Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

 

Retired Bible Professor,

Bob Jones University

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Continuous Improvement, Part 1: No Fear

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Thirty years or so ago, when I was working for BJU Press, my boss assigned me the task of researching what was then commonly called “Japanese-style management,” to see whether we could apply some of its principles to our production processes. For several years the Japanese car companies had been cleaning the clocks of the American manufacturers, and companies of all kinds were beginning to take notice.

So I did some research. Interestingly, the Japanese companies were following the advice of an American statistician named W. Edwards Deming, who argued that companies, particularly in manufacturing, should evaluate their processes statistically and make changes to their processes that were called for by the hard numbers, rather than just acting on hunches. Deming composed a list of fourteen principles to guide company management in this process of continuous improvement.

I was particularly influenced by two of these principles. The first was the absolute necessity of removing fear from the workplace. Every employee must consider himself an equal member of the team, whose input is valued. (In many cases, the line worker’s input is more valuable than the boss’s, because he’s closer to the details of the process and more likely to see where the problems lie.)

The second was the idea of continuous improvement. A company often tries to roll out a new process or organization or morale campaign, with lots of horn-blowing and pom-pom shaking and fancy new slogans, but nothing about the process and the team dynamics really changes; it’s all just pomp and circumstance. Work harder! Try more! Rah rah rah!

Deming says you can’t become a perfect organization just like that. There’s no program or reorganization that is the magic solution to your problems. Instead, you must empower everybody in the organization to notice imperfections and to speak up about them. In the case of the Japanese automakers, they empowered every worker on the assembly line to pull the chain and stop the line if he saw a problem. Yes, it costs money to stop the line; but if you see a problem, stop the line.

Because management has removed fear from the workplace (see previous principle), the employee knows he won’t get cut off at the knees when he notices and immediately reports a problem.

And quality goes up, just a little bit.

And day after day, it goes up just a little bit more.

These days that approach to management is called continuous improvement, or total quality management.

And it works.

It’s interesting to me that God’s treatment of his people reflects both of these principles.

First, God removes fear from the relationship. He does this in a couple of ways. First, he begins the relationship by assuring the believer that although he was angry at his sin before salvation, that is no longer true. He is propitiated: the enmity has been removed, and he will never be angry at the believer again.

A friend of mine, a pastor, heard me say that in class once and challenged me on that. Isn’t God angry at us when we sin? Doesn’t he chastise his people (He 12.5-9)? Yes, he chastises us, but as a perfect father, out of restorative and corrective love, not out of anger. Christ’s sacrifice propitiated the Father, and he is no longer angry. For him to become angry at us, I would suggest, would devalue the sacrifice of his Son. Was Christ’s work effective, or not? Has he propitiated the Father, or not? I said to my friend, there are Christological implications in seeing the Father as ever angry at his children.

A lot of Christians continue to live under the fear of their Father. They know that their sin continues, despite all their efforts to eradicate it. Paul admits this of himself (Ro 7.14-24). But Paul ends that confession with a shout of triumph:

I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord. … There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit (Ro 7.25a, 8.1).

And he has already said, “We have peace with God” (Ro 5.1).

The second way he has removed fear is by assuring us of a good, and eternal, outcome. We will persevere (Jn 10.27-29); God’s enemies will be defeated (Re 20.10); and we will have abundant life eternally (Re 21.1-7), as well as in the present (Jn 10.10). Confidence, like love, casts out fear.

We’ll address the second principle next time.

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Part 2: Inch by Inch

On Congregational Singing As a Team Sport

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There’s been a lot of writing—and arguing—about worship, especially over how it ought to be done. I’m not going to rehash the existing hash, which is now solidly stuck to the bottom of the pan. But I did have a thought recently about the specific area of congregational singing.

