I enjoy reading John Calvin on baptism. The other day I read something that has stuck in the back of my head, so I thought I’d share it and see what you think. Here is Calvin’s comments on who should administer the sacrament of baptism.

It is here also pertinent to observe, that it is improper for private individuals to take upon themselves the administration of baptism; for it, as well as the dispensation of the Supper, is part of the ministerial office. For Christ did not give command to any men or women whatever to baptise, but to those whom he had appointed apostles. And when, in the administration of the Supper, he ordered his disciples to do what they had seen him do (he having done the part of a legitimate dispenser), he doubtless meant that in this they should imitate his example.

John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion (Bellingham, WA: Logos Research Systems, Inc., 1997). Institutes IV, xv, 20

I feel like it has become more common these days for churches to allow believers to baptize other believers, for example fathers baptizing their children. Personally, I like the idea of “protecting” the sacraments so that they don’t become “common.” But, I also wonder if this is an area that falls into the “priesthood of all believers.”

So, what do you think? Can any believer baptize? What scriptural support do you see for/against?

Photo Credit: Jeremy Nelson

In reading Life of Owen, I came across a great section where Thomas points out the importance of actually living life. He says (emphasis mine),

A wish has sometimes been expressed, that men who, like Owen, have contributed so largely to the enriching of our theological literature, could have been spared the endless avocations of public life, and allowed to devote themselves almost entirely to authorship. But the wisdom of this sentiment is very questionable. Experience seems to testify that a certain amount of contact with the business of practical life is necessary to the highest style of thought and authorship; and that minds, when left to undisturbed literary leisure, are apt to degenerate into habits of diseased speculation and sickly fastidiousness. Most certainly the works that have come from men of monastic habits have done little for the world, compared with the writings of those who have ever been ready to obey the voice which summoned them away from tranquil studies to breast the storms and guide the movements of great social conflicts. The men who have lived the most earnestly for their own age, have also lived the most usefully for posterity. Owen’s retirement from the vice-chancellorship may indeed be regarded as a most seasonable relief from the excess of public engagement; but it may be confidently questioned whether he would have written so much or so well, had his intellect and heart been, in any great degree, cut off from the stimulus which the struggles and stern realities of life gave to them.

John Owen, vol. 1, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), lxviii.

There is something so true about this text. Those who retreat from the realities of life themselves seem to have little to add to the realities of life of others. Shear brilliance, without engaging the world, seems to have little value.

I wrote yesterday about the fact that John Owen didn’t need a bouncer. After reading the post, a friend of mine mentioned that John Knox, the 16th century Scottish minister and Protestant reformer, was a bouncer. After some googling, I discovered that he did, in fact, spend some time serving as a bodyguard for George Wishart, an itinerant preacher. I did a quick search in my Logos library and found the following:

Knox’s commitment to a Protestant position was more certainly established from December 1545, when he accompanied the itinerant preacher George Wishart on his brief tour around Leith and East Lothian. Bearing a two-handed sword on these travels, Knox acted as a bodyguard and assistant to Wishart, until in January 1546, suspecting a plot against himself, Wishart sent Knox back to his pupils, stating that ‘one is sufficient for one sacrifice’. Knox does not appear to have attended Wishart’s trial or execution in St Andrews, showing already an ‘instinct for self-preservation’ that would be evident throughout his career. He did, however, emulate the ministry of his mentor in energetic preaching and prophetic declarations, and embraced his scripture principle, sacramental memorialism and belief that the mass, images and other ceremonial activities were idolatrous.

Timothy Larsen, D. W. Bebbington and Mark A. Noll, Biographical Dictionary of Evangelicals (Leicester, England; Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 2003), 345.

and

How or when Knox himself became a Protestant is not known, for he never reveals anything about his conversion, but it is known that it was by 1545. At that time a certain George Wishart, a Scot who had spent some time in Switzerland and England, returned to his native land where he began preaching the gospel. In January 1545, after preaching in other places, he came to East Lothian where Knox acted as his bodyguard, carrying a two-handed sword. Despite Wishart’s acceptance by the local gentry, however, he was arrested by the earl of Bothwell and taken to St. Andrew’s, where after a trial before Cardinal Beaton he was burned at the stake as a heretic in March 1546.

J. D. Douglas, Philip Wesley Comfort and Donald Mitchell, Who’s Who in Christian History (Wheaton, Ill.: Tyndale House, 1997).

