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A Bridge Too Far
Guarding the Boundaries of the Faith
I want to start with Acts 20:28-30. These words, of course,
are part of Paul's farewell address to the elders of the church at
Ephesus, but what he tells those elders stands by example as a
sound instruction and a vital warning to you, and to me, and to all
true pastors everywhere, because our duty, like these elders in
Ephesus, is to be shepherds to the flock of God. Our task is simple:
to lead, feed, and protect the church. Here is how Paul says it in
Acts 20:28-30:
Be on guard for yourselves and for all the flock,
among which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers,
to shepherd the church of God which He purchased
with His own blood.
29 "I know that after my departure savage wolves will
come in among you, not sparing the flock;
30 and from among your own selves men will arise,
speaking perverse things, to draw away the disciples
after them.
Now, the imagery of sheep and flocks and folds and shepherds is of
course one of the most common ways Scripture portrays the people
of God. And that is a rich metaphor, including all the necessary
elements of pastoral care—feeding, leading, guiding, and guarding.
But surely you notice in that Acts 20 passage that Paul's central
concern in first-century Ephesus was the duty of guarding the flock
from wolves—savage wolves, as he describes them. And this is not
talking only about overtly cultish false teachers, like Mormons and
Jehovah's witnesses. Paul very pointedly and emphatically says he
knows (and I gather he could foresee this by some infallible
apostolic gift of prophesy) he knows that threats will arise from
within the very body of men he was speaking to.
These were the Ephesian elders!—seemingly good,
orthodox, spiritually-qualified men, but evidently some of them were
Guarding the Boundaries of the Faith
secretly harboring heretical beliefs. And they were just waiting for
Paul to move on so that they could begin teaching their own ideas.
Paul says the elders collectively were to be on guard and remain
vigilant against this serious danger of false teaching that would
come from within their own ranks.
Now, may I point out something that ought to be obvious?
You can't maintain that kind of vigilance (which is to say you cannot
be a faithful pastor) if your primary concern is large-scale bridgebuilding. If it is your goal to forge a public show of solidarity with as
many characters as possible in the current evangelical menagerie.
In fact, I would say that if you are more consumed with the goal of
seeking fellowship across denominational and confessional
boundaries than with the task of protecting the flock over whom
God has given you oversight, you might need to rethink your
priorities in a more biblical light.
My session is titled "A Bridge Too Far: Guarding the
Boundaries of the Faith." It is my conviction that most evangelicals
and even many younger fundamentalists are far too concerned
about building bridges and forging coalitions and not concerned
enough about defending the faith and guarding the boundaries of
our fellowship. That's not a popular or politically-correct position, I
know. But I believe it's biblical. I see lots of biblical imperatives that
echo what Paul said in Acts 20 and nothing anywhere that talks
about finding common ground with the circumcision party or
contextualizing our message to make it more appealing to people
who were being influenced by incipient gnostic philosophies.
Now there are a host of questions we would need to raise
and deal with in order to do full justice to this whole subject—like
What determines the boundaries and who guards them? Are the
boundaries flexible, and if so, how much? How do we keep the
lines of demarcation clear and secure—free from the encroachment
of enemies on the outside, and protected from those on the inside
who constantly want to redefine every standard or break down
every barrier?
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A Bridge Too Far
Obviously, we don't have time to explore all of those
questions here. I've dealt with some of those issues in other places
(and frequently at my blog), so this message is really intended only
as an abbreviated introduction to a much larger set of issues. But I
am excited about this whole topic, and especially excited to see
conservative evangelicals and sober-minded fundamentalists jointly
asking these and similar questions—because we're talking about
issues that have divided fundamentalists and evangelicals for
almost a century, and the answers to those questions have become
even more complicated and confusing in these postmodern times.
Now again: my position is that defending the faith and
guarding the boundaries of Christian fellowship is more vital (and
more biblical) and more noble task than forging political or
ecumenical alliances across denominational lines. I realize that is
an unpopular position, and just hearing it makes some people
angry.
