A Model of Christian Orthodoxy
Rediscovering the ancient tradition of the Church, resetting its importance, and exploring the wisdom to be found in conciliarity.
“Doctrine.” A word with many connotations. While all it means is “teaching,”1 it’s a word often associated nowadays with legalism and intolerance. Doctrines are considered divisive and create an unsavory “Us vs Them” mentality. Influenced primarily by a humanistic and pluralist culture, many Christians have taken to a particular slogan, “Deeds before creeds!” They don’t like discord and division, and they want everyone to be able to be united in the love of Christ, and they pray, with Christ, “that they will all be one, just as You, Father, are in Me and I am in You. I pray that they will be in Us, so that the world will believe that You sent Me” (Jn. 17:21). However, this lukewarm/pluralistic Christianity suffers from numerous logical as well as biblical issues. Despite their cherry-picking of feel-good scriptures such as Matthew 7:1-5, John 13:34-35, 1 John 4, among others, they completely miss many other important passages either intentionally, unwittingly, or ignorantly (and, whichever the case, always self-righteously). For example, 1 John 4:1, located in one of the very passages these sorts make use of, it is warned, “Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to determine if they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world.” In fact, that word “test” (dokimazete) is etymologically related to “dogma,” via the Greek root for both, δέχομαι (dékomai), which means “to receive or accept” (hence the classical meaning of “dogma” as “that which is accepted”). Likewise, Paul warns Timothy about when “someone spreads false teachings and does not agree with sound words (that is, those of our Lord Jesus Christ) and with the teaching that accords with godliness” (1 Tim. 6:3), and elsewhere, addressing the Corinthians, he commands concerning schismatics in the flock that they should “Remove the evil person from among you” (1 Cor. 5:13). (Accordingly, Paul is often not the biblical voice appealed to by “anti-legalistic” Christians, who condemn him (legalistically) as angry, misogynistic, and homophobic.) Even more, Jesus, who they hold so dear as the true and only foundation of their faith (as “Red-Letter Christians” or whatever), in Matthew 18 commands that false brethren be “[treated] like a Gentile or a tax collector” if unrepentant (v. 17), and, in Matthew 7, right after condemning judgmentalism, He condemns the unholy as well: “Do not give what is holy to dogs or throw your pearls before pigs” (v. 6).2
The logic that these people use is flawed as well. In a satirical video by Lutheran pastor Hans Fiene (of Lutheran Satire), “TYLPTL: Learning That Creeds Are Bad (Episode 10),” these issues are humorously exposed. That cutesy slogan, “Deeds Not Creeds”? That’s a creed. The Sinner’s Prayer? A creed. “In necessary things unity; in uncertain things liberty; in all things charity”? A creed. Joel Olsteen’s ooey-gooey warm-up mantras? A creed. These are all creeds (albeit bad ones), since all a creed is (etymologically understood) is merely a statement of belief,3 as they all delineate what a church believes, and, implicitly or explicitly, what it doesn’t. A “deeds not creeds” congregation rejects “creeds not deeds” congregations (that’s certainly “Us vs Them,” “divisive,” or “judgmental”). This is the age-old paradox of tolerance, which is solved by simply realizing that tolerance isn’t a virtue, but charity, mercy, and patience are. We should be intolerant, but our intolerance should manifest in kindness, for as Paul (Mr. Meany) said, “be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ also forgave you” (Eph. 4:32; cf. 2 Cor. 2:5-8; 1 Pet. 3:8).
Indeed, the importance of doctrinalism (or, as we’ve established, common sense rule-following) is apparent in the weak state of theology among mainline Christianity. Many Christians reject or doubt the authority of Scripture, unwittingly profess Arianism or modalism, extend unlimited atonement too far into unlimited salvation, and are guilty of a hundred other errors. A sheepish desire not to offend or an arrogant sense of being “modern” (and hence “better”) precipitates people to reject core elements of the faith and to fill in the holes created with their own modernistic contrivances. The biblical words for “sin,” hamartia (ἁμαρτία) and chata (חָטָא), both at their very basic mean “to miss the mark.”4 We fail to achieve a certain mark, or standard, when we sin (the mark, for humans, is our fundamental nature as images of God). Taking this into account, when we have people who take Scripture and mock or denigrate its ethics as “outdated” or “barbaric” what they are fundamentally doing is accusing God (by His Spirit’s inspiration of the biblical text) of missing the mark; they call God a sinner. If anyone is to maintain this, they are immediately, at once, reprobate, and how much worse shall it be for the one who calls himself “Christian”?
