Evangelicals and the Stewardship of Words

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Words are cheap today.  It costs almost nothing to publish a single word in the digital age. So, many of my students are word weary. They face a tsunami of words every waking moment. And when they do awaken, the words are waiting for them on their digital devices, in books, in songs, in magazine adverts, in billboards. Words are everywhere. 

There was a time, of course, when words required a death.  Parchment was made from the skin of a calf, goat, or sheep. Books were bound in leather, the jacket of an animal killed for its flesh.  Words on the page were carefully copied, often by monks who saw the faithful duplication of those very words as their sacred vocation. Words were costly once.  Today they are worth almost nothing.

But as Marilyn Chandler McEntyre has argued in her stunningly helpful volume, Caring for Words in a Culture of Lies (Eerdmans, 2009), “caring for language is a moral issue.”  Language is a stewardship. “Words,” says McEntyre, “are entrusted to us as equipment for our life together, to help us survive, guide, and nourish one another.”  In my view, we have been poor stewards of words in general and of the word “evangelical” in particular. And our life together has suffered because of it.

The depreciation of words makes it extraordinarily difficult to rehabilitate them.  “Let’s just get a new one,” many will say. But as someone who taught for a decade at an institution where the word “evangelical” meant something—Trinity Evangelical Divinity School—I’d like to argue for the hard work of resuscitating the word.

Like Kyle Roberts, I’ve always understood “evangelical” to be an adjective modifying “Christian.”   And, really, only as one descriptor in a string that precedes the noun.  For me, the other adjectives include words like Apostolic, Nicene, Orthodox, Protestant, and Baptist.  And each of these adjectives has a genealogy of affirmations, denials, persons, and historical moments. Those words mean something. And I am happy to point to their origins and defend my use of them as short-hand to describe the variety of noun that I am.

When words are so cheap and thrown about so carelessly, it is incumbent on those of us who use them to define them for both ourselves and others. And as Sarah Ruden commented at the very end of her reflection, I’m at least as interested in showing what it means to be evangelical as I am in saying what is meant by the term.

Nevertheless, I have little doubt that the adjective will live on for at least several future generations, maybe longer. It is too embedded in our institutional life simply to vanish. When asked what I mean by evangelical I will continue to point back to David Bebbington’s helpful definition and George Marsden’s identification of evangelical affirmations.  Yet because of our contemporary laxness in the stewardship of words, I will also continue to ask what someone means when they use the word.

I have even more confidence that evangelicals themselves will live on, whatever the designation comes to mean over the next generations. Conversionist, Activist, Biblicist, Crucicentric Christianity will survive our word wars. Their numbers may wax and wane, their influence may be more or less felt; but they will survive until Jesus comes.

Having said that, then, it is important to affirm that the most crucial word in that string of words by which I describe myself is the noun.  I am a Christian, a disciple of the Lord Jesus, a follower of the Way.  This is how Charles Haddon Spurgeon, the 19th-century prince of preachers, described himself in his first sermon at London’s Metropolitan Tabernacle in 1861: “I am never ashamed to avow myself a Calvinist; I do not hesitate to take the name of Baptist; but if I am asked what is my creed, I reply, ‘It is Jesus Christ.’”

The reason the noun is most important is because the Author and Finisher of our faith did not pray in John 17 that “evangelicals would be one” just as he and his Father are one, but that God’s people would be one people.  It is the Church for whom Christ died, and it is for her unity that Jesus prayed.  And that’s why I am glad to participate in these conversations with brothers and sisters who identify themselves as Christ-followers.

Whatever adjectives we use to describe ourselves—and words are important I have argued—it is for the unity of the Church that I also pray. Here and there I have been able to experience that unity. In my own disciplinary specialty, bioethics, I have been privileged to worship with and labor alongside men and women of a variety of adjectives (and in some cases even different nouns).  Doing so has led to what some have called an “ecumenism of the trenches.”  That trenchy ecumenism has often raised my hopes for a more robust ecumenism.  Christians live in hope. Insofar as the Church embraces her eschatology, we know that all those adjectives will one day dissolve into the noun. And those who are in Christ shall be gloriously one.

So I hope that through these Respectful Conversations we can acknowledge our distinctives while celebrating our unity. Words matter.  “Christian” matters. Whatever our adjectives, let the noun speak louder than words.

Future Questions

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I am sliding into this conversation from one of the “frames” that John Hawthorne uses to define the modern evangelicalism—the world of Christian higher education, represented largely by the institutions in the Council for Christian Colleges and Universities.  Having served now at four of these institutions, I have often found myself in the midst of earnest discussions about the current state of evangelicalism, whether as a panelist or simply an eavesdropper.  To my ear at least, efforts to define evangelicalism seem far more vital to institutional leaders and veteran faculty than they do for younger faculty and students, who often seem eager, as Sarah Ruden cogently observes, to be part of a movement that “doesn’t need to explain itself” but rather “just needs to be itself.”   

Admittedly, attempts to define—or even simply to preserve—the term evangelical lead us to embrace certain paradoxes.  On the one hand, despite the continual bad press in major media, I have always felt that the term “evangelical” meant something quite vibrant and life-giving for many Christian educators in the late twentieth-century.  For several of us, it was the term that signaled release from the fundamentalist and denominational rigidities that defined many Christian churches and schools during our own youth; it invoked the desire to blend inquiry with piety and service and to unify some of the splintered movements of American Protestantism.   It had the capacity to set a few principles at the center—the divinity of Christ, the authority of Scripture, the importance of personal confession and repentance, the value of witness and compassion—and push to the edges some previously fierce disputes over ecclesiology, eschatology, and inerrancy, etc.

At the same time, being evangelical was one way of escaping being Evangelical.  Whenever the Evangelical movement of the late twentieth century began to be too politicized, too overlaid with the language of the culture wars or commercialism, one could always invoke a richer heritage of evangelicalism, such as the populist reformers of the nineteenth century, the revivalist spirit of various Awakenings, or even the euphoric joy of first-century converts. In other words, evangelicalism did have sufficient history to renew itself whenever the latest Evangelical movement became too myopic.

