Here is a bit from Wikipedia on John Wesley’s beliefs on free will vs predestination:

Wesley was a strong controversialist. The most notable of his controversies was that on Calvinism. His father was of the Arminian school in the church; but John decided for himself while in college and expressed himself strongly against the doctrines of election and reprobation.

Whitefield inclined to Calvinism. In his first tour in America, he embraced the views of the New England School of Calvinism; and when Wesley preached a sermon on Free Grace, attacking predestination as blasphemous, representing “God as worse than the devil,” Whitefield asked him (1739) not to repeat or publish the discourse, not wanting a dispute. Wesley’s sermon was published, and among the many replies to it was one by Whitefield. Separation followed in 1741. Wesley wrote that those who held universal redemption did not desire separation, but “those who held particular redemption would not hear of any accommodation.”^[11]

Whitefield, Harris, Cennick, and others, became the founders of Calvinistic Methodism. Whitefield and Wesley, however, were soon back on friendly terms, and their friendship remained thenceforth unbroken, though they travelled different paths. Occasional publications appeared on Calvinistic doctrines, by Wesley and others; but in 1770 the controversy broke out anew with violence and bitterness. Toplady, Berridge, Rowland, Richard Hill, and others were engaged on the one side, and Wesley and Fletcher on the other. Toplady was editor of The Gospel Magazine, which was filled with the controversy. Wesley in 1778 began the publication of The Arminian Magazine, not, he said, to convince Calvinists, but to preserve Methodists and to teach the truth that “God willeth all men to be saved.” A “lasting peace” could be secured in no other way.

Here’s several questions that this has made me think of:

1. If Election is a crucial doctrine, was Wesley a Christian?

2. Can we learn anything from the friendship of Whitfield (a Calvinist) and Wesley (an Arminian)?

3. Is this an example of the Elephant Theology that we’ve been talking about the past few days?

From here:

Declared ‘unfit for church services’ in France and later embraced by U.S. abolitionists, the song continues to inspire.

The strange and fascinating story of “O Holy Night” began in France, yet eventually made its way around the world. This seemingly simple song, inspired by a request from a clergyman, would not only become one of the most beloved anthems of all time, it would mark a technological revolution that would forever change the way people were introduced to music.

In 1847, Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure was the commissionaire of wines in a small French town. Known more for his poetry than his church attendance, it probably shocked Placide when his parish priest asked the commissionaire to pen a poem for Christmas mass. Nevertheless, the poet was honored to share his talents with the church.

In a dusty coach traveling down a bumpy road to France’s capital city, Placide Cappeau considered the priest’s request. Using the gospel of Luke as his guide, Cappeau imagined witnessing the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. Thoughts of being present on the blessed night inspired him. By the time he arrived in Paris, “Cantique de Noel” had been completed.

Moved by his own work, Cappeau decided that his “Cantique de Noel” was not just a poem, but a song in need of a master musician’s hand. Not musically inclined himself, the poet turned to one of his friends, Adolphe Charles Adams, for help.

The son of a well-known classical musician, Adolphe had studied in the Paris conservatoire. His talent and fame brought requests to write works for orchestras and ballets all over the world. Yet the lyrics that his friend Cappeau gave him must have challenged the composer in a fashion unlike anything he received from London, Berlin, or St. Petersburg.

As a man of Jewish ancestry, for Adolphe the words of “Cantique de Noel” represented a day he didn’t celebrate and a man he did not view as the son of God. Nevertheless, Adams quickly went to work, attempting to marry an original score to Cappeau’s beautiful words. Adams’ finished work pleased both poet and priest. The song was performed just three weeks later at a Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve

Initially, “Cantique de Noel” was wholeheartedly accepted by the church in France and the song quickly found its way into various Catholic Christmas services. But when Placide Cappeau walked away from the church and became a part of the socialist movement, and church leaders discovered that Adolphe Adams was a Jew, the song–which had quickly grown to be one of the most beloved Christmas songs in France–was suddenly and uniformly denounced by the church. The heads of the French Catholic church of the time deemed “Cantique de Noel” as unfit for church services because of its lack of musical taste and “total absence of the spirit of religion.” Yet even as the church tried to bury the Christmas song, the French people continued to sing it, and a decade later a reclusive American writer brought it to a whole new audience halfway around the world.

Not only did this American writer–John Sullivan Dwight–feel that this wonderful Christmas song needed to be introduced to America, he saw something else in the song that moved him beyond the story of the birth of Christ. An ardent abolitionist, Dwight strongly identified with the lines of the third verse: “Truly he taught us to love one another; his law is love and his gospel is peace. Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother; and in his name all oppression shall cease.” The text supported Dwight’s own view of slavery in the South. Published in his magazine, Dwight’s English translation of “O Holy Night” quickly found favor in America, especially in the North during the Civil War.

Back in France, even though the song had been banned from the church for almost two decades, many commoners still sang “Cantique de Noel” at home. Legend has it that on Christmas Eve 1871, in the midst of fierce fighting between the armies of Germany and France, during the Franco-Prussian War, a French soldier suddenly jumped out of his muddy trench. Both sides stared at the seemingly crazed man. Boldly standing with no weapon in his hand or at his side, he lifted his eyes to the heavens and sang, “Minuit, Chretiens, c’est l’heure solennelle ou L’Homme Dieu descendit jusqu’a nous,” the beginning of “Cantique de Noel.”

After completing all three verses, a German infantryman climbed out his hiding place and answered with, “Vom Himmel noch, da komm’ ich her. Ich bring’ euch gute neue Mar, Der guten Mar bring’ ich so viel, Davon ich sing’n und sagen will,” the beginning of Martin Luther’s robust “From Heaven Above to Earth I Come.”

