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Review: Against the Church (Matt Claridge)

Provocative as always, the title of Wilson’ newest book, Against the Church, immediately caught my eye. I was further intrigued as I read the back cover description, “Wilson takes a hammer to some of our very favorite graven images, and we’ve set up display cases for them in our churches: Liturgy, Tradition, Systematics, Infant Baptism, and that crafty old baal Doctrine.” The statement opens itself up to the wildest speculations. Is Wilson beginning to reconsider the error of his ways?Against the church1

One must, of course, look beyond the marketing rhetoric and hyperbole, and observe what Wilson is actually doing between the covers. In the introduction, Wilson outlines his book this way: “This book has four sections. The first lays out the case against the church, both generally and in some particulars. After having made all sorts of people angry, the second section seeks to address certain background assumptions that go into these discussions—philosophical assumptions about human nature, dualism, and lots of other cool stuff. The third section is ‘the Father Principle,’ in which I discuss the source of life in the heart, the family, the church, and the world. The conclusion of the matter is where I seek to bring everything full circle, and lay out the case for the church.” That gives us the flow of thought, but not the main thesis of the work which is, quite clearly, Wilson’s defense of the doctrine of regeneration, the supernatural work of the Holy Spirit in converting sinners. There are a couple other themes as well, but this is the taproot.

First, a few notes on structure before content. Although Wilson’s stated outline seems clear enough, I felt as a reader that I was never quite sure what or who Wilson is placing in his cross-hairs. He is clearly responding to something in this book. Part of this is my ecclesiastical and theological location as a Southern Baptist. Part of it, I believe, is that Wilson is not entirely transparent about it either. The further one gets into the book’s argument, the more one comes to think Wilson is responding to disagreements within the ranks of the “Federal Vision.” Wilson refers to Peter Leithart favorably at a few points, but one senses this is damage control in light of recent events and statements (consult the blog trail over at Green Baggins). It appears that Wilson, as a pastor, is responding to a trend among his devotees that criticize “regeneration” theoretically and undermine it practically.

Regarding the former, there is a faction of Auburn Ave. theologians who question whether we have a “nature” that can be changed into another as the doctrine of regeneration implies (pg .181). Regarding the latter, Pastor Wilson is responding to self-professing Christians who rest on their covenantal membership and sacramental laurels to justify unbecoming behavior. As he says, there are “parishoners who are rolling around in Galatians 5:19-21 with shouts of libertine joy. It is time to attack this kind of covenantal presumption, and it needs to be attacked with a canoe paddle. I wish I could say this were a hypothetical problem, but it has not been” (207). Neither of these problems threaten the Federal Vision project, however. Wilson does not wish to retreat from the Federal Vision (FV) convictions he helped develop, particularly, the “objectivity of the covenant” which is the theological center of the movement in Wilson’s mind. Rather, Wilson believes that keeping to the straight and narrow “objectivity of the covenant” will keep us from sinking into the quagmire of covenantal presumption on the left and the abyss of a nominalist denial of “nature” on the right.

This clarifies what Wilson is aiming at. However, most of this clarity only comes in the final chapters of the book. Herein lies the structural problem. I would recommend folks read the final section first, indeed, read the appendix entitled “biting the left hind leg” first before starting the book. In fact, it’s best to just read the book backwards. I understand Wilson’s rhetorical strategy, but it provokes a constant urge to read between the lines. A second structural concern is the fact that the book reads like a string of blog posts. Perhaps this is uncharitable or a failure on my part to appreciate Wilson’s style. Nonetheless, the book has more of a “collection of essays unified by a common theme” feel to it. This results, I believe, is a rather stream of consciousness approach in which all kinds of ideas that should be set side by side are strung out in every which way across the book.

This comes very much into play when considering the book’s content. I’m not going to spend time on Wilson’s great gifts as a writer and wonderful flourishes, nor the many points I found myself agreeing with Wilson. Instead, as a credo-baptist, I feel a burden to respond to Wilson’s book which is driven, in large part, by defending regeneration on the basis of his peculiar sacramental beliefs. I will focus on the places where Wilson agrees with me in spite of himself, that is, where I think he is just plain inconsistent and, unfortunately, somewhat deceptive.

