The Apocalyptic Vision and the Neutering of Adventism - by George R. Knight

Chapter 1 - Enough of Beastly Preaching and an Introduction to Neutering

    Why be Adventist?
    Good question. One I have struggled with during the past five decades.
    For some of you the answer is simple. You can’t help it. You were born that way.
    For others it’s an addiction. For one reason or another it “feels good” to be Adventist. You wouldn’t know what to do with your lives without it.
    But for me it is a serious problem. You see, I wasn’t born that way. And after 47 years in the church I’m still not addicted.
    There have to be good reasons for me to be an Adventist—or even remain one.

Reflecting on the Meaning of Adventism
    The roots of my perspective go back to my childhood. Not only was I not born Adventist, but I didn’t even profess Christianity for my first 19 years.
    My cue for religion came from my father, who proclaimed that “all Christians are hypocrites” and who held with Freud that only weak people need to lean on God as a father figure. In my early-adult years he told me that his great failure in life was that all four of his children had become Christians. He has mellowed with age, but his earlier perspective shaped my own on the topic of religion.
    My agnosticism came to a sudden halt at a series of evangelistic meetings in Eureka, California, in 1961. Just before I turned 20 I was baptized into the Seventh-day Adventist Church. And like many new converts, I took a good long look at you Adventists and your preachers. I soon came to one solid conclusion: What a mess! None of you were perfect, and I knew why. You obviously hadn’t tried hard enough.
    I still vividly remember promising God that I would be the first perfect Christian since Jesus. No problem, thought I. After all, I had boundless energy and barrels of determination. And then again, I hadn’t found it all that difficult to be bad. And wasn’t being good just as easy in the other direction?
    Well, it wasn’t. By 1969 I had three academic degrees in Adventist theology and was serving the church as a pastor. But things weren’t going well. In fact, after nearly eight years of struggle I was as messed up as ever. And so were the churches I served.
    One March morning I took out my ministerial credentials and put them in an envelope with a note to my conference president, resigning from the ministry.
    Now, my conference president was a gracious man who wanted to “save me for the work.” So he returned my credentials with a note of encouragement. He thought I was having a bad day. But I was having a bad life! All I wanted was out—out of both Adventism and Christianity. My only desire was to return to the happy hedonism I had enjoyed during my earlier years. So I again put my credentials in an envelope and sent them off a second time.
    At that point the good man asked me to visit him at his home, where he prayed with me and for me and returned my credentials. But to no avail. I returned home, wrote a rather pointed letter as to what he could do with my credentials, and mailed the whole mess off a third time.
    It was my first literary success. I never saw my credentials again. For the next six years I did not read my Bible, for six years I did not pray, for six years I wandered spiritually in a “far country” (Luke 15:13).
    During those long years I studied philosophy for my doctorate. But by the time I received my degree I had concluded that philosophy was bankrupt in terms of answers to life’s most basic questions. And that was important, since I had entered my studies hoping to find the “real meaning” of life that had eluded me in my Adventist experience.
    About that time my major professor, an agnostic existentialist of Jewish heritage, told me one day that if he wasn’t a Jew he’d be a nobody.
    That statement from a man who routinely smashed religion in class caught me off guard. “What do you mean?” I asked. Josh’s answer was as pointed as it was memorable. I still recall his passion as he proclaimed that it was his Jewishness that gave him meaning—that he wasn’t just one of those millions of people out there, but a member of the community. The community, in fact, not only provided orientation for his life, but sent him all over the world as a speaker.
    As he talked I reeled in astonishment, thinking to myself that Josh wasn’t a Jew but an Adventist. (Of course, with a different background I could have substituted Baptist, Methodist, or Catholic.)
    Josh helped me see what I should have discovered from Matthew 13 about the various plants and fish existing in every religious community until the harvest (verses 30, 49). He had enabled me to grasp the fact that all religious communities consist of two sorts of members—believers and cultural adherents. In Josh’s case the most important thing about his religious orientation was that he had been born that way and raised in the community. His religious orientation was his life, even though he wasn’t a “believer.” It was his history, his culture, his social location, and he loved and respected it for all of those reasons.
    Reflecting on my conversation with Josh many years later, I realized that if I had been born Adventist and if my father had been a pastor, my mother a church school teacher, and my grandfather a conference president, the most difficult and radical thing I could do would be to leave the church that had provided social meaning to my life. It would be easier to stay in rather than depart, even if I didn’t believe. In fact, in such a circumstance becoming a pastor, administrator, or Bible teacher would be preferable to cutting off my cultural roots and family. After all, you don’t have to believe that stuff. There is a certain level of comfort and security in “playing church.” I could finally see how Josh had arrived at his destination, even though my own experience meant an uprooting from job, friends, and family when I accepted Adventism.
    About the same time that Josh helped me to grasp the difference between cultural adherents and believers, a very bad thing happened to me, something that I never wanted to take place. My first Bible teacher “got invited” to my house for lunch. It wasn’t my idea, but I couldn’t get out of it.
    It was a long day because I realized that he knew my spiritual condition. But he didn’t preach a sermon to me, counsel me, or condemn me. He merely exuded an atmosphere of calm assurance in his faith and treated me with kindness and love. That day I met Jesus in the person of Robert
    W. Olson. When he left, I told my wife that he had what I needed. That day, 14 years after I had become an Adventist, I became a Christian. To put it another way, my Adventism got baptized. At that point I became spiritually active in Adventism again. It wasn’t because Adventism’s theology was perfect that I reconnected, but because its theology was closer to the Bible than that of any other church that I was aware of. In short, I was and am an Adventist by conviction rather than by choice.
    My meandering journey might help readers understand why I used to be able to preach a sermon entitled “Why I Don’t Like Adventists.” And I really don’t, but I finally stopped presenting it because it sounded a wee bit negative. Of course, I had no problem if they were Christian as well as Adventist. But if they were only Adventist, let me loose. You see, I once met a Seventh-day Adventist who was meaner than the devil. In fact, I once even met a vegan who was as vicious as the devil. To have any value, our Adventism must be immersed in Christianity. Without that immersion, it is no better than any other deluded “ism.”
    Not long ago I saw a bumper sticker that spoke to the point. “JESUS SAVE ME” read the large print. “From your people” declared the small. I thought the entire blurb might make a meaningful book title. And then there was the atheistic philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, who proclaimed the profound truth of my early years: “The best argument against Christianity is Christians.” In all too many cases the same dictum would hold for the best argument against Adventism.
    Well, as you can see, my mind wanders in strange directions. But the upshot of my journey has left me with three inescapable questions that have driven my life both existentially and intellectually.
    What is the meaning of life both personally and universally?
    Why be a Christian?
    Why be a Seventh-day Adventist?
    I have to admit that I am not happy with most people’s (including most Adventists’) answers to those allimportant questions. But it’s time to move beyond biography to more important issues.

