On the Unity of the Church

This essay is a follow-up to my previous series on the question of whether there is only "one true church" from among the Christian denominations (and if you haven't gone back and read it, I'd encourage you to do so). The apparent conclusion of that series answered the question in the negative: The claims of various denominations to be the "one true church," to the exclusion of all others, do not seem to stand up to the light of careful scrutiny with regard to their historical, biblical, or experiential arguments. Now, there's still some openness to that conclusion--it might the case, for instance, that the issue isn't a simple black-and-white question, and that there might be one church, above all others, that possesses the fullness of God's grace, whereas other churches only cling to a partial inheritance of that blessing. While that possibility remains, I've yet to see any significant evidence toward that end, and so I maintain my skepticism for now.

However, in this essay I'd like to flip it around and make the case that the answer to the central question--Is there only one true church?--should actually be Yes. There is only one church, and it is the Body of Christ, composed of all faithful believers everywhere. And further, our visible divisions ought not to be an obstacle to our fundamental unity. We are mystically united in Christ, through the Holy Spirit, and we have significant ways of giving practical evidence of that unity here and now.

The argument for the metaphysical unity of all Christians in the mystical Body of Christ is not difficult to understand, and it has been the fundamental conception of the church in some denominations (like Anglicanism) for centuries. It simply follows the Apostle Paul's argument in Eph. 4:4-6:

"There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all."

Essentially, since the Holy Spirit is undivided, then if he indwells one's church, the true believers in that congregation are part of the undivided church. Since there is only one Christ, there is only one Body of Christ; and if we are members of it, then we are part of the one true church. And since the Holy Spirit gives evidence of being present and active across the whole swath of orthodox Christian denominations (as argued in the closing section of my previous essays), all such churches should be regarded as part of the one true church. We're basically just doing the same thing that Peter did when he recognized the Spirit's work in Cornelius's family--since God has accepted them, how can we maintain a division that keeps them apart from us?

A critic from one of the ancient apostolic churches might argue at this point: "Isn't the visible unity of the church important, though? The early church was single and undivided, a unity held together both by shared faith and a network of offices established by the apostles, held in complete communion with one another." This appeal to history does say something valuable, but it's not as robust an argument as the critic assumes. There exists a counterexample that calls the whole premise of the objection into question. You see, we actually have evidence of a part of the ancient church, recognized as being authentically Christian, but which appears to have maintained an entirely separate life from the "Great Church" tradition (the tradition that eventually became the Oriental Orthodox, Eastern Orthodox, and Roman Catholic churches). That is to say: we have evidence of a separate "denomination" existing in early Christianity. This was the Nazarene sect (not the modern Church of the Nazarene), essentially a Messianic-Jewish tradition which persisted across the first four centuries of Christian life. References to it are sparse because the group appears to have been small, but recent scholarship has revealed that the early church fathers regarded it as separate, but not heretical. It was a direct outgrowth of the early Jewish followers of Jesus, and while it may have been the same community from which the Ebionite heresy eventually emerged, a significant orthodox remnant of that community faithfully maintained a truly Christian set of doctrines. It had a robust Jewish-Christian theology, entirely acceptable to the wider church, yet it did not have any known aspects of visible communion with the Great Church tradition beyond their shared doctrine. Differences in language and culture, together with their existence in geographically isolated areas on the margins, appear to have kept them effectively separate. So, yes, there is historical evidence of a separate-but-equally-the-true-church denomination, existing from the earliest days of the faith, until they were gradually absorbed back into the larger structure after the public Christianization of society in the fourth century, probably reintegrated as part of the culturally-similar Syriac churches. 

Even aside from the Nazarenes, you could argue that a form of denominationalism has always been a part of Christianity from the very start, when linguistic and cultural divisions were causing factions in the Jerusalem church. There are evident differences between the Hellenistic form of Christianity and the Jewish form as early as Acts 6, and these are repeated in Acts 15, Acts 21, and in the curious disjunctions between Paul's letters and that of James. There is no overt hostility or excommunication of one another, but there is clearly a development of different ways of expressing and practicing the Christian faith. Beyond the New Testament period, these gaps persist. One can see major divisions in practice between Greek-speaking and Syriac/Aramaic church traditions; other similar fractures in culture accrue in regions which spoke still different languages: Coptic, Armenian, Ethiopic, Georgian, Latin, and so on. These differences weren't just issues of style, either: they affected major questions of doctrinal practice. The Syriac liturgy of Addai and Mari, for example--recognized even by the Roman Catholic Church as an accepted and authentic form of ancient Christian worship--has no words of institution in its Eucharistic prayer, which in any other context is considered an indispensable element of Catholic practice. The culturally-different churches of early Christianity quickly developed their own ways of worshiping, which, while recognizably Christian, differed in some non-trivial respects from the way Christians worshiped elsewhere. All that to say, the argument that denominations did not exist in early Christianity is a little too much of a blanket statement to match the truth of the matter. The roots of denominational division were often clearly visible long before any official schisms took place.

OK, one might say--even if it's true that we Christians all share some kind of metaphysical unity by our incorporation in the mystical Body of Christ, isn't our lack of visible unity still a tragic thing? Well, yes and no. Certainly, the hatreds and persecutions that have arisen over division in the Body of Christ are tragic. But I'd like to argue that if we put aside the polemics for a moment, to pause and to "hear what the Spirit says to the churches," we'll begin to see with fresh eyes the great harvest of the fruit of God's work among our sister denominations and the beauty of our diversity. I also want to suggest that we have ways of demonstrating visible unity close at hand, for anyone willing to use them. Three in particular suggest themselves to me: recognizing Eucharistic unity, credal unity, and the unity of brotherly love.