What all this speaks to is a fundamental reality: we need and cannot avoid rules that are set in stone (like the Ten Commandments literally were!). We need a firm and absolute mark to be able to have any sense of missing it. In this intense and wild world of ours, which is much like (if not worse than) the world of the ante-Nicene Church, living in a flagrantly and institutionally pagan world with little regard for the Gospel,5 it can feel like we’re tempest-tossed, and when one is imbalanced it can prove inextricably difficult to find one’s bearings or hit the mark. Hence, a number of verses essential to the doctrine of sanctification (separateness, properly understood), such as, “Do not be conformed to this present world” (Rom. 12:2), “Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers” (2 Cor. 6:14), and, “Clean out the old yeast so that you may be a new batch of dough—you are, in fact, without yeast” (1 Cor. 5:7). You know the best way not to get thrashed by an intense storm? Get out of the storm! However, when it proves hard, perhaps if you’re on a rocky ship (or have been tossed overboard), there is something just as trustworthy: a handhold. Whether that be a firm mast or a life preserver, if you have something stronger and sturdier than your own two feet to gain support with you can prove to be just sturdy enough, nearly as good as being entirely removed from the storm.
However, what is this stable ground for Christians? Well, for most of the Evangelical variety that would be the Bible, for as it’s often remarked, “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone whose life isn’t” (attributed, it seems, to Charles Spurgeon). This is true, I don’t deny it, but pay special attention to that word, “usually.” It indicates there is more that can be said about the (physical and spiritual) vicissitudes of life than just this proverb. Let me draw your attention to an ancient Christian symbol, the barque of St. Peter, used to represent the Church as it’s “tossed on the sea of disbelief, worldliness, and persecution.” The eldership6 as the officers do their best to command the ship (in their ministry) which they do as governed by their expertise in seamanship (which we can compare to their knowledge and command of Scripture), while the laity as the mariners (or passengers) discipline themselves and follow the lead of their maritime shepherds so that the desperately needed order on deck is maintained. However, this can become a hyperfocused picture of church life, because in our rush to keep the rigging taught and keep track of what port and starboard are we can act as if we’re entirely alone in this fracas. Here is one other important element: the Holy Spirit, Who indwells and animates the Church, Who is ever-present in guiding us along. So long as we have the Spirit, how and why should He ever abandon us to wreckage?
The Spirit isn’t all we have, however. Granted, the Holy Spirit is a huge part of the Church’s picture, and ought to be recognized as such far more greatly, being the most neglected Person of the Trinity (co-equal in glory and co-eternal in majesty to the Persons of the Trinity, not so much the persons of the Church). However, Scripture does grant us another. While it’s an element often overlooked by many Protestants (especially those not of the high-church, Lutheran, or Anglican varieties; but, even then…7), but on the rise in certain circles (or outright essential to other denominations), I firmly hold that it’s very important for Christians to wrap their minds around. What is this mysterious and powerful tool we have? The communion of saints.
So neglected is this element of our faith that in my own personal life I rarely hear it spoken of unless in passing or if I myself instigate its being-brought-up. A minister integral to the history of my own church’s denomination once remarked that he desired to “read the Scriptures as though no had read them before” himself,8 and while I’d never heard of such a teaching I’ve certainly perceived its influence. This sentiment, biblicism, absolutely derives from the Protestant doctrine of sola scriptura, not explicitly but certainly implicitly. While sola scriptura itself doesn’t necessitate this, certain circumstances can engender it, and this is precisely what happened to low-church varieties of post-Enlightenment Euro-American Protestantism.9 Owing to the assaults launched by Enlightenment skeptics and liberals, Protestant Christians reacted dually: they either (1) fervently trusted their faith and clung to the one thing they couldn’t let the heathens take, their Bible, or (2) jettisoned what they considered “sectarian distractions” that undermined the Church and exposed it to mockery and derision from the skeptics.10 They took to various slogans to justify their behavior, such as, “The disciples didn’t go to seminary, they just had the Bible,” or even that proverb mentioned earlier, “A Bible that’s falling apart usually belongs to someone whose life isn’t.” The issue with the former is that some disciples absolutely were educated (rabbinically at the least; Paul especially), their education was derived from esteemed teachers of the Law (extrabiblical authorities and their traditions), and that the primitive state of the Church isn’t an exclusive model for the later Church (lest that state is explicitly commanded in Scripture; to the contrary, numerous scriptures affirm the importance of catechesis).
Concerning the latter, as I mentioned before, the word “usually” betrays its nonexhaustive relevance; usually the Bible grounds our lives sturdily (Matt. 7:24-27), but sometimes we need to be “encourage[d by] one another and [built] up [by] one another” (1 Thess. 5:11). “One another,” that is we the saints, are not in the Bible and are not inspired authorities, but yet the very words of the Bible do affirm that we have the ability and authority to edify each other. Indeed, these biblicists find themselves alone in the annals of Church history, for clearly pre-Reformation Christianity didn’t scorn tradition, nor did the Reformers, and even within Protestantism it’s not a well-attested sentiment, for John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, even though calling himself “a man of one book,” promoted his “Quadrilateral,” his fourfold hermeneutic methodology that emphasized tradition as well as Scripture:
“I do not undervalue traditional evidence. Let it have its place and its due honour. It is highly serviceable in its kind and in its degree.”11
The loss of emphasis on this important element of Christianity I hold is responsible for numerous issues in the modern Church (particularly the Evangelical, charismatic, and mainline sects, the ones I often bemoan), the most upstream of which is the stagnation of ecclesiology. In brief, when the Church (local, contra universal) is seen as nothing more than a social club for Jesus, where we sit in itchy fabric or hard wooden pews listening to the “Lead Senior Adult Pastor” moralizing for an hour, it becomes indistinguishable from half a hundred social venues we could be better of spending on our time on (“better off” meaning “more entertained,” since we’re suffused by a hedonistic culture). However, if the Church is where Heaven and Earth meet, if the Church is where our koinonia is effected by the indwelling of the Triune God’s Spirit, if the Church is where we may commune with Christ’s saving sacrifice, or, simply put, if Christianity is liturgical, then fellowship in a church isn’t six of one and half a dozen of the other, rather, it’s the difference between ephemeral self-aggrandizing foppery and a foretaste of eternal paradise.
