Читать книгу The Mystery of Baptism in the Anglican Tradition - Kenneth Stevenson - Страница 8

Is baptism an inward or an outward reality? I have heard many people talk often in quite contrasting ways to this effect. I can remember a person speaking to me with great earnestness about the day when she ‘became a Christian’. It was the result of a special, heart-warming occasion when the Christian faith in all its truth and conviction suddenly made sense to her. There had been a time of hostility – or extended apathy – towards the Church. Then, as usually happens, a friend was involved. A conversation passed that important watershed when people begin to talk about what is really important to them. A powerful experience at a church service convinced her that Christianity was the key to all her longings.

But what of her previous life? The answer to that question could be given in a number of ways. Perhaps there was no Christian background whatever, in which case she was now baptized as a believing adult. Perhaps she was baptized as an infant by parents who took her along to church, in the hope that she would one day make a more conscious commitment to the Christian faith, whereas in fact she had perhaps discarded Christianity before ‘Sunday School’ (or its equivalent) could beckon her. Perhaps, again, her parents were barely practising Christians, and so this new experience of Christianity pushes her infant baptism back into the recesses of the barely important, even the trivial.

Another way I have heard the question, ‘Is baptism inward or outward?’ answered was as follows. It consisted of a series of dates, along the lines of how I chronicled my own baptism and confirmation earlier. On that interpretation, I am baptized and born again of water and the Spirit at that same moment. I am given nurture by the Christian community, leading up to my confirmation, where I reaffirm my baptismal vows and receive the gift of the Spirit through the hands of the bishop. Everything that the Church does relies on that basic premise that God acts through the sacraments and the sacramental rites, and human experience responds accordingly. Whereas the person who was converted as an adult experiences that inward baptism and it remains important to her for the rest of her life, the other person relies on the outward baptism in the sacraments of the Church, and any important experiences of faith and commitment that occur at later points interpret that baptism.

Not everyone would respond in one or other of those rather cut-and-dried ways. But the question nonetheless has to be asked: how far do we rely on our experience, and how far do we rely on the actions of the Church? It is not an issue that is new, for we find it in the New Testament when the apostles Peter and John went to Samaria and prayed for new converts that they might receive the Holy Spirit, after they had been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus. (Acts 8:14 ff.) Indeed, it could be said that the apostle Paul himself experienced an inward baptism at his conversion which was rapidly followed by his outward baptism at the hands of Ananias (Acts 9).

This is the kind of world in which baptism has had to live and adjust to different climates of belief and practice. For example, in the fourth century, there is ample evidence that baptism was deliberately led up to by careful catechesis and dramatic liturgy at the celebration of baptism at the Easter Vigil.¹ On the other hand, by the later Middle Ages, baptism in the West was usually an automatic process. Confirmation had become an episcopal rite, and from the late thirteenth century confirmation in England was made a requisite for Holy Communion in order to gain full recognition.²

As people reflected on their religious experience, they took on more and more of a new life. The late medieval mystics are a clear example. Walter Hilton (who died in 1396) wrote a classic called The Scale of Perfection in which he takes for granted the sacramental effects of baptism but is much more interested in the relationship between what we would call spiritual renewal and the practice of penance, private confession.³ If you were to ask some of Walter Hilton’s contemporaries who read his work the difference between inward and outward baptism, they would probably have needed the question explained to them. They would not have thought in those terms. But I would hazard a guess that they would remain confident about the effectiveness of the outward baptism given by the Church but would then wax more than lyrical about the different ways in which ‘inward baptism’ is experienced in Christian prayer, contemplation, and living. There is some evidence to suggest that Hilton, perhaps uniquely for his time, built an important bridge between the theological and sacramental traditions of the Church, and the nurturing of the lives of lay folk through knowledge of the scriptures and a spirituality accessible to them. That inevitably makes him a significant figure in the pre-Reformation scene, not least for the strand of Reformation piety often referred to as ‘Puritan’.

