The Historic Examination

Principle

The historic questions put to those admitted into full connection are an examination, and the church should conduct them as one. That means the church reports evidence as well as receiving promises, that candidates answer in their own words, and that it is possible to answer badly.

Background

Everyone who has attended an annual conference knows the moment. The candidates stand, the bishop explains that these questions are very old and were asked by Mr. Wesley himself, and then a series of extraordinary questions is put and answered in unison, at speed, to warm applause. Are you going on to perfection? Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this life?

Those are the sharpest theological questions our church asks anyone, and we have made them a ceremony.

The first thing to see is that the fault is not in the rite. I assumed it was, and the Book of Worship corrected me. Our own order for the admission of candidates prints the historic questions with their answers, and the answers are neither uniform nor empty. They are calibrated, one by one, to what can honestly be promised:

Are you going on to perfection? I am, by the grace of God. Do you expect to be made perfect in love in this life? God willing, I do. Are you earnestly striving after it? With God’s help, I am. Will you keep them? I will so endeavor. Will you preach and maintain them? To the best of my ability, I will. Will you visit from house to house? This is my commitment. Are you determined to employ all your time in the work of God? That is my intention. Will you observe the following directions? The Lord being my helper, I will.

Some promise, some intend, some endeavor. Every one of the perfection answers puts the weight on grace. Whoever set those answers was paying close attention, and the candidate who says “I am, by the grace of God” has just stated this entire document’s thesis in six words. Nobody claims to be going on to perfection under their own steam. The ordinand confesses that God qualifies the called.

So the rite is substantial. Our performance of it is perfunctory, and the remedy is not to write new questions but to make the church hear the ones it has.

The second thing to see is that half of Wesley’s examination is missing, and it is the half that did the church’s work.

In 1744 the Methodist preachers asked how to try those who believe they are moved by the Holy Ghost to preach, and the answer began with an imperative addressed to the examiners: “Inquire.” Do they know God as a pardoning God? Have they gifts for the work? Have they fruit? Those questions are about the candidate and are put to somebody else. The conference was gathering evidence.

Now read ¶ 336. Nineteen questions, and every one of them is addressed to the candidate, and nearly all ask about resolve. Have you faith. Are you going on. Will you keep them. Are you determined. Are you resolved. These are Wesley’s questions, genuinely, and they are worth asking. But they are the half that examines a person’s will. The half in which the church looked at the person and reported what God had done in them is simply not in the paragraph.

The result is an examination in which only the candidate is speaking. The church, which is the party with information, says nothing.

The third thing to see is that the Discipline itself supplies the frame that makes the questions feel ceremonial. It directs the bishop to “explain to the conference the historic nature of the following questions and seek to interpret their spirit and intent” (¶ 336). Antiquity is a poor frame for an examination. Told that a question is old, a room hears heritage and prepares to be moved. The bishop’s other duty in that same sentence, to interpret the questions’ spirit and intent, is the one that would restore them, because it asks what going on to perfection actually means and costs.

And the Discipline leaves the door open for the missing half. The questions, it says, “are these and any others that may be thought necessary.” Nothing prevents an annual conference from adding the church’s own inquiry to the candidate’s promises. We have simply never thought it necessary to ask whether these people have borne fruit.

Practice

Restore the church’s half before the candidate’s. Before the questions are put, let the Board of Ordained Ministry report to the conference what it has found: the grace, the gifts, and the fruit, named concretely, in the case of each person to be admitted. Wesley’s conference did this first and asked the candidate afterward. The Discipline’s own clause about “any others that may be thought necessary” is sufficient authority.

Interpret their content, not their age. When the bishop explains the questions, let the explanation be about Christian perfection, about the General Rules, and about what it costs to employ all one’s time in the work of God. The historical note can take one sentence.

Require answers in the candidate’s own words somewhere in the process. The unison response has its place in the liturgy, and the liturgy is not the whole examination. Before a candidate stands in that service, the conference or its board should have heard that person say, in their own words, what they mean by expecting to be made perfect in love in this life. A question that has only ever been answered in chorus has not been answered.

Be able to say what a failing answer would look like. This is the hardest and the most important. A question that cannot be answered badly is not an examination, and everyone in the room knows it. If the church cannot describe an answer to “are you going on to perfection?” that would give it pause, then the church is not asking, and the candidates know that too.

And ask the questions severally. Wesley’s conference put them to the candidates “one by one, and their behavior severally considered.” A person answering alone, by name, before people who know their ministry, is in a different act than a class answering together. The second is a ceremony about the first.