To a large degree that's because postmodern values have
dethroned biblical virtues and replaced them with nice-sounding
substitutes like diversity, tolerance, epistemological humility,
vulnerability, uncertainty, and whatnot.
The idea of "boundaries" frankly doesn't sound very nice to
postmodern ears. Boundaries? You mean you want to build walls to
exclude people who don't see eye to eye with you on doctrine?
You're going to make dogma a test of fellowship? You want a
closed circle around your faith community that relegates different
beliefs to the outside? Don't you care about diversity?
That's a common attitude these days, and even among
supposedly conservative evangelicals, there seems to be a lot of
stress on bridge-building, cooperation, co-belligerency, and the
forging of alliances. There is almost no interest in or tolerance for
the task of guarding boundaries. We're conditioned by our culture to
cringe at language like that. Today's stylish evangelicals likewise try
very hard to discourage us from even thinking in such terms.
There's an intriguing article at The Gospel Coalition website
that came out in the aftermath of the recent controversy over
James MacDonald's Elephant Room conference. This document is
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Guarding the Boundaries of the Faith
jointly authored by D. A. Carson and Tim Keller, and it's titled
"Reflections on Confessionalism, Boundaries, and Discipline."
Here's an excerpt:
From the beginning [The Gospel Coalition] has distinguished
between a boundary-bounded set and a center-bounded set. In
the former, you establish boundaries to determine who is "in"
and who is "outside" the set—whether the set of true believers,
or the set of faithful Presbyterians, or the set of evangelicals, or
any other set. For the boundary to have any hope of doing its
job, it has to be well defined. If the definitions are sloppy, the
boundary keeps getting pushed farther and farther out. . . . [and
after giving some examples, the document sums up the point by
saying:] in boundary-bounded sets, the attempt is made to
provide a boundary that defines who is "in" and who is "out"—
and there is usually quite a bit of pressure to keep expanding
that boundary, with the result that it easily becomes painfully
porous, even meaningless.
They seem to be suggesting that well-defined boundaries are
impossible (or at least impractical), and whoever the designated
boundary-keepers are, they always keep expanding the
boundaries.
And let's be honest: in 20th century evangelicalism, that was
absolutely true, and it has been a huge problem. The de facto
boundary-keepers in the evangelical realm are institutions like
schools and seminaries, most of whom are infected with a
pathological craving for academic prestige. And then you've got
Christianity Today magazine, which suffers from the same craving
for worldly recognition and accolades. And CT also—like any
magazine—has a rather self-serving agenda to expand its
constituency as much as possible in order to increase the pool of
subscribers.
So their definition of evangelicalism gradually expands. And
it finally got so expansive that when CT's 50th anniversary came
around, they published an article noting how difficult it is these days
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A Bridge Too Far
to define the expression evangelical—but, they said, they believe
the dominant characteristic of evangelicalism is "diversity." That's
hardly an honest idea of what the term has historically stood for, but
that's how Christianity Today sees it.
So, if we assume the same philosophy that has guided
evangelical (and especially neo-evangelical) trends for the past
half-century or more, I think we have to concede at least this much
of the Keller-Carson argument: boundaries per se aren't sufficient
to safeguard the purity of biblical fellowship and historic evangelical
convictions.