As a prefatory note, I’ll observe that many these days seem to think “worship” and “congregational singing” are exact synonyms. I would suggest that worship is much broader than congregational singing; I think the whole Sunday gathering is worship—if it’s done with the right attitude—and that in fact our whole regenerate lifetimes should be worship. The word means, after all, ascribing value, “worthship” (what the Hebrews called chabod [“glory”], or “weight”), to God.

But that’s another post. Here I’d like to address just a part of that, the congregational singing.

To begin with, it’s worth noting that if the singing is part of worship, then it is an offering to God. While worship is a joyous thing, bringing delight to those offering it, the worshipers are not the audience; they are the worshipers. As such, they should be focused primarily on bring delight to God; their delight will certainly follow, but it is a side effect, not a goal.

That principle has a good many ramifications, of course. Most obviously, we should offer God what he wants, not necessarily what we want. That’s the thinking behind the Presbyterians’ “regulative principle”—the idea that we should offer in worship only what the Bible specifically commands. Even those who don’t follow the practice should be able to agree that its underlying principle—offering God what he wants—is indisputable.

Of course, the “worship wars” were all about arguing over how we can know what kind of music God likes, and that degenerated into pretty much everybody taking his toys and going home.

But to my point. When we sing as a congregation, we are offering a sacrifice of praise to God. We need to make it the very best offering we can. And I would suggest that we need everybody on board for that to happen. That means that even those who can’t sing well need to contribute. The offering is from everyone.

I’ve never been much of a singer; I was in my high school’s chorale, since I could hit the notes, but I never had any tonal quality. It’s a mystery to me where vibrato comes from, and my abuse of my speaking voice is the stuff of vocal coaches’ nightmares. As I’ve grown older, the tonal quality has stayed flat, the likelihood of my hitting the correct note has decreased, and the breath support is pretty much nonexistent.

So should I just mouth the words and let the singers make the offering?

I don’t think so. (Though if enough of my fellow church members say otherwise, I’ll respect their judgment.) I’m not singing for my own enjoyment, or to impress my fellow pewsitters.

I’m singing to God. He knows what my voice is capable of, and he wants to hear from me.

So I sing.

Anybody who’s been on an athletic team knows what’s going on here. We all—together—do the best we can, and we are brought together by our joint participation.

And God is praised.

Our own enjoyment, as I’ve said, is a side effect, not a goal, but by God’s grace we do reap enjoyment from our team effort. We are delighted as individuals, and we are drawn together as teammates.

Every Sunday, when we gather, we thrive by singing our praise to God—together—and by uniting our hearts in worship. It’s no surprise, then, that one day, in a perfect world, we will gather, from every kingdom, tribe, tongue, and nation, and sing our praise to the Lamb with one voice.

Until then, let us praise him. Together.

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 2: Panic

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Part 1: Background

David begins with his thesis statement in verse 1. I’ll get to that eventually, but first I’d like to take a look at what his advisors are telling him.

They begin with the action item: Run!

Flee as a bird to your mountain! (Ps 11.1b).

They’re going to explain the danger in a minute, but it’s as if they need to call for action immediately—as if they’re in a panic. That idea is reinforced by their simile; birds skedaddle in a hurry. And where should the bird that is David skedaddle to? A mountain, a place of strength, high ground, with a tactical military advantage.

David knows about fleeing like a bird. The second time that he confronts Saul and refuses to harm him, he describes the king as “one who hunts a partridge in the mountains” (1S 26.20). He also knows about taking refuge in a mountain; earlier in his flight from Saul, he “lived in the strongholds of Engedi” (1S 23.29). Many scholars think this refers to Masada, the mesa-top fortress used as a refuge through the years of Roman domination around the time of Christ.

Now his advisors give him the reason: You’re in immediate danger!

For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart (Ps 11.2).

Here’s another sign of panic: Lo! Look! Pay attention! This is serious!

The wicked, David’s enemies, are “stepping on the bow”—that’s the literal Hebrew—and they’re notching the arrow. In modern terms, they’re pulling back the hammer, they’re racking the round. This is an act of naked aggression, and evidence that they mean to harm him.

