Confessions of a Mystical Calvinist

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One of My Struggles with Being a Calvinist

One of the things I struggle with is being a Calvinist. Not because of the doctrines themselves—I love them. After all, in all the issues that get people out of whack, I punt to the “I’m a compatibilist” flavor of Calvinism. This essentially means I hold to both unconditional election and human freedom (properly defined) and responsibility. I love the doctrines of grace. I love the word that my Arminian and Molinist buddies hate me using: “tension.”

But the real challenge? It’s the attitude people assume I bring to the table.

“Oh no, he’s a Calvinist. Run. Meany alert!”

A Tale of Two Calvinists

I get it. The first Calvinist I ever met was as mean as they come. He owned the Christian bookstore I frequented. He was nice to me—but only because I was a young Calvinist learning from him. Everyone else? Fair game to hate. And he meant it. He mocked every other flavor of theologian that walked by. Now, don’t get me wrong—I’ve done that too. Sometimes I still do. We all joke, especially in our circles. But you can tell when it’s different.

This guy had an edge to him. The kind of anger that hides under “just joking.” You know the type. Some people poke fun and then laugh it off. Others poke fun and you can tell—they’ve got theological hit lists forming in their heads.

This was back in ’95 or ’96. I hadn’t even taken Greek formally yet. I was in his fellowship. He had a bookstore—of course he did. Eventually, I got kicked out. Not because I wasn’t a Calvinist, but because I wasn’t his kind of Calvinist.

His version said God hates the non-elect without qualification. I struggled with that. I thought it was normal for Calvinists to have this attitude. After all, for this guy, God hated a large swath of His creation.

One day, I walked into his bookstore and asked, “What are we supposed to do with our enemies?”

He said, “Love them.”

So I asked, “Then why would God command us to a virtue He Himself is either unwilling or unable to practice?”

That was it. Last thing I ever said to him. Last time I saw him.

(Waiting patiently for the thunderous applause triggered by my razor-sharp logic and irresistible charm to settle…)

(Still waiting…)

Distinguishing Myself from That Calvinism

Since then, I’ve tried to distinguish myself from that kind of Calvinist. You know the type—rigid, combative, proud, always looking for the next theological street-fight. I’ve done my best to show, right out of the gate, that I’m not that kind of guy. If someone finds out I’m a Calvinist, I want them to at least have a little hope that I might still be bearable. That there might be some stock value in my attitude, even if they’re bracing for impact because of the label.

Now, to be fair, most of the Calvinists I’ve known aren’t like that guy either. Seriously. They’re thoughtful, kind, and usually operating in somewhat evangelical circles. Many of them have come out of places like Dallas Theological Seminary—like I did (hint, hint). They’re deeply committed to the doctrines of grace (mostly!), slightly dispensational (qualified), and fiercely loyal to exegetical and authorial intent hermeneutics (without disclaimers).

Now, I’m not saying there’s a direct connection between having a theology ruled over by exegesis and being a Calvinist… But I’m also not not saying that.

Let’s just say this: if you really stick to authorial intent biblical hermeneutics, it’s only a matter of time before you find yourself cornered and forced into the glory ofcompatibilism. You won’t know how you got there. It was never your destination. But isn’t that just like God? The whole “My ways are not your ways” thing. Welcome to the club. We have snacks.

Understanding My Mystical Calvinism

Okay, this is actually why I started writing this blog.

Everything up to now? That was just the long, meandering prelude. I always do this. I start with a simple idea, then I stack story on top of story, and by the time I get to the point, I’ve built a small novella. So if you’ve made it this far, congratulations. But honestly, you could’ve just started here and been completely safe.

Here’s how you can understand everything I’m trying to say:

Imagine heaven (or, better, the New Earth)…

Will We Know Everything in Heaven?

Let’s say we’re in the new heavens and the new earth. All things made new. Glorified minds. Perfect love. No sin. No ego.

Now, here’s the question:

Can we still be wrong? Better yet, will you… (Ahem…) Can we still be wrong about some theology? Will we know all the theological answers?

You might say yes—of course we will! Glorification means clarity, right? No more confusion. No more error.

But hold on.

Are we taken directly to the theological woodshed and returned a theological giant? Does that mean we get a data upload? A divine hard drive installed in our heads?

You say no—but then how are we corrected about everything? Are we omniscient? No? Just all the knowledge we can have? How big is this hard drive? Same size for everyone? Does it mean we stop learning? That we’ll never have another moment of theological discovery? That every single believer will share the same knowledge, same conclusions, same interpretations, same theology, with zero variation?

That sounds less like heaven and more like theological factory settings.

And that’s the heart of it for me. I don’t think glorification means we stop growing, learning, or discovering in any way. We may get up there and be intellectually like we are now. We just won’t have our knowledge and beliefs tainted by hatred, sorrow, or pride. Still human. Still finite. Just no longer twisted and turned by sin.