First, Eucharistic unity. This one may come as a bit of a surprise, since it's usually listed as one of the main things that divide Christians. We squabble about our different beliefs regarding what is really happening in the elements of communion. Are they actually transforming into the flesh and blood of Jesus? Or is Jesus somehow spiritually present (but not physically) in the bread and wine? Or are they a purely symbolic memorial of his sacrifice? This was one of the great fracture-points of the Western Christian tradition, and it remains a sore point to this day. 

It's not an unimportant question. Indeed, in many ways it stands at the absolute center of our corporate Christian life. But as I've reflected on the question over the course of my life, I've gradually come to the conclusion that we're all coming at it backwards. What we believe about the Eucharist will certainly frame our devotion around its practice, but is our belief about what happens actually the operative agent of what occurs? We all have faith in God's miraculous power at work in his church, and we practice the Eucharist as scripture and our traditions have handed it down to us. It seems to me that under those conditions, it will be what God intends it to be. If God's intention was for it to be a symbol of Christ's sacrifice, then that is what it actually is, even in Catholic churches that like to imagine there's a metaphysical transformation going on. Conversely, if God intends for it to be the literal presence of the flesh and blood of Christ, why wouldn't that actually be what happens, even in a Baptist church, seeing as they are instituting the service of communion exactly as Jesus and the apostle Paul commanded it to be done? Granted, there's no prayer of epiclesis in the New Testament, and so that part is absent from the Baptist rite, but as we've seen, even the omission of the actual words of institution in some ancient liturgies is not an insurmountable hurdle. Might it not be the case, if transubstantiation were God's intent, that a faithfully orthodox church, indwelt by the Holy Spirit, would receive the efficacious change of the elements as a result of their usage--being exactly faithful to the New Testament prescription--whether they were aware of that change or not? I'll admit that I don't know for sure what is happening behind the scenes in communion, and that the early traditions are generally more sacramental than the normal Baptist conception, but I don't think the theological logic of any of that means that God's gifts are not actually present in the precise way he intended, even in a Baptist church like mine. There's at least an off chance that we'll get to heaven and find out that our communion has been the true flesh and blood of Christ the whole time (or, on the other hand, that the Catholics will find out that it has been a symbolic memorial the whole time). 

In short, I think the differences in our perceptions of communion do not actually add up to a difference in our actual reception of communion, and so our mutual participation in the highest rite of the faith ought to be a sign of our unity, accomplishing in each one of us everything that God intends we should receive from the rite. Indeed, this idea of the Eucharist as a sign of Christian unity is at the center of the first post-apostolic interpretation of the rite. In the ancient Christian text known as the Didache ("The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles," and repeated in the later Apostolic Constitutions), there's a very early Eucharist liturgy which, interestingly, makes no claims about any of the things that later generations obsess over, like symbolism-vs-transubstantiation in regard to the body and blood. It includes neither the biblical words of institution nor a prayer of epiclesis. Instead, this is what it says (and it's worth considering it in full):

"Now concerning the Eucharist, give thanks this way. First, concerning the cup: 'We thank thee, our Father, for the holy vine of David Thy servant, which You made known to us through Jesus Thy Servant; to Thee be the glory forever.' And concerning the broken bread: 'We thank Thee, our Father, for the life and knowledge which You made known to us through Jesus Thy Servant; to Thee be the glory forever. Even as this broken bread was scattered over the hills [i.e., in the form of grain], and was gathered together and became one, so let Thy Church be gathered together from the ends of the earth into Thy kingdom; for Thine is the glory and the power through Jesus Christ forever.' But let no one eat or drink of your Eucharist, unless they have been baptized into the name of the Lord; for concerning this also the Lord has said, 'Give not that which is holy to the dogs.' But after you are filled, give thanks this way: 'We thank Thee, holy Father, for Thy holy name which You did cause to tabernacle in our hearts, and for the knowledge and faith and immortality, which You made known to us through Jesus Thy Servant; to Thee be the glory forever. Thou, Master almighty, did create all things for Thy name's sake; You gave food and drink to men for enjoyment, that they might give thanks to Thee; but to us You did freely give spiritual food and drink and life eternal through Thy Servant. Before all things we thank Thee that You are mighty; to Thee be the glory forever. Remember, Lord, Thy Church, to deliver it from all evil and to make it perfect in Thy love, and gather it from the four winds, sanctified for Thy kingdom which Thou have prepared for it; for Thine is the power and the glory forever. Let grace come, and let this world pass away. Hosanna to the Son of David! If anyone is holy, let him come; if anyone is not so, let him repent. Maranatha. Amen'" (Didache 9-10).