But, as healthy as the discussion over what evangelicalism is and has been, I do sense that this discussion has become increasingly distant from the horizons of youth.  No doubt, there is great value in helping a liberally educated student understand the recent and broader evangelical tradition.  Students are quite interested in hearing professors’ stories about their spiritual journeys—and how they arrived at a place where they align themselves with the evangelical community and heritage.  Those stories do provide inspiration and guidance for students trying to find their own identity and place as Christians, though student seem far less likely to use the term evangelical to forecast the future trajectory of their faith walk.

In one respect, I am not deeply concerned about a diminishing use of the term evangelical by youth.  As long as young Christians love the Lord with heart, soul and mind we shouldn’t worry too much about whether they self-identify as evangelicals.  And I would assume that the term evangelical has sufficient resonance in the history of the Church that it will always be invoked to describe aspects of the Christian community and perspectives, even if the term is applied in more elastic ways in the future.  But what I am concerned about is that the term could fall into decline because too many college-age and young adult Christians do not see the Evangelical movement as a robust resource for addressing twenty-first century questions. 

In a short space, I can mention only a few places where we might strengthen our efforts to address those questions.  First, I would say that many young adults are looking for guidance on how to reconcile their “digital selves” and their “monastic selves.”  They want a religious community and experience that is at ease with technological advances.  Evangelicals, one could argue, have long been early adopters of populist technologies, whether it was radio broadcasts, filmstrips or guitars in church a couple generations ago or Facebook communities and theology on Twitter now.  It is easy to suggest that the churches that will thrive in the next decades are the ones most adept with social media.  But I am also sensing that young and middle-aged persons are feeling increasingly overwhelmed and even disoriented by their digitized existence, and for many there is a tendency to idealize the historic traditions of silence, iconography, and liturgy, even if they pursue those disciplines in only small doses.  They are not ready to be St. Francis or Henry David Thoreau, but they want some spiritual awakening apart from the mediated experience.  The question of balance needs to be on the theological table.   

Second, I know that students are quite eager for guidance on how to be persons of theological conviction and how to function respectfully and generously in a pluralistic and interfaith world.  Evangelicals have long emphasized the importance of propositional truths.  Rich, vigorous and respectful debate about these propositions can be a beautiful thing, but more often than not the defense of propositions within Evangelical subculture has led to the eviscerating of rivals.  In recent Barna survey, middle-aged and older Evangelicals were four times more likely to have seen Dinesh D’Souza’s anti-Obama film than Spielberg’s “Lincoln.”  My impression is that students are tired of jeremiads and are eager to know how to hold firmly to convictions and still participate in interfaith and pluralistic conversations that require prudent compromise, and civil discourse to promote justice and reduce violence—in short, the kind of leader and citizen that Spielberg tried to represent in the sixteenth president.  There is a hearty discussion of civic responsibility in certain corners of the Evangelical movement, but churches and colleges need to do more to bring this discourse into the life of their communities. 

We also need a more visible and irenic discourse about theology and science.  The debate over “origins” has so dominated Evangelicals’ discussions of science that it has left some of the most significant ethical and scientific questions on the shelf.  Those questions are compounding rapidly.  Some of these questions about the possibilities and responsibilities of science are enormously complex: how do we encourage genetic experimentation and brain research and yet draw boundaries about human dignity?  How do we promote scientific initiative and yet insure that proprietary science does not draw resources away from the disadvantaged and the poor?  How do we promote economic growth that will raise standards of living worldwide without countenancing the most ecologically destructive practices of urban and economic expansion?  Sometimes we are so accustomed to theological teaching and preaching as authoritative that conscientious teachers and preachers humbly avoid venturing onto questions like these that are highly political or outside their expertise.  But students do feel the silence.  Can we more compellingly demonstrate how scriptural teaching and theological ideas help address these questions without imposing a singular conclusion or hermeutic on them?  

“Evangelical” is an Adjective, not a Noun

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My story is similar to the one John Wilson told in his post, in that I was introduced to the terms “evangelical” and “evangelicalism” during my freshman year at Wheaton. Prior to that, I simply thought of myself as a Baptist Christian. Thereafter, I ran into “evangelicals” and “evangelicalism” everywhere. “Evangelical” became an all-pervasive noun, seemingly more important than the denominational traditions from which we came. That one was a Methodist or a Presbyterian or a Baptist seemed to matter far less being an Evangelical. Furthermore, some seemed to think (as many still do) that evangelical is basically synonymous with Christian. 

So here is my question: Are we evangelicals (a noun), or evangelical Christians (an adjective)? Perhaps it’s time we think of “evangelical” as an adjective—a qualifier nuancing a more central identity: Christian or Christ-follower. Grammar makes a difference.

Using evangelical as a noun—and evangelicalism as a monolithic category—is no longer tenable. So you’re an evangelical. Ok, but what kind? The aptly titled book, The Varieties of American Evangelicalism (edited by Donald Dayton and Robert Johnston) put forward no less than twelve identifiable streams of evangelical identities–and that’s just the American varieties (see Amos Yong’s post). These can be grouped in more encompassing categories, such as Dayton’s three “types”: (1) Protestant/Lutheran, (2) Revivalistic, and (3) Fundamentalist evangelicals. And as others have pointed out, evangelical Christians can be found in traditions outside of Protestantism as well. These categories reflect the diversity of evangelical identities and illustrate the elusiveness of defining the term. Particularly in our post-denominational context, evangelical is a fluid descriptor; believers hop from one church or denomination to another with more frequency than they change their toothpaste brands.

The Jewish sociologist Alan Wolfe has suggested that, due to the “transformation of American religion,” we are all evangelicals now. The pragmatic, reformist, transient impulse that has characterized evangelical movements has become nearly synonymous with American religion itself. Looking into the past, the most inspirational moments in evangelical Christianity have come from their disposition for reform and their passion for transformation. 

This is why I find myself resonating in particular with Amos Yong and John Franke when they emphasize the renewal and reformist impulses of the various evangelical streams. That renewal impulse is exactly why evangelicalism will remain a perplexingly variegated concoction of Christians, churches, house communities and collectives, para-churches, social ministries, and educational institutions. No one gets to finally define what the “evangelical” adjective means. It will remain both dynamic and perplexing.

