work of identifying and stripping away fictional narrative elements in search of the reality that lay behind them (37-38). These two disciplines are kept separate and seemingly have no real bearing on one another as redaction criticism is considered to deal with a fictionally expressed faith and historical criticism is considered to deal with reality. Watson’s proposal is that this framework be replaced with a concept of narrative history.

In his attempt to establish a concept of narrative history or biblical historiography, Watson sees historical events as events which are communicated creatively and handed down through tradition to the ages. There is, however, an historical point of reference that rests behind the fluid, creative, and dynamic attempts at expressing it. Concerning the life of Jesus, Watson notes that the gospels do not present strict biographies but rather communally accepted articulations of the importance of the Christ event. Watson sees this as legitimate “history” (52-53). Thus, the reality of the transcendent nature of the Christ event, not historicity strictly speaking, is the important issue here. Furthermore, the gospels do not merely point back to a past event. Rather, in their writing, the gospels interact with the Christ event that is past, present, and future (53). Watson seems to be saying here that this notion of temporal fluidity and the timeless conception of the Christ event explains the variance of some elements, chronological and otherwise, within the gospels. Furthermore, he claims that the Christ event is “stabilized” through the transmission of the community’s past, present, and future interaction with it to writing (54).

Watson next attempts to combat “the polarizing of history and fiction” (59). This, of course, is crucial to his stated goal of undermining the assumptions that would draw such radical distinctions between a redactive and a historical critical approach to the scripture. He states that the gospels are emplotted, that they contain the beginning, middle, and ending aspects of a plot that is moved along points of reference. That is, the gospels are structured in such a way as to tell a story that has points of reference to an historic event and that is not to be evaluated solely by the cold eye of historical verification. Watson, in facts, argues against this radical distinction between history and fiction by noting that an historiographical writing may legitimately employ both elements (history and fiction) in the construction of its emplotted flow (55-57). He speaks to the issue of the fictional elements of the gospel narratives by arguing that there is purpose for such elements in historiography. He appeals to Ricoeur’s notion that fiction is often applied historiogaphically in the description of epochal events which help a community achieve self-understanding (61-63).

I find that I am highly sympathetic to Watson’s intentions but nonetheless wonder if his assertions are not as ideologically motivated as the lines of demarcation he is seeking to remove. His analysis of the disparaging state of biblical studies in which redaction critics study the narratives with no concern for historicity and historical critical scholars seek out the reality, or the history, of the text with no apparent concern for the narrative elements is commendable. However, in the final analysis his proposed solution for destroying the radical dichotomy currently being drawn between real history and false fiction depends upon the truthfulness of these categories and not merely their existence. In other words, it is possible to challenge the assumption that there are fictional elements at all. If this is done, of course, then this attempted synthesis of these two elements through an analysis of gospel emplottments and other structures is unnecessary. And what reason, truly, does Watson have for supposing these assumptions concerning the fictional elements to be true? His tone would suggest something closely resembling a mere assumption that this must be the case.

The overarching question is the question of historicity. Try as he may to downplay and explain creatively the presence and viability of fictional elements, Watson never adequately addresses why we must agree with this theory in the first place as he never enters into dialogue with apologetic endeavors which assert the contrary. As such, Text and Truth is itself founded on ideological premises that may themselves be rejected.

The implications of this discussion on the preaching task are fairly obvious. Is the preacher proclaiming truth or fiction? May he have relative confidence in the historical reliability of his assertions or must he merely assent to be part of the creative flow of historiofiction. I am not attempting to minimize Watson here. Given the truthfulness of the assertion that the narratives contain fictional elements, Watson’s theory of handling them is ingenious. However, I reject the truthfulness of that assertion and, consequently, the construct he erects on that assumption.

Watson next turns his attention to the question of how it is that a finite text may be interpreted infinitely. In this discussion, he interacts with those who find the answer to this question in a supposed “radical indeterminancy within the text itself” (74). This is a postmodern construct which believes that the gospel writers intentionally crafted their gospels in a form that will not allow an ultimate interpretation. Thus, they share the nature of parables that are intended to blind the hearer or reader. Consequently, the authors intend to tease, as it were, the reader into an unending interaction with the text that never reaches a final interpretative destination.

Watson’s response to this is largely refreshing. He points out that the genre of gospel is inherently unlike the genre of parable. Gospels by their nature proclaim something and this proclamation does not harmonize with any radical textual indeterminancy. The gospels proclaim Christ and, in fact, intend to do so (73-77). This means that they cannot be treated as parables.

Furthermore, Watson accuses purveyors of this position of accepting gnostic tendencies. Gnosticism draws a distinction between “carnal” and “spiritual” interpretations and thereby opens a door for allegory. This is seemingly what has happened in this stance of radical indeterminancy. Furthermore, this view is in danger of missing the point of the gospels and erecting an illegitimate (and illegitimately complex) structure on insufficient, scant evidence. Simply put, there is no real reason to treat the gospels as harbingers of uncertainty and tools for interpretative teasing (79-80). In summation, any system finds a radical uncertainty in the nature of the gospel writings themselves has misunderstood the intent and nature of a gospel and has opened a Pandora’s box of gnostic subjectivism and error.

Watson ends his discussion of these purported gnostic tendencies by pointing to Mark’s account of the transfiguration (83-88). In the story, Peter, James, and John are shown the nature and glory of Christ. What was hidden was revealed. Watson sees in this a response to those who would argue that the gospels are sources of indeterminancy and hopelessness. He argues instead that the transfiguration is the watershed moment of Mark’s gospel for it showed Peter, James, and John that truth, meaning, and purpose has been and can be revealed.

The second section of Watson’s book is actually a brilliant rebuttal of a postmodern hermeneutic of despair. Against theories of radical indeterminancy, Watson replies quite simply that those who espouse such views have forgotten or overlooked the nature of a gospel and have run off in unjustifiable directions with a palsied hermeneutical approach. While the previous section of the book still raises questions as to the question of how and in what sense, in Watson’s mind, the gospels reveal anything trustworthy, it must nonetheless be admitted that his closing of the door on postmodern hermeneutical despair is more than admirable.

The preacher’s task is inextricably interwoven with the proposition that he may know what the scriptures in fact say. Watson’s arguments here provide a positive tool towards that end. If the postmodern hermeneutic of despair or suspicion is true, the preacher may never definitively offer any word of hope. He may never be sure of the truthfulness of his own proclamation. He may never say with any assurance, “Thus saith the Lord.” Instead, he is condemned to a lifelong game of interpretative guesswork and homiletical “shots in the dark.” Thus, Watson’s arguments are crucial to the preaching task.

In the third chapter of Truth and Text, Watson seeks to criticize a postmodern paradigm of interpretation. He mentions three contentions of this paradigm. First of all, there is no single meaning of a text. Second, meaning is determined by the reader and not by the author. Lastly, theological interpretations can claim to be no better or worse than others but must instead commit themselves to an ongoing, pluralistic, interpretative dialogue (95-96). Watson states that these three premises are deficient in many ways (97).

He argues that writing is an act with an intention. It intends to communicate something and therefore must be understood if the intention is to be fulfilled (98-103). He argues further that the gospels may be understood as having single meanings which include a variety of communicative components. This meaning is bound to the words of the text. Watson realizes that there is a problem with this view in the fact that a single passage may be translated in many different ways and may be accepted differently by different people. This, however, is no ultimate reason to reject a belief in the presence of a central meaning of a text. Rather, instead of accepting the postmodern tendency to celebrate these different translations and interpretations as being noble in and of themselves and as serving as proofs of indeterminancy in the text, Watson points out that it is the job of the interpreter to weigh the interpretation and the evidence behind them in order to see which is best (112-113).

Furthermore, Watson argues for the necessity of an objectivity by which such a process of interpretative clarification may be verified. Objectivity, for instance, frees us from assuming a necessary particularity behind an interpretation. We may, in other words, appeal to criteria outside of our own social and cultural environment as reasons for our interpretation (113-114). Second, objectivity saves us from an unending interpretative ambiguity. Third, objectivity assumes the presence of criteria outside of our own opinions that will help us in judging the merits of various interpretative positions (114-115).

Watson next contends for an understanding of interpretation in which the author’s intent is seen as the meaning of a passage. He stresses, however, that this intent is often hard to achieve. Furthermore, more than just the mere defining of words is necessary. Watson argues that we may know authorial intent because of “the reality of institutional continuities” that allow us to understand the text and its meaning (115-118). This also implies that the application of a text to today is necessarily to be a concern of the interpreter (123). Lastly, regardless of specific, contextualized interpretations of a text, the actual words and meaning of a text, or a text’s “objective interpretation,” must be given priority (123-124). Watson argues this ostensibly in an attempt to save the text from a pluralistic interpretative relativity.

In all, Watson’s assertions regarding the single meaning of a text, the establishing of meaning on the basis of the author’s and not the interpreter’s assertions, and the dangers of an unfettered pluralistic relativity are wise. The heavy emphasis that he places on objectivity and the possibility and need of recognizing its existence is crucial to the entire question of postmodernism. By arguing in favor of the existence of objectivity, Watson is closing the door on unrestrained existentialist approaches to interpretation.

His treatment of the meaning of a text is interesting. I believe he makes an extremely valid and thought provoking point in his argument that the continuity of communal institutions is a harbinger for meaning. This provides an additional helpful aspect to Ridderbos’s and Erickson’s discussion of meaning.

The modern preacher will benefit from Watson’s work in this regard. Once again, Watson provides a framework whereby the preacher need not resign himself to hermeneutical uncertainty. He may argue, on the basis of objective criteria, that his interpretation is valid. In polemical preaching he may argue on this basis that his interpretation is preferable to another. And, on the basis of Watson’s exaltation of the meaning of the text as it stands independent of modern contextualized reinterpretation, the preacher may claim that there is a true meaning in the midst of competing cultural interpretations. This last claim, however, should be made cautiously and in full recognition of our own presuppositions and propensities for culturally conditioned interpretation.

In Watson’s fourth chapter, the last of the first section of the book, he defines and interacts with neo-Marcionism. He derives this name from Marcion and the controversies that surrounded him. Among other things, Marcion asserted that the Old Testament should be rejected as part of the Christian Bible. Watson contends that neo-Marcionism was advocated by Schleiermacher, Harnack, and Bultmann. These three German theologians rejected the Old Testament in favor of a more direct experience with God (127-128).