Based on this tradition--likely the earliest post-apostolic Eucharist liturgy available to us--the first Christians were not much concerned with the question of whether the bread and cup actually became the body and blood of Christ (and if it was a point of doctrine, it was apparently not one requiring an emphasis in the ritual itself). If it leans in any direction on that question, it appears to be more toward a low-church conception than a high-church one, but it's left largely undefined--the closest we get is a description of the elements as "spiritual food and drink," which could be taken either as symbolic or sacramental language. What does jump out clearly from the text, though, is an emphasis on communion as an expression of the church's unity. The beautiful imagery of the individual grains from fields on the hillsides all coming together to form one loaf is presented as the great hope for Christian unity and the ultimate redemption of the church. It would be well to reacquire this early point of emphasis in communion. Just like disparate grains scattered across the hills, the various denominations of Christianity are separated by wide gulfs of culture, language, and differences in style. And yet, by the miraculous work of God's Holy Spirit, we are made one in Christ, just like the grains coming together to form one loaf. I believe that our common practice of the Eucharist is, in fact, one of the very things that binds us together, far more so than we have ever perceived. Christ's command to take, eat, and drink--a command given to "all of you"--has taken us, this wayward rabble of wildly different disciples--and made us one communion in his Body.

If Eucharistic unity is the first form of practical unity which lies open for us to recognize, another one is creedal unity. Just as in the first great church age, the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed can be the irenicon it was always meant to be. It remains, to this day, the standard summary of Christian dogma on Trinitarian doctrine and Christology, agreed upon by all. You might ask, "Well, what about non-creedal types (like you Baptists), who insist that Scripture alone is the only rule of faith?" It's a fair question, but it misunderstands the doctrinal position of the non-creedal churches. Most of these, in fact, have come around to a recognition that creeds are necessary tools, even if we don't call them that (we tend to call them "Statements of Faith"), and if you apply for a job at a non-creedal evangelical ministry, you might be surprised to find that you are being asked to assent to a Statement of Faith (that is, to a creed). I've lived my whole life in the evangelical world, and never ran into anyone who disagreed with any single line in the classic Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed. If they did, they wouldn't be an evangelical anymore, nor really even a Christian. The creed is a summary of core biblical doctrine, and so us Bible-only types recognize the biblical truth within it and generally have no trouble agreeing with it.

The creed also remains a source of unity for the apostolic churches and communions, despite their differences. Major creedal ruptures tended to happen after the fourth century (in which the creed was produced), so it still stands as a representative of the more-or-less "undivided" age of Christianity. Even later disputes that focus on the actual text of the creed, like the Catholic/Orthodox feud over the Filioque, are potentially easily overcome once we explain exactly what we mean by the lines we confess (for example, the Orthodox can say that they are referring to the manner of the Spirit's eternal procession from the Father; the Catholics can say they are referring to the historical procession of the Spirit in the divine economy as it played out in the Gospels and Acts). Such disagreements really do, it turns out, fall under the much-abused category of mere semantics, despite each side's continued declamations against the opposing one. 

My suggestions, then, are to frame our unity on these two aspects that really do matter to us all: the rite that stands at the center of our worship, and the statement of faith that serves as the classic exposition of our doctrine. That's not to say that we have to start doing these things together, as the ecumenical movement has so often tried to do (with relatively little effect), but simply that we can recognize our unity in these things. To be a member of the one true church is to receive God's purpose for us in the rite of the Eucharist and to confess together the biblical truths found in the creed. A Nicene church that practices the Eucharist by (at the very least) an obedience to the form as mandated in the New Testament should, in my opinion, be regarded as truly the church of Jesus Christ. This doesn't require a formal, institutional union, but a recognition of mutual brotherhood in the communion of the faith. My third practical suggestion follows on this: to seek a unity of love with one another, foregoing the fever dream of full institutional unity for something that is, quite probably, closer to what Christ commanded. The rule of love is what Jesus points to as the center of our unity: "Love one another as I have loved you."

But what about Jesus's prayer for Christian unity in John 17, praying that we would be one as he and the Father are one? Doesn't that imply a deep, real, abiding unity that goes beyond merely loving one another? Well, it depends on how you frame the matter. I would say first that there's nothing "mere" about loving one another. Further, given my prior arguments, I must insist that there already is a deep, real, abiding unity across the churches, because of the Holy Spirit's abiding presence. We really are one, in the deepest and truest sense.  One day the veil will be lifted from our eyes, and we will see just how deeply we were a part of one another this whole time. But I would also say one more thing: I think we're mangling the analogy in Jesus's prayer if we take it to mean that unity-in-the-manner-of-the-Trinity means a full visible and institutional unity, such that there would be only one "denomination." After all, it's an indispensable point of Trinitarian doctrine that there is a real distinction of persons in the Godhead--they are all God, but they are not each other. The Father is not the Son, and the Son is not the Father, though both are fully and undividedly God. To interpret Jesus's analogy as implying a full institutional unity of the church appears to make a serious error of Trinitarian theology, dissolving the distinction of the persons into the unity of the divine nature. A more natural reading would suggest that the various denominations can remain themselves, as they are, while acknowledging the underlying metaphysical unity we already hold together in the Holy Spirit (thus, as the Father and Jesus are one: distinct in person, united in essence). The outward and visible sign of our unity would then be our love for one another, which is itself the defining quality of the Trinity's inter-relationships, the radiance that suffuses their union. And again, this is no "mere" loving one another, as if it's somehow a lower standard than institutional unity. If anything, it is probably a great deal harder. We Baptists need to learn to love our Catholic brothers and sisters, and the Orthodox need to learn to love the Pentecostals, and the Anglicans need to learn to love the Methodists, and so on. It won't be easy, but if my personal experience is of any value, it's more than possible.