John Owen, the 17th century pastor and theologian, apparently doesn’t take any crap from smart @$$ kids who decide they can do whatever they want to in the classroom. After taking over as vice-chancellor of the University of Oxford, amidst a time of hardship which included a nearly empty treasury, mounting debt, and many empty halls and colleges being closed, Owen set out to bring order to the licentious and insubordinate attitude that had covered much of the university. He was given occasion to prove who was in charge of the university early on, as Andrew Thomas recounts in his Life of Owen:

But, amid these generous and conciliatory measures, Owen knew how, by acts of wholesome severity, to put a curb upon licentiousness, and to invigorate the whole discipline of the university. At a public Act, when one of the students of Trinity College was Terrœ filius, he stood up before the student began, and told him in Latin that he was at liberty to say what he pleased, on condition that he abstained from all profane and obscene expressions and personal reflections. The student began, but soon violated all the conditions that had been laid down to him. Owen repeatedly warned him to desist from a course so dishonouring to the university; but the youth obstinately persisting in the same strain, he at length commanded the beadles to pull him down. This was a signal for the students to interpose; on which Owen, determined that the authority of the university should not be insolently trampled on, rose from his seat, in the face of the remonstrances of his friends, who were concerned for his personal safety, drew the offender from his place with his own hand, and committed him to Bocardo, the prison of the university,—the students meanwhile standing aloof with amazement and fear at his resolution. Was there not something, in this scene, of that robust physical energy which had distinguished Owen at Oxford in earlier days in bell-ringing and the leaping of bars?

John Owen, vol. 1, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), li–lii.

But it wasn’t by mere force that Owen sought to bring peace and order to the Oxford. He knew that it was only through the gospel that the students and university had any true hope.

But the aims of the vice-chancellor rose far above the mere attempt to restrain licentiousness within moderate bounds;—his whole arrangements were made with the anxious desire of awakening and fostering among the students the power of a living piety. His own example, as well as the pervading spirit of his administration, would contribute much to this; and there are not wanting individual facts to show with what earnestness he watched and laboured for the religious wellbeing of the university. It had been customary for the Fellows to preach by turns on the afternoon of the Lord’s day in St Mary’s Church; but, on its being found that the highest ends of preaching were often more injured than advanced by this means, he determined to undertake this service alternately with Dr Goodwin, the head of Magdalen College, and in this way to secure to the youth of Oxford the advantage of a sound and serious ministry. It is interesting to open, nearly two hundred years afterwards, the reminiscences of one of the students, and to read his strong and grateful testimony to the benefits he had derived from these arrangements of the Puritan vice-chancellor. We have this privilege in the “Memoir of Philip Henry, by his son.” “He would often mention, with thankfulness to God,” says the quaint and pious biographer, “what great helps and advantages he had then in the university,—not only for learning, but for religion and piety. Serious godliness was in reputation; and, besides the public opportunities they had, many of the scholars used to meet together for prayer and Christian conference, to the great confirming of one another’s hearts in the fear and love of God, and the preparing of them for the service of the church in their generation. I have heard him speak of the prudent method they took then about the university sermons on the Lord’s day, in the afternoon, which used to be preached by the fellows of colleges in their course; but that being found not so much for edification, Dr Owen and Dr Goodwin performed that service alternately, and the young masters that were wont to preach it had a lecture on Tuesday appointed them.”

John Owen, vol. 1, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), lii.

I love that John Owen took his charge seriously. It was out of his concern for the spiritual well being of the students that he risked injury and disgrace by physically removing a rebellious student from the class. It was the very same concern that caused him to labor in the teaching and preaching of the gospel. May we have more preachers with “the anxious desire of awakening and fostering among the students [church] the power of a living piety.”

*Photo from Washington Post.

Today I worked on a video that will be shown at Redemption Hill Church this coming Sunday. The video highlights some of the recent baptisms and, as I was editing the footage, I was reminded of what a amazing means of grace God has given us in the sacraments. So much more than empty rituals, they are active agents of God’s merciful kindness towards us. As I was thinking about this, I stumbled across this bit from Spurgeon and my soul was lifted up to God all the more:

Other means, however, are made use of to bless men’s souls. For instance, the two ordinances of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. They are both made a rich means of grace. But let me ask you, is there any thing in baptism that can possibly bless any body? Can immersion in water have the slightest tendency to be blessed to the soul? And then with regard to the eating of bread and the drinking of wine at the Lord’s Supper, can it by any means be conceived by any rational man that there is any thing in the mere piece of bread that we eat, or in the wine that we drink? And yet, doubtless, the grace of God does go with both ordinances for the confirming of the faith of those who receive them, and even for the conversion of those who look upon the ceremony. There must be something, then, beyond the outward ceremony; there must, in fact, be the Spirit of God, witnessing through the water, witnessing through the wine, witnessing through the bread, or otherwise none of these things could be means of grace to our souls. They could not edify; they could not help us to commune with Christ; they could not tend to the conviction of sinners, or to the establishment of saints. There must, then, from these facts, be a higher, unseen, mysterious influence — the influence of the divine Spirit of God.

Charles H. Spurgeon, vol. 5, Spurgeon’s Sermons: Volume 5, electronic ed., Logos Library System; Spurgeon’s Sermons (Albany, OR: Ages Software, 1998).

