The Southern Baptist Convention’s Conservative Resurgence produced more than a few controversial lines, perhaps none more so than Adrian Rogers’ “pickles have souls.” In 1987, while serving as SBC president, Rogers quipped, “If Southern Baptists believe that pickles have souls, then the Southern Baptist seminary professors must teach that.” What Rogers meant as hyperbole, moderates took as an offense, and a firestorm of criticism ensued.

Rogers’ argument was straightforward—Southern Baptists founded, funded, and governed their seminaries, thus they have the right to determine what is taught in their institutions. Yet, his statement brushed up against an ever-present tension in Christian higher education, especially theological education: balancing confessional integrity with academic freedom.

The Myth of Academic Freedom

In theory, academic freedom permits one to pursue research, regardless of where it leads, and express opinion with impunity. In fact, it is often appropriated as a trump card, a permission slip for progressive views and questionable beliefs.

Upon careful reflection, unfettered academic freedom is more fiction than fact. In the secular university, where academic freedom is most championed, if a professor advocates a Young Earth Theory of creation, suggests gender distinction is right and healthy, or opposes same-sex marriage, he will likely find a chilly reception in the faculty lounge.

Moreover, let a professor get sideways with a leading benefactor, offend the sensitivities of a vocal student group, or draw the ire of a key constituency, and watch the edifice of academic freedom crumble. As long as the political correctness police are alive and well, unmitigated academic freedom is more fiction than fact anyway.

Confessionalism as an Institutional Necessity

In the context of Christian higher education, confessional rigidity is essential to perpetuate Christian belief and witness. Scripture is replete with exhortations for believers to steward and preserve the Christian faith. Appeals like “retain the standard of sound words,” “contend earnestly for the faith once and for all delivered to the saints,” and “guard the truth” stand as theological admonitions, apostolic injunctions for believers.[1]

Moreover, the history of higher education reveals that the majority of schools started as Christian institutions have drifted from their founding beliefs and neglected their original mission. There simply is no way to ensure a distinctively Christian institution without a confessional commitment—one with teeth.

This confessional commitment must include a statement that is as clear and comprehensive as possible; a faculty that keep it with full integrity; a president who vigilantly guards the integrity of the process; a governing board that provides ongoing oversight and accountability; and, most especially, churches that remain engaged with their institutions. Churches who fail to exercise oversight will likely become victims of the very institutions they founded. Dirty faucets always pollute clean basins.

Confessionalism, not Capricious Populism

In the context of the SBC’s Conservative Resurgence, earlier versions of the Baptist Faith & Message served as a denominational reference point that revealed doctrinal drift and as a standard to which the denomination’s entities should submit. Paige Patterson and Paul Pressler awakened Southern Baptists to this theological drift and galvanized a corrective movement, eventually bringing the entities back in line with the churches’ confessional expectations.

At its heart, the Conservative Resurgence was a confessional awakening, not merely a populist reaction. This is not to deny that the Conservative Resurgence was a populist movement, but the movement’s casus belli was doctrinal decline, its arguments were doctrinal arguments, and its end result was a doctrinal recovery. This is the antithesis of reactionary, impulsive populism.

At the same time, a confessional statement not only provides accountability for an entity, but it also adds an element of stability and expectation. It guards the instructional staff from impulsive reaction, doctrinal spontaneity, or pressure from a constituency’s vocal minority. On the one hand, it tethers the school to the theological expectations of the churches, and on the other hand, it protects the school and its faculty from unpredictable or impetuous shifts.

Confessionalism in the Classroom

The classroom is the ultimate intersection of confessional integrity and academic freedom, and it is precisely where the distinction between advocating and informing must be maintained. There is a significant difference between the two.

Old Testament professors should inform their students of the Documentary Hypothesis, and New Testament professors should apprise their students of the New Perspective on Paul. Theology professors should explain Open Theism, and preaching professors should engage reader-response hermeneutics.

There is, however, a huge difference between informing and advocating. By informing, professors are presenting and critiquing thought systems and educating students to do the same. By advocating, the professor persuades the student to believe and defend truth, to reject heterodoxy, and to give the students the equipment to so teach others.

