Cover Story

The Best Way to Preach

Sixty or seventy years ago one who visited a number of Protestant church services might have observed that most sermons were of the expository type. But a similar visit today would very likely reveal a meager amount of this kind of preaching. The never-ending deluge of sermon books and the popular sermon periodicals seldom carry an expository sermon. By and large, the preaching in Protestantism today is of the topical or “life-situation” variety. One cannot help wondering whether something has been discovered that makes expository preaching, the favorite method in the past, invalid today.

Greater concern arises when we observe among conservatives, never questioned for their love of the Book, a paucity of expository preaching. In many large denominational gatherings the topical sermon is used far more frequently than the expository. And conversation with many conservative “colleagues of the cloth” reveals that the topical and life-situation approach predominates in their week-by-week preaching.

Alas, it would also prove embarrassing for me to examine the sermons I have preached in the past few years. Even in my own file the expository sermon is in the minority. Yes, I am the chief of sinners! Such conviction and observation has led to the question: What is wrong with expository preaching?

It may just be that we should re-examine some of our attitudes toward expository preaching. Perhaps we have judged it ineffective because we have failed to understand its true nature.

What Is It?

There are many definitions of the expository sermon. Not least among them is that of John Broadus:

An expository discourse may be defined as one which is occupied mainly, or at any rate very largely, with the exposition of Scripture. It by no means excludes argument and exhortation as to the doctrines or lessons which this exposition develops [On the Preparation and Delivery of Sermons, Harper, 1944, p. 144].

The word “exposition” is, of course, the clue to this method. The word means a setting forth of the meaning or purpose of a writing. Thus in preaching it means laying open for inspection and understanding a certain passage of the Holy Scriptures. And it may be that this somewhat limited understanding of expository preaching has caused it to become sterile and irrelevant. The idea expository preaching frequently brings to mind is that of a rather heavy pedantic presentation of the historical, geographical, and grammatical context of a few verses. If that is expository preaching, little wonder that it has disappeared.

While it is true that in expository preaching the understanding of what the biblical writer was saying is paramount, in no sense does the sermon stop at this point. Pure exposition without application becomes stifling. An enlarged definition, more in the contemporary spirit, captures this emphasis:

Expository preaching seeks to find the basic, contextual-grammatical-historical meaning of a passage of Scripture, and then applies this meaning, by accepted rhetorical processes, to the hearts and lives of the hearers. Expository preaching finds more than a theme in a passage, more than a few suggestions, more than a few platitudes—it finds the abiding message, the timeless truths, the universal values of the passage, and brings them over in direct, powerful, impinging practical applications to modern life situations [Lloyd M. Perry and Faris D. Whitesell, Variety in Your Preaching, Revell, 1954, p. 35].

Perhaps the great downfall of this once exalted method has been at this point. For many it has been considered little more than a glorified Sunday school lesson with little challenge or inspiration, at best informative on a few biblical facts. Halford Luccock, in his book In the Minister’s Workshop, sharply criticizes this shortcoming in much expository preaching: “It is the absence of the engaged ‘clutch’ of the present-day parallel which meshes in with the machinery of the mind and heart that has made so much alleged expository preaching irrelevant and obsolete.”

Expository preaching, in its best form, is the exposing of a certain passage of Scripture around which the sermon is woven and which serves as the basis for the contemporary application.

What Does It Accomplish?

Beyond understanding what expository preaching is, there is a need to recall some of its values. By faithfully practicing the expository approach, we shall save ourselves from some dangerous pitfalls.

First, expository preaching will save us from ourselves. The minister who depends from week to week and year to year upon his own ability to decide what subject he shall preach on and how that subject should be developed will sooner or later discover he is inflicting his own prejudices upon his people. Expository preaching will save us from that. The great temptation facing every preacher is that of making his own word final instead of God’s Word. We develop our sermon and then proceed to put God’s stamp of approval on it by finding a biblical text that will confirm what we have declared to be the Truth.

Secondly, expository preaching will save us from “proof-texting.” One wonders whether the numerous topical indexes of the Bible are a bane or a blessing to the minister. Ready-made sermons almost jump out from their pages. We can too easily find a topic with three separate texts, each providing a point for the sermon. All that remains is to clothe each text with an illustration or two and abracadabra presto chango—we have a sermon without having given any serious study to the Scriptures used. Although this practice may not be “proof-texting,” it is not far from it; and the minister who engages in it habitually may leave himself open to the worst of indictments—mishandling the Word of God.

Thirdly, expository sermons will save us from making the Bible a “springboard for discussion.” I have been guilty, as have many others, of building a beautiful sermon only to realize at completion that there was no text. But that was little reason for despair. With the help of a good topical index I found a text that conveniently fitted the beginning of the sermon. Although the text did not add a great deal to the sermon, neither did it do much harm. And it made a nice starting point. But in all honesty this practice can only be described as a departure from preaching God’s Word.

Fourthly, expository preaching will save us from making the Bible merely an anthology of religious quotes and illustrations. As we journey through our sermon quoting from the poets, the philosophers, and the theologians, it seems good to throw in an occasional quotation from one of the biblical writers. And it also seems good to recite occasionally a biblical story that illustrates the point being made. Let me say that such a practice is not necessarily wrong; indeed, it can be very commendable. But the question is whether this represents the way we generally handle the Bible. Do we expound biblical truth, or do we use the Bible to expound our particular slant on the truth?

Finally, expository preaching will save the minister from sterility in his sermons. More than once I have heard a minister say: “I guess I’ll have to get another sermon book; my well has run dry!” Would it not be good to recommend the greatest book of sermons ever written? Is it mere piousness to believe that the minister who pores over a passage of Scripture for weeks before the sermon is to be delivered will be given a vibrant message from above? I do not think so! No one is left empty-handed when a text from God’s Word has been thoroughly explored and studied.

While expository preaching will save us from these dangers, it will, on the positive side, bring to our preaching certain assets. Primarily and most important, it will let God speak through our sermons. This after all is the only purpose of preaching. Foremost in the minister’s thought as he goes into the study to prepare next Sunday’s sermon ought to be his responsibility to make sure that what he says will be God’s Word as spoken through him. One of the classical definitions of preaching is by Bernard Manning: “Preaching is a manifestation of the Incarnate Word, from the written Word, by the spoken word.” If this is the nature of preaching, then the minister who sticks closely to the written Word, finds the divisions for his sermon within the text, uncovers the thought of the biblical writer, and then makes this thought relevant to present needs, can never be far from speaking God’s Word. This is the guarantee of expository preaching.

Again, such preaching will help the Bible come alive in the minds and hearts of those who hear. Some congregations make a big point of bringing Bibles to the church. At every service the minister asks that each Bible be lifted high; anyone who does not have one is so embarrassed that he is sure to bring one to the next service. These Bibles may not be opened during the whole service, but at least they are there. While every Christian ought to have his Bible in church, such coaxing and chiding seems superficial. Having a Bible in hand and open to the passage being discussed should be a natural practice for each Christian. The expository sermon, more than any other, will arouse interest in the Bible. I have found myself removing my Bible from its hidden pocket and following the Scriptures avidly when a minister digs deeply into a text and uncovers divine truth. This is the natural reaction to expository preaching.

What Is Wrong With It?

Let us ask again, “What is wrong with expository preaching?” It is obvious that for the minister who believes the Bible to be a book of myths there is little value in expository preaching. But for those who maintain that the Bible is actually God’s Word, expository preaching, while it may not be the only method, must certainly be the supreme method.

We can well imagine that the disappearance of this method from many pulpits is partly due to the intrusion of liberalism. What we cannot explain is why those who still hold to the credibility of the Bible have abandoned expository preaching. Could it be a case of conformity with prevailing religious practices?

It might be that the real rub is the discipline expository preaching involves. The minister who would preach an expository sermon must be willing to spend the necessary time in his study using all possible resources to let the light of the text break forth. Not only study but prayer is an essential before and during sermon preparation. And beyond this is the difficult task of applying these timeless truths to everyday life situations. It might be that other methods are more attractive because they are less exacting.

No, there is nothing wrong with expository preaching. Everything is right about it. As in the first century, so in the twentieth, the preacher must stand forth and expose “the unsearchable riches of Christ.” And there is no better way for him to do this than through expository preaching.

Cover Story

The Jet-Propelled Pulpit

What is the vital center of evangelical Christianity?

In spite of our efforts at lay evangelism, Christian education, prayer cells, and class meetings, the pulpit is still the sensitive center that reflects both the viability and the vulnerability of our witness. Attempts to bypass the pulpit are vain, because ultimately the fruits of our outreach and the products of our nurture will depend upon the quality of our pulpits. After all, the “foolishness of preaching” is still God’s method for communicating the Gospel.

The importance of the pulpit ministry, therefore, cannot be ignored. While we test a variety of techniques with which to reach the modern mind, the pulpit must keep pace. Frequently, however, because we know that the content of the Gospel is always the same, we also assume that the means for communicating the Word never change. The result can be a static pulpit in a jet-propelled world. But the facts are that changes in the field of communication have revolutionized the world. The spread of the Gospel began by word of mouth. Then we moved into the “Gutenberg galaxy,” which sped the message through movable type and the printed page until men could read the Word for themselves. The whole process then went through another revolution in the “Marconi galaxy,” when the radio message could be transmitted from voice to ear without the obstacle of the printed page. Even more recently, we have again multiplied the effectiveness of communications as we have moved into an “Electronic galaxy,” which sends the message from sight to soul without stopping at either the mind or ear. While the message may be the same, the speed and the impact of the delivery have been drastically improved.

If this analogy is applied to the evangelical pulpit today, it means that we must constantly be searching for the means to improve our effectiveness in getting the message through. For the preacher, this means a thorough understanding of the modern mind, a willingness to respond to changing needs, and an unflagging desire to “preach the Word.” In other words, when it comes to communicating the Gospel in a jet-propelled age, we must have a jet-propelled pulpit—one that is first century in content and twentieth century in communication.

American Directions

The jet-propelled pulpit is necessary because of three basic facts in American life that are determining the direction and character of our future. These facts are summed up in an article by Peter Drucker in the February issue of Harper’s magazine. Although he uses these facts to forecast the direction of American politics, Drucker clearly indicates that the ultimate issue is the quality of life in America. Therefore, these facts are of concern to the preacher as well as the politician.

The first fact of the future is that 85 per cent of our population will be living in fewer than 200 metropolitan centers scattered across the country. Most of these people will be huddling together in the crowded strip cities from Boston to Norfolk, from Milwaukee to Cleveland, and from San Francisco to San Diego. The long-predicted shift from the farm to the city will have come true. We will be an urban people in a sprawling megalopolis.

The second fact is equally undramatic until you consider what it means for the future. One-third of all Americans will be full-time students in a school of some kind or another. Then, we will be just a few years away from the time when one-half of our young men will be educated and affluent citizens at the managerial level. As surely as we will have an Urban State, we will also have a Knowledge State with education opportunities that begin in the nursery school and end only in death.

To those of us who are over thirty years of age, the third determining fact in American life is quite disagreeable. Believe it or not, by 1980 more than 25 per cent of our population will be between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. This shift to the youthful population is occurring so rapidly that the average age has dropped one full year for each year since 1960. When John F. Kennedy was elected to the Presidency in 1960, the average age of an American was thirty-three years. But by 1968 the average American will be under twenty-five years of age. To the Urban State and the Knowledge State, we must add the hopeful fact that America is also the Youth State.