How exactly having a liturgical faith relates to having a traditional one is simple: if we are genuinely made into different persons by fellowship with Christ through His Church then we must approach all our evaluations of humans (in the Church) differently. Are we still sinners? Yes. But are we also now saints? Yes! If the Church is verily “the pillar and foundation of the truth” (1 Tim. 3:15) then ought we live and think accordingly? You aren’t merely a human being anymore, you are a new man and must put on your new self (2 Cor. 5:7; Eph. 4:24; cf. Col. 3:12-14). Accordingly, the Church Catholic is a genuine and tangible (albeit mystical) entity, and the local church are individual fortresses of her kingdom, and the members therein her knights (the ecclesia militans and milites Christi).
What I’ve made the case for, or outlined the case for, is a Christian faith grounded in “what has come before us.” Repudiating individualistic biblicism or ahistorical “Great Apostasy” quackery, I submit contrariwise that the Christian faith is enduring, ancient, and everlasting, that the term “the Body of Christ” isn’t mere sloganeering but a genuine mystical reality, and that “saint” likewise means something far more substantive than we generally accredit it with. This is the view of “Church history” not as a secular, historiographic curiosity, but as a legitimate blessing of our faith, “sacred tradition,” as it’s put by others—a genuinely biblical term, for the Church and her saints are sacred (hágios; see here for all the times that occurs in Scripture and where it applies to followers of Christ) and have passed down and received the apostolic faith (this being the literal definition of tradition, “that which is handed over;” cf. Rom. 6:17; 1 Cor. 11:2, 23; 15:3; 2 Pet. 2:21; Jud. 1:3).
In an age that is tempest-tossed, as described earlier, being grounded in a historic faith is immeasurably important. Why? This is where I can begin to build a case for what exactly our tradition is and how it can be regarded, especially for the modern day Protestant or Evangelical. It will be the immediate response of most aforedescribed Protestants, “Don’t you accept sola scriptura, haven’t you argued for the authority of Scripture, haven’t you read 2 Timothy 3:16?” Perhaps, yes, and yes.
“Perhaps?” Yes, for at times I’ve found myself more accepting of the Anglican doctrine of prima scriptura, but as I look into both descriptions of prima scriptura, clarifications of sola scriptura, as well as what my own understanding is (soon to be explained) I have trouble substantially distinguishing prima from sola or categorizing my own view under either. In lieu of dialogue with a Methodist and/or Anglican cleric as well as out of respect for my Protestant heritage I will default to sola scriptura. As it regards 2 Timothy 3:16, I’ve engaged with the sacerdotal denominations12 and have been schooled on it for, as they’ve pointed out, “Every scripture is inspired by God and useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness” is not “Every scripture is inspired by God and solely useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.” We never live our Christian lives only with Scripture, for as I, and other anti-biblicists, have pointed out, if we were to do precisely that we’d be rendered unable to do, say, or hear anything unless every last iota comes from a verse in Scripture verbatim.13 The gifts of our human nature are provided to us to complement Scripture, not to be muted in a paralyzing (false) reverence of it (1 Thess. 5:12-13; Rom. 12:6-8; 1 Pet. 4:10-11). Biblicists go to church and they listen to sermons by a “fallible man,” sermons that don’t just contain Scripture, and insofar as they listen and accept that sermon all they are doing is accepting sacred tradition in the very moment it’s created. The Sunday sermon by IFB pastor Jim Bob Oglethorpe is the exact same as Basil’s Hexameron was on the Sundays it was first preached.14
Before I most explicitly lay out what I believe let me describe another common scenario in modern Christian religion. I will, in fact, give a very specific example, one that happened recently and instigated some further reflections on my part on what exactly my bibliology constitutes. I was watching the video “Andy Stanley’s Unconditional Conference: Deep Dive Response” by Sean McDowell (with Alan Shlemon), which analyzed the pitiable theology of Stanley’s (in all but name) pro-LGBT rally. At several points this video got into matters relating to exegesis and the biblical text, and what struck me about this was how Dr. McDowell and Mr. Shlemon put forth their (correct) understanding of homosexuality as a sin, contrasting this with the “exegetical” work of the pro-LGBT theologians (such as Matthew Vines). When I looked into this I found that McDowell’s book on love and sexuality (Chasing Love) was 208 pages long and Vines’ (God and the Gay Christian) was 224 pages. Both of these books, I am sure, are full of arguments that probably both seem equally valid and true, yet affirm contradictory positions. This led me to think about nearly every prominent theological issue out there (women in egalitarianism vs. complementarianism, politics in Christian nationalism vs. anarchism, baptism in credobaptism vs. paedobaptism, etc.), and I also recalled Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, a critique of extreme (pure) rationalism, which he argues for in one place via his antinomies (demonstrations of contradicting yet equally sound reasoning). Upon reflecting on this it became clear to me that there were but three solutions to this: abandon doctrinalism for feel-goodism, embrace a neo-Kantian skepticism, or find some way out of this quagmire. I despised the first two options, and I knew the third one was the best, but I also knew that not many Protestant Christians were aware of the third way. What third way could there be that could lay aside such clearly tempestuous subjects? How could a firm solution be found when one side can reasonably put forth that a woman served as an apostle (a position that must certainly have didactic and pastoral authority, as the work of the male apostles demonstrate) but another can point out the clearly masculine grammatical gender of 1 Timothy’s description of the church eldership, when one side can quote 1 Corinthians 5 but the other can refer to adelphopoiesis (perhaps demonstrating that not even tradition can help us),15 i.e., when all this ceaseless confusion abounds?
There is a solution, although you may not know of it (or accept it yet). The issue suffered in all these examples is simply myopia. It seems that no one on either side can see the whole picture. They’ve amassed tons of evidence and spilt gallons of ink, and have gone back and forth for decades, but they seem to be locked in an unending impasse because they just can’t see or comprehend Counter-Counter-Counter-Response-Rebuttal-Counterargument #432 that just got published in vol. 43/9 of the Theological Journal for Shmiggleborfs. Wouldn’t it be great if we had someone who had fervently devoted themselves to this subject and at the end of extended dialogue and study had come to a finalized solution we can reasonably trust? Hey, wouldn’t it be even greater if we had hundreds of such guides? As I like to put it, if you have eyesight problems and had to take an eye examination but had the option to look at the same Snellen chart with ten, twenty, a hundred other people wouldn’t you feel incredibly confident in your responses (mediated by this company), your own myopia notwithstanding?
Thus, I submit what is my theory of the standard of Christian orthodoxy: the blessed ecumenical councils of our faith, the assemblies of our holy Fathers at Nicaea, Constantinople, Ephesus, and Chalcedon between 300 and 800 AD.16 A sort of reformed conciliarity model, then, is what I hold to (or, ecumenical orthodoxy). These councils were ecumenical, from what I’ve observed, due to three primary factors: the presidence of the five Patriarchs of Christendom (Rome, Constantinople, Antioch, Jerusalem, and Alexandria), the assent of the Emperor/imperial authority, and the assemblage of a broad representation of the bishops and their guests from across Christendom. All told, at the councils hundreds of devoted Christian theologians gathered under the same roof for months (usually), hashing out some significant doctrine, always in the presence of the teachers that were being disputed or condemned. Out of these councils came the dogmas that every Christian from every time, place, and sect have been agreed on (knowingly or unknowingly). Do you believe in the Trinity? Thank these councils. Do you believe in the divinity of Christ? Thank these councils. Do you believe in the Incarnation? Thank these councils. The work they produced and the impact they’ve had is remarkable.
“No,” one might cry, “I must thank the Bible!” No, because you wouldn’t even have the (orthodox) Bible today if your faith hadn’t been affirmed by the assembled Church and defended by imperial authority.17 Now, contrary to many misconceptions, which Nicaea is subject to the most of,18 these councils didn’t invent anything, they merely determined or resolved matters. However, in doing this they protected the truths found in Scripture against heretical distortions that would’ve torn the faith asunder. Is Christ the unbegotten Son of the Father, co-equal in glory and co-eternal in majesty, or is He the greatest and most majestic of the creations of the alone unbegotten Father? Nicaea and Constantinople agreed on the former. Does Christ Incarnate possess one nature that is divine, one nature that is a synthesis of divinity and humanity, or two natures that are unconfused yet indivisible in their divinity and humanity? Chalcedon affirmed the latter.
While the secularization of theology, into “biblical studies” and “church history,” engenders endless debates, the reconsecration of our religion permits an end to modernistic confustication. We don’t need to tiptoe around “problem texts” or bury our heads in the sand, but rather we can bless and thank our forefathers for the work they did for us future generations of saints (often to the risk/point of martyrdom) and tread the waters confidently by their guidance. Indeed, to return to an earlier analogy and make it even more illuminating in light of what we’ve discussed since, if the Church is like a barque, steered by elders, manned by deacons, and passengered by saints, then the Holy Fathers of the Councils are lighthouses leading the way into the Bay of Calvary. They aren’t the Light itself (cf. Jn. 12:35-36), but they are lesser lights (cf. Matt. 5:14-16) timelessly fulfilling the biblical exhortation to brotherly edification (which I discussed earlier).
