Where does God draw the line?

I was brought up in a Baptist Church and was taught that God offers salvation from his wrath for everyone who believes in Jesus as Saviour. We understood that apart from God's grace, we all deserve punishment for our sin.

Trying to gain God's favour by good works is fruitless, because none of us can measure up, and because God has made clear that we are freed from sin through what Jesus has done, not from our own efforts.

But we were also taught that many people hope that they will be saved because their good deeds outweigh their bad ones.

And, many churches also do not truly teach salvation by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone, but add extra things to this.

We were usually told that those who add to the good news of salvation through Christ cannot be saved from God's judgment.

However, every now and again, someone would say something like this:

When we get to heaven, there will be a lot of surprises. There will be plenty of Roman Catholics in heaven.

It seems to me there is a line between universalism (which teaches that all will be saved) and exclusivism (where only those in our little group are enjoying God's favour). But where does God draw the line?

I am sure many folk would think of me as being very narrow-minded. And we did spend two enjoyable, but challenging years in the little town of Narromine. The challenging part was high school Music teaching!

I enjoy reading articles in Christianity Today, but have discovered that some other Evangelicals think it is far too inclusive. I'm sure they would cringe at this article in which Marlena Graves writes about her experiences at seminary, where she learnt

to be generous to Christians who see some important things differently.

They might also not be very happy with the story in The Wall Street Journal about the identical twin brothers, raised as Baptists, who are now a Roman Catholic priest and an Anglican bishop.

I was also interested to see that the newly-formed Australian chapter of The Gospel Coalition is attracting criticism from folk who think it is too inclusive and from those who would like it to be less complementarian.

I think Marlena Graves achieves a good balance in what she says in the last half of her article:

I think of my experience in seminary, where I studied alongside students from 50 different church backgrounds and denominations, from Pentecostal to Presbyterian and Roman Catholic to African Methodist Episcopal. The distinctives of our traditions meant that at core, we had intense disagreements over doctrine (especially over the nature and practice of the sacraments) and other controversial issues (like the ordination of women). But amazingly, we didn’t spend time debating our differences.

We could all trace the genesis, trajectories, emphases, and tragedies of our particular traditions in church history. None of us could afford to be arrogant about our traditions. We all “called upon the name of the Lord”; we all “declared with our mouths, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believed in our hearts that God raised him from the dead” (Rom. 10:9-13). Our common devotion to Jesus and love for one another reigned supreme. For the first time in my life I thought, “This is what heaven must be like.”

As Protestant evangelicals, we have some specific beliefs that are starkly different than a lot of fellow Christians, including Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox brothers and sisters. But to those who suggest that moving from Protestantism to Roman Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy amounts to “changing religions,” I direct them to our brothers in Christ who have been martyred for the faith.

Those Coptic Christians killed in February, or the Ethiopian Orthodox Christians killed just days ago, are they not really Christians? Are they members of a different religion, Orthodoxy, not “the faith once for all delivered to the saints”? I certainly wouldn’t say that. (And, for the record, neither wouldPope Francis.)

As CT blogger Peter Chin wrote earlier this year:

Our response to the death of the 21 clearly demonstrated that we share a profound connection with other believers despite the considerable geographical, cultural, and theological gaps between us. We have proven that we do not need to be in complete alignment with other followers of Christ to stand with them in their pain.

What do you think?

 

PAGE FORTY-TWO: new church

Charlestown Church of Christ, 1980

I had attended Belmont Baptist Church from when our family arrived in Belmont in about 1955, until Joan and I got married in November, 1973. So it was the only church I had ever known. We didn't know anyone at the Baptist Church in Charlestown, and it was on the other side of town.

But the church in the picture was only a short walk from our house. We turned up there on the Sunday after we arrived in Dickinson St and were greeted by Jim and Jean Williams, a couple who were a few years older than us, with twin babies, Linley and Lauren. They were lovely, friendly people and made us feel at home.

Jim used to lead the singing at church, and I remember his rousing rendition of the song, Burdens Are Lifted At Calvary. Jim's version was much more lively than this one I have linked to.

The minister was a young man called Geoff Risson. Geoff was a few years older than us. In those days, almost everybody was older than us! In his sermons, he used to often ask What is a Christian? He would go on to say that being a Christian means living out the message you say you believe, not just having an idea in your head which makes no difference to your daily life.

We loved the wording of the pamphlet he got folk to put in the neighbouring letterboxes:

What are young people coming to, these days?
Some young people are coming to your house.