What are the implications of these three facts for communicating the Gospel? It is not the numbers that concern us now; it is the kind of people that these changes produce. Urbanites do not have the same attitudes as villagers; college graduates do not have the same expectations as high school graduates; and young adults do not have the same actions as middle-agers. Therefore, these changes in attitudes, expectations, and actions have a direct bearing upon the effectiveness of the modern pulpit. For the sake of description, I will characterize the urbanite as the Diffident Man, the student as the Discerning Man, and the young adult as the Detached Man.

The Diffident Man

The urban man has been adequately described as a faceless creature in a grey flannel suit who commutes from the suburbs with an attaché case. Professionally, he is a well-oiled cog in the corporation machine. Socially, he uses the status of the crowd to hide his loneliness. Personally, he covers his anxiety with the sophistication of charm. Spiritually, he uses the church as a vehicle for acceptability but couldn’t care less about its message. In brief, the urbanite is a thoroughgoing and unapologetic secularist.

As a contrast to the outright sinner who declares his hostility toward the Gospel, the urban man is grandly indifferent to the vital purpose of the Church. You can glamorize your program, step up your advertising, bring in high-powered talent, enlist a calling group, organize a week of prayer, hold a series of meetings, and sit back to watch your efforts fail. You are dealing with the “diffident”—a man who is dazzled every day by the spectacular and a man to whom the Christian creed is only one among many.

Our pulpits are simply not geared for a ministry to the diffident. We assume that people are naturally interested in the Gospel and that our words will quicken a dormant hunger deep within the soul. But this hope arises out of our own experience, not out of the “live and let live” religious attitude of the diffident. The modern man in the urban world is better characterized as a spiritual pagan who lacks the essential elements for understanding, accepting, and responding to the Christian message.

He lacks, first of all, the background for understanding the evangelical message. Review the content of the last sermon that you heard and then put yourself in the place of a stranger who dropped out of Sunday school in the eighth grade, who has heard the Bible read only at formal occasions, and who has reserved religion for old wives and new widows. Without a background, the language would probably confuse him, the theology would confound him, and the point of the message would probably bypass him.

Secondly, the urban man is indifferent because he lacks the social pressure to accept the message. Although religious belief is not just a result of group dynamics, we cannot deny that social pressure plays an important part in that belief. In the urban world of today and tomorrow, the steam has been let out of the pressure cooker to be a Christian. Men lack the personal ties that make conformity at this level a survival factor; they are not caught in the trap of “conform or else.” They can move at any time—and do.

The third factor in the making of the diffident man is his inability to define his personal need for spiritual response. In the simplest terms, the urban man acts indifferent to the Gospel because he does not know how to respond. Although he might admit that he is lonely, anxious, and insecure, he would not admit that religion would necessarily make the difference. He would first try to cure his loneliness by joining another club, his anxiety by a Southern vacation, and his insecurity by a boost in his life insurance. He doesn’t reject the Gospel so much as he ignores it. Without the natural interest in the message, he neither argues nor understands, disbelieves nor believes, rejects nor responds—he is the diffident product of a diffident culture.

The Discerning Man

Education has become the new hope for American life. It is the nation’s biggest and most serious business. The daily newspapers carry story after story dealing with its growth, its struggles, and its potential. But the stress is upon the means in education today—huge budgets, new buildings, faculty increases, student boom, and experimental teaching techniques. Tomorrow, however, we will be dealing with the end product of this educational thrust—the college graduate, the retrained worker, and the lifetime student in adult education. Usually we envision education as a means to the end of a better job, more money, and a step up in social class. It is this, but we cannot ignore its intellectual results either. An educated man is assumed to be a discerning man. He can raise questions, analyze problems, and draw his own conclusions.

How effective will your message be when a majority of your congregation have college experience? As we tend to assume that everyone is naturally interested in the Gospel, we also assume that our hearers will accept the authority of our message without question. For the discerning man it is just not that easy. Even though he may have the need to believe, he will first test the source of your authority and then make a decision. If, however, your authority is weak, your logic faulty, or your sources inadequate, then you can expect him to withhold his decision until he has further proof. To this discerning man, the overloaded emotional pull and the awesome fear response will simply not work.

The reasons are clear. First of all, the man who is the product of our educational system today is a man without a supernatural orientation. He is the product of an empirical age when discoveries in truth are subjected to the rigors of a scientific method. This approach to truth is not limited to the sciences but pervades every field, from the science of behavior in sociology to the science of symbols in philosophy. Because the supernatural does not lend itself to this frame of reference, the man steeped in the scientific method may demand either empirical proof or pragmatic evidence that our religion works.

Secondly, the discerning man has no taboos against asking questions. In fact, the very essence of his education has been the stimulation of inquiry. Modern learning stresses dialogues, seminars, independent study, and tutorial sessions. These are no-holds-barred learning situations from which no area of life is exempt. To the contrary, we assume that questions are useful tools in many phases of life but not in religion. The nagging “Why?” of our children is met with the impatient statement, “Because God said it,” or “Because the Church believes it.” If you accept the authority of God and the Church, you can get away with this. But how do you respond to the man whose questions include the authority of the Word and the Church?

Thirdly, the product of modern education is without sanctions on his belief. The rewards of heaven and the fear of hell have been important ingredients in holding people to their beliefs. But in a secular age, neither of these sanctions on belief or behavior carries the same weight it once did. Furthermore, the educational environment has a built-in tendency to have a man fighting out his destiny in the present world. Existentialism, which is so popular on the college campus, is a religion without future sanctions. There is the will to believe, the reality of guilt, the hopelessness of man’s self-struggle, and the despair of a frustrated existence. Yet Christianity does not get through to these people because it hasn’t gotten over the shock of being jilted. The educated man who is discerning in his values as well as in his ideas is both our challenge and our enigma for the future.

The Detached Man

The youthful generation of Americans who will take over the responsibility for the quality of our life also disturbs us. According to those who know our youth best, they are a “detached” generation without political, social, economic, or spiritual commitments. Yet it is clear that they are searching for loyalties and meaning in their life. The best evidence for this search is in the mass response to the opportunities of the Peace Corps and the newly formed Job Corps. A recent radio announcement called for volunteers for the Job Corps. The announcer said, “Wanted: volunteers for hard work with low pay. You will work in slum conditions, live in poor housing, and have no job security. The pay is $50 a month plus living expenses. Join the Job Corps.” We know what the response will be. Youth will flock to the opportunity to become attached to a cause. This has already been proved in the Peace Corps program. A follow-up of the first volunteers who came home after a two-year term overseas shows them to be dissatisfied with the comfort climate of America. They would rather be back in the squalor of an African village where they can have the satisfaction of service than drift with the unattached in a culture that indulges their every need.

In our ministry, however, we assume that everyone has some kind of prior commitment to the Gospel. But we forget that prior commitments in youth arise out of an allegiance to models—a hero worship—that creates aspirations for the future. Friedenberg, in his book The Vanishing Adolescent, tells us that youth today are moving through the teen years without the models against which they can sharpen their own image and prepare for their own commitments. This is why the Hechingers in their book Teen-age Tyranny say that we give our youth an “invitation to drift” when they need an “invitation to decision.” If the Church intends to reach outside its ranks into the vast army of youth who will set the directions for our future, it will have to abandon its assumption that everyone has a prior commitment to Christianity. In place of this assumption we will have to realize that our ministry is to be shared with those who have no emotional ties to religion, no loyalty to the Church as an institution, and no Christian models against which they can judge their own life.

Updating The Pulpit

In the discussion of the diffident, the discerning, and the detached men who will set the direction for American life, we may be at the point for diagnosing the frustrations that plague the modern minister. If you assume that when you step into the pulpit, the people who listen have a natural interest in the content of your message, an unquestioning belief in your authority, and a prior commitment to respond, you will probably sense a threat to your status and a limitation to your success. If so, your choices for the future begin to narrow down.

You may choose to decrease the scope of your ministry to the smaller circle of people who are interested, who do believe, and who will respond. If you do, you need to know that you will be the object of the criticism that evangelicals spend most of their time “talking to themselves.”

Or you may choose to remain suspended in your dilemma of desiring to make your ministry relevant to changing needs but being unable to make a change without losing the vitality of your message. This, in itself, may be a major factor in the nervous fatigue and emotional disorders that plague the ministerial ranks.

On the other hand, you may choose to change your assumptions and test the power of the Gospel with indifferent, questioning, and uncommitted men. Whether we like it or not, these are the men who will determine the direction and the character, not only of the political, social, and economic life of America, but also of evangelical Christianity. Let me warn you, however, that if you choose to gear your ministry to those new power centers of our society, you will need a jet-propelled pulpit. Because I see no alternative to a daring move in this new direction, let me describe some of the characteristics of the jet-propelled pulpit.

First, the jet-propelled pulpit is centered in the claims of Jesus Christ. How do you preach to the diffident? According to a survey that Bishop Pike reports in his book A Time for Christian Candor, 85 per cent of all sermons are centered, not on the creed, but on the code of Christianity. If one were to venture a guess for the reason for this imbalance, it would be that we are more sure of our code than we are of our creed. Students in the Christian college who come from Christian homes also reflect this weakness. They are thoroughly versed in the “What?” of their faith but woefully weak in the “Why?” To the indifferent man in the impersonal city, our only claim for attention is the “new reality” of life in Jesus Christ.

Secondly, the jet-propelled pulpit speaks with the authority of the Word of God. When we shift our preaching from the code to the creed, we find that this is where our authority lies. One cannot but recall the first sermon of Jesus when he stood up in the synagogue, took the Word, and began to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord. The response of the congregation was, “This man speaks with authority,” and the implication was that other preachers did not. That is one side of the problem. The other side is the idea that the authority which God gives us to preach generalizes to authority on any subject. This is where both the diffident and the discerning fall out with the preacher. A minister is a specialist in the authority of the Word, and his primary task is to give contemporary meaning to the revealed truth about the nature of God, the need of man, and the provision for redemption. Even the diffident will hear this ring of authority.

Thirdly, the jet-propelled pulpit will communicate the message in modern terms. Once we have a re-established basis for our authority to preach the Word of God, we need to take some lessons in communications. I can never forget the description that an outsider gave of one preacher who stepped into the pulpit: he shifted from his normal voice into a “sonorous, funereal monotone that was punctuated by a guttural clearing of the throat and high-pitched ‘ohs’ for emphasis. Then he proceeded to build his sermon out of archaic pictures and mysterious cliches.” This is an indication that if the diffident and the discerning are not blocked out by our lack of authority, they surely will be by our jargon.

I once preached a sermon on the Spirit-filled life from which I purposely eliminated the words “sanctification,” “holiness,” and “second work of grace.” Afterwards, a minister came up to me and said, “You know, when you started this morning, I thought that you were going to preach a sermon on sanctification.” If we are that obligated to the use of standard words and phrases to convey the meaning of our faith to insiders, how confusing our language must be to a newcomer. The suggestion was made the other day that we hold a conference on communicating the Gospel in terms that men will understand. At times it seems as if everyone is getting through to the modern mind except educators and preachers. The obstacle in both cases may be an esoteric language that only the initiated can understand. What a tragedy it is if men have to battle through a complexity of words in order to find the simplicity of the Gospel.

