Theology Central

Not many people could say that they had a close personal relationship with and were mentored by R. V. Clearwaters and B. Myron Cedarholm, but Gerry Carlson could.

Gerald Bruce Carlson was born August 17, 1941 to Dr. George and Evelyn Carlson in Chicago where his father pastored Tabernacle Baptist Church, the very church where the Conservative Baptist Movement held its organizing meeting in 1943. When Gerry was five years old, his family moved to Minneapolis so that his father could assume the pastorate at Lake Harriet Baptist Church and also teach part-time at Northwestern Theological Seminary alongside the seminary dean, R. V. Clearwaters. George Carlson and R. V. Clearwaters were close allies in the first decade of the fledgling Conservative Baptist movement as they served together on various local and national boards and committees. George served as the president of the Minnesota Baptist Convention and as Vice-President of the Conservative Baptist Association.

Gerry loved living in beautiful southwest Minneapolis, and it was quite a jolt to the serenity he enjoyed there when his father accepted a call to the Marquette Manor Baptist Church on the southwest side of Chicago in 1954. But an even greater shock to Gerry, his mother, and his three sisters came three years later in 1957 when his dad was killed in a plane crash as he was headed to Canada on a hunting trip. A man Gerry affectionally called “Uncle Myron” broke the tragic news to Gerry in the living room of his family’s parsonage.

Myron Cedarholm would also preach at George Carlson’s funeral in what Gerry refers to as “the greatest gospel service I have ever known” (unpublished paper, “Doc and Cedar,” 7, March 2017). Gerry’s relationship with the Cedarholms began early in his life as his family would stay with them every summer at their cabin on Lake Nebagamon in northwest Wisconsin, and “Cedar” (as Gerry would refer to him in his adult years) became “somewhat of a surrogate father” to Gerry in the years following his dad’s untimely death.

After Gerry graduated from high school in Chicago, he attended Pillsbury Baptist Bible College where he earned a bachelor’s degree in Bible and Pastorology in 1963. During his college years he served as a youth leader at Fourth Baptist Church in Minneapolis, and it was here that Gerry met his future wife, Connie. They were married in 1965, and their wedding ceremony was conducted by their pastor, Doc Clearwaters. The Lord would bless Gerry and Connie with three children and four grandchildren during their 58 years together.

Upon graduation from Pillsbury, Gerry and many of the other future pastors who had commenced with him traveled north 65 miles to attend Central Seminary. After receiving his M.Div. degree from Central Seminary in 1967, Gerry accepted a call to serve as youth pastor at Calvary Baptist Church in Normal, Illinois, where his friend, Bud Weniger, was pastor.

Gerry’s time in Normal was anything but normal in the wider world of northern Baptist fundamentalism as the Conservative Baptist movement splintered and as different views of educational leadership strategy affected schools like Pillsbury College. Gerry was on the Pillsbury campus for College Days with his youth group in May 1968, just three days after Myron Cedarholm had resigned, and he stayed in the Cedarholm’s Presidential House (where Cedar had been confined by the board in “house arrest,” as some referred to it). Four weeks later, Myron Cedarholm participated in Gerry’s ordination service in Normal, and Cedarholm took the occasion to make the first public announcement that Maranatha Baptist Bible College would be starting up that fall (personal email to author, July 17, 2009).

Gerry would minister in Normal for three years before returning to Minnesota in 1970 to take the pastorate at the newly planted Faith Baptist Church of St. Paul. He spent eight years there and then moved on to work for the American Association of Christian Schools from 1978–1988. He served as both Field Director and Executive Director. Two items of note occurred during these years: 1) Gerry received the honorary Doctor of Divinity from Maranatha in 1983, and 2) Gerry was invited to speak at Central chapel in 1986 with Doc Clearwaters in attendance from whom he received a warm welcome. Commenting on this last point, Gerry later wrote that “time can heal wounds and I was glad for that” (“Doc and Cedar,” 17).

God’s next appointment for Gerry was the position of Vice President at Maranatha Baptist Bible College, where he served from 1988–1994. It is likely due to his 16 years of educational experience with AACS and Maranatha that led the board of Pillsbury Baptist Bible College to appoint Gerry as the sixth president of the institution in 1994. But his tenure at his alma mater would last only one year.

In a short book Gerry wrote about his stint at Pillsbury (What Happened at Pillsbury? [Nystrom, 1996]), he explained why he experienced great frustration with the faculty who did not want to head in the same philosophical direction that he (and the board) felt the school should go. In an email to me, Gerry described his one-year presidency as “my suicide mission” (email to author, July 1, 2009). I think it is fair to say the knot of difficulties Carlson experienced in that one-year stint were many years in the making and far too complex for anyone to untie in the short amount of time the board and faculty desired.

