Death of a Heretic

Choosing the Lesser of Two Heresies Will Not Save the Church

When I heard of the death of the John Shelby Spong, the media-savvy liberal firebrand and former Episcopal Bishop of Newark, I couldn’t help but remember a moment when I thought I might end up in the middle of a senior citizen’s riot.

About 20 years or so ago, when I was a new professor at Southern Seminary, my dean, Danny Akin, asked me to go with him on a Sunday night to hear a lecture by Spong at a very liberal Episcopal church there in Louisville. The lecture was about what he expected it would be—a dismissal of key doctrines of the historic Christian faith as outdated and retrograde.

During the question-and-answer time, someone there noted that they had seen Spong, that very morning, recite the Creed in a worship service. Spong said that he had no trouble doing so, so long as he understood the articles in terms of their metaphorical meaning. The resurrection of Jesus is about, he said, the ongoing life of Jesus through the church, not the empty tomb, and baptism is not about “repentance of sin,” but about becoming more fully human (with water representing the beginnings of human life in the primordial soup), etc.

The moment I remember most vividly, though, was when a questioner noted that Bishop Spong and Billy Graham grew up in the same part of North Carolina and asked, “What do you think of Billy Graham?” Spong made a difference between Billy Graham the man and Billy Graham’s gospel, as he put it. Billy Graham is a good and decent person, he said, but Billy Graham’s gospel was unsuited for the modern age. Contemporary people just cannot accept the supernaturalism that Billy Graham is preaching. That’s why, he continued, citing the theme of his many books, that Christianity must change or die.

I quietly rolled my eyes, but Dr. Akin marveled and said aloud, “There were four million people here for the Billy Graham crusade, and there are 40 here!” The high ceilings and abundant pew space meant that sound traveled more widely in that auditorium than we might have thought, and several people in front of us turned around. I was worried that this group—mostly elderly people—would be offended enough to throw us out. I needn’t have worried. Episcopalians are a polite people, first of all, but also because at least one of the people turning around displayed a thumbs-up sign of agreement.

That’s because Danny’s point was verifiably true. Graham had indeed filled a stadium every night in that very city—preaching the same gospel he always had: “The Bible says you must be born again.” And it was verifiably true that the more liberalizing forms of Protestantism had faced precipitous declines.

There’s a wrong way and a right way, though, to think about this phenomenon. The point Danny Akin was making verbally—and that I was making internally—was not that the size of the audiences determined the legitimacy of their claims. To do so would be nonsense for people who follow a Messiah who taught us that “broad is the way to destruction” and narrow the way to life, a Messiah who started the church with 12 ragtag followers and one of them fell away. The issue instead was with Spong’s claim—and that of many others—that the way to engage modern people is by de-emphasizing the supernatural. If this is so, then why—even in the bishop’s own communion—were churches in England and Western Europe and North America in freefall while the very orthodox and supernatural-emphasizing Anglican churches in Africa and Asia thriving?

When I identified Bishop Spong as a “heretic” above, this is not intended to be an insult. I am too Mississippian to want to speak ill of the dead. And, as the bishop did with Billy Graham, I would want to distinguish between John Shelby Spong the person—a human being in the image of God and loved by God—from John Shelby Spong’s gospel—which I believe leads nowhere good.

The reputation of “heretic” was one that Spong not only accepted but seemed to enjoy. One book after another took on, almost doctrine by doctrine through the creeds—the Virgin Birth, the miracles, the Resurrection, the authenticity of the Gospels, the Second Coming and on and on—seeking to debunk each one. Bishop Spong did not at all mind the image of himself as one throwing stones in a stained-glass house. And Spong also seemed to be a kind of mainline progressive mirror image of, say, Pat Robertson or Kenneth Copeland. He was quotable and extreme enough that those on the other side could have an arguing foil while those in his own tribe would sometimes say, “Oh no. Look at what he just said.”

But I do want to take his ideas seriously. And, as I think we should do with everyone, let’s view him in the most charitable light, taking him at his word at what he thought he was doing. He believed that unless Christianity adapted to a secular age—by accepting the naturalistic premises of a secular age—that Christianity would wither away. Those of us who want to conserve historic creedal Christianity would argue that both the Bible and history have shown us that Christian distinctiveness, in any culture, is what gains a hearing, precisely because the gospel arrests the conscience by its very strangeness (Acts 17:31–34; 1 Cor. 1:18–2:16).

The apostle Paul wrote that if Christ is not raised then “your faith is in vain” (1 Cor. 15:14, ESV). Even those who don’t believe that seem to know that if Christ is not raised, then why should they give up a Sunday morning to sing with people and listen to a talk? Danny Akin’s correct point back then was that Spong’s remedy not only isn’t true but also doesn’t even work on its own terms.