The story goes that the fighting stopped for the next twenty-four hours while the men on both sides observed a temporary peace in honor of Christmas day. Perhaps this story had a part in the French church once again embracing “Cantique de Noel” in holiday services.

Adams had been dead for many years and Cappeau and Dwight were old men when on Christmas Eve 1906, Reginald Fessenden–a 33-year-old university professor and former chief chemist for Thomas Edison–did something long thought impossible. Using a new type of generator, Fessenden spoke into a microphone and, for the first time in history, a man’s voice was broadcast over the airwaves: “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed,” he began in a clear, strong voice, hoping he was reaching across the distances he supposed he would.

Shocked radio operators on ships and astonished wireless owners at newspapers sat slack-jawed as their normal, coded impulses, heard over tiny speakers, were interrupted by a professor reading from the gospel of Luke. To the few who caught this broadcast, it must have seemed like a miracle–hearing a voice somehow transmitted to those far away. Some might have believed they were hearing the voice of an angel.

Fessenden was probably unaware of the sensation he was causing on ships and in offices; he couldn’t have known that men and women were rushing to their wireless units to catch this Christmas Eve miracle. After finishing his recitation of the birth of Christ, Fessenden picked up his violin and played “O Holy Night,” the first song ever sent through the air via radio waves. When the carol ended, so did the broadcast–but not before music had found a new medium that would take it around the world.

Since that first rendition at a small Christmas mass in 1847, “O Holy Night” has been sung millions of times in churches in every corner of the world. And since the moment a handful of people first heard it played over the radio, the carol has gone on to become one of the entertainment industry’s most recorded and played spiritual songs. This incredible work–requested by a forgotten parish priest, written by a poet who would later split from the church, given soaring music by a Jewish composer, and brought to Americans to serve as much as a tool to spotlight the sinful nature of slavery as tell the story of the birth of a Savior–has become one of the most beautiful, inspired pieces of music ever created.

There are so many issues that typically bother ODMs. The writer was a wine seller and didn’t regularly attend church. He later walked away from the church and became a socialist. The musician who wrote the music didn’t even believe Jesus was God. The song was commissioned by a Catholic priest and it’s first performance was in a Catholic church.

Photo by: krisdecurtis

As I’ve mentioned in a comment earlier, I actually do fit Ken Silva’s description of a lead guitarist and pastor.  I started playing guitar when I was in college, and since then I have been trying to fulfill my dreams of becoming a rock ‘n’ roll star.  Occasionally, I go to online forums for guitarists where people talk about things like what pickups sound best in my Strat, what distortion pedal sounds best with this amp, was Jimi Hendrix overrated, etc.  Basically it’s stuff that most normal people don’t care about.  Sometimes I think the people involved in these discussion forget why they are there in the first place – to become better guitarists, supposedly.

Where I’m headed with all this is this.  Yesterday Tony Rose posted an article on CR?N that linked to this post on his blog entitled Knowing AND (not “or”) Doing… the Christian Life.  Now let me say from the start that Tony actually says some things I agree with.  I do agree with his assertion that knowing and doing aren’t opposite to one another.  I also agree with point that a proper understanding of Biblical knowledge should spur us on to do more.  My disagreement with his post comes down to the fact that he is still creating a hierarchy where knowledge is placed before and above action.  He says:

Preachers today should follow that model and preach and teach theology, to increase people’s knowledge, in order that they can understand the practical applications of their teachings on Biblical spiritual growth. And then of course, teach Biblical applications and not man-centered ones.

The problem with placing knowledge in a higher place than action arises when we realize that in most things in life, people can’t really learn without doing.  We can read books, hear lectures, and do other things to attain knowledge, but that knowledge remains useless if it isn’t put to use.  The way most people learn a skill go something like this.  First we watch someone do something, we then help someone do something, and then finally we are able to do it by ourselves, and ideally teach others.  The example of a carpenter that he uses is actually a perfect example of this.  For someone to be a carpenter, they must first be an apprentice.  This involves a relatively small amount of book knowledge.  One learns to be a carpenter by doing carpentry.

To get back to my guitar analogy, I look at like this.  I may know chords and scales, I might know all the ins and outs of the gear, and I might even know some music theory, but it’s all useless until I make the choice to pick up the guitar and practice.  I need to get callouses on my fingers, fumble around to find the chords for a while, and then eventually I’ll be able to play some music.  Knowledge doesn’t come before doing, it go hand in hand with it.  Isn’t this what James is saying in James in 1:26 & 27:

Anyone who sets himself up as “religious” by talking a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world. (from The Message)

We can talk a good talk, but if we don’t make the choice to walk the walk, then it’s worthless.  If we know all the right theology, but don’t choose to serve others, what good is it?  The problem with thinking that knowledge is always above action is that it will always give us a reason to delay action.  We can always learn more.

So how much do we need to know before we act?  Not much according to Paul (I’m stealing this from Brant Hansen in this podcast). In Romans 15:14, Paul says this:

I myself am convinced, my brothers, that you yourselves are full of goodness, complete in knowledge and competent to instruct one another.

Now these are the same Roman Christians to whom just earlier in this letter Paul was explaining the basics of salvation!  Now either Paul thought they were incredibly fast learners, or he thought that God would honor their shaky steps of faith.  I think it was the latter.

So today it seems to me that we have the same choice the Roman Christians had.  We can continue to let our questions and doctrinal differences paralyze us, or we can choose to believe we know enough to serve each other and the world.  Maybe once we make that choice, we will find ourselves learning more than ever.