Leaving Minnesota for good, Gerry joined the staff at Positive Action for Christ in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. He would work with this ministry longer than any other in his life while serving as Director of Marketing and Development from 1996–2014.

In 2014 the Carlsons moved to Maranatha Village in Sebring, Florida, where Gerry helped with marketing and development for the retirement community up until the Lord took him home on January 30, 2024.

The Lord used Gerry Carlson in pastoral ministry (13 years) and Christian education (35 years). His labors in Christian education included serving on the administrations of two Bible colleges, providing assistance to Christian schools and colleges in his work for AACS, and promoting the publication and distribution of Bible curriculum for churches and Christian schools. His mentors included significant figures in the Conservative Baptist movement. These men included his father, George, his father’s ally and friend, Doc Clearwaters, and his “surrogate father,” Uncle Myron. I believe all three men would be greatly encouraged by who their mentee became: a faithful and kind friend to many, a loving husband and father to his family, and a fruitful and diligent servant in the Lord’s harvest field.

This essay is by Jon Pratt, Vice President of Academics and Professor of New Testament at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

May the Grace of Christ Our Savior

John Newton (1725–1807)

May the grace of Christ our Savior
and the Father’s boundless love,
with the Holy Spirit’s favor,
rest upon us from above.
Thus may we abide in union
with each other and the Lord,
and possess in sweet communion
joys which earth cannot afford.

Central Seminary opened a ministry in Romania shortly after the collapse of communism. Early on, we assumed that all the people of Romania were Romanians. Consequenlty, we tried to establish a campus in an ethnic Hungarian community. We soon learned that Romanians were reluctant to attend what they perceived as a Hungarian school. Thanks to the welcoming spirit and hard labors of Pastor Beniamin Costea, we were able to relocate to Arad in western Romania. In that location we could draw both majority Romanians and minority Hungarians.

We also drew one student who was neither. Richard Redding was an American missionary working in Romania under the Baptist Bible Fellowship. He began attending our classes, and he graduated with our first class in 1994, receiving his MABS. Two years later he graduated again with his MDiv. When I arrived at Central Seminary in January of 1998, the seminary was flying four men from Romania to Minneapolis to work on their DMin degrees. The goal was for these men to become the future backbone of a Romanian seminary. Richard was one of them, and he eventually graduated with his doctorate.

Richard and his wife Linda had been sent to Romania as part of the first wave of missionary activity after communism. They were already veteran missionaries from Colombia, and their skill in Spanish made it easier to learn Romanian. When they arrived in Romania, they found already-existing Baptist churches in nearly every major center. These were churches that had weathered the assaults of communist atheism and dictatorship. The churches were deep in piety but shallow in their understanding of the Bible and of Christian doctrine. As far as I know, Richard and Linda did not try to establish new Baptist churches. Instead, they gave themselves to strengthening the biblical understanding of existing Baptist pastors and to helping train up a new generation of ministry.

That is how Richard became the ideal go-between to help coordinate our Romanian and American administrations. He himself held a relatively minor post in the Romanian administration (I believe that he was the registrar). His true value lay in helping Americans and Romanians to understand each other’s mindsets and expectations. He and Linda also regularly hosted American professors when they came to teach in Romania.

In between class sessions, Richard also acted as an associate pastor to Beni Costea. This work included labors in two principal churches and several minor ones. Some American missionaries neither understood nor appreciated this arrangement—to them, it wasn’t really missions unless the Americans were the bosses. By working alongside Romanian pastors in their own churches, however, Richard managed to achieve a level of influence that far exceeded that of most American missionaries. He was able to play a significant role in bringing an entire contingent of Romanian pastors and churches to greater theological maturity.

Under communism, Romanian Baptists were very Arminian. They had little idea of how the Bible fit together or how the plan of God could be seen progressing across the biblical story line. They lacked skills in the biblical languages, and their understanding of Baptist distinctives had not been cultivated in decades. Central Seminary taught its students Greek and Hebrew. It introduced them to dispensationalism, and it got them thinking in terms of New Testament patterns for church order and cooperation.

Communism offered few benefits for biblical churches. One unintentional benefit was that, by blocking Western ideas, the communist government actually prevented liberal theologies from infecting Baptist churches. These theologies were only beginning to develop in Romania during the 1990s and early 2000s. The result was that the Baptist churches found themselves in the position that American churches had been in during the 1920s and 1930s.