Adventist or Merely Evangelical?
    Early in 2007 I presented a paper entitled “The Missiological Roots of Adventist Higher Education and the Ongoing Tension Between Adventist Mission and Academic Vision” 1 to a group of Seventh-day Adventist educational leaders and the church administrators who chair their boards. The content of my talk dealt with the necessary and ongoing tension and balance between what academics might want to see in higher education and the missiological goals of the denomination. The paper also focused on the balance between general Christian and specifically Adventist concerns.
    In the question-and-answer session that followed I made the point that if Adventism loses its apocalyptic vision, it has lost its reason for existing as either a church or as a system of education.
    In response, one administrator quite aggressively stated that what we needed was to get rid of apocalyptic and preach the gospel. I tried to suggest that rightly understood, apocalyptic is gospel. But he had his own views on the topic. Getting a bit excited, he pointed out that his institution was growing rapidly by emphasizing the gospel without apocalyptic. He apparently saw little connection between the two realms.
    Looking back, I have wondered if he had earlier been a victim of what I will later in this chapter call beastly apocalyptic preaching or had suffered from overexposure to the adnauseam bickering by some Adventists over apocalyptic minutia. But he was a successful, pragmatic administrator whose non-traditional institution enrolling largely non-Adventist students was growing rapidly in spite of its lack of Adventist focus.
    The next day in an unrelated discussion someone made the point that more and more well-heeled, highly educated Adventist parents are sending their children to non-Adventist institutions. All admitted to that truth. But why, and what could be done about it? became the focal point of discussion.
    I don’t think it was explicitly stated, but part of the answer is obvious. If Seventh-day Adventist institutions are Christian only in the sense that they have Jesus and the evangelical gospel, then any good evangelical school will do. And with that one stroke we have removed any compelling reason for Seventh-day Adventist schools to exist. Even though they might be good institutions, no one can say that they are necessary ones. There is a difference between being a good school and having distinctive importance as an institution.
    A few days after the conference I received an interesting letter from a participant in the meetings, who wrote that “I do understand rather well where [Dr. X] is coming from, having grown up in the era of fear-mongering about the ‘time of the end’ and legalistic interpretations about how to arrive at a state where one no longer sinned (which my father and many others believed was necessary to attain so that they could ‘stand without a Mediator’ during the time of trouble), and hearing a number of older people despair that they could ever be ‘good enough for God to love me’ . . . in contrast to a more
    Christ-centered philosophy. However, this is a pretty radical swing of the pendulum, to dump our heritage and beliefs in eschatology/last-day events, along with the implications of our historical stance on [the] . . . prophecies, and focus only on being Christlike. So then what would be our excuse for existing as a unique denomination, and operating a school system? Granted we still have the Sabbath [and] state of the dead . . . , but if we find a group that keeps the seventh day . . . , we could join up with them (Seventh Day Baptists, anyone?) and feel perfectly at home. . . . Obviously, we’d have to downplay references that describe Ellen White as ‘inspired,’ since so much of her writings deal with last-day events. But just make her over into a ‘devotional writer’ and no problem!
    “But why does [Dr. X] view being Christlike and holding to traditional eschatological views as being mutually exclusive?
    “This whole argument is absolutely at the core of defining who we are and where we are going and deserves to be laid out in fairly stark terms in a manner that can stimulate thought and discussion in the context of Adventist . . . mission.”
    Such thoughts bring us to the frontier of the issue of Why have a Seventh-day Adventist Church? What function or use does it have? Is it important or even necessary? Is it merely another denomination that turns out to be a bit stranger than some of the others because of its “hangup” with the seventh day and certain dietary issues?
    Such questions raise complex issues related to the nature of Adventism and the proper balance between those aspects of our belief system that make us Christian and those that make us Adventist and how they fit together. Thoughtful people can hardly avoid such topics. In actuality, they ought to stand at the center of discussion.
    As I have sought to demonstrate in such books as A Search for Identity, the struggle for a balanced Adventism has been at the center of the historical development of Seventh-day Adventist theology.2 Over time we have oscillated between over-emphasizing those aspects of our belief system that make us Christian and those that distinguish us as distinctively Adventist. Today we have in the church what I call the Adventist Adventists, who see everything the denomination teaches to be uniquely Adventist and groan a bit when we call ourselves evangelical. On the other extreme are those Adventists that we can describe as Christian Christians. Those at that pole of the denomination are overjoyed to be evangelical and shy away from Ellen White, the eschatological implications of the Sabbath, the heavenly sanctuary, and so on. Fortunately, in the middle we find some who might be styled as Christian Adventists, whose Adventism finds meaning in the evangelical framework that we share with other Christians.
    Put in a different way, there was a time that Ellen White noted that some Adventists had been at work on the law until they had gotten to be as dry as the hills of Gilboa. Today she might say something similar about those who have focused on grace so much that they have lost sight of the law altogether. Balance is the goal, but clearly that is something difficult to discover and almost impossible to maintain in an unbalanced world. Yet that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t seek to approximate it in our ministries.