Sometimes Geoff would get his words a bit mixed up, but, as The Two Ronnies used to sing,

We heard what he said
But we knew what he meant.

On one occasion, he preached a whole sermon about Jesus turning the wine into water. And another time he talked to us of the importance of going through the bapters of wartism.

We found that the teachings of the church were very similar to what we had heard at Belmont Baptist and also in Youth For Christ and other Christian organisations we had been involved in.

table of contents

PAGE FORTY: two weddings, a gig and a funeral

This is a photo of the world's most beautiful bride, in the wedding dress which she made herself. I think Joan has the most lovely face and such a winning smile. She also looked pretty good in a certain purple bikini.

We got married at Belmont Baptist Church on Saturday, 24th November, 1973 at 1.30 PM It was a warm day: rather hot to be dressed up in a suit, as you do. Joan's schoolfriend, Susan Ridley was bridesmaid, and Joan's sister Kay was matron of honour. My best man was my best friend, Paul Stocks. Our minister, Albin Betterridge, conducted our wedding.

Susan Rawling's group Maranatha sang Susan's song The Marriage Supper of the Lamb, based on Revelation chapter 19. We had wanted to have The Lord's My Shepherd as our wedding hymn, but were told we couldn't, because people sing it at funerals! I even got a complaint this year when I included it in our church service from someone who had heard it at her grandfather's funeral, a few weeks before.

I think it is a great hymn to sing on any occasion. But, when we were told that it was perfectly acceptable to sing The King of Love My Shepherd Is, we went with that one, which is also based on the grand words of Psalm 23, which I had memorised in Sunday School.(Ironically, it was the latter hymn which was sung at Princess Diana's funeral.)

Our reception was held at 23 Colarado St, Adamstown Heights, Joan's home. It was a small, two bedroom house, but somehow we managed to fit in our fifty guests.

Joan's Dad kindly locked my car in the garage, so we didn't have to endure the hijinks of people tying things to it. Weren't we party-poopers?

When we arrived at Shoal Bay for our honeymoon, we couldn't find any sheets for the bed in the flat we were staying in. So we spent a quite uncomfortable very first time in a bed together between rather prickly blankets.

The next morning, I went to see the landlady to get some sheets, explaining that we couldn't find any, so that my fiancée and I had to sleep under blankets.
Now I'm guessing you didn't blink when you read that, but I was horrified when I heard myself say it, because Joan was no longer my fiancée, but my wife. I guess I was thinking similar thoughts to my mother's, in India, back in 1952. I wonder if there is anyone left who would think like that in 2012?

 When we got married, I had just turned twenty-one, and Joan was twenty. What would you think of me if I told you that I spent quite a bit of our honeymoon in tears? I was not regretting being married to Joan, but was feeling rather overwhelmed by my new responsibilities. Unlike Joan, I had lived at home for the whole of my life: Joan had at least experienced life away from home in the eleven months at Bible college.

I don't think we planned our honeymoon particularly well, because we were offered a gig at Coffs Harbour Methodist Church, and we accepted it, although it was to be during our honeymoon! We enjoyed the drive up the Pacific Highway, and our Morris Mini Deluxe behaved itself and didn't boil over once.

The weather was delightful, as was the company, and I remember when we drove over some bridges Joan looking into the water and exclaiming Lovely river!

 Joan and I only had about three or four gigs, with me playing guitar, Joan the flute, and singing a few songs together. Don't tell anybody this, but no-one ever asked us back! We had one memorable gig at Dungog BYF (Baptist Youth Fellowship). The compere introduced us by saying, in all seriousness, that they had asked two other performers, who both declined coming, so they ended up asking us as a third choice, and we accepted.

I couldn't resist retorting that we were just there rehearsing for our gig at Newcastle YFC the following week!

The day after our performance in Coffs Harbour, the minister of the church called around to tell us that Uncle Ben had passed away. Ben Broadhead had sponsored Joan's family coming out to Australia, and they had lived with him in Mayfield West for a few years, before moving into their own home in Adamstown Heights. We had intended to stay with him for a short time, until we found ourselves a flat.

We drove back to Newcastle and attended his funeral, and also our friends Paul and Lee's wedding. Lee was in Maranatha and had sung at our wedding the week before. Maybe we should have another honeymoon to make up for the one that was so full of other things: what do you think?

table of contents

PAGE THIRTY: an unexpected solution

We were pretty strait-laced in Belmont Baptist Church, as the photo of our Sunday School teachers reveals. The men wore suits and the ladies always wore hats. And of course we were not alone in this.