Central Seminary tried to provide our students principles for dealing with this situation, and we saw some evidence of success. For example, at one point the government offered to begin paying Baptist pastors generously from state funds. To do this, however, Baptists would have to submit to a more centralized and controlled structure. Faced with this temptation, our graduates understood what was at stake. They opposed the offer and led Baptists to reject what would surely have become a poisoned chalice.

During those years, Richard Redding kept up quiet leadership from behind the scenes. As far as I can tell, he and Linda never attracted much attention to themselves, but their influence was evident. Romanian Baptists in their orbit were eventually able to plant churches in Austria, Italy, France, England, and even in the United States. Central Seminary graduates from those years have served churches in all those countries.

Richard and Linda left Romania for Mexico around 2010—maybe a bit earlier. By the time they moved, Richard had helped Central Seminary to educate nearly twenty percent of all the Baptist pastors in Romania. In about 2012 or 2013, financial considerations led Central Seminary to cease operations in Romania. By that time, however, Romanian pastors such as Gelu Pacurar and Marius Birgean had earned research doctorates. They had the knowledge and credentials to provide leadership so that seminary education could continue among Romanian Baptists.

In Mexico, Richard continued in educational ministry. He also found time to publish five science-fiction novels (the “Light-Plus” series) that can be found on Amazon. Incidentally, Richard claimed at least indirect responsibility for the fact that the Antichrist is depicted as Romanian in the Left Behind series.

After he began to develop physical difficulties, Richard and Linda retired from the mission field, eventually settling near Chattanooga, Tennessee. Then came a period of illness and decline. Finally, Richard was taken home to glory on New Years Eve.

Dr. Richard Redding was one of the best men I knew. He was a man of devotion, integrity, intelligence, warmth, hospitality, and humility. During the time that I saw him in action, he never occupied the driver’s seat. Yet he took responsibility for the smooth running of the vehicle, and his quiet influence helped to decide the direction it went. His work was never widely and publicly celebrated, but it deserves to be, and it will be someday. For now, we at Central Seminary acknowledge both our indebtedness and affection toward him.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Ye Faithful Souls, Who Jesus Know

Charles Wesley (1707–1788)

Ye faithful souls, who Jesus know,
If risen indeed with Him ye are,
Superior to the joys below,
His resurrection’s power declare.

Your faith by holy tempers prove,
By actions show your sins forgiven,
And seek the glorious things above,
And follow Christ your Head to Heaven.

There your exalted Savior see
Seated at God’s right hand again,
In all His Father’s majesty,
In everlasting pomp to reign:

Your real life, with Christ concealed,
Deep in the Father’s bosom lies;
And, glorious as your Head revealed,
Ye soon shall meet Him in the skies.

To Him continually aspire,
Contending for your native place,
And emulate the angel choir,
And only live to love and praise.

The book Finding the Right Hills to Die On is Gavin Ortlund’s theory of doctrinal triage. According to his theory, primary doctrines are essential to the gospel and to Christian fellowship. Secondary doctrines are not essential to the gospel, but they are necessary to some levels of Christian fellowship. Differences over tertiary doctrines should not inhibit Christian fellowship.

Ortlund illustrates his category of second-rank doctrines by applying it to three specific controversies. His second controversy is the one over the continuation of what he labels “spiritual gifts.” He does not address spiritual gifts in general, however, but specifically miraculous and revelatory gifts.

At the outset, Ortlund identifies himself as a continuationist “in both practice and conviction” (108). He also tries to limit his discussion to Reformed attitudes toward continuationism. Given the widespread influence of charismatics across the contemporary theological spectrum (including not only gospel-believing groups like Reformed or Wesleyan evangelicals but also ecumenical liberals, Romanists, and even Mormons), he has defined his discussion too narrowly. Since gospel deniers regularly practice charismatic gifts, supposed appearances of those gifts cannot possibly be taken as self-authenticating evidence for God’s activity or approval.

Admittedly, a comparatively mild version of continuationism is voiced within certain evangelical circles. It is represented by figures such as Wayne Grudem, John Piper, and Sam Storms. I assume that Ortlund holds this version of the theory. These figures and their followers, however, represent only a small fraction of charismatic continuationism. Adherents to the prosperity gospel far outnumber them (especially worldwide), as do devotees of the New Apostolic Reformation. The Grudem-Piper-Storms (and Ortlund?) version of continuationism barely amounts to a pebble in the mountain range of these larger movements.