Keller and Carson then propose an alternative: Let's try to
forge a league of like-minded evangelicals who are held together in
a different way. Let's form a coalition that functions as a centerbounded set. Here's how Carson and Keller say it:
Center-bounded sets don't worry too much about who is "in" and
"out" at the periphery. Instead, there is a robust definition at the
center. . . . [In The Gospel Coalition, it is an officially designated
conclave of council members who affirm the "definition"—
basically an abbreviated confession of faith with doctrines that
are deemed essential. And theoretically, at least, as far as the
Council is concerned, Carson and Keller say,] There we expect
unreserved commitment to these foundation documents. As for
others, we often have to explain that people cannot "join" the
Coalition. Individuals and churches may choose to identify
themselves with us and use the thousands of resources on our
site, but Council members do not fall into paroxysms of doubt as
to whether or not this individual or that church truly belongs to
TGC: we are not a denomination, and we do not have the
resources to engage in the kind of vetting at the periphery that a
boundary-bounded set demands. At the margins there are many
who love part of what we stand for and not other parts. They too
are welcome to use our material. At the center, however, we
expect robust allegiance. . . . at the center there is unqualified
accountability.
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Guarding the Boundaries of the Faith
Now I don't know about you, but to me it sounds as if the real
difference between a boundary-bounded set and a center-bounded
set is that the confessional boundaries in this center-bounded set
are drawn around a much smaller body—an elite group (the
Council). The idea seems to be that if we're drawn together by
common convictions at the center, that will be sufficient to hold a
movement or institution together and keep everything else on
target. As long as the center holds, we won't worry about the
boundaries.
Now I come from a line of Oklahoman cattlemen, and some
very similar issues came into play on my great-grandfather's ranch.
It's true that a large water tank and several bales of hay at the
center of the ranch will pull the herd together. But trust me: if you
don't also have fences with cattle guards at the open gates, the
cows will very quickly wander out onto the interstate, and
somebody's going to get hurt. And besides that, the larger your
herd, the more work you have to do to maintain the fences.
And let's not forget that the biblical metaphor for the church
is a flock of sheep, not a herd of cattle. When you're dealing with
sheep, the need for a sturdy sheepfold with a narrow door and a
secure perimeter is even greater not only to keep the sheep on the
ranch, but also for their protection against predators. Secure,
clearly defined, carefully-defended boundaries are essential, not
only to keep the lambs from wandering away at night; more
importantly, it makes it harder for predators to get at the sheep.
The Carson-Keller approach seems to suggest that if the
elite shepherds agree to stay together at the center, then the flock
will naturally be drawn to them and will therefore be sufficiently
safe. I'm concerned about what that means for lambs that are prone
to wander—which, by the way, includes every lamb I have ever
encountered.
Now think this through with me: In an organization or
movement operating as a center-bounded set, rank-and-file
participants and hangers-on at the periphery are free to teach or
represent whatever ideas they choose. And yet as long as they
aren't part of the central council, they can still remain in fellowship
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A Bridge Too Far
with the group, unchallenged and unmolested by anyone in the
group, because technically, the group isn't offering them any kind of
formal membership.
The central council does encourage and even solicit their
fellowship and participation, but since there are no formal members
in the group outside the elite council (and therefore no membership
requirements), they figure they can avoid the nasty problems of
discipline or ecclesiastical separation in the larger movement. In the
words of Carson and Keller, they "don't worry too much about who
is 'in' and 'out' at the periphery."
Now it should not be necessary to explain to people who
frequent the Sharper Iron blog or participate in the Standpoint
Conference why that's a Really Bad Idea and will ultimately prove
to be an unworkable philosophy.
Put the center-set philosophy into practice and frankly, it
looks very much like the same approach that has been followed in
microcosm by almost every American seminary that ever drifted
away from its original doctrinal moorings, starting with America's
first actual seminary, Andover Seminary.
Andover was founded in 1807 because Harvard College had
been infiltrated with socinianism. Harvard had put a Unitarian on
their faculty, and evangelicals pulled out in obedience to 2 John 10
(and several similar commands in Scripture). They launched
Andover to train pastors for biblical ministry. The Andover faculty
were criticized for their separatism. This was a breach of academic
freedom. They were being intellectually naive, allowing old-school
doctrinal standards rather than the latest "scholarship" to determine
what they taught. They were derided as unsophisticated and
backward, and those criticisms stung. And almost immediately,
Andover began to compromise—refusing to guard the boundaries
that were set up to define the seminary at its founding. In the name
of academic freedom, they adopted a policy that frankly looks and
feels very much like Carson and Keller's center-set philosophy.