Evangelical Christians come in all sorts and shapes, but the best hope for our collective future lies in emphasizing those things which have been most central to our identity when we have been most unified: i.e., the centrality of Christ for salvation, the authority of Scripture for salvation and the Christian life, the importance of inward transformation and social action, and the hope-filled impulse to share the good news (gospel) that Jesus Christ is Lord through the power of the Spirit. 

Lately, I find myself understanding my own religious identity more in terms of the specifics of my Pietist, Baptist, and free-church heritage than in terms of “evangelical” as defining marker (the noun). Within the broad coalitions and families of those who hold share the evangelical adjective, I sense that the Pietist stream of evangelical Christians have a great deal to offer to our collective, efforts toward renewal and reformation. Pietist Christianity is grounded on central orthodox convictions (Trinity, Christ, cross, Scripture) and emphasizes both personal and social transformation (sanctification and mission). Yet, Pietists are known for flexibility of theological exploration and an appreciation for the experiential and relational elements of theological knowledge. These seem necessary for practicing an irenic, inclusive, socially-relevant faith in our present context. An increased role for Pietist expressions or Pietistically-informed streams of evangelical Christianity can greatly benefit the larger project of Christian renewal.

I agree with what I’ve heard most contributors suggest so far in this conversation: we do not need to call for a moratorium on the use of the term evangelical (as Donald Dayton famously suggested). But if we are going to retain or recover a healthy semblance of unity amidst diversity for the future, I wonder if those of us who are prone to thinking of ourselves too often as evangelicals (the noun) should begin to consciously identify rather as evangelical Christians (an adjective) who share a common ethos and a central passion for the Gospel. By the Gospel I mean the story of Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God and risen Christ, who is reconciling sinners—and the created order—to God and who invites all believers to join in that project of reconciliation. When that ethos and passion have been the primary characteristics of evangelical Christians, we have been most unified, despite our variety. 

Imagining the Evangelical and Evangelical Positioning

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The term “evangelical” like the Gospel, is the common property of all Christians. As I come to this conversation, I am thinking about Wolfhart Pannenberg’s prediction for the 21st century: Christianity will be made up primarily of three groupings: Orthodox, Catholic and Evangelical. When Pannenberg chose these broadest Christian categories two basic orientations were in mind: essential Christian identity markers and that “evangelical” had come to mean something which is both modern and orthodox. This latter was in contrast to the declining liberal theology and ecclesiology that was so defining of Protestantism over the past two centuries. In contrast to evangelical theology, liberal theology had more or less abandoned the reality of revelation through Christ as either completely contested, de-centered and anthropocentric or only part of the historic symbology of the Christian religion and nothing more

“Evangelical” stands next to Orthodox and Catholic (each of which stand for highly diverse communities and are, “lower case” distinct adjectives for Christianity itself). But I am resistant, I must confess, to the term “evangelicalism” – as used in the titles of all proposed seven topics to be addressed in this conversation. It is the -ism part of this term that causes me pause, as I hope it does on the part of many of my contemporaries in Evangelical theology. Let us be clear, in common educational parlance, the “-ism” suffix denotes a certain constellation of “modern” categories that do not at all overlap with what theology does vis-à-vis the church and the world  when scripture is exposited in the pursuit of Christian living.  This matter points as well to the very tricky tradition of “Christian apologetics” at the liminal spaces between theology and philosophy, or, as some might more negatively assert, in the spaces of cultural warfare and cultural popularity contests. In some cases, the apologetics’ bent is so passionate that it risks further devolution into the territory of banal ideology and even personality cult in the pursuit of truth for the public square. In addition, “-isms” are too frequently about political validation and utility; the vying for social privilege and offerings to power of justificatory arguments at a religious level – you can’t get any higher approbation than God’s for your political party or nation state. “Evangelicalism” simultaneously over- and under- determines what the term could mean. Orthodox or Catholic would not use the term “evangelicalism”, but gladly use “Evangelical” as appropriate for their own traditions. On its face the term is inadequate much like the now infrequently used, “Catholicism”, and the impossible “Orthodox-ism”. No self-respecting Protestant ought to use the term. What we look might look for is Christianity as the Evangel; along with the Evangelical Church(es), Evangelical Theology, Evangelical Christianity. With the –ism, “evangelical” seems to become terminological and ill-fated; much like the appropriation of “supernaturalism” and the “supernatural” – in spite of a modern attempt to “naturalize” the terms to Christian affirmation. Like supernaturalism with its origins in literary circles, “evangelicalism” is neither confessional nor ecclesiological and merits a gradual retirement from the scene.

The title of this contribution, “Imaging the Evangelical…”, risks making a little reminder that while Evangelical, Orthodox and Catholic may be the order of priority for evangelical identity, theologizing is always a tertiary, multidimensional task, radically grounded in our lived moments, even if we are couching our formulations in the most traditionalist frameworks. There are many products of the imagination as a fundamental feature of mental life and rationality – all the way from the critical formation of scientific propositions to elaborate myths of culture. Christian theology has always had exponents who held that the wedding of faith and reason practices a kind of science that responds cognitively to the revelation of God in Christ. This is certainly what Thomas Aquinas had in mind as did Thomas F. Torrance of blessed memory. Karl Barth, “The Evangelical Church Father”, was emphatic about any ascription to “myth” regarding what proper theology does as always pejorative, let alone in any referencing at all to the biblical text. Indeed, it is precisely at points where Barth is most emphatically “evangelical” that his Reformed theology continues to be contested: denied, by those who are insistent to appropriate him on their own terms and propounded, by those who are insistent upon necessary corrections and advancements afforded by the Reformation.