And they’re preparing to shoot “privily.” This is an Elizabethan-era word that means “secretly.” ESV renders it “in the dark”; CSB and NIV render it “from the shadows.”

This is an ambush, a sneak attack. You may not be able to see them just yet, but the threat is real and imminent. This is no idle threat, and it’s certainly no joke.

David’s advisors wrap up their presentation with an assessment: It’s hopeless!

If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do? (Ps 11.3).

This is a scream, a cry of despair. AAAAGGGGGHHHH!

I’ve seen this verse used fairly frequently by Christians who mean it as a warning against apathy and complacency, a call for alertness and stewardship in the face of danger. I once spoke at a Christian school convention that chose this verse as their organizing theme that year.

I wouldn’t deny that the Scripture calls God’s people to alertness, to stewardship. God called Nehemiah to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, and for much of the construction period the workers labored with a sword hanging from their belt, because of the imminent threat from the enemies of Israel (Ne 4.18). David himself chided Saul’s bodyguard for sleeping on duty during that second confrontation (1S 26.15-16). Paul tells Christians to “walk circumspectly [looking around], not as fools, but as wise” (Ep 5.15). Jesus himself repeatedly commanded his disciples to watch, to be alert (Mt 24.42; 25.13; Mk 13.37) and chided them when they didn’t (Mt 26.38-41).

But this is a different context, making a different point entirely. My friends at the conference were using the words of the godless to motivate the godly.

And David’s response to them tells us that. To this point I’ve skipped most of verse 1; it’s time to recall it here. David says to his advisors, “How can you even say this to me?! What are you thinking?! I have put my trust in the LORD! He is my refuge! How can I seek another?”

Of what use is a rocky Judean mesa when the Almighty God is your protector?

Here, halfway through the psalm, we already know where David is headed. We’ll see him develop his thesis more thoroughly in the next post.

Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 1: Background

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Last week I preached on Psalm 11 in my school’s chapel service. Since this passage of Scripture is clear, counterintuitive, and timely, I’d like to repurpose the message here.

What do you do when you’re really, really scared? Everybody gets scared; that’s no evidence of cowardice. The key is how you respond to being scared—and how you respond depends primarily on your worldview, specifically what you believe about God.

The Psalm reads as follows:

1      In the Lord put I my trust:


How say ye to my soul,
Flee as a bird to your mountain?
2      For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.
3      If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do?


4      The Lord is in his holy temple,
The Lord’s throne is in heaven:
His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men.
5      The Lord trieth the righteous:
But the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.
6      Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone,|
And an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.
7      For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness;
His countenance doth behold the upright. (KJV)

I’ve inserted vertical space to show the psalm’s three divisions: the opening thesis statement (Ps 11.1a), David’s report of the advice he’s getting (Ps 11.1b-3), and then his response to that advice with wisdom of his own. But we should begin by trying to figure out the historical context—why he’s getting the advice in the first place.

His advisors tell him that he’s in danger, that he has enemies who want to kill him. Anyone who knows the story of David knows that there were many times in his life when that would have been the case. Long before he became king, the nation’s prophet, Samuel, anointed him for kingship (1S 16.13)—while Saul was still king, and while this king was planning to have his son Jonathan succeed him (1S 20.30-31). We know that Saul pursued David for a decade, seeking to eliminate him as a claimant to the throne—during which time, ironically, David expressed no interest in seizing the throne and even passed up multiple opportunities to do so. On at least two occasions (1S 24.1-4; 26.3-12) Saul was within a few feet of David, unawares, and David was in a position to kill him on the spot.

This psalm could well have been written at almost any time during those final years of Saul’s reign.

We also know that David faced a rebellion from one of his sons, Absalom, which led to civil war, with David and his closest advisors being exiled from Jerusalem (2S 15.10-16) and from Israel (2S 17.22-24), to seek refuge across the Jordan River in northern Ammon.

