It seems clear to me there are two poles, or contravening tendencies, of Christian ecclesiology. On the one side are those who exclude others based on apparent trivialities, and on the other side are those who blithely welcome just about any belief. It should be mentioned that sincere believers can be guilty of either extreme—on the one hand, avid sectarianism, and on the other blanket universalism: it is, perhaps, possible even to be guilty of both extremes at the same time (such as when a universalist labels the beliefs of others “toxic”). Yet both sides ignore one of two mandates of the Christian Church: either to have no divisions among us—to be “perfectly united in mind and thought”—and to “demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God.” There are plenty of verses on either side, although on the first side the imperative seems to boil down to “love one another as I have loved you” and “honor one another above yourselves.” But on this prong, too, there are many unambiguous praises of unity (John 17:23, Romans 15:5, Ephesians 4:3, 13). The other prong is equally attested: “stand firm in the faith,” (1 Cor 16:13); “Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist…” (Eph 6:14); “So then, brothers, stand firm and hold to the teachings we passed on to you,” (2 Thess 2:15).
In my limited experience, it’s somewhat rare to find a Christian community embracing both prongs. Some do a marvelous job seeking to be One in Christ, and some defend the truth admirably well. Often, though, we do not do both. Often those who strive for the unity of all believers—or all people, “believers” or not—compromise the teachings of Scripture…not necessarily in their own understandings, but in how they present the message of Christ to the world. Not uncommonly, they put on display unity with things not of Christ, or heterodox beliefs, or a preference for tolerance over love. Often those who seek to know intimately well the truth contained in Scripture hold other believers away at arms’ length; often they circumscribe their cause too narrowly, excluding genuine believers who merely represent the diversity of emphases and understandings and aesthetics present within the Church.
For the one side, the message can sometimes be that Christians are intolerant, arrogant, divisive, and hypercritical…far from faithful to the verse “they will know you by how you love one another.” For the other side, the message is often that there’s really nothing absolute or distinctive about Christianity, it is just one interpretation among many and not completely alien to the ways of the world—contradicting the imagery offered by writer of Hebrews as well as Peter that Christians are “aliens and strangers” upon the earth, or James’ warning that “friendship with the world is hatred toward God,” or Jesus’ own observation that the world would hate His followers (John 15:19-20, 17:14). God looks for worshippers in spirit and in truth. It seems to me that the hyper-tolerant Christian communities which do not want to draw hard lines between “us” and “them” undermine the truth that Christ embodies, whereas the hyper-dogmatic congregations who make every doctrine an absolute may err by ignoring the loving spirit of Christ (as well as by often placing too much assurance on their own understanding). In doing so, I suspect each side misses out on the essence of both spirit and truth.
There are plenty of examples of each party, but I’ll just mention one relatively extreme case of each error. One important case of hyper-dogmatic sectarianism comes from the Great Schism between the Eastern and Western Churches in 1054. Now, there were a multitude of factors behind this divorce (such as the Bishop of Rome’s assertion of universal jurisdiction), but one which proved more of a deciding issue than it could possibly have merited was the Filioque controversy. The adding of the words “and from the Son” to the Creed split asunder the two great halves of Christendom. No matter that, doctrinally, the West held merely that the Spirit had its actual source only in the Father, and proceeded “from the Son” in the sense of flowing through the Son: they were not ascribing two sources for the emanating of the Spirit, but rather, in a sense, two stages (caveat: I’m no ecclesiastical historian, so I don’t stand by the accuracy of every detail in my account). The actual understanding of East and West did not, in the final measure, seem contradictory. No matter that much of the problem came from the inability to perfectly translate Greek into Latin. What may well have been incorrect in Greek was not necessarily so in the language of the West. This single Latin word led the heads of each church to somewhat bitterly excommunicate each other; I think, even giving allowance for the importance of the Creeds, such an action proved overly divisive.
On the side of universalism stands Rob Bell, who seems to fit in rather nicely with the relativistic culture in which we live in, and much less well with the Christian thinkers who’ve come before. I’m not going to spend time outlining why universalism runs contrary to Christian teaching and Biblical beliefs; others have done better jobs at that than I can, and in any event I take it as an obvious given that Judgment and Hell, Satan and damnation, are supported by the Bible. Only wishful, naïve, obstructive thinking can hold otherwise. No, I see no need to attack the doctrine of universalism: my focus is more on the attitude of universalism. That which, whatever it may profess—even orthodoxy—refuses to draw lines in the sand and say it matters what you believe, that many beliefs are downright wrong and harmful, and that “He, and He alone, is Truth.” I’m not aimed at those who profess truly universalist beliefs: their beliefs stand outside the ambit of the Gospel. I am speaking of those who may assent to the truth, but are unwilling to assert it; who act as though the wrong beliefs held by others do not matter—or are, at least, none of our business. Those who choose superficial unity at the cost of accepting, without comment or complaint, irreconcilable differences into their midst.