Fourthly, the jet-propelled pulpit emphasizes the consistency between our creed and our code. Milton Rokeach, who has been doing major research in the area of religion, describes the paradox of religious belief. While our creed proclaims the concern for all men and the freedom from anxiety, studies show that believers have more religious prejudice and greater anxiety than unbelievers. The question then rises, “Is the creed unrealistic?” Further study tends to show that the creed is not at fault; it is the paradox between our creed and our code, between what is taught and how it is taught. The what of the creed is for the dissemination of the Gospel to all men, but the how of the code is to defend the Church from outside attack. Therefore, there is a contradiction between the what and the how. This contradiction becomes particularly acute when the code takes on the authority of an absolute. Then, deeply committed people show anti-religious feelings toward “outside” ethnic and religious groups. They also show the high anxiety of a defensive and protective religion.

Here is an area where the discerning man can be kept outside the circle of faith because he has to be honest with himself as well as with God. He will be concerned about the consistency between what we believe and how we teach it. He will not close his eyes to those portions of Scripture where we are selectively literal and to those areas of life where we are selectively moral. If we are literal in our interpretation of Scripture to protect a tradition, the discerning man will see right through it. If we are rigidly moral in one phase of life while unethical in another, the discriminating man who is new to the faith will dare to raise the question.

My purpose is not to propose that we adopt the code of the new morality, which makes the individual and the situation the final standard for ethical decisions. Discipline and method are too much a part of a sound Christian life. Neither can we forget that a discerning man is a disciplined man or that an uncommitted youth will readily respond to a difficult challenge. Our code, however, must distinguish between moral expectations and traditional expectations. An issue with a moral base rooted in the Word of God must be firmly held. An issue that protects the identity of the group may be held for what it is, but not for the exclusion of the man who doesn’t understand it.

Fifthly, the jet-propelled pulpit responds positively to new spiritual opportunities. The cult of Christianity is the organizational structure of the Church. As a social institution, the cult has all the elements of formal machinery—titles, committees, lines of authority, chains of command, and units of power. That change in this structure comes slowly sometimes deters the Gospel from reaching a critical area at the opportune time.

Our pulpits, however, must not be encumbered with the bureaucracy of official action or the protectiveness of a minister’s status symbol. The jet-propelled pulpit should be ready to respond to spiritual need when and where it arises. Although we all agree with this premise in principle, our practice sometimes belies our theory. A newsnote and an article from CHRISTIANITY TODAY bear witness to the problem.

First, a group of ministers met last summer to evaluate the effectiveness of Billy Graham’s ministry in mass evangelism. The particular point of concern was the long-range results of the new converts’ moving into local churches as active Christians. When the discussions were finished, Billy Graham and his methods were highly praised for bringing men to an initial encounter with Christ. The failure, however, was placed at the doorstep of the local churches that could not make the adjustment in their programs to assimilate new converts. They did not have a ministry geared to the needs of people who did not come up through their pattern.

A second example is the letter that you have probably read from Dr. John Alexander to his pastor, published in the January 15 issue of this magazine. As a professor who has caught the “harvest view” of the mission field in the state university, he pleads for the jet-propelled pulpit. When the local church does not attract the university crowd and the foundation house is only partially successful, another strategy is to adopt the campus as a mission field and send some church people into the harvest. The important question seems to be whether or not the pastor has an enlarged concept of the jet-propelled pulpit by which he can release these hometown missionaries from local church duties without insisting that they also leave the fellowship of the church. This is an important question that bears heavily upon the future, because the jet-propelled pulpit cannot be confined to the people who attend church.

This in a sense sums up my whole purpose in calling for a jet-propelled pulpit—a pulpit as up-to-date as the Word of God in its authority, as modern as the latest system of communications, and as contemporary as the newest opportunities for spiritual response.

In the beginning we said that educated youth who live in the city will determine the direction and character of American life. Having the abundance of an affluent society behind them, they will turn their attention to the quality of life in our society. In their search, the diffident urbanite will discover an interest, the discerning student will come to a belief, and the detached youth will make a commitment. If we ride a jet-propelled pulpit into the midst of the groups that are vying for the loyalties of these people, the claims of Christ will still be heard. If not, we will be listening to the hollow echo of our own voices condemning the world for not coming to church.

Cover Story

The Highest Calling

Two years ago I stood on the church steps in a small town in Illinois and watched uncertainly as the big yellow moving van pulled away from the curb. Inside, the movers had stowed my books, my files, and most of the other belongings I had accumulated in twenty years of preaching, the last ten in this sleepy little country town of 7,000 souls. Now, largely on my doctor’s advice, I was not moving to another congregation but actually “leaving the ministry.” It was the same old story played to the same tune that every minister knows by heart: an inherited problem, a tremendous growth rate, a new building, a couple of men with personal ambitions, and resulting factionalism. The stresses of removing the spiritual cancer took their toll, and after two trips to the hospital I heard the doctor’s recommendation.

He had suggested a temporary change of occupation. But as I walked back into that empty office and heard the echo of my footsteps mocking me from the gaping tiers of vacant bookshelves, it might as well have been the end of the world. I sat down in the quarter-oak chair, leaned back, and looked around. The office, though small, had been adequate during those early, hectic years. As attendance and program grew, a larger office was planned for the new building.

As I looked at the office, I thought of those who had crossed its threshold. Most of them had been honest, sincere people who had come for help, for strength, and for advice. They had looked to their minister for an explanation of the things that perplexed them, for an answer to questions they could not answer, for a solution to problems they could not solve. Arising from my chair, I walked past the bare-topped desk and out through the door. To whom do ex-ministers go at times like these?

Less than six months later I sat in my study in the beautiful home that we were able to afford on a more ample secular salary and agreed to return to the preaching ministry. It meant a considerable salary cut. It meant turning in the keys of the expensive company car I was permitted to drive as my own. It meant relinquishing an almost unlimited expense account. It meant giving up a promised promotion that would have brought prestige and financial security in my new profession. It meant returning to a schedule of work every night and every weekend.

Why did I do it? Why did I return to the ministry? Some have guessed that the ministry is easier than other vocations, but they are wrong. Some have supposed that the surroundings in a secular job might be unpleasant or distasteful, but mine were not. Others have tried to assign this and that motive to my decision. But here is my own evaluation of it. Behind all the sentimental drive and the thin veneer of superstition that have been associated with the decision to enter the Christian ministry, there lies a pulsing sense of urgency. It is that inner compulsion that keeps you working long hours and doing a job that might make you a first-class executive in the business world. It is that constant appeal that whispers just above the call of family, friends, country, and even life. You knew its call when the telephone’s shrill voice demanded that you stumble into your clothes and hurry to the hospital to be with a family facing the imminent death of a loved one. How many times have you heard it in your office, as you sat between the halves of what was once a marriage of love? You beheld the beckoning finger of this motivation each time you stood before a man and woman glowing with hope and declared them one in the Master’s name and service. You knew it each time you looked across a casket into the eyes of those who were clinging to your every syllable for some hint of hope.

We all know the neurotics and the hypocrites who cluster around the church—the frightened, the blustering, the insecure and cunning, the unloved and rejected. These are among the sick that Jesus came to heal. No more unlovely human being lives than the ambitious neurotic who mistakes your kindness for weakness, your patience for indecision, and your love for groveling. How easy to forget that he feels inferior, rejected, and threatened by his world and searches you out as a vulnerable target for his hostility, certain that you will not retaliate. And what joy you know as you turn the other cheek, praying that he will find in Christ the emotional balance you enjoy in your Lord. These frustrated misfits think of the world outside the church as filled with cold-eyed, dangerous predators. Although they may be emotionally treacherous and even consider you “the enemy,” they know that you will not prey on them but will pray for them. And you find your reward in loving the unlovely, in returning good for evil.

The alcoholic—despised by society, forsaken by his friends, misunderstood by his family, avoided by the moral and upright—comes to you as a last resort. He knows he can trust you. You may not understand, but he sees in you a little of the love of God that will not condemn him. He recognizes in you the meaning of the word “friend” as Jesus used it. And, though you may hide a natural revulsion mixed with pity behind your patience and kindness, you stand a little taller where God does the measuring when you try to lead the human derelict to safety from himself.

Or a frightened girl is led into your office by a tearful mother and an indignant father. No one has to tell you that she is another statistic on the illegitimacy tables. She has come to confide in you. You are the only man on earth, besides her doctor, who will hear her fears, answer her questions, and help her through her Gethsemane without prying, accusing, or lecturing. She instinctively knows that you will offer her the healing love of him who stood before another of her kind one day and said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.” No one ever knows—that is, no one but you—the minor chord of fulfillment that sounds in your heart as she returns home from her ordeal to thank God through you for reaching out to her and helping her find solid ground in the security of faith.

The consuming fire of the ministry warms you again as you stand before a congregation waiting to be fed the realities of life. They come, wandering through a modern wilderness, often alone, eager and hungry for the bread of life that satisfies the inner man. And they come to you. You feel a deep, solid satisfaction when you reach far into the Word of life and know that your sermonic creation is meeting a vital congregational need. It fulfills your destiny to see the light of new understanding break over listening faces, to see taut muscles relax, to watch the spark of eager hope kindle into a warm flame of faith, and to behold lives that have been jarred awake by your impassioned plea.

These, then, are some of the signs along your road that tell you yours is a high calling. It is a road that not only struggles through low and sordid places but also soars atop windswept peaks of inspiration. Again and again you rise from the shadows and tears to walk with God in the cool of the evening in Eden’s new relationship.

As you follow your high calling, you find a hundred fathers and a hundred mothers who love you, weep over your sorrows and disappointments, and rejoice in your victories and your growth. You find a hundred brothers and sisters whose loyalty often exceeds that of your own flesh and blood. Thus your high calling comes to fruition.

Surely these must be some of the things the inspired writer had in mind when he declared: “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for them that love him.” Your high calling is the very call of love. It is the motivation of the good Samaritan, the evangelist, the counselor, the pastor who goes about doing good. It is the catalyst that breaks down a hostile, anger-charged situation, finds the motive, makes forgiveness an ennobling experience that you would not miss. It is the touchstone of your relationship with Deity, the common ground from which, with God, you can view your bruises with objectivity and understanding. This is what enables you to understand the Saviour’s intercessory plea for his tormentors: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

We make such a fetish of proclaiming our humanity as ministers that we often obscure the larger fact that we have been with Jesus. We have walked with him and imbibed his spirit. We have talked with him and plumbed his mind. We have suffered with him, rejoiced with him, and worked with him to share his grace. Though we may not ask for his respect of our persons, he will not deny us our heritage as men who have loved him with our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. If it is true that heaven is to be enjoyed in direct proportion to the depth of our relationship with our Saviour here on earth, then the slings and arrows of our calling will find their greatest recompense in our having walked with him through Gethsemane, through the valley of the shadow of death, and to Calvary if need be—and it must needs be. If it is true that the greatest among the children of God is the one serving the most unselfishly, then greatness is selfless humility—received as if undeserved, worn as if it did not exist, and lost when vainly displayed. Like happiness, this greatness is only the by-product of our participation in a cause higher than ourselves without thought of personal gain.