Inward and outward baptism form perhaps the most significant part of the teaching of William Perkins.⁴ Sadly, Perkins is little known these days, partly because he has been overshadowed by the work of Richard Hooker and Lancelot Andrewes, whom we shall look at in subsequent chapters. But the truth of the matter is that he was a far more popular communicator in his own time than either of the other two figures. For example, his A Golden Chain, which first appeared in 1590, went through nine editions in thirty years. It was translated into Dutch and German, and other works by him were translated into many other languages, including Spanish and French.

Perkins was born in Warwickshire and went up to Christ’s College, Cambridge in 1577, where he associated with the more strongly Protestant part of the English Church, often called Puritan. After graduating, he obtained a Fellowship at Christ’s College, and acted as a volunteer chaplain at Cambridge jail. He was soon made Lecturer at Great St Andrew’s, which was a poor parish, attended by members of the university as well as townsfolk. Lecturers were appointed by the parishes, not the bishop, and the post was effectively that of a senior curacy with the particular task of preaching. There he stayed until his death, and we are told that his preaching and pastoral ministry became part of Cambridge folklore. There are indications that he was not entirely happy with the Prayer Book and this may explain why he remained a Lecturer for the duration of his ministry, since he could thereby avoid questions being asked about his attitude to, for example, vesture and kneeling for the reception of Holy Communion. Perkins represents a more moderate form of Puritanism than that of Thomas Cartwright. He was determined to stay firmly within the Church of England in order to change it from inside. He has had his successors in many generations since, who have been intent on blowing fervour and understanding into the historic formularies of the Church as these are actually celebrated in parish churches.

There are three particular works that tell us about his views on baptism. The first – a very popular one – is called A Golden Chain or The Description of Theology.⁵

A Golden Chain demonstrates Perkins’ style as a clear and fluent writer. Very near the start comes the statement that ‘theology is the science of living blessedly forever’.⁶ He then discusses God – his nature and his life, his glory and blessedness, the Trinity, God’s works – and moves on to man and his fall, original sin, Jesus Christ, the two natures in Christ, and the work and ministry of Christ.

At this stage, he turns towards the sacraments, and in four chapters (31–4) discusses what he calls the ‘covenant of grace’, the sacraments in general, and baptism and the Lord’s Supper.⁷

For Perkins, the Covenant of Grace – as for many of the Reformers – is a biblical image to describe the relationship of free grace between God and humanity which is sealed in Christ. The covenant’s purpose is ‘to manifest that righteousness in Christ whereby the whole law is fully satisfied and salvation attained’.⁸ He goes on to describe it as ‘the conduit pipe of the Holy Ghost’. Those who knew about architecture at the time will have warmed to that image of the conduit pipe, much beloved, too, of Lancelot Andrewes,⁹ because this was a way of ensuring that clean water could be available to townsfolk, at least those who lived in the right place.

He defines a sacrament as ‘that whereby Christ and his saving graces are by external rite signified, exhibited and sealed to a Christian man’.¹⁰ And he distinguishes the two words of institution, the commandment (‘go into the whole world baptizing them in the name etc.’ – Matt. 28:19), and the promise (‘I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost’). Then comes the crunch: ‘the covenant of grace is absolutely necessary to salvation . . . but a sacrament is not absolutely necessary, but only as it is a prop and stay for faith to lean upon.’¹¹ Here, Perkins departs from Catholic tradition – and also from Jewel and Whitgift – most obviously, because he sets the covenant of grace above the sacraments. This is most clearly to be seen in the table which he gives to describe the outward and the inward baptism (see pp. 28–29).

