The Simple, But Precious, Faith Of Our Fathers
Theological education should be a door that opens into the mysteries of God, not a platform for self-righteousness
If I ever got up early enough, the first thing my half-open eyes saw when I went into the kitchen in the morning was the image of my father, bent over the worn pages of his Bible and a mug of black coffee.
Growing up, I wanted to be like my dad. I wanted his toughness. I wanted his hard work. I wanted to drink black coffee like him. But as I’ve gotten older, the thing I want the most is that same habit: opening God’s Word fresh every morning. By God’s grace, I do that.
My father is a retired plumber. He grew up in a broken home, walked forward at a Billy Graham crusade, married my mom, and began attending an independent Baptist church. He still attends that church today.
Dad probably wouldn’t understand some of the important theological conversations we engaged in today. Dad isn’t reading theological journals. He couldn’t answer a question about supralapsarianism. That worn Bible, however, has guided him through a long, difficult, and faithful life. It helped him raise three children with a perpetually sick wife. It helped him when he lost everything in the 2008 recession. It helped him on those hard and long days at the construction site and difficult nights at home with teenagers.
I’m thankful for my father’s simple faith, even as I teach at a theological institution that trains young men and women in the deep stuff. I believe strongly in theological education. With very few exceptions, most who answer the call to full-time Christian ministry should pursue the life of the mind. This is a sober calling that requires training.
Paul writes to the Romans:
Oh, the depth of the richesa
and the wisdom and the knowledge of God!b
How unsearchable his judgmentsc
and untraceable his ways!
For who has known the mind of the Lord?a
Or who has been his counselor?
And who has ever given to God,
that he should be repaid? (Romans 11:33-36).
How can you not plumb these depths? Yet we must see theological education—whether formally in a seminary or a church Bible study course or personal study—as a doorway to exploring more, as a catalyst for humility and awe and worship. We must resist the “puffing up” that comes with knowledge.
One way this pride shows up is when we begin to disdain the simple faith of our parents, those who brought us to Christ and nurtured us. As I write this, I’m listening to an album of Alan Jackson hymns. All of these I learned by attending church three times a week for all of my childhood. I sang songs I didn’t understand, but whose lyrics and melodies were buried deep in my heart and soul. So often, in my adult life, a lyric or phrase has welled up to the surface and comforted my weary soul. This—the fruit of my parents’ simple faith, that open Bible on the kitchen table—is such a gift to me.
Possessing a better theological education shouldn’t make one “think higher than he ought (Romans 12:3).” What’s interesting to me is that the very best theologians I know—some of them my colleagues—are often some of the kindest and most tenderhearted souls I know. Their years of study have not set them against the people they teach, but have given them a deeper love for God and the church.
Theological studies, inevitably, studying Scripture will bring sharpened or even new theological insights. On the core issues, the “good deposit of faith” (2 Timothy 1), I have not only not changed, but am more confident of its truth than I have ever been. But on the margins, where good and faithful Christians have debated for all of church history, I’ve moved a bit. I’m no longer dispensational pre-trib, I’m more reformed, and I’m more “mere Christianity” than the secondary separation I grew up with.
I have friends who have made bigger moves, including friends who grew up Baptist, now Presbyterian, friends who grew up Methodist, now Baptist, friends once Catholic, now nondenominational. These moves happen and have happened throughout church history. I respect—though disagree—with those who have come to a new conviction about certain distinctives and changed traditions.
I’m a convictional Baptist and don’t see that changing anytime soon, but as I’ve written before, we have much to learn from our brothers and sisters in other traditions, even if we will disagree and worship separately.
In making theological moves, we should be wise not to adopt what Scripture calls a “haughty spirit (Proverbs 16:18).” If you’ve changed some of the things you were taught growing up, don’t carry with you a self-righteousness that dismisses the faith that nurtured you. (I want to issue a caveat here for complicated situations such as a cult or physically abusive situations.)
If you must change traditions—and some can and should—don’t dismiss the one you left behind, the group of brothers and sisters that fed you and loved you in the Lord for a season. Don’t consider yourself more enlightened or more advanced or more spiritual. At the foot of the cross, all of us are sinners in desperate need of grace.
God has given me a lot of opportunities to study, write, and speak about theological matters. But when it comes to living out the life of humble obedience to Christ and his gospel, I’ll never move past the simple faith of my parents.
I thank God for Dad’s worn Bible.
FYI: my new book, In Defense of Christian Patriotism, is releasing September 30th. It’s super early, but you can pre-order now.