Our culture is one that often praises motivation, intention, and a Kumbaya attitude over speaking truth. But in 2 Tim 2, Paul speaks of correctly handling the word of truth, about false teaching that spreads like gangrene, about those who have wandered away from the truth, and false claims that destroys the faith of some. Also, though, he says in the same chapter to avoid “foolish and stupid arguments” that “produce quarrels,” but nevertheless to gently instruct and teach those who oppose the knowledge of the truth. And here lies the crux of the matter, and the origin of a lot of misemphasis. Those who emphasize the value of unity at the cost of defending the truth can look at Paul’s disdain for “quarrels” and “stupid arguments” and conclude that Christians should avoid doctrinal disputes, debating theological matters, and drawing lines around their beliefs. A casual look at the New Testament reveals the flaws of such a interpretation, though, for Paul debated and disputed with Christians who mixed false claims in with the Gospel (see, e.g., Acts 15:1-2). Why else would he instruct believers to put on the belt of truth and to stand firm, if not to actually do so? Why else would he send Timothy to Corinth to remind the Christians there of Paul’s “way of life in Christ Jesus” that agreed with his teachings, if not to bring them into line with his own teaching? And why, significantly, would he call a church to expel an immoral member, to “judge those inside” the church, if he did not wish the community of Christ to draw clear and uncompromising (and ultimately loving) lines around themselves? (1 Cor 5).
When Paul spoke of quarrels, he at least sometimes made clear that he meant the quarrels which cropped out of people following a particular human leader instead of Christ, the jockeying for position among church parties, rather than defending the truth against those undermining it (see 1 Cor 1 and 3). In modern terms he might be saying “don’t fight against one another as disciples of Luther or Calvin or Wesley, but remember you all are disciples of Christ.” He was not instructing the early Church along the lines of “do not insist that we are saved by faith alone” or “don’t argue with those who say Christ is not the only way to the Father.” Indeed, elsewhere he says to “put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbor, for we are all members of one body” (Eph 4:25). While this probably includes the directive simply to not lie to one another, a few verses previously Paul mentions being “taught in Him in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus.” Paul does not condone false teaching; in fact, he seems to prefer preaching the truth out of false motives than preaching falsehood out of true motives (see Phil 1: 15-18).
Throughout Paul’s letters he revealed an earnest desire for both the unity of believers and the defense of the true faith. In reality, these were one and the same thing: this unity resulted from following the same Christ. As for Jesus Himself, He sets up equally clearly the lines of battle: “whoever is not against us is for us” Mark 9:40; “He who is not with Me is against Me, and he who does not gather with Me scatters.” Matt 12: 30. There are only two possible sides to stand on, and people cannot live in unity with both God and the world. One cannot be unified in the one faith in Jesus, and also unite with those who follow the teachings of the world. Jesus cared about truth at least as much as Paul, calling the Devil the father of lies; there was no ambivalence in Jesus, but rather an unflinching speaking of the truth. In fact, He famously asserted “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6). Granted, this is Truth of a different order than doctrinal squabbles, but the picture is clear enough: the line between Truth and Falsehood is uncompromising, and tacitly accepting falsehood puts one on the wrong side of the divide.
Unity and defending the truth are, rightly understood, interdependent. Phil 1:27 commands “that you stand firm in one spirit, contending as one man for the faith of the gospel.” This does not sanction standing in unity with those contending on behalf of other spirits—this verse urges first that we Christians conduct ourselves “in a manner worth of the gospel of Christ,” and that unity of spirit will be the result of that as we contend “as one man for the faith of the gospel.” It is a very specific thing we are supposed to be united on behalf of: to testify to the truth of Christ and the good news of the Gospel. The language of “contending,” actually, asserts a struggle: we should take care lest we join with those who contend against us. And everyone, in the end, IS unavoidably unified, either with Christ or against Him. It doesn’t only matter that you value and work towards unity. It matters what you seek to be unified with. We fight for a cause, and the ideal of unity is to support that cause. It is not meant to supplant the cause. Unity means surrendering your own idiosyncrasies—not for the sake of the majority, or the outspoken minority, or the beliefs of your brother or sister, but for the sake of the Truth revealed in Christ. If we are not unified in Christ, we lack the unity which Paul, John, and Jesus Himself commanded of us. Those who, like Rob Bell seems to do, extol unity and community and blithe acceptance of any and all beliefs (except, interestingly, those which assert absolutes) as the end itself, miss a major point of the Biblical mandate. Unity is not the ideal, but rather unity in Christ: it is no use trying to join Christ with things not of Christ. He will not budge. There will always be things, people, ideas, that refuse unity with Christ, and pity the Christian who seeks to be bound to them.