By use of the term, “Positioning”, the title also denotes a diverse spectrum of Christianity or “Christianities” as some might prefer. Modern evangelicals, particularly of the American kind, have played out their own doctrinal polemic in their generations of opposition to theological “liberalism” (the fitting term juxtaposed to “evangelicalism”) – an opposition that has been entirely mutual. It has been often noted that the singularly most decisive contribution of J. Gresham Machen to modern theology is his book: Christianity and Liberalism (1923) which proffered the judgment that “liberal Christianity” was an altogether different religion than historic Christianity. Since the first half of the 20th century with all its fundamentalist / modernist splits, the massive creation of parachurch organizations after 1945 and the continuing commitment to evangelization, by the 1970’s, a new ecumenism became evident with the appearing of many Roman Catholic / Evangelical and Orthodox / Evangelical alliances. Mainline Protestantism had been precipitously declining in terms of mission and theological leadership: imploding more from within than from critical debate with the too often separatist evangelicals as they too often policed only their own ranks. Nothing quite illustrates this latter better than Harold Lindsell’s Battle for the Bible (1978); a struggle within that continues to claim victims and trophies. Evangelicalism suffers terribly often by what it rejects than what it affirms – or at least so it appears. Not ecclesiologically hierarchical as Catholicism and Orthodoxy, evangelicals and their movements are actually quite attentive to confessional norms in theology. Are evangelical lay persons any more biblically illiterate than their Catholic or Orthodox counterparts? Probably not and there is certainly a great deal of cross-fertilization of biblical and traditional theologies amongst them. Evangelicals, whether Reformed or Wesleyan (is it necessary to add “Baptist” and “Pentecostal”?), more and more position themselves alongside Catholic and Orthodox while retaining some kind of essential hold to the Reformation with its concentration on essentials of soteriology.

Finally, for the moment, I would like to conclude this little position paper with reference to soteriology. Luther’s original query: “How can I get a gracious God?” is still the central evangelical question. Vitally connected to this question are the “five sola’s” of the epoch: Christ alone, grace alone, scripture alone, faith alone, to God alone be the glory. This pattern, and a multitude of variants, is a theological hermeneutic that is distinctly evangelical and hard to dismiss, even from Catholic and Orthodox perspectives. It is driven by a soteriological priority where the ground of revelation is Christ and Christ is known through the revelation that is scripture. The traditions of evangelical theology and mission are dizzyingly varied and often regarded as destructive of Christian unity. More and more, my tendency is to see the different ways in which diversity is dealt with across the three major expressions of Christianity. I like the sociological assessment of monotheism’s diversity in the history of human civilizations by Rodney Stark – its immense diversity is anthropological evidence of its persuasiveness. 

Lived Evangelicalism – Present Conditions and Future Possibilities

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As these first posts from our friends indicate, there is such a thing as evangelicalism understood from historical, theological, sociological and cultural perspectives, and then there are all sorts of evangelicalisms in their more popular forms that are lived out by all sorts of people in all sorts of churches with all sorts of understandings of what it means to “be” an evangelical.  It is evangelicalism at this more popular level I find fascinating with lived beliefs and practices that perhaps say more about who evangelicals are in their own self-understanding, and give us insight into present conditions and future possibilities. 

As John Wilson rightly notes, many Christians in North America are evangelicals without owning the label.  This was true in his own Baptist context, and it is true for Christians in mainline traditions that are “evangelical” but do not use this term as a self-designation, such as my own United Methodist ecclesial context.  But what about the many Christians who do say “I am an evangelical” and “I go to an evangelical church,” who are largely unaware of the ways in which evangelical faith and practice have come to be in its distinct North American forms?  What shapes this kind of self-identity? What might be their self-understanding of this identification as it is actually lived out in their own lives?   These seem to me to be the harder questions to ask for ascertaining present conditions and future possibilities. 

I agree with John Franke that there is a theological ecumenism in evangelicalism based on its trans-ecclesial nature as a movement as opposed to a particular denomination or confessional stance. Those of us who “live and move and have our being” in these kinds of conversations understand this. However, on a lived level, I am not as optimistic about this evangelical ecumenical spirit for a few reasons. Given what we know about the emergence of certain segments of contemporary North American evangelicalism out of the modernist-fundamentalist controversies of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, seeds of separation from those with whom there is theologically disagreement have been part of the DNA of much contemporary evangelicalism.  While I too affirm the Scriptural mandate for the unity of the church as a normative one for Christians, I find a higher commitment to truth at all cost among evangelicals (at least in the forms of propositional truth statements) as the supreme virtue, largely at the expense of other important commitments, such as unity, love, kindness, compassion, forbearance and a much needed epistemic and personal humility.

I think Vince is right when he presses on the ways in which the sola scriptura principle gets lived out in actual practices in many evangelical contexts.  A common thread in each of these first posts noted the centrality of the Bible for evangelicals.  I couldn’t agree more, and am very grateful for my own evangelical heritage that explains my own deep commitments to Scripture today.  Yet, I would suggest that the commitment to the Bible’s authority, understood in a very particular way, has become a confession that is used to determine who is in and who is out of the evangelical fold.  This particular way of articulating Scripture’s authority in most evangelical contexts is inerrancy which does not solve the hermeneutical difficulties of reading and interpreting Scripture nor of making appropriate hermeneutical jumps from one context to another, nor how we understand authority or how it actually functions when reading the Bible.  Many evangelicals know what they think about the Bible, without actually knowing the narrative and trajectories of Scripture.  This is where evangelicals can benefit from a theological interpretation of Scripture, reminding us of the larger faith, theological, ecclesial, and formation contexts of our reading of the Bible. This is a way forward for a future possibility in order to appreciate and live out the functional authority of Scripture that evangelicals value as opposed to insisting on a particular view of the Bible’s authority as authoritative. 

I find Amos’ re-envisioning of evangelical distinctives helpful as he reminds us of the prominent role which the Holy Spirit has in certain “Pentecostal, charismatic, and renewalist spins” in reference to Bebbington’s categories.  This experiential dimension is a good reminder, given most evangelicals insist that one must have a personal relationship and an on-going experience with God through Christ made possible by the Holy Spirit as a mark of authentic evangelical piety and faith.  Evangelical faith has always had a deeply experiential component, yet evangelicals also maintain degrees of ambivalence toward experience as somewhat untrustworthy, fickle, and even dangerous.  I have heard often a  warning that goes something like this: “every experience must be weighed and judged against the Scriptures.”  Yet, there are all sorts of bizarre experiences recorded in Scripture that would never pass the muster of this kind of scientific judgment and evaluation of authenticity in the evangelical contexts in which I have been a part. I think evangelical experience has been shaped by all sorts of things such as race, class, and gender that go unnamed as experience but must be named for the ways they shape evangelical identity and practice. For Wesley, experience in Christian faith was never unmoored from the primary shaping source of Scripture, from faithful Christian traditions, and from our capacities to use reason to understand more fully and to evaluate more faithfully.  Along with an interpretation of Scripture that is more theological in scope, purpose and practice, I think a robust lived trinitarianism also holds some fruitful possibilities, particularly when it comes to how we understand experience in light of the Holy Spirit’s relationship to the missional and creating purposes of the Son and the Father, commitments which evangelicals hold dear.  