The psalm could well spring from that period as well. While we can’t place it more narrowly than that, we can note that David was someone who knew what he was talking about when he spoke to personal physical danger; his experience made him a much more reliable judge of both the danger he faced, and an appropriate response to it, than his advisors were. Even if he weren’t inspired, he’d be well worth listening to.

Next time we’ll look at the psalm’s first stanza, which reports the counsel of his advisors; in the third post, we’ll consider the second stanza, in which he responds to them.

Part 2: Panic | Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

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On Protest, Part 5: The Long View

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Part 1: Initial Thoughts | Part 2: Biblical Principles | Part 3: What Now? | Part 4: Tactics

To wrap up this brief series, I’d like to call on a personal experience to highlight the most important point, the Big Idea.

Some years ago my Dad chose to become a tax protestor. I’ve written about that in an earlier post; I’ll give you a minute to go read it before I apply it to this issue.

…

No, seriously, you need to go read the story, or you won’t understand the point here.

…

OK. Now let’s talk about how my Dad’s experience applies here.

Really, now, why did Dad quit filing his taxes?

Because he didn’t want to pay them. He claimed, based on a book he’d read, that being forced to file a return is a violation of the Fifth Amendment, which says you can’t be forced to testify against yourself. He said, “If the government can show me how much I owe them, I’ll be glad to pay it. But I’m under no obligation to give them that information.” He claimed he was standing up for the Constitution, which is the real government.

Now, the book he’d read said very directly that you must continue to file; you just enter “5th Amdmt” in every blank where you would ordinarily write a number. I’ve never asked a lawyer about that approach, mostly because I’m pretty sure what the lawyer would say. But in any case, Dad didn’t follow the book’s advice; he just quit filing.

And the IRS let it slide. I’m sure they knew where he was, even though he’d recently moved across the country, from Boston to New Mexico. They knew because he was on Social Security, and they were mailing him a check—which he was cashing—every couple of weeks.

But they knew he was old, and retired, and had no savings to speak of, so they figured he wasn’t worth their time.

But as typically happens with believers, God’s Spirit doesn’t let things slide. Dad was in a church that preached the Word, and eventually he got under conviction, and he decided to make it right.

And when he did, it actually turned out better for him than if he’d just kept his mouth shut.

Now, I don’t think we can extrapolate from that to say that confessing your sin always increases your income. But when we get crossways with authorities, governmental or otherwise, God is doing things; he’s at work. And a significant part of that work is conforming us to the image of his Son.

Now, he might have things turn out well physically or relationally, to teach us that we were boneheaded to resist the authorities he has placed over us.

But he might not, either.

Either way, we’re going to be better for having done the right thing. My Dad isn’t here on earth anymore, but if he were, he’d tell you that the cleansing of his conscience and the faith he learned to exercise were worth far more than the piddling “refund” check he got from the IRS.

If you’ll trust in God’s providential working, you’ll never regret it.

That’s the Big Idea.

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On Protest, Part 4: Tactics

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Part 1: Initial Thoughts | Part 2: Biblical Principles | Part 3: What Now?

In the previous post I said that if we must disobey a constituted authority, we should do so humbly and accept the penalty.

As a general principle, I think that’s right.

The most famous biblical example of civil disobedience, I suppose, is in Acts 4, when Peter and John tell the Jewish Sanhedrin that they will not obey their order to refrain from preaching about Christ. In that case, their disobedience is public (Ac 4.19-20), and they do accept the civil penalty—which in this case was delayed (Ac 5.17-18) and overridden by an angelic deliverance (Ac 5.19-20). The disciples continued their disobedience (Ac 5.21) and accepted further arrest peacefully (Ac 5.26); they stated their intention to disobey during a second hearing (Ac 5.27-29) and were providentially delivered from execution (Ac 5.33-39)—though they accepted a beating (Ac 5.40). And they continued to disobey (Ac 5.42).