Within half a century, Andover followed Harvard's drift, and
by the end of the century, liberalism became so much a fixture at
Andover that starting in 1908, Andover seminary and Harvard's
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Guarding the Boundaries of the Faith
divinity school shared the same campus. Today both schools are
hotbeds of the rankest kinds of Socinianism.
Other evangelical seminaries have had similarly short shelflives—and the classic example in the 20th century was Fuller
Theological Seminary. (And of course Fuller was by no means the
only example).
How does this happen? It's not because these institutions
are founded without boundaries, but because the boundaries are
not carefully maintained and defended. Enemies chip away at the
underpinnings of the boundaries, and if they manage to breach the
perimeter at any point, everything is up for grabs in very short
order.
It should be obvious that clear, well-defended boundaries are
vitally important. But this is not a popular idea in a culture
conditioned to think values like openness and bridge-building and
unfettered liberty are inherently virtuous, and there's something
oppressive and heavy-handed in securing our borders. That's
exactly the same mentality that makes our politicians think there's
something unsavory about requiring proof of citizenship before we
let someone vote in our elections. It's the same mind-set that tells
us "undocumented worker" is a nicer term than "illegal alien." It's
one of the most pervasive dogmas of postmodernity.
This is vital to see: the reason so many evangelical
institutions drift into liberalism is not because their position isn't
defined by any boundaries; it's not usually because their doctrinal
statements are not sound enough or clear enough. It is because the
boundaries are simply not defended diligently enough.
I've lectured elsewhere on how fundamentalism managed to
make a mess of its own movement, starting almost as soon as the
movement was launched, in the early part of the 20th century. But
the fundamentalists didn't get everything wrong. They were right to
insist that we ought to contend earnestly for the core truths of
Christianity. I'll go further: we ought to be prepared if necessary to
sacrifice our lives rather than deny those truths.
That kind of commitment to the essential doctrines of the
Christian faith is the central fundamentalist idea, and it is also one
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A Bridge Too Far
of the defining principles that distinguishes authentic faith from the
false and temporary varieties of belief.
Now: I'm intrigued by one of the arguments made in the early
paragraphs of the Carson-Keller article. This comment comes right
after they define what they mean by the term "boundary-bounded
sets." (That sounds like a horrible solecism, but I think we get the
sense of it.) In the process of explaining why they think it's better to
nail down the center than to defend the outer perimeter, they say
this:
Sometimes this [boundary-bounded] way of thinking leads to
hopelessly bad questions such as "What is the least I must
believe in order to be called an evangelical?"—the answer to
which often generates reductionistic approaches to evangelism
and horribly emaciated lowest-common-denominator versions of
the gospel.
I certainly share their disdain for reductionistic evangelicalism. But it
seems to me that their idea of center-bounded fellowship is even
more prone to reductionism. What are the fewest points of doctrine
we can put at the center and regard as essential? Can we expand
our constituency and strengthen our coalition by reducing the size
and complexity of our statement of faith—by consigning more
things to the category of secondary matters?
You could see that very tendency at work more than 15
years ago when Chuck Colson published his book The Body—in
which he insisted that the Apostles' Creed is a sufficient statement
of essential Christianity and any doctrine not expressly named in
the Apostles' Creed should be regarded as secondary.
That, of course, would relegate virtually every key point of
soteriology to the realm of non-essentials, starting with the doctrine
of justification by faith and the principle of sola fide. That in turn
would mean that the Protestant Reformation was much ado over
almost nothing. (Which, I think, is what Colson himself thought.) But
Colson's proposal is a very popular idea—sort of a clumsy
application of the view C. S. Lewis took in Mere Christianity.