he rejects the Bible point of Refv 15 where we are told that the intercession taking place in the heavenly sanctuary - ends at the start of the 7 last plagues.

In "Searching for Indentity" he appears to imply that he has a problem with the "living without an intercessor" fact of Rev 15 -- because Heppenstall put him on the wrong road in that regard.

Not sure if this is really how he wants to leave it -- I would hope not.

intercession of Christ . . . . probation ends

Those are not necessarily the same things.

Every case had been decided for life or death. While Jesus had been ministering in the sanctuary, the judgment had been going on for the righteous dead, and then for the righteous living. Christ had received His kingdom, having made the atonement for His people and blotted out their sins. The subjects of the kingdom were made up. The marriage of the Lamb was consummated. And the kingdom, and the greatness of the kingdom under the whole heaven, was given to Jesus and the heirs of salvation, and Jesus was to reign as King of kings and Lord of lords.

As Jesus moved out of the most holy place, I heard the tinkling of the bells upon His garment; and as He left, a cloud of darkness covered the inhabitants of the earth. There was then no mediator between guilty man and an offended God. While Jesus had been standing between God and guilty man, a restraint was upon the people; but when He stepped out from between man and the Father, the restraint was removed and Satan had entire control of the finally impenitent. It was impossible for the plagues to be poured out while Jesus officiated in the sanctuary; but as His work there is finished, and His intercession closes, there is nothing to stay the wrath of God, and it breaks with fury upon the shelterless head of the guilty sinner, who has slighted salvation and hated reproof. In that fearful time, after the close of Jesus' mediation, the saints were living in the sight of a holy God without an intercessor. Every case was decided, every jewel numbered. Jesus tarried a moment in the outer apartment of the heavenly sanctuary, and the sins which had been confessed while He was in the most holy place were placed upon Satan, the originator of sin, who must suffer their punishment.

Then I saw Jesus lay off His priestly attire and clothe Himself with His most kingly robes. Upon His head were many crowns, a crown within a crown. Surrounded by the angelic host, He left heaven. The plagues were falling upon the inhabitants of the earth. Some were denouncing God and cursing Him. Others rushed to the people of God and begged to be taught how they might escape His judgments. But the saints had nothing for them. The last tear for sinners had been shed, the last agonizing prayer offered, the last burden borne, the last warning given. The sweet voice of mercy was no more to invite them. When the saints, and all heaven, were interested for their salvation, they had no interest for themselves. Life and death had been set before them. Many desired life, but made no effort to obtain it. They did not choose life, and now there was no atoning blood to cleanse the guilty, no compassionate Saviour to plead for them, and cry, "Spare, spare the sinner a little longer." All heaven had united with Jesus, as they heard the fearful words, "It is done. It is finished." The plan of salvation had been accomplished, but few had chosen to accept it. And as mercy's sweet voice died away, fear and horror seized the wicked. With terrible distinctness they heard the words, "Too late! too late!" Early Writings (1882), page 280, 281;Chapter Title: Spiritual Gifts, Vol. 1; The Third Message Closed

But general probation will end for earth's living inhabitants when Christ ceases his intercessory work in the Most Holy Place.

She alluded to Rev. 14:10, which says that the seven last plagues represent the pouring out of God's wrath "unmixed," or "full strength" (as stated in some translations). The idea that this must mean wrath unmixed with mercy, which in turn implies Christ is no longer Interceeding, is a logical inference.