Time in Jackson...

I got back from Jackson on Monday after seven days there. I had a great time there, not particularly for any event or activity, though there were a number of fun ones but because of the time I got to spend with the rest of the interns and staff that came along. It was a bit of a jolly boys outing and time spent in a rickety green, Ford minivan on Mississippi roads can really bond people together. We also got the chance to meet Ligon Duncan, pastor of First Prebyterian Church, Jackson. Dr Duncan is one of the speakers at the Together for the Gospel conference and I was so impressed with how gracious, Godly and fun to be around he was. Mark and Lig's interaction was a great reminder of the value of close, like-minded friends in the ministry.

Assumed Evangelicals

You may well have read this article by David Gibson, it's been awhile for a number of years and seemed to be published in just about every Christian publication I read for a while about two years ago.

It's a good analysis of the dangers of assuming the Gospel and the way in which this leads to a slide into denying or ignoring the Gospel in subsequent generations. This analysis seems to have had a big impact and I regularly here people describe movements and ministries as 'assumed evangelicalism' which usually means that they have a formal commitment to the Gospel but that it is no longer front and centre shaping their ministry and their distinctives. It's not a description you want to have applied to you.

However, though I think that there is definitely utility to the analysis that Gibson and others make, I wonder whether the category ceases to be useful when we included these 'assumed evangelical' ministries and movements within the 'evangelical' camp and treat them as if we can have fellowship in the Gospel with them. Often the argument is that since a movement or ministry or church still has a formal commitment, through a statement of faith or some other means, to the evangelical Gospel, we should seek fellowship in the truths that we both espouse, even if their practice and ministry is not shaped by that Gospel. It's an assumed Gospel but the Gospel is still there.

I question this argument for I believe, and I think that the Scripture teaches, that intrinsic to understanding the Gospel is understanding its grandeur, its glory and its importance. One example of a passage that teaches this is found in Matthew 13:44 where Jesus teaches that 'The Kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.' Jesus is teaching here that the nature of the Kingdom is that you would sell all that you have in order to possess it. So, as we believe that the Gospel is the message of the Kingdom and the means of entry to the Kingdom, we must believe that the Gospel is worth giving up everything for. This is intrinsic to the Gospel and is basic to understanding the Gospel. Therefore, when we come across people who affirm the Gospel in some document on their website but whose practice and ministry shows no indication of being shaped by the atoning blood of Christ, the hope of heaven and the authority of Scripture we must call into question whether or not they do indeed believe the same Gospel as we do.

It is interesting to me that in 2 John, where we have one of the clearest statements of the doctrine of separation, that John does not write in verse 10 'If anyone comes to you and denies this teaching do not receive him into your home or give him any greeting' but he writes 'If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching do not receive him into your home or give him any greeting'. That is, John draws attention to the absence of the teaching not the positive denial of Christian teaching. What is this teaching? Well, some have referred to verse 7 which says 'For many deceivers have gone out into the world, those who do not confess the coming of Jesus Christ in the flesh. Such a one is the deceiver and the antichrist' and limited the rest of the teaching in the letter to those who deny the incarnation. Since the church has affirmed the Biblical doctrine of the incarnation since the council of Nicea in the fourth century this would limit John's warnings to Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses and other groups firmly outside orthodox Christendom. However, I think that those that do this miss the teaching of verse 9, where John states 'everyone who goes on ahead and does not abide in the teaching of Christ does not have God.' Again, note that the issue is stated in the negative, 'not abiding' rather than 'denying' that is the issue and here the scope is broadened beyond the question of the incarnation and is now the 'teaching of Christ' which is much more comprehensive and must include Christ's teaching about the value of the Gospel.

Of course, you can use this argument for separation on the basis of the smallest jot and tittle of theology. But most evangelicals will affirm that there is an irreducible core to the Gospel in which we can have unity without agreeing on other less fundamental issues. And it is not uncharitable to ask those that affirm the Gospel in their documents and creeds to show that the Gospel is at the heart of their teaching and practice, that it infuses all they do. A genuine evangelical should not take offense at this or feel slighted at the caution displayed in offering fellowship for they should understand that the Gospel is too weighty a thing to jeopardise by an unbiblical association. My contention is that an assumed evangelical is a non-evangelical until they stop assuming the Gospel and put the atoning blood of Christ, not just in a statement of faith on their website, but at the heart and centre and engine of everything they do.

To Jackson...

