ReMission, "Orthodoxy," and the Future of Churches of Christ

Some Initial Thoughts

A note for my readers from other church traditions: This article is inside baseball. It discusses a recent gathering of folks in Churches of Christ. I understand if you prefer to move on. But if, for some reason, you’re interested in how I’m thinking theologically about my tradition, have at it!

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A few weeks ago, the Christian Chronicle published an article titled “‘We lost our mission.’” Of course, “mission” language catches my attention. But the “we” at issue is another area of keen interest—my church tradition. The combination of those two topics is bound to elicit some commentary on my part.

Furthermore, the article was about a gathering called ReMission, whose purpose and emphases are of special interest to me.

1. Their website describes the year’s theme, “A Spirit-Filled Movement,” this way: “our prayerful longing for the Holy Spirit to rekindle our passion, renew our imagination, and realign our hearts with His mission for the church [read: a certain segment of Churches of Christ].” The ambition to start a renewal movement is clear enough. Framing it with pneumatological language that is foreign to the tradition is fascinating. Focusing on mission raises questions central to my scholarly work, especially considering their overtly “missional” language.

2. One session titled “Missional Values and Christian Education” highlighted a concern with higher education. The panel featured Bible department deans from numerous institutions affiliated with Churches of Christ, including ACU. As my readers know, I’ve thought a lot about the relationship between church and academy, and I agree that it’s a primary concern for the future of American Christianity, including Churches of Christ.

3. Even more than the pneumatological accent, the larger theological framing of the gathering is consequential. There was lots of talk about “orthodoxy”—language that has never characterized Churches of Christ and, indeed, treads near to contradicting an essential tenet of the Stone-Campbell Movement. What are we, who once shunned even the word theology, to make of an appeal to “orthodoxy”?

Churches of Christ, mission, higher ed, and theology—yeah, you’ve got my attention.

What I want to do at this point is raise some questions about what’s in evidence, especially in the Christian Chronicle article, but also in a couple of the recorded sessions.

What Is the Diagnosis?

My first question is about ReMission’s understanding of the situation that calls for a renewal movement. Diagnosis precedes treatment, and if the name ReMission indicates anything, it’s the gravity of the illness at issue. So what kind of cancer are we treating? What’s really going on in Churches of Christ?

Obviously, the claim that “we lost our mission” is diagnostic. But a couple of deeper assessments underlie it. First, “We moved from ‘We’re the only ones going to heaven’ to ‘No one’s going to hell.’ When we made that move, we lost our mission” (Rick Atchley). Second, “battles over issues unrelated to Christianity’s core purpose have contributed to thousands of churches closing” (Bobby Ross Jr., paraphrasing Jonathan Storment). Pressing questions arise.

What (the Hell) Motivates Us?

Does “no one’s going to hell” represent the thinking in the 168 congregations represented at the gathering? Did that pendulum swing really happen? Atchley says he left sectarianism behind, and, praise God, it seems that many Churches of Christ have as well—particularly the subset represented at ReMission. With that transition has come humility about making the kinds of judgments that belong to the Lord. I suppose that change in posture can read as “no one’s going to hell,” but a far more accurate representation would be “that’s not my call.” Does “that’s not my call” entail a loss of evangelistic zeal? Speaking from personal experience, no.

Certainly, the fervor of evangelistic revivalism in 1970s Churches of Christ was inseparable from fire-and-brimstone preaching. The threat of eternal punishment was a core motivation for evangelists and their listeners. If this represents the time period before our “mission drift” began in ReMission’s estimation, then we need to be very clear about something. That period was well before any broad-scale shift away from sectarianism. It wasn’t simply conversion to Christian faith but to “the Lord’s church” that provided an escape from hell—and motivated evangelism. So Atchley’s juxtaposition of “We’re the only ones going to heaven” with “No one’s going to hell” is insightful because it suggests a critical question: can “we’re not the only ones going to heaven and lost people are still going to hell” serve as an adequate motivation for evangelism? If it can, as ReMission implies, that would not be a return to our motivation before mission drift but a novelty in our tradition.

Which makes me wonder: what does the idea that we need hell at the center of evangelistic commitment reveal about our imagination regarding the motivations of Christian witness? We’re all in a post-sectarian reconfiguration, and I welcome the conversation about what motivates us now, but I have my doubts about the adequacy of recentering divine retribution in our kingdom work.