Schleiermacher rejected the importance of scripture in favor of a direct experience of redemption. Thus, an evaluation of scripture was largely unnecessary (131). When Schleiermacher did deal with scripture, his hermeneutic was obsessed with finding within it a picture of Jesus’ experience with God. He summarily disregarded and rejected those portions of the New Testament that he found problematic or unuseful to his a priori assumptions (132).

His hermeneutic was essentially psychological. That is, he interacted with texts psychologically and not through an evaluation of the words of the text. This is a basically subjective approach to hermeneutics. Scripture, to Schleiermacher, is important only insofar as it reveals to us the personality of the Jesus with whom we interact. The specific form of the text is unimportant (136-137). Most importantly, Schleiermacher rejected the Old Testament as not being inspired. He also claimed that Christianity has nothing to do with Judaism other than a purely historical relationship (138). Furthermore, in keeping with his own approach to Christianity, Schleiermacher rejected the Old Testament as being cold text whereas the New Testament, by revealing to us the personality of Jesus, represents experience with God (140).

Harnack likewise rejected the Old Testament. He approved of Marcion’s idea that the Old Testament is a stifling tradition which is the antithesis of a direct, dynamic encounter with Christ (141-142). Furthermore, to Harnack, the Church’s acceptance of the Old Testament revealed an insufficient appreciation of the newness of Christ (143). Watson pictures Harnack as carrying on and continuing the work of Marcion for twentieth century liberalism (143-144).

Harnack summarized the essence of Christianity in three categories: “the kingdom of God and its coming,” “God the Father and the infinite value of the human soul,” and “the higher righteousness and the commandment of love” (147). He sought to remove Jesus from his Jewish context and stressed the centrality of the individually redemptive work of Jesus and the believer’s experience with Him for the Christian faith (147). Harnack also called on twentieth century Protestants to correct the mistakes of Luther and the Reformers and expel the Old Testament from the canon (150).

Rudolph Bultmann also argued that the Old Testament was not inspired though it did have some importance in helping us understand ourselves and the nature of humanity. He downplayed any relationship between the events of Israel’s history and the life of Christ. He also downplayed the importance of Old Testament messianic prophecies on the basis that they were not useful to the modern individual (154-155). Like Marcion and Harnack, Bultmann elevated experience with Christ as the criterion by which everything was to be judged. Thus, the Old Testament, in his estimation, was not authoritative like the New Testament (156).

It was “pragmatically useful,” but not essential to the Church (166). Even the New Testament was demoted in importance by Bultmann. It was, famously, “demythologized” by him. Furthermore, its words and teachings were considered unimportant by him. Instead, Bultmann saw the chief value of the New Testament in terms of its picture of the passion of Christ. This represented to Bultmann a picture of radical dependence on God and was, in his mind, the basis of a direct experience with God on the part of the believer that serves as the core of Christianity (168).

Watson’s treatment of Marcion, Schleiermacher, Harnack, and Bultmann is meant to show that the modern assumption undergirding the independent and unrelated scholarly studies of the Old and New Testaments (Watson’s “second line of demarcation”) has an ancient and not too noble history. It is predicated upon a false understanding of the nature of the testaments and will potentially leave the door open for further theological fallacies such as those exhibited by these three German theologians. At the heart of each of these men’s systems is a basic misunderstanding of text and truth. Text may offer some practical insights, but truth itself has no real correlation to its content or makeup. Thus, text may be dealt with haphazardly, violently, or not at all, and truth will be none the worse for it. This, Watson contends, is a fallacy that lies behind the separation of these disciplines.

I believe that Watson does an admirable job in this first section of his book in arguing for a new articulation of a biblical theology. He discussion of fiction and history, in my opinion, leaves much to be desired and is the weakest of his arguments. However, his consideration of textual indeterminancy, objectivity, authorial intent, reader-response hermeneutics, pluralism, and the philosophical underpinnings of a rejection of the Old Testament are handled masterfully and forcefully. Thus, it can be said that Watson has succeeded overall in laying the groundwork for an argument for biblical theology and in combating the pervasive and damaging affects of postmodernism on the pursuit of truth today.

Today’s preacher must consider Watson’s contentions. Postmodernism, like all movements, inevitably passes from the detailed verbage of the scholarly to the unevaluated assumptions of the vernacular. This means that difficult questions concerning the nature of truth and the nature of text are currently being and will continue to be asked by those within our parishes. Furthermore, the relationship of the testaments is a perennial question that must be responded to.

Preaching itself will, I believe, be positively impacted by a close consideration of Watson’s arguments. As stated above, the confidence and assurance that a pastor will preach with will prove to be dependent upon the confidence he has in his subject matter. Can the preacher proclaim the text as truth? This seems to be the central question. Watson answers the question, albeit not always in ways that make me comfortable, with a “yes.” In this he is correct.

Sidney Greidanus’ The Modern Preacher and the Ancient Text

Posted on September 5, 2007 by Wyman

Chapter 1 of The Modern Preacher and the Ancient Text sets the stage for the rest of the book by discussing the basic issues of the nature and authority or preaching, the importance of the Bible in the task of preaching, and the importance of expository preaching. Greidanus traces modern preaching back to apostolic preaching and, before this, to prophetic pronouncements of God. Yet he does this cautiously and with a recognition of the important distinctions between modern preachers and the biblical prophets and apostles. Nonetheless, all of these are similar in that they proclaim God’s word. Furthermore, in all three instances there is an appreciation of the word of God as an event and not just as words. This is even true of the prophets, even though their message came through visions and dreams and was not dependent on a textual starting point. Furthermore, all three of these instances may be seen as a part of redemptive history (1-3). Thus, while modern preachers may not, of course, claim a direct word from God as the prophets did or the authority of the New Testament apostles, they may nonetheless have the certainty of being part of an “indispensable link” of proclaimers of God’s truth and of speaking God’s word insofar as they are faithful to that word in its written form (7,9). Greidanus points, as Ridderbos did, to the juridical nature of apostleship, as well as the juridical nature of the preaching task as it is revealed in the New Testament application of the monikers “herald” and “ambassador” to the apostles, in an effort to establish that the proclamation of God’s word through the medium of preaching is authoritative (4).

Greidanus argues for preachers to ground their sermons in the text of Scripture. He appeals to both Old and New Testament examples of this as evidence for this necessity. By proclaiming the word of God as it stands in written form, modern preachers are standing with the prophets and apostles in the flow of redemptive history. Preaching is itself an aspect of redemptive history and is used by God as a divinely sanction medium to reach the world.

The importance of preaching scripture is further expounded upon in Greidanus’s preference of expository preaching. Expository preaching is preaching that preaches the Bible as the word of God to men and women today. It proclaims biblical passages and does so with the assurance that this is God’s word. Furthermore, Greidanus argues that expository preaching is inherently authoritative as it stands in faithful proclamation of the revealed and authoritative word of God (12). As such, the Bible, not human opinions or human epistemological constructions, serves as the source and starting point of expository preaching (13-14). There is also an inherent safeguard in expository preaching. Preaching that is grounded in the scriptures is capable of being weighed and measured by and against the objectively verifiable written expression of God’s word. Greidanus also argues that expository preaching must be God-centered and must be “good news” (14-15).

Greidanus makes further arguments for the superiority of expository preaching. He points, for example, to John Stott’s four evidences for the preferability of this form of proclamation. First, the Bible places limits around the expository proclamation. Second, it “demands integrity” by tying the proclamation to the Bible. Third, by tying the sermon to the text, unnecessary and disruptive sermonic tangents are ideally avoided. Lastly, expository preaching gives the preacher confidence as he stands on the authority of the Bible. Greidanus goes on to speak of various ways that expository preaching is helpful to the Church as well (16).

Greidanus has a rather fascinating discussion of the variety of forms within scripture. In this discussion he seems to be combating the notion that expository preaching must forever be wedded to the old “three points and poem” paradigm. Instead, Greidanus argues that a close evaluation of the particular form and the particular intentions of the text we are interacting with will guide us in the careful application of a variety of expressions that reflect that form’s intentions. In other words, the Bible communicates itself with variety so why should the preacher not do the same? Greidanus believes that this can be done in expository preaching and, in fact, will show a higher degree of faithfulness to the actual form of the text in the process (18-20).

Greidanus’s opening chapter is a solid beginning point and is also very helpful to the modern preacher. His views concerning the authority of scripture are very similar to those of Ridderbos. This means that Greidanus has a high view of scripture as well as a high view of the nature of proclamation and the need for modern preaching to stand in faithful continuance of the biblical practice of proclamation. This, of course, is the crucial question for the modern preacher. Does he speak with authority? Greidanus’s contention that the preacher speaks with authority as he speaks in fidelity to the text is an extremely important point. Preaching itself bestows no limitless concept of authority on the various words a preacher might say. Rather, only those words that conform to the truth of scripture bear authority.

This conviction necessarily drives Greidanus to an appreciation of expository preaching as the most crucial mode of proclamation today. He has made his case well. I agree completely. We have seen in our various reflections on postmodernism the dangerous tide of subjectivity and existentialism that ensues whenever the objectively verifiable text is subjugated to a secondary status. It is against this potential for homiletical homelessness that Greidanus rightly argues for the need for preaching to be grounded in the text. His arguments are more than persuasive.

In chapter 2, Greidanus further separates himself from the postmodernist by asserting that the historicity of the events that lay behind the text is actually important (24). He points to the advent and current dominance of the historical-critical method as the purveyor of much confusion in this regard. In particular, he interacts with Ernst Troeltsch’s evaluation of the historical-critical method. To summarize, Troeltsch’s work reveals that the historical-critical method precludes any possibility of transcendence by positing that scripture is to be evaluated like any other text, that the reliability of the claims of scripture is determined as those claims are judged against our present normative experiences, and that history consists only of cause and effect events (25-27). The historical-critical method also believes in the inherent uncertainty of history and therefore brings doubt to its evaluation of any text.

