Book Review: Worshipping with Calvin

Worshipping with Calvin: Recovering the Historic Ministry and Worship of Reformed Protestantism by Terry L. Johnson. EP Books (2014), 460 pp.
Cross Focused Reviews Blog Tour

Contrary to what you might guess about me, I didn't research my way into Reformed theology, but was wooed by its worship. What attracted me? To name a few things, its undistracted simplicity of style, its sacramental piety (especially the focus on the Lord's Supper), and the emphasis on the Holy Spirit in applying the means of grace to believers. Once I began to taste these riches as a fledgling Presbyterian, I did begin to study more, and was delighted anew by the beautiful depths to be found in this tradition.

The above three themes are among those that Terry Johnson emphasizes in Worshipping with Calvin. For the most part, I really enjoyed reading this book. I especially appreciated the prominent influence of Hughes Oliphant Old, whose works on preaching have figured in my dissertation research. It was also incredibly refreshing to read a positive and comprehensive account of the Reformed Protestant approach to worship. I agree with Johnson that it behooves "new" Calvinists to become familiar with the liturgical reforms of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Reformed faith isn't only about a few key doctrines; its theological reforms are inseparably bound up with the shape and substance of its worship, a point that seems to be neglected today.

Having read some pervasively cranky books on Reformed worship in the past few years, I feared this book would be another whose tone would be alienating for those readers who would most benefit from the information. While there were some moments that made me uneasy (such as an over-the-top reference to "the ovens of Molech and the temple prostitutes of Baal" on p. 16), I don't think it ultimately crossed the crankiness threshold. Rather, I wasn't always sure who the intended audience was -- if Johnson was primarily addressing fellow pastors who wish to implement historic Reformed worship in their congregations, or if he meant to win over skeptics as well. Especially if the latter was his goal, some of his assessment of contemporary worship practices felt a bit dated. For instance, most of the very hymns that the Spirit used to draw me to the Reformed faith were a fusion of traditional texts with newer music, but Johnson doesn't mention such trends in contemporary hymnody, focusing instead on the deficiencies of megachurch and emergent practices that have long lost their appeal among my peers (at least from my limited observations).

However, most of the contents were a joy to read. Johnson offers a strong historical case for the way that the five Reformation solas were reflected in the accompanying liturgical reforms. Also helpful were chapters 5 and 6, which focus on Reformed worship as Bible-filled, not only in the reading and exposition of Scripture, but in prayer, singing, and the observance of the sacraments, the "visible words." As Johnson argues with regard to the latter, "There is a proper Reformed sacramental piety which places the sacraments at the center of the Christian life and the life of the church without supplanting the ministry of the Word." (150) Amen! He also walks through the "gospel structure" of the liturgy, and argues for the appropriateness of emotional restraint in the worship service.

I fully expect to reference Worshipping with Calvin again. It gave me a deeper appreciation for the theological and historical richness of the tradition in which the Lord has planted me. While it strikes me as a preaching-to-the-choir book more than an effective apologetic, that isn't in itself a bad thing. As Johnson often points out, even within Reformed circles it can be difficult to find solid, historically aware resources for worship. This book certainly goes a long way toward filling that gap, and hopefully equipping us to invite others into this gospel-shaped worship.

The publisher provided me with a review copy of this book, and I was under no obligation to give a favorable review.

Book Review: Prepared by Grace, for Grace

Prepared by Grace, for Grace: The Puritans on God's Ordinary Way of Leading Sinners to Christ by Joel R. Beeke and Paul M. Smalley
Reformation Heritage Books (2013); 287 pp.
Cross Focused Reviews Blog Tour


One of the things that helped me find my home in the Reformed tradition is its emphasis on the fact that salvation is something that God accomplishes, from beginning to end. As one of my favorite hymn-texts puts it, "The work which his goodness began,/ The arm of his strength will complete."

But from the earliest generations, Reformed thinkers have not neglected the question of how human faculties are engaged in the process of spiritual birth. Indeed, their historical circumstances forced them to contend openly with this question. They had to differentiate the Reformed position from the Roman Catholic teaching of "congruent merit" on one hand and Arminian teaching on the human capacity to respond to the gospel on the other. In doing so, they sometimes differed slightly from one another.