A Prophetic Voice, with Integrity

What if a seminary finds itself out of step with its denomination’s beliefs? The best example might be racial segregation and 20^th century Baptist life. Though segregation was not expressed confessionally, the majority of mid-20^th century Southern Baptists favored racial segregation. The SBC seminaries, and especially Southern Seminary, found themselves out of step with the denomination.

In circumstances such as this, a seminary can be a prophetic voice to its constituency and can function like a gyroscope, as Southern Seminary’s then president, Duke McCall, famously argued. Here, the moral responsibility is to persuade, with integrity, the seminary’s constituency, like McCall and others did concerning racial integration.

Additionally, there are times when a confession of faith might well need to be amended. Whether to address a newly minted doctrinal aberration or to cogently articulate a belief previous generations could safely assume—such is the burden of leadership in a Christian community. Hence, the BF&M has been revised several times over the past century. That’s not surreptitiousness—that’s leadership.

The Buck Stops Somewhere

Citing Rogers’ “pickles have souls” comment, Mercer University President Bill Underwood criticized confessionalism, arguing, “Under this idea, we would have spiritual masters to tell us what to teach, what to learn, and what to believe.”[2] Underwood presents a naïve view of teaching, and a tendentious reading of Southern Baptist history. Every time teaching takes place, someone is encouraging someone else how to think and what to believe. That is the essence of pedagogy.

Moreover, there will always be thought police. The question is, will it be from an academic society, a vocal student group, an unwieldy donor, pop culture, or some other pressure of influence? The buck should stop with the confessional statement, and in the pews of those who founded, funded, and established the institution, not in the faculty lounge, professional societies, or pop culture.

Conclusion

In hindsight, Rogers’ “pickles have souls” ranks alongside Paul Pressler’s “going for the jugular”—a hyperbolic statement, taken out of context, that proved unhelpful to the Conservative Resurgence. Yet embedded within it, a truth lingers on: academic expression should be subjugated to one’s confessional expectation.

Do pickles have souls? Hardly. But if the churches that founded, funded, and own an institution had codified the belief into their statement of faith, the absurdity would be in the belief itself, not in their right to insist on its adherence.

“We will Dwell in Him” by C. H. Spurgeon (Morning and Evening, May 6, Morning)

“By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit.” (I John 4:13 ESV)

Do you want a house for your soul? Do you ask, “What is the purchase?” It is something less than proud human nature will like to give. It is without money and without price. Ah! you would like to pay a respectable rent! You would love to do something to win Christ? Then you cannot have the house, for it is “without price.” Will you take my Master’s house on a lease for all eternity, with nothing to pay for it, nothing but the ground-rent of loving and serving Him for ever? Will you take Jesus and “dwell in Him?” See, this house is furnished with all you want, it is filled with riches more than you will spend as long as you live.

Here you can have intimate communion with Christ and feast on His love; here are tables well-stored with food for you to live on for ever; in it, when weary, you can find rest with Jesus; and from it you can look out and see heaven itself. Will you have the house? Ah! if you are houseless, you will say, “I should like to have the house; but may I have it?” Yes; there is the key—the key is, “Come to Jesus.” “But,” you say, “I am too shabby for such a house.” Never mind; there are garments inside. If you feel guilty and condemned, come; and though the house is too good for you, Christ will make you good enough for the house by-and-by. He will wash you and cleanse you, and you will yet be able to sing, “We dwell in Him.”

Believer: thrice happy art thou to have such a dwelling-place! Greatly privileged thou art, for thou hast a “strong habitation” in which thou art ever safe. And “dwelling in Him,” thou hast not only a perfect and secure house, but an everlasting one. When this world shall have melted like a dream, our house shall live, and stand more imperishable than marble, more solid than granite, self-existent as God, for it is God Himself—”We dwell in Him.”

“I will be their God and they shall be my People” by C. H. Spurgeon (Morning and Evening, May 5, Morning)

“What agreement has the temple of God with idols? For we are the temple of the living God; as God said, ‘I will make my dwelling among them and walk among them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.'” (II Corinthians 6:16 ESV)

What a sweet title: “My people!” What a cheering revelation: “Their God!” How much of meaning is couched in those two words, “My people!” Here is speciality. The whole world is God’s; the heaven, even the heaven of heavens is the Lord’s, and He reigneth among the children of men; but of those whom He hath chosen, whom He hath purchased to Himself, He saith what He saith not of others — “My people” In this word there is the idea of proprietorship.