Greidanus responds to this by noting that the historical-critical method rests on an a priori rejection of a “transcendent cause” (27). Consequently, the historical-critical method has resulted in an epistemological agnosticism in the field of biblical studies. Thus, truth has been separated from text, as Watson might say, not only practically but potentially. With this trend has emerged the postmodern concept of the hermeneutic of suspicion and despair.

Greidanus believes that this need not be the case. In fact, he believes that the foundational assumptions of the historical-critical method need to be critiqued. He begins by affirming Troeltsch’s first principle, namely that the Bible should be evaluated as any other document. We simply cannot ask, and should not wish, for this to not happen even though we accept the uniqueness of the Bible over and above all other texts (29).

Concerning doubt and history, Greidanus agrees that the historian must be cautious. The complexity of history itself would dictate this. However, when this doubt becomes unfettered by the possibility of arriving at a conclusion, and especially when this doubt so colors the historical-critics’ a priori assumptions that conclusions are ruled out de facto from the start, this doubt can be said to be out of hand (29-30).

Concerning the principle of analogy, Greidanus points out that it too is important but needs to be qualified. First, the danger of subjectivity in determining what is normative looms large in this task. Second, the principle of analogy is flawed in that it cannot handle events which we know to be true that nonetheless have no analogous point of reference. This principle therefore has obvious problems handling, for instance, miracles. This is not necessarily due to any absence of analogous point of contact but rather to a skepticism that forbids the possibility of such points of contact that is itself a result of the too subjective criteria lying beneath this principle (31-32). Thus, Greidanus argues that the possibility of the historical-critical method treating the Bible objectively on its own terms is ruled out in toto by the post-Enlightment assumptions that form its foundation. How can a system which rejects the possibility of divine activity in normative history or the element of transcendence adequately handle a book which has these two elements at its core? Truly, a more judicious model should be sought. To this, Greidanus turns his attention.

Greidanus proposes that the categories of the historical-critical method be rejected or, at least, modified so as to remove their unnecessarily restrictive criteria. Why should not the principle of correlation include the possibility of divine action in the world? Surely a rejection of this possibility is ideological in nature and not scientific. Greidanus proposes that Christians not speak of miracles in terms of a divine invasions of history. To do this is to construct an unnecessary dichotomy between normative history and God’s divine work. Instead, all work is God’s, be it normal or extraordinary. By so defining God’s work, the possibility of seeing divine action through the lens of correlation becomes possible (40). This also sets the stage for a rebuttal of the principle of analogy. Why should we, for instance, see all history as analogous? Certainly God may act uniquely and not in conformity with perceived patterns (42). By positing these qualifications of tradition historical-critical categories, Greidanus is attempting to bring the investigation of historicity back to the text and away from ideological assumptions that deny the validity of such an investigation.

Greidanus next argues for new criteria to determine historicity. The criterion of dissimilarity deems historical those acts which have emphases unique from the preceding emphases of scripture. This criterion is flawed in that it unnecessarily fails to adequately asses acts which are at one with preceding emphases (43-44). Secondly, one should ask if there is a wide range of attestation to an event in other texts. If so, historicity may be established. Third, the act or event must be coherent. Fourth, we may judge any event or act to be historical and authentic if it offers an explanation of a coming “collections of facts or of data” (44).

Greidanus is to be commended here for his extensive critique of the historical-critical method as well as his proposal of a new critical method whereby the Bible may be approached in a way in which is truthfulness is not deemed to be an impossibility from the outset. Yet he is not playing games here. He is not picking arbitrary categories that he simply prefers over others. On the contrary, in addition to the independent merits of these criteria, Greidanus’s proposal stands as a corrective to a system that is ideologically flawed. The historical-critical method must be rejected insofar as its foundational assumptions shape its conclusions before it even starts. Greidanus’s proposal, on the other hand, takes seriously the need to subject the biblical text to a critical evaluation while removing the precursory element of doubt inherent in the modern historical-critical method. This is done not because Greidanus does not like the outcome of historical-critical approaches to scripture but because he questions the validity of its starting point.

The preacher will find in Greidanus’s critique of the historical-critical method not only a necessary corrective to an ideologically founded, nonobjective approach to the historical validation of texts, but also a responsible framework in which he or she may honor the need for a critical approach while avoiding the flaws of the current system. In practical terms, the preacher may see the confidence of his proclamation as being grounded not in some blind leap of faith in the historicity of the events of scripture, but rather in the verifiable and carefully evaluated reality of that historicity. As such, Greidanus’s corrective stands as a crucial tool for the homiletical task.

Chapters 3 through 5 are given to discussions of the literary, historical, and theological aspects of what Greidanus calls a “holistic interpretation.” His goal here is to argue against what he perceives to be a stifling and insufficiently atomistic approach to scripture in which these three categories are sharply delineated. The result of this delineation is a failure to understand the scripture as a whole, an unfortunate assumption of the unrelatedness of the individual components of scripture, and a consequent inability to proclaim the whole Bible as being unified and relevant (48-51).

Greidanus begins his discussion by defining source criticism (which is concerned with the original written sources) and form criticism (which is concerned with the development of literary form, structure, intention, and setting) (51-53). He argues that source criticism is useful in terms of the insights it affords the preacher into the historical underpinnings of a text. However, the preacher should beware of allowing its speculative nature to sway him over to conjecture at the expense of proclamation (52).

In his handling of form criticism, Greidanus points to the unfortunately atomistic and piecemeal approach to the bible that form critics often take (53-54). Also, form criticism lends itself to conjecture as well as it seeks to establish a text’s prehistory (53). Form criticism is nonetheless important, says Greidanus, in that it gives us greater insight into the development and forms of a text. However, he rightly notes that a preacher’s job is to proclaim the Bible as it is, not to proclaim earlier forms of the text (54-55).

Greidanus next turns to redaction criticism. Redaction criticism is concerned with the overall theme of individual books as opposed to a focus on subparts of those books. It is concerned with the intentions of biblical authors. Greidanus criticizes redaction criticism for its lack of focus on the Bible as a whole but notes some relative value in it as it allows the preacher to understand the characteristic proclamations of each of the biblical writers (55-57).

Next, Greidanus evaluates rhetorical criticism. Rhetorical criticism seeks to understand what the biblical author is trying to say in his composition of the form of his writing. As such, rhetorical criticism approaches the text as an art form. Furthermore, the rhetorical critic evaluates the rhetorical devices employed by an author in order to ascertain the text’s intended meaning (58-60). It evaluates such phenomenon as repetition, chiasm, inclusio, and other devices as keys to understanding more fully the meaning of a text (61-63). This is important to the preaching task as it provides the preacher with a more nuanced understanding of the author’s intention and meaning. Furthermore, the variety of rhetorical devices used by an author offer the modern preacher unique opportunities not only to gain insight into the text but to communicate those insights more effectively. Nonetheless, the preacher must make sure that he does not allow a search for rhetorical clues of deeper meanings to eclipse fundamental exegetical approaches to a text. Also, the larger context of a rhetorical unit must not be neglected for a focus on its particular context (66-67).

Greidanus next extols the virtues of biblical theology. He states that it still has merit today and that its strengths should be reevaluated. In particular, biblical theology helps us uncover the overarching longitudinal themes of the whole Bible and not just the vertical themes of individual books or sections of books (69-70). Furthermore, biblical theology contains an idea of progressive revelation whereby the revelation of God is seen as progressing from the Old to the New Testament. This does not mean the Old Testament is not inspired or is unimportant. On the contrary, biblical theology would tell us that we can understand the Bible as a whole and view the New Testament as a culminative criterion of identification for the canon as a unit (70-72). Greidanus speaks very highly of biblical theology and its potential to make preachers view the Bible as a whole, formulate biblical themes, communicate biblical sermons, and come to appreciate the holistic character of scripture (72).

Finally, Greidanus speaks of the canonical approach of Brevard Childs. In this approach, the Bible is interpreted in its final canonical form. The reason for this emphasis on the final canonical form of the Bible is to be found in the canon’s normative status, the finality of its nature, and its importance as a channel for communicating the truth in the ongoing life of the Church (74-76). Greidanus believes that a canonical approach to the scriptures will likewise help the preacher view the scriptures in holistic terms and communicate the relevance of the contents of scripture (76-77).

Greidanus’s purpose in commenting on these various devices within literary interpretation is not only to point out the strengths and weaknesses of each position, but also to argue in the end for an integrated approach by which the positive application of all of these criticisms will assist the interpreter in reaching what will truly be considered a holistic understanding of the literary meaning of a text. In this, Greidanus is to be commended. Evangelicals have for too long focused on the abuses and potential problems of critical approaches to scripture. Too many have posited instead a naive, one dimensional, superficial, and ultimately palsied reliance on their own ability to get a meaning to a text. Against this type of interpretative superficiality, Greidanus proposes a healthy interaction with these criticisms.

The modern preacher will be aided tremendously by the careful application of these different subsets of the literary critical approach to scripture. His own understanding will be broadened and enriched. A fuller comprehension of the meaning of the author will ensue and a greater appreciation of the beauty, richness, and complexity of the Bible will be the result. Thus, the preacher will be able to communicate and reveal this beauty, richness, and complexity to his people as well. It is also not naive to assert that bringing a congregation into a direct encounter with beauty and richness where they expect only to find sterility and confusion will have the added result of creating in their minds a renewed desire to encounter the scriptures for themselves.

In chapter 4, Greidanus discusses historical interpretation. Historical interpretation concerns itself with the original historical situation surrounding the composition of a text. It is important insofar as it informs the interpreter and thereby provides him or her a more effective framework by which to approach the interpretative task. Also, it guards against an unwarranted subjective approach to interpretation by grounding the text in space, time, and a historical setting (80-82).

Greidanus highlights the past temporal, unverifiable, multidimensional, ambiguous, and inherently meaningful nature of history in order to show the complexities of the subject itself (83-87). He asserts that the Bible contains “history writing” as opposed to “history”. That is, the Bible offers us “literature about history” (86). Biblical history, for instance, contains prophetic interpretations. This means that biblical history is more concerned with the theocentric dimension behind historical acts than it is with the recounting of cold facts (87-88). The Christian views these biblical historical interpretations as authoritative because they are inspired by God (88). Furthermore, it must be kept in mind that biblical writers did not adhere to or even know of twenty-first century historical standards. Thus, to expect them to read like twenty-first century histories is untenable. They must be accepted in light of the general historical standards prevalent at the time of their writing (88-90). Lastly, the biblical writers had a purpose other than the relaying of chronological events. They had theological intentions in mind when they wrote. An acknowledgment of this fact will help the reader greatly in the art of interpretation.