I am now sitting on a Southwestern flight (the US version of Easyjet) on my way to Jackson, Mississippi where all the CHBC staff and interns are attending the John Reed Miller lectures at RTS which are being given this year by Mark Dever on preaching. We're then having a 9 Marks workshop in Jackson at the end of the week and head back to DC on Monday. I'm looking forward to seeing some authentic Southern culture but a little nervous of all the faux pas that I am liable to make. I certainly won't be driving anywhere without my wallet on me, in fact I probably won't be driving anywhere! We're staying in two townhouses provided by the church so it seems like we'll be well looked after during our stay. I'll keep you updated on our trip and any escapades I get embroiled in!

Idiocy Squared

I have a funny story to tell you. But before I tell it, you must remember that I didn't know it was going to be funny until it ended, to me it was very stressful, all the more so because it was caused almost entirely by my own idiocy.

The story begins as I was giving a lift to Tony Payne, one of the Australians from Matthias Media, who were in town for a conference at CHBC, to Dulles airport which is about 45 minutes away. We were having a great chat talking about the differences between Australia and America, the Knox-Robinson view of church, the Federal Vision and the upcoming Australian election. As we approached the airport I saw a police car pull out into the road from where it had been sitting in the central reservation. I assumed that it was simply going back to the station at the end of its shift. Stupidly, I went by the police car in the left hand lane, having forgotten that the speed limit drops sharply going into Dulles though it is almost universally ignored. I decided, therefore, to pull in to the right hand lane and reduce my speed.

I was too late. Two minutes later I saw the light flashing in the police car, the lights, oddly enough, were on the inside of the car by the rear-view mirror, and I pulled over. Not only was I embarrassed at having been pulled over while giving Tony a lift to catch his flight, I was also panicking that I hadn't brought my wallet with me, in which was contained my driving licence. In fact, I had wondered whether or not I had it before I got into the car but had not bothered to go back and get it, thinking that the odds of a careful driver like myself getting pulled over were very slim.

After a couple of minutes the policeman came over to the car. He had was stout, had full, fleshy face with red hair and the kind of moustache that suggests a desire to communicate authority, an authority unfortunately diminished by the fact the moustache was ginger.

'Driver's licence please' he drawled, the last word obviously being a function of routine rather than courtesy.

'Erm, I'm afraid I've left my wallet back at home, I'm sorry about that' I said in as soft and refined a British accent I could manage, as if the fact that my nation was an ally in the war on terror and I had a tertiary education would gain me leniency.

'Speeding, no driver's licence: is there anything else you want to tell me before I find out?'

I furrowed my brow as if carefully auditing my life for criminal acts: had I been involved in any terrorist plots? No. Was I a member of the Mafia or a gang of Triads? No. Did I run a drug racketeering ring? No. Was I, as the immigration form asked on my entry into the country, involved in the genocide associated with the 1933-45 Nazi government of Germany? No.

After a moments pause to answer these questions to my own satisfaction I answered,

'No, I don't think so'.

'OK, step out of the vehicle'

At this point my expectations about what was to happen next were entirely governed by films I had seen where young men are pulled over by portly policemen with moustaches and Southern accents. My expectations were not good.

'Spread your hands against the hood and pull your feet back'

I did so.

'Pull your feet back further'

I did so, this time wondering what possible threat I could have posed with my feet six inches closer to the bumper of the car.

'What state was your license in?'

'It was a British licence'

'Oh then, you don't have a licence. Where do you live?'

'Washington D.C. I thought I had a year to get an American licence' As I said this, I did what I often do when speaking and gestured with my hand.

'Put your hands back on the vehicle!'

'Oh yes, of course, sorry.'

'How long have you been in America for?'

'Since August, 2 or 3 months'

'2 or 3 months? Well, when you moved to the District of Columbia you should have known that you had 30 days to get a D.C. license, it's common sense.'

'Oh, I didn't realise, I thought I had longer than that. I'm very sorry.' And, again, finding it odd talking to someone who was standing at a 90 degree angle to me, I twisted my body a took my left hand off the car.

'Put your hands back on the car! If you do that again I'm gonna lay you out on the street right here, you understand?'

'Yes, I'm sorry, of course.'

After this, he went and spoke to Tony and asked for his license and told me that I couldn't drive the car any more and that Tony would have to drive the rest of the way to the airport, park the car and I would have to get someone to come out to Dulles and drive me back and that if he caught me driving back to D.C. he would arrest me and throw me in the county jail, a phrase that conjured images of Martin Luther King writing letters and big men called Bubba. I was also to return to Dulles Airport police station the next day and present my license, if I didn't he would issue a warrant for my arrest.