In a special manner the “Lord’s portion is His people; Jacob is the lot of His inheritance.” All the nations upon earth are His; the whole world is in His power; yet are His people, His chosen, more especially His possession; for He has done more for them than others; He has bought them with His blood; He has brought them nigh to Himself; He has set His great heart upon them; He has loved them with an everlasting love, a love which many waters cannot quench, and which the revolutions of time shall never suffice in the least degree to diminish. Dear friends, can you, by faith, see yourselves in that number? Can you look up to heaven and say, “My Lord and my God: mine by that sweet relationship which entitles me to call Thee Father; mine by that hallowed fellowship which I delight to hold with Thee when Thou art pleased to manifest Thyself unto me as Thou dost not unto the world?”

Canst thou read the Book of Inspiration, and find there the indentures of thy salvation? Canst thou read thy title writ in precious blood? Canst thou, by humble faith, lay hold of Jesus’ garments, and say, “My Christ”? If thou canst, then God saith of thee, and of others like thee, “My people;” for, if God be your God, and Christ your Christ, the Lord has a special, peculiar favour to you; you are the object of His choice, accepted in His beloved Son.

Though for years I’ve been trying, I’m now resigned to the fact I’ll never forget my first sermon. It was the summer of 1996, and I had been invited to preach at a women’s halfway house. I spent the week frantically trying to create a sermon. Having no assistance from others, and even less expertise, a sense of desperation came over me. I jotted down all the preacher jargon I knew, my favorite Bible verses, a few life observations, a couple of college basketball illustrations, and my personal testimony. I learned the hard way: such a menagerie does not a good sermon make.

Thankfully, as far as I know, no recording of the attempted sermon exists. In God’s kind providence, he brought a series of individuals, resources, and role models into my life shortly thereafter that formed my understanding of what a sermon is to be and accomplish. Yet, over the years my preaching has evolved, as well it should have.

How my Preaching has not Evolved

My basic convictions about preaching have changed little, if any, over the past 15 years. Theologically, I am absolutely convinced of the power of Scripture to save, the sufficiency of Scripture to mature the believer, and the necessity of preaching the whole counsel of God.

Methodologically, little has changed either. Thankfully, while cutting my teeth in ministry I was exposed to strong, biblical exposition. Given my belief in the truthfulness and trustworthiness of Scripture, it resonated, biblically and logically, as the preferred way to preach.

I learned biblical exposition in person from Steve Lawson, and to a lesser extent, Stephen Olford. From a distance, I learned from the sermon tapes of John MacArthur and Adrian Rogers. Therefore, early in my ministry I became committed to explaining the text and bringing it to bear on God’s people, even if I lacked the experience to do it well.

Though these theological and methodological convictions have long since been settled, I can trace at least four ways my preaching has evolved.

The Sermon Outline Means Less to me Now

Early in my preaching, I spent an inordinate amount of time on the sermon outline itself. I took it as a settled fact that the preaching gods found favor with a snappy, alliterated outline, almost as though spit-shined sermon points was the sine qua non of good exposition.

One should work to ensure the outline is faithful to the passage’s structure and that it helps the listener understand the text and follow along with the sermon. I did something different, however. In fact, I’m embarrassed to confess, I often spent more time laboring over the sermon outline than I did the actual meaning of the text.

Time expended polishing an outline could be better spent checking cross- references, praying through the passage, pondering more precise application, and other efforts that strengthen your knowledge of the text and the preparation and delivery of the sermon.

More Bible and Fewer Books

Like every other preacher alive, each year my library grows with more and more books. I acquire books on a near daily basis, and I devote a significant portion of each day to reading them. Yet, every year I seem to use them less and less for sermon preparation. This is not an anti-intellectualism screed. Far from it, in fact. I spend more time reading books now than at any prior season of my life.

When it comes to sermon preparation, a decade ago I would check every commentary I could access, peruse every illustration book I owned, and surf the scriptural indexes in my systematic theologies. I still rely on books, and especially on commentaries, but I now spend considerably more time in the Bible itself. I read and reread the passage and its broader context, looking for insights, making observations, seeking to grasp the forest and the trees of the passage. Moreover, I pray through and meditate on the passage. In so doing, the sermon—and the preacher—are better prepared.