The prosperity gospel is not the biblical gospel. It is a gospel of a different kind, and it falls under the anathema of Galatians 1:6–8. Furthermore, anyone claiming to be an apostle today is necessarily a false apostle (Acts 1:21–22; 1 Cor 9:1; 15:8), and Paul denounced false apostles as ministers of Satan (2 Cor 11:13–15). In other words, at least some of the time continuationism is a first-level, fundamental error. I acknowledge no Christian commonality with (for example) a Benny Hinn or a Kenneth Copeland. If Ortlund thinks that he can, then worse and worse.

If, on the other hand, Ortlund is willing to acknowledge how serious the errors of a Hinn or a Copeland are, then he needs to bring considerably more nuance into his discussion of Reformed continuationism. But he does not. He rests his argument fundamentally upon the fact that he can find Reformed progenitors who acknowledged some element of continuation for miraculous or perhaps even revelatory gifts. He relies especially heavily upon figures of the Reformation and the Puritan movement.

The problem with this appeal is that both the Reformation and the Puritans came prior to the defining point for the doctrine of miraculous gifts. One can find loose expressions of Christology among orthodox Christians before Nicea. One can find loose expressions of soteriology by evangelical Christians before the Reformation. But what Arius was to Christology, and what Johann Tetzel was to soteriology, early Pentecostalism was to miraculous gifts. It was Pentecostalism (and its forebears Edward Irving and John Dowie) that forced the issue on miraculous and revelatory gifts. These influences brought Christian thought to a defining point over these doctrines. We presently find ourselves standing at much the point that Athanasius stood with respect to Arius or that Luther stood with respect to Leo X. We cessationists are no more deterred than Athanasius was when he was informed that the whole world was against him.

I am not suggesting that continuationism is always a fundamental error, but beyond question it sometimes is. Even when it is not, the implications of charismatic theology reach far beyond a simple misunderstanding about the role of the Holy Spirit. For example, older Pentecostals and charismatics grounded their doctrine of present-day divine healing in the atonement, seriously distorting the biblical doctrine of the atonement and badly misreading Scripture. Third-wave charismatics presently ground their doctrine of healing in an over-inaugurated understanding of the kingdom leading to “power encounters.” (Incidentally, most cessationists affirm that God is able to heal miraculously; what they deny is that He has given the gifts of healing to individuals to exercise with the kind of discretion that Christians witnessed during the apostolic age.)

Similarly, the doctrine of revelation must be taken seriously. In the Old Testament, a prophet was to be tested partly by his ability to produce miraculous signs that were unmistakable and verifiable. A single false prophecy earned him the death penalty (Deut 18:18–22). Grudem has tried to soften this understanding of prophecy for the New Testament, but two responses must be noted. First, even most Third-wave charismatics disagree with him, insisting that church prophecy today is just as authoritative as Scripture for those to whom it is delivered (see, for example, the Fuller Seminary doctoral dissertation on this topic by Stephen Oldham). Furthermore, contra Grudem, 1 Corinthians 14:29 and 1 Thessalonians 5:19–21 do not show New Testament prophecy being sifted and weighed, 1 Corinthians 14:30–31 does not show prophecy being ignored, Acts 21:4 does not show prophecy being disobeyed—indeed, it does not relate a prophecy at all—and Acts 21:10–11 does not show prophecy being mistaken.

It is impossible in a short space to review every argument, but it should be clear that the charismatic error does not just involve misinterpreting a verse or two. In all its forms it represents a gigantic shift that rearranges much of the biblical system of faith and practice. It also relocates the methodological basis of evangelical theology from sola scriptura to ambo scriptura et experientia.

Ortlund wants to place continuationism in between the second-level and third-level on the scale of doctrinal importance. I insist that various charismatic errors are often first-level, fundamental errors, and they are never less than upper-second-level (using his taxonomy). I do not deny that some level of Christian fellowship remains possible with the more balanced Pentecostals and charismatics, but I do believe that whatever levels of fellowship are possible will be those that require a bare minimum degree of doctrinal agreement.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

As With Gladness Men of Old

William Dix (1837–1898)

As with gladness men of old
did the guiding star behold;
as with joy they hailed its light,
leading onward, beaming bright;
so, most gracious God, may we
evermore be led to Thee.

As with joyful steps they sped
to that lowly cradle-bed,
there to bend the knee before
Him whom heav’n and earth adore;
so may we with willing feet
ever seek Thy mercy-seat.

As they offered gifts most rare
at that cradle rude and bare;
so may we with holy joy,
pure, and free from sin’s alloy,
all our costliest treasures bring,
Christ, to Thee, our heav’nly King.