But I do find that the biblical data appear to be broader than that. I find, for example, that Paul responds to unbiblical authorities in several different ways:

  • In Damascus, shortly after his conversion, “the Jews took counsel to kill him” (Ac 9.23-24). These “Jews” are not identified as governmental authorities, but since this very Saul had come to Damascus to carry out the high priest’s authorization to arrest Christians and return them (Ac 9.1-2), presumably for imprisonment (Ac 8.1, 3) and eventual execution, involvement of the Jewish civil leadership is at least strongly implied. Further, Paul later writes that the Roman ethnarch was seeking to arrest him at the time (2Co 11.32). In this case, Paul goes “underground,” sneaking away in the dark of night (Ac 9.25; 2Co 11.33), to live to fight another day. Neither Paul nor the disciples who cooperated in his escape ever show any regret for their decision. So apparently, sometimes you can run and hide.
  • On his first missionary journey, at Lystra, Paul accepts a stoning, which was typically intended to be capital punishment (Ac 14.19). (Of course, we doubt that he had any choice is this case.) Many interpreters believe that Paul actually died and was resurrected—and some suppose that his description of visiting “the third heaven” (2Co 12.2) occurred at this time.
  • On his second missionary journey, at Philippi, we find Paul using his natural-born Roman citizenship slyly; he knows his rights, and he works the system, so to speak. When he heals a demon-possessed girl, the local business interests bring him before the local authorities, who beat them and throw them into prison overnight (Ac 16.22-24). Now, it’s illegal to beat a Roman citizen without trial, and Paul could have stopped this procedure by simply stating his citizenship—as we will see him do later. But here he withholds that information and takes the beating. Then the next day he reveals his citizenship—placing the local leaders under the death penalty if he reports them to Rome (Ac 16.35-37). He demands a public escort out of town (Ac 16.37b)—and on the way, he takes them by Lydia’s house, where the church meets. I can’t avoid thinking that he does that intentionally: “I’d like you to meet my friends. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to my friends, now, wouldn’t it?”
  • After his third missionary journey, back in Jerusalem, the roman chiliarch sentences him to a beating for causing a public disturbance (Ac 22.24). But here, Paul plays his citizen card; he turns to the centurion and says, “Say, isn’t it illegal to beat a Roman citizen without a trial?” (Ac 22.25). And everything screeches to a halt (Ac 22.29).

So what do we make of this?

Paul sneaks out of Damascus to avoid an unjust death. In multiple later cases he uses his legal rights to accomplish his desired ends—once by claiming them up front, and once by claiming them later to force the local authorities to act justly. In every case, he is facing the threat because of his obedience to his heavenly commission.

I think we can all take Paul’s example by acting prudently, wisely, creatively, and in obedience to God’s Word.

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Part 5: The Long View

On Protest, Part 3: What Now?

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Part 1: Initial Thoughts | Part 2: Biblical Principles

What do you do when you disagree with an authority?

Providence

Begin by recognizing that God is on his throne and that he has providentially brought you to this place for His purposes. His will is being done. Of course, that doesn’t mean that everything that happens is good; he brings things into your life, and mine, that he wants us to change. He does not call us to be passive. But when hard times come, even including the sinful acts of ourselves and others, he is using those things to make us more like Christ.

That may include changing our thinking, helping us see things from a different perspective, broadening our understanding of what is good and what is evil. It may include bringing to our attention calling he has for us, work that we need to do in order to bring change into his world. It may include simply teaching us patience, or strengthening us against temptation and sin.

But whatever it is, he has his purposes. If changing us, growing us, is his primary purpose for bringing this hardship upon us, it would be a shame for us to miss it, to waste the opportunity to learn and grow.

We need to trust him.