What Is Our Core Purpose?

Reference to “thousands of churches closing” reveals another element of the diagnosis. We’re in numerical decline (along with most of Western Christianity). Why? According to Storment, in part because we’ve focused on “battles over issues unrelated to Christianity’s core purpose.” Again, I’m puzzled by this reading of history. According to now-debunked folklore, Churches of Christ were the fastest-growing religious group in the US between 1950 and 1965. Regardless of hyperbole, that period was our golden era of growth. And since 1980—since leading theologians and educators began planting the seeds of our post-sectarian shift in earnest—we have only a statistical downtrend. So, to put it bluntly, is ReMission claiming that the problem since 1980 is that churches have focused on battles over issues unrelated to Christianity’s core purpose—that the 1950s Churches of Christ grew because they weren’t engaged in such battles? Really?

While I agree that focusing on secondary issues often has an enervating effect, and I applaud the emphasis on God’s mission (to the extent that God’s mission is indeed being centered rather than, say, hell), aren’t the dynamics of growth and decline far more complicated than this? Doesn’t our history indicate that focusing on secondary issues can actually be an engine of growth when they serve as a primary motivation? If that is the case, then why attribute to battles over today’s issues any more consequence than battles over the issues of yore?

And, more importantly from my perspective, is making growth itself a motivation truly compatible with focusing on Christianity’s core purpose? It may be that revival efforts rooted in a desire to reverse our decline will prove internally incoherent. It may be that church growth is not a good proxy for participation in God’s mission.

What Do We Mean by Mission?

The header of ReMission’s home page states: “Connecting Churches to God’s Mission and Each Other.” The language is heartening. But judging by the session titles, the operative definition of mission is limited to disciple-making and evangelism. Which, from the perspective of contemporary missiology, raises more questions. I’m an advocate—and teacher—of both disciple-making and evangelism. These are essential practices of the church. They are part of what participation in God’s mission looks like. And they are not God’s mission. So what are we going to center? What defines Christianity’s core purpose? Using mission language isn’t enough. Nor can this question be dismissed as a secondary issue.

The Christian Chronicle article chose an interesting quote from one attendee to represent the gathering: “What I saw in ReMission . . . was a group of ministers who were saying, ‘Hey, we need to refocus on saving souls and doing things that churches are all about rather than pursuing social justice or political conservatism or political progressivism.’” The idea that “saving souls” is what churches are all about tracks with the broader emphasis on recentering heaven and hell. The idea that churches are not all about “social justice”—that social justice should be lumped in with political partisanship as distractions from what churches are all about—tracks with the reduction of “mission” to disciple-making and evangelism.

As Storment puts it, “I think the question is, does the church have a gospel word for the world still?” If this is the question for ReMission, then I have a few more. What is that gospel word? Salvation from hell? What about the kingdom of God? What about the justice of God that Jesus commands us to seek along with the kingdom? What about the church living out good news in both word and deed? What about faithful witness to Jesus regardless of whether it’s perceived as good news, regardless of church growth? What about—and this is the crux of the matter—participating in God’s work in the world, which far exceeds telling people about how to escape from eternal consequences for the individual “soul”? The conversation in the “Missional Values and Christian Education” session called out the epistemological individualism of students shaped by secular relativism. What about the soteriological individualism of churches shaped by theological fundamentalism? Are we really trying to reclaim that as our core purpose? Seriously, what do we mean by mission?

What Does Moving beyond Divisive Squabbles Mean?

Says Ross: “Speakers and attendees alike expressed a love for their heritage in Churches of Christ while conveying a desire to move beyond divisive squabbles.” The article highlights two issues to demonstrate the point: “ReMission brought together Churches of Christ deemed progressive—in terms of praise styles and women’s roles—as well as more traditional congregations with exclusively a cappella singing and male worship leaders.” Presumably, these are the “issues unrelated to Christianity’s core purpose” earlier in view. They have certainly been major battlegrounds during the period of decline since 1980.