Beeke and Smalley aim to show, however, that the concept of "preparation for salvation" was a thread which ran consistently through early Reformed thought, from Calvin to the eighteenth century. In making their argument, they counter much modern scholarship, traced especially to Perry Miller, which reads the theological development of preparation as a betrayal of Calvin, even an Arminian encroachment. The key point here is the doctrine of creation -- God created our mind and conscience, and while the Holy Spirit could sovereignly override these faculties to effect our salvation, he ordinarily chooses to work through them. As they sum it up so well, "Puritan preparation was a thoughtful attempt to do justice both to man's total inability to love God apart from spiritual renewal and his remaining dignity, responsibility, and ability as a person created in God's image." (69)

The authors illustrate this attempt by delving into writings from both sides of the Atlantic: English figures such as William Perkins, Richard Sibbes, Jeremiah Burroughs, and John Flavel, and figures from New England such as Thomas Hooker, Thomas Shepard, and Jonathan Edwards. While their study of each writer's corpus is not exhaustive, it is thorough and careful enough to highlight subtle distinctions. For example, Thomas Hooker laid great stress on the "saving sorrow" people ought to experience before salvation, to the extent that he blurred the line between initial conviction of sin and actual conversion to and union with Christ. Later figures like Thomas Goodwin and Giles Firmin critiqued this ambiguity, as well as what they saw as Hooker's over-emphasis on the Law at the expense of pointing people to the grace of Christ. Jonathan Edwards, too, sought to make the teaching on preparation more biblically consistent. Over-schematizing the steps of preparation could actually draw attention away from the central truth of justification by faith in Christ, and pastors must remember that not all people will experience distinct "steps" in a set order. Finally, the point of preparation is not to set one's spiritual house in order so that it will be fit for Christ; rather, it is to make the sinner realize how helpless and enslaved by sin he truly is, and so to drive him to Christ alone.

For a student of historical theology, the draw of this study is self-evident. Indeed, I would have loved to read even more about each figure's historical/intellectual context to understand why preparation was a crucial matter back then. But why should a pastor invest the time in reading this book today? In a Reformed setting, I think the most obvious reason is to help one think through the role of the Law in the preaching of the gospel. The Puritans took for granted that human beings needed to be brought to grief over the offense of their sins; this way of thinking does not come naturally to most of us today. The past often surprises with fresh insights, especially when it touches on matters we tend to regard as uniquely pressing in our generation, such as approaches to preaching and evangelism.

As you will likely have gathered, these are deep theological waters, and I would not recommend this book to readers who do not have a basic exposure to Puritan texts and systematic theology. But an advanced degree in theology isn't necessary, either. Beeke and Smalley do an excellent job of guiding readers through the thickets of seventeenth-century literature, and the book, believe it or not, is a pleasure to read. It reminded me anew of how precious Christ is, and that the only goal of preparation is that the soul be "so far cast down as it sets a high price on Christ, and on grace, above all things in the world." (Richard Sibbes, 47)

The publisher provided me with a review copy of this book, and I was under no obligation to give a favorable review.

Book Review: Renée of France by Simonetta Carr

Renée of France (Bitesize Biographies series) by Simonetta Carr
EP Books (2013); 128 pp.
Cross Focused Reviews Blog Tour

I have been intrigued by Simonetta Carr ever since I heard about her Christian Biographies for Young Readers series, so when I had the opportunity to review a biography she has written for a general audience, I was quite excited! The book, introducing French princess and Italian duchess Renée of France
(1510—1575), didn't disappoint.


What I love about this book is the choice of subject. Not only is Renée a less familiar figure (I knew very little about the Italian Reformation when I started reading), but she provides a window into the complexities of her era -- theological, pastoral, and political. As Carr points out from the very first page, our perception of events as monumental as the Reformation tends toward the simplistic. The story of a layperson like Renée, who was caught up in those changes with all the doubts and challenges they provoked, can help us understand what was at stake -- truths and freedoms we take largely for granted in our context.

I won't detail Renée's biography here, except to note that she struggled to stand for her newly Reformed convictions in the midst of many pressures: a religiously unsympathetic husband; the sometimes questionable theology of fugitives to whom she offered hospitality; witnessing the horrors of the religious wars seizing Europe. At one point, isolated from her family and under pressure from an inquisitor sent by the king of France, Renée renounced her Protestant faith and agreed to receive the Catholic Eucharist. We know little about what was in Renée's heart at this time, but we know that, after her husband's death, Renée eagerly provided refuge and education to many persecuted Huguenots. Carr does not attempt to settle the scholarly debate as to whether Renée is better viewed as a Protestant heroine or a vacillating Roman Catholic. While Renée's apparent fluctuations can be frustrating to us, as they were to her contemporaries, her will indicates that she died with a humble confession of God's sovereign mercy.

