This was the proposed title for the piece (below) responding to Nelson Kloosterman’s series on Christ and culture for Christian Renewal in which he brands a Klinean two-kingdom outlook as “religious secularism.”  The essay appeared as a letter to the editor in the May 27th issue of CR on pages 5 and 9.  Thanks to the editors for giving so much space for a response.

The Reformed faith is an inspiring one. For this writer, few stories are as noble as that of J. Gresham Machen. Nor are death bed utterances as inspiring as his – “isn’t the Reformed faith grand!” Yet, the Reformed faith is not without its bumps in the road. Machen himself issued those inspiring words while under great pain from the pneumonia that took his life. No amount of inspiration could overcome that lethal disease short of penicillin – which had yet to be discovered. Nor could all the inspiration in the world overcome the repeated difficulties and set backs that Machen endured while trying to maintain and defend the Reformed faith in a liberal Presbyterian church.

Nelson Kloosterman would apparently have the readers of Christian Renewal believe they can have all the Reformed faith’s inspiration without any set backs. In his series, “The Pilgrim’s Pathway,” he has been particularly critical of what he terms “religious secularism” and highlights the views of Misty Irons, Meredith Kline and myself. “Religious secularism” is an unfortunate phrase that appears to be designed to alarm. Speaking for myself, “Reformed confessionalism” or “paleo-Calvinism” work much better for designating those who hold a two-kingdom point of view. Whatever terms are used, Kloosterman leaves readers with the impression that those who tell Christians that Christ’s lordship over their lives will be difficult, and will not achieve uniformity among Christians, let alone in a society consisting of believers and un-believers, is simply betraying the genius and heart of Reformed Christianity. Kloosterman defends an integrated morality, a unified world view, a comprehensive understanding of Christianity, all in attempt to do justice to Christ’s lordship. For him, the Bible has the Christian’s solutions, and Scripture equips believers to go into any arena with a Christian answer. Kloosterman admits that Reformed Christianity can sound triumphalist, but he does little to restrain it.

One theme that Kloosterman’s series raises is who speaks for God? In the church, Reformed believers confess that pastor who ministers God’s word speaks for God, by preaching and teaching the Bible. In the family, the God-ordained authority is the parents – especially fathers – who have responsibility to rear children in the faith and to provide for sons and daughters’ health and well-being. In the state, Reformed Christianity holds that the magistrate, even if an unbeliever, is the lawful authority who administers justice on God’s behalf. The law of God to which the magistrate is accountable is written on his heart and on the pages of the created order, the “elegant” book as the Belgic Confession refers to it. As John Calvin taught, this natural law differs little from the Decalogue. The paleo-Calvinists I know all affirm the authority of pastors, parents, and magistrates, along with the different expressions of divine law by which they rule.

Kloosterman is particularly concerned about the effects of paleo-Calvinism on the rationale for Christian education and faults me for undermining Christian schools. The differences between Kloosterman and me, however, are not as simple as he makes them. Consider a scenario where Johnny Vander Smith, a student at the local Christian school, comes home and complains about his math class. The teacher requires too much memorization of multiplication tables, and Johnny isn’t grasping the basics of algebra. The teacher isn’t making sense.

So who is responsible for the Christian school math teacher’s performance? Does Mr. Vander Smith walk into school to tell the teacher how to teach math because Mr. Vander Smith goes with the Bible under his arm? Does the Bible reveal multiplication tables? How about pedagogy for seventh graders? Or what about the elder in the congregation where the teacher is a member? Can elder Diephouse threaten the teacher with discipline for the way he teaches? Where would an elder go in the Three Forms of Unity, or Reformed church polity to find the standard by which to evaluate either the math curriculum or the teacher of math? And what about the magistrate? Well, we don’t need to think long about this question because one of the points of establishing a private school is that it is independent from state control.