I got back into the passenger seat, and asked if Tony had ever driven on the right before.

'Once, five years ago.'

Having worked out how to start the car (which was a Chevy Suburban, a car that would officially be classified as 'tank' in the UK) we made the journey to the parking lot and I showed Tony where the check in desk was. He very kindly gave me a few dollars to make a call back to CHBC and buy myself a coffee while I waited to be picked up.

I rang the CHBC office from a payphone and began the conversation with 'Hello Ben, it's Graham here, I need someone to pick me up from Dulles because I nearly got arrested.' Ben's response was to shout to the rest of the office 'Pipe down here! Graham nearly got arrested.' which brought the chatter behind him to a halt. After I had related the gist of my run in with the police officer I was told, on the authority of Mike Gilbart-Smith, that there was no rule that you had to get an American license within 30 days (I have to admit, I was skeptical that no-one would know this rule at the church, given the number of Brits that had passed through its doors) and that I should just get back in the car and drive back. Relieved that I wouldn't have to sit at the airport and would probably get back to finish my paper on Charles Bridges' 'The Christian Ministry' on time, I began to leave the terminal building.

Just before I got to the door, I remembered that I didn't have enough money to pay for the $4 parking fee at the airport. When Tony gave me money, I didn't mention it to him because I assumed that someone from CHBC would come with their wallet and pick me up. Then, I remembered that there was a period of time within which parking was free and that you could pay within the terminal building. I rushed to a machine and put the ticket it. To my disappointment, it was going to take $4 to get out of the car park/parking lot. Considering my options: ramming the gate, walking home or begging for the rest of the money, I chose begging.

I went up to a group of well dressed people who looked like airport staff and remembering the technique of every beggar I had come across in London's West End I began with 'I don't normally do this but could you possibly lend me a dollar to...' except I did it in the best Oxbridge accent I could manage which most of the beggars in Leicester Sq don't do. I swiftly noticed that the group did not care one jot what my story was, they were quite happy to give a dollar in order to stave off the threat that I was, in fact, a drug-addled Oxbridge graduate that could turn nasty at any moment.

I promptly paid for my parking and left the airport, driving home trying to do as little as possible to attract the attention of any police cars which meant blending in by driving at twice the speed limit of 25 mph like all the other cars on the road. I was pretty confident I wouldn't be caught because the policeman had driven off back toward the station as soon as we had pulled off to go to the airport. I arrived home to tell my story to the staff at CHBC, Kasey Culp actually buzzed people to tell them I was telling it, and to plan to go back to the station the next day.

I wondered what would happen when I arrived at the police station because the officer hadn't given me his name and had only given my a rough time to arrive, 'around 3' so I thought it unlikely that anything awful would happen. However, the thought of county jail and big men called Bubba still haunted me for the rest of the evening. In the end though, I very nearly didn't get to the station at all.

Just a few miles beyond Dulles airport is Leesburg Outlet Mall, an outdoors shopping centre with outlet stores that seem to have perpetual sales on. Needing some winter clothes because the weather has finally turned, I decided to combine my trip to the police station with a shopping trip and given that I didn't know how long I'd be a the station I decided to go to the mall first. The trip started well, I found what I needed and as I dropped the clothes back in the car I had borrowed from my fellow intern Scott, I decided to head back to the food court in to get some lunch before I headed to the station. I got a Burger King Chicken sandwich meal, ate it, threw away the trash/rubbish, went to the toilet/bathroom and headed back to the car. Which was when I discovered I didn't have the car key. I looked in my pockets, in my jacket, in my wallet and in my book. No key. As I wandered back to the food hall to look for it I wondered whether I should buy a tennis ball, cut it in half, place it over the lock, hit it and use the air pressure to force the lock . I then remembered that though half a tennis ball might be able to open a car, it was unlikely to be able to start the engine and that was crucial to the progression of my day.

I arrived back at the food hall, had a quick look in the last places I had been, the sinks of the toilet/bathroom, the table I had sat on and the till that I had been to to pay. The key was at none of these places. I asked at the information desk whether it had been handed in and signed my name in the lost property book, noticing that none of the items above me on the list had been found. During this time I was getting very stressed at the thought of having to get somebody to come out and open the car for me when I had no documentation to prove I was the owner, since I wasn't, and Scott, who did own the car, was on a ten mile hiking trip in the Shenandoah valley.

