Has anyone heard from Calvinist Dark Lord lately?
Posted on 09/11/2019 10:52:15 AM PDT by Gamecock
Like all accounts of God’s faithfulness, mine begins with a genealogy. In the late seventeenth century, my mother’s Congregationalist ancestors journeyed to the New World to escape what they saw as England’s deadly compromise with Romanism. Centuries later, American Presbyterians converted my father’s great-grandmother from Coptic Orthodoxy to Protestantism. Her son became a Presbyterian minister in the Evangelical Coptic Church. By the time my parents were living in twenty-first-century Illinois, their families’ historic Reformed commitments had been replaced by non-denominational, Baptistic evangelicalism.
This form of Christianity dominated my Midwestern hometown. My parents taught me to love God, revere the Scriptures, and seek truth through reason. In middle school, my father introduced me to theology, and as a present for my sixteenth birthday he arranged a meeting between me and a Catholic philosopher, Dr. B—. From high school into college, Dr. B— introduced me to Catholic thought and graciously helped me work through my doubts about Christianity. How could a just and loving God not reveal himself equally to everyone? What are we to make of the Bible’s creation stories and flood narrative? Did Calvinism make God the author of evil? My acquaintance with Dr. B— set my intellectual trajectory for several years.
The causes of any conversion (or near conversion) are many and confused. Should I foreground psychological and social factors or my theological reasoning? Certain elements of my attraction to Catholicism were adolescent, like a sixties radical’s attraction to Marx or a contemporary activist’s to intersectionality: I aimed to preserve the core beliefs of my upbringing while fleeing their bourgeois expressions. When I arrived at the University of Chicago, I knew just enough about Calvinism to hold it in contempt—which is to say, I knew very little. Reacting against the middle-aged leaders of the inaptly named “Young, Restless, and Reformed Movement,” I sought refuge in that other great Western theological tradition: Roman Catholicism.
During my first year of college, I became involved in campus Catholic life. Through the influence of the Catholic student group and the Lumen Christi Institute, which hosts lectures by Catholic intellectuals, my theologically inclined college friends began converting to Catholicism, one after another. These friends were devout, intelligent, and schooled in Christian history. I met faithful and holy Catholic priests—one of whom has valiantly defended the faith for years, drawing punitive opposition from his own religious superiors, as well as the ire of Chicago’s archbishop. This priest was and is to me the very model of a holy, righteous, and courageous man.
I loved Catholicism because Catholics taught me to love the Church. At Lumen Christi events, I heard about saints and mystics, stylites and monastics, desert fathers and late-antique theologians. I was captivated by the holy martyrs, relics, Mary, and the Mass. I found in the Church a spiritual mother and the mother of all the faithful. Through Catholicism, I came into an inheritance: a past of saints and redeemed sinners from all corners of the earth, theologians who illuminated the deep things of God, music and art that summon men to worship God “in the beauty of holiness,” and a tradition to ground me in a world of flux.
Catholicism, which I took to be the Christianity of history, was a world waiting to be discovered. I set about exploring, and I tried to bring others along. I debated tradition with my mother, sola Scriptura with my then fiancée (now wife), and the meaning of the Eucharist with my father. On one occasion, a Reformed professor dispensed with my arguments for transubstantiation in a matter of minutes.
Not long after this, I began to notice discrepancies between Catholic apologists’ map of the tradition and the terrain I encountered in the tradition itself. St. Ambrose’s doctrine of justification sounded a great deal more like Luther’s sola fide than like Trent. St. John Chrysostom’s teaching on repentance and absolution—“Mourn and you annul the sin”—would have been more at home in Geneva than Paris. St. Thomas’s doctrine of predestination, much to my horror, was nearly identical to the Synod of Dordt’s. The Anglican divine Richard Hooker quoted Irenaeus, Chrysostom, Augustine, and Pope Leo I as he rejected doctrines and practices because they were not grounded in Scripture. He cited Pope Gregory the Great on the “ungodly” title of universal bishop. The Council of Nicaea assumed that Alexandria was on a par with Rome, and Chalcedon declared that the Roman patriarchate was privileged only “because [Rome] was the royal city.” In short, I began to wonder whether the Reformers had a legitimate claim to the Fathers. The Church of Rome could not be straightforwardly identified as catholic.