None of this is to say that historical reliability was unimportant to the biblical writers. The above criteria for biblical history must not be understood as forming an antithesis to historical reliability. The scriptures must be understood to be historically reliable, though a microscopic examination of the historicity of minutia in the biblical text is unwarranted and unfruitful. Nonetheless, the veracity and viability of the interpretation and communication of the events of scripture rises or falls with the historicity of those events (91-92). In this regard, Greidanus stands firmly against the postmodern minimizing of the importance of historical realities though he does caution the interpreter to focus more on the biblical prophetic interpretation of an event than on the question of the historicity of the event itself (94).

Apart from these particular considerations of the nature of biblical history, Greidanus stresses the importance of realizing the overarching nature of the Bible’s view of history itself. He notes that the Bible presents a universal history of the world from its inception to the final culmination of the ages. This is called kingdom history due to the fact that the overarching historical vision of the Old and New Testaments is the kingdom of God (97). Greidanus identifies the major theme of kingdom history in terms of “Creation-Fall-Redemption” (98). This vision of history has been largely lost or rejected and needs to be regained for today (94-96).

The interpretative implications of kingdom history are substantial. The interpreter who accepts this historical construct will not deal with scripture or portions of scripture as if they abide in an a-historical vacuum. Rather, the scripture itself as well as what it reveals will be evaluated in terms of the “grand sweep of kingdom history” (100). Interpretations can therefore be evaluated in the light of their place in and relationship to the overall flow of kingdom history. Furthermore, the preacher’s sermon will begin to be communicated in kingdom historical terms. Passages will not be relegated merely to the here and now, but the enormous implications of the text’s standing in and relationship to kingdom history will be brought to bear on the interpretative proclamation as well. Furthermore, this will further reinforce a holistic interpretative approach.

Greidanus’s treatment of historical interpretation is particularly helpful to today’s preacher. To begin with, an awareness of the complexities and nuances of biblical history (as well as history itself) will help shape and form the preacher’s interpretation and communication of the text. Spending agonizing amounts of time on attempts to harmonize fairly inconsequential details will be seen to be the unfruitful exercise that it is. More importantly, false interpretations deriving from a faulty or incomplete understanding of the nature of biblical history will be avoided. In its place, a holistic interpretation informed by a proper understanding of biblical history will be brought to the congregation. They will then be shown the nature of this history and will be better equipped to avoid interpretative fallacies as well.

Greidanus’s discussion of historicity is crucial. The assumption that the actuality of the events spoken of in the text is not important has been subconsciously embraced by many in our churches. This assumption is a product of an existentialistic postmodernity that revels in uncertainty. Greidanus’s assertion that it is crucial that the events of scripture actually happened is correct and should be integrated in the interpretative and homiletical task in an appropriate fashion. This appropriate fashion will entail stressing the historicity of the event while not becoming sidetracked with an overemphasis on the verification of unimportant historical details.

A theological interpretation of scripture is concerned with the question of what God is saying in a text. This interpretation is ideally included in literary and historical interpretation if rightly done. Greidanus deems “unfortunate” the dichotomy that has been drawn between theological interpretation and these “scientific” interpretations (103). He argues that the application of literary and historical interpretative techniques alone will lead to an incomplete understanding of what is, essentially, a theological book (104). Instead of this division, Greidanus argues for a holistic and integrated approach to the scripture which includes literary, historical, and theological elements. In so doing, Greidanus is mirroring in a fashion Watson’s concern in Text and Truth.

Greidanus sees the impetus for a theological interpretation as residing in a number of facts. To begin with, he points to the Bible as God’s word (104). If this is indeed the case, as Evangelicals believe, then a theological interpretation is warranted on the basis of the very nature of scripture. Second, a theological interpretation is needed since the Church looks to the scriptures “as its standard of faith and practice” (105). Lastly, the Bible is a book of faith and it is therefore important to approach it with an evaluation of its theological message and one’s own faith content (105-106).

In another attempt to combat interpretative subjectivism, Greidanus advocates determining the author’s purpose. This will help immensely in the task of understanding where a biblical writer is headed and why. Furthermore, Greidanus argues that the identification of authorial intent will also help guard the preacher against imposing foreign meanings upon the text (106-107). He acknowledges that the identification of an author’s intent can be difficult, but he nonetheless rejects the view that meaning is found in the text, not the author, and that authorial content is therefore largely irrelevant. Greidanus’s rejection of this view is predicated upon his belief that authorial intent can be determined from an examination of the text and serves as the best foundation on which to base an interpretation (108-109).

Greidanus next advocates an identification of the wider purpose of a text. This he calls “God’s purpose” (111). To this end he advocates identifying the sensus plenior of a text. This fuller meaning must, however, derive from the explicit meaning and be informed and, if necessary, qualified and refined by other revelation (analogia Scriptura). These parameters that are placed around sensus plenior are done so in recognition of the great potential to use this concept as a justification of eisegetical impositions on the text (113). The ultimate goal of such an evaluation is the establishment of a “theocentric interpretation” and the rejection of an “anthropocentric interpretation” (114,116-118). This is in keeping with Greidanus’s contention that scripture has a “God-centered focus” and that the whole canon speaks of and points to Him (114-115).

The great danger for preachers is to disregard the theocentric character of the canon in favor of an anthropocentric approach. In this approach, moral or ethical lessons are derived from scripture. God is not so much proclaimed as the central character of the Bible as He is allowed to lurk in the shadows as an occasional reference point. This theocentric approach to scripture finds its fulfillment, Greidanus argues, in a Christocentric emphasis in interpretation and proclamation (118). Here, he proposes allowing the New Testament to inform our approach to the Old Testament (119). Furthermore, the testaments should be brought into interaction with one another in the task of interpretation and proclamation. Greidanus contends that this interaction consists not initially of a movement from the Old Testament to the New Testament, but rather from the New Testament to the Old Testament (119). Thus, our interpretation of the Old Testament is informed by our understanding of the New Testament, and, particularly, by the Christ to whom all scripture points.

I believe that Greidanus has done a good job of effectively establishing the need for the preacher as well as any interpreter to have a theological interpretation as well. He is correct in his assertion that the divorcing of this approach from the perceived scientific approaches (i.e., literary and historical) has led to something of a hermeneutical and homiletical tragedy. Not only has a dimension of interpretation been neglected, but the dimension of interpretation has been neglected. Certainly the crucial question for any interpretation is the question of meaning and purpose. “What does this mean,” is incomplete if not followed by, “What is the purpose of this meaning?” A theological interpretation of scripture reveals to us its purpose. Greidanus wisely finds this purpose in authorial intention. I agree with him in this but do believe that Erickson’s qualifications and clarifications of this concept as presented in Evangelical Interpretation need to be brought into the process of determining authorial intent.

Greidanus’s theocentric and Christocentric concept of scripture is of immanent importance to any who would interpret or proclaim the Bible. If interpretation is seen as a journey, then knowledge of the destination will serve as an important guide not only in the evaluation of all proposed destinations but also of the journey as well. Thus, one’s concept of the ultimate end or goal or destination of biblical assertions will be in many ways the most important component of the interpretative task. Greidanus proclaims that destination to be the glorification of God in Christ. I added my hearty assent to this proposal.

It is significant that Greidanus asserts the implications of a theological interpretation on preachers and preaching today in the end of this chapter (120-121). His doing so is reflective of the reality that the primary task of the preacher is to proclaim God’s word and point the people through that proclamation to God. This means, obviously, that a fallacy in a preacher’s approach to the theological interpretation of a text will necessarily mean a fallacy in the intention and goal of his proclamation on the basis of that text. To this end, an emphasis on the need for preachers to create a functional, theological, interpretative approach is more than admirable.

Greidanus next moves into a discussion of preaching by questioning the assumption that “textual preaching” and “thematic preaching” are mutually exclusive forms of exposition. He proposes instead a model of “textual-thematic preaching.” In this model, “the theme of the sermon is rooted in the text” (122).

Greidanus defines “textual preaching” as preaching that is rooted in and preaches on the basis of a text of scripture. He argues for the necessity of having a preaching text on the basis of the authority that the text will grant the sermon. In addition to this, a text will serve as a guide for a preacher and will put parameters around his homiletical endeavors. Furthermore, by preaching a text the congregation is given the capability and possibility of weighing the sermon against the textual objective criterion (123-124). Greidanus proposes that the choosing of a text take into consideration the church’s needs, the preacher’s predilection, the significance of the text to biblical revelation, and the text’s standing as a literary unit, whether this unit be long or short (124-128).

In arguing for “textual-thematic preaching,” Greidanus approvingly quotes Miller’s belief that each sermon should have a single theme. Greidanus defines a theme as “a summary statement of the unifying thought of the text” (134). Various subpoints may speak to that theme, but they must not serve as points of deviation from it. This adherence to the principle of a single theme is, in my opinion, extremely important and should be recognized as fundamental to the preaching task (131). The theme of the sermon should be the theme of the text. Greidanus argues that not every verse has a theme, but every literary unit of scripture, on which, by definition, “textual-thematic preaching” is based, does (132). It is important that the search for a theme does not lead to a distortion of the text. Greidanus further believes that the implementation and use of rhetorical criticism, especially the use of repetition, may aid the preacher in coming to identify a text’s theme (133-134).

In continuing to construct a foundation for “textual-thematic preaching,” Greidanus calls for the preacher to formulate the theme as an assertion. This assertion should grow out of the very nature of biblical texts which, by definition, are texts with a message (134). Furthermore, when attempting to identify and formulate a theme, the author’s viewpoint should take precedence over any other characters’ viewpoints in the text (135). This will help keep the theme in context.

Next, the theme of the sermon is to be formulated (136-137). The sermon’s theme is born out of the text’s theme. The sermon theme keeps the sermon “on track,” helps it to maintain unity, gives a sense of movement to the sermon, and assists in the application of the sermon (139-140). The theme of the text is the foundation for the sermon its theme. Greidanus next proposes that the preacher never overemphasize the text theme to the exclusion of the sermon theme or the sermon theme to the exclusion of the text them. This proposal is meant to ground the sermon simultaneously in the “then and now,” and to guard against the sermon becoming a history lesson with no application on the one hand or a talk to modern people with no application to the text on the other (137).