As a closing thought, I would direct readers back to an essay I wrote years ago, on "The Beauty of Denominationalism." It strikes me that Jesus chose not just one successor, but twelve--twelve men with very different personalities, who all had to figure out how to love each other and get along together. This is our calling, too--our life as the church won't be made better by absorbing evangelicalism into Roman Catholicism, any more than it would have been had all the other disciples given up their identity, authority, and mission, so that Peter could just do everything for everyone. Rather, what we see in the apostolic missions of the book of Acts is that Peter and the other disciples, along with Stephen, Philip, Paul, Barnabas, and James, all exercise their own functions from the strengths of their differing personal qualities, and the whole church is strengthened as a result. I see the same thing in the panoply of denominations: we're better for having the Lutherans' untiring drumbeat on the refrain of grace, the Reformed emphasis on the glory of God's sovereignty, the Pentecostals' joy and expectation of the Spirit's work, the Anglicans' commitment to the beauty of moderation, the Anabaptists' patient adherence to the rule of peace, the Catholics' delight in the communion of saints, and Orthodoxy's rich vision of personal sanctification. If we were all subsumed into one institution, even if allowance was made for some differences in practice and culture, it would necessarily result in a gradual adjustment toward uniformity and a loss of some of these distinctives (a case in point is the way that Uniate churches--formerly Eastern Orthodox communions which joined Roman Catholicism--are now regarded by their old Orthodox family). An institutional uniformity that makes us less than what we are, I'm afraid, could be a tremendous loss to the whole Body of Christ. 

This isn't an argument for relativism, by the way--I'm not saying that Baptists and Catholics can both be right on everything, because that would just be nonsense. Take the question of the scope of the Pope's authority, for example. One of us is likely right, and one is likely wrong. No, this is an argument for recognizing that where God has not seen fit to grant us abundant evidence for settling a few secondary theological issues beyond the primary core we hold in common, the best response is charity for our differences and a commitment to loving each other in the midst of them. That's what brothers and sisters do.

This, ultimately, is the reality that I inhabit. I've fallen in love with the whole church, and I won't give any of it up. I have roles as both a Baptist and, weirdly enough, also as an Anglican (yes, really), and even as a monastic oblate in a 1500-year-old Catholic institution. These roles are not mutually contradictory--I am a Christian, a member of the mystical Body of Christ, and thus I am an heir of the whole church tradition, every part of it. Those who willfully dispossess themselves of fellow members of that Body merely end up impoverishing themselves, because we really are one in Christ.

Is There Only One True Church? (Part 4)

(If you haven't read them yet, go back and read the first, second, and third installments of this series of essays.)

The third vein of argumentation which various denominations will lean upon to make their case as being the one true church is an experiential one. This is usually not the primary argument for any particular church; historical and biblical arguments often come first. But it’s not uncommon to hear appeals to the evident power of the Spirit of God in one’s communion—miraculous evidence that one would only expect to find in the true church of Jesus Christ.

And, truth be told, that is what you would expect to find. If the Gospels and Acts are to be believed, the presence of miraculous signs and wonders was one of the hallmarks of the life of the church, especially associated with the first proclamation of the gospel in a new area, thus demonstrating the supernatural power of God in their midst. If a church or communion is indeed the one true church, then that hallmark should still be visible, at least in some form. If it is not the one true church—if it is merely a delusion of heretics and schismatics—one would expect the Holy Spirit not to offer gospel-matching miracles in their midst.

As a student of church history and a lover of the church in all its forms, I have a long-running set of experiences across the spectrum of many different denominations. And here’s the peculiar thing: despite the very vocal claims of some communions to be the one true church, to the exclusion of others, what one actually finds is that miraculous experiences are associated with all churches grounded in the Bible and the core doctrines of the ancient faith. From Catholics to Eastern Orthodox to Copts to Baptists to Presbyterians to Pentecostals (and many more besides) we find that the mystery of the Spirit’s power working in the church, the narrative thread underlying the book of Acts, is still wending its way through the experiences of all sorts of Christians today.

But, one may ask, can this kind of self-reporting be trusted? We’re talking about miracle reports from people who believe in miracles, want miracles to happen, and are looking for them. Surely there’s a significant margin of error for confirmation bias! Well, yes, no doubt there’s a good deal of that. But there’s something quite striking about the Christian legacy of miracles nonetheless. This experiential element runs through the ages as a mark of Christianity, but does not appear nearly as frequently in other religious traditions—not even those traditions that emphasize miracle-stories in their founders’ lives and their holy texts. Miracles pop up all the time in Christianity in a way that is simply orders of magnitude beyond those of any other religious system, with the possible exception of shamanic religions and other faiths associated with direct contact with spiritual entities (and there Christians would have reason to expect miracles of a rather darker sort to indeed be present). A good argument on this point is made in Craig Keener’s magisterial study, Miracles, which looks at both the startling ubiquity and the reliability of Christian miracle reports, both ancient and modern.

Okay, the critic might say—but since we brought up the possibility of demonic “miracles” in shamanic religions, why can’t that be true of heretical Christian denominations as well? Maybe Satan would give such groups a few miracles in order to keep people away from the one true church. While this objection sounds persuasive at first, it really isn’t nearly as compelling on closer inspection. These other Christian denominations, which the critic spurns as heretical, in fact show significant evidence not only of dramatic signs-and-wonders-type miracles, but even more so of the kind of “ordinary” miracles that Satan would absolutely despise: lives transformed by the power of the gospel, addictions broken, marriages restored, lives bearing abundant evidence of the fruits of the Spirit, and glory given to Jesus Christ as Lord. That being the case, I don’t think it actually passes muster to say that Satan must be the one behind the flashier miracles.

