In recent weeks, BNG published two pieces that emerge from a similar progressive theological position. The first is Mark Wingfield’s “Here’s What I Hear When You Say You’re A ‘Purple’ Church.” The second is Braxton Wade’s “Why Are We Still Calling Ourselves ‘Moderate’ Baptists?”
Here I hope to offer a theological rationale for purple churches and moderate Baptists and thus provide a respectful critique of the progressive theological position within the Christian church as illustrated by Wingfield and Wade.
The Apostle Paul states in 1 Corinthians 13:9 that “in part we know and in part we preach.” I offer here a rather literal translation with the desire that a familiar text to Bible readers might feel a little less familiar and, therefore, enable us to think with more depth about these words.
Paul R. Gilliam III
Paul is a rather divisive character. My experience is that people who read Paul seriously tend to embrace him or reject him. Although I count myself with those who embrace Paul, I do acknowledge the author of the Galatian letter might have been difficult to work with on a church staff. Whatever one’s take on Paul the apostle, I find it significant that the one whose name is on 13 New Testament letters as author, and the one who became the central character of the book of Acts, groups himself with all other human beings and says his knowledge is partial, his comprehension is not complete.
It is not that we find Paul in the midst of a weak moment of humility here. The implication of partial human understanding is the foundation for Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 8 where he provides instruction to Christians who have different opinions about eating meat sacrificed to idols. Paul provides similar instructions in Romans 8 where he discusses issues of diet and days. And in 1 Corinthians 7, Paul flat out says he has no word from Jesus when it comes to a man or a woman with an unbelieving spouse.
So, Paul does what the church does when unsure about an ethical or theological issue. He simply does the best he can with his partial knowledge and suggests, surprisingly, that if the unbelieving spouse wants to leave the marriage the unbelieving spouse is free to do so. Paul operates in a similar fashion, in the same chapter, when he advices those not married to remain single in light of his belief in Jesus’ return.
“So, Paul does what the church does when unsure about an ethical or theological issue. He simply does the best he can with his partial knowledge.”
Perhaps it is surprising to hear Paul, who indeed carries with him in some circles a 2,000-year reputation of arrogance, acknowledge his understanding is partial. However, there is more. In 1 Corinthians 13:12, Paul writes, “For now we see through a mirror obscurely, but then face to face. Now I know from what is partial, but then I will know just as also I have been known.”
In my translation, I use “obscurely” to translate the Greek word ainigmati. This word is often translated with “dimly” or “darkly.” However, I want readers to notice the obvious relationship between the Greek ainigma and the English enigma. The English word is simply a transliteration of the Greek word. An enigma is something obscure — not clear — such as the reflection one was met with in the surface of ancient cooper or bronze mirrors. And Paul says, in this life, we simply do not see clearly. Most mornings, when I use my hair dryer to remove the steam from the bathroom mirror, I think of Paul.
Different people encounter God through different avenues. For some, the avenue is nature — the coast or the mountains perhaps. For others, music is a powerful tool for drawing them close to God. For me, among other things, it is research that enables an intimate encounter with God — just me, God and a computer surrounded by primary texts and scholarly resources. And, naturally, the act of writing itself, as I do now.
Lately, I find myself engaged in 18th-century trinitarian debates among dissenters from the Church of England. More specifically, I am working with materials that emerged from the Salters’ Hall debate of 1719. The impetus for the Salters’ Hall controversy was suspicion of movement away from the orthodox doctrine of the trinity — one God in three co-equal and co-eternal persons of Father, Son and Holy Spirit — among the dissenting ministers of Exeter. Therefore, the lay leadership of Exeter requested advice from the dissenting ministers of London as to how to handle this situation.
The London pastors gathered at Salters’ Hall, then used by Presbyterians as a meeting house, to deal with the issue of understandings of the relationship between Father, Son and Holy Spirit other than orthodox.
Past research demonstrates that the great majority of the London dissenting ministers gathered at Salters’ Hall in 1719 were themselves orthodox trinitarians. However, the divisive issue was this: Should the pastors in London recommend to the churches of Exeter that they require their ministers to subscribe to a statement of trinitarian orthodoxy? One of the statements considered satisfactory was (prepare yourself for this) the first article of the Church of England. The last sentence of this article reads, “And in unity of this Godhead there be three Persons, of one substance, power and eternity; the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.”
Although there are many convoluted twists and turns surrounding the Salters’ Hall controversy of 1719, the basic conundrum is not difficult to grasp. On the one hand, the Protestant principle of sola scriptura states that only Scripture is necessary to live by and thus decide theological debates. On the other hand, throughout the history of the church different groups have interpreted the same Scripture with vastly differing conclusions: The Proto-orthodox, Sabellians, Arians, Socinians, Unitarians, Pelagians, Arminians, Calvinists, Lutherans, and on and on we could go.
In the wake of this controversy, in which two of the four ministers of Exeter were ejected from their positions because they would not subscribe to any extra scriptural writings about the Trinity such as the first article of the Church of England but were willing to use only the language of Scripture itself, much literature flowed. The two ejected ministers were James Peirce (1674-1726) and Jospeh Hallet (1656-1722).
In 1719, after his ejection, Peirce published, A Defence of the Case of the Ministers Ejected at Exon. Being an Answer to the Pamphlet Intitled, An Account of the Reasons why many Citizens of Exon have withdrawn &c. In this work, Peirce asks his opponents to consider the possibility that those who think differently from them about the Trinity might also be seekers of truth. Furthermore, Peirce reminds his opponents that they, just like the rest of humanity, are not infallible.
“Peirce reminds his opponents that they, just like the rest of humanity, are not infallible.”
And there it is.
Although Christians differ on fundamental issues such as the Trinity and Donald Trump and sexuality and abortion and gun control and women as pastors and on and on we could go again, we all see through an obscure mirror and no human being is infallible. Peirce’s question to his opponents is worthy of our consideration 307 years later: Is it possible that we might be mistaken in relation to even the strongest convictions we hold tight?
I am much aware of the core criticism leveled at purple churches and moderate Baptists: Purple churches and moderate Baptists are wishy-washy, lukewarm and unwilling to stand for truth in favor of some sort of Christian kumbaya. I cannot speak for all purple churches or moderate Baptists. However, I find this criticism a major mischaracterization.
Like the Apostle Paul himself, I am not wishy-washy or lukewarm. I have strong convictions about the issues of our day which emerge from my understanding of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. I am not an undecided voter. Obviously, I believe my convictions are right as my neighbor believes her convictions are right. It is just that I live every day of my life with the awareness I am fallible. I do not see clearly. The mirror is foggy; it is obscure. Therefore, even in relation to my core convictions, I could be wrong and my Christian neighbor who comes to opposite conclusions than me might be closer to God’s truth than I am.
I think the following quotation comes from John Dominican Crossan although I have not been able to locate it in print. Crossan is a historical Jesus scholar, former Catholic priest and DePaul University professor emeritus of religious studies. Even if Crossan did not say this, based on his personal narrative, I suspect he would agree. We must, Crossan or someone said, live our lives as if our religion is the only religion in existence. However, we also must always remember this is not so.
I sincerely believe the posture of living out core convictions with humility is good theology. However, I could be wrong.
Paul R. Gilliam III is a minister and an academic. He serves as pastor at Trinity Baptist Church in Newton, N.C. He is also the author of two books: Ignatius of Antioch and the Arian Controversy and William Whiston and the Apostolic Constitutions: Completing the Reformation. His current book project is tentatively titled Simon Browne, Salters’ Hall, and the Trinity.