Perkins wants to have his baptismal cake and eat it! The inward and the outward are so clearly delineated that he gives the impression of wanting to put a wedge between the inward and the outward – and yet he wants to hold them together. The outward baptism, as he explains in the accompanying text in A Golden Chain, consists of three parts, namely the sprinkling or dipping in the water, continuance in water, and arising from water. The person being baptized is to do two things: give his body to be washed, and receive that washing.¹² He does not seem entirely happy with what the outward baptism does in relation to the inward. ‘The party baptized doth receive the internal washing which is by the blood of Christ, or at least it is offered unto him.’ He switches from dying-and-rising to the image of rebirth in order to counter the claims of Anabaptists, who would only baptize adults: ‘re-baptising is at no hands to be admitted, for as in natural generation man is only once born, so it is in spiritual regeneration’. He is more confident, however, about the inward baptism and its relationship to the forgiveness of sins:

For although baptism be but once only administered, yet that once testifieth that all men’s sins past, present and to come are washed away . . . Therefore baptism may be truly termed the sacrament of repentance and, as it were, a board to swim upon when a man shall fear the shipwreck of his soul. Last of all, see thou never rest till such time as thou have a feeling of that renewing power signified in baptism: namely the power of Christ’s death mortifying sin and the virtue of his resurrection in the renovation of the spirit.¹³

Perkins defines baptism as ‘a sacrament by which such as are within the covenant are washed with water in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost . . . These are either of riper years or infants.’¹⁴ Those of riper years can be baptized on their own promises but infants are baptized on the basis of their parents’ faith. They bring their children into the covenant, even though their age prevents them from actually believing. The solemn covenant is simply this: God receives the believer with favour, and the baptized promise to acknowledge and worship him.

When discussing the methods of baptism, Perkins is aware of the lavish use of water in antiquity and suggests this as appropriate for those of riper years, but follows many of the Reformers in allowing sprinkling for small babies because of climate and the possible danger to health.¹⁵

The second work of Perkins is his Commentary on Galatians.¹⁶

By its very nature it is a more academic work, though the style is as clear and flowing as ever. His treatment of baptism arises from Galatians 3:27, ‘For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.’ Once again Perkins tackles the outward and the inward straight away, perhaps occasioned by the reference to ‘putting on Christ’. He states: ‘the outward baptism without the inward is not the mark of God’s child, but the mark of the “fool that makes a vow, and afterwards breaks it” (Eccles. 5:3)’.¹⁷ But he says that baptism is not only a sign but a seal and takes the opportunity of discussing baptism under no fewer than seven headings.

First there is the name. The Pharisees had religious washings; God also had appointed certain washings in the Old Testament. In the New Testament baptism was a washing by water to seal the new covenant, but it was also used as a metaphor for any grievous cross, or the bestowing of extraordinary gifts. It was also used in connection with ministry in the Church. Then he says – almost in contrast to what he propounded earlier – that ‘the inward washing is conferred with the outward washing’.

Secondly, the matter of baptism. Should there be dipping or sprinkling? (The Prayer Book directed dipping as a norm.) He realizes that climates vary. What is appropriate in the north of Europe is not appropriate elsewhere, as he pointed out in A Golden Chain. Water is the sign, the thing signified is nothing less than Christ himself our mediator. Then, repeating what he had to say in A Golden Chain, he says that ‘the dipping of the body signifies mortification, or fellowship with Christ in his death: the staying under the water signifies the burial of sin; and the coming out of the water, the resurrection from sin, to newness of life (Romans 6:4).’¹⁸

Thirdly, the form of the sacrament. In Matthew 28:19, Christ makes his promise and seals his promise by baptism. We need, therefore, to become disciples and to ‘lay hold of the promises of God and the confirmation thereof by the sacraments’. We shall be seeing later how he disposes of the sacramental rite of confirmation but here he clearly places confirmation in the context of personal growth in the life of Christ.

Fourthly, the ends of baptism. It is a pledge in respect of our weakness, a sign of Christian profession before the world, a means of our first entrance into the visible Church, and a means of unity.¹⁹ The Puritans place great stress upon the outworking of Christian discipleship in daily life and this part of the discussion should not be underestimated. Perkins may not be confident about the objective character of baptism as a sacramental event but he is certainly clear about its need as a focus for Christ’s presence in the unfolding life of the forgiven Christian.