Carr brings out a number of questions posed to us by Renée's story -- questions that we often avoid in today's church. Is it okay to participate in religious behaviors that conflict with our beliefs, especially to avoid offense to others? What does it look like for Christians to love their enemies? The differences between the Mass and the Lord's Supper were life and death matters in Renée's time, and her stumbles appear to have been due in part to poor pastoral oversight. Do we still see these matters as crucial today?

This book also provides a wonderful glimpse of John Calvin's pastoral character, as much of the narrative is based on Renée and Calvin's correspondence lasting from 1537 until his death in 1564.

While this book assumes some knowledge of Reformation history, it is certainly not just for historians. Anyone interested in the impact of Reformation events on individual lives will find it a fascinating read. There is an excellent annotated bibliography for those who would like to venture into more scholarly territory. Simonetta Carr is a keen interpreter of history, and I can't wait to see which personalities she will acquaint us with in her future projects!

If you are interested in hearing an interview with Simonetta Carr, please click here.

The publisher provided me with a review copy of this book, and I was under no obligation to give a favorable review.

the class Calvinist: a historian's (?) dilemma.

In my (too many) years in higher education, I haven't yet been in an environment where I felt completely at home in the school's mainstream. I've already talked about that on this blog, with reference to Yale. I think it's somewhat true at my current school, too. But what I'm particularly thinking of is my Reformation class. I think part of the weirdness is that it is a history class, in the history department, so people are not necessarily asking theological questions all the time. I'm not sure how to negotiate that difference.

But, today, when we were discussing parts of Richard Baxter's A Christian Directory of Practical Divinity (a great text, by the way), I found the drift of the conversation really odd. Baxter was an English Puritan pastor, and in this work, he's advising pastors on how to care for church members who suffer from a "melancholic" personality. It's quite interesting reading. But the argument that got raised in class was, "Well, no wonder Protestants got depressed. Catholics can do something about their salvation, but when you're Protestant, it's all about your faith." There seemed to be a consensus that Protestantism (at least in the early generations of Reformers) is sort of gloomily introspective and subjective whereas Catholicism is concrete and active and good for the less theologically inclined common people.

I'm not sure if this has anything to do with the fact that I go to a Catholic university. Especially in the history department, one's personal affiliation doesn't get brought into discussion so much. But I still felt the pressure of being (as far as I know) the class's only Presbyterian, or at least known to my classmates as someone who's working on Reformed topics in my research. Obviously, I disagree with that sweeping assessment of Protestantism. One of the chief joys of my faith is that it is not purely subjective. It's not about my ability to believe in Christ, but about Him, and the means of grace given through Word and sacrament. And yes, there is a subjective aspect to my reception of those things. How could there not be? And why must that be bad? Ultimately, I know that it's not about me (or at least, that's the thing I am struggling to learn!).

I'm not making this post a Catholic versus Protestant thing, understand. I'm just thinking about the weirdness of my position -- like, to what degree is it appropriate for me to try to "defend" my faith in this particular context? Do I need to? The discussion was not, at least on the surface, about the theological validity of one position over the other. To be honest, my instinct is to try to let these things roll off my back because it isn't a context where apologetics feel appropriate (and I am bad at apologetics anyway. I can tell you about my faith, but if you expect tidy, well-thought-out argumentation, you'll be pretty disappointed; it isn't my gift). I don't think I have to feel offended or defensive.

Sometimes, it does get to me, I admit. More in a tiring way than an angering one. I dislike being forever on the defensive, and I don't think it's a very healthy posture. Sometimes, though, I wish I felt less like an odd,  half-mythical critter being studied as a historical curiosity, and more like a person who actually believes the stuff.

Don't get the impression that it's a hostile environment, because it isn't. And I bet I'd be surprised to learn who else feels that way, if from a slightly different standpoint. (And let's be honest, there's likely no learning environment that is fully "safe" in this way...)

Why, hello, Calvin.

Recently, I was assigned to read some selections from Calvin's Institutes for my Reformation class. The section was in Book IV, "The External Means or Aims by Which God Invites Us Into the Society of Christ and Holds Us Therein." In other words, it was discussing the Church.

Here are a few snippets I found to be especially meaningful:

 "Although the melancholy desolation which confronts us on every side may cry that no remnant of the church is left, let us know that Christ's death is fruitful, and that God miraculously keeps his church as in hiding places."

"First, [the church] stands by God's election, and cannot waver or fail any more than his eternal providence can. Secondly, it has in a way been joined to the steadfastness of Christ, who will no more allow his believers to be estranged from him than that his members be rent and torn asunder."

On the church as our "mother": "Our weakness does not allow us to be dismissed from her school until we have been pupils all our lives."