On balance, if one were to judge from experiential evidence alone, it would appear that the Spirit is at work across the whole swath of faithful Christian denominations. Each tradition includes a very large set of supernatural experiences related to the inner life of the Christian, and it’s also common to find the grander supernatural occurrences of public miracles in each tradition as well. One of the curious features to me, though—and one that I don’t quite know what to make of—is that each tradition seems to receive the kind of miracles that they expect to receive. Bible-centered traditions like Baptists and Reformed churches see healings and deliverances in response to concerted prayer; Pentecostals see dramatic healings on command and ecstatic phenomena; Catholics see Eucharistic miracles and healings from relics; Eastern Orthodox see myrrh-flowing icons. It’s interesting, isn’t it? The miraculous power of the Spirit appears to respond to those places where each particular Christian group is looking for his presence.

In any case, the experiential argument for there being only one true church has never really held up for me. Quite the contrary, it points in the opposite direction—that the Holy Spirit seems to regard the whole vast diversity of Christendom as the true church. If I were to try to convert based on the evidence of God’s supernatural power that I have actually seen at work in the church, I would have to convert to a Pentecostal church, the Roman Catholic Church, and an Eastern Orthodox church—all while also remaining Baptist! It seems to me, based on this observation and the ambiguity of the historical and biblical arguments, that it’s fairer to regard the whole Christian community as the church of Jesus Christ—all those who truly hold to the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints, as laid out in the scriptures.

Now, this still isn’t an open-and-shut case. Is it still possible that one of the biblical arguments is true, in exclusion of all other interpretations, and that one of the historical arguments is true, despite the paucity of evidence, and that some as-yet-unknown factor could explain the broad presence of miracles? Sure. But with an absence of evidence, it seems a little foolhardy to start jumping denominations before any clear answers appear. If there is only one true church, my prayer is (and always has been) that God would make it known to me, and if in his grace he grants that request, then I will drop everything and race to join the one true church. In the meantime, I’m content to grow where God has planted me.

The Evangeliad (30:13-15)

(Click here for an introduction and previous installments of the Evangeliad)

Section 30:13-15 (corresponding to Luke 14:18-20; Matt. 22:5)

But those who receive the word, do they come?

No, they make up excuses, every one.

Caught up in themselves and their busy lives,

They reject the King for their own enterprise.

'Tell the King,' says one, 'I've just bought a field;

I must go see it--my schedule won't yield!

Send my regrets to the King and his son,

But as for myself, I just cannot come.'

Another one says, 'It's livestock for me--

I just bought oxen, five yoke, don't you see?

I have to go now and examine the lot.

Have I time to go to a feast? I do not.'

Still another one says, 'I too cannot come

To the King's son's feast, for I just had one!

Yes, I'm married now, have a wife, you see,

And all of that means that I'm just not free.'

Is There Only One True Church? (Part 3)

(If you haven't read them yet, go back and read the first and second installments of this series of essays.)

Having considered historical arguments, we turn now to arguments from scripture. Like the historical arguments, though, we will see that the evidence called upon is ambiguous at best.

Most denominations will appeal to a broad alignment with the general shape of New Testament church practices, in effect arguing, "Our practice aligns closest to what the Bible portrays, and therefore we're the one true church." This is essentially the argument put forward by any Reformation or Restorationist churches that make the claim, and one could say that the Orthodox also fall into this camp at times. While the Orthodox tend to lean more heavily on the historical argument (as their current promotional shtick puts it, "We are the church founded by Jesus Christ...we are not non-denominational, we are pre-denominational"), they would draw on biblical arguments to distinguish themselves from Protestants on issues like church hierarchy. They would point out, for instance, that three distinct offices are mentioned in the New Testament, exactly matching the tripartite division of clerical orders which apostolic churches have always held: bishops, priests, and deacons.

This argument is a good case study for us, because it illustrates the problems involved in making biblical arguments for these denominational positions. While it is true that bishops (overseers), priests (presbyters/elders), and deacons are all mentioned as church offices in the New Testament, it's not entirely clear that it was held as a standard tripartite hierarchy in the New Testament period. There are places in scripture where there appears to be no distinction between bishops and priests; the terms are used interchangeably. In 1 Timothy 3, Paul lays out church offices by addressing only two: bishops and deacons. Then in Titus 1, Paul brings up priests (presbyters/elders) in a similar fashion, but quickly switches terms to bishops (overseers), in a way that plausibly suggests he is still describing the same office. In short, it can be argued that Paul only envisioned two roles, with one of them (bishop/priest) simply described in two different terms, as both an overseer and an elder, much as one might call the same person both a pastor and a minister. While a uniform hierarchical structure of church offices clearly emerged in early Christianity, some historians have argued that in some places, bishops and priests were simply two different terms (or roles) applied to the same people until at least midway through the second century. In short, one can look at the New Testament evidence and faithfully interpret it as upholding a hierarchical model (bishop-priest-deacon), a free-church evangelical model (a pastor as overseer/elder, assisted by deacons), or a Reformed model (multiple elders led by a pastoral overseer, and assisted by deacons). The biblical evidence simply is not clear enough to make a "case closed" argument for church offices one way or the other.