That’s a very different thing from the way that many others of us in conservative evangelicalism pointed to why more conservative churches were growing and mainline churches were declining, as if to suggest that growth itself suggests the favor of God. If that were true, then Protestant liberalism must have been blessed by God in the early 20th century, when it was ascendant, and then fell out of favor later. That’s an ecclesial prosperity gospel. It is fair enough, though, to respond to the claim that the way to thrive in a secularizing era is to secularize—to become almost-Unitarians—with the old question from television’s Dr. Phil “How’s That Working for You?”

But then we have to also look to the ways the very same impulses have shown up among us. “Liberalism” is a very unfortunate word, in this context, because it takes a very good old philosophical word applied to a free society along the lines of, for example, the Declaration of Independence and confuses it with, first, political progressivism and then with the sort of religion that wants to dispense with supernatural wonder or moral rigor. Nonetheless, it’s the word we have, especially since J. Gresham Machen’s Christianity and Liberalism.

Machen warned us about projects like that of Spong’s but, at the same time, told us that “liberalism” as he defined it was present anywhere that Christianity was made into a means to an end—whatever that end was, whether the revolution of the proletariat or fighting Communism, academic respectability or populist resentment, sexual liberation or family values. That can happen on the Right, the Left, or the Center. Some, like Spong, can intellectually dispense with aspects of the biblical canon or with parts of the Nicene Creed by openly saying they are outdated; others can believe themselves to be conservative or even “fundamentalist” while simply ignoring the parts of the biblical canon that don’t fit with their political agenda, or to claim confessional historic Christianity while accommodating a Christian nationalism that seeks to use such symbols for other ends.

If the measure is “Does it work?” then the answer for both the old mainline doctrinal revisionism and the new means-to-an-end forms of evangelicalism is “yes”—if by “works,” one means mobilizing a crowd. It works quite well—for a little while. And then people realize that what we really believe is not the Bible or the gospel but whatever we think the Bible or the gospel can get us to—and figure out they can get there just fine without the Bible and Christianity.

Sometimes we believe we are standing in orthodoxy when really we are just choosing between whatever heresies seem to be offered to us at the moment.

We must resist all of that, if we are to believe the Bible—all of it—the Sermon on the Mount, the Roman Road of salvation, the judgment and the grace, the prophets and the apostles, the indicatives and the imperatives, the prophets’ calls to personal holiness and the prophets’ calls to public justice. And we must see ourselves as submissive to all of that Word of God. That will put us out of step with any idol that seeks something to use for its own ends—whether that idol is hedonism or asceticism, left-wing politics or right-wing politics, global utopia or America first. That sort of biblical orthodoxy, ironically enough, will sometimes have you treated like a heretic.

That will be hard to do, because the idols will always promise us success some other way. In those moments we will have to see, by faith, what Jesus has unveiled as the reality in heaven right now (Rev. 4–5) and say, “There’s a number no man can number here!” And even if there weren’t, in the middle of all of that, there’s a man we heard once say to us, “Come, follow me” and—would you notice that?—he’s genuinely and bodily and unmistakably and irrevocably alive.

The New Podcast and Video Series Are on Their Way

Some of you were here in Nashville last week to join Beth Moore and me for our live recording of the first episode of my new podcast and video series. I could not have walked away from that night with more encouragement. Afterward, lots of people said something along the lines of “I knew that the two of you wouldn’t be bitter or angry, but I really didn’t expect this night to be so filled with laughter and joy.” One person, who had been through some rough times too in this crazy time of American Christianity, said, “I cannot believe how good it felt to laugh again.” In that episode, which you can hear soon, there was indeed a lot of laughter, a few tears, and a great deal of grappling with “How do we follow Jesus in disorienting times like these?”

I told you that this would be the relaunch of Signposts, but Mike Cosper and the creative minds at Christianity Today said they thought that the podcast and YouTube series should be easier to search and so renamed it simply The Russell Moore Show.

I like Signposts and all the layers of meaning in it, but I defer to their expertise (and I don’t want to cross Cosper for fear that he will do a 12-part series on The Rise and Fall of Moore’s Hill), so The Russell Moore Show it is. Right before the live event, CT came back with the design for the show—and I really like it. I can’t wait to join you in our weekly conversation there.

Here’s how the show works. On half the shows I will have one-on-one conversations with interesting people—including people who disagree with me a lot. We will try there to learn and also to model how to have kind and honest conversations in polarized times. On the other half I will have a conversation with a broader group of interesting people—y’all—about whatever sorts of questions you have. These can be cultural or personal—about Bible or theology or about family, relationships, work, whatever. And the answers will range from “Thus saith the Lord” to “Wow, I don’t know.”

Here’s how you can help. Send me your suggestions for people you would like to hear me talk to or topics we should address. And send me your questions to answer on those episodes of the show. Just email me at questions@russellmoore.com.