Yes, I returned to the ministry. I have wept a few bitter tears for the slow and hard of heart, and I have lost sleep in prayer for the selfish, the indifferent, and the neurotic. But I am home again—facing the problems and wounds of a sure and certain battle with our oldest enemy, but not facing them alone. The simple declaration of Jesus, “Lo, I am with you always,” is like the promise spoken by the prophet for the Lord: “Fear thou not, for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

Love your calling as a ministry sent to you by the Lord himself. It is the highest calling on earth. It is an invitation and challenge to walk with God where God walked when he visited our planet as our loving, serving, suffering Saviour.

Billy Graham in Alabama

The open wounds of Alabama’s continuing social conflict received the healing balm of the Gospel during recent appearances in the state by evangelist Billy Graham—and there was evidence that in the communities he visited during a four-day tour, definite results were achieved. Leaders of both races told him: “We believe this will mark the beginning of a new day in our community.”

Graham announced at the outset that he had come, not to preach about racial problems, but to “preach the same Gospel I have preached all over the world.”

But he did indicate that outside his public meetings he wanted to talk with leaders of both races about the problems that have recently brought the state to the world’s attention. Graham told a reporter: “It is wrong for people in other parts of the country to point an accusing self-righteous finger at Alabama. To single out one state as a whipping boy often becomes just a diversion to direct attention from other areas where the problem is just as acute.”

Still some Alabamans accused him of coming “as President Johnson’s personal ambassador to soothe the feelings which Martin Luther King has ruffled.” (The announcement from Graham’s office that he had accepted invitations to preach in Alabama had coincided with a social visit by the Grahams to the White House, where they are occasionally invited guests.)

But that this did not reflect majority sentiment was borne out by the fact that he received more than thirty invitations from all sections of the state when he first announced his itinerary. Since he had canceled a number of private meetings in Great Britain to accept the first invitations, aides said it was impossible to accept others.

On the day Graham arrived in Dothan, a city of about 38,000 in the southeast corner of the state, he was greeted by an editorial in the Dothan Eagle which commented that “there exists something less than unanimity of opinion regarding the timing of his visit” and an ad signed by the president of the White Citizens Council deploring the fact that “Dr. Graham could be invited to Dothan only at this particular time.” But a unanimous invitation had been extended by both the white and Negro ministerial groups, working together.

Despite rampant rumors that preceded the opening meeting on Saturday night, April 24—including one of a bomb threat—Rip Hewes Stadium was half-filled with 5,500. The choir of 400 voices, about half Negro, sang with George Beverly Shea, and when Graham arose to speak all feelings of tension vanished as the presence of God was felt in the stadium. In response to the invitation, almost 250 of both races stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the platform to register decisions for Jesus Christ.

Wallace Malone, a local financial power and vice-chairman of the Houston County (Dothan) Citizens Council, said it was a “great service” and requested a meeting with Graham. He told a reporter, “I am sure Dr. Graham did not come here to stir up trouble, and he did preach the Gospel. Dr. Graham is a great preacher and our kind of man.”

The word of the meeting spread, and those who had adopted a “wait-and-see” attitude were prepared to jam the stadium for the closing meeting Sunday afternoon. Heavy rains fell, and Graham decided to hold a short service under the stands. Three thousand people were packed tightly under the dripping stands when the meeting started, with others spilling out the entrances and an estimated 1,000 still in their cars. Scores of hands were raised in response to the invitation to receive Christ.

Graham then dashed to a television station for a hurriedly arranged thirty-minute program to speak to the thousands who couldn’t make it to the stadium. Few would deny that the Gospel had worked miracles in the Wiregrass area.

Among the comments was one by the Rev. Clayton Bell, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church, who said: “This was the first time in this city that a totally open meeting of this type was held where both Negroes and whites were free to come and sit where they pleased.… Not only was there no conflict, but a genuine spirit of love and fellowship … captivated the hearts of those present.”

The reports of the Dothan meetings in the state press laid to rest any doubts about why Billy Graham was in Alabama. Unpretentiously, the Gospel was already having its therapeutic effect. On Monday morning in Montgomery, Graham met with a bi-racial committee of thirty to plan for his crusade in the state capital June 13–20.

The next meeting was at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa on Monday night. Graham was there at the invitation of President Frank Rose and the Student Government Association. Despite threatening weather all day, the decision was made not to move the meeting from Denny Stadium, where Alabama’s Crimson Tide rolled to the national football championship last year.

According to head football coach Paul “Bear” Bryant, nearly 15,000 people filled the west stands. They came prepared for the weather, and when the first sprinkles fell at the beginning of the meeting, umbrellas blossomed like daffodils. No one left. Coach Bryant’s star quarterback, Steve Sloan, read the Scripture from John 3. But when Graham was about five minutes into his sermon, a torrential rain started to fall, making continuation of the service impossible. However, the people of Tuscaloosa—where the Ku Klux Klan has a headquarters—had made their point, 15,000 strong.

The next day fair weather favored the team, and an estimated 16,000 people came out to hear Graham at Auburn University at a 10:00 A.M. meeting. Although the invitation had come from President Ralph B. Draughon, preparatory meetings were held with bi-racial groups because of community participation. Many businesses closed from ten o’clock till noon, the university dismissed classes, and schools excused pupils.

At a luncheon with business, civic, and religious leaders of both races, Graham said that he is convinced the image of Alabama outside the state and abroad is erroneous. He said the image is not so good as some say, but certainly not so bad as others say. He told the group he is encouraged by what he has seen and heard and what Negro leaders have told him about race relations.

Tuskegee Institute, a Negro college forty miles from Montgomery, was his next and final stop. Here the audience, estimated at 10,000, was overwhelmingly Negro, but whites were scattered throughout.

On the platform were many leaders in the white community, and some of the members of choirs from white churches had volunteered to sing with the institute choir.

And so the Alabama tour—phase one—ended. Billy Graham had won the hearts of the people of Alabama. And if his eagerness to return in June for the crusade in Montgomery was any indication, the people of Alabama had also won the heart of Billy Graham.

Miscellany

The ordination of a deaconess, Mrs. Phyllis Edwards, to Holy Orders was postponed pending a study by the Episcopal House of Bishops in September. Mrs. Edwards, 48, is a widow and mother of four grown children. Strongest opposition to her ordination has come from the Anglo-Catholic wing of the church.

Roman Catholics in the United States totaled 45,640,619 as of January 1, according to the 1965 Official Catholic Directory. The figure marks an increase of 766,248 over the previous year. A 7 per cent rise in the number of Catholic marriages was recorded, but total infant baptisms fell slightly.

The Assemblies of God plans to open a childcare agency in Kansas City, Missouri, this fall. It will be housed in a refurbished mansion and will be designed to serve as many as 100 children.

“Our church will have to change its position on cigarette smoking,” says a report issued by the Commission on Social Action of the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod. The commission concedes that the church did not condemn moderate use of cigarettes in the past on the basis of “good theology.” Citing recent research, however, the committee’s report urges Christians to refrain from smoking cigarettes and to urge others to quit.

The Turkish government threatened last month to deport the Greek Orthodox Ecumenical Patriarchate. Officials announced they would make a detailed inspection of the patriarchate’s finances. The Turkish radio, however, denied reports that the patriarchate was being persecuted.

Personalia

Dr. Johannes Christiaan Hoekendijk was named professor of missions at Union Theological Seminary, New York. Dr. Hoekendijk, a former secretary for evangelism of the World Council of Churches, has been on the faculty of the University of Utrecht since 1953.

Dr. Robert L. Calhoun, professor of historical theology at Yale Divinity School, will retire June 30.

The Rev. E. L. Homewood, managing editor of the United Church (of Canada) Observer, was elected president of Associated Church Press.

Bishop Richard C. Raines was chosen president-elect of the Methodist Council of Bishops. He will assume the presidency for a one-year term in April of 1966.

Dr. Richard Pacini was elected president of the United Presbyterian Board of National Missions for a one-year term. Pacini is pastor of Fairmount Presbyterian Church, Cleveland Heights, Ohio.

Review of Current Religious Thought: May 21, 1965

One of the Most Important Questions in contemporary theology is that of the finality of the Gospel. Current studies bristle with problems related to this, and anyone reading hard in either exegesis or dogmatics these days encounters such problems almost daily. There are the many questions related to the historico-critical method, to “demythologizing,” to history and historicism, to say nothing of Christian morality.

When one turns from today’s problems to the witness of the New Testament, he finds himself in another world. For here we do not find a discussion about the truth and its finality; we hear words of warning and sounds of alarm against the lie. Here, in the New Testament, truth and falsehood are opposed as clear, decisive, and absolute antagonists. Moved and concerned, Paul speaks out unambiguously against those who “tamper with God’s word” (2 Cor. 4:2, RSV). He is alert to the “god of this world” who has “blinded the minds of the unbelievers” to the light of the glory of Christ (2 Cor. 4:4). He warns against false apostles and deceitful workers who parade themselves as apostles of Christ (2 Cor. 11:13). They imitate Satan in his masquerade as an angel of light. We are all called, therefore, to test the spirits, “for many false prophets have gone out into the world” (1 John 4:1).

Impressive persons can and do pretend to speak the truth. But we are to remember that even an angel from heaven may not be allowed to get away with preaching a false gospel (Gal. 1:8). Among the “prophets” that bring the Church into confusion, some will be most impressive and credible personally. But we must never forfeit our responsibility to test the spirits by saying, “This angel would never deceive us.” Even the most impressive prophet needs testing; the message of the most likely angel needs investigation.

In this connection, Paul uses the awful word “anathema.” This word has played quite a role in church history, most famously in the several decrees of the Council of Trent. The word may also remind us that when believers use it against other people, it is a dangerous tool. There must be room for a radical testing of ideas by those who love the truth. Of course, the ideas, not the persons, are always the object of human testing. And the criterion is not the quality of the “prophet” but the Gospel. The New Testament provides ample justification for the most searching critique of the ideas of those who come as teachers of truth. Where Jesus Christ is denied, there we have the antichrist (1 John 2:22). John does not at this point discuss differences in points of view. He simply sounds the alarm: “No one who denies the Son has the Father” (1 John 2:23a). And this touches all of life, eternal life. Hence, let there be no ambiguity.

In a day when relativity is king, these New Testament perspectives may sound unbearably absolutistic. Perhaps this is because so many things have been surrounded by uncertainty today. Profound problems have been set before us all. And even in theology there is a heap of uncertainty where yesterday’s verities seem buried. Where doubts rise, the alarm against untruth is hard to hear. The modern sciences, especially psychology and sociology, have made the complexity of issues more impressive than their clarity. We have become timid about setting things in terms of either-or. We are less ready to judge heresy than to deal with the psychology of the heretic.

Have we perhaps more understanding of error and its sources than John and Paul had? One senses immediately how pretentious this question is. We are reminded that we may also be estranged from the clear vision of the New Testament. Have we let our views become so complex that we have lapsed into uncertainty? If so, we have fallen into a genuine crisis. Worse, our crisis could be the result of alienation from the apostolic witness. One of the symptoms of our crisis could be our fear of absolutism.

History shows us a long parade of people who appear on stage with the whole truth, people who never took seriously the fact that the best schooled among us know “only in part,” that even those with 20–20 vision see “through a glass darkly.” The same Paul who spoke an anathema against other gospels admitted that he knew only in part. The absolutism that takes the form of fanaticism has always awakened reactions that in turn have tended to relativize truth.

