Adults-Only Theology

I'm sure we all realize that the various denominations that comprise the visible church each have their own reputations or stereotypes affixed to them (most of which are indeed earned). Oh, you had a vision from Jesus resulting in uncontrollable laughter? Don't tell me, you're a Pentecostal, right? So you think the locust-like creatures described in Revelation are Apache Helicopters? Which Calvary Chapel do you attend? That's a nice short-sleeved button down shirt and dark tie you're wearing, have you been a Baptist long?

It's no different for us Reformed and Presbyterian types.

If there is a stereotypical "TR," he would probably be carrying around his two-volume set of Witsius's The Economy of the Covenants Between God and Man while debating with his friends about such hot-button topics as the distinction between elements and circumstances with respect to the regulative principle of worship, the priority of union to justification, and which translation is better: Beveridge or Battles.

In reaction to recognizing our stereotypes, we Reformed ministers are sometimes tempted to avoid overly-theological subject matter in our sermons ("I can't say that, everyone will roll their eyes and the visitors will leave!").

Enter Hebrews 5:11 - 6:3....

Having just preached this passage this morning, it really struck me how that, unlike Paul with the Corinthians, the writer of Hebrews simply refused to indulge his readers' spiritually infantile condition. The reason? Well, the nature of their struggle was such that it could be met with some serious theology (what the writer has been itching to explain, as the context shows, is Jesus' Melchizedekian high priesthood, but he knew they probably wouldn't get it, 5:6, 10; 6:20).

You see, of all the doctrines that he lists in 6:1-2 that represent the ABCs of the faith in which the Hebrews were stuck, not a single one of them is distinctly Christian. In other words, these topics, while important and fundamental, were all things that these Jewish believers grew up learning about (hence their hesitance to move beyond them and their familiarity). After all, unlike with pagan converts, if these Hebrews simply reverted back to Judaism it wouldn't be all that noticeable, would it? Which is why the idea was so tempting: "We can keep our same Scriptures, worship how we always have, and still retain the basics of this new religion without going overboard, thus avoiding persecution."

What the writer was trying to show them, therefore, was that knowing the Old Testament is not enough. I mean, the Pharisees who mocked Jesus as he died knew the OT, as did Saul of Tarsus and the scribes who participated in the martyrdom of Stephen. The real issue wasn't knowing or not knowing the OT, but whether or not you were willing to read it through the lens of the Tradition, the deposit of faith that the apostles were handing down. Sure, the OT Scriptures contained all the raw data needed to discover the gospel, but like a pile of bricks, it doesn't do much good until someone brandishes a trowel and some mortar and constructs the building. In other words, when the OT is called upon to bear witness to the apostolic tradition, all of a sudden Jesus ceases to be a Galilean who got executed on a trumped-up charge, and becomes a High Priest after the order of Melchizedek, in fulfillment of Psalms 2:7 and 110:4.

My point? Well, I guess it's that if you are facing real-life, grown-up type problems, then in order to deal with them you're going to need something more than "God Allows U-Turns" or "40 Days of Purpose." That kind of thing may suffice for a while (like Gerber's), but it will keep you in a state of perpetual adolescence.

In a word, when confronted with real problems, what you need is real theology.