In proposing “textual-thematic preaching,” Greidanus has done the modern preacher a great service. Many preachers feel or sense or type of “either/or” tension regarding text and theme. Some use the text as a mere springboard to develop their theme. Others are wedded to the text alone and make no thematic proclamations or applications. As such, their sermons become microscopic examinations of passages of scripture. This is done in an attempt to remain truly biblical in preaching.

Against these two fallacies stands Greidanus’s fascinating concept of “textual-thematic preaching.” It is thoroughly biblical in its inception, execution, scope, and goal, yet it places a high emphasis on current thematic implication. What is more, this model provides room for creativity in the preaching task.

Undoubtedly, the defining of a textual theme and sermonic theme will require a change in much popular sermonizing. It will in mine. I believe it will cause me and any who seek to adhere to its tenets to be more cautious and deliberate in the construction of sermons. However, his will prove ultimately very fruitful and will serve as an extremely helpful model in the forming and delivering of sermons.

Greidanus next turns his attention to the issue of form. He rightly argues that form may either help or hinder a sermon. Furthermore, a sermon should have as its goal to bring the people into the same experience that is arrived at through a reading of the text in its form (141). This will necessarily involving not only an evaluation of the form of the text, but also an evaluation of the form of the sermon. Form’s importance is found in the fact that, among other things, it ushers the audience along to a response, affects the hearers’ expectations for the sermon, keeps the people’s interest, and “shapes the hearers’ attitudes” (141-142).

Greidanus mentions the strengths of deductive and inductive preaching and then moves to an evaluation of didactic preaching. Deductive preaching is the most popular form. It begins by stating a theme and then interacting with that theme in particular ways throughout the sermon. Inductive preaching, advocated by Fred Craddock, begins with particulars and moves towards a statement of the general theme. This form of preaching is effective with narratives and, according to Haddon Robinson, helps create “a sense of discovery in listeners” (143-144).

In his treatment of didactic preaching, Greidanus notes that it is thoroughly biblical and lends itself well to an easy-to-follow structure that follows and comments upon the text. However, many feel that didactic preaching relies too much on structured points. Furthermore, the desire to fit a text into a didactic structure may actually lead to a distortion of that text and often leads the preacher to neglect the form of the text and its potential implications upon the sermon (146-147).

Greidanus next turns to narrative preaching. This form of preaching delivers the sermon in the form of a story. It is claimed that this is the most effective way to communicate, if not the whole Bible, then certainly narrative passages (148). A narrative preaching of a narrative text would bring out the particular importance of that biblical form to the congregation. Also, the narrative form is dynamic and maintains movement. Third, the narrative form importantly utilizes the imagination of the audience in their hearing of the sermon. (151).

That being said, however, it must also be recognized that the narrative form is not appropriate for the preaching of all biblical forms. Second, the narrative form lends itself to an isolation from the overall flow of biblical truth. The preacher must take serious precautions against this. Also, by its indirect nature, the narrative form may not be communicating as clearly and forthrightly as, say, the didactic form would (152-154).

Finally, Greidanus considers textual forms. He reiterates that sermons should seek to follow the form of the text unless there is some legitimate reason to alter it. This means that neither didactic nor narrative forms will ever be adhered to exclusively. The sermonic form should be largely determined by the form of the text. Thus, Greidanus calls for a consideration of “textual forms” (154).

One of Greidanus’s strengths in his discussion of the forms of sermons is his moderation. He lists the relative strengths and weaknesses of didactic and narrative forms and then calls for a level of flexibility on the part of the preacher. He very wisely locates the need for this flexibility in an acknowledgment of the textual varieties of scripture. The point is well made. What would be the use of slavish devotion to one form or another if the Bible itself is not slavishly married to one form.

Preachers will greatly benefit from this concept of choosing our sermon form on the basis of the textual form. This is, quite frankly, a revolutionary thought to me. Have spent my entire life beneath didactic teaching I find that moving away from it is difficult to do. Nonetheless, honesty and a desire to effectively communicate scripture should cause me to set aside my preferences, or, more precisely, my comfort zone, and step out into preaching forms that will be more faithful to the form of the text itself.

Without a doubt, the desire to make the sermon relevant is one of the greatest desires of a preacher. Greidanus helpfully points out that the preachers’ task is not to make the Bible relevant. The Bible is already relevant and, if it was not, it is doubtful that preachers would be able to make it so. Instead, the preacher’s job is to show the relevance of the Bible. Part of this process is choosing a passage of scripture that will be relevant to the audience (158). The great challenge of making the sermon relevant, of course, is the wide distance of the cultural makeup of our world from the world of scripture.

Greidanus outlines a number of inappropriate attempts at being relevant. Allegory is inappropriate for a variety of hermeneutical reasons (159-160). Spiritualizing a text is also deficient as it almost always deemphasizes or ignores the historical reality behind that text (160-161). There is also a problem in pointing to biblical figures as examples or models to be imitated. Namely, this is not how the way in the Bible presents historical figures (161-163). Greidanus also points to moralizing as a flawed attempt to be relevant. This attempt plays to loose with the actual text and its intention (163-166).

Greidanus turns next to a consideration of how to make the sermon relevant. To begin with, the sermon must stay closely wedded to the text (166). The desire to step away from the original message in order to assert some point of relevance must be resisted. The intention of the passage in its entirety must be asserted throughout.

In order to arrive at relevancy, Greidanus asserts that the original message of the text must be evaluated in a number of ways. First of all, the principle of progressive revelation would dictate that a text’s meaning be evaluated and affirmed in light of the whole Bible’s witness (167-168). Second, the message must be evaluated in terms of the text’s standing in kingdom history. Third, the cultural changes between the culture surrounding the events of the text and our own must be taken into account (168-169).

There are, however, some points of continuity that Greidanus points to as well. The immutability of God serves as an obvious and all important point of continuity between the biblical culture and ours (169-170). A strong recognition of this fact will aid the preacher tremendously in thinking through the implications of a text for today. Second, the covenantal aspect of God’s relationship with His people is a point of continuity. This means that when God addresses His covenant people three thousand years ago, He likewise addresses His covenant people today (171-173).

Another key to establishing the relevance of a passage for today is ascertaining the goal of the original text. Why, in other words, was it written? Greidanus contends that establishing this goal is the first half of the journey towards relevancy. The second is finding a point of contact whereby that goal is applied to a modern audience (173). This can be achieved through defining modern parallels to the specific situations surrounding the original text as well as delineating the principles of the text (173-174).

Greidanus finally proposes that the preacher consider the specific concrete needs of his people, address the whole person, use dialogue, and use concrete, vivid language (184-186). Addressing the needs of individuals will serve to draw them into the sermon and will establish relevancy (184). Addressing the whole person means speaking to the person’s intellect, will and emotions (184-185). This will be difficult for preachers who prefer a certain style of application or who respond well themselves to certain styles. Regardless, if the goal is to communicate God effectively, comfort zones will have to be left behind. The concept of using dialogue is particularly helpful as well. Greidanus is not calling here for verbal dialogue as much as for a an awareness of how the audience will respond to the message throughout its delivery (185). This will add a new dimension to preaching that is too often presented as a monologue. Finally, the idea of vivid language is more than crucial in a day and age when people’s attention spans have already been reduced in length. There is simply no excuse for the preacher to employ dull and uninspired language.

I was particularly moved by Greidanus’s discussion of relevance. I realize that I have often resorted to bad or ineffectual methods in an attempt to relate. The most striking thought that Greidanus verbalizes in this section was the idea that it is not the preacher’s job to bring relevance to the text but rather to show the inherent relevance of the text. This humbled me greatly. It caused me to realize that there is something prideful and arrogant in the assumption that it is up to the preacher to make a “boring” Bible relevant. Greidanus’s perspective makes all of the difference in the world. It informs the preacher that he is a communicator of relevance, not a creator of it. The power and creativity of God’s word stands alone without human aid. Preachers are merely given the great honor of pointing people to it.

In The Modern Preacher and the Ancient Text, Sidney Greidanus offers a thorough, provocative, and careful analysis of the major issues leading up to the preaching task. He calls for creativity and freshness in the pulpit, but, most importantly, he calls for a radical faithfulness to the written word of God. In a day of faddish sermonizing and a-biblical pontifications, this is very refreshing. This is a tremendous book.

Francis Schaeffer’s How Should We Then Live?, Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, A Christian Manifesto

Posted on September 4, 2007 by Wyman

[The following essay explores the role that Francis Schaeffer played in the rise of the pro-life movement. It examines the place of How Should We Then Live?, Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, and A Christian Manifesto in that process.]

One of the most enigmatic, controversial, and influential figures in the growth of the “pro-life” movement was Francis August Schaeffer. It was the issue of abortion in particular that drove Schaeffer to shift his later work in the direction of political involvement and mobilization.(1) Yet, despite the enormous impact of his books and films on the public, it was in his influencing of key individuals that Schaeffer made his greatest contribution.
The most effective way to understand Schaeffer’s impact on the Pro-Life movement is to consider the appearance and influence of his 1976 book and film How Should We Then Live?, his 1979 book and filmWhatever Happened to the Human Race?, and his 1981 book A Christian Manifesto. These three works represent an important evolution in both Schaeffer’s and a large part of American Evangelicalism’s understanding of and willingness to participate in the abortion debate.

