Recently while visiting friends in another state I had a chance to attend a men's group at a small charismatic church, which for someone who has spent nearly 20 years in the Presbyterian Church in America is an unusual event. Much of what I found there was a delight; it is not at all hard for me to understand why non-denominational churches seem to be the future (and much of the present!) in the American church or why Pentecostalism has been such a growing force globally. The atmosphere of the group was warm and welcoming while also being morally serious. A typical man attending a group like this would, I am quite sure, be challenged to grow in his relationship with God and his relationship with others. Indeed, I heard frank conversation about many of the problems facing men today, frank admissions of personal failures, and obviously Christian counsel and encouragement offered in response to those struggles. It was all deeply encouraging. It was also striking and exciting to see how young the group was and to hear from my friend about how rapidly it was growing—and not growing because of cool marketing techniques or a savvy celebrity pastor type promoting it. The growth was rapid, but largely organic and driven by friends inviting friends. As I said, this was all immensely encouraging to see.
There was one line, however, that is representative of what I expect to be a defining problem for non-denominational churches in the future and, frankly, for any churches that are not guided by theological confessions that shape and define their theological lives.
Here is what happened: The pastor was speaking and was making the good and important point that we should not be distracted by idle speculative questions in thinking about the Christian life. The goal is to follow Jesus, but there is a way of getting into intellectual disputes with fellow believers over questions that are ultimately unimportant and distract us from our unity in Christ and the call Christ makes on our lives. This is obviously true.
But the example he used was poor. This is more or less a quote, though it is from a memory now over a month old so it is not exact:
You know what kind of issues I'm talking about. Sometimes people will ask me questions like, 'what do you think about Calvinism and Arminianism?' and, sure, I have some leanings on some of those issues. But ultimately they don't matter that much. And we need to be determined to know nothing but Christ and him crucified, as Paul says in 1 Corinthians.
Here is the problem: Suppose you are visiting a friend or family member who is in the hospital. And further suppose that friend has received a grim prognosis and is preparing for hospice care. They are, understandably, doing a lot of thinking about their life, questioning past decisions, feeling remorse over past mistakes, and wondering what will become of them. Yes, they profess to be a Christian. Yes, they have sought to follow Jesus in how they have lived their life. But now they feel such doubt, such guilt, such remorse.
What do you say to them?
Well, your answer to that question is directly related to your answer to questions about Calvinism and Arminianism. This is a point Carl Trueman made very well in his response to Peter Leithart at the Future of Protestantism event held at Biola many years ago:
Trueman shared Leithart's desire for greater Christian unity. But, he asked, what core doctrines of his particular church tradition do Dr. Leithart want him to relativize in some way in pursuit of unity? In order to have unity with non-reformed Christians should he downplay or relativize his commitment to the believer's assurance of salvation, for example? But, Trueman continued, he is a pastor. He visits dying people in hospital rooms. He needs that doctrine in an existential way as part of his pastoral care for his congregation. Should he give that up in the name of institutional ecclesial unity?
The fact that I still remember Trueman's words over a decade after the event is perhaps proof of the impression it made on me.
I am a Presbyterian. And so when I imagine trying to counsel and support a dying person in a hospital bed, my answer is the same as Professor Trueman's: I tell the person that their security is not bound up in their performance, their choice, or their strength of will. It is not invalidated by their failures. Their salvation is sure and solid because Christ not only acted to save them, but acts to preserve them, even now. Their actions cannot deprive them of something that their actions never obtained in the first place.
I recognize, of course, that Wesleyan believers and Roman believers have their own answers to these questions, and I certainly do not intend to imply that either are Pelagian in how they go about it. But I cannot speak for them; I can only say how I would answer it as a typical Presbyterian Christian—and the above is my answer.
The difficulty that worries me when I hear comments like that quoted above from this non-denominational pastor, then, is this: If you are explicitly non-denominational in your church's life and averse to talking about hard theology because you perceive it as divisive and or distracting to do so, then you won't have anything to draw on as you sit in that hospital room... or, if you do end up having something to say, it's because you aren't actually as averse to theological reasoning as you think you are.
The reality is that specific Christian doctrines actually do certain things in the life of the church. If you remove the doctrine or you claim it is unnecessary, you will be in for a hard lesson when you encounter the problem that doctrine helps you to address. And this is my fear for what a non-denominational future will mean for the American church. Theology is existential. To remove specific theological questions from Christian ministry and church life or to dismiss them as trivia is to render yourself ill-equipped for facing the problems that those theological questions are meant to answer.
This was a lesson I learned quite directly in college through my participation in the PCA's campus ministry, Reformed University Fellowship. I was a curious and bookish English and History major who had many theological questions. When I went to the non-denominational ministries, the answers I was offered were non-committal. Ask about baptism and you'd hear about how Christians disagree on x, y, and z. Ask about divine sovereignty and you'll run into the same game. But if I asked my RUF campus minister the same questions, he could give me plain, direct answers. "Well, in our churches we baptize infants and we use sprinkling to baptize and these are the reasons why."
My point here is not to say that everyone ought to become Presbyterian or Calvinist or paedobaptist, though obviously those are the things I believe. Rather, it's something more specific: If I ask a question about baptism or about how Christians persevere in a life of discipleship, I can have a clear idea of how a Catholic would answer that or a Presbyterian or a Lutheran. I do not know how a "non-denominational Christian" answers that.
And that reality worries and grieves me when I consider the ordinary people trying to follow Jesus amidst the dangers and difficulties and pains of this life who have been drawn to non-denominational churches because of their friendliness, sincere love, and their joy in Jesus. Such people will be confronted by these problems at some point in their lives. And if you don't know something is a problem until you are facing it it will be far harder to answer it adequately.
Theological problems are not a distraction from the Christian life. Rather, they are the questions that arise organically out of our attempt to live that life. It is for that reason that you cannot dodge or evade the hard and even annoying questions of Christian theology indefinitely. At some point, circumstances will arise, such that you need an answer—and when that does happen, it is enormously helpful to have a confession or theological tradition to guide your response.