Out of respect for those who have been in the trenches on both sides of those fights, I have to ask: isn’t “squabbles” dismissive? I believe women in ministry who hear that the struggle to carve out a space to exercise their gifts was a squabble of (at best) secondary importance will be rightly discouraged. Likewise, I suppose missionaries whose support was pulled because they determined to use instrumental worship for contextual reasons will find “squabble” to miss the point. And more, isn’t the reason these issues have taken center stage that the question of how we interpret Scripture is central to the Restoration Movement? Do we move beyond these “squabbles” by simply sidelining the hermeneutical questions at the heart of our identity crisis, which has as much to do with our decline as any other factor one might identify?

Given that one of ReMission’s stated values is “an authoritative view of Scripture,” I suspect there will be some objections to the suggestion that they are sidelining hermeneutical questions. And I’m open to that conversation! This is my initial reflection on the evidence publicly at hand. Whatever an authoritative view of Scripture means here, it clearly doesn’t mean that Scripture is authoritative in such a way as to settle differences about instrumental music or women’s leadership. So some kind of sidelining is happening. In some sense, the authoritative function of Scripture in ReMission’s theological determinations is secondary to the church’s “core purpose.”

If we are going to sideline hermeneutical questions—indeed, if ReMission hopes to maintain cohesion among people with radically different conclusions about the issues identified—then something more than centering “mission” will have to replace our concern for understanding Scripture together. From what I can tell, an appeal to “orthodoxy” is serving precisely this function.

What Is “Orthodox Sexuality”?

Sexuality is clearly another issue on ReMission’s radar. Unlike instrumental worship and women’s leadership, however, it is not an issue about which ReMission will suffer dissent. Consider the gathering’s stated values:

• Discipleship and Evangelism

• Christ-centered, Spirit-led ministry

• Reconciliation and unity in the body of Christ

• An orthodox view of sexuality

• An authoritative view of Scripture

• Generous hospitality and humility

Let’s play a game: which one of these is not like the others? Now let’s play a harder game: what is an orthodox view of sexuality?

It’s a harder game because of the work “orthodox” is doing in ReMission’s language. The word is not an empty vessel in theological discourse; it means something specific. When you combine it with a word like sexuality, a cognitive impasse emerges. So the question becomes: what does ReMission mean by the peculiar phrase “orthodox sexuality”?

Echoing this language, Ross states, “Opposition has arisen within some circles of Christianity to the orthodox view of sexuality as reserved for marriage between one man and one woman“ (emphasis added). So we have a sense of what “orthodox” is supposed to mean here. Which helps us parse Atchley’s meaning when he says, “When I was in school, back in the Dark Ages, things like the authority of Scripture or commitment to orthodox sexuality . . . these were unquestioned.” . . . “It was not even in the realm of possibility that a teacher would have taught me differently. . . . Well, times have changed.” The perceived threat is teachers who teach that sexuality is not reserved for marriage between one man and one woman. Although fifty years ago, someone in Atchley’s place might just as well have said, “When I was in school, commitment to male church leadership was unquestioned,” ReMission’s response to interpretive battles sexuality is not to call them squabbles but to make (one part of) a traditional sexual ethic an article of faith. The solution to the perceived threat, in other words, is an appeal to “orthodoxy.”

The point of doing so is precisely to make a particular traditional sexual ethic unquestioned—to remove teaching anything else from the realm of possibility. Farewell hermeneutics! But questions remain. First, what does “orthodox” actually mean? Second, do we really want to address interpretive differences this way?

What Is Orthodoxy?

There is a traditional Christian sexual ethic. Or, rather, there is a broad historical consensus on the particular questions related to “sexuality” that preoccupy ReMission. The clarification is necessary because it is not the case that Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, and Protestants share a traditional sexual ethic broadly speaking. Just take clerical celibacy as an example. If anything is a candidate for “orthodox” sexuality, clerical celibacy is on the table. Or consider Augustine’s belief that sex is for procreation, and sex for pleasure within the bounds of marriage is venial sin. Within the Western tradition, who could be more “orthodox” than Augustine? Is this what ReMission has in mind? Of course not.

It is one thing to affirm monogamous, heterosexual marriage as a traditional Christian norm for sexuality. It is another to use the label “orthodox” to circumvent further discussion. The fact is, orthodox does not refer to a consensus among the major historical Christian traditions on matters of interpretation or to authoritative theologians’ conclusions. It refers to the doctrinal determinations of the ecumenical creeds and the seven ecumenical councils. And guess what: they don’t talk about sexual ethics. There is no “orthodox sexuality” in Christianity; that is not what orthodoxy entails. In other words, one’s view of homosexual sex is not an article of faith.