One might occasionally strike illustrative gold by rifling through sermon illustration books, but that time would likely be best spent in the passage itself.

Fewer Personal and Family Illustrations

For the preacher, family illustrations are money in the bank. Church members, and especially senior adults, enjoy stories about young children. Such stories can be endearing to the congregation, giving them a sense of closeness to their pastor and engendering stronger relations with the flock.

Yet, in many congregations, there is an intrigue with—an almost voyeuristic interest in—the preacher’s personal life. As a father of five young children, life is like an artesian well, overflowing with humorous moments easily retold as sermon illustrations. However, I do much less of this than I did earlier in my ministry. I’ve found that family illustrations can actually distract from the passage rather than illuminate it. If not careful, over time my listeners can learn more of Anne-Marie and Caroline than Paul and Jesus. I want my listeners to know Mark, John, and Peter more than William, Alden, and Elizabeth.

Additionally, I noticed such illustrations often trivialized the sermon and the preaching event itself. It’s just hard to press upon people the seriousness and urgency of following Christ if they’re still chuckling over a dirty-diaper story.

More Intentional about Preaching Jesus

Early in my ministry, in my attempt to be faithful to the specific text under consideration, I often failed to connect the passage to Christ. In fact, depending on the sermon series, I could go weeks preaching “synagogue sermons,” messages devoid of explicit and substantial references to Jesus.

Perhaps it was pride, but I would think sermons that constantly referred to the gospel were repetitive or even shallow, a dispensing of milk when mature believers needed meat. This, too, has changed. Part of this I attribute to a fuller understanding of Scripture, that indeed it all points to Christ. Some of it came intuitively as I understood more clearly how much my congregation needed to hear the gospel.

The Scriptures point to Jesus, the lost need to receive Jesus, and the saved need to be encouraged in Jesus. Moreover, as I preach Christ, I find my heart sails— giving added passion and intensity. It is just hard to mess up a sermon that exalts the Lord Jesus Christ.

Conclusion

I’ve never been more convinced of the urgency of preaching the text, the need for a broad-based recovery of biblical exposition, or the consequence of the preaching act itself. These convictions have long-since been settled.

I now know a faithful preacher is a growing one. He grows in his knowledge of Christ, his knowledge of Scripture, his knowledge of self, and in the art and science of preaching.

If you can’t point to ways your preaching has evolved over the years, it could be you were exceptionally gifted from the start, or it may mean you’re still preaching junior varsity sermons. I’m grateful to God my preaching has changed over the years and pray it never stops changing. Has yours?

“They All Died in Faith” by C. H. Spurgeon (Morning and Evening, May 2, Evening)

“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.” (Hebrews 11:13 ESV)

Behold the epitaph of all those blessed saints who fell asleep before the coming of our Lord! It matters nothing how else they died, whether of old age, or by violent means; this one point, in which they all agree, is the most worthy of record, “they all died in faith.” In faith they lived—it was their comfort, their guide, their motive and their support; and in the same spiritual grace they died, ending their life-song in the sweet strain in which they had so long continued. They did not die resting in the flesh or upon their own attainments; they made no advance from their first way of acceptance with God, but held to the way of faith to the end. Faith is as precious to die by as to live by.

Dying in faith has distinct reference to the past. They believed the promises which had gone before, and were assured that their sins were blotted out through the mercy of God. Dying in faith has to do with the present. These saints were confident of their acceptance with God, they enjoyed the beams of His love, and rested in His faithfulness. Dying in faith looks into the future. They fell asleep, affirming that the Messiah would surely come, and that when He would in the last days appear upon the earth, they would rise from their graves to behold Him. To them the pains of death were but the birth-pangs of a better state.

Take courage, my soul, as thou readest this epitaph. Thy course, through grace, is one of faith, and sight seldom cheers thee; this has also been the pathway of the brightest and the best. Faith was the orbit in which these stars of the first magnitude moved all the time of their shining here; and happy art thou that it is thine. Look anew tonight to Jesus, the author and finisher of thy faith, and thank Him for giving thee like precious faith with souls now in glory.