Friendship of a Pastor

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

It is quite amazing the things you realize at a funeral. There we all were, almost three hundred friends and family members, all of us there to honor my father who had just passed away a couple of days earlier. They came from all over the Midwest. The older folks, representing his five full-time and several interim pastorates sitting in the front rows to hear better, were the most conspicuous.

We laid my father to rest, and in doing so, we were really laying to rest sixty years of faithful ministry. It was my task to eulogize him for the family. As I looked out over the mourners that day, and particularly those tired souls in the front rows, I couldn’t help but think of the kinds of relationships that were being represented there before me.

How had they perceived my father? There my father was before us, first, seen through the eyes of a wife, certainly the most intimate of the relationships being represented. And, then, there were the four grown boys, less intimate but equally loving. There were four daughters-in-law. How did daughters tethered to this man all these years out of marital pledge rather than blood kinship view this man and his life? There were plenty of nephews and nieces who largely saw him past his prime. There were only a few of his peers left who observed him in his prime—no siblings, but a few brother and sister-in-laws. And finally, with the exception of the church custodian and the ladies who served lunch that day, all of the rest sitting there saw this man through the lens of his ministry amongst them as their one time pastor.

Of this latter group, I couldn’t help thinking of one of dad’s most memorable sayings while I was growing up: “My best friends are ex-parishioners.” Certainly he never made this little adage public, but there was something in dad’s past that always made him wary of getting too close to those he served. Perhaps it was a piece of pastoral wisdom that he learned in his seminary days from the forties.

Whatever it was, in hindsight I think this self-imposed ministerial convention left my dad privately lonely. Publicly, no one would have guessed it. Dad was a big, gregarious man. Our home was a big, hospitable place. Our family life was cluttered with people from all walks of life. Dad’s life was filled with relationships, but at the end of the day, few of those relationships could easily fall under the category of friendship, narrowly defined. Most of his friends sat outside the church door, at least of the church he was currently serving. Only when he left a church would he express friendship openly to certain special people.

The wisdom of this little saying of dad’s can easily be disputed? Is it wise for pastors to nurture friendships within their own congregations? If not, are pastors, then, doomed to a life of solitude? Aside for his or her family, where else is the source of community for those who are to oversee community to come from? What was dad so fearful of? And, what advice should young pastors be given as they enter into a profession that is enormously challenging, potentially filled with conflict, and often lonely?

Mick Jagger, Choir Boy

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

The title is, as they say, a literal fact. While it might be hard to imagine, the Rolling Stones front man did indeed sing in the church choir in his youth. I learned this the other day while perusing According to the Rolling Stones while waiting for my son to finish his music lesson. The book also featured some rather endearing reflections from Jagger’s bandmate Keith Richards on his own early musical experiences. The young Stone-to-be apparently spent much of his boyhood surreptitiously searching for primitive rock-n-roll on his transistor radio. He would hear half of Heartbreak Hotel…the signal would fail…and he would be heartbroken himself, yearning to hear the rest of whatever was troubling Elvis.

Now, in light of their subsequent less-than-innocent behavior, it would be easy to laugh these memories off. We might conjure up images of a young robed Mick belting out Jumpin’ Jack Flash at St. Peter’s Evensong service, or raise questions as to what else Keith might have been up to behind his parents’ backs beyond illicit listening to Chuck Berry. But there is something touching about seeing these notorious rakes as at least semi-innocent youths discovering the joy of music. We are so accustomed to their bad-boy rock and roll image we forget that they started off as ordinary kids.

And it made me wonder if a part of God’s astounding ability to forgive lies in the persistence of his memory. Throughout the Old Testament, God rehearses the story of Israel, nowhere more pointedly than in Ezekiel 16 (a passage, as it happens, with imagery as graphic as anything the Stones came up with). It is all here: Israel’s humble origins, God’s grace in the Exodus, Israel’s relentless pursuit of foreign gods, and the devastating judgment that ensues. One might imagine that God would completely wash his hands of this sinful people, yet in the end he speaks a word of hope: “… yet I will remember my covenant with you in the days of your youth, and I will establish for you an everlasting covenant” (Ezek. 16:60, ESV).