A similar ambiguity arises in almost any biblical argument that centers on the doctrinal distinctives of various denominations. The question of infant baptism? The biblical evidence is mostly absent, but just nebulous enough to allow for the possibility. What about transubstantiation? Maybe, or maybe not, all depending on how one interprets the symbology of Jesus's statements, which can legitimately be read either way (yes, even when the flesh/blood passages from John 6 are brought into view, because there Jesus follows his very physical, visceral statements by saying, "the flesh counts for nothing," v.63). What about the reverence and honor due to Mary? The positive way she is addressed in most of the gospel accounts makes it possible to consider an ongoing role for Marian reverence in Christian devotion, but any sign of such devotion is almost entirely absent from the rest of the New Testament. In all of these instances, the evidence is simply so unclear that reasonable people will have room to disagree. Can you make a case for all of these positions from scriptural texts? Sure. Can you make a case against them? Again, sure. That's why the disagreements still persist, despite each denomination knowing their Bible just as well as the other denominations do.

Roman Catholics have one more biblical argument they draw on to make their case, one that does not apply to any other church's argument: Jesus's commendation of Peter in Matthew 16:16-19. Here's the text:

Simon Peter replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” (ESV)

The Roman Catholic interpretation of this passage is pretty straightforward: Jesus gives ultimate authority in the church to Peter, and since Peter is the apostolic founder of Rome, whose bishops are his successors, the Roman Catholic pope still retains this authority today. We've already seen that the historical argument which underlies this position is based on incomplete evidence. Further, interpreting the passage in this way makes a lot of assumptions that readers import into the text: namely that the pope of Rome is the intended and only successor to Peter, and that the authority given to Peter here is passed down to those who come after him (which Jesus never actually says).

It's worth taking a look at the evangelical and Orthodox views of this passage, just to see some of the legitimate ambiguity in its interpretation. From the evangelical side, many will point out that the context matters: Jesus is not just commending Peter out of the blue; he is commending Peter's confession of faith. The passage can be read as Jesus's assertion that the content of that confession--the identity of Jesus as God's Son and Messiah--is the foundation upon which the church rests, and that Peter is given his new name in recognition of that confession. Evangelicals will point out that the text may hint in this direction by using slightly different words for Peter (petros) and rock (petra). As the first person in the believing community to make this confession, Jesus says that Peter is being given the keys of the kingdom of heaven. It is possible to read this not as a permanent transfer of authority to Peter personally, but rather just as a statement of what happens when someone makes a confession of the true faith--they gain access to the kingdom of heaven; Peter just happens to be the first in that position during Jesus's ministry, so this is when it comes up in the story. The curious phrase about "binding" and "loosing" is potentially a reference to rabbinic language used about the interpretation and application of God's law, and again, this could apply just as easily to any believer (if that is the ultimate recipient of these blessings) as to Peter. Further, if the phrase does refer to interpretation of scripture, a parallel passage from Matthew seems to apply such powers to a fairly broad group ("every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven," Matt. 13:52). Another reason for suspecting that the "binding" and "loosing" powers may not apply solely to Peter is that Jesus says a very similar thing (in regard to forgiving sins) to all the disciples who are gathered together at his resurrection appearance in Jerusalem, not just to Peter (John 20:23). 

In the Orthodox interpretation, they are less concerned than evangelicals with invalidating a personal application to Peter's authority. Instead, they point out the unproven assumptions of the Roman Catholic argument. The Orthodox are generally willing to say, "Yes, this is Jesus committing authority to Peter to establish the church and to set its authoritative form and function. And he did just that--forming the Jerusalem believers into the church, as related in the book of Acts." They do not presume that Jesus intended for Peter's commendation to be passed down in a succession of authority through the ages, but rather that this was a prophecy of Peter's function after Pentecost, and that that function was fulfilled just as Jesus said. If there is any continual transfer of authority to successors, the Orthodox would view it as a statement of the authority handed down to all bishops. This is no less plausible than the Roman Catholic view of the passage, considering that there is no mention of any of these things in what Jesus says--not succession, not Rome, and not bishops. It's all an argument from silence, which must be arbitrated by historical evidence, and as we've seen, the historical evidence is hardly conclusive.

All that to say, if we're pinning our hopes on finding the one true church through biblical arguments alone, we're likely to be disappointed. Scripture is very clear about a lot of things, but when it comes to the points of contention between denominations, the textual evidence is generally insufficient to be independently decisive. That's essentially why there are multiple denominations, after all--because the text allows for a variety of readings. Some churches try to fix this problem by appealing to their exclusive authority to interpret scripture rightly, and maybe that's so--but for an outsider, their very claim to exclusive interpretation appears to be built on nothing but their own assertion, since neither the biblical evidence nor the historical evidence makes a strong case for it. 

So what are we left with? Well, there's still the experiential argument, which we'll take a look at next time. If there is one true church, wouldn't one expect it to be suffused with the power of God? Maybe the record of miracles and wonders will tip the scales one way or the other.

The Evangeliad (30:9-12)

(Click here for an introduction and previous installments of the Evangeliad)

Section 30:9-12 (corresponding to Luke 14:15-17; Matt. 22:1-3)

One of the guests in attendance replied:

"Oh, to taste the bread that God shall supply!