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Guarding the Boundaries of the Faith
But it quickly gets worse, because in postmodern times,
even something as historic as the Trinitarianism of the Apostles'
Creed is subjected to each individual's personal re-interpretation.
The Gospel Coalition is less than a decade old, and already
the definition at its center has been put to the test in a major way by
one of its own council members. James MacDonald has over the
past two years invited several speakers whose commitment to the
center-set doctrines of The Gospel Coalition is questionable—most
notably, T. D. Jakes, who not only has substituted prosperity
teaching in place of the true gospel—Christ crucified; he also balks
at giving an unqualified affirmation of historic Trinitarian doctrine.
And in fact both his theological background and his most recent
statements on the issue give reason to suspect that he actually
holds to a slightly modified brand of modalism.
I know for a fact that most of the men on The Gospel
Coalition council were deeply troubled by MacDonald's position on
this, and he ultimately resigned from The Gospel Coalition,
apparently under pressure. But the matter was handled as quietly
as possible, with a careful veneer of public affirmation all around. It
was clear that the Council regarded the necessity of even that
much discipline as a distasteful necessity which they did not care to
discuss candidly and openly.
This idea that bridge-building is always good and boundarydefending is an unsavory—almost shameful—thing is quite out of
harmony with what we see in the Scriptures. It was certainly a good
thing for the Galatians that Paul did not take that attitude when
Peter needed to be confronted about his compromise with the
Judaizers. Indeed, much of Paul's public ministry was devoted to
the defense of the faith against agents of Satan who came
disguised as angels of light. At no time did Paul propose any effort
to build bridges or establish collegial relations with any false
teacher. His own ministry was a reflection of what he urged those
Ephesian elders to do: "Be on guard." I love what Paul told Titus
about these "unruly and vain talkers and deceivers, [e]specially
they of the circumcision." Find common ground with them? Build
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A Bridge Too Far
bridges of collegiality and mutual respect and try to win them over
by being winsome? No: "[Their] mouths must be stopped."
So there is a place for clear, well-defended boundaries that
eliminate wolves and other threats to the flock.
Now, because most of you are fundamentalists, let me give
the balance: Unity within the flock is likewise vital. Jesus prayed for
unity in John 17—and he had in mind not merely a deeply spiritual
but somehow invisible brand of unity. He said a public display of our
unity in Him and our mutual love for one another was the single
most powerful apologetic for the gospel. That puts a premium on
true, spiritual unity.
I love the idea of gospel unity—unity built on a gospel
foundation. In that regard I wholeheartedly support the stated aims
of both The Gospel Coalition and Together for the Gospel. I'm
grateful that they have focused so much attention on the gospel,
and I'm profoundly thankful for the work they have done to stress
and clarify core gospel truths—many of which are precisely the
doctrines that (5 or 6 years ago) were under heavy assault by the
Emergent fad and in the writings of people like Brian McLaren and
Steve Chalke.
I agree, of course, that the gospel perfectly sums up the core
truths that bind together all who are truly in Christ.
But the success or failure of gospel-centered fellowship still
hinges on our understanding of and commitment to a true,
unadulterated, biblical understanding of the gospel.
We know from both Scripture and the hard-fought lessons of
church history that not everyone who says he is committed to the
gospel really is. Not everyone who claims to stand with us in
affirming gospel truth is really interested in doing the work of the
Great Commission. Not everyone who signs an evangelical
confession of faith actually preaches the gospel.
And when you have organizations as large and as
successful as Together for the Gospel and The Gospel Coalition,
there will always be lots of people who don't really agree with the
original goals of the movement but who nevertheless want to
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identify with it so that they can influence the multitudes who are
drawn to the movement. And the consequence of that reality is this:
If we truly want to stand together for the gospel, we have to be
willing to defend the gospel. Earnestly contending for the faith is a
duty just as needful and just as urgent as the need for unity among
authentic believers. And the two aren't mutually exclusive—they
aim at precisely the same goal: "that [we] all speak the same thing,
and that there be no divisions among [us]; but that [we] be perfectly
joined together in the same mind and in the same judgment." That's
1 Corinthians 1:10, and it describes a kind of unity that is possible
only when the boundaries of our fellowship are carefully guarded to
keep out wolves and interlopers, and when we are well-taught in all
the essential doctrines of the faith once delivered to the saints.
