In evangelical theological thinking we tend to use the category of whether or not something is ‘allowed’ a lot. Our disposition is that if it is not disallowed, then it’s allowed, and we can pragmatically decide whether that might work for us.
You see this on display especially in relation to questions of ecclesiology: how we structure and govern churches and what we do together as we gather on a Sunday. In the best cases this is the ‘normative principle’ of worship, that says we have some license but should be in line with the historic norms of the church. Often it isn’t that but more of a free-for-all.
It’s less common in wider evangelical circles, but more formally reformed brothers and sisters will use the same category but view the question the other way around. Adhering to the ‘regulative principle’ their disposition is that if it’s explicitly commanded then we do it, if it’s not mentioned we don’t.
I’m not a regulative principle guy, but I have a lot of respect for the approach. The principle that the Bible will tell us our order of worship is a good one. It certainly ends up in less strange places. I think we should always have a Biblical argument for why something is or isn’t a good idea that’s more advanced than “it doesn’t say we can’t.”
To that end, I think we need a different category than ‘allowed.’ I think we need to consider if something is ‘fitting.’ As I’m hopefully about to describe it’s possible for something to be ‘not forbidden’ but also ‘not fitting,’ so we wouldn’t do it. In essence this is a version of the normative principle but coming at it from a different angle.
Structure
The cosmos is a beautiful, ordered, structure. Reality has a form and shape to it. Jesus, as cosmic emperor, is at the top of this structure. We see this written throughout the scriptures; consider how in Colossians 1 Christ is described as the ‘head’ and the ‘first’ and ‘above.’ These are spatial terms—and there are more in that text—they orientate Jesus in his position towards creation. He’s above it, and he made it, and it was made for him: he’s its purpose and end. Because these are spatial terms, we can call this a structure. Even the terms which seem to be about purpose are metaphorically spatial in that they place Jesus in relation to creation.
Paul is keen for the angel and powers obsessed Colossians to understand that Jesus isn’t only above all these ‘earthly powers’ as Luther calls them in A Mighty Fortress is our God, but they were made through him and for his purpose and pleasure. Jesus isn’t chief among the powers, he’s the emperor.
The scant references to these various powers in the Bible give us the impression of a tightly ordered cosmos. We see this in the vision of Ezekiel or of Jacob when he wrestles with God. We see it in the references to the divine council, or even in the description of creation itself in Genesis 1. We see it especially in the worship of Israel at the tabernacle and the Temple. We see it in the Old Testament’s symbolic world, where evil powers live in the place of chaos—the sea—and chaos is diminishing. Track the sea in Revelation to see that it is stilled (now) and will be gone (future), chaos is diminishing as the world is restored from the disorder and misorder of sin. Evil isn’t chaos, but they operate in the same vicinity.
In the history of the church much ink has been spilled on determining the nature of these structures, these angelic hierarchies. We can, as sophisticated moderns, scoff at the apparent silliness of it all. I’m unconvinced by the historical renderings in their entirety, in order to make neat systems of the little information we have they seem to smooth over some of the information we do have. What I think they do get right is assuming that there is an order and that we can look into these things. The world is structured.
Storied
Then we add my conviction that this structure is often most apparent to us in narrative. In other words, the structures of the cosmos are literary patterns. They’re tropes. They are, if we squint a bit, memes.
We know this because God’s revelation to us is communicated in narrative, in a variety of forms of literature that are themselves replete with literary patterns. The Bible is a very carefully plotted set of books, including between the books written across millennia; it’s deeply self-referential and full of jokes that we’re supposed to discern, which in turn reveal the truth of things. Reality corresponds to the propositions of truth that the Bible gives us. It also corresponds to the form in which they’re given.
This, right under the surface, is why I think the worship of the church is supposed to re-enact, Kevin Vanhoozer would say to ‘perform,’ the stories of God’s gracious interaction with his people. We retell the gospel as we gather in form as well as content. We are then renarrated ourselves.
Fitting
What does all this have to do with being ‘fitting?’ Two of our questions when considering the governmental and worship structures of the church should be: does this conform to the structure of reality as revealed in the Bible? Does this tell the story of reality as revealed in the Bible?
It’s possible that we might make choices that are not commanded in the Bible because they are more fitting with the structure and story that we’ve been given to live, teach, and encounter the world through.
To give an example, I’ve been thinking through who gets to preside at the sacraments of the Lord’s Supper and Baptism. The history of the church has made a big deal of this in several different ways. Certainly, through the middle ages, and maybe before, they required an ordained priest. This would still be true in most churches today, though rarely in British evangelical ones. Of course, the Reformation’s recovery of the priesthood of all believers is behind that reinterpretation, but most Protestant churches are still strict on the sacraments being performed by an ordained member of clergy.
To move past all their arguments, for the sake of brevity, I can’t find a passage of scripture which tells us this. Typically, it’s sourced in the Old Testament’s requirement that sacrifices are carried out by Priests and the specific system that allows different people to fulfil different roles in a divine structure. Believing in the priesthood of all believers, and in Christ our priest, often knocks that out of reflection for worship; I don’t think that’s quite right, but we should be more careful than someone like Peter Leithart in making those distinctions between the Testaments (and we should learn from Leithart, who reads these texts very closely).
So, can anyone preside at the sacraments? In the sense that we participate in the real through a sacrament because of our faith it doesn’t matter who presides if our question is ‘will it work.’ If it’s ‘what’s allowed’ we’ll be left a little unclear and maybe do whatever we like.
However, if our question is ‘what is fitting’ we might decide differently. Does someone in the congregation represent Jesus, regularly speaking his words over them? Yes, your elders do, as they preach the word. Maybe it’s more fitting to the story and structure if they preside at the Table, handing bread and wine to you as though they’re Jesus.
Does that mean if someone else presides it isn’t the Supper, or you aren’t baptised? No. And if no elder was available you’d get the next most appropriate figure in the congregation to do so. But, if they are, why would you get someone else, it’s not fitting.
This concept can be applied in many directions, and I think it’s a very helpful category to think in and through.
To subscribe and receive email notifications for future posts, scroll all the way to the bottom of the page.
Would you like to support my work? The best thing you can do is share this post with your friends. Why not consider also joining my Patreon to keep my writing free for everyone. You can see other ways to support me here.
nuakh 