Understanding Conservative Christianity, Part 7

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, and Part 6.

Culture and Tradition

By definition, conservative Christians do not create their doctrine, their practice, or their liturgy de novo (from the beginning). Herein lies a problem, however. Some aspects of Christianity cannot be learned in the abstract. They must be caught in the environment of a practiced Christianity. For example, the attitude of reverence cannot be learned apart from worshipping with reverent people. Likewise, we learn our language of prayer by listening to the prayers of our elders. For the most part, our entire liturgy comes to us through the force of lived habit, not through books. What we require to learn these things is an active, living culture within our churches.

This culture does not begin again with every generation. It is handed down from one generation to the next, stretching across time. This culture-stretched-through-time is what we rightly call a “tradition.” Without a living tradition, we are cast upon our own devices.

That is the situation in which conservative Christians actually find themselves. At some point in the past, the living tradition of the church was replaced with newly made traditions invented by pragmatists and worship tinkerers. What is left to us is a new tradition, often an anti-traditional tradition, a tradition that elevates its own inventions to the level of unassailability. Certain aspects of the fundamentalists’ ritual must not be questioned: just try to conduct a service without a howdy time or end it without an altar call. Try suggesting that the graded Sunday school may not be the best way to catechize young people (the mere use of the term catechize will send shock waves through most independent Baptist churches).

We occupy an unenviable position. On the one hand, we are cut off from the living tradition of the past. On the other hand, we have been reared (and most of us still work in) a tradition of recent invention, and it is one that has not conserved the gospel in its integrity, the whole counsel of God, the patience that comes from a sense of God’s sovereignty over the affairs of this world, an emphasis upon the Christian affections, or an interest in meaning. There may be elements within our current traditions that can be salvaged, but the tradition as a whole is of questionable value. Unfortunately, it is the only one that most of us have.

So what are we supposed to do? Some have decided to leave shallow fundamentalist churches for indifferentist evangelical churches. Others seek for solace in assemblies that preserve affection and meaning, but whose doctrinal system is so skewed as to preclude full participation (or sometimes any participation) in the covenant relationship of church membership. Still others remain in fundamentalist churches, vexing their righteous souls but remaining silent. Frankly, I have difficulty seeing the use of any of these approaches. There is no escape.

So what are we supposed to do? Partly, the answer to that question depends upon how serious we think these matters are. Clearly we are surrounded by evils, but are they tolerable evils or intolerable ones? The answer to that question probably varies from situation to situation. Even if the evils are tolerable, however, that does not mean that they should not be challenged.

So what are we supposed to do? In my view, we must begin where we are. The tradition that we’ve been handed is a bad one, but it is the one we’ve got. Lacking alternatives, we have to begin by eliminating what is worst in it and fostering what is best. Then we must begin to reclaim the elements that are missing, seeking to transform the tradition itself.

In order to do that, we are going to have to know the right things to reclaim. These must not be of our own invention. Rather, we must look to the Christian past, and that means more than just reading a book or two. It means immersing ourselves in the genuine tradition of historic Christianity until it becomes part of our spiritual bone and fiber. True, we can never really experience the past as it was lived. That is a weakness, but it is also a strength. It is precisely our distance that allows us to form judgments about what was warranted and useful in the past. At every stage, the Christian tradition has been mixed with the traditions of men. Usually, the mixture was so transparent that people living under the tradition could not tell which was which. As we approach those traditions from a distance, however, we perceive in them a measure of opacity. We can look at them rather than simply looking through them. This ability to look at them is what allows us to make choices.

We can draw confidence from the enduring nature of Christian expression. The things that we want to say are permanent things. They have been said in the past, and they have been said well. If we think that an expression grows irrelevant simply by virtue of its age, what shall we make of Scripture? Is a psalm of Asaph any less relevant today than it was three millennia ago? Is it any less meaningful? Any less powerful? So it is with prayers from Ignatius, with sermons from Chrysostom, with hymns from Ambrose, or with confessions from Augustine. These expressions hold their power exactly where they were thoughtful and meaningful and true to begin with. They are capable of speaking to us today.