In other words, the only true unity we share is rooted in a
common commitment to these core truths which are embodied in
the gospel. Once you grasp that, I think you'll see that the common
notion of unity is exactly backward. We don't achieve unity by
setting aside doctrine—we achieve unity by striving for a common
understanding of truth, starting with the things Scripture tells us are
"of first importance."
Striving? Contending? Isn't conflict like that inherently hostile
to the biblical idea of unity? Not at all. Paul urged the Philippians to
pursue unity by "standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving
side by side for the faith of the gospel." That's Philippians 1:27, and
the very next verse says "not [to be] frightened in anything by your
opponents." So the context is clear: Paul is urging them to strive
together for the gospel in the face of opposition. And the opponents
he is talking about include both worldlings who simply hate truth,
and false teachers who disguise their contempt for truth in some
kind of angelic costume. Paul is saying the same thing Jude was
saying when he instructed the recipients of his epistle "to contend
[earnestly] for the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints."
You may be thinking all of that sounds suspiciously like an
echo of old-school fundamentalism. I'll acknowledge: that's true to a
degree. Again, I don't think the fundamentalists were wrong about
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everything. Let me reiterate something I said last March at the
Shepherds' Conference:
The idea that originally gave birth to the fundamentalist
movement was a valid principle. Perhaps it would be accurate to
say it is a vital principle. It is a biblical principle. It is a principle that
doesn't deserve to be written off in the sneering way some
postmodern evangelicals like to do.
It is a simple (and to my mind incontrovertible) biblical
principle. It's this: If a doctrine or point of truth is essential to
Christianity, then it's worth fighting for.
If there is a doctrine or a proposition that is so indispensable
to our faith that you cannot deny it without fatally undermining the
foundations of biblical Christianity, then it is the bounden duty of
every true believer to stand with other believers and defend that
doctrine against any idea or person who attacks it. We have a
responsibility that we cannot righteously shirk to "contend earnestly
for the faith which was once for all handed down to the saints." I
think it's clear from that text and its context that what Jude expects
us to defend are the core doctrines of gospel truth. In other words,
if the gospel is the foundation of our unity—if the gospel is the truth
that binds all Christians together—then that very same body of truth
must be defended vigorously—earnestly—when it comes under
attack. And that's true whether the attack comes from overtly hostile
enemies, or by subversion from within.
In other words, the gospel is not only the ground on which
we unite with our fellow believers; it is also the ground we must
earnestly defend against false teachers. You cannot achieve true
unity unless you vigorously pursue both of those goals.
For those who acknowledge the authority of Scripture, that
principle is incontrovertible. It's clear from numerous passages of
Scripture that the central details of gospel truth do indeed rise to
that level of supreme importance. The apostle John wrote his
second epistle in part to deal with some sort of proto-gnostic error
regarding the Incarnation of Christ—practically the first detail of the
gospel story.
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Guarding the Boundaries of the Faith
Specifically, someone was teaching that there is no
reasonable and logical way to affirm both the deity and the
humanity of Christ. This was some incipient form of Docetic
gnosticism. The gurus of that idea were teaching that Christ's body
could not possibly have been real. He was God, they said, but He
didn't truly and literally come "in the flesh." They were denying the
true humanity of Christ—denying the Incarnation.
Now, John is frequently called "The apostle of love." In fact,
the first half of his second epistle is a strong exhortation to love. So
it is extremely significant that the apostle had zero scruples when it
came to pointing out and condemning the purveyors of a lie that
undermined a fundamental doctrine like the incarnation.