Grizzled veterans of various sorts often like to weigh in with the phrase, “I’ve seen it all.” Well, God really has seen it all. What is remarkable is that his relentless recall has not left him embittered and hopeless; rather it moves him to compassion as he remembers how things once were, and how they might be again. I imagine it would give him great Satisfaction to one day see Mick Jagger back in the church choir.

A Steep Ascent

By Tom Petter
Assistant Professor of Old Testament

Last week was pretty busy here on campus. Several hundred people gathered for the conference “Renewing the Evangelical Mission” in honor of David F. Wells who recently retired from teaching at the seminary. Few would question the profound impact Dr. Wells has had upon the Evangelical movement in recent years. This could certainly be seen by the distinguished list of speakers, a literal Who’s Who is current Evangelical Protestant thinking: Mark Noll, Bruce McCormack, Cornelius Plantiga, among others. For me, one particularly gratifying aspect was to note among the conference attendants several of my former fellow Gordon-Conwell students of the 1990’s (I’m sure there were plenty of alums from before my time as well). They are now pastors, professors and/or occupying various positions of leadership in the Body of Christ. Yet, they chose to carve time away from family and busy schedules to come back to Gordon-Conwell to see their teacher and friend. This reminded me that Dr. Wells’ influence has been felt not only in print but also in (and out) of the classroom. Well done good and faithful servant.

A highlight of the conference for me was Dr. Bruce McCormack’s presentation on the atonement. In his own words, he took us on a “steep ascent” into the mysteries of the relationship between the Father and the Son in the atoning death of Christ. I will look forward to digesting some of the specifics of his arguments when the paper comes out in an edited volume. For a more immediate reaction, McCormack’s (professor of Theology at Princeton Theological Seminary) characterization of Protestant identity framed by both the authority of Scripture and forensic justification (the so-called formal and material principles) seems particularly a propos. In the current climate where the Protestant doctrine of justification is being questioned and/or revised (see Jack Davis’s blog on NT Wright’s new book on justification), McCormack’s (and David Wells’) clarion call is a timely reminder for us to rise up and defend that which defines us at the core. My sense is that, we too are on a “steep ascent” of sort as we try to articulate and contextualize these traditional core beliefs for our generation.

Paul’s “Opinion” in 1 Corinthians 7:12

By Roy Ciampa, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

I have heard it several times before. I just heard it again in a recent Sunday School class I observed. Someone was teaching on the inspiration of Scripture and they suggested, on the basis of 1 Corinthians 7:10, 12 that “Paul differentiates between things said with God’s authority and things said with his.” The verses in question read as follows (according to the ESV):

• 1 Corinthians 7:10: “To the married I give this charge (not I, but the Lord): the wife should not separate from her husband….“
• 1 Corinthians 7:12: “To the rest I say (I, not the Lord) that if any brother has a wife who is an unbeliever, and she consents to live with him, he should not divorce her.”

While it is true that Paul clarifies what he can say on the authority of Jesus’ own words and what he says on his own authority, the impression is given, I think, that Paul’s teaching in verse 10 carries divine authority while his teaching in verse 12 is a matter of personal opinion and does not carry divine, but merely human authority. This reflects serious confusion and it perpetuates a theologically misleading and even spiritually dangerous misunderstanding.

In those verses Paul is referring to the fact that in one case (in verse 10) he is drawing on something that Christ himself said about divorce during his ministry with his disciples. Christ’s teaching on divorce was already known in the churches and came to be recorded in all three Synoptic Gospels (Matthew 5:32; 19:9; Mark 10:2-12; Luke 16:18). Explicit reference to Christ’s teaching during his time with his disciples is extremely rare in Paul’s letters, but this is a very widely recognized case of just that. Paul is NOT suggesting that what Christ taught has divine authority and what he teaches does not carry such authority. If that is what he meant we would have to conclude that virtually everything Paul wrote except 1 Corinthians 7:10 would have to be placed under the category of mere human opinion rather than divine authority. Rather than being a case where Paul differentiates between things said with God’s authority and things said with human authority, it is a case where Paul differentiates between things said by Jesus himself during his earthly ministry and things that are spoken with divine authority expressed through apostles (and prophets), the latter being what we find throughout most of Scripture.