Submission

Our first job, then, is to try, as best we can, to discover that wise and good purpose and pursue it—to subordinate our thinking to his, to act on what we understand his will to be for our own growth. Wise believers have often said that the first question we should ask in hard situations is not “Why is this happening to me?!”—as though life should always be sunshine and roses—but rather “What is God doing to make me more like His Son?”

This calls for honest introspection and careful evaluation. It calls for us to determine for ourselves that God’s will for us is the wisest and best thing, and that we will pursue it no matter the cost. We need to start with the imperfections and failures in ourselves before we set out to change the world into something more comfortable.

Biblical Criteria

After we have begun to clean up our own house, then it’s time to bring careful consideration of biblical teaching regarding the matter we’re upset about. Is the authority with which we disagree actually acting in violation of biblical truth?

This will require objectivity, which of course is difficult when we’re upset or when our own interests are involved. Is a policy unjust? discriminatory? dangerous, or otherwise evidencing poor stewardship? immoral?

There are lots of biblical principles. The key here is to state clearly the principle(s) involved and to demonstrate objectively how the principle(s) are being violated by the policy.

It’s worth noting that our authorities are under authority as well. Employers need to obey national, state, and local laws, even if there’s no biblical principle being violated (other than the requirement to obey “kings and all that are in authority” [1Ti 2.2]). Bring all the legitimately applicable principles to bear on the specific situation.

Humility

We need to recognize our own limitations.

You and I cannot reliably discern motives, nor can we know all the considerations in any decision by an authority. Once again, that authority is in place by divine providence, and I would suggest giving them the benefit of the doubt when we know that there are things we don’t know.

Throwing the Switch

If you are convinced that the authority is acting unbiblically, begin by submitting to the authority’s procedure(s) for challenging the decision. Most employers, for example, have such procedures in place as a matter of policy. If the disagreement is with a governmental body, there are avenues for redress in the courts. We should exhaust the legal options before resorting to illegal activity.

If your conscience forbids you to submit to that authority’s procedures for redress, then disobey humbly and graciously, and submit to the penalty. If you do follow the procedures, and the authority overrules your plea, then you need to make the same decision: must you disobey in order to protect your conscience? If so, then do so, and accept whatever penalty the authority determines. In every action, you must guard your personal integrity and resist the constant temptation to act out of frustration and anger.

I’d like to take one more post to modify slightly what I’ve said here about submitting to the penalty. I think the biblical example is a little more complex than that.

But Thanksgiving is this week, so we’ll talk about being thankful next time, and finish this series next week.

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Part 4: Tactics | Part 5: The Long View

Why the Reformation, Part 4

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

But corruption brings weakness, and political leaders—kings, dukes, electors—see an opportunity to gain more independence from Rome. Whereas in earlier days Henry IV, the Holy Roman Emperor, had knelt for 3 days in the snow seeking the forgiveness of Pope Gregory VII at Canossa, now a mere elector, Friedrich the Wise, will grant the heretic Luther sanctuary in his Wartburg Castle. Whereas Huss and Savonarola died early and painful deaths, Luther will die a natural death at the ripe old age of 62.

The Renaissance will bring a love of learning that begins to spread beyond the wealthy, and literacy rates will begin to rise. Scholars will begin to write in languages the masses can read. Soon more and more people are realizing that the Church and its own Bible are not saying the same things.

Can the Church be reformed?

There have been reforms before, a notable one under Gregory VII and at points along the way with church councils, most recently at Constance in Germany, after the embarrassment and disaster of the “Babylonian Captivity of the Papacy” in Avignon, France. But reforms have made mostly surface changes, and temporary ones at that. Now the corruption runs too deep, the money is too great, and the power structures are too deeply entrenched.

If change will come, it will shake the world itself and bring a new beginning.