John Henry Newman became my crucial interlocutor: More than in Ratzinger, Wojtyła, or Congar, in Newman I found a kindred spirit. Here was a man obsessed with the same questions that ate at me, questions of tradition and authority. With Newman, I agonized over conversion. I devoured his Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine and his Apologia pro Vita Sua. Two of his ideas were pivotal for me: his theory of doctrinal development and his articulation of the problem of private judgment. On these two ideas hung all the claims of Rome.
In retrospect, I see that Newman’s need to construct a theory of doctrinal development tells against Rome’s claims of continuity with the ancient Church. And at the time, though I wished to accept Newman’s proposal that “the early condition, and the evidence, of each doctrine . . . ought consistently to be interpreted by means of that development which was ultimately attained,” I could not. One could only justify such assumptions if one were already committed to Roman Catholic doctrine and Rome’s meaningful continuity with what came before. Without either of these commitments, I simply could not find a plausible reason to speak of “development” rather than “disjuncture,” especially because what came before so often contradicted what followed.
The issue of ecclesiastical authority was trickier for me. I recognized the absurdity of a twenty-year-old presuming to adjudicate claims about the Scriptures and two thousand years of history. Newman’s arguments against private judgment therefore had a prima facie plausibility for me. In his Apologia, Newman argues that man’s rebellion against God introduced an “anarchical condition of things,” leading human thought toward “suicidal excesses.” Hence, the fittingness of a divinely established living voice infallibly proclaiming supernatural truths. In his discourse on “Faith and Private Judgment,” Newman castigates Protestants for refusing to “surrender” reason in matters religious. The implication is that reason is unreliable in matters of revelation. Faith is assent to the incontestable, self-evident truth of God’s revelation, and reasoning becomes an excuse to refuse to bend the knee.
The more I internalized Newman’s claims about private judgment, however, the more I descended into skepticism. I could not reliably interpret the Scriptures, history, or God’s Word preached and given in the sacraments. But if I could not do these things, if my reason was unfit in matters religious, how was I to assess Newman’s arguments for Roman Catholicism? Newman himself had once recognized this dilemma, writing in a pre-conversion letter, “We have too great a horror of the principle of private judgment to trust it in so immense a matter as that of changing from one communion to another.” Did he expect me to forfeit the faculty by which I adjudicate truth claims, because that faculty is fallible? My conversion would have to be rooted in my private judgment—but, because of Rome’s claim of infallibility, conversion would forbid me from exercising that faculty ever again on doctrinal questions.
Finally, the infighting among traditionalist, conservative, and liberal Catholics made plain that Catholics did not gain by their magisterium a clear, living voice of divine authority. They received from the past a set of magisterial documents that had to be weighed and interpreted, often over against living prelates. The magisterium of prior ages only multiplied the texts one had to interpret for oneself, for living bishops, it turns out, are as bad at reading as the rest of us.
But I did not remain a Protestant merely because I could not become a Catholic. While I was discovering that Roman Catholicism could not be straightforwardly identified with the catholicism of the first six centuries (nor, in certain respects, with that of the seventh century through the twelfth), and as I was wrestling with Newman, I finally began reading the Reformers. What I found shocked me. Catholicism had, by this time, reoriented my theological concerns around the concerns of the Church catholic. My assumptions, and the issues that animated me, were those of the Church of history. My evangelical upbringing had led me to believe that Protestantism entailed the rejection of these concerns. But this notion exploded upon contact with the Protestantism of history.
Martin Luther, John Calvin, Richard Hooker, Herman Bavinck, Karl Barth—they wrestled with the concerns of the Church catholic and provided answers to the questions Catholicism had taught me to pose. Richard Hooker interpreted the Church’s traditions; Calvin followed Luther’s Augustinianism, proclaimed the visible Church the mother of the faithful, and claimed for the Reformation the Church’s exegetical tradition; Barth convinced me that God’s Word could speak, certainly and surely, from beyond all created realities, to me.