So let’s ask the question: what is ReMission doing when it deploys this language? I can only observe what the language seems to do practically: it turns a matter of interpretive debate into a matter of authoritative predetermination, shutting down the discussion. It makes one of the most contested questions in our evangelistic context a foregone conclusion. It is a power play that makes agreement on this issue a criterion of Christian faith. Accordingly, Christians who do not think this way are not real Christians. So much for reconciliation and unity in the body of Christ, generous hospitality and humility, or post-sectarianism.

This misuse of “orthodox” is bad enough, in my view. But let’s also think about what this move means for Churches of Christ, which emerged from a rejection of creeds and confessions. Is this the way forward?

What Are the Consequences of Making Confessional Statements?

ReMission’s statement of values isn’t quite a confessional statement, but the use of “orthodox” brings it close. The Christian Chronicle article makes a revealing connection, however: “Harding [University] unveiled a comprehensive new statement of faith this past fall. All faculty and staff must adhere to it, including the belief ‘that human sexuality is God’s gift governed by the biblical boundaries for individuals and of marriage between one woman and one man.’” Reviewing this statement of faith, we could play the game again: which one of these is not like the others? The statement on sexuality appears to be a Trojan horse. Everything else, apart from the statement on the inspiration of Scripture, is an echo of the ecumenical creeds. In other words, everything else is uninteresting and unnecessary. I grieve to see my alma mater resort to this tactic. Why not just paste the Nicene Creed and be done with it? Because, of course, the Nicene Creed does not affirm “orthodox sexuality.”

And if ReMission is interested in orthodoxy, why not paste the Nicene Creed and be done with it? I think you know.

We need to deal with the fact that the Stone-Campbell Movement began with a commitment to doing without creeds and confessions. The Christian Chronicle article notes, “Stone and Campbell, both ordained Presbyterian clergymen, sought to unite Christians by abandoning denominations and relying solely on the Bible.” This terse summary only hints at what is at stake in ReMission’s appeal to orthodoxy.

Let me put my cards on the table. I think we should affirm the ecumenical creeds. I think there is a good argument for Trinitarian orthodoxy in our tradition, despite the rejection of creeds early on.¹ And I think there is a critical difference between our attitudes toward the creeds and our attitudes toward confessions. The distinction is vital; it differentiates orthodoxy and denominationalism. Or more poignantly here, it differentiates orthodoxy and authoritarianism.

The creeds are statements of Trinitarian orthodoxy: the orthodoxy that defines Christianity. Confessions are denominational statements of additional beliefs. Creeds express the common faith of the church; confessions express the distinctive teaching of particular Christian communities.² So the contemporary formulation of “statements of faith” among Churches of Christ is consequential, especially since they tend to skip the creeds and go straight to confessional particularities like sexuality. If there was any lingering question about whether Churches of Christ are a denomination in Campbell’s sense of the term, it has been answered by one of our more conservative universities publishing a confessional statement. To the extent that these public affirmations—and here I include ReMission’s—serve to define our orthodoxy, we have become full participants in the form of Christianity that the Restoration Movement rejected. Somehow, “no creed but Christ” has become “heterosexual, monogamous sex.” Does anyone else feel like that is bizarre?

I don’t think “no creed but Christ” ever really worked. I want us to affirm Trinitarian orthodoxy (and I was happy to see a long ReMission session on the Trinity). But I also want us to maintain a critical skepticism about making anything else “orthodox.” I want us to obsess about what Scripture means and to experience the freedom to follow our best understanding humbly and generously. I want us to resist the impulse to shut down the interpretation of Scripture in the name of an expanded “orthodoxy”. I want us to engage this process with a commitment to participation in God’s mission shaping our interpretation.

Years ago, I published an essay titled “Barton Stone’s Unorthodox Christology.”³ The gist of my argument is that Stone was a heretic, Campbell knew it, and Campbell joined with Stone anyway to prove the efficacy of rejecting creedalism and embracing biblicism for uniting Christians. It might appear that Campbell traded orthodoxy for restorationism, but that is not quite what happened. Rather, he traded theological interpretation of the passages related to Christ’s divinity for a biblicist recitation of those passages without regard for one’s understanding of what they mean.