And it will come. It will upend the ecclesiastical world by bringing to the forefront 3 significant ideas:

  • The authority of Scripture rather than the church
  • The central importance of faith rather than mechanical works
  • Direct access to God for the person in the pew

And when Reformation comes, it will come because, in the providence of God, it is spurred on by two divinely orchestrated developments:

  • The renaissance of interest in classical ideas and languages, which will lead, among other things, to the rediscovery of the Greek New Testament; and
  • The printing press, which will explode the spread of these ideas

And out of all this ferment will spring a renewed understanding of the gospel:

  • that we are indeed sinful, and that no church can forgive our sin;
  • that God himself, in the person of Christ, has completely paid the penalty for our sin through his death on the cross, and has removed his own wrath against us;
  • that faith, not works, appropriates Christ’s work to us as individuals and makes us the very sons and daughters of God;
  • and that, wonder of wonders, the righteousness of Christ himself is given to us, freely and abundantly, so that now God sees his believing children through Christ-colored glasses.

The Church tried Law, and it only led to lawlessness. The Reformation reintroduces the masses to Grace, God’s grace, which is truly greater than all our sin.

Interestingly, the discovery of the New World, by Columbus, in 1492 will providentially provide a place for a few Protestants to seek greater freedom of worship—and everyone reading this today has benefited from that.

All of this is one part, a significant part, of the story God is telling. He won’t let his images languish in ignorance and sin. He will rescue them. Further, he will not let you languish either. He will pursue you; he will break down barriers between you and him; he will draw you to himself.

And then he will make you part of the story he’s telling, till all is ready and done.

That’s who he is.

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Why the Reformation, Part 3

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Part 1 | Part 2

As the wealthy rise higher in the circles of power and influence, they can get the pope to appoint their sons—legitimate or illegitimate—to other church offices, if the price is right. King James V of Scotland, grandfather of the more famous King James, got his illegitimate sons appointed abbots; there’s a good living in that, after all. In about 20 years, in 1513, Leo X will become pope, saying, “Let us enjoy the papacy.” One observer said that Leo “would have been a good pope, if only he had been religious.” A Catholic historian described Leo’s court as filled with “extravagant expenditure in card-playing, theatres and all manner of worldly amusements. … The iniquity of Rome exceeded that of the ecclesiastical princes of Germany.”

And with organizational cynicism comes moral cynicism. If you’re powerful enough, you’ll be rich. And if you’re rich enough, you can do anything you want and simply buy forgiveness.

More than 200 years before Leo X, Dante had put popes in the lowest circle of hell. And now, 20 years before Leo X, in 1492, the very month Columbus sets sail for the Indies, Rodrigo Borgia becomes pope under the name Alexander VI. His corruption and immorality seem unending. He appoints his relatives cardinals, including an illegitimate son, and he appoints another son, aged 16, as archbishop of Valencia. He readily acknowledges other sons and daughters; his daughter Lucretia Borgia is the embodiment of immorality and corruption. He has several mistresses, including the sister of a cardinal. He appoints wealthy men as cardinals in return for huge sums of money. He sponsors orgies in the Vatican itself. To him, nothing is sacred. And he is the pope, the vicar of Christ, the servant of the servants of God.

After Alexander, Pope Julius II will turn the papacy into a military power, enriching the church through acquisition of lands and political intrigue.

So the leaders have given up being seriously religious. With their riches they buy forgiveness—they call that indulgences—and many of them just quit trying to be the right kind of person. In his History of the Christian Church, Philip Schaff writes,

“The story ran that a Saxon knight went to Tetzel and offered him 10 thaler for a sin he had in mind to commit. Tetzel replied that he had full power from the pope to grant such an indulgence, but that it was worth 80 thaler. The knight paid the amount, but some time later waylaid Tetzel and took all his indulgence-moneys from him. To Tetzel’s complaints the robber replied that thereafter he must not be so quick in giving indulgence from sins not yet committed.”

Once the indulgence money starts pouring in, the church is not inclined to discourage it. Under Leo X and his successors, the indulgence money helps build St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.

Perhaps the worst of it is that power brings arrogance, and arrogance brings tyranny. The church will tolerate no rivals; its people must conform. Heretics are dealt with harshly, as an example to others who might get unapproved ideas.