As postmodern theorists remind us, identities are shaped and are always being shaped.  This conversation reminds us that evangelical identity has been shaped, is being shaped, and will continue to be shaped, much to the consternation of some.  I resonated with insights offered by Corwin Smidt and the reminders offered by Jeannine Brown.  How we respond to the important questions posed in this conversation about evangelicalism, identity, practice, history and meaning may need a caveat of, “well, it depends.”  Our contributors have helpfully clarified some of these issues. It depends on the trajectories of evangelicalism in which we find ourselves; the ecclesial communities with which we identify; in what part of the country we live; the parachurch organizations of which we have been  a part; where we have been educated, along with how we read the Bible and what theological claims we make as primary ones.  I suggest that evangelical identity formation may largely be hidden from view, and I suspect this is the more difficult aspect of evangelical identity and belonging to address, the one which many of us have experienced, and perhaps the area which has caused the greatest pain to those whose experience is not counted as part of the evangelical mainstream, such as women, who are often shaped and constrained by the prevailing gender ideologies that have characterized so much of evangelical faith and practice.  It is for this reason that exploring evangelical identity and practice through more popular (and hence more powerful?) lenses may give us more clues to present conditions and future possibilities. 

Instead, Joy

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I greeted the primary contributions with a certain amount of impatience and frustration—accompanied with shame, since I know how deeply experienced the contributors are (compared to myself) in evaluating the position of Evangelicalism. But the cause of my feelings may actually be encouraging to these thinkers. I don’t want them to be oppressed with categories, qualifications, and cautious optimism, but rather to realize that even to an outsider like me, they can seem indispensable in saving the world.

While I was a visiting scholar at Yale Divinity School, I expressed to Jon Bonk, director of the Overseas Ministries Study Center across the road, a politely skeptical interest in his evangelism course for the divinity students. What would an “evangelism” curriculum include? I wanted to know. Jon replied that he first took the class up to the immigration court at Harford to listen to a whole day of hearings, many without lawyers or translators on hand to assist the prospective deportees, some of whom were headed back to political prisons and torture. Jon’s students, he felt, had to be aware of this before they considered their role in spreading the Gospel.

Jon’s pedagogy contained a stunning logic that I had never perceived at childhood church camps stressing friendship with Jesus or in my adult life as a Quaker. The problem Judaeo-Christianity is supposed to address is human shortcomings, the cost of which becomes more horrifying by the decade. But how can a privileged, self-satisfied American (say, a Yale professional student—or, um, me, writing books for publishers in Manhattan, New Haven, and Boston), without special intervention, grasp the life-giving idea of sin, in a modern culture designed to hide even basic cause and effect? Isn’t the task, then, to shock that person out of his complacency, not with stories of hell (which he’ll sneer at as mere stories), but just by inducing him to look around and persuading him that he, like everyone else, is a sinner, but could bear to acknowledge it because he also has hope? That’s the basic evangelical mission.

This realization is, to me anyway, a source of great joy: I think our new Great Awakening will be from a deep and deadening sleep. Technology makes previously laborious, choice-heavy acts quick and easy and concentrates our minds simply on doing more of them. Highly automated, super-convoluted marketplaces hide what goods and services cost, in every sense of that word. The media’s presentation of things going wrong normally stimulates no responses but Schadenfreude and the impression that experts are fixing whatever fragmentary, temporary difficulties—and these must comprise all difficulties, right?—they notice between commercials. Politicians and pundits fast-talk past how our functionaries actually do things like “securing our borders”—and past every other big question. And work is so complex and rushed and competitive that a pompous busy-ness fights against any curiosity about the generality of current sin, which is that other people’s distant, disregarded agony gives us huge benefits, so that we can effortlessly do evil and yet feel good. To my mind, the fundamentally alarming thing isn’t that someone trained to face the suggestion of his own and his society’s sinfulness with disbelief or indignation doesn’t understand or accept a metaphysical principle. It’s that he doesn’t even have a grip on physical reality.

Outward-looking Christianity, whether it embraces the descriptor Evangelical or not, and whichever of the Biblical assertions of the urgent need for God it prefers, can reintroduce reality of all kinds. I find particular encouragement in Evangelicalism’s powerful counterweight to our main other means of explanation, the social sciences.

I came across a typical article in The New York Times Sunday Magazine of May 5. I say typical, because in the secular media the parameters of thought are set by two purposes: to make the authors, readers, and favored subjects look and feel good or at least conveniently helpless; and to make others look bad. This article was actually two media productions and one and a quarter purposes folded into one. Jim Yong Kim, the president of the World Bank, had held a news conference to announce the elimination of “extreme poverty” in a large percentage of the world population; and Annie Lowrey, an economics reporter for the Times, reported the news for the most part uncritically, expressing a few qualifications and quoting Lant Pritchett of the Harvard Kennedy School of Government, who disputes the narrowness of the World Bank’s goal; but if he had had more to say on this occasion, it wasn’t in the article.

Reading to the end, I wanted to bang my head against a wall. The breakdown of thinking necessary for secular pundits to avoid obvious conclusions amounts almost to a coma. Considered as homines sapientes—children of God like ourselves, who deserve the attention we’re used to claiming—and not numbers, poor people are a great deal more troublesome when they have incomes rising over $1.25 a day (the World Bank threshold below which they are supposed to be extremely poor) due to the opportunities of urbanization, than when they live in mud-hut rural destitution—where, however, they can of course by no means be induced to stay. Considered as human nature and not the premise for highly profitable, self-congratulatory interventions, people’s needs include the assurance that someone with power actually cares about the mammoth gaps in well-being, the ludicrous corruption, and the fearsome environmental collapses in their cities. Otherwise, what is their rationale for holding back from mass violence and the destabilization of their governments?  Take a wild guess as to whether that assurance is coming from the World Bank.

