Come to the table of grace; seek Him who gave you His life
Remember the price that was paid, the gift of His sacrifice
Come to the table of grace; love there to comfort and hold
Remember the cost of His life, given to free ev’ry soul.
Come to the table, the table of grace
from “Come to the Table of Grace” by Pete Carlson
Forget the concept of the atonement embedded within this song. The melody is pretty, the lyrics humble and reverent. It’s an invitation to remember the death of Christ and commune with a God who loves us through the ancient rite of the Lord’s Supper (the Eucharist).
Believe it or not, my family attends a PCA Presbyterian church in our neighborhood. By design, none of the members know my personal positions, although a few, including the pastor and the choir director (yes, I do try to sing in the choir) are aware that I’m not Reformed.
Recently our choir was practicing the above song when one particular line prompted the choir member next to me to raise his hand and lodge an objection: “I think I have a theological problem with this song.” The choir director immediately knew what the problem was. One word: “…given to free every soul.” The choir member continued ruefully, “A little universalism creeping into the text.” (Prior to last week’s firestorm, this lyric would have been construed as more of a limited atonement issue specifically, but his statement shows that he’s obviously aware of and spooked by the new boogeyman in Reformed circles — thanks, Rob Bell.)
As you might guess, I was a little annoyed. Calvinistic proof-texts aside, there are clearly passages in the New Testament that speak more inclusively, and the Reformed reinterpret those passages to fit their preferred theology. So why couldn’t they do that with this lyric? Besides, it’s only sung once in the arrangement, and singing the song as written would not have turned anyone into an Arminian or a universalist. It was a matter of principle; it was an opportunity to ensure that damnable doctrine was given no quarter in this church.
Seemingly the only other person annoyed by his objection bravely pointed out that the previously practiced song had quoted John 3.16 (“God so loved the world“), but this was vaguely dismissed as “different”. Not wanting to debate limited atonement with a room full of Presbyterians, I still desired to suggest that non-exclusivistic language is actually common within Scripture itself, and they dutifully reinterpret (or ignore) it elsewhere with nary a second thought. So I subtly quoted 1 Timothy 4.10, “the Saviour of all people, especially of those who believe,” but apparently no one was familiar with the passage and it fell on deaf ears as though I had said nothing. The director was happy enough to take suggested emendations, and someone wryly suggested “given to free chosen souls,” which struck us all with its hubris; I had to admit that it was at least an honest statement of their belief, and I think it sunk in among many of them anew that this was in fact what they believed. Ultimately the decision was tabled for later so we could get on with practice.
But it won’t leave the objector’s mind. As we sing the song again, he decides he likes the “chosen souls” substitution. Did I say I he liked it? He loved it. He got positively giddy at the prospect of shocking too-comfortable Calvinists and uncomfortable non-Calvinists in the congregation with a doctrinal affirmation so stark. When we started to sing the song again, he nudged those around him and whispered with a wild, I’m-nailing-the-ninety-sixth-thesis-to-the-door look in his eyes, “We’re going to sing chosen souls.” It was part suggestion, part test of courage: because of his conviction that all of us were good Calvinists, the question was whether we were going to step up to the plate and belt out this “doctrine of grace” with pride.
After my initial response was ignored, I hoped against hope that someone would ask me my opinion on the matter so that I could say, “If Paul can say, ‘As in Adam all died, so in Christ shall all be made alive,’ then I won’t feel bad about saying ‘free ev’ry soul.'”
At the end of practice, the conscientious objector formally suggested “chosen souls,” and the director, now realizing the fact that anything else would be tantamount to compromise against the gospel itself, asked if there were any objections. I didn’t say anything: it would have been the start of a debate I wasn’t prepared for, and I just wanted to get out of there.
As I’m sure you can tell by this post having no particular point, I’m still stewing a bit at the hubris of the revised lyric. Could there be a more obvious way of undermining the beauty and humility characterizing the original lyrics? Could they not find a way to avoid compromising their “gospel” without sounding like self-congratulatory, exclusivistic jerks?
I’d like to emphasize that this occasion is mostly atypical of this congregation, or we wouldn’t be attending. I only know that if I am in the service when this is sung, I will articulate the more clearly, “given to free ev’ry soul!”Tagged with: election • limited atonement • universalism