He goes on to write that, if we try to find a flawless church on the earth, we will either conclude that there is no true church in existence, or we will overlook error on lesser matters for the sake of upholding what is central. Calvin argues that we shouldn't allow even the slightest errors to be fostered, but we also must not "forsake the church because of any petty dissensions."

Here is the heart of what I think Calvin was saying (and others more knowledgeable, please, feel free to correct me): It may appear to us, as it did to some sixteenth- and seventeenth-century believers, as if the church has been vanquished, but we know that cannot be true, because God has elected that it will not fail. One of the reasons for its perseverance is that it has been joined to Christ's own steadfastness, and we can rest in knowing that He will never allow His own to be torn away from Him.
We need the church because it is the treasure-house of the gospel and the means of grace; no matter how strong we become as Christians, we can never consider ourselves beyond the need of what God has graciously ordained for our good. And we shouldn't be so arrogant as to think we can find some "pristine" body on earth, or that, in our rightful zeal for the church's purity, we should forsake the visible church over relatively minor points of dissension.

There's plenty of room for debate over these points, I'm sure. But that's not why I felt the desire to post them. You see, I had scarcely read a word of Calvin until last week. In other words, studying the Institutes is obviously not what made me a Presbyterian.  What amazed me about reading just these passages is that, not only was it a great solace to me as a member of the Body, but it echoed my experience so far of being a part of it.

I don't think anyone sat me down with excerpts from Calvin and said, "Here is what you should believe about election, and the importance of the visible Church, and submitting yourself to it in humility." But I can think of many ways that has been modeled for me in love, by pastors and other brothers and sisters in the faith. And now that I've had the opportunity to read the theological language behind it, it's such a blessing and encouragement to be able to think, Yes. I didn't know that Calvin had argued this in so many words, but I already knew it, because I've seen it and am beginning to live it, by God's grace.

I hope that makes some sense. I'm not saying that I would agree with Calvin on every single point; I can confidently say that I wouldn't, in fact, because he's John Calvin, not God, and his writings are not the infallible Word of God. Neither am I saying that I think it's sufficient to get all one's theological lessons in an implicit, "it's just in the water" kind of way. (Indeed, I really need to get to work on learning the Catechism; and I am all about meaty theological education for ordinary church members.)

But there's something good, I think, about meeting somebody through what they wrote 500 years ago and realizing, "Hey, I recognize you." It testifies to that very unity sustained by Christ, which He promised us would never be overcome. Not due to our ability to argue correctly or live purely, but because of His perfect faithfulness.

Thanks, Calvin!

Yesterday I read this post which helped me get into a better frame of mind for the coming week. Especially this excerpt from Calvin's commentary on Luke:

It is an error to think that those who flee worldly affairs and engage in contemplation are leading an angelic life. . . We know that men were created to busy themselves with labor and that no sacrifice is more pleasing to God than when each one attends to his calling and studies well to live for the common good.

What's really fascinating here is that I'm pretty sure Calvin is responding to the popular medieval interpretation that upheld Mary as the model of the "contemplative life," what Jesus refers to as the "good portion," and Martha as the model of the "active life." I am terribly curious to look at the Calvin quote in context and to see if he is building an argument about the godliness of the ordinary "worldly" vocation over against the traditional Catholic elevation of the consecrated religious life. Fodder for a future blog post, maybe???

Anyway, back to how the quotation helped me: in light of my despondency last week, it's a great comfort to reflect that my labor (even mine!) is a work for which God created me. And that even (or especially) when it's a sacrifice, the discipline with which I attend to my calling pleases God. Calvin also says that God is pleased when His laborer "studies well to live for the common good." Isn't that a neat expression?

It's led me to think about the self-indulgent ways I sometimes envision my work. I don't even mean consciously self-indulgent, all the time. But I hear myself speaking of my studies as "tedious" or "wearisome" often, and while that's just a fact of life, I wonder if it is also because I take for granted that my work is primarily about what happens inside my own head. Maybe you're thinking, "Well, duh. She's an academic!" Obviously, it has a lot to do with the activity inside my head!

On the other hand, though -- how often do I reflect on how my work involves "[studying] well to live for the common good"? That the way I pursue my calling, in order to please God, must redound to the good, not just of my family, my department, or my field, but to the good of the church, of the Kingdom? Beyond sentimentalizing or merely paying lip service, how could that really change the way I approach what I do in my little basement carrel on a daily basis?

Created to be busy, to labor, to sacrifice, and so to please God. Wow!

I think there is a lot more that could be said here. I think it can well apply to all Christians, but maybe I should think more about how the life of the academic (specifically the student of theology?) has both "Mary" and "Martha" aspects... Another blog post in the pipeline?! :)