Let’s start with this idea of the “objectivity of the covenant” (hereafter “O of C”). A frontal assault on the “O of C” is impossible here, all I want to do is point out some questionable ways Wilson stacks the deck in its favor particularly in the chapter, “Against Systematics” and later on in “Apostasy and the New Birth.” His basic argument is that only the FV takes all the ways the Bible speaks about election and covenant membership consistently, across the board, and without one privileging the other. In other words, both Calvinists and Arminians let their “systematics” dictate the Scriptures. As Wilson says, “Just lay out all the verses, all of them, and throw away your scissors and your mallet. Let the Scriptures speak.”

Things are nowhere near that simple, of course. I know that Wilson is not making a full defense of the “O of C” in this book, but I find it uncharitable to make such sweeping claims without any interaction with the many sane and textually oriented arguments that are made for the preservation of the saints and for not equating “church membership” with divine election. What becomes clear in the rest of the book is that Wilson really can’t live with this tension himself—with this both/and approach to election, apostasy, and church membership.

For instance, after citing some dominical parables Wilson says, “tares are weeds the entire time, the sow that is washed is a clean pig but still has a natural affinity for the mire, the dog that vomited is still a dog. On the other side, all the branches are true branches, including those to be cut out, etc. We should simply want to affirm all the passages at face value and to let God sort it out. The only way I can do this is to affirm the objectivity of the covenant, affirm that ontological differences exist between the elect and the reprobate whether the covenant is involved or not, and affirm that we should not pry too closely into it.” In another context, Wilson chides Baptists for wanting to “uproot the tares before their time” and by doing so “damage the wheat.” Leaving aside for the moment the straw man here (is that a pun?), Wilson then goes on in the chapter “God’s Phonic program” to outline in what ways we must attempt to uproot the tares and “pry into” a person’s confession of faith. Consider these representative statements:

“It is [not] possible for us to read the decrees of God, and we should not act as though we can do that either. We can’t read hearts, and we can’t read the Book of Life. But from these important truths many have concluded (erroneously) that it is not possible for us to read the story we are in.”

“Jesus is telling us –[in Matt. 7:15-20] that—without access to the decrees or the examined prophet’s heart laid out before us on a dissection table—we have the authority to conclude that someone is inwardly a ravening wolf. This is not reading hearts, or reading the decrees. It is reading the story. The outer story reveals the man.”

“Can such [church discipline] judgments ever be wrong? Well, of course they can. That does not mean that we are warned away from making them.”

“It is no good to dismiss the division of sheep and goats as an eschatological vision and thus put it out of all practical consideration.” (pg 163, this compromises his criticism of Baptists cited above)

Is there anything here a 9marks Baptist would disagree with? I don’t think so. So what kind of pastoral and theological payoff does the “O of C” really give you? Baptists have always approached church membership in all the categories Wilson wants but without the confusing dogmatism of the “objectivity of the covenant.”

Yes, “dogmatism.” As much as Wilson criticizes “systematic dogma” that carefully distinguishes divine election and church membership, he has some dogmatism of his own that steam rolls over a great deal of Scripture. The whole theological notion of the “O of C” is conjured up, I believe, from Wilson’s grappling with the doctrine of infant baptism. I completely understand his confusion, because I think Presbyterians have always been confusing about what baptism is and accomplishes. Because you are willingly and knowingly baptizing people (infants) who are not regenerate, you have to grapple with their status as baptized unregenerates in the church. Wilson’s solution to this problem is straightforward as it is astonishing.

