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Evangelical is an instance of what W. B. Gallie called an essentially contested concept: Those who use it also debate its meaning insolubly but fruitfully. Donald Dayton and Robert Johnston call evangelicalism a movement whose multiple centers are more easily identified than its shifting and overlapping boundaries. These centers are Protestant Orthodoxy, personal commitment to Christ, and evangelism.

The Protestant Orthodox agenda focuses on dogmatically conserving the apostolic heritage. It draws boundaries and searches for commonalities in order to identify "evangelical" communities and beliefs (as in the five Fundamentals or the current battle over divine foreknowledge). The Pietist agenda focuses on renewing the apostolic relationship between God and his people. It draws practical and experiential distinctions within dogmatic communities (such as experiences and evidences of spiritual rebirth) and overlooks denominational boundaries that would divide people of such living faith. The missionary agenda focuses on spreading the apostolic message into and across cultures. It draws distinctions between church and world and strives to overcome domestic and foreign cultural boundaries that impede the gospel's progress (with strategies for inculturation, social relevance, church growth, and cultural transformation).

Our respect for theological boundaries is an evangelical strength. Our disrespect for them is another. Apostolicity makes us anxious to remain faithful to the apostles as irreplaceable foundations of the church, yet it also makes us restless to follow the apostles to the ends of the earth.

Similar concerns drove the apostle and church planter to the nations. One marvels to watch Paul struggle in his first letter to the wretched Corinthians to strike a balance between rhetoric of exclusion and rhetoric of inclusion. Chapter 1 assails them for their partisanship; chapter 5 commands them to excommunicate an unrepentant brother. Chapters 2 and 3 distinguish between the spiritually mature and the immature, then group them together as God's temple, then sort them into workers of gold, silver, hay, and straw, then hand them all things and forbid any to boast. Chapter 4 contrasts its readers with the apostles, only to beg them to erase the contrast through imitation. Chapter 6 draws a bright line separating the holy body of Christ from the unholy world; chapter 7 blurs it with mixed marriages that sanctify unbelievers, unmixed marriages that secularize believers' lives, and singleness that ordains the status quo.

But Paul isn't moderating difference with indifference, as we might. For him exclusion and inclusion are two sides of the same coin. Pauline life is not an Anglican via media, but a bold Lutheran dialectic.

We are only halfway through the letter, but Paul's wearying rabbinical intensity is part of his power, so it is only fair to press on. Chapter 8 proclaims freedom to eat religiously tainted food; chapter 9 submits to others' scruples for the sake of freedom's good news; chapter 10 warns of the plagues that punish idolatry. Chapter 10 assures of liberty at table with pagans; chapter 11 reminds of obligations at table with fellow believers. Chapter 11 prioritizes the body into male and female, then refuses to prioritize the body into factions. Chapters 12 to 14 envision spiritual gifts in a participatory democracy of love that bears with one another, then in a hierarchy of order that defers to the stranger. Chapter 15 takes on the theological ignorance of some, then promises the eschatological transformation of all. Chapter 16 is a feast of greetings of far-away assemblies, a curse upon hearers with no love for the Lord, and grace and love for all.

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February 2004, Vol. 48, No. 2