Indeed, that’s what constitutes their authority. They aren’t infallible, no human can be, and only Scripture, which is guided in its human construction by the Holy Spirit, is.19 However, their authority is subsidiary, derived from their devotion to protecting orthodoxy. Insofar as the councils are grounded in, to use modern Protestant lingo, “Bible-believing Christianity,” they have authority, but this is extrinsic to them, meaning, in contrast to the denominations inclined to accredit them intrinsic power (or inspiration), they are still subject to something higher: God. Subordinate is as good a word as subsidiary, too, as saying that the councils are “placed in an order beneath” Scripture, submissive to Scripture, is accurate to what I hold, yet because of their liturgical and reverent nature20 they are clearly more authoritative than mere private judgments of the mysteries of our faith.
I’d ask a Christian who is skeptical about this still, “Who do you trust more, Bart Ehrman, who’s made a career out of denigrating Christianity, or Athanasius of Alexandria, who faithfully and intensely devoted himself to the Word for over fifty years?” He might answer, “I trust Paul!” Well, that wasn’t a choice, and if you’re going to act like you only listen to the apostles, in a vacuum, then you fall into the issue of the impossibility of biblicism that I mentioned earlier: you don’t just trust or listen to Paul, you also trust and listen to your pastor, to his teachings, and consider them appropriately representative of “your” faith and “your” Bible.21 It’s likely that you read, or are fine with reading, some pop Christian author like Max Lucado, Tony Evans, Beth Moore, or Francis Chan, who, frankly, I believe are just in it for the money, as the sheer prolificity of their writings imply,22 unlike the often monastic or extremely humble Church Fathers, whose writings were not for any real profit and pretty much always originated from some homiletic/pastoral application (such as Basil of Caesarea’s Hexamaeron, a six-day sermon presented to his congregation, or Gregory of Nyssa’s On the Soul and the Resurrection, which was a letter written to his ailing sister, St. Macrina).
Altogether, I believe it simply makes sense to ascribe authority23 to the Great Councils and their canons, which were all mostly dedicated to the understanding of Who Christ is, which demonstrates their focus was not on themselves but first and foremost on glorifying and protecting the God-Man, our Savior. The only other counterargument I can think to address is the charge that this is all superfluous and no one needs to know what “Trinity” means or “hypostasis” or “dyophysitic” to go to Heaven, i.e., that we need Jesus not theology. Kevin DeYoung provides a great answer to this sentiment:
As soon as you start to say something about Jesus [and why you love Him], if you say, “Well, it’s because of what He did on the cross,” or, “because of the resurrection,” or, “because of how much He loves us,” or, “because of His teachings,” once you begin to answer the question, you’ve gone into the realm of theology. So folks who think, “I want Jesus, not theology,” they don’t have either, because you can’t have Jesus and have Him mean something to you unless you know some propositions about Him.
If I tell you how much I love my wife and how amazing my wife is and then you say, “Well, tell me how tall is she?” And I say, “I don’t really know.” “Well, tell me what color are her eyes?” I say, “I’m not really into those sorts of things about her.” Well, not only would you question how much I really love her, you would wonder if I could pick her out in a crowd, I don’t seem to know anything about her. I don’t seem to know any propositions, any facts. Am I just speaking in vague generalities? And the same is true with Jesus. We can speak in these spiritual platitudes of how much we love Jesus, but we need theology if we’re going to explain who He is, the God-Man, what He accomplished on the Cross in His death and resurrection, and what it means for Him to be reigning at the Father’s right hand, to be the second Person of the Trinity, to come back again to judge the living and the dead, to send His Holy Spirit to be the very presence with us in the world. All these things get into the realm of theology.
Is theology necessary? No, but it’s important. Consider the well-known quote from Thomas Guthrie:
It cannot be too often, or too loudly, or too solemnly repeated, that the Bible, which ranges over a period of four thousand years, records but one instance of a death-bed conversion—one that none may despair, and but one that none may presume.
God is merciful, and He cares deeply about genuine faith. The Penitent Thief, who Guthrie is likely referring to, had no theology, no catechesis, no philosophy, but he was able to be saved because he had faith. The lesson behind this story that can be applied to us is that there are necessities to the faith, but that these necessities don’t preclude accessories. Would it have been good for the Penitent Thief to have been a smart man like Paul? Absolutely, because nowhere is Paul’s wisdom derided as “superfluous” or “arrogant” (although Paul might’ve suffered from that), and instruction in dogma (catechesis) is emphasized in several places in Scripture (Heb. 5:11-6:12; 1 Cor. 3; Prov. 2:1-5; 2 Tim. 3:14-17; Pss. 1; 119).