To get an idea of the authority that Paul himself thought applied to his teaching we should consider, among other texts, 1 Corinthians 14:37-38 (ESV, emphasis added): “If anyone thinks that he is a prophet, or spiritual, he should acknowledge that the things I am writing to you are a command of the Lord. If anyone does not recognize this, he is not recognized.”

This is not his comment about something Jesus himself taught during his earthly ministry. He is commenting on what he has been sharing as his own (authoritative) view, which is to be recognized as “the command of God”! He makes it clear that what could have been mistaken as one man’s opinion and argument should be understood to carry the divine authority of prophetic speech.

Once the contrast Paul is actually making in 1 Corinthians 7:10, 12 is understood, it becomes clear that he is not distinguishing between levels of authority, but sources of authority. As already suggested above, to imply that verse 10 carries divine authority but that verse 12 does not would lead us to the conclusion that about the only thing Paul ever said with divine authority is what he said in 7:10. I hope that anyone who thinks they are a prophet or spiritually gifted (cf. 1 Corinthians 14:37) will see that that is not a wise road to walk down.

The Incarnation and Male Priests as “Icons of Christ”?

By John Jefferson Davis
Professor of Systematic Theology and Christian Ethics

I have recently completed an article titled “Incarnation, Trinity, and the Ordination of Women to the Priesthood,” which follows an earlier article on I Tim.2:12 and Paul’s use of the creation texts in Genesis. In this new article I address the issue of the ordination of women in an Anglican context, and respond to an argument by C.S. Lewis from the nature of the incarnation in which Lewis concludes that the fact that Jesus was incarnate as a male indicates that women can not properly represent the character of God to the congregation.

I argue that Lewis’s argument from the incarnation is not convincing, in that it overlooks the changed nature of the priesthood in the New Covenant, the analogical nature of human language about God, and the divine purpose to assume a human nature, rather than an exclusively male nature (cf. sarx, not aner – in Jn.1:14), for the purpose of redeeming both men and women, who both equally reflect the image of God.

If this is an issue that is of interest to you – and apart from the question of the ordination of women, the discussion raises significant points regarding our understanding of the nature of the incarnation – you can read an excerpt of this article by clicking on this link: [to be uploaded]

The complete article is scheduled for publication in the January 2010 issue of Priscilla Papers.

Lost in the Taiga

By David Horn, ThD
Director, The Ockenga Institute

What could it be? Scanning across the sea of dark green coniferous forest, there it was, a square break in the darkness, a tiny patch in the fabric of the uninhabited Siberian quilt. It almost looked like a tilled garden. But, how can this be? They were hundreds of kilometers from civilization.

From their helicopter on that spring of 1982, Russian geologists looking for drilling sights in the subarctic mountains--taiga--of Siberia were desperately searching for a small morsel of land where they could put down. What they found, instead, was a thin fragment of civilization that first dumbfounded them and then captured their full imaginations. Parachuting in, they found themselves staring into the black din of a musty, sticky cabin, barely held up by sagging ceiling joists.

And from out of that cabin came an amazing human story. Huddled in that humble cabin came five hollow figures seemingly held together by bailing wire. First came the old man, his disheveled beard matched by his patched—his re-patched—shirt and pants. Two grown sons followed him, and then, behind them they could hear the hysterical cries of two grown daughters. It was summer so all were without shoes. But, come winter, they walked the snowy mountain range with homemade birch bark boots. The geologists stood face to face with the Lykov family. In turn, the Lykov family stood face to face with other human beings. The grown children had never seen another human face other than their family members. Never. They lived their lives completely to themselves, surviving solely on subsistence fare of potatoes and pine nuts.