When David Aiton became a Christian and came to stay at our place (sharing my tiny bedroom with me), he discovered that he needed to buy a suit to be accepted as being dressed for church. That was a tall order for an apprentice fitter and machinist. After he got one, a deacon informed him that he could join the communion servers' roster, now that he was properly dressed.

I fell foul of these dress rules myself when I wore shorts and a short-sleeved shirt and no tie, while playing the Hammond organ in church on a hot summer morning. The choirmaster objected and I was told I must dress formally when I played the organ. Interestingly, Mr Thrum himself was breaking the code, too, because he was a smoker! (In those days, we were told that the verse in 1 Corinthians about our bodies being a temple of the Holy Spirit, was put there to prohibit Christians from puffing on cigarettes.)

There were all kinds of rules that we were expected to follow. Baptists didn't dance, smoke, drink alcohol, play sport on The Lord's Day, or even go swimming or picnicking. Everything was going swimmingly until the Livingstones put in a pool.

Arch and Gloria Livingstone had a poultry farm, which was called Ringal, based on their names, from youngest to oldest:

Ruth
Ian
Neil
Gloria
Arch
Livingstone

Clever, isn't it!

I think the Livingstones were the first to own a pool. Now it is one thing to not go to the local pool on a hot Sunday, but quite another to refrain from having a dip in your own pool. So Ian asked Mr Betterridge to clarify something:

Ian: Mr Bett, is it OK to go for a walk on the Lord's Day?
Mr Betterridge: That's fine, Ian.
Ian: And is it OK to lie down on the Lord's Day?
Mr Betterridge: It's perfectly OK. After all, Sunday is meant to be a day of rest.
Ian: Then I think it's OK to go swimming too, because that's just a combination of walking and lying down!

One Sunday afternoon, David Aiton and I went to Wallsend Baptist Church to hear the Rev Rowland Croucher speak. He mercilessly lampooned some of our most treasured rules. I remember him engaging in a similar piece of logic to Ian's to point out how crazy it was that we were taught that it was fine to go for a walk on the Sabbath (which people equated with Sunday and the Lord's Day) and fine to eat, but doing both together ( picnicking) was verboten. 

 Yet another rule was that women should not wear men's clothing, nor men women's, and especially not in church. And so our new music group was faced with a problem.

We had a group uniform, which consisted of  a brightly covered top, which we wore over our slacks. It was perfectly acceptable at Katoomba Youth For Christ on Saturday night. But we were warned that this would not be accepted at the church where we would be singing on the following Sunday morning. (It was either Leura or Lawson Baptist Church: I can't remember which.)

We did not have an alternative change of clothing, so what were we to do? I didn't expect what came next: the girls turned up without their trousers! If the conservative church folk didn't like girls wearing slacks, fine. Just take 'em off!


And, believe it or not, going bottomless, or if you like, wearing micro-minis, was more acceptable than girls in modest slacks.

My mother had an expression which she got from her mother: the sights you see when you're out without your gun!



table of contents

PAGE TWENTY-FIVE: Third form

 from Belmont High School annual magazine, Coolamatong, 1967.

I loved singing in the school choirs and choral groups, despite having a quite ordinary voice: my brother Malcolm is the one with the good voice. It is great fun to sing a part while others are singing different parts.

It's amusing to read the poem I wrote at the age of about fifteen, now that I am much closer to the age written about in the poem! I understand that Paul McCartney composed this tune from which I pinched the title when he was about sixteen.

I S C F (which we called ISS-ka-fff) was an important part of my spiritual development, because it showed me that there are Christian folk who have different understandings and practices from what I learnt at Belmont Baptist Church. For example, we were taught that Christians don't dance, and when we had dancing in P E, we were supposed to ask to be excused, which I usually did. (But I do remember having an enjoyable dance with Robyn Small one day in P E.)

Then along came Cyril Green, the history teacher, leading our I S C F group for a period of time, and also playing clarinet and leading the dance band at school dances! 

 

table of contents

PAGE TWENTY: inspiring pastors from the church I grew up in

Rev Albin and Mrs Epsie Betterridge

When I think of Belmont Baptist Church, I think of Mr Betterridge. I attended the church from when I arrived in Belmont with my Mum and Dad and my twin brothers, Malcolm and Christopher, until I got married at the tender age of twenty-one and left home.

We had several other ministers, but Mr Betterridge was the one who was there for the longest part of this time and who made the greatest impact on me.