Holy Jesus, every day
keep us in the narrow way;
and, when earthly things are past,
bring our ransomed lives at last
where they need no star to guide,
where no clouds Thy glory hide.

In that heav’nly country bright
need they no created light;
Thou its Light, its Joy, its Crown,
Thou its Sun which goes not down;
there for ever may we sing
alleluias to our King.

In Finding the Right Hills to Die On, Gavin Ortlund develops a theory of doctrinal triage. In this theory, second-rank doctrines are not fundamental to the gospel, but they are important to some level of Christian fellowship. To illustrate how second-rank doctrines work, Ortlund addresses three areas of doctrinal controversy. The first one is baptism, a topic over which Christians widely disagree.

His discussion contains much that is helpful. Ortlund rightly notes that differences over baptism cannot be reduced to one simple issue. Instead, baptism involves a bundle of questions that get addressed differently by various Christians. Different answers to these questions result in whole varieties of positions on baptism.

Ortlund also argues that, in spite of these differences, baptism is important, and the questions cannot be avoided. He is right. Either churches will baptize or they won’t. If they do, they will either baptize infants or they won’t. They will either restrict baptism to immersion or they won’t. Believers who have committed themselves to definite views on baptism cannot usually settle contentedly in churches that deny those views.

According to Ortlund, baptism is obligatory for Christians. To use his language, being baptized is a matter of obedience to Christ. It plays an important role in the church’s life as a people of God. Baptism is a sign and seal of the gospel itself (103–104). Depending upon what Ortlund means by baptism being a “seal,” I find myself agreeing with most of what he says here (though I disagree with his remark that baptism symbolizes the washing away of sins). Baptism is sufficiently important that it does affect some levels of Christian fellowship. Specifically, it must not be ignored for church membership.

I also partially agree with Ortlund that baptism is not a doctrine on which the gospel is won or lost (104). He is right insofar as salvation does not depend upon getting baptized. As in the case of Cornelius (Acts 10–11), the New Testament clearly presents salvation coming before baptism.

And yet, sometimes the gospel can be and is lost over the matter of baptism. Ortlund notes in passing that some groups, claiming to be Christian, make baptism a necessary or even sufficient condition of salvation. Still, he never draws out the implications of this observation, preferring to limit his discussion mainly to Reformed understandings of baptism.

Nevertheless, the matter cannot be overlooked. In Roman Catholicism, baptism works ex opera operato (we might say automatically) to wash away the guilt of original and personal sins, to confer the grace of justification, and to place an indelible mark upon the soul. This form of baptismal regeneration constitutes a clear denial that justification is applied through faith alone. Thus, the Catholic understanding of baptism denies the gospel.

In Stone-Campbell (Church of Christ) soteriology, salvation is not applied until an individual is baptized. A professor in a Stone-Campbell college once explained to me that if someone trusted Christ for salvation but died in a car crash on the way to baptism, then that person would go straight to hell. While some Campbellites may have softened this view, it remains near the heart of Stone-Campbell preaching. It, too, constitutes a denial of the gospel.

In other words, sometimes errors about baptism are first-level, fundamental errors. They place the people who hold them outside the circle of gospel fellowship. Bible believers should not extend any level of Christian fellowship to advocates of Roman Catholic or Stone-Campbell soteriology.

Ortlund also lists Lutherans among those who affirm baptismal regeneration, but he fails to note that their situation is different. Conservative Lutherans (such as Missouri Synod Lutherans) believe that salvation is applied through faith alone, but they also affirm that baptized infants are justified. How can they have it both ways? The answer is that they see infants as capable of faith. This faith is dormant in that the infant is not aware of it (like our faith while we are asleep), but it is nonetheless real. This dormant faith can be created in the infant through baptism.

In other words, the Lutheran view does not teach that baptism is either a necessary or a sufficient means of salvation. Granted, it is an odd view. Menno Simons is supposed to have wryly asked a Lutheran how many people the apostles baptized in their sleep. Furthermore, the Lutheran view sometimes communicates false assurance to those who were baptized as infants. In spite of these problems, this view does not deny that justification is applied through faith alone. While I judge that this Lutheran view is badly in error, it is consistent with the bare message of the gospel. Consequently, some level of Christian fellowship is possible with such Lutherans. I personally cherish the warmth of Christian friendship with professors at the Free Lutheran seminary across Medicine Lake from the Baptist seminary where I teach.

In the Reformed view, baptism identifies an individual with the believing community. It is administered to the infant children of church members, not because they are thought to be saved but because they are seen as part of the community. While this view confuses Old Testament Israel with the New Testament Church, it is miles away from denying anything that is essential to the gospel. I could not join a church with members who held this view, but I am willing joyfully to extend multiple other levels of fellowship to them.