The truth—as opposed to the ultimate lie that the world’s physical resources will stretch indefinitely with the help of technology and make and keep seven billion or more people middle-class by American standards—is that to save the world we will have to sacrifice ourselves. What retrograde, suspicious language, and what a grisly threat to our “dreams” of entitlement. But really, the only viable ideas about the future start with those of Biblical Christianity and sketch as close an imitation of Christ as mortals can achieve. All familiarly formulated questions of Biblical inerrancy aside, this stuff is reality because we can open our eyes and see it; it’s empirical. This is why, as I figure it, the Evangelical movement doesn’t need to explain itself; it just needs to be itself.

 

Evangelicalism as Platonism: A Response to Enns

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Peter Enns is surely right when he says that “defining ‘Evangelicalism’ in America is like trying to hit a moving target.”  His initial observation has been echoed by others (e.g., Bacote and Wilson), and the very shape of the conversation thus far underscores the point.  Proposals that lean on Bebbington’s quadrilateral (see Yong: “Biblicism, crucicentrism, activism, and conversionism”), while not without merit in light of Evangelicalism’s origin in the 20th century, seem strained by present sociological realities (as noted by Smidt, Franke, and Wilson).  Thus, Enns wonders, “whether Evangelicalism as it has been understood can genuinely enter into a broader dialogue and accept its role as one voice among many while also retaining its traditional Evangelical identity.”  As Enns no doubt knows, the likelihood of success in this undertaking depends, in part, on the nature of Evangelicalism’s traditionally understood identity – one that is presently, to some extent, in “crisis”.

By way of response to some of the challenges Enns’s remarks raise, I’d like to propose a way of thinking about Evangelical identity that captures the spirit of its actual history, explains its present sociological tensions, and provides a blueprint (admittedly unsatisfying) for moving forward with a “genuinely broader dialogue.” 

Like Enns, I think it is a mistake to think of Evangelicalism itself as “the standard against which other traditions should be judged.”  But this is not because Evangelicalism is a “relatively recent, culturally conditioned, expression of Christianity.”  (Though, “traditionally understood”, it is.)  Rather, it is because Evangelicalism is perhaps better construed as an impulse or a posture concretely embodied in the individual lives and communities who so identify.  My suggestion is that this Evangelical impulse is helpfully understood as a kind of tacit Platonism. 

To see this, consider the difference between an Evangelical and a Catholic reading of Peter’s confession of Christ in Matthew 16:16, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”  For the Catholic, the “rock” on which Christ builds the church is not merely Peter’s confession.  It is also the apostle himself, together with the communion of his visible successors.  Thus, for the Catholic, the form of the gospel itself is immanently embodied in the organismal life of the church of Rome.  If I’m right about this, Catholics have what amounts to an Aristotelian understanding of the relationship between the gospel (immanent form) and the visible church (matter). 

Evangelicals don’t.  By contrast, Evangelicals take the “rock” upon which Christ builds the church to be the Platonic form of the Gospel itself; it is that-to-which Peter’s confession points.  But by virtue of its transcendent nature, it is never reducible to nor identical with any visible human institution. 

If I’m right to construe the Evangelical impulse as a kind of tacit Platonism, then on the one hand, Enns is right to say that it’s simply “one attempt to express faithfulness to God.”  Yet, on the other hand, the impulse itself, in the history of Christianity, is arguably much deeper than the 20th century “American historical context.”  For the impulse to disentangle something of the essence of the Platonic form of the Gospel itself from its particular manifestation in concrete historic churches is arguably rooted in the Reformation, if not Scripture itself.  (Hence, it’s not a category mistake for Catholics to speak of a diversity of protestants as “Evangelicals” in, for instance, the “Evangelicals and Catholics Together” effort.)

This way of understanding the nature of Evangelical identity affords a unifying principle for the present sociological diversity.  The tension arising “within the ranks” to “re-engage issues thought long settle and indisputable” is merely the manifestation of the dialogical process that is itself intrinsic to the pursuit of any transcendent Form.  Socrates, after all, spent his entire career arguing. 

We should not be surprised to find, as Enns points out, that “many have grown dissatisfied with Evangelicalism’s effectiveness to provide a coherent spiritual path.”  Pursuing a Platonic ideal by means of arduous dialectic is not for the epistemologically faint of heart.  The “restless” may give up the quest for any number of reasons: a preference for shadows rather than substance, a conviction that the long-sought Form is to be found in a particular institution (e.g., Rome), or a lack of epistemological intestinal fortitude that the Platonic project requires. 

Strikingly, Enns frames his critical question about the future of Evangelicalism in gastronomic terms: “is it within Evangelicalism’s constitution to assess its own identity in what seems like such a dramatic fashion?” (emphasis mine).  If my suggestion is right, the answer is plain.  Those with a deep Evangelical impulse (Platonically understood) will.  Those without it won’t. 

For me, the more crucial question is whether those who genuinely possess the Platonic Evangelical impulse recognize and accept the dialectical reality upon which the pursuit of the true form of the Gospel depends.  That some self-professed Evangelicals might not is evident in at least two important ways.  First, as Enns correctly points out, some “do not easily tolerate calls for critical self-assessment and theological adjustment.”  Undoubtedly, this is one of the contributing factors to the “pilgrimages” away from Evangelicalism to which Enns alludes.  Second, rather than merely resisting critique, others may resist the logical demands of the dialectical process itself (i.e., the very grounds on which criticism is possible).  For the latter, the cultivation of mood – one characterized principally by the avoidance of divisiveness and contention – takes precedence over the exacting nature of truth. 

Of course, the recognition and acceptance of dialectic as a way forward for Evangelicalism does not, by itself, necessitate a lack of charity in engagement.  That is why I’m grateful both for the space this forum provides for (admittedly wild!) ideas such as these to be tested and for the hospitable spirit with which the conversation has already begun.  May it continue to be so!

