Five Points of Biblical Dispute—and an Emperor Without Clothes
For Starters:
There is a great and supernatural unity in the Christian faith that is worth defending and preserving—we are, after all, all one body in Christ (1 Cor 12). For this reason, it is quite worthwhile for us to approach points of disagreement with measures of caution and contemplation, which are unfortunately virtues in short supply in our age of hot-takes and vitriolic social media engagement. We Tweet (X?) faster than we process, and we’ve become quite used to this. Yet we live in a degrading time in Western culture in which the world has far less tolerance for your Christian faith than it may have in previous generations, and we do well to strongly link arms with our brethren whom we may nonetheless argue with out of the corner of our mouths at times. In general, we may disagree with one another on important doctrinal convictions, yet we may commit do so as Christians. Partisan talking points—those short and pithy offerings which almost immediately gain the approval and applause of their particular voting base, yet carry little weight by way of substantive thought—may be expected from political campaigns, yet they are quite unfortunate when found in Christian dialogue.
Talking Points
That being said, there are some doctrinal talking points that seem to be surfacing quite regularly lately that have gained quite a bit of traction, yet it is a bit confounding how that traction has occurred (and been maintained). In particular, some theological goal posts seem to have been adjusted regarding doctrinal categories such as “Baptist” and “amillennial,” and leading figures have set rather stringent boundary markers for these camps that some might want to question (I will add for clarity that I claim neither of these labels, but that is sort of the point). Meanwhile, there are many encouraging engagements of irenic clarity coming out of Virginia and Florida, there are warm entreaties of mutual camaraderie regularly offered out of Moscow, while there persist some rather confusing assertions recently emanating out of Atlanta.
Fairy Tales
Many years ago in Copenhagen, famed author Hans Christian Anderson published the finale of his series Fairy Tales Told for Children, a series containing many children’s stories and adaptations of folktales. In one such story, there is the shocking specter of an emperor who finds himself confidently striding down the street, fully in the nude—having been assured that his clothes were invisible by some dishonest haberdashers (the emperor being something of a misguided clothing afficionado). The gathered masses of his subjects who lined the city streets to observe this spectacle were intimidated into likewise confessing that he was indeed fully clothed, and that his clothes were, in fact, quite resplendent. This farcical deception continues on in the story with widespread affirmation by the crowd until a village child of no account famously (and boldly) observed that the emperor, in fact, had no clothes. Someone had to point out that although many were agreeing with the narrative, the narrative was itself faulty. This child’s observation rather unceremoniously ended the charade, and the facts were laid quite bare (pun intended).
Five Observations on Christian Discourse, in No Particular Order:
There are a few topics and doctrines that are swirling in our current mix—swirling and growing to the extent that things can become quite disorienting to the casual observer (or even those involved in such discussion). Doctrinal disagreements on things such as postmillennialism, theonomy, and Christian Nationalism have made quite a few rounds on social media, while related topics like Christian culture, sphere sovereignty, and Christendom have been frequently dragged into the mix. It should be added that it is increasingly difficult to ascertain who gets to speak for any given movement in these discussions: who represents these views, who represents their opposition, and how did that occur? This often means that the loudest voice or the strongest platform wins the day as spokesperson for a given position, which produces mixed results.
Side Notes
In the face of these challenges, there are some common objections that are foisted upon these discussions: “why does this matter?” “Who cares?” “What about the gospel?” These objections are worth noting and they certainly deserve a response, yet these same objections could be raised against nearly every doctrinal discussion which springs from the pages of Scripture. Yet in delivering a steady and thoughtful response, it seems prudent to resist asking what seems practical, or pragmatic, or possible, but only and everywhere to ask what God has revealed in Scripture (insofar as we are able say). In other words, we are not concerned so much with what works, but moreso concerned with what God has said. It seemed improbable that Job’s abrupt sermon of five Hebrew words would land well, and yet we read of Nineveh repenting from the throne all the way down to the livestock. It seems improbable that God would raise a crucified Man from the grave, and yet we confess that truth without wavering. God does, and His people have faith. To that end, here are a few assertions that seem worth addressing directly:
1. To claim that nations cannot be discipled is to commit eschatological abandonment of the world.
There is a frequent claim that is thrown about quite a bit (particularly by those prone to introspective pietism), which is that nations cannot be discipled. Nations cannot be baptized, after all, and they are much too large to fit into the baptismal font. Fair enough. So then, what is all that language in the Great Commission about? Instead of discipling “the nations,” the contention is instead that we are to disciple those “from” or “out of” those nations. This makes far more sense, it is argued, because we can clearly baptize a person, yet a nation is surely not part of our purview as Christians.