Verse 7: "Many deceivers have gone out into the world,
those who do not confess the coming of Jesus Christ in the flesh.
Such a one is the deceiver and the antichrist." So it's clear (isn't it?)
that the apostle John did not recognize these truth-twisting teachers
as authentic Christians. Notice that he says there were "many" of
them. but the popularity of their teaching did not sway him. The fact
that they claimed to be committed to the gospel did not sway him.
They might have even been teaching that salvation was by grace
through faith in Christ. But they denied that Christ was truly human,
and their teaching therefore was a denial of a cardinal doctrine—
the truth that "there is one mediator between God and men, the
man Christ Jesus." So John says, Don't embrace them in the circle
of your fellowship. Don't pretend they are true believers. They
aren't. Verse 9, the person who "does not abide in the teaching of
Christ, does not have God" at all.
That is definitive. It could not possibly be more unequivocal.
John, the apostle of love, rejects them completely. He does not
want other Christians to extend any brotherly encouragement or
cordial recognition to these false teachers. In fact, he goes on to
say that it would be a serious sin to do that.
Understand: this is not the spirit of Boanerges speaking. This
is John, the apostle of love, writing as the mature elder statesman
in the church. And these are "not . . . words which man's wisdom
teaches but [an inspired truth] which the Holy Spirit teaches."
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As devoted as the apostle John was to the principle of love
and unity IN the faith, he emphatically did not believe Christians
have any obligation to pursue unity everyone who professes to be a
Christian. He doesn't tell the apostolic church to embrace everyone
who comes in Jesus name. He doesn't want believers to show
hospitality to these heretics under the rubric of unity, or loving one
another, or fulfilling the wish Jesus prayed for in John 17:23: "so
that the world may know" that we love one another. Instead, John
goes on to say in 2 John 10-11: "If anyone comes to you and does
not bring this teaching, do not receive him into your house or give
him any greeting, for whoever greets him takes part in his wicked
works."
This is the very same apostle who recorded the words of
Jesus' prayer for unity in John 17. But does he leave any doubt
about what he might think of, say, Mormon-evangelical dialogues?
Do you think he would have welcomed a proposal to sponsor a
conversation with these quasi-Trinitarian gnostics to try to find
common ground or make common cause with them? That kind of
ecumenical solidarity was the last thing John wanted. He wanted
unity among those who are committed to the gospel. And one of the
reasons they needed to be united was so that they could stand
together and oppose every threat of twisted teaching, such as the
error these early gnostics were peddling.
Now, remember: these gnostic guys were in error on the
hypostatic union. That's a point of doctrine many people today
would insist must be a secondary truth because it's so technical,
and it requires so much mental discipline and verbal dexterity to
understand and teach the doctrine of the incarnation correctly. After
all, there's mystery inherent in the biblical doctrine of the Godhead.
Is this a doctrine anyone really needs to be anathematized over?
The apostle John says emphatically: yes it is. It is a matter of
essential importance.
The apostle Paul draws a similar line in the sand when he
deals with the doctrine of justification by faith. At the start of his
epistle to the Galatians, before he has even begun to refute the
Judaizers' errors, he issues a double curse against these legalists
and anyone else like them who would tamper with the gospel
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message enough to change the fundamental nature of it. And get
this: No one—neither Paul himself nor the highest angel in
heaven—is exempt from this curse. Galatians 1:8-9: "Even if we or
an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to the
one we preached to you, let him be accursed. As we have said
before, so now I say again: If anyone is preaching to you a gospel
contrary to the one you received, let him be accursed."
Peter had similarly unfriendly words about gospel-corrupters.
In 2 Peter 2:12-14, Peter called them "irrational animals, creatures
of instinct, born to be caught and destroyed, blaspheming about
matters of which they are ignorant, [and he said they]will . . . be
destroyed in their destruction, suffering wrong as the wage for their
wrongdoing. [He further said of them that] . . . They are blots and
blemishes . . . [with] eyes full of adultery [and] hearts trained in
greed. [He sums it all up with a fairly harsh epithet:] Accursed
children."