Catholicism had taught me to think like a Protestant, because, as it turned out, the Reformers had thought like catholics. Like their pope-aligned opponents, they had asked questions about justification, the authority of tradition, the mode of Christ’s self-gift in the Eucharist, the nature of apostolic succession, and the Church’s wielding of the keys. Like their opponents, Protestants had appealed to Scripture and tradition. In time, I came to find their answers not only plausible, but more faithful to Scripture than the Catholic answers, and at least as well-represented in the traditions of the Church.
The Protestants did more than out-catholic the Catholics. They also spoke to the deepest needs of sinful souls. I will never forget the moment when, like Luther five hundred years earlier, I discovered justification by faith alone through union with Christ. I was sitting in my dorm room by myself. I had been assigned Luther’s Explanations of the Ninety-Five Theses, and I expected to find it facile. A year or two prior, I had decided that Trent was right about justification: It was entirely a gift of grace consisting of the gradual perfecting of the soul by faith and works—God instigating and me cooperating. For years, I had attempted to live out this model of justification. I had gone to Mass regularly, prayed the rosary with friends, fasted frequently, read the Scriptures daily, prayed earnestly, and sought advice from spiritual directors. I had begun this arduous cooperation with God’s grace full of hope; by the time I sat in that dorm room alone, I was distraught and demoralized. I had learned just how wretched a sinner I was: No good work was unsullied by pride, no repentance unaccompanied by expectations of future sin, no love free from selfishness.
In this state, I picked up my copy of that arch-heretic Luther and read his explanation of Thesis 37: “Any true Christian, whether living or dead, participates in all the blessings of Christ and the church; and this is granted him by God, even without indulgence letters.” With these words, Luther transformed my understanding of justification: Every Christian possesses Christ, and to possess Christ is to possess all of Christ’s righteousness, life, and merits. Christ had joined me to himself.
I had “put on Christ” in baptism and, by faith through the work of the Spirit, all things were mine, and I was Christ’s, and Christ was God’s (Gal. 3:27; 1 Cor. 3:21–23). His was not an uncertain mercy; his was not a grace of parts, which one hoped would become a whole; his was not a salvation to be attained, as though it were not already also a present possession. At that moment, the joy of my salvation poured into my soul. I wept and showed forth God’s praise. I had finally discovered the true ground and power of Protestantism: “My beloved is mine, and I am his” (Song 2:16).
Rome had brought me to Reformation.
Excellent article. Thanks for posting it. The great cloud of witnesses that came before us as brothers and sisters in the faith testify to the truth of the gospel which was preached from the start and it has never been lost. God is a rewarder of those who diligently seek HIM.
.
He saves his sheep by writing his laws on their hearts, just as Jeremiah and Paul prophecied. That is the faith that is the gift of Yehova, lest any man boast.
Has anyone heard from Calvinist Dark Lord lately?
What in those books is necessary for salvation and doctrine?
he problem with protestants’ radically separating justification from sanctification
faith + works = salvation
salvation + faith = works
Except that snippet from James DOESN'T say "we are not saved by faith alone"! Instead, in context, it says we are shown to be right with God by what we do, not by faith alone. It's about how those around us see the faith we profess - our outward works demonstrate our inward/living faith. Do you think God cannot see into a person's heart and know if there is genuine faith in Jesus Christ?
Don't you think it strange that there is no other place in Scripture but that one from James 2:24 that says that? Will you toss out all the hundreds of verses that clearly teach we ARE saved by faith and not by our works just because you find one that seems to say the opposite? Will the Holy Spirit contradict Himself? Why don't you read the first two chapters of James so you can understand what God is teaching us. Look at the ancient people mentioned who are set up as examples of living their faith. Hebrews chapter 11 also talks about them and it is abundantly clear that they were saved because they had genuine faith - they were all commended for their faith but it was their faith ALONE that saved them. For what does the Scripture say? "Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness." (Romans 4:3)
Yes, and one who refuses to give them up will not be saved despite his faith. Thus says St. Paul.
A Christian is not going to practice these.
If only this were true. There have always been plenty of Christians who remain attached to sin. Paul is addressing his remarks to Christian believers, not to pagans. But if you were to say that such are not true Christians, then you have just admitted that faith alone is not enough: refraining from sin must be added to it.