Invitations to Reflect on Location and Engage Difference

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I have appreciated reading my colleagues’ insightful responses to the topic of evangelicalism and tradition. One theme emerging in the conversation is that of social and theological location. This theme addresses the sixth forum question of whether evangelicalism is best understood as a particular movement with the larger history of the church or as something more central. As Vincent Bacote notes, “many contemporary evangelicals essentially eliminate what they regard as tradition.” This allows evangelicals to view their movement as the movement of God in Christian history. But as Peter Enns suggests, evangelicalism may be a “relatively recent, culturally conditioned, expression of Christianity.” It is what Smidt refers to as a religious movement (versus a religious tradition or categorical group).

And if evangelicalism is a located stream within the Christian tradition, then an important invitation involves acknowledging that location within the broader Christian tradition. This is not necessarily easy for a tradition that has eschewed tradition! Yet as Trevor Hart (Faith Thinking, 167) notes,

“The idea that it is possible to…achieve a pure reading of the text…is one which must be shown up for the self-deception that it is…Simple appeals to ‘what the Bible says’ are always the sign of (no doubt unconscious) subservience to an interpretative tradition, not liberation from it.”

It’s time that evangelicals acknowledge their social, religious, and theological locations and allow these to provide the helpful dose of humility that goes along with such acknowledgement. As Bacote notes, aversion to tradition is not a necessary corollary to the evangelical affirmation of fidelity to the Bible. Instead, deliberate reflection is necessary to acknowledge evangelicalism as a particular and located Christian movement.

Another theme from my colleagues that goes hand in hand with that of evangelicalism’s “locatedness,” is the breadth of the movement. As John Franke notes, evangelicalism has “a rich ecumenical diversity” that some of us are less than comfortable admitting. John Wilson speaks of “the fluidity and many-sidedness of evangelicalism.” And the range of scholars contributing to this month’s topic illustrates this complexity, both in their descriptions of evangelicalism and in their own representation of its spectrum. Limiting our descriptions to evangelicalism in the U.S., we can speak of evangelicals who are reformed, Wesleyan, Pentecostal, charismatic, Anabaptist, and baptistic. There are self-described evangelicals in mainline denominations. There are strong evangelical currents in African-American, Hispanic, and Korean churches, along with many other ethnic communities of faith. And there is a growing influence within evangelicalism from the global south and east that finds expression in the U.S. in vibrant immigrant churches.

Given this internal diversity of evangelicalism, there’s a second invitation I hear arising from this conversation. It’s the invitation to recognize our lack of proprietary ownership of the movement we call our own. This is a tricky business. A sense of ownership is not in itself a bad thing. I would include myself among many who have found in evangelicalism a place to call theological home. But that experience does not mean any one part of the family gets to co-opt the whole and, by doing so, presume to kick others out of the family. Yet just this kind of dysfunction might be an apt assessment of contemporary evangelicalism, as it faces an identity crisis and struggles to make sense of its inherent internal differences.

Here is where I’m appreciative of a final motif I noted from the conversation. My colleagues have encouraged us toward an openness to difference, both within and outside of evangelicalism. Amos Yong, in his insightful analysis of what Pentecostal strains might offer evangelicalism (and what might come of “an evangelicalization of Pentecostalism”), demonstrates that the influence of the Other from within the evangelical fold could have powerful potential for renewal that will be absolutely necessary for the future of evangelicalism. Looking outward, Vincent Bacote speaks of fostering “a disposition of generosity” toward other streams of the Christian tradition (e.g., Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox). And in the face of what he helpfully identifies as a branding problem, Richard Mouw calls for “cultivat[ing] the capacity for a kinder and gentler evangelicalism.”

I want to clarify that by openness to respectful and generous dialogue I do not mean that we must lose ourselves and our convictions in the process. There is a way to engage conversations with the Other, with a non-anxious presence, that allows me to hold onto myself and my convictions and yet be interested, curious, and engaged in true conversation and relationship that has the potential to change me. Such differentiation of self has been correlated to spiritual maturity and offers a way forward in the pursuit of authentic dialogue across difference (Majerus and Sandage). As Vanhoozer notes, we can possess both humility and conviction in our conversations (Meaning, 455).

So here are the invitations that emerged as I engaged the posts this week:

1. An invitation to reflect on evangelicalism as a movement with a history and a tradition of its own: By becoming aware of our locatedness, we might arrive at a potentially more modest self-assessment of our centrality within the Christian tradition that, paradoxically, could allow us to celebrate the diversity that is central to our identity.

2. An invitation to recognize the breadth of our movement and face our inability to control the future trajectory of evangelicalism, especially if that means forcing a single category or pattern upon the movement.

3. An invitation to offer, going forward, a more generous and kinder evangelicalism that sees our growth tied, in part, to learning more from one another—across the diverse expressions of evangelicalism that have been present throughout our history.

 

 

Resources Cited:

Majerus, B., & Sandage, S.J. “Differentiation of Self and Christian Spiritual Maturity: Social Science and Theological Integration.” Journal of Psychology and Theology 38 (2010) 41-51.

Hart, T. Faith Thinking: The Dynamics of Christian Theology. Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1996.

Vanhoozer, K. J. Is There Meaning in This Text? The Bible, the Reader, and the Morality of Literary Knowledge. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1998. 

 

 

Separating Frames of Evangelicalism

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The different criteria presented by my colleagues themselves represent frames for considering the broader scope of evangelicalism. The frames not only demonstrate the different ways we can consider evangelicalism but also provide some hints as to where changes may be coming.

The first frame I see is present in Peter Enns’ description of evangelicalism as being situated in the wake of the modernist/fundamentalist controversies of the early 20th century. He suggests that evangelicals represented a third way between the extremes. (Back in the 70s, Richard Quebedeaux said that evangelicals were “polite fundamentalists” which struck closer to home that I wished.) As James Davison Hunter suggested in American Evangelicals (1984), evangelicals were dealing with “the quandary of modernity”. How much to engage and how much to maintain distance? Inherent in that quandary is maintaining one’s position relative to the other groups. It raises the possibility that evangelicals wind up defined as “not being the other guys”. But as the other groups move, so too must evangelicalism. Alternatively, there is a vested interest in keeping cultural antagonisms alive that plays identity roles within the evangelical subculture (which is why persecution stories are so important). I’m thinking along the lines that Corwin Schmidt uses when he considers evangelicalism as a categorical group. 