In sum, the crucial issue with baptism is not so much its subjects or mode (though those questions do matter) as its meaning. Baptism can be understood in some ways that deny the gospel. These denials elevate some errors about baptism to the level of fundamental, first-rank errors. They break all Christian fellowship.

Other errors are of a lesser nature, limiting Christian fellowship at some levels but not others. As with all differences over non-fundamental doctrines, the question here is not whether Christian fellowship is possible. The question is which levels of fellowship are affected by the differences. Where the gospel is not at stake, doctrinal disagreement rarely makes fellowship an all-or-nothing proposition.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

The Lord Is Come

Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

The Lord is come; the Heav’ns proclaim
His birth; the nations learn His Name;
An unknown star directs the road
Of eastern sages to their God.

All ye bright Armies of the Skies,
Go, worship where the Saviour lies;
Angels and Kings before Him bow,
Those gods on high, and gods below.

Let idols totter to the ground,
And their own worshippers confound;
But Judah shout, but Zion sing,
And Earth confess her sov’reign King.

Through the fourth chapter of Finding the Right Hills to Die On, Gavin Ortlund has been discussing primary or first-rank doctrines—the doctrines that are traditionally known as fundamentals or essentials. His thesis thus far has been that when these doctrines are threatened, they are worth fighting for. His attitude toward these doctrines he characterizes as “courage and conviction” (95). While I have expressed niggling criticisms here and there—for example, I wish that Ortlund had gone into more detail about the kind of fighting we ought to do over the fundamentals—I have found myself largely in agreement with his approach.

In chapter five, he switches to the discussion of second-rank doctrines. This discussion, he says, is the most difficult part of his book, and here he aims to foster an attitude of “wisdom and balance.” While he recognizes that these doctrines are not fundamental (essential to the gospel), he suggests that they are sufficiently serious as to “justify divisions at the level of denomination, church, or ministry” (95). He illustrates his “wisdom and balance” approach by examining three second-rank (as he sees it) areas of doctrinal controversy. These are baptism, miraculous gifts, and women in ministry. His discussion of these three areas occupies most of the chapter.

Ortlund’s discussion of the three controversies is so revealing that I want to spend special time on it. I hope to examine his treatment of each of these three areas separately. In preparation for that examination, however, a review of Ortlund’s general treatment of second-rank doctrines is necessary.

While Ortlund does not see these doctrines as fundamental to the gospel, he nevertheless claims that they are important for two reasons. First, they affect our understanding and presentation of the gospel. Second, they lead to practical differences that cannot be avoided in the life of the church (96).

At this point in the discussion, Ortlund introduces at least three important caveats. First, he admits that doctrines do not fit into neat categories of importance such as first-rank, second-rank, and third-rank. He concedes that doctrines fall along a spectrum of importance, and that on this spectrum some second-rank doctrines may be closer in importance to some first-rank or third-rank doctrines than to other second-rank doctrines (97).

In my view, this concession is both obvious and important. I believe it is possible to draw a clear line between fundamentals and non-fundamentals (though even some fundamentals are more important than others). When it comes to non-fundamentals, however, I question the usefulness of categories such as second-rank and third-rank. If doctrines really do fit into a sliding scale of importance (and it seems clear that they do), then the better approach is to learn the principles and measures for weighing each doctrine on its own merits. Any other approach is likely to result in ham-fisted choices about fellowship and separation.

Ortlund’s second caveat is that Christian fellowship takes place at multiple levels. He says it this way: “Being a member in a church and being an elder in a church should have different doctrinal criteria” (98). This sentence is the merest nod toward recognizing levels of fellowship, but it is sufficient to illustrate the point: different levels of doctrinal agreement are necessary for different levels of fellowship. One expects more of a church officer than one expects of a church member.

Without question, Ortlund knows about other levels of fellowship. Later in the chapter he talks about creedal choices that were made by the Gospel Coalition (118–119). Obviously, the Gospel Coalition is an instance of Christian fellowship. Equally obviously, the Gospel Coalition does not aim to embrace all Christians (Wesleyans, for example) within its fellowship. Furthermore, the Gospel Coalition is not a church or denomination, so it cannot base its creedal requirements upon the qualifications for either church membership or church office.

While Ortlund may not realize it, he is really creating a grid for making choices about fellowship and separation. Along one axis of the grid we must weigh the importance of the various doctrines and practices of the Bible. Along the other axis we must discover the degree of agreement that is necessary for any particular level of fellowship. While Ortlund does not seem to have worked out the detailed implications of this approach, its outlines can be glimpsed in his writing.