Schaeffer’s Shift to Political Activism

In the late 1970’s and early 1980’s, it was becoming apparent to many of Francis Schaeffer’s followers that he had made a rather substantial shift in his work. Whereas he had previously focused on merely critiquing and explaining philosophy, culture, and the church, he was now seen to be flirting too much with political activism. Ronald Wells bemoaned in 1983 that Schaeffer’s “present fixation is with political action and social protest” and that what was damaging to Schaeffer and his followers was for them to “embrace and baptize the Christian Right.”(2) Regardless of Schaeffer’s efforts to downplay any idea of his having abandoned his earlier focus, it was apparent to all that a shift had indeed taken place.(3)

Yet the presence of Schaeffer’s voice in the growing political activity of fundamentalist Christians, and particularly in the fight against abortion, was seen as a truly powerful catalyst for and in the growth of the movement. So great was Schaeffer’s influence and so early was it recognized that Newsweekmagazine wrote a full page article on him in 1982 and declared him “the newest celebrity in the fundamentalist firmament.”(4) Richard Pierard would later declare that the “coopting” of Schaeffer’s voice with the growing movement of political activism among fundamentalists was “the Right’s biggest coup by far.”(5)

While the recognition of Schaeffer’s influence among certain circles of Christians was correct and justifiable, the failure of the above-mentioned sources to understand Schaeffer as a cause of the rise of the Christian Right is mistaken. He was not merely “coopted” into the movement, he was a major cause of it. The beginning of his influence in the rising political activism of fundamentalists, and in particular in their efforts against abortion, is found in 1976 and the introduction of the film and bookHow Should We Then Live? to the public.

How Should We Then Live?

It is difficult to imagine How Should We Then Live? as a book which took a prominent place in the growth of a “grass-roots” movement such as fundamentalist political activism. The book seeks to trace the historical, philosophical, and cultural events in which an “existential methodology” entered into society and into the hearts of modern men and women, detached the culture from its previous anchoring in an objective source of truth (the Bible), allowed for the growth of humanism, and susequently allowed morality and ethics to be defined in a purely arbitrary and relative way.(6) While the book does not really differ from his earlier work in regards to its discussion of humanism and its effects, it did vary greatly in its discussion of the Supreme Court’s 1973 Roe v. Wade decision concerning abortion as a product of humanistic ideology.(7) Even more substantial is the fact that Schaeffer’s first plea for Christian activism against abortion is found in this book.(8)

While the discussion on abortion does not take up a major part of the book, How Should We Then Live?must be seen as the work in which the public was first introduced to Schaeffer’s view on the subject. Had the book received little attention, then it would have to be considered largely irrelevent in the formation of the Pro-Live movement. Yet the presence of an accompanying film and lecture tour, however, helped to make it a major factor indeed.

In 1976, the year of the book’s release, Schaeffer went on an eighteen city tour in which he showed the ten-part film version of the book.(9) The response was overwhelming. Forty-five hundred people viewed the film in Oakland, thirty-one hundred in Chicago, sixty-six hundred in Los Angeles, and forty-four hundred in Toronto.(10) It was also shown in England and much of Europe.(11) The film broke the all-time “booking” record for Gospel Films.(12)

The book, undoubtedly helped by the film, sold forty thousand copies in its first three months.(13) Three years later, in 1979, it was still selling fifteen-hundred copies a month.(14) These numbers alone seem to lend credence to L.G. Parkhurst’s suggestion that the book and film “had a remarkable effect upon Western culture and Christian leaders in various governments around the world.”(15)

Through this medium, then, Schaeffer’s assessment of abortion and the need for Christian opposition gained a wide audience. One important figure in this audience was John W. Whithead, the founder and president of The Rutherford Institute. The Rutherford Institute has become a major vehicle of Christian political activism as well as a strong voice against the practice of abortion. It seeks to battle in the courts over free speech and religious issues.(16)

Whitehead notes that How Should We Then Live? was “an important catalyst for me and other Christian lawyers interested in seeing society positively influenced by Christianity.”(17) He was similiarly moved by the book’s claim that abortion was a violation of the sanctity of life. After making the important point that Schaeffer was the first main Protestant leader to launch a strong attack against abortion, he notes that “Schaeffer’s critique of the abortion issue was the initial impetus for my own defense of the sanctity of human life.”(18)

How Should We Then Live? takes its place as the starting point of Schaeffer’s impact on the Pro-Life Movement. First, it introduced a unique critique of abortion as well as the suggestion that the church should raise its voice against the practice. Second, by the use of film, Schaeffer reached an extremely large audience, widened his influence, and drew national attention to the issues he raised. And lastly, the book and film inspired John Whitehead to steer The Rutherford Institute (an institution which is still very important to many in the Christian Right and Pro-Life movement) in the direction of free speech issues, religious issues, political activism and opposition to abortion.

Whatever Happened to the Human Race?

While How Should We Then Live? introduced Schaeffer’s views on abortion and Christian activism, his 1979 book and film series entitled Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, co-authored with soon-to-be Surgeon General C. Everett Koop, catapulted the subject of abortion as an evil to be opposed into the middle of the evangelical mind set. The book suggests that abortion has become possible because America has released itself from its “Judeo-Christian moorings.”(19) It then suggests that abortion naturally leads to infanticide and euthanasia.(20) Lastly, Schaeffer appeals for Christian involvement in the fight against abortion.(21)

The film version of the book would prove to have a tremendous impact on the Pro-Life movement. In September, 1979, Schaeffer and Koop began a film/lecture tour in Philadelphia and travelled west showing it in other major cities of the country.(22) In February, 1980, Schaeffer showed the film to a group of Congressmen in Washington, D.C.(23) Schaeffer, Dr. Koop, and an English doctor then sparked a great deal of attention as they showed the film throughout England.(24) While this tour drew smaller crowds than the How Should We Then Live? tour, it is widely agreed that its impact on the Pro-Life movement was even greater than that of the first tour.(25)

The film was also shown on various television stations throughout the United States and other countries. The Humanist magazine, in an extremely critical article, would later call Schaeffer a “prominent figure in the Pro-Life movement” and suggest that the film was “seen by millions” on television. (26)

It also gained national attention, as well as criticism from Planned Parenthood, the National Organization of Women, and the National Abortion Rights Action League, when a group of Pentecostal Christians bought air time at a Washington, D.C., television station and showed Whatever Happened to the Human Race? during the confirmation process of C. Everett Koop as the Reagan Surgeon General.(27)

The impact of Whatever Happened to the Human Race? on the Pro-Life movement was enormous. Harold O.J. Brown suggests that “nothing has had an impact across the board that compares to the Schaeffer-Koop series.”(28) Historian William Martin notes that the book, film, and tour are “often credited with having been the single most important factor in bringing evangelicals into the fight against abortion.”(29) Denis Haack suggests that, while Schaeffer and Koop were not the first evangelicals to attack the issue, the book and film were instrumental in bringing more evangelicals into the fight against abortion.(30) Feminist author Rosaling Petchesky also revealed the importance of the film when she condemned it as “a major ‘right-to-life’ propaganda piece.”(31)

The most important contribution that the book and film made to the Pro-Life movement, however, was in its influencing of a young man at Elim Bible Institute. It was there that Randall Terry would seeWhatever Happened to the Human Race?.(32) Terry points to his viewing of the film as the defining moment in his life and as the point of awakening in which he realized that he must do something about abortion.(33) He would later use this conviction to found Operation Rescue, undoubtedly the most well known and controversial wing of the Pro-Life movement.(34) In the case of Randall Terry, as in the case of John Whitehead, the assertion that Schaeffer’s greatest impact on the Pro-Life movement was in the people he influenced is proven true again.

A Christian Manifesto

How Should We Then Live? and Whatever Happened to the Human Race? were powerful in convicting the Evangelical community about the need to combat abortion. It was in A Christian Manifesto, however, that Schaeffer gave his clearest, and most controversial, call to political activism. Schaeffer considered A Christian Manifesto to be “the next logical step” in his call for Christian involvement against abortion.(35)

In this important book, Schaeffer begins by condemning the Evangelical church for its apathy about issues such as abortion.(36) He then makes his most blatant call for political action by showing that there is “a window of opportunity” open to the Christians in the conservative Reagan administration.(37) He concludes with his extremely controversial suggestion that, if “the window” closes, Christians must consider civil disobedience and possibly even the use of force to oppose “authoritarianism” and the promotion of humanistic practices such as abortion.(38)

While the book proved to be extremely influential in bringing Evangelicals into the political arena, it also served to polarize Schaeffer from many in the Christian community. Ronald Wells suggested that the book should have been entitled “A Fundamentalist Manifesto,” “because it bears all the marks of that unfortunate movement.”(39) W. Merwin Forbes wrote of his uneasiness with it and suggested that, after having read it, he was sure that a true “Christian manifesto” had not yet been written.(40)

Regardless of these and other criticisms, the book exploded onto the scene. It sold two hundred and ninety thousand copies in its first year.(41) Newsweek reported that Schaeffer spoke to an audience consisting of Sen. Paul Laxalt, Rep. Jack Kemp, and various other government officials in the winter of 1981 about the book and its contents. Conservative columnist Cal Thomas praised the book as a “a battle plan for the rest of the century” and Bill Bright of Campus Crusade for Christ praised Schaeffer as “one of the greatest men of our times.”(42) Pat Robertson was also greatly influenced by it.(43) Furthermore, Randall Terry suggested that, while Whatever Happened to the Human Race? convicted him about abortion, A Christian Manifesto gave him instructions on how to act out his convictions.

The greatest impact of the book, however, was found in the figure of Jerry Falwell. Falwell notes that he was early on convicted by the writings of Schaeffer and Dr. Jack Wilke concerning abortion.(44) Despite being moved by their arguments, his convictions concerning Christian exclusivism left him with “terrific problem” concerning how one could go about mobilizing a large enough group of people to make a difference.(45) It was Schaeffer’s call for Christians to cooperate with non-Christians in social causes that gave Falwell a peace about founding such cooperative efforts as The Moral Majority.(46)

Falwell took a particular interest in A Christian Manifesto. He purchased sixty-two thousand copies of the book and distributed it over his television show, “The Old Time Gospel Hour.”(47) Furthermore, Falwell began following Schaeffer’s advice to him that he use “The Old Time Gospel Hour” as a political action vehicle.(48) Through Falwell, then, Schaeffer was able to have a tremendous impact on the rise of the Pro Life movement and on Christian political action in general.

The cumulative effect of How Should We Then Live?, Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, and A Christian Manifesto on the Pro-Life movement is certainly significant. The three works constitute a progression from the initial introduction of the practice of abortion as it fits within humanistic ideology (HSWTL?), to a passionate description of the practices and results of abortion (WHTTHR?), to an appeal for Christian political involvement in the fight to stop abortion (Manifesto). Most important of all is the fact that these three works directly influenced the growth, development, and direction of Whitehead’s Rutherford Institute, Terry’s Operation Rescue, and Falwell’s Moral Majority.