But as Peter observes, the cultural battles of the past are not significant to young evangelicals. They are increasingly savvy culturally, maintain diverse social networks, and find Christian meaning in popular culture. They aren’t afraid of modernists (maybe epistemologically) and are bothered by the Westboro Baptist form of angry fundamentalism. They aren’t defining themselves by evaluating where the others are. They’re looking for an authentic stance. Thus, there is a significant fracture between evangelicals under 30 and those over 50. How that plays out over the next 15 years will be interesting to watch.

The second theme I want to unpack shows up in a couple of the essays. I’ll call this the institutional frame. John Wilson, not surprisingly, sees connections between evangelicals and specific structural forms like Christianity Today. I’d add other institutional structures like the National Association of Evangelicals and the Council for Christian Colleges and Universities, and numerous publishing houses. These become “voices of evangelicalism” in a nearly self-referential way.

The media also shapes how the culture thinks of evangelicals. They do so with little understanding and frequent caricature. When NPR wants to question “evangelical voters” before the Iowa primary, there are no considerations of theological presuppositions (not one of the folks interviewed talked about Bebbington!). Just social issues and anti-Obama rhetoric. Were these folks really evangelical voters or just Republicans who went to church a lot?

A third type of the institutional frame comes out in celebrity infrastructure. Ask the person on the street who the leaders of evangelicalism are, and you’ll get Pat Robertson, James Dobson, Rick Warren, Mark Driscoll, John Piper, Tim Keller, and so on. Evangelicals are those guys who write the books and have the media empires.

But these institutional frames are weaker today than they were a generation ago. Many of the power brokers of bygone years are in or near retirement. Succession issues become real. Just as we moved from a handful of television stations to hundreds of cable channels, the internet has diversified the voices available and increased the critiques of the celebrity leaders. As the social positions of evangelicals (again, especially among the young) begin to shift, so does the media narrative. In an era where it is safe to assume evangelical/Christian voice without assuming dominance of viewpoint, a less institutional and more organic type of evangelicalism is likely to emerge.

A third frame present in the work of my colleagues is theology. I didn’t start here because I’m messing around in someone else’s sandbox. But I really like what Amos Young, John Franke, and Vincent Bacotte attempt to do. There is something valuable about Bebbington’s definitions. But those positions contain the seeds of their own challenges. As Vincent observes, the Biblicism of evangelicalism can become a distortion of sola scriptura that puts a view of scripture above the work of the Spirit. It can lead to a piecemeal battle plan of favorite biblical texts instead of the long story of God as embodied in Christ and attested by the Spirit. I could raise some issues on substitutionary atonement and conversionism, but I’ll hold that for another day.

As John Franke observes, the diversity of theological voices can be the source of Christian unity if it is allowed to be. On the contrary, when it becomes about litmus tests, who should read such and such a book, or whose writing seems a little too contemplative, the voices become a modern Tower of Babel. In an age where being non-religious has less social stigma than any time since early colonial days, such conflict is potentially damaging to the witness of the evangelical church.

So I can look at placing evangelicals in social-historical, institutional, and theological frames with subcategories under each. These differing frames and subframes contain the sources of disquiet that make the future of evangelicalism such an intriguing topic.

Two final thoughts give me hope for that future. First, there is something deeply poignant in John Wilson’s story of his daughter’s religious journey. Evangelicals able to handle diversity in love speak to the best of the movement. Second, in a recent Patheos interview Mark Labberton, the new president of Fuller Theological Seminary (itself an iconic evangelical institution), said “The best of evangelicalism has been centered in Jesus Christ and Trinitarian orthodoxy, not in evangelicalism itself as a movement or a theology.” If evangelicalism maintains its compassion and its humility, it will find ways of significantly engaging the contemporary culture in Kingdom building ways.


Why the Label?

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During the past two months I have spoken to a rather diverse assortment of evangelical audiences: seminary and college students, marketplace folks, conservatives in mainline denominations, global Christian leaders, and megachurch staff members. I have been surprised by the fact that in each case in the Q&A time someone asked me about what I take the “evangelical” label to mean.

 

 Needless to say, I have been asked that question often before, but never with the frequency of my recent experiences. Nor have I seen in previous years other heads in the audience nodding at the very asking of the question. It is clear that people are asking it not simply out of curiosity. They want reassurance that the label still communicates something good about who they are, because they are worried about what the term might mean to others.

 

I share the concern. I spoke at Chautauqua two summers ago, and a Jewish woman came up to me after my presentation and thanked me for what I said. Then she added this: “I was surprised that I enjoyed a talk by someone who calls himself an evangelical—I always thought of evangelicals as bad people!”  When I asked her what she associated with that negative impression, she made it clear that she had been convinced that all evangelicals were associated with the Religious Right.

 

We do have a “branding” problem these days. But I am inclined to see the problem as also an opportunity. It is important, for one thing, to rescue the label by sticking to the basics. In this regard, I find the four Bebbington marks of evangelicalism to provide an excellent set of talking points: why we care about biblical authority; why we think it supremely important to invite people to know Jesus personally; why we place a strong emphasis on the redemptive work that was sealed at Calvary; and why we sense a commitment to an active and robust life of discipleship.

 

But it is also important to display a different spirit in the public arena.  In the evangelical world in which I was raised, we were constantly being encouraged to bear witness to our faith, and the text regularly pressed upon us in this regard was I Peter 3: 15: “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” Seldom, though, was the next part of the verse mentioned: “But do this with gentleness and respect.”

 

Our “branding” problem requires—in good part at least—a spiritual remedy. We need to cultivate the capacity for a kinder and gentler evangelicalism. My clear sense is that this is what the folks asking me about what the “evangelical” label should mean were hoping for. That very fact is for me a sign of hope for the future of the cause of the Gospel!