What we must keep in mind is that there is no more false dilemma than the absolutist-relativist dilemma. With it, one finds a plausible excuse for relativism, for he will not accept unqualified absolutism. For the theologian, an understanding of the falsity of this dilemma is imperative. In the first place, we must confess that both Church and theologians have often spoken more absolutely than was warranted. The Church has had to retract what was once proclaimed as absolute truth. Galileo must never be far from our mind. We must admit that some past solutions to problems no longer satisfy, though they once were accepted as unchangeable dogmas. This fact must keep the Church humble. And we must admit that the path of humility has at times been hard for the Church to take.

But whether, in the midst of some uncertainties, the Church is still bound to the untouchable certainties of the apostolic witness is a question of another sort. It is a question of to be or not to be. Over against absolutism, the Church must never flee into relativism. What it must do is constantly seek the responsible way of proclaiming the sure Gospel. The theology of our time makes this responsibility a very existential one. No matter how complex many questions may be, the Church in its proclamation has to do with truth. And this means putting the truth in clear confrontation with falsehood. We have to avoid absolutism even while we fulfill our responsibility to the message of the Gospel, a calling to translate the Gospel in such a way as to leave no one in doubt as to its meaning and demands. We must make it clear why the New Testament speaks its anathema and why it warns against the antichrist. All the complexities of modern life notwithstanding, this must be unambiguous.

If we are content merely to understand error, the Church of Christ is no longer the Church. The Church has a transcendent position above the dilemma of absolutism and relativism. And the Church must know this and live in it. For while admitting the complexities of human thought, it proclaims the absoluteness not of its own but of Christ’s Gospel. We could put it this way: only as the Church knows both the anathema and the fact of our imperfect knowledge as Paul knew them both, only as it admits both, can it, without fear of capitulation, be of blessing to the world.

To know this secret—the relation between the anathema against falsehood and the confession of our own imperfect knowledge—we need each other. We need each other in the sphere of fellowship and reflection. For when we neglect or fail to comprehend this mystery, we shall lose our salt, and our light will be darkness. Neither absolutism nor relativism can give savor or enlightenment to the world.

About This Issue: May 21, 1965

CHRISHTIANITY TODAY presents a spirited exchange on two significant questions. Beginning on the opposite page, scholars of divergent views ask whether theological interdependency is necessary and/or legitimate. On page 9, a stimulating analysis of issues involved in creation and evolution draws critical comments from four evangelical spokesmen.

Our news section includes a special report on religion in politics, as well as interpretative stories from the Presbyterian U. S. General Assembly and the NAE convention. See also the account of Billy Graham’s evangelistic efforts in Alabama.

Southern Presbyterians Sort out the Issues

The most significant action of the 105th General Assembly of the 938,000-member Presbyterian Church in the U.S. (Southern), meeting at Montreat, North Carolina, in late April, was the decision to move resolutely ahead with plans for organic union with the Reformed Church in America. If the General Synod of the Reformed Church, due to meet in early June, also gives its assent, a joint committee of twenty-four (twelve from each denomination) will begin to formulate a plan of union. The General Assembly asked the committee to return with the plan by 1968.

Approval of the step toward merger with the Reformed Church, virtually all of whose 229,000 members reside in the North, came just after the standing committee on inter-church relations presented its recommendations in connection with proposals on relations with the 3,280,000-member United Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A. The Synod of Virginia had sent an overture urging the assembly to name a committee of twelve to meet with a corresponding UPUSA committee to “explore the conditions that are before our churches today with a view to our reunion.” Two presbyteries of that synod had submitted similar proposals. The ensuing debate was vigorous and prolonged. Practically all the commissioners who participated on both sides were men known as having previously favored all moves toward reunion of all denominations in the Presbyterian and Reformed tradition. Here the lines were clearly drawn between those favoring wider talks on church union and those determined to preserve the Reformed faith, and the latter gained an overwhelming victory.

The standing committee’s recommendation was “that Overtures 53, 54 and 56 should be answered in the negative; that our church continue to explore possible union with the Reformed Church of America; and that all possible means of cooperation and unity with the United Presbyterian Church, U. S. A., continue.” The assembly adopted the recommendation by a vote of nearly three to one. A few moments later the commissioners voted to adopt the joint committee’s recommendation for the RCA union. Then an invitation to participate in the six-denomination Consultation on Church Unity, an outgrowth of the so-called Blake-Pike proposal, was refused. Instead of providing participants, the General Assembly will continue to send only “observer-consultants.”

A record number of eleven overtures requesting steps toward withdrawal of membership or support from the National Council of Churches came before the assembly. These were rejected by a majority of about 2½ to one. At the same time, however, the assembly voted decisively in favor of an overture urging various reforms in NCC practices and procedures.

A report of the committee on Christian relations led to the longest and most heated debate. S. J. (“Jap”) Patterson, the San Antonio layman who was elected moderator, presided with disarming humility and directness, and the debate was characterized by courtesy. But no one could fail to feel and to understand at least to some extent the agony of spirit in many commissioners from the deep South. They had lived through a decade and more during which the whole social structure in which they and their fathers had lived for generations was being shaken. To some, the effort to spell out a Christian viewpoint on the civil rights movement seemed like “self-flagellation.” Some have been trying loyally, and with great difficulty, to interpret and carry out the decisions of the church in previous General Assemblies. To them the report entitled “The Civil Rights Movement in the Light of Christian Teaching” seemed likely to increase rather than lighten their burden.

The assembly patiently waded through this paper chapter by chapter, first that on “ ‘Respect’ or Love?,” then chapters that showed sympathetic understanding of “The Methods Used,” “Demonstrations,” and “Sit-Ins.” Phrases were altered here and there in the interest of accuracy; yet each section was adopted decisively, until the chapter favoring “Boycotts and the Use of Worldly Power” was reached. This one was rejected. Chapters on “Civil Disobedience” and “The Peace of the Church” were then adopted. At the end, a Negro commissioner from Kansas City, deeply moved, said he had seen something “that I never thought could happen here in the South.” The cumulative effect of the voting was to place the assembly on record as endorsing peaceful demonstrations, sit-ins, and certain types of civil disobedience.1Subsequently, more than sixty commissioners recorded a signed dissent on those parts of the report having to do with demonstrations, sit-ins, and civil disobedience.

The only close vote of the entire meeting came in a paper condemning capital punishment. Commissioners voted it down by a narrow margin.

On the final day, a report from the Permanent Judicial Commission led to a long and difficult discussion. Last year’s assembly had voted to “instruct” three synods to dissolve the three remaining all-Negro presbyteries and also to “instruct” the presbyteries in whose geographical areas the Negro churches were located to take these churches into their membership. As a result of this action, four overtures were sent to this year’s assembly pointing out the original jurisdiction of the presbyteries in such matters and the unconstitutionality of “instructing” presbyteries on matters in which no judicial process had been initiated. The commission said that “the 1964 General Assembly did not follow strictly the procedures provided in the Book of Church Order” and that “to request such action through the synod is more properly consistent” with the book.

The action finally taken this year “requested” the presbyteries to take similar action but “instructed” them to report on it by next year. A vigorous but unsuccessful attempt was made to couch the whole action as an “instruction,” thus disregarding the advice of the commission. In the debate it became clear that many commissioners were concerned mainly with enforcing the will of the assembly without realizing the far-reaching implications for Presbyterian polity of permitting such actions to originate at the top rather than in the court where original juridiction resides.

Many of the assembly debates reflected a problem that is troubling top churchmen in this and other denominations: the clergy-laity split. Very frequently the support for a proposal comes largely from ministers and the predominant opposition arises from the laymen, or vice versa.

Other assembly developments:

—One commissioner proposed that the assembly seek to withdraw an invitation extended to Dr. Martin Luther King to address a Christian social action conference to be held in Montreat. The conference is being sponsored by the Division of Christian Relations of the Presbyterian U. S. Board of Christian Education. Some support was found, but even some who would not have favored the invitation itself felt that withdrawal would have led to even more serious consequences. The proposal was voted down.

—A somewhat equivocal report on glossolalia was adopted. One commissioner translated it as saying, “Yes, and then again, no; but possibly perhaps.”

Evangelicals Involved

“The Evangelical Imperative: A World in Crisis—the Church Is Involved” was the theme of the twenty-third annual convention of the National Association of Evangelicals attended in Minneapolis by nearly 800 delegates April 27–29. The theme, based on Romans 1:14, “I am debtor,” bore a logical relation to that of the 1964 convention, “Evangelicals Unashamed,” with its reference to Romans 1:16. The convention showed that NAE not only is moving out of its shell but also has attained a strong sense of direction.

The usual simultaneous meetings of commissions and affiliates, the morning public and business sessions, and the evening mass meetings were in the familiar mold, as was the warm devotional spirit that characterizes an NAE convention. With impressive sincerity, speaker after speaker dealt with the imperative of involvement in the needs of the world. Clearly audible in the public sessions and also in group luncheons and smaller commission meetings was a wholesome note of self-criticism. Manifestly NAE has attained the maturity of honest introspection. At the meeting of the Evangelism and Spiritual Life Commission, President David L. McKenna of Spring Arbor (Michigan) College asked the pointed question, “If you were the arch-enemy of God, … would you attack evangelical Christianity?” Evangelicalism must, he insisted, speak with an uncompromising voice that challenges secular society and must show a new sense of responsibility for social problems. At a morning public meeting, Dr. John Haggai, well-known evangelist, told the delegates, “It takes greater dedication to be in the world than to recede from the human race and to criticize from the outside.… We must combine with all colors, occupations, and nationalities to display our liberation.”

One of the most outspoken addresses was given by Dr. Richard C. Halverson, pastor of the Fourth Presbyterian Church of Washington, D. C., at the closing mass meeting. In an astringent analysis based on Christ’s words, “Ye are the salt of the earth,” “Ye are the light of the world,” and “The Son of Man came not to be ministered unto but to minister,” he said: “With the Church of Jesus Christ, nothing is secular; all is sacred.… The work of the Church lies outside the church establishment and requires every member to do it. The work of the Church is downtown and in the social structure.… We have tended to pull men out of the world … instead of sending them out to the world equipped to witness and serve for the glory of Christ.”

A unique feature of the convention and a further evidence of NAE’s developing maturity was the premiere of the motion picture, It Can Happen. This forty-minute film, made under the sponsorship of the Scripture Press Foundation, World Vision, Inc., and Mr. P. J. Zondervan, is based on comments from people in various walks of life who were asked their opinion of the evangelical church. The film probes the self-centered superficiality and narrowness of many evangelicals, few of whom will view it without pangs of spiritual disquiet.

What about the trend of NAE toward the Church’s involvement in the world? Is this association, with its membership of two million and its broader constituency of ten million, known for nearly a quarter of a century for its biblical and social conservatism, now moving toward the social gospel? To come to any such conclusion would be to misunderstand this 1965 convention. While NAE leadership is determined to move the association out into the world, in doing so it is equally determined to bring the one transforming Gospel to the world and through this Gospel to serve the world.

The meaning and extent of the kind of church-world involvement NAE stands for is reflected in the resolutions of the 1965 convention. These began with a strong reaffirmation of the basic witness of NAE in which its biblical, doctrinal statement (signed publicly by the officers at an evening session) was reiterated. Other resolutions dealt with matters ranging from obscenity, civil rights, labor unions, and immigration laws to leisure time and public education. While the trend of the resolutions was conservative, NAE again took sides on sensitive matters relating to federal policies and social problems.