 I can't forget dear Mr Dickson, who was the minister when we arrived, and his lovely, caring wife. Everybody always called them Nanna and Pa Dickson. As in many ministries, Nanna Dickson was a very important part of her husband's effectiveness. Some people even said that they came to faith in Christ, due to her kindness to them.

But I also remember benefiting from Doug Turley's time at our church. He explained to me some aspects of how the Bible was put together, which I don't remember hearing from any of our other pastors. Although he had conservative theological views, he was able to fairly describe points of view which he didn't share. I'm coming to realise how hard it is to do this.
And he was the first person from whom I heard the great Blondin illustration. Blondin was the famous Niagara Falls tightrope walker who told a man that if he really believed he could safely cross over the Falls on a tightrope, he should jump into the wheelbarrow and let him wheel him across.
Christian faith is not merely believing that Jesus died for the sins of the world, but thanking him for taking away my sins, jumping into his wheelbarrow and letting him take charge. Ripper analogy, isn't it!

Mr Betterridge is the pastor who baptised me (on 23rd January, 1966, I learnt from my father's first five year diary, which we gave him for Christmas in 1964. )

He was my Scripture teacher, encouraged my musical gifts and was a faithful Bible teacher. In our Scripture lessons at school, he would invite latecomers into the class with

Come in ... and be at peace!

He used to drive me to Baptist Youth Fellowship, held at Islington Baptist Church (except for the one time he forgot, and I was stranded on the Pacific Highway, until I realised what had happened.)
Later, he baptised my girlfriend, conducted our wedding and also dedication ceremonies for  our first two children. But I'm getting ahead of myself. At the moment I'm only 13 years of age!

table of contents

PAGE TWELVE: church

Sunday School early 1960s, Belmont Baptist Church

When we moved to Belmont, our family joined the Baptist Church. Church in those days was quite different from how we experience it today. Children went to Sunday School at 9.30 AM, then our parents would join us for church at 11 AM.

Older children would be back at church for Christian Endeavour in the afternoon, would come home for dinner and go back again for the 7 PM evening service. Sometimes there was a fellowship dinner before church, and there was often also supper at either church or someone's home after the evening service.

Once a month, there was a Missionary League meeting, before Christian Endeavour, in which older children would cut stamps off envelopes to send away to the Australian Baptist Missionary Society for the support of missionaries like Miss Ruth Marks, who was serving as a nurse in Papua New Guinea with the Enga people. It's a wonder anyone went to work or school on Monday, but back then it seemed quite normal. And, mostly, I enjoyed it. I found the teaching about Christ meaningful, and I was given the opportunity to lead, pray, speak and play the piano for singing at Christian Endeavour, and then later at church.

In the picture above, I am sitting between Leonard Turnbull and Stephen Neill. I sat next to Leonard in Sunday School for years and years. He learnt guitar, while I was learning piano. He had a good ear for music and could play the introduction to almost any popular song. (Often, the arresting opening of the songs was more interesting than the music which followed.)

I enjoyed playing with him and his neighbour, Greg Bellamy. We did a mean version of The Shadows' Theme For Young Lovers.

When I went to theological college, Leonard used to send us some money from time to time, to help us with our expenses. We never asked people to do this, or told them about our financial needs. But on several occasions when we did not have the money in the bank to pay the rent, a cheque from Leonard (and sometimes somebody else) would arrive on the day the rent was due. Initially our weekly rent was a whole $40 per week. It later went up to $45 per week and then $50. One thing that has always intrigued me is that when the rent was increased, the gift increased to meet the new amount (without any prompting from us).

Leonard later went to college himself. I don't remember sending him any money, but I did loan him  my theological library.


The picture below shows a group of Sunday school teachers. I can't remember all their names, but you can see Cec Williams, Sunday School superintendent on the top left, standing next to Tom Mascord, Alf Presbury and Norm Hutchison. I don't remember the other man. I think that I know five out of six of the ladies: not sure who the first is, but the others are Miss Ryan, Miss Gates, Mrs Maskey, Mrs Knowles and, I think, Margaret Powell. (Years later, my mother once reintroduced me to Margaret, and told me that she had been my first Sunday School teacher. I think another of my kindergarten teachers was a young woman called Irene Selwood.)

Cec used to give us things to think about at the beginning of Sunday School, before we went off to our classes. They were practical topics that made you think about living as a Christian at school and home.

Tom Mascord and Norm Hutchison both taught me. Alf Presbury was the husband of the Kindergarten Sunday School superintendent and an accomplished ventriloquist and magician. We used to love his tricks and his stories which he used to present the Christian message.

table of contents