The point of this illustration is to demonstrate that even in the hallowed territory of Christian schooling a lot of differentiation is taking place, the sort of distinctions that Kloosterman’s series and its implicit rendition of Christ’s Lordship do not address. Of course, this illustration underscores the Reformed idea of sphere sovereignty, a doctrine that specifies the legitimate authority of three different kinds of rule, all of which overlap, and all of which apply different parts of God’s revealed will. The illustration also points to a differentiation of subject matter, one that requires distinguishing between the subjects revealed in Scripture and those taught in primary and secondary education (not to mention that the Bible says nothing to underwrite the modern expectation among middle-class Christians in the West for universal schooling and literacy). Where Kloosterman faults paleo-Calvinism for trying to do justice to these spheres of authority and subjects, paleo-Calvinists like myself wonder how Kloosterman’s inspiring affirmation of Christian education handles life on the ground where the diversity of God’s people and the different responsibilities he has given to authorities play out.

What is particularly unfortunate is the way that Kloosterman portrays paleo-Calvinism as something to be feared, as if it is a threat to the Christian faith or the Reformed tradition. This is untoward because paleo-Calvinism aims to do just the opposite (in fact, the suffixes neo and paleo suggest that neo-Calvinism is not the traditional version of the Reformed faith).

First, paleo-Calvinism tries to protect the uniqueness and saving message of Scripture. I do not believe that Christians should read into the Bible requirements or prohibitions that are not there. It is one thing to make extra-biblical demands, another to act as if my pious advice is God’s will.

Paleo-Calvinism also seeks to protect and preserve the integrity and independence of the church. J. Gresham Machen made a deep impression upon me in arguing that the church possesses a special mission that no other institution has, and that by succumbing to the temptation to have the church speak to matters not addressed in Scripture, the church is losing sight of her proper mission of proclaiming the good news of Christ and discipling his people in all nations.

Paleo-Calvinism also strives to protect the family. Church officers cannot tell parents how to rear their children beyond what Scripture clearly reveals. Parents are faced with a myriad of choices that require wisdom and discernment, from how much television children may watch to finding one’s vocation.

Paleo-Calvinism also endeavors to preserve civil society. It recognizes that in this age of redemptive history, unlike the Israelites, Christians today, like believers during the Roman empire, live in a mixed society comprised of believers and unbelievers. To suggest that Christian norms must be dominant in public life raises the threat of the very sort of religious warfare in which Protestants and Roman Catholics engaged in hopes of maintaining a uniform society.

Above all, paleo-Calvinism maintains a view of the Christian life that the Reformers knew, experienced, and taught. As Martin Luther wrote in “A Mighty Fortress,” God’s kingdom does not depend on the fortunes of earthly powers – “no thanks to them abideth.” He also knew that Christians were called to suffer, “to let goods and kindred go,” and he reassured Christians that their salvation and God’s sovereignty did not depend on a Christian’s wealth, education, or power.

So too, Calvin knew the difference between “earthly” and “heavenly” things, between those parts of human existence that did not “pertain to God or his Kingdom, to true justice, or to the blessedness of the future life; but which have their significance and relationship with regard to the present life,” and those spiritual aspects of life that involved “the pure knowledge of God, the nature of true righteousness, and the mysteries of the Heavenly Kingdom.” With this distinction between such earthly things as “government, household management, all mechanical skills, and the liberal arts,”and heavenly ones such as “knowledge of God and of his will, and the rule by which we conform our lives to it,” Calvin taught it was a mistake to look for signs of the kingdom of heaven in earthly affairs other than the work of the church. He even maintained that “whoever knows how to distinguish between body and soul, between this present fleeting life and that future eternal life, will without difficulty know that Christ’s spiritual Kingdom and the civil jurisdiction are things completely distinct.”

If paleo-Calvinists are enemies of the Bible, Christ, the church, families, or the state, then who needs friends? In point of fact, the paleo-Calvinism that Kloosterman spends so much time criticizing is actually biblical, honors Christ, preserves the integrity of the gospel, and does not confuse man’s good works and the benefits of this life with the spiritual blessings that Christ purchased for believers. If he objects to paleo-Calvinism simply because I do not believe Christian schools are a “mandate,” he should not characterize my view as one that says Christian schools are a “millstone.” In the paleo-Calvinist scheme, something like Christian education can be good, wise, and beneficial without being a requirement for God’s people. That would be like saying Christians need to be Dutch in order to be good Christians. Being Dutch is a good, honorable, and sometimes even wise. It is not blessed or holy.