I can't well describe the terror I felt in my first day of Ecclesiology and Eschatology class. By my instructor's own admission, this is the most sectarian class at the seminary. [And you're not Reformed.--ed.] Right. On the other hand, I've wanted to take this class for 6 years. Still, I cannot assume the truth of Reformed theology, or the legitimacy of its ecclesial structures. Frankly, why would we allow all that to be assumed for so long? How do we account for what even a cursory glance at the Fathers reveals as glaring continuity issues in doctrine? [Eucharist, authority] We could, of course, assume they were wrong. But that would surely invite the question, "What else were they wrong about?" [So you're saying that all of Protestant Christianity is standing on the same ecclesiological ground as, say, the Mormons?--ed.] Exactly. If you have a built-in assumption of corruption, you can believe pretty much anything you want. It gets even less clear when we remember that most of confessional Christianity (whatever that means) accepts, explicitly or implicitly, the Apostles', Nicene, and Athanasian Creeds, plus the Definition of Chalcedon. But don't hear what I'm not saying: I'm not saying a Lutheran is a Mormon is a Presbyterian. [Quite the opposite.--ed.] What I am saying is, given the fact that Protestant Christianity is in agreement with the Catholic Church (and her Orthodox brethren) on the fundamentals of Christology, why?
The fundamental principle of the Reformation is individual interpretation. Sorry if that's unfair. Yet most leaders must have realized quickly that their stated conception of the Church and its authority would open the way for all manner of monstrous interpretations they did not intend. The appeal to ancient creedal authority has a two-fold function, it would seem: 1. To confer at least the appearance of continuity with the ancient Church; and 2. to prevent the most dangerous of the ancient heresies from growing in those communities. (Which, it must be noted, is close to impossible when the individual is the ultimate arbiter of what to accept and reject from the ancient Church.)
Why do I not say that the final interpretive authority of Scripture is the legacy of the Reformation? Because what is so very obvious is that the one meaning of Scripture cannot be determined by us. How can it be definitive when millions of people using the same methods reach different conclusions on matters of so great a significance that, to reside in the same spiritual house would be detrimental, they believe? Let us put aside our easy ecumenism that says, "We're invisibly united in the essentials" because, in fact, we are not. I applaud those confident enough to die with the Covenanters in Scotland, or the Hugenots in France. If you are willing to say that these theologies lately born are the gospel, peace be with you. But make no pretense of continuity.
But what about Scripture? Does it not vindicate both the skeletal outlines of the Protestant theologies, and the Catholic (including the Orthodox)? It appears so. But we cannot possibly determine how reliant upon ecclesiastical authority the Protestant Reformers were. There is no "pure" reliance on Scripture Alone; the rejection of institutional fellowship with the visible remnants of the ancient heresies (Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, "Oneness" groups are obvious examples) prove, to the credit of the Reformers in the main, that individual interpretation has limits. What we've utterly failed to do is explain the nature and the criteria of our loose connection to the episcopal communions and our lack of fellowship generally with the ecclesial descendants of the Reformation itself. We all know and use the word "fundamentalist," and fundamentalism in one sense is a bit like pornography: we know it when we see it. But what kind of ecclesiology is that?
What we really need is to talk about reunion; not as a feel-good story, but as the means of preventing the individualism and indifferentism from swallowing up our communities as surely as it swallows up souls. We're not simply asking, "What does the Bible say?" but we are asking, "Who are we?" We've asked what the Bible says for 500 years, and we're not any closer to unity or truth than when we started. Is that harsh?
To be quite honest and personal about things for a moment, I can't say that anything I've learned from the Reformers (save what they share with the ancients) is something I'd die for. You're not killing me for Sola Fide, or the 5 Points of Calvinism, or Calvin's Eucharistic doctrine. Whatever ends my life if it came to that was probably settled by 400-500 AD. Actually, more than probably. Even were I committed to some barely defensible notion of the invisible church and willing to stay where I am, that would still be true. If I'm on to something at all there, that suggests we should probably zone in on that thousand years in the middle, and get to work. (It might mean Christ's true Church has only two contenders now, but I'm willing to hear an argument on the point.)
The fundamental principle of the Reformation is individual interpretation. Sorry if that's unfair. Yet most leaders must have realized quickly that their stated conception of the Church and its authority would open the way for all manner of monstrous interpretations they did not intend. The appeal to ancient creedal authority has a two-fold function, it would seem: 1. To confer at least the appearance of continuity with the ancient Church; and 2. to prevent the most dangerous of the ancient heresies from growing in those communities. (Which, it must be noted, is close to impossible when the individual is the ultimate arbiter of what to accept and reject from the ancient Church.)
Why do I not say that the final interpretive authority of Scripture is the legacy of the Reformation? Because what is so very obvious is that the one meaning of Scripture cannot be determined by us. How can it be definitive when millions of people using the same methods reach different conclusions on matters of so great a significance that, to reside in the same spiritual house would be detrimental, they believe? Let us put aside our easy ecumenism that says, "We're invisibly united in the essentials" because, in fact, we are not. I applaud those confident enough to die with the Covenanters in Scotland, or the Hugenots in France. If you are willing to say that these theologies lately born are the gospel, peace be with you. But make no pretense of continuity.
But what about Scripture? Does it not vindicate both the skeletal outlines of the Protestant theologies, and the Catholic (including the Orthodox)? It appears so. But we cannot possibly determine how reliant upon ecclesiastical authority the Protestant Reformers were. There is no "pure" reliance on Scripture Alone; the rejection of institutional fellowship with the visible remnants of the ancient heresies (Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, "Oneness" groups are obvious examples) prove, to the credit of the Reformers in the main, that individual interpretation has limits. What we've utterly failed to do is explain the nature and the criteria of our loose connection to the episcopal communions and our lack of fellowship generally with the ecclesial descendants of the Reformation itself. We all know and use the word "fundamentalist," and fundamentalism in one sense is a bit like pornography: we know it when we see it. But what kind of ecclesiology is that?
What we really need is to talk about reunion; not as a feel-good story, but as the means of preventing the individualism and indifferentism from swallowing up our communities as surely as it swallows up souls. We're not simply asking, "What does the Bible say?" but we are asking, "Who are we?" We've asked what the Bible says for 500 years, and we're not any closer to unity or truth than when we started. Is that harsh?
To be quite honest and personal about things for a moment, I can't say that anything I've learned from the Reformers (save what they share with the ancients) is something I'd die for. You're not killing me for Sola Fide, or the 5 Points of Calvinism, or Calvin's Eucharistic doctrine. Whatever ends my life if it came to that was probably settled by 400-500 AD. Actually, more than probably. Even were I committed to some barely defensible notion of the invisible church and willing to stay where I am, that would still be true. If I'm on to something at all there, that suggests we should probably zone in on that thousand years in the middle, and get to work. (It might mean Christ's true Church has only two contenders now, but I'm willing to hear an argument on the point.)
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