How blessed to feast in the kingdom of God,

When the righteous One reigns in brilliance and awe!"

Then Christ told this parable for his reply,

To remind them that the kingdom was nigh:

"The kingdom of heaven is like this, my friends:

A feast is planned; invitations are sent;

For the good King wants to honor his Son

With a festal event that's rivaled by none.

Yes, many are called to come to the feast,

And the King sends his servants into the streets.

To all those invited, they bear the good news:

'Come join in the feast; the King summons you!

All things are made ready to honor the Son,

So render the King's joy complete, and come!'

The Evangeliad (30:6-8)

(Click here for an introduction and previous installments of the Evangeliad)

Section 30:6-8 (corresponding to Luke 14:12-14)

And looking around the table again,

Jesus spoke to the host and all of his friends:

"When you have a feast, don't seek to invite

Your city's magnates of wealth and of might--

The rich and powerful, prestigious and high--

Nor even invite the friends at your side!

Don't just throw parties for comrades or kin;

Go out in the streets and bring the poor in!

The homeless and lost, the orphans and waifs--

Yes, the ones for whom this table was made!

Call in the malformed, the lepers, the lame,

A feast for the ones beaten down by their shame!

If you call in the rich, they'll favor you back,

And all your reward will be finished with that.

But favor the poor ones, seeking no prize;

You'll have rewards when the righteous shall rise!"

Is There Only One True Church? (Part 2)

(If you haven't read it yet, go back and read the first installment of this series of essays, where I define the categories of arguments used to make the claim of "one true church." The piece below focuses on one such category, historical arguments.)

Let’s take the Roman Catholic Church as our case study for the historical angle. Their stance on other Christian communions has softened somewhat since Vatican II, but they still insist on a basic recognition that they are “the” church: the church Jesus founded, the church in which sacramental grace is most abundantly present, and the church which God ultimately wants everyone to join. Since they are among the most vocal about asserting such claims, they make for a good case study illustrating the difficulties in presenting historical, biblical, or experiential arguments for one’s position.

- Historical arguments – The RCC claims that they are an apostolic church, founded in the first wave of Christianity and organized under the apostolic leadership of Peter. That much can reasonably be granted as plausible. Not only was Rome one of the first major churches, but there is good historical evidence that Peter went there, encouraged the Christians there, and died as a martyr there. It’s the further RCC claim that run into historical trouble: namely, that Peter’s apostolic foundation of the church of Rome represented the beginning of a bishopric meant to hold sway over the entire Christian communion; and further, that the RCC should be considered the one true church because it descends in an undeviated line from that apostolic foundation.

Let’s take it one step at a time. Is there reason to believe that Peter’s role as an apostolic founder of the Roman church signified the beginning of a bishopric exalted above all others? Maybe, but probably not. It’s true that Rome was granted a certain sort of primacy from very early on, but most of the early sources do not treat it as the same sort of primacy which the see of Rome now claims for itself. Rome was described as “first among equals,” as having a “primacy of honor,” and as being “the church which presides in love,” but note that each of those statements bears a condition with it—an equality with other sees, a primacy of honor (not of governmental authority), and a presidency exercised in love (not in monarchical superposition). Irenaeus argues that churches must be in communion with Rome (and even ascribes to it a “preeminent authority”), but the main reason he usually gives is Rome’s role as the preserver of the apostles’ doctrine—thus opening the question of what one should do if Rome ever strayed sufficiently far from the core of New Testament doctrine, as the Reformers believed it had. (It’s also worth noting that Irenaeus was within the geographic bounds of the patriarchate of Rome and was writing to address local situations of heresy, so one would naturally expect him to refer matters to Rome’s authority rather than, say, to Jerusalem’s.) Cyprian of Carthage, often quoted as one of the fiercest early defenders of the necessity of being in communion with Rome, is also the church father who most consistently told the pope to butt out of the business of bishops elsewhere (such as in his own native Africa). So while the early records do indicate a form of primacy accorded to Rome, it doesn’t leap off the page as being quite what the RCC now asserts regarding the role of the pope.

Now we'll take a closer look at some of the specific historical arguments involved. First, the association with Peter: we should note that Peter was almost certainly not the founder of the Roman church—at least not in terms of being the one who first began building a circle of believers there. There’s every reason to believe that there were Christians in Rome shortly after Pentecost (Acts 2:10), in the early 30s AD, and Peter likely does not arrive in Rome for several decades thereafter (late 50s or early 60s). Still, we’ll grant the possibility that he may have been the first of Jesus’s twelve apostles to visit the church in Rome, and that upon his arrival he took an active role in organizing the believers there into an institutional form by appointing leaders. One of the problems for this view, however, is that the earliest sources refer to Rome’s authority in the context of Peter and Paul’s apostolicity (that is, not specifically with reference to Peter alone). In some cases, it’s more Paul than Peter. When Pope Clement writes to the church of Corinth in the late first century, he writes his letter as issuing from the whole church of Rome (not from his own personal authority), advises them to submit to their own appointed leaders (again, not to his own authority), and makes reference to the mutual connection they have to Paul’s apostolic authority (not Peter’s). Judging from the earliest references, then, it was not so much the position of Peter’s office that made Rome special, but the clout of having the two heaviest hitters in the apostolic college.