John Huss, the preacher of Prague around 1400, argues, among other things, that a church leader who is in mortal sin has no authority from God. He is promised safe conduct to the Council of Constance and then nearly starved in prison before being called to the cathedral at 6 am, expecting to offer his defense. No defense is allowed; after waiting outside for several hours, he enters the cathedral to hear his condemnation read. No one present objects. Huss says, “I commit myself to the most gracious Lord Jesus” before he is escorted to the public square, chained to a stake, and burned to death.

Beginning just a few years ago in 1478, the infamous Spanish Inquisition will condemn alleged heretics at will, with or without proof, burn them alive, and take their property to enrich the inquisitors and their friends.

Savonarola, the popular preacher of righteousness in Florence, calls out the corruption of the Roman church and Pope Alexander in particular. The pope orders him tortured, hanged, and his body burned and the ashes thrown in the river.

Photo by Wim van ‘t Einde on Unsplash

Part 4

Why the Reformation, Part 2

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Part 1

The church is as beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside; there are huge brownish columns holding up the arched ceiling, which seems to reach all the way to the Milky Way itself. There are stained-glass windows, some with pictures in them, and there are statues of people in places around the building, but you don’t know much about the stories behind them, because you can’t read, and even if you could, your family couldn’t afford to buy a book. Until about 50 years ago, all books were copied by hand, and only churches or monasteries or very, very rich people had even one. Now books are being printed on machines, but they’re still very expensive, and you’ve never even seen one.

So you’d like to know about God, but you can’t read, and at church they speak a language you don’t understand. So you ask your father and mother, but they don’t understand the church language, and they can’t read either, so that’s that.

It occurs to you that if the church is the only way you can get to God, they ought to make it easier to find out how. They have the paintings, but they hardly ever talk about them, and the homilies are all about saying prayers and doing things, most of which you can’t afford to do.

Is that what God is like? Does he only like rich people? Is there no way you can get to him?

You wouldn’t know this, but the problems go a lot deeper than you’ve observed, and the situation is seemingly beyond reformation.

For centuries now, church scholars have been focused on highly impractical speculations—such as, famously, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Philosophy has overwhelmed theology, and the sheep have been fumbled in the process. Little of what comes from the scholars is of any practical use. There is certainly nothing resembling the gospel.

The church has tried to make salvation simple for the poor illiterate peasants, so it’s reduced the way to God down to some simple, objective, countable things: you tell them what you’ve done wrong, and then they tell you how to be forgiven: you say memorized prayers, you do a list of mechanical things the priest tells you to do, you give money to various church-related causes. And when you do enough of the things, you’ll be forgiven. The church seems more interested in the quantity of your works than their quality.

But here’s the problem. You keep doing wrong things—in fact, you do the wrong things faster than you can do enough good things to make up for them, and you just get further and further behind.

Even worse, the leadership realizes this, because they see it in their own lives too. Even though the good things are fairly simple to do—anybody can say 100 Hail Marys or Our Fathers—they don’t change your heart, and you keep going back to the dark side, and you keep falling behind, and eventually it’s all just pointless.

For centuries the church has held pretty much all the power, and as someone’s going to say someday, absolute power corrupts absolutely. Rich people see the church’s power as more important than its forgiveness or even its access to God, and they become unremittingly cynical. They buy positions in the church—for a healthy fee, you can become a bishop, or an archbishop, or even a cardinal! In fact, you can buy several offices at once, and be bishop in multiple cities at the same time! Of course, that means that the bishop isn’t going to be in most of his cities most of the time, and that’s a recipe for bad administration and further corruption.

And with their riches they buy all the things they want—lands, castles, servants, clothing, jewels, amusements. Cardinal Wolsey was said to march in procession followed by a train of 500 servants.

Photo by Wim van ‘t Einde on Unsplash

Part 3 | Part 4