RamistThomist
Puritanboard Clerk
Hart argues that American Protestantism lost its “liturgical” and churchly soul by its close contact with and sometimes imitation of the American “market” mentality. He sees the beginning with George Whitefield, whose friendship with Benjamin Franklin provides a “link between Evangelicalism and the emerging markets” (16). By market it is not meant an economic structure, but a system of choosing one thing over another.
From Whitefield we see a crasser revivalism. What is interesting for the American narrative is that this “revivalism” was itself something very close to a state religion. The most important consequence, however, was that revivalism really didn’t require anything like the sacraments or historic Christian reflection. As Hart notes, “It did not need the formal structures of religion” (17).
Hart counters this rather dismal chapter with an exposition of his hero, Nevin. I am glad that Hart (or Hart’s Nevin) conceded that the Protestant past could not be recovered completely (29). It is interesting to see Nevin contrast Old Calvinism with the New England Puritan faith (31). Do we have here an early reading of Barth’s Calvin vs. the Calvinists?
As a background to Nevin, Hart overviews the Old Side debate. The Old Side could not tolerate the new revivalism because the latter had a deficient understanding of what constitutes faith. The church itself was a means of grace established by Christ to edify the flock, none of which included revivalist measures.
Concerning Machen’s career, Hart echoes a very interesting, if sometimes uncomfortable argument: voluntary institutions have the right to be intolerant; involuntary institutions must be tolerant. This argument let Machen dodge the accusation that confessional churches were against the spirit of liberty that secular governments protect. Not so, Machen argued.
What went wrong?
Revivalism, especially its anti-institutional/liturgical stance, made it harder for the average American to distinguish between historic Christian practices and Romanism (47). We see this today with remarks like, “We shouldn’t eat with Jesus that often because it might not be ‘special’ (pronounced ‘spay-shul’) no more,” or, “Isn’t that what Rome does?” In terms of a larger social movement, revivalism tapped into the ‘sentiments of discontent.’ With a few exceptions it never really led people away from the church, but it also reinforced the idea that the church isn’t all that important. Hence, America today.
Hart makes the interesting argument that both Evangelicals and Liberals had the same goal: Christianization of society; they just differed on the means. Further, both agreed, if only implicitly and subconsciously, on the marginalization of the church to the believer’s piety. The neo-Evangelicals sought a divine society that transcended national lines. Older Protestant thinkers called this “the Church.” Neo-evangelicals sought no such connection (75).
We can sum up in one sentence: “Public morality and civic righteousness pushed aside word and sacrament” (123).
What should we do?
We should recover a churchly piety, one that sees baptism as God’s holy act for us and a church centered around “the catechesis:” sermons, teaching, and the catechism.
Hart does end with some probing questions, particularly, “Isn’t Confessionalism kind of like ethnic enclaves, both of which are hostile to American assimilation?” My answer is no, but it’s not an easy answer. There are some similarities and dissimilarities, neither of which can be adequately explored at the end of a book.
This may not be the most pressing question, though. While it’s not popular today, Confessionalism confesses the two-fold kingdom distinction. There is the category of the church and there is the category of the common. Contending for public morality is noble and a case can be made for it, but it is not the church’s mission to lobby for Republicans. Let the common be common.
There is a healthy piety embedded in this. One of the old Reformed Scholastic categories was that of viator, a pilgrim between the times. This protects us from naive triumphalism (e.g., when a Republican wins office) and utter despair (e.g., November 5, 2008).
Why not?
Hart’s appeal is counter-intuitive. We see not only Christian morality, but quite likely the vestiges of “decent Civilization” being eroded by Washington D.C. Is this time to retreat into the private sector? I’ll counter with a question I often asks Christian Reconstructionists: which is more important: taking the Lord’s Supper next Lord’s Day or ‘winning back City Hall?” If we marginalize the former, who cares what happens elsewhere?
But “being politically active” ends up meaning supporting the Republican Party. How has that worked for us? The RINOs have been pimping the evangelical vote for years (and I realize ‘pimping’ might be vulgar, but if you consider the Washington sex scandals, it might be the most literal description).