A further argument against making a simplistic connection between a founding by Peter and supreme authority arises from the fact that Peter exercised a similar office for the church in Jerusalem three decades beforehand, and (by good historical authority) in Antioch as well. So we have two other major patriarchal sees which also claim an apostolic foundation from Peter. Why should Rome get the nod over them? In most patristic sources that touch on the subject, Rome is ranked before Antioch and Jerusalem despite them all having an apostolic foundation rooted in Peter’s ministry, and for two main reasons: it was the site of Peter and Paul’s martyrdoms, and it was the imperial capital. The latter reason—based largely in institutional practicality—was also the main reason for adding Constantinople to the list of patriarchal sees, in a position proximate to Rome’s, in the fourth century. The elevation of sees to the circle of the five major patriarchates was not really a function of apostolic founding (though that was assumed), but of practical organization: they represented the major urban centers for their respective regions (Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, and Antioch), plus Jerusalem, which was included for its status as the original mother church. The administrative practicality of the arrangement appears to have been the decisive factor, else one would be hard-pressed to explain why none of the small churches of central Asia Minor (also plausibly founded by Peter—see 1 Peter 1:1) ever rose to the circle of major patriarchates. Constantinople claimed a possible-but-historically-dubious founding from Andrew, but it was really its status as the new imperial capital that sealed the deal for its inclusion. It seems, then, that being the imperial capital carried with it a considerable sway, not only in political affairs, but ecclesiastical ones as well, and the sources openly admit that as a major consideration.

Other reasons raised by modern Catholics in favor of Rome’s historical primacy—like Jesus’s appointment of Peter in Matt. 16:17-19—are not quite as clear-cut as it might seem at first glance (more to come on that passage in the section related to biblical arguments). So it appears that to claim an apostolic foundation from Peter is not really a “case closed” argument, since other patriarchal sees can and do make the same claim, and early texts show that Rome was distinguished from those sees on other grounds. The see of Rome was regarded as “first among equals,” but patristic texts seem to show that while Rome gradually came to think that “first” was the most important word in that phrase, everyone else thought that “equals” was the most important.

It should perhaps also be noted that the Western tradition makes a common error in speaking of this matter, whenever someone labels Peter as “the first pope.” Patristic sources are generally careful to separate the special office of the apostles from that of the institutional bishop, which was derived from their authority but not exactly equated with it. Thus Peter is counted a founding apostle for Jerusalem, Antioch, and Rome, but not the first bishop in any of those places. James (the brother of Jesus) is counted as the first bishop of Jerusalem by patristic texts, a role which can pretty clearly be seen in the records of the original ecumenical council, when his personal assessment is taken as the final form for the council’s ruling, even though Peter is also there in person (see Acts 15:13-21, especially v.19). For Rome, Linus is counted as the first bishop, and thus the first pope. Both Irenaeus and Eusebius speak fairly clearly on the matter—Peter is an apostle, not a bishop. That’s all a bit tangential to the topic at hand, but worth mentioning.

The second little piece of the historical argument—that the RCC should be considered the one true church because it has descended in an undeviated line from its apostolic foundation—is compelling in some respects, but a little incomplete. Other apostolic churches, not in communion with Rome, make the same claim about themselves. Some of those churches even reckon their apostolic foundings earlier than Rome’s, and they also still exist in an unbroken line of descent (the Coptic church of Alexandria is a good example of this). What distinguishes Rome’s claim above theirs? For an outsider, it’s difficult to see any significant distinction in the arguments which should favor one side or the other.

Further, the argument from an undeviated descent only takes into account the institutional process by which each ordained office is filled by an appointed successor. Even the necessity of apostolic succession is open to question, since it is not clearly pointed out as important in the New Testament and only emerges as a consideration gradually over the subsequent centuries. And it’s also worth asking whether the institutional process is actually the most important part of the idea of apostolic succession. While it’s kind of neat to have a chain of ordinations stretching back to the apostles, that institutional narrative says nothing at all about whether the church in question has remained faithful to the doctrine of the apostles. This was the main sticking-point for the Reformers of the sixteenth century. They had no arguments with the historical fact of Rome’s apostolic succession (though some doubted whether it was really that important), but rather with the sense that Rome’s doctrine had gradually shifted into something that was now in significant tension with the doctrine of the New Testament—preeminently, Paul’s apostolic declaration of salvation by grace through faith, and not by works. Even if one were to grant that Peter had founded Rome and that it maintained an undeviated line of succession from him, should one still hold allegiance to it if it began teaching a different gospel than the one taught by the apostles? This matter is a little harder to see clearly now than it was in the sixteenth century, because various reforms from the sixteenth century on have clarified Catholic doctrine and led the RCC to tack back towards a more biblical expression of its theology, but at the time of the Reformation, it was clearly and openly preaching a salvation that could be earned by works. One of the most fundamental questions to discern, then, in the matter of whether a church’s claim to be the one true church is valid, is the question of whether their teaching still matches the doctrine that was “once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3). Given the various doctrinal disagreements between apostolic churches today, one cannot simply assume that apostolic succession guarantees doctrinal faithfulness.

And with that consideration, we’ll shift and examine the biblical arguments in the next piece. As I hope this case study demonstrates, the historical arguments for claiming to being the one true church quickly get bogged down in the messiness of early sources. No church’s claim actually shows up to be nearly as clear-cut in history as they want it to be. Is it possible that Rome (or something else) really is the one true church? Maybe. But history won’t make that case with anything approaching even a basic level of confidence.