Fifthly, the efficacy of baptism. Perkins asks various questions. One, ‘Does baptism forgive all sins and the whole of the life of a man?’ Against tradition, which requires penance for certain sins, Perkins insists that ‘the covenant of grace is everlasting . . . therefore baptism is not to be tied to any time’. Two, ‘Does baptism abolish original sin?’ Against the Catholic view, which insists that it does, Perkins observes that ‘though actual guilt be taken away, yet potential guilt remaineth, namely as aptness in original sin, to make men guilty’.²⁰ This comes near the modern view that original sin is a ‘bias to the bad’. Three, ‘How does baptism confer grace?’ It does so like a king’s letter that saves the life of a malefactor; or the outward washing is a token and pledge of the inward. ‘He that useth the sign aright, shall receive the thing signified.’ And he goes on: ‘it is not an instrument having the grace of God tied unto it, or shut up in it; but an instrument to which grace is present by assistance in the right use thereof . . . a moral and not a physical instrument.’ Here is the outward and the inward again doing creative battle in the sacramental sphere. Perkins’ heart seems to be on the side of faithful reception of the sacrament rather than what the sacrament does in itself. Hooker, as we shall see, insists that the sacraments are both moral and physical, in order to safeguard their centrality, and to prevent them becoming optional, or, worse still, visual aids. Four, ‘Does baptism imprint a character or mark in the soul?’ Again, it is almost as if Perkins wants to go further than he can: ‘Baptism is a means to see this mark in us; because it is the laver of regeneration.’²¹ For him it cannot therefore have an indelible character. Five, ‘Is it necessary to be baptized?’ In view of what he said in A Golden Chain, that sacraments are a prop to faith, the answer must surely be a mild ‘no’. It is ‘necessary in part’. ‘The want of baptism . . . does not condemn . . . The children of believing parents are born holy.’ And yet, in discussing John 3:5: ‘baptism makes men visible members of the Church; and regeneration by the spirit makes them true and lively members!’²²

Sixthly, the circumstances of baptism. Only ministers should baptize, because ‘private teaching and ministerial teaching are distinctive in kind’. The intention is there to baptize and even if the minister is not a preacher, it is still a true baptism. The efficacy of the sacrament depends not on the will of man but on the will of God. As far as the persons being baptized are concerned, ‘men of years that join themselves to the true Church are to be baptized, yet before their baptism, they are to make confession of their faith, and to promise amendment of life.²³ Further, ‘infants of believing parents are likewise to be baptised . . . and are in the covenant of grace. They are the children of God because in their conception and birth God begins to manifest his election. Infants do have faith, and parents have faith on their behalf, a position to which I rather incline.’ Baptism must only be administered once, in the public assembly of the congregation, and ‘the whole congregation is to make profit by the enarration of the institution of baptism.’

This leads him on to his seventh and final section, on the use of baptism. ‘Our baptism must put us in mind, that we are admitted and received into the family of God.’ At this point Perkins propounds a powerful baptismal spirituality. To contemplate one’s own baptism means looking at the life that is past, in examination and confession and deprecation, towards the life that is to come, in the purpose of not sinning, and in endeavour to perform a new obedience to Christ, and it is ‘a storehouse of all comfort in the time of our need’. Perhaps most powerfully of all he states, ‘if a man would be a student of divinity, let him learn and practise his baptism . . . The best commentary to a man’s own self is his own baptism.’²⁴

He then relates the gift of being adopted sons of God to putting on the garment, putting on Christ, as in the verse which provoked this whole discussion (Gal. 3:27). We are made one with Christ by the gift of Christ to us, by Christ’s gift to himself of his giving of his ‘spirit’ to make us conformable to himself in holiness and newness of life. Putting on Christ makes us aware of the nakedness of creation and the nakedness of our hearts.²⁵ To uncover our nakedness at the same time brings out our shame and our need to be clothed by Christ himself. But the trouble is, as he notes, many of us have worn this garment very loosely. And he ends, ‘though we be clothed with Christ in baptism, yet we must further desire to be clothed upon.’ In other words, there is more and more yet to know and experience in the Christian life.