Your dear old grandma who couldn’t tell you the difference between homoousion and homoiousion is just as saved as the one who could, and that’s fine, and if granny comes to desire understanding her faith more deeply then by all means let’s help her, as best as we can! So, yes, you don’t need to know who Athanasius was, what Augustine said, or what John of Damascus did, but you can know, you’re welcome to know, and you’ll be more edified in your faith than if you didn’t. Paul’s derision of worldly wisdom in 1 Corinthians is just that, a derision of worldly wisdom, not all wisdom, for he clearly gives praise to God’s divine wisdom that is lived out in the Church.
Consider the common objection to traditionalism on the grounds that these constitute “traditions of men” (Mk. 7:8). This phrase is probably the most used (and abused) by biblicists, utilized as a carte blanche for rejecting anything that rubs them the wrong way. However, what such Christians consistently overlook in their evaluations of religious accretions or Pharisaism is the shocking revelation Christ provides about them in Matthew 23, right at the beginning of his extended “Woes of the Pharisees,” saying that
[the] scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat, so do and observe whatever they tell you[.] (vv. 2-3a)
Christ admits that the Pharisees have authority, and accordingly the Jews listening to Him should obey them. The Pharisees were not wrong for being strictly obedient to the Law or deriving principles that applied the Law to specific or unique situations (which the Mishnah largely was), but rather for abandoning all spirit in their pursuit of all truth. As Christ continues, “but not the works they do. For they preach, but do not practice” (v. 3). In other words, their traditions weren’t intrinsically wrong, but extrinsically had become profaned for the Pharisees had started to worship the traditions instead of God, rather than God through the traditions, and browbeat just about everyone who couldn’t live up to their outstanding standards. Accordingly Christ in a later woe chastises the Pharisees as “whitewashed tombs” (v. 27), for while they do many beautiful things publicly, internally (spiritually) they are rotten and do things not to humbly honor God but to assert themselves above their fellow man. They abuse their rightful authority by supplanting the inspired Scriptures with their rulings and regulations, rather than using the latter to the glory of the former.
One thing I’ve come to learn and understand about the Fathers in studying them more is that they never cared for their own wisdom, they never performed any works for themselves, and if otherwise they were often honest about their egos, like Augustine24 or Basil of Caesarea.25 Their focus was, overwhelmingly, on Scripture and on glorifying God, and honoring the Church His graces flowed through. Reading Christopher Hall’s Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers was great proof of this, as it showed how considerate of and devoted to the Bible these theologians were, against the attacks of heathens and heretics. And, as I’ve read Hall’s Learning Theology with the Church Fathers as well, I’ve seen the concerns raised over the Fathers being ostentatious or confusing the faith with their tricky terms like “Trinity,” “dyophysite,” “eternal generation,” and what say you, get deflated because, as Hall deftly demonstrates, what the Fathers did was not invent theology for the sake of theology, but for the sake of Christ.
Take, for example, the doctrine of dyophysitism. The monophysites and miaphysites had their arguments and concerns, but the Fathers turned to Scripture and saw that Christ shared fully in our humanity (e.g., “Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, He Himself likewise partook of the same things,” Heb. 2:14), and that all of Jesus was raised as imperishable and incorruptible in His Resurrection (which is the firstfruit of our own; cf. 1 Cor. 15), and these (scriptural) observations combined with several others made the Fathers realize that nothing could be left out of the nature of Christ, so, as Gregory of Nanzianzus put it, “that which is not assumed is not redeemed.”26 In order for all of our humanity to be redeemed all of it had to be possessed by Christ. If Christ only had our flesh He’d only redeem our flesh, not our blood, and vice versa.27 Hence, these conclusions, which I emphasize stemmed from Scripture, led to the formulation of the doctrine of dyophysitism (as well as dyothelitism and dyoenergism; Christ is dual in all but His person, as the hypostatic union affirms).
Let me repeat, so it’s clear exactly what I’m trying to get across: the Fathers didn’t make up their theological “jargon” to confuse people or assert their superiority over their enemies, but rather they did so because they were faithful disciples of Scripture and saw that these Christological formulations (like miaphysitism and monophysitism) couldn’t make sense of Scripture’s descriptions and teachings of what Christ was like and what He accomplished, so their doctrines were meant to complement Scripture and explain what it said rather than confuse or distort.28 So, following the Fathers in the manner that I’m promoting won’t “muddy the waters” or “be divisive,” but rather it will increase our proficiency and respect for Scripture as well as expose those who wish to themselves dictate Scripture rather than let Scripture dictate themselves. And, as it concerns “divisiveness,” I refer you back to the earlier paragraphs of this article, wherein I discussed creedalism and (the pseudovirtue of) tolerance. This is all to establish why the Fathers are trustworthy voices, and especially in their conciliar works that monumentally defined the future trajectory of the Church, down to the present day (also given my short discussion of ecclesiology earlier).