Dr. Jared F. Gerig, president of Fort Wayne (Indiana) Bible College, was elected NAE president for a second year. The Layman of the Year Award was given to Dr. Stephen W. Paine, president of Houghton College and a former president of NAE.

FRANK E. GAEBELEIN

Religious Coalition in Washington

Some forty-five clergymen from a dozen states assembled in Washington early this month in an organized effort to communicate their views about what the U. S. government should be doing in Viet Nam. Although they stopped short of specific proposals, they voiced “uneasiness” about the growing crisis.

A larger group of clergymen scheduled a march to the Pentagon and a “silent vigil” there the following week.

Both groups disclaimed a pacifist consensus, but a call to the “vigil” committee headquarters elicited the “educated guess”—and transparent understatement—that the “vigil” participants were against the $700 million appropriation overwhelmingly passed by the Senate and the House of Representatives for United States involvement in Viet Nam. In general, the “vigil” participants were reported to favor more active efforts toward a negotiated settlement of the crisis.

The earlier group of forty-five, who called their gathering a “visitation,” were less specific—especially after an hour’s talk with Vice-President Hubert Humphrey. The Vice-President spelled out the administration’s position in what a group spokesman called “persuasive” terms, apparently changing the views of some of the clergymen.

Before the meeting with Humphrey, the consensus was reportedly against continued bombing of North Viet Nam.

Although the “visitation” was billed as an inter-faith project, with Protestant and Jewish clergymen participating, the rendezvous point was the Washington office of the National Council of Churches. Much of the spadework, moreover, was done by Dr. Vernon L. Ferwerda, NCC assistant general secretary in charge of the office.

Ferwerda minimized the pacifist orientation of the “visitation” participants. He labeled “simplistic” a recent petition of 2,700 clergymen virtually urging instant peace in Viet Nam.

The group visits by clergymen to Washington this month raise anew the question of the involvement of the institutional church in complex political and international affairs. Encouraged by the decisive role they are credited with playing in the civil rights bill lobby, many churchmen now are ready to step up their activities in Washington. The church lobby seems to be expanding substantially, and some congressmen and other government officials are reluctantly obliged to take it more seriously.

There are now more than a dozen church-related agencies with offices in Washington that are lobbying or information liaison centers. Although no two of them have the same goals, the agencies frequently reflect a solid front on specific issues. Thus Washington now finds itself with a religious coalition that represents collectively an ecclesiastical lobby of growing pressure and influence. Those who view this development with concern are often critical of its chief characteristic: a leftist tilt.

Traditionally the most formidable religious agency in the nation’s capital is the Roman Catholic Church. The closest thing to an American headquarters of the church is the National Catholic Welfare Conference, which is actually the American bishops’ administrative arm. The NCWC is housed in an attractive but modest ten-story building along Massachusetts Avenue.

Not far away are the offices of Protestants and Other Americans United for Separation of Church and State, an expanding operation that disclosed plans last month for the erection of a new headquarters building at the corner of Rhode Island Avenue and Seventeenth Street.

Another expanding agency is the Baptist Joint Committee on Public Affairs. On August 1 the committee will begin a new program of study and research, and it is presently contemplating moving its offices nearer to the Capitol.

Considerable religious representation in Washington is already located in the Capitol Hill area, particularly around the Methodist Building. The NCC maintains its offices here, as do the United Presbyterian Church and the United Church of Christ.

Lutheran groups, including the public relations offices of the National Lutheran Council and the Missouri Synod, share space in the Lutheran Church Center on Sixteenth Street.

But the only religious agency that does not shy away from being called a lobby is the Friends Committee on National Legislation. This Quaker pacifist group has been traditionally identified with E. Raymond Wilson, who is still active in retirement. Wilson is regarded as the dean of religious lobbyists.

Although there has been much public concern over the impact of the religious and theological right wing, none of the religious groups identified with this viewpoint has Washington offices. The closest thing to a conservative voice is the National Association of Evangelicals’ public affairs offices. NAE lobbying is minimal and often is provoked by ecumenical church pressures for prejudicial positions.

The Moral Crisis

The so-called new morality now advocated by some modern churchmen is as yet far from being universally accepted by their fellows. A recent Time article (March 5) was cited by the Presbytery of Omaha last month in a petition to the forthcoming General Assembly of the United Presbyterian Church in the U. S. A. In reporting a meeting of proponents of the new morality, Time had described their ethic as one “based on love rather than law, in which the ultimate criterion for right and wrong is not divine command but the individual’s subjective perception of what is good for himself and his neighbor in each given situation.”

In response to such views, the Omaha presbytery pointed to teaching in the Westminster Confession and catechisms that moral law is permanently binding upon the consciences of all Christians. They cited moral principles enunciated by Christ (Matt. 22:37–40; 5:8, 17–20, 28) and the Apostle Paul (Col. 3:5; Gal. 5:19; Eph. 5:1–5; Rom. 12:1, 2), and continued:

“Whereas: Any abuse of sexual intimacy outside the responsible bonds of Holy Matrimony destroys pure love, damaging marriage and causing guilty alienation from God, and

“Whereas: The public press has recently carried widespread news of churchmen advocating a moral relativism …, thereby excusing fornication by engaged couples as no sin, causing public scandal, encouraging license, and weakening the fabric of our free society;

“Therefore the Presbytery of Omaha …, asking the grace of God for our own weaknesses, reaffirms its adherence to our Church’s historic moral standards, affirming any sexual intercourse outside the bonds of Holy Matrimony to be a sin before our Holy God, damaging to fellowship with Him, and to personal character and spirituality, and requiring sincere prayer of contrition, repentance and forgiveness through Christ’s grace before full restoration to communion with God may be assured, and the Table of the Lord’s Supper approached with a good conscience.

“We respectfully petition our General Assembly to reaffirm its adherence to our Church’s historic moral standards in the interest of the purity of the Church.”

This month’s General Assembly in Columbus, Ohio, is to consider a new confession of faith, which declares that in “each time and place there are problems and crises which call the church to act.” Singled out as particularly urgent modern crises are race, war, and poverty. Inasmuch as the new confession does speak to modern problems, some Presbyterians are disappointed that it does not speak to the moral crisis as represented in the sex revolution and the increase of crime. Attempts to redress the omission may be made in Columbus.

In the same week as the Omaha action, the Methodist Council of Bishops, meeting in Houston, spoke out vigorously on the crisis in morals:

“It has become incredibly easy for responsible people to rationalize away accepted standards of morality as unessential and irrelevant. Wanton acts of crime, drunkenness and sexual exploitation and abuse are flippantly tolerated and comfortably minimized as necessarily characteristic of a culture in transition. Basic rights like freedom of action and speech have been made into license for … filth. The people of Christ, through the Church, must speak meaningfully to the moral lostness of this age.”

FRANK FARRELL

God’S Word And Man’s Impressions

In the first-floor exhibit hall of its Bible House at Park Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street in Manhattan, the American Bible Society is using an eye-popping display of op art to show off modern Scripture formats.

The rationale, says a society official, is this: “Just as the artists of today are seeking new dimensions and a new outlook in their field, so the American Bible Society is constantly seeking bold, creative, colorful, and imaginative new formats and translations to lead more and more people, many hitherto unfamiliar or bored with the Scriptures, to search the Bible for God’s Word for this new age.” The society will mark its 150th anniversary next year.

At the center of the display is “Oeuil de Boeuf #2” by Claude Tousignant. A description says it “might convey the feeling expressing the words of the Prologue of John’s Gospel, ‘In the beginning … the Word.’ The concentric circles emanating from a red center appear to give the sensation of creation from a focal point in time.”

Another picture features a cross and circle which are said to “convey the impression of a mature faith reached through suffering. Out of the darkness of the abyss comes a positive center which brings coherence from threatened chaos.”

A small red center in another is compared to the Sermon on the Mount: “It pulses its way toward vacuums and frontiers and by its power permeates the whole.”

In “Blue Law” by Paul Margin, “strictures and disabilities are overcome when a new pattern of lighted harmony breaks through.”

Society officials are believed to be considering the use of op art in cover illustrations for Bibles and Scripture portions. The society is rapidly expanding its distribution program in an effort to keep up with the exploding population and literacy rate.

To help to meet the challenge, churches are being encouraged to step up their investments in Scripture distribution. United States denominations have been increasing their financial contributions to the society, but not in proportion to the demand for Bibles. In fact, the denominational share of the society’s support has been decreasing steadily, from nearly 30 per cent in the 1940s to about 21 per cent in 1964. Denominational mergers have also resulted in financial cutbacks. Gifts from individuals have made up the difference.

The biggest share of the society’s financial burden is borne by the Assemblies of God, who contribute seventy-six cents per capita. Methodist and Southern Baptist contributions amount to about two cents per capita.

Book Briefs: May 21, 1965

How the Church Grows

Church Growth and Christian Mission, by Donald Anderson McGavran, editor, Robert Calvin Guy, Melvin L. Hodges, and Eugene A. Nida (Harper and Row, 1965, 252 pp., $5), is reviewed by Harold Lindsell, associate editor, CHRISTIANITY TODAY.

This impressive work treats the problem of church growth from four vantage points: theology, sociology, methodology, and administration. The contributors are representative: one is a Southern Baptist missions professor, another an Assemblies of God missions executive, another the director of the Institute of Church Growth in Oregon, and the last a foremost linguist with the American Bible Society.

Section 1 on theology and church growth surveys the foundations on which missionary work is built. Hodges stresses the need for a “New Testament climate.” This means New Testament Spirit-filled men who are eager to plant churches and who are undergirded by prayer. A spiritual enterprise demands spiritual people. Guy writes about an adequate theology in which Christ the Lord is exalted, sin is recognized as rebellion against God, salvation is preached through the Gospel, and missionary methods are oriented properly to the message. Nida discusses numerical increases versus maturation of converts and warns of the ideological conflicts faced by missions interested in church growth. He is less enthusiastic about church growth than McGavran. He sees the need to weigh carefully such opposing forces as nationalism, indigenous non-Christian religions, secularism, and the population explosion. He warns against the dangers of the ecumenical movement when it becomes “a functional substitute for growth.”

In the section on sociology and growth, McGavran points out that growth occurs among people and in societal structures. Homogeneous groups make up the mosaic of society. Sociology cannot be ignored in the preaching of the Gospel, and man must be understood and approached in terms of his environment. The study of applied anthropology is essential. While these subjects ought not to become ends in themselves, they are essential as means by which the Gospel is made relevant to men in their own cultures. Nida forcefully shows why groups of people leave their indigenous religions and adopt new ones. He also traces the changes that occur in groups that turn to Christianity and notes how their economic and social life alters. Often they then become new and fixed classes, resistant to change and out of contact with the kind of people they once were. He deals with the external and internal factors that influence church growth and with the mistakes that missionaries often make when they try to structure new churches after Western likenesses.

In the discussion on methodology and church growth, Hodges argues that the good seed sowed in the ground in Christ’s parable is men; that there must be a harvest; that the harvest will produce its own kind. Indigenous churches should be planted, churches that become granaries from which more seed is sowed. In order for churches to grow they must be self-supporting, truly indigenous, self-governing, self-amplifying, and self-teaching. Programs must be tailored to fit needs, and the men who are the seed must regard sacrifice and death as essential to productivity. Guy brilliantly discusses the problem of underbrush, the dispensable, non-fruit-bearing weeds that hinder the discipling of men, which is the missionary’s prime business. Among the weeds are sentimentality that continues useless forms and shopworn, antiquated ideas that won’t be surrendered. Get back to basics, to essentials, is the plea.