It dawned on me that the most likely thing to have happened was that as I threw my rubbish/trash away, the key was lying on the tray and had fallen into the bin/trash can. I decided to speak to one of the staff of the food hall so queued up again at the same till/register I had used before. When I got to the front of the line/queue I tried to explain what had happened to the Hispanic man who was operating the till.

'I think I may have lost my key, I think it may have fallen into the trash, can someone look for it with me?'

'Why don't you go to the information desk?' asked the lady behind me in the queue in a strong Pennsylvania accent.

'Yes, I've already done that, thanks.'

'Oh, I didn't mean anything by it' said the lady, clearly thinking I thought she was trying to get me to hurry up so she could pay.

'I know, sorry, that was kind of you' I said and turned to continue to explain my predicament to the man at the till.

'It OK, it OK' he said, interrupting me.

I was more confused than I was hopeful and asked 'What's OK?'

'You go round and make order again' he said gesturing toward the various stalls selling various combinations of grease.

'No, no, you see I've lost my key-' I began again.

'He's lost his key!' The woman behind me began to talk to the man in a raised voice.

'He can't understand you' she said and as I looked I saw that a look of utter incomprehension had spread across the man's face.

'Who's in charge here?' the woman asked and the man gestured toward the Starbucks stall 'Him, him' he said and I went to join that queue and talk to the manager.

As I got to the back of the line, the woman had been behind me came up to me and said, 'He couldn't understand you. One of things I've heard about this place is that none of them can understand you. If I were you I would just look through the trash and not worry about being arrested.'

Prior to this point, I hadn't considered that one could arrested for what I proposed to do, for laws are usually made against things that people would want to do. There is, I believe, no law against eating cockroaches for this very reason. However, as I looked around the room and saw that all of the staff probably had the same English skills as my friend at the till and that my situation was unusual and hard to explain, I decided that even without rubber gloves and even with the threat of legal sanction, in addition to the pending warrant for my arrest, hanging over me, I would have to take matters into my own hands and look through the trash myself.

The trash can/bin that I had used had been turned around so that it could receive no more rubbish since it was full. This meant that I was lucky that it hadn't already been taken away but that my items were likely to be near the top. I turned the plastic box the bag was in around and crouched down to rummage through. As I did so I wondered what the people eating their lunches thought as they saw me with my arms thrust inside a trash can or what the mother with a British accent a yard to my left playing with her child in one of those toy planes you can sit in thought as I peered in as if on some kind of archaeological dig. I had never rummaged through rubbish in public before nor seen anyone do it and I began to see just why that was.

Trying to ignore the smell, and the thought of what I was possibly touching, I soon discovered a Coke cup which was the right size and had the right amount of ice left in it to suggest that it may have been mine. Sure enough, near to this was a Burger King chicken sandwich wrapper and as I pushed that aside I saw the object of my search lying flat on the tray cover that fast food restaurants use these days. I grabbed it, relieved and elated, and as I turned to go and wash my hands I held the key up to the mother who was crouching with her child like a trophy, half in explanation and half in triumph. I soon washed my hands and the key and walked back to the car to drive to the police station and escape legal sanction.

The nearest station I could find on Google maps to Dulles airport was Herndon police department which was just east of Dulles and about half an hour away from Leesburg mall. After filling up with a little gas/petrol I drove to the station, got a little lost in Herndon and parked up in front, avoiding the space that was reserved for the commissioner. I went and explained what I was doing there. My explanation caused some confusion and consternation and it emerged that I was, in fact, at the wrong station and I was given the number of the Dulles Airport Police Department but no directions or a map. So, I rang the number and explained to the person who answered that I had been asked to come in and show my license but that I was at the wrong station and needed to get to Dulles police department.

'So where are you?' they asked.

'I'm at Herndon but I need to be at Dulles.'

'So what do you want? Do you want the number for Herndon?'

'No,' I explained patiently,'I'm at Herndon, I need to know how to get to Dulles'

At this the man exhaled deeply as if I had asked how to get from Tripoli to Ouagadougou.

'Well, err, oh, well, where exactly are you?'

'I'm at Herndon...'

'What street is that...'

Seeing this was going to be painful, I explained that I knew how to get to the airport, at which the man brightened considerably and explained how I could get to the station from there.