Wow, I just keep going! What else could I possibly ramble on about? Hopefully not much more, as I do believe I’ve sufficiently laid out the major tenets of “ecumenical orthodoxy,” answered important biblicist objections, as well as partly laid out the several secondary concepts important to my reasoning (especially concerning the nature of the Church). The only thing I can think to do is address my (ecumenical-orthodox) brethren in the sacerdotal denominations, especially those who ascribe infallible/inspired authority to functions of the Church, like the Catholics and Orthodox. The biggest objection I think they could raise against me is, “Well, you’re getting so close to sola ecclesia/magisterial authority, so why don’t you just be honest to yourself and commit fully?” In response I’ll say two things: firstly, I don’t think I’m “close” to that doctrine, because, as I mentioned earlier I feel within the historic bounds of sola scriptura set by the Reformers, as they did accept sacred tradition and its authority. But in what way did they perceive this authority? Much like myself, I’d say. Believe it or not, the writings of Luther, Calvin, Melcanthon, Bucer, Cranmer, and all others are full of patristics, since they too valued the wisdom of the communion of saints,29 but with an important exception, one I’ve emphasized, which is, as put by Luther, is that “it is necessary to compare the fathers’ books with Scripture and to judge them according to its light.”30 We cherish the Fathers and their wisdom, but we cherish Christ, as is due Him as God, far more so, and solely if pressed.31 So, no, I’m not taking a half-measure, but a full measure within the bounds of historic Protestant doctrine.32
Secondly, am I not truly honoring the Fathers by not taking their reverence of the Church seriously? In other words, certain Fathers clearly had a high view of the Church and ascribed it an inordinate amount of authority,33 so if I truly respect them as authoritative, why do I cherrypick what they taught (a common criticism raised against Protestant patristics)? This time my answer is threefold: first, my ultimate standard is Scripture, so you must meet me on that level, although I, of course, welcome the biblical exegesis of the Fathers; second, I am not cherry-picking the Fathers because while the Fathers are wise they are wise as theologians, and so I consider them equal to living theologians (although their antiquity and deeds definitely set them apart), and this article focused on setting what the Fathers did rather than the Fathers themselves (and in and of themselves) as the standard: the Great Councils; third, I think it’s clear that the Fathers themselves sought recourse first to Scripture when judging issues, for, as Cyprian wrote, “tradition without truth is but antiquity of error,”34 demonstrating an awareness that anything the Church did was valid only insofar as it conformed to truth, and that truth is found in Scripture (likewise, Tertullian said, “that which is the first, is the truer, and that which is from the beginning is first, and that which is of the Apostles, is from the beginning”), which the Fathers clearly paid much attention to and valued highly.35
In saying all this, I hope I’ve made clear what I believe and why I believe it. I strongly believe it’s quite continuous with historic Protestant tradition, and truly honoring of the saints, and leads to a fuller and richer faith. The ecumenical councils are great sources of wisdom, considerably trustworthy in understanding what Scripture actually teaches. Gone could be the days of endless volleys of counterargumentation, and in come the days of a liturgical and confessional faith which need only point to long-established tradition and thoughtful, prayerful exegesis to establish what is true and what isn’t. And insofar that the canons of the conciliar authorities can be soundly formulated to deductively apply to modern theological concerns,36 then this also means the councils aren’t just a historical curiosity but can have lasting and vivid present-day applicability for the Church in her struggles. Praise be to God for our Church, praise be to God for the saints, praise be to God for His wondrous Spirit Who timelessly binds us together in a majestic “cloud of witnesses” (Heb. 12:1)! Let us, in the words of the saint Vincent of Lérins, see to it that “all possible care must be taken, that we hold that faith which has been believed everywhere, always, by all.”37
This is why I have greater respect for atheists or deconverts who acknowledge that biblical ethos are contrary to their liberal-humanistic ideals, unlike the progressive Christian types who dishonestly and vainly work to twist these ethics in their favor.
Creed (En) > crēda (OEn) > credo (La) > crēdō in ūnum Deum (“I believe in one God,” first words of the Nicene Creed).
Certain contexts, such as archers or the accuracy of some individual, best bring out this meaning; e.g., in Jdg. 20:16 the Benjamnites are said to have several hundred slingers in their army who “could sling with a stone at a hair and not miss (yaḥăṭi).”
The only benefit we have compared to the early Church is that we live in a post-Christian culture, rather than a pre-Christian one, which means, at the very least, the modern-day pagans live under the (fading) shadow of the Church and her teachings/cultural influence. This is what Andrew Wilson discusses and frames in his book Remaking the World.
Clergy, ministers, hierarchs, or however your denomination describes them.
Not sure what I mean? Read these linked articles on contemporary Lutheranism and Anglicanism.
Quoted in Christopher Hall, Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers, 25.
On this and the following see ibid, 19-42.
E.g., consider Voltaire’s satirical comments (placed on the mouth of his character “Dominico Zapata”):
I know to be sure that the Church is infallible; but is it the Greek Church, or the Latin Church, or the Church of England, or that of Denmark and of Sweden, or that of the proud city of Neuchatel, or that of the primitives called Quakers, or that of the Anabaptists, or that of the Moravians? The Turkish Church has its points, too, but they say that the Chinese Church is much more ancient. (Norman Torrey, ed., Les Philosophes, 282; quoted in Hall, Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers, 22.)