The problem with this contention seems to be the text of Scripture itself, if we might allow just a smidge of exegetical work. In the Great Commission, Christ commanded His gathered disciples to “disciple all the nations” (Matt 29:19). Without bogging down in exegesis, we may observe that the Greek text here is rendered mathēteusate panta ta ethnē—a single command verb (imperative—”make disciples”) followed by a noun with its definite article (“the nations”) and that noun’s related descriptive adjective (“all”). In short, “disciple all the nations” is surely the most straightforward translation (this Greek construction consisting of the well-established constructio ad sensum, as reflected in the NASB & LSB).
Disciple the Nations
Surely, given the biblical text, discipling the nations cannot mean less than—well, discipling the nations. We may talk of the implications for those from the nations, and we may have conversations on how to disciple those nations, but this command seems to demand that the impetus certainly cannot be less than the nations. Claiming that the nations are not in view is akin to pointing at the naked king and remarking at some length on his resplendent robe—when someone must boldly attest that, in fact, the emperor has no clothes.
2. To claim that nations can be judged in rebellion is to correspondingly affirm that nations can be blessed in faithfulness.
Most of us are quite familiar with the many passages in Scripture that speak of the nations being blessed, particularly by God working through His people. God would bless the nations through Abraham’s family (Gen 12), and the Psalms speak of all the families of the nations worshipping before Yahweh (Ps 22:27). The prophets spoke often of the blessings that would flow outward into the nations, and rulers of nations are warned not to forsake God lest their nation face His wrath. In the New Testament, God’s people are certainly called a “holy nation” (1 Pet 2:9), but that does not cancel out the role and place of the other nations of this world—after all, it is not without reason that the Great Commission has “the nations” in its view.
Blessed or Cursed
Many Evangelicals are quite comfortable with the concept of nations being cursed—that is, those nations that rebel will face God’s judgment (even in the here-and-now, before that final judgment). Imperial Rome certainly faced God’s judgment, and few would object to this statement. We know that there are nations that rage against the Lord (Ps 46:6), but also that such raging is futile, in vain, and will incur the rod (Ps 2). But a worthwhile question is this: if a nation can rebel and be judged (to which many would give quick and hearty agreement), is it not likewise true that a nation can submit to Christ and be blessed?
If nations cannot be blessed, we must sharply rebuke those who suggest that our country (or any other) will face downfall or hard times on account of its sins. But if nations can in fact be blessed, then we certainly ought to be open to those who call on all nations to submit to the rule of Christ. We can certainly discuss details of how this works out, but we cannot fail to affirm that the nations are commanded to kiss the Son lest He dash them with a rod of iron (Ps 2). The pretense that the God of heaven and earth does not much care if the nations of this world kiss the Son or not is just that—it is a pretense, and we must again protest that the emperor, in fact, has no clothes.
3. Things can, in fact, be Christian.
Can something be described as Christian? We would certainly hope that there are Christians who may be described as “Christian”—this much seems clear (though perhaps even this fact will be the substance of some future debate). Even while we recognize that the moniker “Christian” is used less than a handful of times in Scripture (and often unflatteringly by others), if someone professes faith in Jesus Christ, most of us would happily grant them the label of “Christian” without much ado. But is that the word’s only application? Is the title “Christian” only true of individual people? Can we not accurately describe people groups, nations, or institutions as “Christian?”
We have been assured by some that this negative assessment is, indeed, the case. Only individual people may be reckoned as “Christian,” yet this outfit of royal clothing quickly begins to seem questionable upon inspection. Can we speak of a “Christian people,” even if we cannot verify each individual person’s salvation? Can we speak of a “Christian church,” even if there are first-time guests present that morning? (after all, how do you baptize a church? may be the retort, if you are keeping up here) Can we speak of a Christian family? A Christian school? Dare we even ask, a Christian nation?
The Bowing of a Nation’s Knee
Yet if a family honors Christ as Lord in their home, if a school is statedly dedicated to honoring Christ as Lord in their school, if God works in the hearts of a nation’s people to such an extent that they determine to overtly honor Christ as Lord in their country, its laws, and its governance—this is surely an appropriate use of the adjective “Christian.” Of course a nation cannot be baptized or have its heart regenerated, but it can certainly bow its knee to the King of Kings (Nineveh certainly seems to have done just that in Jonah 3:5). Supposing that the same God who speaks of nations flowing to his throne has, in fact, little care if those nations corporately submit to him begins to feel a bit threadbare—and we must again protest that the emperor, in fact, has no clothes.