IF a single act of sin would nullify your salvation then Paul is in trouble as well as he noted he struggled with something.
Not if he repents of it later and seeks forgiveness. But if one were to commit a grievous sin against God and then refuse to repent, then he would loose his salvation by his own choice.
Yet, Jesus told the people He met to believe in Him.
Agreed, but he also told them to keep the Commandments!
I again will ask, IF it is faith + works, how many "good" works do you have to do?
Your question betrays a complete lack of understanding of Catholic teaching. One does not earn salvation by racking up brownie points through good works. Salvation is a complete gratuitous gift of God. The good works required are keeping one self from sin, or do you believe that one can remain in sin and still be saved by faith alone?
placemarker
+
Oh get off the deceit train! The Catholic religion teaches that one must follow the sacraments to ‘obtain’ salvation. Don’t take the mark, just don’t do it.
Of course, because this is what Jesus taught. Read the Bible. But remember, the sacraments are the works of God, not of man.
I’m not trying to disagree with either of you. But, first, the word “faith,” is such a problematic word in Greek, meaning belief, trust, faithfulness, and more. It contains the entire spectrum from assent to action.
Second, Jesus answered the question, “what must we do to do the works of God?” with the declaration, “the work of God is to believe in the one he has sent.” That includes more that assent to Jesus’ character and work. See paragraph above.
Third, the very question, “how do you know you’ve done enough,” or “how do you know you’ve done the right works?” presumes a self-centered salvation, which is the antithesis of what grace by faith is: God doing for us what we cannot possibly do for ourselves by putting our entire weight and confidence in Jesus’ work in us by the Holy Spirit. Of course we can’t be sure of ‘what’ and ‘how much’ we do, but our trust is not in our own judgment, rather in the promise that Christ is taking even our mistakes on himself and making our lives whole and fruitful. Doing for us what we cannot possibly do for ourselves — eyes on Him and *not on ourselves.*
"They worshiped and served the things God created instead of the Creator himself, who is worthy of eternal praise! Amen." —Romans 1:25
First off, everything should be verified by two or three witnesses. If you are trying to build a doctrine on just ONE stand alone verse of Scripture, you are going to fall into error. ONE verse can be taken out of context.
The other thing is, many verses are only sentence fragments. The designations for verses are not based on any grammatical sense, as in they are whole complete sentences. So to demand ONE verse can leave you with an incomplete thought.
So you should at least be willing to take one complete thought expressed in one sentence, even if it contains multiple *verses*.
That said, here are some verses that are one liners that agree with each other.....
Romans 3:21-25 But now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law, although the Law and the Prophets bear witness to it— the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.
John 1:12 But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God,
John 5:24 Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life.
John 6:40 For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who looks on the Son and believes in him should have eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.”
John 11:25-26 Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
I suspected as much.
It seems that you were not genuinely interested in learning is salvation was truly by faith but wanted to find justification for your belief that you have to somehow work to add to your salvation, s if there was anything anyone could do that could meet God;'s holy standard for righteousness.
Well, work away if you want.
Pt yourself on the back, and then you face God you can let Him know how beholden He is to you and how He has to let you into heaven cause you did so well in your works.
I pray all the time for them that the Holy Spirit opens their eyes to understand that they can NEVER merit, deserve or earn their salvation which is why it is because of God's mercy and grace alone that we can be saved. He gifts to us eternal life by His grace THROUGH faith and not of anything of ourselves - not of works so that no one may boast. I pray that they will come to understand just how much God loves them and what Jesus Christ suffered and died for so that we can have eternal life. No one says that we shouldn't live in obedience to God so that He is glorified and honored - that IS what He created us to do - but that our works do not contribute to our salvation. Jesus paid it all - IT IS FINISHED - he said. By His one sacrifice, he has perfected forever those who are being saved - we have been sanctified through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all. I sincerely hope they will come to know the peace of God in Christ Jesus and rejoice in the assurance of their salvation - to the glory of God.
And the difference is.......
Salvation is not earned by works and it's not kept by works.
It's given and that's that, sin notwithstanding.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.