Historic Christianity would understandably be repudiated by the Christians sincerely convicted by these comments, for what other way was there to do away with these scathing remarks than to disassociate themselves from such errors? If one reads Scripture or lives Christian in their own way, informed by not a single forebear, how can they be associated with these troubles? It was not too long ago that I myself shrugged off any question raised by the Crusades or Inquisition with the brief remark, “That’s a Catholic issue, not my issue.” This sentiment and many similar ones abound in Evangelical/fundamentalist Protestantism.
Quoted in Robert Burtner and Robert Chiles, eds., John Wesley’s Theology, 30; cf. 15-40.
Which is my personal umbrella term for the Catholic, Orthodox, Anglo-Catholic, and similar “ultra-high-church” branches of Christianity.
The only one’s with a way around this are the KJV Onlyists, who believe that God ordained the creation of the KJV as His authorized rendition of Holy Writ in English. Baloney, of course, and not nominal for most of Christianity, although that serves to prove my point (that it is nominal for most Christians to receive spiritual instruction from uninspired sources), and in addition even the KJV Onlyists don’t just use the KJV, but they hear it mediated by their pastors, tracts, devotionals, etc., as well.
This, of course, presumes that an IFB sermon has the doctrinal (theological), mystical, and ecclesiastical legitimacy to be accepted into sacred tradition.
Those who misconstrue the ritual of adelphopoiesis as homosexual in nature should read the words of C.S. Lewis on friendship, viz., “Those who cannot conceive Friendship as a substantive love but only as a disguise or elaboration of Eros betray the fact that they have never had a Friend.”
I will discuss the status of Hieria/Nicaea 2 another time.
My own pacifistic and anti-Constantinian inclinations aside for a moment; I can rise above the self-righteousness of my peers and accept that, whatever the drawbacks, the imperial assent and institutionalization of Christianity in the Roman Empire was a net positive (since it allowed us Christians to continue to safely exist to one day complain about this State-Church relationship).
Likely owing to its monumental and unprecedented nature, as nothing like it had been seen since the Council of Jerusalem; none of the same sort of pseudohistory and conspiracy is prattled about Constantinople or Chalcedon, because by then high councils were old news.
So I will grant that the later councils erred in ascribing some degree of inspiration to the conciliar assemblies, such as Ephesus’ description of the Nicene Council as constituting “the holy Fathers assembled with the Holy Ghost in Nicæa.”
As each session of these councils were essentially very argumentative Masses.
Indeed, I’ve had this discussion in real life and the very person who made this claim to exclusive biblicism in his understanding of the faith was an ordained minister!]
Many of which are profitable best-sellers; like, come on, Mr. Lucado, do you really need to write a hundred books with the same Jesus-loves-me-this-I-know message?
But not solely or supremely, as that goes to Scripture, while the councils have derived or subsidiary authority.
James K.A. Smith, On the Road with Saint Augustine, 77-91.
Hall, Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers, 81-82.
Gregory of Nazianzus, On God and Christ, tr. Lionel Wickham, 158, rendered in this particular translation as “the assumed is the unhealed.”
Ibid.
Again, I strongly recommend Christopher Hall’s writings on the lives, theologies, and arguments of the Fathers, especially, at least, Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers and Learning Theology with the Church Fathers (pp. 83-100 for dyophysitism).
On the historical and patristic grounding of the Reformation see Matthew Barrett, The Reformation as Renewal.
Martin Luther, “Concerning the Letter and the Spirit,” in Martin Luther’s Basic Theological Writings (3rd. ed.), ed. Timothy Lull, 53. See the whole text for insightful clarity on Luther’s views, pp. 53-70.
Thus, like Luther, if pressed, and if I have nothing else to hold to, I will like him profess that “unless I am convicted by Scripture and plain reason—I do not accept the authority of popes and councils, for they have contradicted each other—my conscience is captive to the Word of God, I cannot and I will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe.”
Notwithstanding however (un)convincing that would be to a Catholic interlocutor.
See, e.g., fn. 19.
Cyprian of Carthage, “The Epistles of Cyprian,” in Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 5, eds. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson, 389.
See Hall, Reading Scripture with the Church Fathers; also, John Cameron, An Examination Of Those Plausible Appearances Which Seem Most To Commend The Romish Church, ch. 17 (as a Presbyterian text this contains certain Calvinist scruples, which I disagree with, but on the whole, in arguing for the priority of Scripture in our theological and doctrinal judgments, it’s worthwhile); Vincent of Lerins, Commonitory; William Webster, “Sola Scriptura and the Church Fathers”; Irenaeus of Lyons, On the Apostolic Preaching.
If canons X and Y say thus, then principle Z can follow from them, and this vindicates/condemns teaching W.
Vincent of Lérins, Commonitory, 2.6.