Ortlund goes a step further, however. He presents a third caveat that effectively transforms this grid into a matrix. He opens up a third dimension for making decisions about fellowship and separation when he suggests, “Many doctrines defy a once-for-all classification without consideration of context” (122).

My initial reaction is to disagree with this statement, but upon consideration I think that Ortlund is on to something here, and it is something important. While I insist that no doctrine varies objectively in its importance, certain circumstances may underline the importance of a given doctrine at a given time and place. For example, we may not realize how important a fundamental is until someone denies or distorts it. We then discover its genuine importance in the process of defining and defending it.

This recognition helps us to flesh out Ortlund’s third dimension for the calculus of Christian fellowship. This dimension becomes unavoidably personal. For example, two people may hold a doctrinal view that disagrees (as I see it) with the Bible. One of them holds this view in a deferential way, while the other holds it with aggression and hostility. I may be able to fellowship with the first at some levels where I cannot work with the second. Ortlund is right that sometimes our context will influence the way that we perceive the role of particular doctrines in either enabling or blocking fellowship and cooperation.

I do see one significant problem in this chapter. Ortlund names biblical inerrancy as one of the “doctrines that are disputed at times by other Christians within the boundaries of orthodoxy” (119). This assessment is badly mistaken. To be clear, Ortlund does not deny the inerrancy of Scripture. What he denies is that inerrancy should be treated as a first-rank (fundamental) doctrine.

Why is this a mistake? Because all Scripture is God-breathed (2 Tim 3:16). If the Scriptures (as originally inspired) affirm errors, then those errors must come from God. If errors come from God, then God is either capable of making mistakes or else God is willing to affirm what He knows is not true. The consequences of either will be devastating. Inerrancy towers as a watershed doctrine in which the whole truthfulness of God—and therefore the reliability of the gospel—is at stake. Denying the inerrancy of Scripture does indeed place one outside the pale of orthodoxy.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

Hark! How the Watchmen Cry!

Charles Wesley (1707–1788)

Hark! how the watchmen cry!
Attend the trumpet’s sound;
Stand to your arms! the foe is nigh!
The powers of hell surround:
Who bow to Christ’s command,
Your arms and hearts prepare;
The day of battle is at hand!
Go forth to glorious war!

See on the mountain-top
The standard of your God!
In Jesu’s name I lift it up,
All stain’d with hallow’d blood,
His standard-bearer I
To all the nations call:
Let all to Jesu’s cross draw nigh!
He bore the cross for all.

Go up with Christ your head,
Your Captain’s footsteps see:
Follow your Captain, and be led
To certain victory.
All power to him is given:
He ever reigns the same:
Salvation, happiness, and heaven
Are all in Jesu’s name.

Only have faith in God:
In faith your foes assail:
Not wrestling against flesh and blood,
But all the powers of hell:
From thrones of glory driven,
By flaming veng’ance hurl’d,
They throng the air, and darken heaven,
And rule the lower world.

Gavin Ortlund has written Finding the Right Hills to Die On to work out a theory of doctrinal triage. While I have expressed reservations over the analogy to triage, I am all in favor of every thoughtful attempt to weigh doctrines for their importance. Like Ortlund, I recognize that some doctrines are primary in the sense that they are fundamental or essential to the being of Christianity. His concern in the present chapter is to articulate a way of identifying those doctrines, to distinguish them from doctrines of lesser importance, and to encourage what I can only describe as an attitude of militancy with respect to these most important doctrines.

The task that Ortlund sets for himself is nothing new. Each generation of Christians has recognized that some doctrines are essential. In times of controversy such as the Reformation, identifying the most critical doctrines has taken a special focus. Interestingly, the most thoughtful theologians have consistently denied the possibility of developing an exhaustive list of fundamental doctrines. We articulate doctrines in the face of denials and aberrations, and new denials and aberrations are still taking place. We discover that doctrines are fundamental only when heresies drive us to examine and articulate them. Consequently, we do not yet know what all the fundamentals are.

Fundamental teachings have been articulated at different points in doctrinal history. Trinitarian fundamentals were defined first, followed by fundamentals related to the person and natures of Christ. Certain aspects of human nature were discovered to be fundamental during the Pelagian controversy. The doctrine of justification was not fully articulated until the time of the Reformation. Biblical inerrancy received definition during the century beginning in about 1880. Exhaustive divine foreknowledge only began to receive full attention after the incursions of Open Theism in the 1990s, and I suspect that more remains to be said about this doctrine.