What could have driven this family of hermits into this vast wilderness? Vasoly Peskov tells this amazing story that has reached millions of readers in his chronicle, Lost in the Taiga. What drove this family for decades into a life radically set apart from civilization? The Lykov family was part of a small group of “Old Believers” who began their journey from the outside world during the reforms in the Russian Orthodox Church during Peter the Great. Systematically setting themselves apart from the world, they spent what time they had each day that was not filled with scraping together enough food for the next, in long ritualistic, pietistic prayer. Their sole goal in life was to remain uncontaminated by the larger world.

The story of the Lykov family was part of my summer reading. I found it an amazing story not because it was so dramatically different from where most of us live our lives, although this is certainly the case in one sense. Quite the opposite, I found the story so compelling because I related so much to it. What is this impulse in all of us that closely measures our commitment to Jesus Christ by the degree to which we separate ourselves from the world around us? Like the Lykov family, I realize there is safety in maintaining a distance from the world, be it geographical, intellectual, or moral. But, in playing it safe, do we not risk a contamination of another sort? Like the Lykov family, losing contact with their world caused them to live tiny, utterly selfish, and distorted lives.

The point is, Jesus’ example in the Gospel clearly points us to the often forgotten truth that we, the Church, need the world out there—our associations, our towns and communities, our relationships with our unbelieving friends and enemies—as much as they need us. Without continuous, ongoing connections with our world, we all run the risk of living very small safe lives robbed of the very relationships that stirs the gospel in our souls.

Nasty Neighbors at the Lost and Found

By Sean McDonough, PhD
Associate Professor of New Testament

My favorite quiz show moment came years ago on the late, lamented “Tic Tac Dough”, hosted by the effervescent Wink Martindale. A map of the United States was displayed on the screen, with one state lit up in red. The contestant was asked to identify the state. With that peculiar confidence born of complete cluelessness, he answered soberly, “I believe that’s Ohio, Wink.” While memory fails me as to precisely which state was in fact lit up, I do remember that it was one of the most un-Ohio-like of the fifty – perhaps California, Texas, or Montana.

Sometimes apparently easy questions can trip us up. Imagine, for instance, that Wink Martindale were to pop into your living room just now and ask, “For fifty points: what is the unifying theme of the stories of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son in chapter 15 of Luke’s gospel?” Most of us would immediately reply, “I believe that’s, ‘lost things get found’, Wink.” And we would be correct. Mostly.

I say, “mostly”, because when you look a little more closely at Luke 15 as a whole, you will see that God’s love for the lost is, strictly speaking, the premise for Jesus’ main point, rather than the main point itself. Notice how the chapter begins: “Now the tax collectors and ‘sinners’ were all gathering around to hear him. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.’ Then Jesus told them this parable.”(Luke 15:1-3 NIV). We would expect the parables that ensue to be directed as much to the Pharisees’ grumbling as to the fact that sinners are coming to Jesus.

This is exactly what we find. About half of the parable of the lost sheep takes place after the little lamb is already safe and sound: “Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.' I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent” (15:6-7). The parable of the lost coin ends the same way: “And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.' In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents” (15:9-10). And we are all familiar with the elder brother in the story of the prodigal son, whining that he never gets to have a party with his friends.

It is not difficult to see Jesus’ point: rather than grumbling like the elder son, the Pharisees and teachers of the law ought to be like the neighbors who rejoice with the shepherd and the woman. We don’t lose the familiar blessings of the parables by noting this: the fact remains that God really is on the hunt for sinners. It is still perfectly appropriate to wrap up an evangelistic meeting with a thoughtful reflection of the prodigal son’s return home (though even there we might ask whether in the world of the parable the son is driven more by pragmatic food-based incentives rather than a heartfelt longing for dear old dad).

What we gain, meanwhile, is a valuable lesson for all of us who have been in the fold for a while. While we would of course never come out and grumble, “Why are all these sinners becoming Christians?”, it is all too easy for veteran saints to slip into the habit of downplaying the “shallowness” or “emotionalism” of new converts. Just as parents have to make a concerted effort to remember what it was like to be child, so older believers have to make a concerted effort to remember the undercurrent of pure joy that accompanies a genuine turning to God. May we rejoice with God and his angels for his continual work to seek and to save the lost.