So all the major apostles understood that there must be
clear lines of demarcation between authentic biblical Christianity
and the wolves and false teachers who want to be admitted into the
fold. All of them recognized that certain teachers would come in the
name of Christ who must not under any circumstances be
welcomed by the church.
In other words, the question of who is "in" and who is "out" is
a vital and legitimate question. That was one of Paul's main points
in his charge to the Ephesian elders in Acts 20. His closing
imperative in verse 31 is "be on the alert." For a pastor to abdicate
that duty is in my view the worst kind of spiritual malfeasance. But
there are lots of pastors these days who are deliberately derelict in
that duty. Read the letters from Christ to the church in Revelation 2
and 3, if you want to see what Jesus thinks of that kind of
negligence.
When it comes to defending the gospel, we need to think
both . . . and instead of either . . . or. Let's keep as close as
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A Bridge Too Far
possible to the center, but let's erect some clear and effective
boundaries as well.
You cannot automatically forge bonds of fellowship with
everyone who puts his signature on a sound and biblical statement
of evangelical conviction. We must not only affirm the truth but also
proclaim it. And we must not only proclaim it but also defend it. That
is the true, biblical prescription for unity. In the shorthand language
of that 2nd epistle of John, our unity is the fruit of "love in truth, . . .
[and it extends to]all who know the truth, because of the truth that
abides in us and will be with us forever."
Now you might be wondering why I would give a message
like this to the Standpoint Conference. After all, most of you are
fundamentalists, or men with strong fundamentalist backgrounds.
You've been part of a movement that has always stressed purity of
doctrine, defense of the faith, and separatism.
But let's be candid: fundamentalists have not always done
those things well. There are plenty of self-styled fundamentalists
who could not even give a coherent account of anything truly
fundamental. I gave a lengthy analysis of fundamentalism's failure
about seven years ago, and it was thoroughly dissected at the time
on the Sharper Iron blog, so I won't reiterate it all here.
But I have noticed a trend: It seems to me that there is an
extraordinarily high percentage of people who have been raised in
fundamentalist churches who see the problems with the movement
and then become so disillusioned that they overthrow everything
that has any hint of a fundamentalist fragrance attached to it—and
often they end up throwing out the original fundamentalist principle
in the process. Their disillusionment with a corrupt movement
causes them to discard a perfectly valid and biblical principle.
My whole argument in this message is that you must not do
that. The basic idea that gave birth to fundamentalism is a biblical
precept: We need to be on guard, because there are savage
wolves trying desperately to get into the flock and do what wolves
do.
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Guarding the Boundaries of the Faith
Bridge-building is not a particularly constructive or helpful
enterprise when so many savage wolves are afoot. And if you want
graphic proof of that, just observe the aftermath of neoevangelicalism in the second half of the 20th century. The enormity
of the fundamentalist disaster pales by comparison to the meltdown
of true evangelical conviction among Christianity Today-style
evangelicals.
What we need is a new blend of fundamentalist courage and
evangelical conviction. We need to revive and retain the historic
biblical principles that gave rise to both movements, while
emphatically renouncing the pragmatic errors that brought about
the demise of those movements.
I believe there is a remnant of sound and solid (and
courageous) biblical Christians—thousands of knees that have not
bowed to Baal. And just as importantly, they have not knuckled
under to the fads of popular religion. That remnant needs to find a
stronger voice and take a stronger stand against the drift of both the
evangelical and fundamentalist mainstreams. Many of you men are
in a position to lead the way on that, and I encourage you to do
that. "[Do] not shrink from declaring . . . the whole counsel of God."
"Pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock, in which the
Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to care for the church of God."
"Be alert." And above all, "do not be ashamed . . . but share in
suffering for the gospel by the power of God."
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