In an important sense we are still discovering new fundamentals. I am not suggesting that the doctrines themselves are new. What is new is that the denial of the doctrines leads to a subsequent focus upon and articulation of them. Every fundamental doctrine has a defining point in history. Before that point, Christians do believe the doctrine, but they believe it in a loose, imprecise, and even inchoate way. After the defining point, precision becomes a requirement for orthodoxy.

So how does one identify a fundamental doctrine? Ortlund examines a couple of schemes that he says “are a bit long” (79). Nevertheless, he eventually lands on three criteria that have commonly been articulated in the wake of the Reformation. I’ll summarize them in my language. One identifies fundamental doctrines (1) by their clarity within Scripture, (2) by their centrality to the gospel, and (3) by the catholicity by which they have been received among the true people of God. To these three Ortlund adds a fourth criterion, which he calls “the doctrine’s effect upon the church today” (79).

Every fundamental doctrine—or, in the case of complex doctrines like the Trinity, every component of the doctrine—must be revealed with clarity somewhere in Scripture. Every fundamental doctrine must be so integral to the gospel that the denial of the doctrine implies the denial of the gospel itself. Every fundamental doctrine must have been believed, at least implicitly, by true Christians in all generations.

The third test is the stickiest, for two reasons. First, it involves an element of circularity. Fundamental doctrines are believed by all true Christians, but we recognize people as true Christians because they believe the fundamental doctrines. Second, before the doctrine reaches a historic defining point it may be very loosely expressed, and some of those expressions may become unacceptable after the defining point. For example, the relationship of Christ to the Father was not formally defined until the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed, and even Athanasius expressed himself in ways that would later become unacceptable. Nevertheless, Christians had been worshipping Jesus Christ as God all along. The fundamental doctrine was believed, even if it was not defined.

During his discussion, Ortlund addresses each of the foregoing considerations in one way or another. He also recognizes three other important distinctions. One is the distinction between doctrines that must be explicitly known and believed for salvation versus doctrines that may not be known but must not be denied. In other words, while all the fundamentals are essential to the gospel, some are not essential to sharing the plan of salvation. A new believer will not know all the fundamentals. A growing believer may even be confused about some fundamentals. Yet all the fundamentals are implicit in saving faith, and to deny them knowingly is to deny the gospel itself.

The second distinction is between a learner and a teacher. In the process of learning the faith, some believers may temporarily fail to grasp the significance of some fundamental doctrines. Some learners may even develop wrong beliefs, and they may hold those beliefs until the importance of the truth is made clear to them. Because such believers are learners, they do only minimal (if any) damage to the faith. The same cannot be said of teachers. Those who put themselves forward as teachers have an obligation to know the faith and to teach it correctly. They are more culpable for error, and they profoundly damage the gospel if they teach falsehoods with respect to fundamental doctrines. As Ortlund puts it, “We must distinguish between confused sheep and active wolves” (81).

The third distinction that Ortlund recognizes is the distinction between profession and belief. Human beings have a massive capacity for inconsistency. In our inconsistency, we may deny speculatively some truths upon which we really rely in ordinary life. In Christian terms, this means that people might deny fundamentals theoretically while nevertheless trusting Christ for salvation.

The upshot is that, except in the most extreme cases, we are not equipped to evaluate whether people are saved, even when they deny important doctrines. We must adopt a double attitude toward such people. In deciding whether to fellowship with them, we must base our choices upon what they say they believe. In doing so, however, we do not usually make any judgment about whether they are headed for heaven or hell. That involves a question of heart beliefs that we cannot readily observe.

Ortlund touches on all the foregoing issues. While we express ourselves in slightly different ways, I believe that we largely agree on these points. In the second half of his chapter, he applies these principles to two particular doctrinal issues. In doing so, he raises other questions that deserve consideration. I want to address those issues in the next discussion.

This essay is by Kevin T. Bauder, Research Professor of Historical and Systematic Theology at Central Baptist Theological Seminary. Not every one of the professors, students, or alumni of Central Seminary necessarily agrees with every opinion that it expresses.

How Precious Is the Book Divine

John Fawcett (1740–1817)

How precious is the book divine,
by inspiration given;
bright as a lamp its doctrines shine,
to guide our souls to heav’n.

It sweetly cheers our drooping hearts,
in this dark vale of tears;
life, light, and joy it still imparts
and quells our rising fears.

This lamp, through all the tedious night
of life, shall guide our way,
till we behold the clearer light
of an eternal day.