What would happen if the world saw a “Churchly Protestant Piety?” Before we knock the idea, let’s give it a shot.
Wonderful quotes
“The model saint in pietist devotion is the activist” (162).
From Whitefield we see a crasser revivalism. What is interesting for the American narrative is that this “revivalism” was itself something very close to a state religion. The most important consequence, however, was that revivalism really didn’t require anything like the sacraments or historic Christian reflection. As Hart notes, “It did not need the formal structures of religion” (17).
Hart counters this rather dismal chapter with an exposition of his hero, Nevin. I am glad that Hart (or Hart’s Nevin) conceded that the Protestant past could not be recovered completely (29). It is interesting to see Nevin contrast Old Calvinism with the New England Puritan faith (31). Do we have here an early reading of Barth’s Calvin vs. the Calvinists?
As a background to Nevin, Hart overviews the Old Side debate. The Old Side could not tolerate the new revivalism because the latter had a deficient understanding of what constitutes faith. The church itself was a means of grace established by Christ to edify the flock, none of which included revivalist measures.
Concerning Machen’s career, Hart echoes a very interesting, if sometimes uncomfortable argument: voluntary institutions have the right to be intolerant; involuntary institutions must be tolerant. This argument let Machen dodge the accusation that confessional churches were against the spirit of liberty that secular governments protect. Not so, Machen argued.
What went wrong?
Revivalism, especially its anti-institutional/liturgical stance, made it harder for the average American to distinguish between historic Christian practices and Romanism (47). We see this today with remarks like, “We shouldn’t eat with Jesus that often because it might not be ‘special’ (pronounced ‘spay-shul’) no more,” or, “Isn’t that what Rome does?” In terms of a larger social movement, revivalism tapped into the ‘sentiments of discontent.’ With a few exceptions it never really led people away from the church, but it also reinforced the idea that the church isn’t all that important. Hence, America today.
Hart makes the interesting argument that both Evangelicals and Liberals had the same goal: Christianization of society; they just differed on the means. Further, both agreed, if only implicitly and subconsciously, on the marginalization of the church to the believer’s piety. The neo-Evangelicals sought a divine society that transcended national lines. Older Protestant thinkers called this “the Church.” Neo-evangelicals sought no such connection (75).
We can sum up in one sentence: “Public morality and civic righteousness pushed aside word and sacrament” (123).
What should we do?
We should recover a churchly piety, one that sees baptism as God’s holy act for us and a church centered around “the catechesis:” sermons, teaching, and the catechism.
Hart does end with some probing questions, particularly, “Isn’t Confessionalism kind of like ethnic enclaves, both of which are hostile to American assimilation?” My answer is no, but it’s not an easy answer. There are some similarities and dissimilarities, neither of which can be adequately explored at the end of a book.
This may not be the most pressing question, though. While it’s not popular today, Confessionalism confesses the two-fold kingdom distinction. There is the category of the church and there is the category of the common. Contending for public morality is noble and a case can be made for it, but it is not the church’s mission to lobby for Republicans. Let the common be common.
There is a healthy piety embedded in this. One of the old Reformed Scholastic categories was that of viator, a pilgrim between the times. This protects us from naive triumphalism (e.g., when a Republican wins office) and utter despair (e.g., November 5, 2008).
Why not?
Hart’s appeal is counter-intuitive. We see not only Christian morality, but quite likely the vestiges of “decent Civilization” being eroded by Washington D.C. Is this time to retreat into the private sector? I’ll counter with a question I often asks Christian Reconstructionists: which is more important: taking the Lord’s Supper next Lord’s Day or ‘winning back City Hall?” If we marginalize the former, who cares what happens elsewhere?
But “being politically active” ends up meaning supporting the Republican Party. How has that worked for us? The RINOs have been pimping the evangelical vote for years (and I realize ‘pimping’ might be vulgar, but if you consider the Washington sex scandals, it might be the most literal description).
What would happen if the world saw a “Churchly Protestant Piety?” Before we knock the idea, let’s give it a shot.
Wonderful quotes
“The model saint in pietist devotion is the activist” (162).
. Although he doesn't agree with CvT which he and I would disagree over.