McGavran traces the kinds of growth: biological, transfer, and conversion growth. Biological growth derives from the children of believers, transfer growth from the movement of Christians from one church to another, and conversion growth from the bringing in of unbelievers through regeneration. This chapter should be read by every minister and layman in every American church. He demonstrates that statistics are often misleading: unless they are “read rightly” they may all too easily be misunderstood. Nida discusses the dynamics of church growth from the divine and human sides, including such topics as who communicates the Gospel, how he communicates it, the verbal and non-verbal factors in communication, the four roles in communication, and patterns of support and leadership.

The fourth section of the volume has to do with missionary administration. Guy describes the functions of the administrator, the rules that should govern his thinking, and the need for making and carrying out difficult decisions that will upset the apple cart. His discussion of conserving the fruit of evangelism is exciting and compelling. His point that the back door of the church is equally as important as the front door applies to all church work. New converts must be nurtured, instructed, and given work to do; the momentum of their new zeal must be preserved. Hodges has an excellent summary of the role of the administrator, particularly in terms of leadership. He tells of the specific problems an administrator faces and the choices he must make.

McGavran closes the volume with a splendid overview of the book. He is aware that the work of men like Roland Allen who have pioneered in church growth has been left untouched by most missionary agencies, in practice if not in theory. He knows that his own efforts to study church growth, to advocate important changes, and to alter present trends are meeting resistance as well as acceptance in many quarters. But he sees evident gains and is sufficiently optimistic that this new emphasis has borne, and will continue to bear, fruit.

This book should be made required reading for every missionary, every missionary administrator, and every pastor. Most laymen would also profit by reading it. It is accurate, well written, scholarly, and thought-provoking.

HAROLD LINDSELL

Not Loud And Clear

The Meaning of Christian Values Today, by William L. Bradley (Westminster, 1964, 176 pp., $4.50), is reviewed by D. W. Jellema, professor of history, Calvin College, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

The problem of communicating the mean-of the Word to today’s “post-Christian” world is a major one, and evangelicals have done little about examining it. To call for “orthodox” or “Spirit-filled” preaching in the tradition of the eighteenth century is to evade the problem. The author of this short (and over-priced) book presumably tries to grapple with the problem, but he never gets very far. This is perhaps because the book is not an incisive and clear-thinking consideration of the problem of communication but rather a collection of loosely organized thoughts arranged vaguely around the theme of communication.

The bulk of the book deals only indirectly with the problem and is devoted to short summaries of Graeco-Roman ethical thinkers and to the ethics of the Old and New Testaments—in brief, to a superficial overview of Western ethical traditions. In conclusion, it is said that contemporary man is difficult to reach because the churches often preach a gospel stressing escapism (avoidance of social problems, concentration on the world to come) and old-fashioned capitalism (thrift, saving, hard work). Perhaps, suggests the author, we should concentrate on reaching the elite groups of our society (e.g., businessmen) and work to communicate with them.

The book’s main value may be for discussion groups looking for an introduction to the problem of communication and for a quick survey of Western ethical tradition. Occasional paragraphs show insight. The book is readable and the style, though it often makes one think of lectures for college freshmen hastily done over into book form, is adequate.

The informed reader’s reaction is likely to include some irritation mixed with bafflement. Hasty generalizations abound (among them: it is suggested that both Greek and Hebrew ethics have a sense of guilt because of patriarchal societal structure; that the individual comes to full self-consciousness at the beginning of the Christian era; that Eastern Orthodoxy holds that God is not present in the world; that for Augustine, the good man is one who lives in moderation and humility; that private property as a value has little meaning in today’s society; that medieval civilization was “created by the church”). There are also frequent statements that are simply not clear. What is “the middle-class way of life” of which New Testament ethics is a reflection? In what sense did Augustine “actually belong to the two cities” of which he wrote (they do not refer to the Church and the world of affairs, as the author seems to assume)? What can be meant by the statement that Luther did not favor obedience to authority in the Church? What does it mean to say that “large numbers of sophisticated Christians are content to remain agnostic”? How can nationalism be seen as a social reform which shows how the rich often try to help the poor? Such statements, if not necessarily betraying confusion in thought, do seem to show that the manuscript should have been checked more thoroughly.

For the ordinary reader interested in a survey, the book will be of value. Though it gives evidence of occasional carelessness, it also shows genuine concern with the problem. And there would seem to be all too much point to the author’s charge that the churches have avoided problems of social justice and that this is one reason why the best of the young are losing interest in it.

D. W. JELLEMA

It’S Hard To Swallow

Catholics and Birth Control: Contemporary Views on Doctrine, by Dorothy Dunbar Bromley (Devin-Adair, 1965, 207 pp., $4.95), is reviewed by C. Everett Koop, surgeon-in-chief, Children’s Hospital, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Although many Roman Catholics, laymen and theologians alike, have new attitudes toward the morality of birth control, the need for population control, and the dilemma faced by married couples who wish to space children as part of their concept of responsible parenthood, no theologian is at liberty to free Roman Catholics from the obligation to accept papal teaching.

Miss Bromley takes no stand on birth control but rather reports on the conflicts within the Roman Catholic Church between papal authority (that of Pius XII) and the newer attitudes expressed by Roman Catholic theologians and moralists who seek a reinterpretation of marriage, sexual love, and birth control within the framework of Catholic theology. Her presentation is by means of innumerable quotations from public statements and published papers, and there is essentially no reference to the subtle pressures felt by the non-Catholic community as the lower echelons of the church have sought to impose on Catholic and non-Catholic alike the church’s teaching on birth control. The technique, though at times fatiguing to the reader, is generally well handled.

Readers will perhaps be surprised to learn that in a church thought to be monolithic in doctrine and teaching there is so much concern among theologians, philosophers, and moralists over the necessity for a more liberal interpretation of the goal and the meaning of marriage. A touchingly written chapter entitled “The Married Speak” explores the problems raised by the need for obedience to the church on the one hand and the desire for some freedom in non-procreative sexual relationship on the other. The long discussion on the morality of “the pill” provides an insight into the devious paths the Roman Catholic follows as he attempts to justify contraception under the papal teaching that condemns it.

This book purports to have been written in the hope of fostering mutual understanding. It does this. But the evangelical will find it more profitable for its look behind the scenes at possible courses of action open to the Roman Catholic Church in its effort to solve a perplexing spiritual, social, and moral issue without reversing papal teaching.

C. EVERETT KOOP

Critical Scholarship

The Anchor Bible, Volume 37: The Epistles of James, Peter, and Jude, introduction, translation, and notes by Bo Reicke (Doubleday, 1964, 221 pp., $5), is reviewed by Leon Morris, principal, Ridley College, Melbourne, Australia.

This new commentary series, The Anchor Bible, has an unusually wide range of contributors. It is a sign of our ecumenical climate that for such a project a team can be assembled that includes top-ranking Protestant, Roman Catholic, and Jewish scholars. The general editors are William F. Albright and David N. Freedman. From the list of contributors it is plain that the highest standards of scholarship have been enlisted, a fact amply demonstrated in this volume.

Professor Bo Reicke (of the University of Basel, an ordained member of the Church of Sweden) begins with a general introduction to his group of Epistles. In outlining the historical setting, he emphasizes movements of a “zelotic” type, which were found fairly widely in the first century and are too often overlooked by those seeking to understand the New Testament. Reicke leaves us in no doubt that this background is very important for these Epistles. In another valuable section he deals with the form and content of these writings. He sees these Epistles not as substitutes for conversation, as private letters are, but as ways of speaking to congregations; that is, they are like sermons. He finds their background to be the New Testament tradition rather than Judaism or the like, and he thinks that these Epistles, along with Hebrews and First Clement, form a specific branch of early Christian literature, distinct from the Pauline corpus. He sees all four Epistles as inculcating essentially the same attitude as that of Paul toward the state, an attitude brought out in his statement that “the exhortations to a peaceful and patient Christian life in loyalty to state and society are to be understood in an eschatological perspective” (p. xxxviii). This is further brought out in his comments on the individual Epistles.

These comments are very valuable, though the evangelical reader must be warned that the author is far from conservative. He sees James, for example, as having been written around A.D. 90 by someone who was possibly a disciple of James the Lord’s brother and who wrote in the name of that James. A similar dating and a similar kind of authorship are assigned to Second Peter and Jude. Reicke sees First Peter as written by Silvanus at the instigation of the Apostle Peter not long before Peter’s death, i.e., about A.D. 64.

The scriptural text is translated into English, and the commentary is based on that translation. For purposes of comment the text is split up into short paragraphs. Then at the end of each Epistle there are “textual notes” which comment on the Greek text. These are usually quite short, and I found myself wishing that a scholar of Reicke’s caliber had let himself go a little more in this section. This was probably impossible, however, since the series is expressly designed for “the general reader with no special formal training in biblical studies.”

This volume is a very welcome addition to our commentaries. It is clearly written, its scholarship is impeccable, and many of its discussions are penetrating. Conservative evangelicals will find much that they cannot accept. But they could scarcely do better if they are looking for a non-technical commentary written from the standpoint of the modern critical scholar.

LEON MORRIS

How Time Was Counted

Handbook of Biblical Chronology, by Jack Finegan (Princeton, 1964, 338 pp., $8.50), is reviewed by John M. Bald, associate professor of Christian ethics, Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Dr. Finegan, professor of New Testament history and archaeology and director of the Palestine Institute of Archaeology at Pacific School of Religion, Berkeley, California, has gathered together in this volume a vast amount of complex material concerning the measurement of time, the literature devoted to the recording of time, and the science of time as found in the ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean cultures and in the biblical record contemporary with them. He has organized this material into a readily accessible form in which relevant data are presented, complexities and problems noted, and conclusions adopted.

The first of the two major parts of the book is concerned with the various systems of chronology used in the ancient world, primarily those of the Egyptian, Babylonian, Hebrew, Greek, and Roman civilizations. The manner of reckoning the basic units of time—the day with its subdivisions, the week, the month, and the year—is noted and is followed by a description of the development of several of the calendars that were used in early times. The methods by which the years were counted—the association of time with the reigns of kings and public officials and with certain eras having various distinctions in the ancient cultures—are also fully described. Finegan concludes his discussion with an outlined critical treatment of the chronologies developed by early Christians, particularly those of Africanus and Eusebius.

The second part of the handbook is concerned with a number of problems of chronology found in the Bible itself. Not all such problems are treated. Pre-Abrahamic chronology, for example, is not dealt with specifically, although the dates given for the creation of Adam and the Flood appear in tables that illustrate the chronologies of Africanus and Eusebius, as well as the Hebrew manner of reckoning time back to the founding of the world. Dr. Finegan does not comment upon this aspect of chronology. The problems of chronology in the Old Testament that are presented are those concerned with Abraham, the Exodus, the kings of Judah and Israel, the fall of Samaria and of Jerusalem, and the period following the exile. The problems of New Testament dating center in the events in the lives of Jesus, Peter, and Paul.