We love one another because Christ first loved us, bought us and redeemed us, brought into fellowship with Him and each other…and out of that familial relationship springs unity. It was this loving unity that led Paul to direct a man to be excommunicated, for he valued the man’s soul more than congeniality….and he also valued the health of the community that was bound together by their profession of faith in Christ. “What do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?” The New Testament is not shy in drawing lines; nor should we be shy in acknowledging them—the danger comes when we start to draw lines all our own. But when the Scriptures paint a picture, we are obligated to see it not defaced. This is equally true whether people from within or without the Church try to deface it. We should correct them in love, surely, and we ought to always remember that it is the truths in God’s Word, not the assumptions we’ve built around them, that we should defend. But the attitude of universalism, which refuses to acknowledge that some beliefs (and people) stand on the outside, invites graffiti on Biblical truths.
As mentioned above, there is interrelatedness between “loving one another in unity” and asserting truth confidently, clearly, and faithfully. They do, however, apply pressure in different directions…there are inherent tensions in our obedience to either mandate. I don’t think this is because they work at contrary purposes, but rather complementary purposes. One criticism of Rob Bell’s recent book points out that “the only sins Bell finds distressing are horizontal, as if all that ultimately matters is whether I am greedy, mean, angry, abusive, fearful, or covetous. There is no mention of hating God, of loving ourselves more than Him, of ignoring God and refusing to submit to His commands. That we steal God’s glory for ourselves and want to be praised, honored and worshipped as little gods, does not crack the top 20 of big sins for which I should feel bad, much less repent. That we think about our own reputations but care less about whether Jesus is known, loved and served by those who have never heard of Him never ever comes up in the conversation.” (Tim Stoner, “No Doxology, no (eternal) Hell”). On the other hand, overly dogmatic, divisive, sectarian believers seem to care only about “getting it right,” and assuring themselves that at least they and God are on good terms, no matter about how they treat other people.
This dynamic has been noted before. Tim Stoner wrote of it in the language of “Warriors for Justice and Righteousness.” There is a tendency among Christians to emphasize either Justice—“horizontal” values—or Righteousness—“vertical” relationship—at the functional exclusion of the other. I do not pretend that I have struck the balance between these tendencies. I suspect which side I tend to fall onto, and I no doubt teeter over and fall onto the other side when I try to correct myself, like the proverbial drunkard on his horse. But these two realities, the importance of horizontal relationships as well as the vertical one, are not mutually exclusive, no more than those two beams that form the Cross are mutually exclusive. They possess the same center. The union of these two commands is found in Christ’s answer to the question about the Greatest Commandment. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” and, in the same breath, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
We cannot love our neighbors as ourselves unless we love the Lord with all our hearts. If we do, we will obey His commands: “Love each other as I have loved you.” If we place primacy on the horizontal love, we will never truly display it. If we only care for the vertical love, we will end up deceiving ourselves as to the reality of that selfsame love. We love God, not only with our hearts, but also with our souls and minds, and all our strength. If we truly love Him with every aspect of our being, we will take His words to heart. We will know the importance of the Good News, and the Truth it proclaims: that though the wages of sin is death, the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord, and that whosoever believes in Him will not perish; that the mind of sinful man is death and does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so, and is hostile to God, but that the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace. Love among mankind and love for God are part of the same love, manifested in God’s love for us. First things come first, though, and the emphasis on our vertical relationship with God takes primacy of place—but, once in place, it branches out among our neighbors and enemies. The urge to exclude and the urge to accept both have their proper place in Christian life, but each are equally dependent on the Cornerstone of our faith, Jesus Christ. In following His guidance and taking on His nature, we learn to keep at arms length what we should have no truck with, and also to extend the grace, forgiveness, acceptance, and sacrificial love that runs at odds with our fallen humanity. Those who refuse to budge on points of orthodoxy may well be lifting up Christ Himself; those who extend welcome to sinners, stumblers, and ragamuffin saints may well be following closely in His footsteps. The guidelines for when and where each tendency is proper is found in the Word alone, not in sappy (and oft-times snarky) sentimentality as is displayed in Rob Bell’s recent book, nor in haughty, self-assured holiness in the tradition of the Filioque Controversy and the Spanish Inquisition. The Word of God is “Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” If anything less be our guide, whether recent cultural fads or ingrained denominational boundaries, woe on us.