I entered the station nervously but as I explained what I'd been asked to do to the man sitting at the desk I affected a calm confidence that only the innocent could possess. The man at the desk had a round face, entirely bald and looked like he came straight from central casting. He asked me which officer had pulled me over while he examined my photocard and counterpart licence and when I explained he had red hair and a moustache he asked 'White guy?'. After pausing to imagine a black police officer with red hair and moustache I answered in the affirmative. He said 'Yeah, I think I know who you mean' in a way that added 'and I think he's a complete jerk' and continued 'I'll let him know you called, thank you very much for coming in, sir' which restored some of my faith in the American police forces.

So, I drove back, still in possession of my liberty, my money and Scott's car key, an exhausted and grateful man.

I'll just finish with two observations for this post is already much too long. First, authority is a good thing but it is terrible when it is misused or even correctly used in the wrong spirit. I suppose I was driving without the possession of a license and going over the speed limit but there seemed an arbitrary nature to the fact I was pulled over and a rudeness and discourtesy in the way I was treated. I'm grateful that the ultimate authority in the universe is held by someone who is just, who shows no partiality and who offers mercy and forgiveness for sins, while upholding justice, through the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ. Second, the ordinary grace of God. I wrote a post on this a few weeks ago but it strikes me as extraordinarily kind of God to help the kind of man who forgets his wallet, overtakes police cars and throws his car key away in the rubbish escape some terrible fate. If, even when I do everything I can to land myself in jail and with a huge mechanic bill, He rescues me then I think I can trust him in pretty much all circumstances.

The Decline of Oratory and Preaching Part 2: Defining terms

I'm now able to write the second post on the subject of the decline of oratory. My basic observation is that oratory has declined as a factor in public discourse and that this has implications for Christian preaching in society today because preaching, the mode of communication prescribed by God, is a form of oratory. Now, some have taken issue with that and asked whether, in fact, oratory is proscribed by Scripture. I suppose that the verse they have in mind is 1 Corinthians 2 where Paul declares:

When I came to you, brothers, I did not come with eloquence or superior wisdom as I proclaimed to you the testimony about God. 2For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. 3I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling. 4My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit's power, 5so that your faith might not rest on men's wisdom, but on God's power.

Is Paul here rejecting oratory? Well, dictionary.com defines oratory in three ways:

1. The art of public speaking.
2. Eloquence or skill in making speeches to the public.
3. Public speaking marked by the use of overblown rhetoric.

It seems to me that preaching is self-evidently oratory in its first definition, should aspire to be oratory in its second and should never be oratory in its third. In the rest of this discussion I shall usually use oratory in the second sense of the word, and sometimes the first. I never mean the third, though much of oratory in the first sense is also oratory in the third sense.

Hello again

As you'll see I've not being blogging regularly recently. The main reason for this is that my fiance, Katherine, visited for a few days last week who you can see alluringly holding a glass of orange juice on her 23rd birthday. It was undoubtedly the best week of my time in Washington and I think that had I spent any time blogging while Katherine had been here then I probably should have been shot. Since then, I've done various things including go to a wedding with a male 'bridal attendant', parallel park a pick-up truck (not easy), and spent a long time listening to Australians talk to Americans. The last of these things took place at the 'Gospel Growth vs Church Growth' conference where Phillip Jensen spoke on that very topic. It was fascinating to see how the two cultures interact. Phillip Jensen was as provocative and insightful as ever and while I didn't agree with everything that he said I would recommend the mp3s when they come out.

I also got a copy of Private Eye today which I'm looking forward to reading. I do wonder, however, about the future of a satirical magazine when the headline on the BBC's website currently reads: 'London's police force broke health and safety laws over the shooting dead of Brazilian Jean Charles de Menezes' Err...

Two things

1) This story is why, if you own a red letter bible, you should go out and purchase a proper one as soon as possible. It's not the politics that are the problem but the theology. Note what Tony Campolo writes 'Likewise, we believe the morality in the red letters of Jesus transcends that found in the black letters set down in the Pentateuch, and I'm surprised you don't agree.' Well, to start with, the Pentateuch is not the only part of the Bible that has black letters and Jesus will not allow us to set his words against the rest of God's revelation. He declares "Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished." If you believe that your political convictions should be shaped by the mind of Christ, which all Christians should believe, then you must search the entire Scriptures because Christ approved the old and commissioned the new. Good advice on choosing a Bible can be found here.

2) I think, though I can't be sure, that Al Gore's selection as the Nobel Peace Prize winner is the worst selection since Caligula tried to make his horse a Senator.