While affirming the traditional definition of regeneration as the sovereign, monergistic work of God, Wilson goes on to say that God can do this work whenever he chooses, without means (which is excruciatingly awkward given Wilson’s high sacramentalism). He says, “I believe I am applying [regeneration] consistently, and across the board. To affirm the reality of regenerate zygotes (which I do affirm, lots of them) is not a contradiction of evangelicalism simply because the zygote doesn’t have legs yet and cannot walk the aisle at the invitation…[or] until after the kid has memorized the Heidelberg Catechism.” Here’s an even more direct statement: “[their regeneration could occur] in the womb or when they were born or when they were baptized or six weeks, three days, and ten minutes after their baptism.” Wilson comes up short of saying “baptism regenerates,” but what he is saying is “we are baptizing infants that might well be regenerate” and “we will assume they are.”

I will voice two main problems with this, though others could be thrown in. First, the Bible is virtually silent about how infants and “zygotes” are drawn to God. Second, we should not build our entire ecclesiological system on answering that question. If the Bible is clear on anything, it is that “faith comes by hearing.” We see this in every account of salvation and every theological reflection of how it comes about. I know this raises the question about the salvific status of infants and embryos who obviously never have the opportunity to hear the word that brings faith. I think as good of an answer as you are going to get can be found here. As a Baptist, I operate within the categories I am given in Scripture, making sure I do not attempt to “peer into the decrees” as I take confessors at their word until proven otherwise.[1] Wilson, however, is using a dogma that has no clear biblical precedent to build an entire theological system on. Physician, heal thyself.

These are the broad strokes of my critique of Wilson’s message. As I said regarding structure, the format of the book hides many of these problems because his argument is more episodic that methodical. In wrapping up this review, I want to end with one area where the difference between how a Baptist sees things and how Wilson sees things makes a great pastoral difference.

While defending “paedo-communion” (allowing children to partake of the Lord’s Supper), Wilson says the following: “When [children] begin to reach for bread and you have to hold the bread away from them, that moment has become didactic. If the lesson is, ‘We’re in and you’re out,’ that’s contrary to the statement we made at their baptism that they’re in with the rest of us. So we encourage parents to begin at that point to give them the elements accompanied by the teaching: ‘This is the body of Jesus . He died for you. He paid for your sins.’ …this practice, however, should not be perceived as a low-bar cognitive admittance test. We are not after understanding first, so that children may be admitted to the company of those who have passed their ecclesiastical prelims. Rather what we want with children who are taking the Supper is gladness, so that the right kind of understanding will then be able to grow.”

There are several assumptions here about the nature of the church as “believers with their children.” I reject those assumptions, of course. I reject infant baptism, so the situation envisioned of withholding the bread despite a child’s baptism gives me little pause. What I really want to take issue with is the final thought that a child’s first experience of Christianity should be “gladness” as an “insider.” Wilson is attempting to take the moral high ground here. Who wants to argue against a child experiencing joy in their first encounters with Christianity? I would say two things: 1) this sentiment contradicts the order of redemption history: first, agony, despair, cliffhangers, nail biting, the Law; and only then relief, joy, gladness, praise. You can’t fully experience Christian joy until you know what you’ve been saved from. 2) The better approach, which is entirely scriptural, is to let the child see the joy in those who profess Christ much like the world should see a Christian’s good works and rejoice. Perhaps I could trump Wilson’s moral high ground of providing “joy” as a child’s first impression with the higher ground of providing a “longing for joy.” We want the longing first, the ache, the hunger, because only then will the joy be sweet and satisfying when its finally tasted.

Matthew Claridge is an editor for Credo Magazine and is Senior Pastor of Mt. Idaho Baptist Church in Grangeville, ID. He has earned degrees from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School and the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He is married to Cassandra and has three children.


[1] I take great exception to this unfair comment: “those who want to affirm the central importance of regeneration, but who also want to assert that they have the power to peer into hearts and determine who around here is really born again and who not … are paying far too high a price for it. That price is that they have also introduced the very dangerous sectarian (and—sorry everybody!—baptistic) impulse into the life of the church. We, the Pure and Lovely, consist of ‘thee and me, and I have my doubts about thee.’” Apology not accepted. This is a gross caricature and not even remotely a defensible entailment of baptistic doctrine (Anabaptist doctrine may be something else).

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