How Schaeffer is Remembered

Another way of understanding Schaeffer’s impact on the Pro-Life movement is to view how he is remembered by both his followers and his critics. Denis Haack views Schaeffer as a “champion” of the sanctity of human life.(49) Earl Lee, an opponent of Schaeffer, referred to him as a “prominent figure in the Pro-Life movement.”(50) Schaeffer’s obituary in The New York Times referred him as an author and as an architect of “a much publicized crusade against abortion.”(51) Marian Faux called Schaeffer the “philosopher-king” of Pro-Life leaders such as Randall Terry.(52) Ronald Nash remembered Schaeffer as one who “captured the spirit of millions of evangelicals” concerning the abortion issue.(53) Lastly, while suggesting that Schaeffer’s followers have possibly overstated his importance in other areas, Richard Neuhaus does praise him for bringing the issue of abortion into the discussions, minds, and hearts of Protestants.(54)

But Schaeffer’s influence on the Pro-Life movement must undoubtedly return to a consideration of those he influenced. Nash rightly considers Schaeffer’s influence over others who would carry on the work as his “greatest accomplishment.”(55) The list includes: Harold O.J. Brown, Os Guinness, Jack Kemp, C. Everett Koop, Randall Terry, Jerry Falwell, and Pat Robertson.(56)

1. Michael S Hamilton, “The Dissatisfaction of Francis Schaeffer,” Christianity Today, 3 March 1997, 30.
2. Ronald Wells, “Whatever Happened to Francis Schaeffer?,” The Reformed Journal 33 (May 1983): 11,13.
3. Francis Schaeffer, The Great Evangelical Disaster (Westchester: Crossway Books, 1984), 185n16.
4. Kenneth Woodward, “Guru of Fudamentalism,” Newsweek, 1 November 1982, 88.
5. Richard V. Pierard, Religion and State: Essays in Honor of Leo Pfeffer, ed. James E. Wood, Jr. (Waco: Baylor University Press, 1985), 400-401.
6. Francis Schaeffer, How Should We Then Live? (Old Tappan, N.J.: Fleming H. Revell, Co., 1976), 255-256.
7. Hamilton, 28.
8. Schaeffer, HSWTL?, 256.
9. Hamilton, 28.
10. Stephen Board, “The Rise of Francis Schaeffer,” Eternity, June 1977, 40.
11. D. Keith Mano, review of How Should We Then Live?, by Francis Schaeffer, National Review, 18 March 1977, 345.
12. Philip Yancey, “Francis Schaeffer: A Prophet for Our Times?,” Christianity Today, 23 March 1979, 17.
13. Mano, 345.
14. Yancey, 17.
15. L.G. Parkhurst, Jr., Francis and Edith Schaeffer (Minneapolis: Bethany House Publishers, 1996), 115.
16. John W. Whitehead, Francis A. Schaeffer: Portraits of the Man and His Work., ed. Lane T. Dennis (Westchester: Crossway Books, 1986), 177.
17. Ibid., 181.
18. Ibid., 182.
19. The Complete Works of Francis A. Schaeffer, ed. Francis A. Schaeffer, vol.5, Whatever Happened to the Human Race?, with C. Everett Koop (Westchester: Crossway Books, 1982), 284.
20. Ibid., 308,329.
21. Ibid., 405-410.
22. Parkhurst, 124.
23. Ibid., 125.
24. Parkhurst, 126.
25. Hamilton, 28.
26. Earl Lee, “Francis Schaeffer: Prophet of the Religious Right,” The Humanist, September/October 1988, 27.
27. C. Everett Koop, M.D., Koop: The Memoirs of America’s Family Doctor (New York: Random House, 1991), 130.
28. Martin, 194.
29. Ibid., 239.
30. Denis Haack, “Francis August Schaeffer, RIP,” National Review, 15 June 1984, 20.
31. Rosaling Pollack Petchesky, Abortion and Woman’s Choice (New York: Longman Inc., 1984), 339-340.
32. Marian Faux, Crusaders: Voices From the Abortion Front (New York: Carol Publishing Group, 1990, 133.
33. Martin, 321.
34. Faux, 138.
35. The Complete Works of Francis A. Schaeffer, ed. Francis A. Schaeffer, vol.5, A Christian Manifesto (Westchester: Crossway Books, 1982), 417.
36. Ibid., 454-455.
37. Ibid., 457.
38. Ibid., 475-482, 483-491.
39. Ronald A. Wells, “Francis Schaeffer’s Jeremiad,” The Reformed Journal 32 (May 1982): 19.
40. W. Merwin Forbes, review of A Christian Manifesto, by Francis Schaeffer, Grace Theological Journal 4 (Fall 1983): 309.
41. Woodward, 88.
42. Ibid., 88.
43. Hamilton, 29.
44. Jerry Falwell, Strength for the Journey: An Autobiography (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987), 335.
45. Ibid., 361.
46. Ibid., 361-362.
47. Woodward, 88.
48. Martin, 197.
49. Haack, 20.
50. Lee, 27.
51. The New York Times (New York), 17 May 1984.
52. Faux, 134.
53. Ronald Nash, Evangelicals in America (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1987, 105.
54. Richard John Neuhaus, “The Schaeffer Legacy,” First Things, June/July 1993, 64.
55. Nash, 92.
56. Michael G. Maudlin, “Midwives of Francis Schaeffer,” Christianity Today, 3 March 1997, 6.

Graeme Goldsworthy’s Preaching the Whole Bible as Christian Scripture

Posted on August 31, 2007 by Wyman

In Preaching the Whole Bible as Christian Scripture, Graeme Goldsworthy is concerned primarily with a return to a Christocentric understanding of the whole Bible. He feels that this understanding will ensue with the recovery of biblical theology and a renewed understanding of salvation history. He argues that the scriptures must be read within the context of these two frameworks and that, subsequently, our preaching must reflect their influence as well.

In many ways, Goldsworthy’s concerns are imminently practical and pastoral. They arise out of a conviction concerning the popular misunderstanding of the nature and place of the Old Testament within the greater framework of scripture as well as a crucial misunderstanding of the nature of the gospel and its relationship to the greater framework of scripture. These misunderstandings have manifested themselves not only in the presuppositions of the laity, but, more tragically, in shallow homiletic moralizings of the Old Testament as well as the New which divorce the ethical mandates of the scriptures from the framework of the gospel and thereby reduce them to legalistic pieties. As such, the modern Evangelical neglect of salvation history and biblical theology has resulted in preaching that is focused on man and his own efforts at self-reformation.

Goldsworthy’s theological foundation upon which he builds his argument is the assertion that Christ is the center not only of the scriptures, but of theology itself (33). This means that all of our theological pronouncements as well as our expositions of scripture must point to and be grounded in the gospel, not as a strained homiletic ploy but rather necessarily. Specifically, he appeals to two scriptural concepts: Paul’s assertion in 1 Corinthians 2:2 that he had “determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and Him crucified,” and Jesus’ own attestation in passages such as John 2:39-40 and Luke 24:27 that all of the scriptures point to Himself (1, 21). These two concepts reflect Goldsworthy’s two major concerns, the former dealing with the importance of the gospel in all of our preaching and the latter with biblical theology itself.

Before considering Goldsworthy’s remedy, it must be asked whether or not his diagnoses of the problem is sound. His charge that the Evangelical church has either misunderstood the Old Testament, ignored it, reduced it to mere character studies or pietistic moralizations, or all three, is the easiest to assess. He is absolutely correct. Perhaps he hits closest to the mark in trying to understand this when he points to the division of the studies of the testaments in our formal education structures as a possible reason why pastors and lay people alike seem to have such confusion over the nature and place of the Old Testament (xii). It is truly not surprising that such misunderstandings persist when Christian ministers quite likely go through college, seminary, and beyond studying the testaments in different classes, and possibly in different semesters or years with little or no conversations in either class about how they relate. His assertions are also verified by the day by day experiences of any pastor who frequently encounters lay, and even personal, confusion over this crucial matter.

Directly related to this is the charge that Evangelicals have neglected biblical theology (32). He is also correct in this assertion. Perhaps formal education shares some of the blame in this as well. More likely, however, the Church is caught in a cycle. It is producing what it teaches. Evangelicals are inundated by calls to be “New Testament Christians,” preaching that largely neglects the Old Testament or uses it, as Goldsworthy laments, for teaching only moral lessons, and Sunday School and Bible study literature that does not itself integrate a truly biblical theology in its presentation of the scriptures.

The charge concerning the Evangelical neglect of salvation history is also true. It must be argued, in the North American Evangelical context, that the mass and often blind acceptance of dispensationalism has and is contributing to this problem. There seems to be an assumption that the gospel was God’s “Plan B,” once the children of Israel rejected the “Plan A” offer of salvation through adherence to the Mosaic law, or that Christ was sent in and for a particular dispensation as opposed to all of them. Furthermore, the radical distinctions drawn between Israel and the Church in dispensationalism lend themselves to the erroneous assumption that God is dealing in some sense with two different groups of people in almost two different ways. It could be argued that classical dispensationalism is not inherently opposed to salvation history. This is true. However, the popular dissemination of dispensationalism has resulted in these assumptions. Regardless, the problem is certainly not germane to and, in fact, expands well outside the borders of any particular school of prophecy.

Goldsworthy hits upon a crucial point later in his work in noting that the Evangelical aversion to salvation history is merely symptomatic of a larger aversion to history itself (72). That is, coming to see how God’s works through history have typified and culminated in Christ’s coming would require a study and appreciation of history. Goldsworthy rightly assesses that such a study is not in vogue in churches which are fixated primarily on bringing its members into an existentialist experience with Christ through the moment of “decision.” We might say, then, that the Evangelical neglect of salvation history is part of the larger issue of the neglect of the mind in many churches.

Later, Goldsworthy offers a proposal for a Christian education plan that will responsibly teach the people the fundamental truths of salvation history and biblical theology (129). He also offers a proposed outline of biblical history that will help people understand the basic movements of biblical history (101). This is not only admirable, it is important. Goldsworthy is correct in his apparent belief that it is not enough for the pastor alone to understand biblical theology. The challenge is to bring the people to the point where they will understand how to correctly understand the scriptures themselves. The great challenge will be in trying to communicate the verities of biblical theology and church history in a church climate in which little is expected on the parts of the parishioners.