Campbell and Stone agreed to jettison creeds and confessions as interpretive “opinions” in favor of merely parroting biblical “facts.” This decision followed from a failure to distinguish between the respective functions of creeds and confessions. The creeds are interpretive aids; the Trinitarian faith of the early church guides biblical interpretation. Confessions are interpretive statements; they articulate the conclusions that delimit denominational identity. Restorationist biblicism eschewed the theological guidance that biblical interpretation requires on the assumption that interpretation isn’t actually necessary because the affirmation of biblical statements is sufficient for delimiting Christian identity.

Put aside the naïveté of that assumption, given the inevitability of both theological presuppositions and the conflict of interpretations. Consider the overriding effect: selective biblicist recitation of the text plays the role of a confession, not for a denomination but for the “New Testament church” as such. Accordingly, the recitation of “sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts” (Eph 5:19) makes a cappella worship a confessional discrimen for who is a Christian and who is not. And “I permit no woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she is to keep silent” (1 Tim 2:12) makes exclusively male church leadership a confessional discrimen for who is a Christian and who is not. And on and on. Here, the creeds don’t provide theological guidance for interpretation. As Stone proves, they don’t even serve as the discrimen for Christian identity. Restorationist biblicism made the Stone-Campbell Movement more rigorously sectarian, more thoroughly divisive, than denominational confessions ever could.

Now compare that procedure with labeling as “orthodox” a non-creedal position like “sexuality is reserved for marriage between one man and one woman.” Isn’t this the same essential operation: make the position an article of faith that is not subject to interpretive dissent? Whereas Restorationist biblicism forgoes interpretation by treating (selected!) biblical statements as articles of faith (we used to call them “salvation issues”), the misappropriation of “orthodoxy” language for (selected!) issues likewise forgoes interpretation by treating them as articles of faith.

My point is not that the claim “sexuality is reserved for marriage between one man and one woman” is wrong. That is utterly beside the point. The folks at ReMission seem to think this issue is of such significance that coming out with a confessional affirmation is necessary. What I’m saying is that the importance of this one issue—or any other that is not actually an article of faith as defined by the ecumenical creeds—pales in comparison to what is at stake in our tradition if we make this move. Stone and Campbell were wrong about many things, as humans tend to be. But I stand firmly in their tradition, sharing their commitment to return to Scripture together, as God’s people, instead of subscribing to predetermined interpretive conclusions. Some will see the creeds as predetermined interpretive conclusions and wonder whether I am being inconsistent. To the contrary, I repeat, the creeds are interpretive aids—minimal theological points of departure that guide the church’s ongoing interpretation of the biblical text.

Hence, I do not share Stone and Campbell’s desire to forego interpretive conflict, because I do not share their sense that Christian unity is defined by that conflict’s absence. Rather, because I’m also committed to their vision of congregational autonomy, which proscribes the magisterial authority necessary to formulate confessional statements, and because the history of the Stone-Campbell Movement has proven beyond any doubt that the consequence of this commitment is interpretive conflict, I therefore locate the unity of the church in the faith that the creeds delimit. In other words, what both Restorationist biblicism and the misappropriation of “orthodoxy” are attempting is the prevention of the conflict of interpretations. The latter is an echo of the former, and neither is necessary if we begin with a confession of faith in the Triune God.

Stone and Campbell’s refusal to rely on confessional statements was necessary, however, if indeed we want to preserve the church’s freedom, responsibility, and privilege to engage with Scripture anew in the hope that, as John Robinson famously put it, “there is yet more truth and light to break forth from God’s Holy Word.” Those are the stakes that far outweigh the prescription of “right teaching” on issues beyond the scope of the creeds. For the future of Churches of Christ and for the sake of God’s mission, orthodoxy matters, thus the meaning of orthodoxy matters.

1. See ch. 2 of Mark E. Powell, John Mark Hicks, and Greg McKinzie, Discipleship in Community: A Theological Vision for the Future (Abilene Christian University Press, 2020).

2. This is an adequate differentiation for my purposes. For more nuance, see Jaroslov Pelikan, Credo: Historical and Theological Guide to Creeds and Confessions of Faith in the Christian Tradition (Yale University Press, 2003), 2.

3. Gregory E. McKinzie, “Barton Stone’s Unorthodox Christology,” Stone-Campbell Journal 13 (2010): 31–45.