Throughout the work the biblical data are compared with extra-biblical data as these have become known in archaeological research. Many helpful suggestions are made in the attempt to work toward solutions of chronological problems met in the Bible on the basis of the possible use of different principles of time-reckoning that the biblical records may reflect. Thus, the author notes that the passion chronologies in the Synoptic Gospels may reasonably be harmonized with the record as found in the Fourth Gospel (pp. 290, 291, R452).

Finegan writes positively without falling into the temptation to make dogmatic claims to certainty where the evidence is not wholly clear. The book is exactly what its title claims—a handbook, not a thesis. Its concise style, arrangement by topics and numbered paragraphs, many chronological tables, listing of primary and secondary sources within the text in conjunction with section headings, and full indices and table of contents make it a very valuable and reliable reference tool.

JOHN M. BALD

One Thing Lacking

The Rector of Justin, by Louis Auchincloss (Houghton Mifflin, 1964, 341 pp., $4.95), is reviewed by Frank E. Gaebelein, co-editor,CHRISTIANITY TODAY.

Months on the best-seller list and very favorable reviews have brought this novel, dealing with an important part of American education, wide attention. It is not generally recognized among evangelicals interested in Christian education that the independent boys’ schools of the nation, particularly those in the New England tradition, have exercised a significant influence upon America, and indeed upon the world. The kind of schools that molded the formative years of men like Franklin D. Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, Adlai Stevenson, Averell Harriman, Thomas Lamont, Henry L. Stimson, and many other leaders are, despite their comparative insignificance numerically, no mean educational force.

Mr. Auchincloss, himself a product of this kind of education, has attempted a full-length fictional portrait of Dr. Frank Prescott, the distinguished rector (headmaster) of an Episcopal school for boys that he calls Justin Martyr. He has chosen as his medium the intellectual novel. Comparison with Henry James, whose work is so greatly admired by many contemporary critics, is inevitable. There is little question of Mr. Auchincloss’s literary competence. He knows how to delineate character. He knows how to keep narrative moving. And his picture of Prescott, as seen through the eyes of those who knew him well, has a virtuoso quality like the painting of Sargent. Yet Auchincloss is no Henry James. For one thing, as the reviewer in the Washington Post observed, the occasional excursions into coarseness are quite alien to the James tradition. For another thing, with all his concern for motivation, Auchincloss lacks James’s indefatigable probing of the inner man and his meticulous analysis of moral conduct.

Out of a lifetime spent in an independent school for boys, this reviewer finds The Rector of Justin disappointing. Strong and even overwhelming though the character of Frank Prescott is, the picture of him, despite its remarkable verisimilitude, is disillusioning. Whatever else Frank Prescott was, he was far from a great headmaster. Nor was he, as portrayed by Auchincloss, authentically Christian. Indeed, it is in the passages dealing with Prescott’s spiritual pilgrimage that the book is particularly weak. The author has evidently read a little theology, but little of the redemptive heart of Christianity shines through the character of Prescott. There is rather the fatal flaw of compromise at the heart of the man, so that in the end the school is seen as based not upon principle but upon subserviency to wealth and social position.

Although the book has been widely heralded as revealing “the inner workings of a boys’ school,” it contains surprisingly little about the school itself. Prescott is the giant who walks through these pages. But he is no Olympian like Endicott Peabody, to whom he has been unfortunately and irresponsibly compared by some reviewers. Nor is he, for that matter, of the stature of other great American headmasters. This is not surprising, for no man who is lacking in integrity could achieve greatness as a headmaster.

Louis Auchincloss has written a readable and in some respects a fascinating intellectual novel. Yet he does less than justice to a kind of education that has produced both great headmasters and great schools. Evangelical educators will find the book compelling reading, even though spiritually it never rises above the level of churchianity. Let them be assured that neither Justin Martyr nor its rector is typical of the New England school at its best.

FRANK E. GAEBELEIN

Book Briefs

1400 Ideas for Speakers and Toastmasters: How to Speak with Confidence, by Herbert V. Prochnow (W. A. Wilde, 1964, 162 pp., $2.95). A surprising amount of wit and wisdom.

Objections to Christian Belief, by D. M. Mackinnon, H. A. Williams, A. R. Vidler, and J. S. Bezzant (Lippincott, 1964, 111 pp., $2.50).

The Soul’s Anchorage, by Robert Hampton Mercer (Christopher, 1964, 209 pp., $2.75). Sermons with a touch of freshness and, though praised by bishops, with much theology of doubtful pedigree.

Prayers for a New World, compiled and edited by John Wallace Suter (Scribners, 1964, 244 pp., $4.95). A collection of short Christian prayers from many sources. The title is rather misleading.

Preaching and Pastoral Care, by Arthur L. Teikmanis (Prentice-Hall, 1964, 144 pp., $2.95). A small book.

Congo Drumbeat, by Alexander J. Reid (World Outlook Press, 1964, 158 pp., $2). A history of the first half-century in the establishment of the Methodist Church among the Atetela of Central Congo.

Interludes in a Woman’s Day, by Winola Wells Wirt (Moody, 1964, 160 pp., $2.95). The author puts a religious glow on the little things of a woman’s life.

Called unto Liberty: A Life of Jonathan Mayhew 1720–1766, by Charles W. Akers (Harvard University, 1964, 285 pp., $6.50). A biography of a Boston minister who fired up rebellion against the British and no less against Puritan theology; his Arminian theology helped prepare the way to Unitarianism.

Parerbacks

The Formation of Christian Dogma: A Historical Study of Its Problem, by Martin Werner (Beacon, 1965, 352 pp., $2.45). Accepting Albert Schweitzer’s thesis that Jesus was in error about an eschatological Second Coming, Werner contends that a disappointed Church developed its dogma to accommodate this failure.

In Quest of a Kingdom, by Leslie D. Weatherhead (Abingdon, 1965, 272 pp., $1.25). A general discussion followed by a study of the kingdom parables. First published in 1944.

Spiritual Values in Shakespeare, by Ernest Marshall Howse (Abingdon, 1965, 160 pp., $1.25).

The Biblical Image of the Family, by Webb Garrison (Tidings, 1965, 64 pp., $.60). A pointed treatment that throws considerable light on the biblical understanding of the family, marriage, divorce, children, and the like.

Glossolalia in the New Testament, by William G. MacDonald (Gospel Publishing House, 1964, 20 pp., $.50).

The Revelation of Jesus Christ: An Interpretation, by Donald W. Richardson (John Knox, 1965, 144 pp., $1.45). Brief, informative, and very readable.

After Death, What?, by William B. Ward (John Knox, 1965, 96 pp., $1). A very fine discussion of death, the funeral, and what comes after.

Be Perfect!, by Andrew Murray (Bethany Fellowship, 1965, 171 pp., $1.50). Short essays on the biblical demand for perfection. First printed in 1893.

Instead of Violence, edited by Arthur and Lila Weinberg (Beacon, 1965, 486 pp., $2.75). Writings by the great advocates of peace and non-violence throughout history.

Reprints

The Bible Basis of Missions, by Robert Hall Glover (Moody, 1964, 208 pp., $2.50). Just what the title says. First printed in 1946.

The Eternal Verities: Jesus and Paul

It is one of the fashions of recent criticism, though its beginnings go farther back, to set Paul against Jesus, and represent the Apostle as, even more than the Master, the real author of historical Christianity.

In support of this charge, the contrasts between the simpler teaching of the Gospels (John being left out) and the elaborated theology of Paul, starting from, and laying all but exclusive stress on, the death and resurrection of Jesus, are dwelt upon and strongly exaggerated. Paul, it is held, knew little of, at least cared little for, the earthly life and teaching of Jesus; his interest was absorbed in the Heavenly Being who had appeared to him on the road to Damascus, and in the supposed meaning of his death and resurrection for the salvation of the world. In interpreting these facts Paul drew on notions borrowed from his Rabbinical training and Pharisaic experience, and gave the events a quite new significance. A theology of the Person of Christ (preexistence, incarnation), and of a work of redemption, through endurance of death as curse of the law, took the place of the older, simpler conceptions.

It will be very evident that, if the foregoing description is correct, Paul was an even greater religious force than Jesus, for Paul at least taught a universal Gospel of grace and love for men, while Jesus did not. Yet surely it is not difficult to see that, while necessarily there must be a contrast between Master and Apostle—between Gospel and Epistle—the features of the contrast are violently exaggerated. Gospel and Epistle are not thus rudely to be torn asunder. The Gospels, with their matchless pictures of the historical Jesus, came from the bosom of the apostolic community—from circles charged with those very Pauline ideas which are said to be opposed to their representations. The Epistles, didactic and hortatory in character, dealing largely with practical questions which had arisen in the churches, are what we might expect them to be, remembering that letters are not biographies, and that, in the interval, Christ had died, had risen again, had been exalted to glory; that the Spirit had been given, and a Christian Church created. The Christians in these communities, familiar with the story of Christ’s life and instructed in the meaning of his death and resurrection by the Apostles, would have been the most astonished people in the world to learn that there was any antagonism between the two things. How many letters of Christians one to another, it might be asked, even at the present hour—how many homilies, sermons, pastorals to churches—furnish details of Christ’s doings and sayings, and do not rather assume a knowledge of these?

Alike from his personal acquaintance with the heads of the Jerusalem church—he stayed with Peter for fifteen days (Gal. 1:18)—from companions like John, Mark, and Luke (the later evangelists), and from the catechetical instruction imparted to converts in every church he visited (cf. Luke 1:1–4), Paul had the amplest opportunities of knowing all that was to be known about the history of Jesus. If the Epistles do not give incidents and sayings, they at least, like Paul himself, are saturated with Christ’s spirit in a manner which implies that the facts of Christ’s history were known, and that their spirit had been imbibed.

If it is in his death that Christ has supremely reconciled us to God, must not that fact now take the leading place in all that is declared regarding him? The life is not ignored—far from it. All that was in Christ’s life is gathered up in concentrated form in the Cross; without the life, the Cross could not have been. But the Cross is the decisive turning-point for human salvation. Man’s first need is to be set right with God; this is done at the Cross. Then comes the obligation to holiness and service, and here the image of Christ’s earthly life reasserts its rights as exhibiting the model to which we are to be conformed.

As was to be expected, therefore, it is not in Paul only, but in all the leading apostolic writings—in the Epistles of Peter, of John, to the Hebrews, the Book of Revelation—that this insistence on the redeeming death, and on the resurrection, of Christ is to be observed. The early discourses in Acts concentrate on these facts, and on the remission of sins in the name of the crucified and now exalted Jesus (Acts 2:22–38; 3:13–26; 4:8–12).

But there are other reasons which make the contrasts that appear between the Gospels and Epistles more clearly intelligible. The fallacy which underlies most of the reasoning on this subject lies in ignoring the necessary contrast in the positions of the Apostle and his Lord. So long as Jesus is looked on simply as one great teacher, and Paul as another, on the same or like planes of influence, the contrasts naturally present a puzzle.

But this is not the true relation. Paul was sinner; Jesus was Saviour. Paul was disciple; Jesus was Lord. Paul was weak, struggling man; Jesus was Son of God. Paul spoke as the ambassador of another; Jesus spoke with an authority of his own. Jesus achieved redemption; Paul by faith appropriated it. These things involved the widest contrasts in attitude and speech. It is an obliteration of all the actualities of the situation to put Paul and Jesus in the same line.—JAMES ORR

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