What, then, of Goldsworthy’s proposed solution? To begin with, his call for a return to biblical theology and, more generally, to a hermeneutic which sees the reality of Christ and the gospels in all that the scriptures teach and point to, is sound primarily because it is itself scriptural. As mentioned above, Christ did Himself claim that all of the scriptures point to Himself and Paul did, in fact, assert that all proclamation ought to be of “Christ and Him crucified.” Thus, Goldsworthy is not grasping at straws or proposing a merely academic solution to the problem. It is founded in the scriptures. Furthermore, whatever disagreements might exist about the interpretation of these passages and their implications on biblical theology, it must be agreed that the modern Church, by in large, is not adhering to what Paul and Christ both say. The Old Testament is frequently expounded upon with no reference to the gospel, and preaching has been reduced to the dissemination of pithy maxims.

Thus, the crucial issue concerning the validity of biblical theology is that Christ Himself believed in it. Goldsworthy is right in this regard (48). Furthermore, he is right in believing that Christ understood His coming and work and nature to be the consummation of God’s plan of salvation. That is, Christ believed in what we have come to call “salvation history” (51). Goldsworthy makes his argument primarily on the basis of the tremendous focus on “the kingdom of God” in the New Testament and on Christ’s fulfillment of it. “The kingdom of God,” argues Goldsworthy, is the rightful theme of the entire Bible and Christ’s proclamation concerning its arrival in His coming would have been understood by His Jewish audience to have been a “salvation historical” statement (52). We are right to heed Goldsworthy’s warning about trying to find in the New Testament or Jesus a precise articulation of our own theological systems, but we are also right to claim that God’s mighty works throughout history have reached their apex in Christ and that, most importantly, Christ Himself acknowledged this fact.

Goldsworthy’s movements are methodical and logical. Once he has grounded both biblical theology and salvation history in the scriptures themselves, he develops a thoroughly biblical justification for suggesting that preaching that does not proclaim Christ in all of the scriptures and point to Him as the fulfillment of God’s works from Genesis onward stands in violation of the biblical pattern and spirit of proclamation. It stands to reason that the only way of refuting Goldsworthy’s central argument is to attack its hermeneutical underpinnings. These underpinnings, however, are well argued and firmly grounded in the biblical text.

When he moves to the specifics of how to read the Bible from the perspective of biblical theology and the vantage point of salvation history, Goldsworthy rather surprisingly argues for the restoration of typology as a valid hermeneutical construct. This is surprising because there does seem to be fairly widespread uneasiness about typology in many Evangelical circles. Goldsworthy knows this and realizes that this uneasiness is a result of the frequent abuses of typology that denigrate into allegory (76-77). Therefore, he more than once addresses the topic and the proper uses of it. Interestingly, he argues for a “macro-typology” which seems to simply be a recognition of the overall movement of salvation history in the Bible which is affirmed by the New Testament’s use of the Old (111).

In truth, Goldsworthy’s treatment of typology is refreshing insofar as it is a well-reasoned attempt at turning back what is perhaps an undue skepticism in some quarters concerning its validity. The strength of his argument is in the idea that typology is a natural and organic implication of salvation history itself. If all of salvation history points to, leads to, and finds its fulfillment in Christ, then all of its events must rightfully point to Him. The key, here, is not to force a connection between the Old Testament event and Christ or to allow interpretation of the Old Testament to decay into an eisegetical allegoricalism which pours meaning into details which are not germane to the text.

Goldsworthy turns next to the main movements of salvation history. He proposes that there are three: from creation to Abraham, Abraham to the first part of the reign of Solomon, and Solomon to Christ. He finds the foundation of this structure within the Matthean genealogy (89). He further argues that salvation history advances through the history of Israel even when the society of Israel declines (107). It does so through types: in the movement from Abraham to Solomon through Israel’s history, and in the movement from Solomon to Christ through the voice of the prophets. Christ and the new creation stand as the antitype to which all of the preceding types point (139). Goldsworthy next moves, most helpfully, through a consideration of how to preach from all of the major divisions of the Bible as they relate to and stand within the major movements of salvation history.

The implications of Goldsworthy’s proposal are tremendous. First of all, by arguing that we must first see how and where the text we are approaching stands within the movement of salvation history and what their biblical theological implications are, he is arguing that all preaching is gospel preaching just as all of the scriptures point to Christ. Thus, Goldsworthy concludes, there can be no direct application of a text to modern hearers without recourse to the gospel to which it stands in direct relationship (117). To do so would be to introduce a new legalism into the church, for the teaching of the ethical mandates of scripture outside of the context of the gospel implies that the gospel is nothing more than a mere starting point after which we may pursue the difficult business of living.

Goldsworthy’s arguments in this regard are not only compelling, but convicting. His frequently-stated claim that there is an inherent danger in preaching the ethical mandates of an epistle without a frequent and consistent assertion of the gospel framework in which they stand must be heard by modern Evangelical preachers, especially those preaching “through” certain books. Furthermore, it has direct bearing on preaching about ethical issues on the basis of these portions of scripture alone. Goldsworthy’s arguments suggest the compelling notion that the household codes of Ephesians 6, for instance, cannot be proclaimed without the theological gospel foundation of Ephesians 1. The question seems to be one of how to articulate and re-articulate this gospel foundation throughout a series in a natural way. Perhaps the answer to this lies not so much in the employment of specific hermeneutical means as much as in the creation of an overall homiletic climate in which the pervasiveness of the gospel and the schema of salvation history is established as an a priori to all proclamation. This is not to suggest that we reach a point where we try to create the assumption of a gospel foundation in our people. Clearly, any text’s standing within the framework of salvation history must be asserted again and again. But it is to be hoped that the theme of salvation history might in time come to be naturally used and heard through a consistent pattern of preaching in this way.

There are also implications in Goldsworthy’s proposals for evangelism. He rather movingly points to these himself when he notes that many modern evangelistic tactics do not appear to appreciate the power of the gospel insofar as they seem to strive for a decision rather than to allow the gospel message to convict (95). Goldsworthy is correct that it is the gospel itself, not our emphasis on a person’s need to respond to it, that convicts. This is crucial, for Goldsworthy’s high view of the power of the gospel stands in direct contrast to the man-centered philosophy which has come to dominate the Church and which is itself a product of the wider shift in the Church from theology to anthropology.

Goldsworthy’s survey of how the preacher might choose to approach the various genres of biblical literature bears the mark of consistency in its application of the principles he espouses up to that point. His divisions of these texts suggest that preachers must understand the characteristics of these various genres if they are to understand the texts’ place within salvation history and biblical theology and especially if they are to effectively communicate it (137). He suggests that preachers intentionally plan to preach from these areas with an eye towards leading the people to understand how each text relates to the theology of the book as well as biblical theology in general. He proposes that the minister lead his people to ask, “How does this event (or character) testify to Christ?” (151). He then shows how this might be done.

The strength of Goldsworthy’s proposals concerning the examples he gives is not only that their consistency to the framework which he suggests rests at the heart of all true interpretation, but also in his humble approach to these texts. Quite often, as in his treatment of Ecclesiastes or the Song of Solomon, he suggests that a book’s place within salvation history is not always readily apparent (190-191). This is yet another example of how preachers are going to have to rise to the occasion and be willing and able to grapple with the text in an effort to understand it.

One of the strength’s of Goldsworthy’s propositions is that it challenges preachers to know more and delve deeper than a mere surface reading and, most tragically, a mere surface preaching of a text. Goldsworthy suggests throughout that not only preaching, but reading the Bible, is going to require greater care than is often times given to these acts. One wonders if preachers who preach within church settings in which congregations are used to brief, moralistic sermons will be convicted enough to go about the further study required for a truly effective reading and proclaiming of the text. It is to be hoped that preachers will be, for nothing less than an accurate proclamation of the gospel is at stake.

Goldsworthy’s discussion of prophetic literature and preachers’ uses of it is more than pertinent today. Our modern church context presents ministers with serious temptations to try to interpret prophecies as applicable to modern society in just the same way that they were applicable to Israel so many years ago. Goldsworthy offers severe warnings about this and asks preachers to make sure their applications are valid. Furthermore, he more generally warns ministers about falling into certain traps concerning preaching on prophecy, such as trying to find modern fulfillments for all of the prophecies of the Old Testament and the New (181-182). He tellingly warns preachers about the temptation to become “second-coming gurus” (221).

It simply cannot be overstated that these warnings desperately need to be heard today. In the aftermath of the momentous calendar change into the new millennium as well as the presence of best selling prophecy novels with staggering sales, it is abundantly clear that the Church wants desperately to find the fulfillments of all the details of prophecy in our current setting. Furthermore, many within the Church are titillated by the more exotic pictures within prophetic and apocalyptic literature and are not afraid to ask the minister to preach on them. Goldsworthy’s proposals concerning the reading, understanding, and proclamation of scripture mean that ministers must be willing to keep Christ and the text’s relationship to Him as preeminent. It seems as if the great temptation concerning preaching on prophetic and apocalyptic texts is to preach with the goal in mind of satiating the people’s curiosity. This should never happen. If all of the scriptures are about Christ, this means that prophetic and apocalyptic texts must proclaim Him as well.

It is more than evident that Goldsworthy has adequately pinpointed and diagnosed the problem behind much contemporary preaching. The problem is not that ministers are not sufficiently trained or that our pulpits have too many unskilled ministers. Rather, the problem of shallow, ineffectual, and legalistic preaching is a result of a fundamental misunderstanding about the nature of the scriptures themselves. Goldsworthy’s call for a renewed understanding of biblical theology and the place of the scriptures within salvation history should be heeded by the Church. For if it is, then Christ will once more be proclaimed as the head of His body and our parishioners will be freed from the delusion that adherence to the ethical teachings of the scripture, independent of the gospel, will usher us into the kingdom. Furthermore, if his call is heeded, the gospel will be seen for what it truly is: the thread that runs throughout the entire scriptures, the proper subject of all proclamation, and the hope of God’s people not only since the incarnation, but in the past ages as well.

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