So we reclaim resources of the Christian past as we seek to revise (or, better, to reform) the bankrupt traditions of the Christian present. But how are we supposed to approach this task? And on what authority?

Part of the answer lies in attitude, and I will have more to say about our attitudes later. Right now, however, I want to make what I think is an important point. It is this: If any change can be effected, it will be produced through the ministrations of individuals who are willing to exercise leadership. They will probably not be introduced through average people in the pews. They will be wrought by people who are willing to take teaching positions and administrative posts and, more importantly, to pastor churches and plant new ones.

If conservative Christianity is true—as I believe it is—then it is the very Christianity that the world most needs. Moreover, the people who understand it and love it are few. Like it or not, my friends, it is up to us to make a difference, not by pleasing ourselves, and not by making ourselves inconspicuous, but by exercising leadership.

I have no illusions about the prospects of success. If we are frank about our beliefs (and we ought to be), then not many churches or institutions will want us. Even those that tolerate us are likely to misunderstand us. We may find ourselves having to start from scratch again and again. I do not intend to suggest that this is a contest that we can or should win.

But as T. S. Eliot remarked, there are times when we do not fight to win. We fight to keep something alive. In some future day, the dark ages must end, and when they do, the Christians of that day will need the gospel in its integrity. They will need the whole counsel of God. They will need the boldness that comes from recognizing God’s sovereignty over human affairs. They will need ordinate affection and meaning. Our job is to keep these things alive—to conserve them—for that future generation. And who knows: we may even find the occasional church with leaders whom God has prepared to receive a conservative message.

Madrigal

William Drummond (1585-1649)

Ah! silly soul, what wilt thou say,
When he whom earth and heavens obey,
Comes man to judge in the last day;

When he a reason asks, why grace
And goodness thou would’st not embrace,
But steps of vanity didst trace?

That day of terror, vengeance, ire,
Now to prevent thou should’st desire,
And to thy God in haste retire.

With wat’ry eyes, and sigh-swoll’n heart,
O beg, beg in his love a part,
Whilst conscience with remorse doth smart.

That dreaded day of wrath and shame,
In flames shall turn this world’s huge frame,
As sacred prophets do proclaim.

O with what grief shall earthlings groan,
When that great Judge, set on his throne,
Examines strictly every one!

Shrill-sounding trumpets through the air
Shall, from dark sepulchres, each where
Force wretched mortals to appear.

Nature and Death amaz’d remain,
To find their dead arise again,
And process with their Judge maintain.

Display’d then open books shall lie,
Which all those secret crimes descry,
For which the guilty world must die.

The Judge enthron’d, whom bribes not gain,
The closest crimes appear shall plain,
And none unpunished remain.

O who then pity shall poor me,
Or who mine advocate shall be,
When scarce the justest pass shall free?

All wholly holy dreadful King,
Who freely life to thine dost bring,
Of mercy save me, mercy’s spring.

Then, sweet Jesu, call to mind
How of thy pains I was the end,
And favour let me that day find,

In search of me, thou full of pain
Did’st sweat blood, death, on cross sustain;
Let not these suffrings be in vain.

Thou supreme Judge, most just and wise,
Purge me from guilt which on me lies,
Before that day of thine assize.

Charg’d with remorse, lo! here I groan,
Sin makes my face a blush take on;
Ah! spare me prostrate at thy throne;

Who Mary Magdalen didst spare,
And lend’st the thief on cross thine ear,
Showest me fair hopes, I should not fear.

My prayers imperfect are, and weak,
But worthy of thy grace them make,
And save me from hell’s burning lake.

On that great day, at thy right hand,
Grant I amongst thy sheep may stand,
Sequestered from that goatish band.

When that the reprobates are all
To everlasting flames made thrall,
O to thy chosen, Lord, me call!

That I one of thy company,
With those whom thou dost justify,
May live blest in eternity.

This essay is by Dr. Kevin T. Bauder, president of Central Baptist Theological Seminary (Plymouth, MN). Not every professor, student, or alumnus of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.