This week’s Desert Island Bookshelf picture comes from Deanna Ratz, who writes:

The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis—My second-grade teacher read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to us. At that time, I didn’t grasp all of the spiritual aspects, but I do remember being captivated by Aslan and wishing I could know him. When I re-read it (along with the rest of the Chronicles) a couple years later, I understood more of the spiritual meaning and realized that I could actually know Aslan! I had previously understood who Jesus was and my need for salvation, but the Chronicles helped me connect with him on a heart level. To this day, I still re-read them at least once a year!

Mere Christianity, by C. S. Lewis—I could probably fill this shelf with C. S. Lewis books, but I’ll stop with this one. I first read Mere Christianity in college, and it helped to awaken a love for apologetics, theology, and philosophy!

Surprised by Paradox: The Promise of “And” in an Either-Or World, by Jen Pollock Michel—This is a more recent addition, but it is a book I immediately connected and strongly resonated with. As I’ve grown, I’ve become more comfortable with and even embraced paradox and complexity in my faith. I appreciate how Michel grapples with paradox while seeking to maintain a strong foundation in orthodoxy.

Celebration of Discipline, by Richard Foster—This is a book I discovered only in the past few years, but it is one I wish I had read much earlier. It is such a foundational book and helped me to understand why I connect with certain spiritual practices and to grow in ones that aren’t natural for me!

The Complete Novels of Jane Austen—I love Austen’s writing style and wit, but I especially love her characters!

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, by Susan Cain—I had previously known that I am an introvert and had some understanding of what that meant, but Quiet really helped me to fully understand and celebrate the strengths of my introversion!

Reader’s Digest’s North American Wildlife—This one is kind of random, but I love getting out in nature. It is a book I pull out regularly to help identify birds and plants as I get out and explore God’s creation!

The Holy Bible—Of course I need to include the Bible, but this specific one is special—it is my great grandma’s Bible, given to her in 1914, and her notes are in the margins. I treasure it as a reminder of the spiritual heritage I have. There is a good amount of dysfunction in my family of origin, but this shows me that even in the midst of dysfunction, God has been faithful to work out his purposes throughout each generation.

Hinds Feet on High Places, by Hannah Hurnard—This book is one I revisit often. I identify so strongly with Much-Afraid and her journey and have found so much healing in her interactions with the Shepherd.

What do you think? If you could have one bookshelf with you to last you the rest of your life, what volumes would you choose? Send a picture to me with as much or as little explanation of your choices as you would like.

Quote of the Moment

“Vibrant cultures make space for leisure, philosophical reflection, scientific and intellectual mastery, and artistic and literary expression, among other things. Within the larger Christian community in America, one can find such vitality in pockets here and there. Yet where they do exist, they are eclipsed by the greater prominence and vast resources of the political activists and their organizations. What is more, there are few if any places in the pronouncements and actions of the Christian Right or the Christian Left (none that I could find) where these gifts are acknowledged, affirmed, or celebrated. What this means is that rather than being defined by its cultural achievements, its intellectual and artistic vitality, its service to the needs of others, Christianity is defined to the outside world by its rhetoric of resentment and the ambitions of a will in opposition to others.”

—James Davison Hunter

Currently Reading

George F. Will, American Happiness and Discontents: The Unruly Torrent, 2008-2020 (Hachette)

Rowan Williams, Looking East in Winter: Contemporary Thought and the Eastern Christian Tradition (Bloomsbury)

Alan Lightman, Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine (Penguin Random House)

The Living Thoughts of Kierkegaard, introduction by W. H. Auden (New York Review of Books)

Currently Watching

I’m currently rewatching, very slowly, Terrence Malick’s The Tree of Life, which is more and more meaningful to me each time I watch it, while reading Peter Leithart’s companion book Shining Glory: Theological Reflections on Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life (Cascade).

In Case You Missed It:

My thoughts at CT on saying goodbye to Robert E. Lee.

My essay at Plough Quarterly on “Integrity and the Future of the Church.”

My conversation with Charlie Sykes over at The Bulwark on evangelicalism, politics, Donald Trump, etc.

Join Us at Christianity Today

Founded by Billy Graham, Christianity Today is on a mission to lift up the sages and storytellers of the global church for the sake of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Why don’t you join us as a member—or give a membership to a friend, a pastor, a church member, someone you mentor, or a curious non-Christian neighbor? You can do so here.

Ask a Question or Say Hello

The new Signposts podcast (now The Russell Moore Show) will include a section of grappling with the questions you might have about life, the gospel, relationships, work, the church, spirituality, the future, a moral dilemma you’re facing, whatever. You can send the questions to questions@russellmoore.com. I’ll never use your name—unless you tell me to—and will come up with a groan-inducing pun of a pseudonym for you.

And, of course, I would love to hear from you about anything. Send me an email at questions@russellmoore.com if you have any questions or comments about this newsletter, other things you would like to see discussed here, or if you would just like to say hello!

If you have a friend who might like this, please forward it along, and if you’ve gotten this from a friend, please subscribe!

Onward,