A Quick (But Important) Disclaimer

Now, let me be clear—I’m not saying you have to share this view. Most people I know probably don’t. Most Calvinists probably don’t. Most believe that in heaven, we’ll finally get everything right. And maybe they’re right. Just because you are a Calvinist doesn’t mean you’re right about everything!

I have a tentative belief in this right now. But I think this view helps express the kind of attitude I believe we’re meant to have now.

Imagine this: If I truly believe that in heaven we’ll be fellowshipping with people who still disagree with us about some things, then I want to start practicing that attitude now. I want to live today the way I think we’ll live then—worshiping together in love, even while holding different convictions.

At the very least, you can see what I mean. If I am right, can you imagine how we will act with different theological “clicks” without sin? Is it even possible? I think so.

Wait for it… I think it is possible that there may still be Calvinists and Arminians in heaven. Just not Molinists. I’m just kidding… sheesh… Molinists are like vampires—they have such rotten tempers. (Does anyone know the movie reference?)

I know… I’m all over the place.

Two Examples: Paul and Thomas

Let me give you two real-life examples of this kind of attitude.

We used to have Paul Copan come to the Credo House. He and I hit it off instantly, and we’ve been dear friends ever since. He’s a hardcore Arminian. I’m a hardcore Calvinist. And we had a blast.

When he was at Credo, we would talk life (and theology) for hours. We both always took jabs at each other’s theology. We often disagreed with full conviction, but we never lost respect. And we never lost unity and kindness in Christ.

Then there’s Thomas Oden.

He lived down the street for the final years of his life, while finishing his Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture. He’d let me into his home office, even in his final years, and we talked life and ministry. We’d even talk about his hardcore Wesleyan theology (basically Arminianism with a twist of lime) and my Compatibilism. I was blessed to be discipled by him for a very short time. He listened. He never made me feel small, even though he was about as theologically big as they come. He poked fun at me, but he held too much grandeur and mystique for me to do the same to him! (But I know he would have let me!)

The Lens Through Which I See Christians

When I meet a new professing Christian, what do I look for? The first thing is not whether or not they are Calvinist. First, it is: do they really love Christ, and why? Once I see your relationship to the person and work of Christ, I want to see your attitude. I don’t care if you’re pre-mil, post-mil, Arminian, Calvinist, young-earth, old-earth—I want to know if your heart reflects the humility of the One you claim to follow. Then, and only then, can we get to the business of Calvinism.

And that’s what this whole “Mystical Calvinism” thing drives me toward.

Mysticism and the Infinite God

And the reason that attitude matters so much is because of the mysticism that is baked into it.

Not the fluffy, abstract kind. I’m talking about a deep awareness that God is infinite—and we’re not.

That’s why I’ve always appreciated Dionysius the Areopagite. Now, I don’t agree with him on everything. But the beauty of his theology of God’s infinitude compared to our finitude has always hit me hard, both theologically and emotionally. He held the mystery and majesty of God so high, it humbled every theological system.

And I still believe the Calvinist stuff. I believe we can be right. I believe we can be convicted. But I also believe that when those convictions are soaked in the awareness of God’s transcendence, they produce a different kind of person—one who listens more, laughs more, and doesn’t feel the need to crash everyone else’s theological wedding.

That’s why I love this line from Dionysius:

“We make assertions and denials of what is next to God, but never of God Himself, for He is beyond all being and all knowledge.”

—Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, The Mystical Theology, I.2

He’s not the only one who’s walked that path. People like him—and lately, people like Karl Barth—have helped me rediscover the joy of holding conviction and mystery in the same hand.

We will be reading Dionysius this year in our Church History Book Club: Patristic Pathways… Come join in!

ThroughTheChurchFathers.com

Conclusion: Yeah, I Know—It Got Long

As usual, I’ve gone way too long.

I really did just mean to sit down and write a simple post about what I mean when I call myself a Mystical Calvinist. But if you’ve followed me for any amount of time, you know I don’t really do short versions. I circle, I ramble, I rabbit-trail—and somewhere in there, I hope something lands.

(I would say I weave, but that would be too charged!)

I’ll probably try to wrap this all up soon into something cleaner—something like “What Is Mystical Calvinism?”—so I can actually describe myself with a little meaning and articulation. But right now, this is the best I’ve got.

Mystical Calvinism, for me, is about holding the doctrines of grace with conviction, while carrying them with humility. It’s about knowing God is infinite, I am not, and there’s a lot of room in between. It’s about believing that we could learn a whole master’s program worth of theology from a seminary every day for all eternity and still have an infinite database of knowledge to lean into as we explore the wonder and ineffability of God. It’s about believing I’m right and still loving people who believe I’m wrong. It’s about living now the way I think we’ll live then—joyfully, imperfectly, and without the need to win every argument. And if I get to heaven and find out I’m wrong and you’re right, I won’t be too bent out of shape.

If that sounds strange, well… maybe you’re starting to get me.