Finally, we must take a brief look at Perkins’ Problem of the Forged Catholicism.²⁶ This consists of a discussion of Roman Catholic beliefs and practices to which Perkins takes exception. He devotes a few pages to confirmation, which he simply identifies with the use of chrism. He shows an historical perspective which reads almost like a twentieth-century tract. He knows that oil was used in the ancient world in bathing and that is how it was introduced into the baptism rite. Oil was commonly used, Perkins knew, as an extra ceremony at baptism, but he did not regard it as a separate sacrament, as did Roman Catholics. He looks back to the Early Fathers who ‘did not hold their Chrism and imposition of hands to give grace by the work wrought’. The imposition of hands is no more than a prayer over the person and it was performed by the bishop because the bishop was the normal president of the liturgy. Finally, ‘of the form of confirmation we find nothing in scripture: and if we betake ourselves to tradition we shall find great ambiguity and variety hereof in the Fathers’. His Reformation priorities enabled him to see through Catholic practice, with the benefit of a better knowledge of antiquity.

Clearly, Perkins has no use for confirmation! Even if he did, it would become a spanner in the works of the outward/inward view of baptism that he propounds so comprehensively in A Golden Chain and the Commentary on Galatians. Confirmation is nothing but the confirmation of the believers as they grow up in the Christian faith and mature in holiness and newness of life. Perkins’ approach to baptism, moreover, is strongly pastoral and linked to the dying and rising of Christ (Rom. 6:3 ff.). If there is a weak New Testament ingredient, it is the Holy Spirit. In taking such a line, Perkins follows Luther and Calvin, and English Puritans such as Cartwright and many others. As we shall see, the necessity of confirmation was considerably debated.

What are we to make of Perkins’ theology of baptism? Were he alive today, he would probably be saying exactly the same things. Baptism is an external rite which is about inward renewal. For the conscious believer, profession of faith must be made at the font, but the believing parents of infants can make that profession on behalf of their children. The rite is stripped down in its essentials to the water: going in, staying there, and arising from it. There is no blessing of the water, nor signing with the cross. The celebration must be before the public assembly, who will profit by it, as they witness the baptism of new Christians and are confronted by their own baptism. Confirmation by the Bishop is not necessary. Receiving the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper is confirmation in itself for the conscious believer.

The strength of this position lies in its attention to faithful reception. But its weakness is to be seen in that ambiguous relationship between sacrament and human experience that we saw both in A Golden Chain and in the Commentary in Galatians. Perkins is sure that sacraments are necessary. But because baptism is a sacrament of growth, and he allows it to children, and human beings are sinful and fall away, he cannot quite bring himself to say that it actually does something objective. This is the dilemma of a sacramental theology which starts with human experience and draws the tradition exclusively into that orbit.

In his Art of Prophesying (1592),²⁷ Perkins shows yet again his love for simplicity and clarity, and his suspicion of contrived complexity. ‘Artis etiam celare artem: it is also a point of art to conceal art.’²⁸ One of his rare gifts was to make complex things seem simple, clear, and related.

Liturgically, we can only guess at Perkins’ preferred or actual practice. He would have dispensed with godparents, and their promises, as well as the sign of the cross and the blessing of the water. He would have simplified the rite in other respects and he would have ensured a fully public rite, with a proper sermon, and a liturgy suitably adapted for those of ‘riper years’. He would also have admitted to communion on the basis of growing faith, and no more. All these changes would serve to stress faithful reception and appropriation of the sacraments of baptism and Eucharist, and collectively would play down their objective character.

How, then, does he affect our twentieth-century debate about the inward and outward baptism? He is understated, to the point of being weak, on the role of the Holy Spirit. Sacraments are a prop to faith, secondary to the covenant of grace itself. Provided that faith is seen as the gift of God and located in a living way through the Christian community down the ages, then the sacraments of baptism and the Lord’s table are secure. But once that faith migrates into the individual choice of the believer, the sacraments become visual aids and little more. The lasting legacy of Perkins is that he wanted to hold the outward and inward baptism together. The way he did it may not be entirely convincing, but when he says in his commentary on Galatians that ‘the best commentary to a man’s own self is his own baptism’, that inward baptism is challenging and vibrant beyond all words – and experiences.