There are a lot of “rock-star” pastors these days. But, that’s nothing new. Heck, even before podcasts, blogs, and Twitter, people flocked to hear the big name preachers of their day (See: Whitfield, Spurgeon, Wesley, Finny, ect). It would seem that this can be traced all the way back to the early church where camps were forming around Paul and Apollos. (1 Corinthians 3:4)

One of the great problems with idolizing or over emphasizing a particular preacher, is that you often do so at the expense of hear what many other great preachers, like maybe the one in your church, has to say. This point was really brought home today as I was reading a biography on the great reformer, John Owen. It would appear that John himself was inclined to go and hear a “rock-star” of his day and, when a no-name preacher showed up, Owen almost missed out on hearing the very message that stirred his soul to God.

But the time had come when the burden was to fall from Owen’s shoulders; and few things in his life are more truly interesting than the means by which it was unloosed. Dr Edmund Calamy was at this time minister in Aldermanbury Chapel, and attracted multitudes by his manly eloquence. Owen had gone one Sabbath morning to hear the celebrated Presbyterian preacher, and was much disappointed when he saw an unknown stranger from the country enter the pulpit. His companion suggested that they should leave the chapel, and hasten to the place of worship of another celebrated preacher; but Owen’s strength being already exhausted, he determined to remain. After a prayer of simple earnestness, the text was announced in these words of Matt. 8:26, “Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?” Immediately it arrested the thoughts of Owen as appropriate to his present state of mind, and he breathed an inward prayer that God would be pleased by that minister to speak to his condition. The prayer was heard, for the preacher stated and answered the very doubts that had long perplexed Owen’s mind; and by the time that the discourse was ended, had succeeded in leading him forth into the sunshine of a settled peace. The most diligent efforts were used by Owen to discover the name of the preacher who had thus been to him “as an angel of God,” but without success.

John Owen, vol. 1, The Works of John Owen., ed. William H. Goold (Edinburg: T&T Clark), xxx–xxxi.

Reader, you don’t need a rock star preacher. Find a pastor that preaches God’s Word faithfully, and listen. It is likely God will use that preacher in far greater ways that a rock star.

Note: I grabbed the image of John Owen from Ocean’s Bridge. If you want to buy me a copy of the painting, I think the 72″x88″ one would be sweet! The original was was painted by John Greenhill and is currently in National Portrait Gallery, London.

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I have a mac at work.
I want to sync my calendar and address book across the two computers.
I DON’T want to pay $99 a year for MobileMe.

Here is the free solution I used:

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My wrestling with the idea of baptizing children began in 2004, when my wife was pregnant with our first child. At the time, my struggle wasn’t about baptizing children, rather it was specifically about the baptizing of infants. I draw this distinction between baptizing infants and baptizing children because I believe it is an important one for this discussion. The issue of baptizing infants falls under the umbrella of what is known as padeobaptism, or as I prefer to call it, covenantal infant baptism. I don’t intend to discuss the baptism of infants here, but I draw the line between the two because I want to be clear that I am talking about credo (or confessional) baptism in this article. This is baptism, not based upon the covenantal promise given by God to parents, rather a person’s, in this case a child’s, confession of faith in Jesus.

Eventually my wife gave birth to our son, and 20 months later, our daughter. Since we were not attending a church that supported infant baptism, along with the fact that infant baptism wasn’t yet at the level of a conviction for me, we never baptized either of our kids as infants. Despite my leanings towards, and growing conviction concerning, covenantal infant baptism, it was when my son turned 5 and daughter turned 3 that I knew it was “too late” for me to baptize my kids based on the padeo-baptist framework. So, I was left wondering what to do. At what age, or what time should I discuss baptism with my kids? If they, at a very young age, say they want to be baptized, should I let them? What if I don’t think they are regenerate? What if I’m not sure of the state of their soul before God? What if I’m not sure they really grasp the truth of the Gospel? What am I to do? These were my wrestling.

On April 4, 2010, my wrestlings were resolved as both my children (ages 3 and 5) chose to enter the waters of baptism in obedience to Christ’s command, and as a declaration of faith to the Church and the world. As a father, I was both encouraged and enthralled to welcome my children as brothers and sisters in our Lord Jesus Christ. Their baptism, like all the faithful before them, is valid, fruitful, and efficacious. Theirs is no “mock” baptism, trial run, or kiddy version. Like the faithful before and after them, my kids were baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Now, the purpose of the post, article, paper, or whatever you want to call it, is to explain the basis for which I believe it is appropriate and right for churches to baptize young children under a credo-baptism framework. For the sake of clarity, I will be using the term “young confessing children” throughout and, by this I mean those children under the age of 6 (+/-) who confess to have faith in Jesus as both their Lord and Savior.

My hope is that the arguments below will help give other parents and pastors food for thought in this critical area of church life.
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