4. God will, in fact, accomplish what He has commanded through His people.
God has given His people several clear commands with which most Christians (certainly most Evangelicals) are quite familiar. Christians are called to make disciples of all the nations (the various aforementioned interpretations notwithstanding). Christians are called to pray that the Father’s kingdom come, and His will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. God’s will is done quite everywhere in heaven, and we are to pray that this would be the case on earth as well—certainly far beyond the solely-sacred confines of our Sunday School classrooms. Christ did not command us to pray that these things would not happen until His return, nor that things would grow worse and worse until such time. Instead, Christ commanded His gathered disciples, and commanded that they pray with confidence that His rule/reign would fill this world, being accomplished through His people (the recipients of these commands) in whom His Spirit dwells.
His Will Be Done
This may be one of the more controversial questions here, but the question must be asked: if Christ commands His disciples to pray for the Father’s kingdom to come and His will to be done on earth as it is in heaven, can (or should) Christians reasonably expect to see that happen? If the answer is “no,” than we should likely radically adjust our methods of teaching these commands from how they have been presented in the past, and we might make quite clear that we are praying and laboring toward ends that will not be accomplished in this age (to be fair, some have certainly done this, and spoken quite consistently about the futility of polishing brass on sinking ships). Such an approach seems in direct conflict with the command as given, but we may at least applaud their consistency. However, if the answer is “yes” (that Christians should confidently expect to see these things happen), we should certainly not scoff at those who look for that kingdom to come, and those who labor that His will be done, on earth as in heaven.
5. A follower of God cannot look with favor on the things that God hates.
Many have objected to the application of God’s law in society. There are surely different proposals for how God’s law-word might be applied, but many have objected to any such application, insofar as they wish to maintain a supposedly-neutral middle-space in our culture, an element of purportedly neutral ground, a public square in society in which every view is somehow equally valid and true. This view has certainly fallen on hard times in recent years with the nearly unprecedented moral rot spewing forth in the West, but some are slower to smell that stench coming on the wind than others. A recent Tweet/X opined that while “Secularism is horrible, […] Christendom is no better.” Christians running around doing Christian things seems fine, but a state or laws or governance doing things for statedly Christian purposes (as such) is a step to far, it seems.
We might observe that although the crowd applauded the naked king, they were all quite well clothed themselves—a cognitive dissonance of sorts, yet a merciful one overall. Similarly, no one truly lives as if a state of neutrality exists: someone’s earnest and heartfelt belief that murder is good and virtuous will not long be tolerated, even in an ostensibly neutral public square with a separatist zeal on the part of the church. Citizens of a town may applaud looting in another city for some misguided reason, but when someone ransacks their own home, their altruism quickly fades and their language immediately shifts to standards of transcendental morality and ultimate authority (you know, “right” and “wrong”).
Popular Fiction of Neutrality
Yet this conception of neutrality is a ubiquitous popular fiction that is often hastily decorated in a Christian veneer and liberally dispensed into our pews. The result is that Christians are led to believe that their actual biblical duty is to not only tolerate, but even to support and help maintain an uninhibited social space that entertains all ideas and beliefs. This seems to be one of the strangest contentions championed by Christian voices—that although God hates something, not only it is permissible to support it, but it is actually our moral duty to act in support of it. After all, if something might be considered “wrong,” what if my own views and opinions are considered wrong by someone, and ought I not preserve my own rights—or so the argument goes.
An example may help: if a group of neo-Philistines gathers together in solidarity to raise a statue to their false god Dagon in the public square of your small midwestern town, is that something that God hates? Once we recover from the initial discomfort of reckoning with the undeniable fact that God hates anything in our day, we may readily confess: well, yes, building a towering statue to the blasphemous fish-god Dagon certainly seems to be something that God looks on with marked disfavor (see 1 Sam 5). So then, if this is the case and we may all agree, should Christians support this idol’s construction, or even be in favor of customs and laws that make it socially expedient to build such an idol? Well, no, that certainly seems to be difficult to say that we in any way should be supporting something that God hates. Again, we need not rush ahead to the details and discuss how exactly we ought prevent the construction of Dagon statues, and what involvement the laws and state should play in such a scenario… all that should come in due time (horse before cart, and all). Yet the Christian’s unwavering opposition to the things that God hates seems to be the foundational question. When we instead elevate beliefs such as democracy and religious pluralism with a fanatical zeal, it seems time that a zealous but clear-headed child may simply exclaim that the emperor, in fact, has no clothes.
“Set yourselves in array against Babylon all around,
all you who bend the bow;
shoot at her, spare no arrows,
for she has sinned against the Lord.”
(Jeremiah 50:14)