Some people really hate labels. I like them. Labels are very useful. They give us a name for whatever it is we are talking about. Without them, our language would be very clumsy. “I’m going to the place that sells meat, vegetables, dairy, and other consumable commodities. Be back in an hour.” Suppose grocers resisted the label “grocery store”—after all, they sell toothpaste, band-aids, and soap, among other non-grocery items. “I just don’t like being pigeon-holed like that,” says the grocer, or whatever he is.

In theology, labels like “Calvinist,” “Arminian,” “Reformed,” and “Dispensational” serve as shorthand for systems that would take hours to describe, or at least several minutes to summarize. I would hate to be without those labels. However, there is such a thing as a useless label. Many labels that at one time were clearly understood have become meaningless. When a label more often than not causes people to think of something entirely different than it originally represented, it has become useless.

I was born with a useless label: Lutheran. I was happily ignorant of the obsolete nature of my label until I left home and moved to Minneapolis. I had always known that there were those liberal Lutherans who denied inerrancy and ordained women and [gasp!] used real wine for communion. I just hadn’t realized there were so many of them. I very quickly discovered that Bible-believing Lutherans were a scant minority, and every time a non-Lutheran Christian asked what kind of church I belonged to, I had to give a couple of paragraphs of explanation to avoid the “heretic” label. “Lutheran” is no longer descriptive of the theology of Martin Luther, and so it is a useless label.

I am no longer a Lutheran (except in as much as I agree with the Reformed doctrines that Luther helped to recover); however, there are a few other labels that I really would love to use, but can’t because they don’t mean what they ought to mean.

First, Catholic. “Catholic” has been worthless to Christians for centuries, so why care? I managed just fine without it for years until my family visited the church of some relatives one summer. It was one of the large liberal denominations, and as we recited the Apostle’s Creed, I was shocked to hear the words “holy catholic church” from everyone but me and my siblings. We had been taught “holy Christian church.” If I didn’t already know my cousins were on a greased sled straight to Hell, I knew it then. It was still a few years later when I learned that “catholic” was a perfectly good word, in fact the correct word in the Creed, meaning universal, but it had been hi-jacked by the Papacy and could not be recovered.

The second label that is sadly lost is a beautiful word: “Pentecostal.” Just as the true church is catholic, it is Pentecostal. The New Testament Church was born on the day of Pentecost. For the first time, believers received the baptism and filling of the Holy Spirit. Every Christian was baptized with the Holy Spirit, and every Christian since, without exception, has been as well. I am a Pentecostal Christian. Sadly, I can’t use the term. “Pentecostal” now signifies doctrines and practices that I want no part of.

Now I’ll get to some more familiar labels, beginning with “evangelical.” Evangelical originally meant belief in the Biblical evangel, or Gospel. Evangelicals believed in Biblical inerrancy and literal interpretation of Scripture. They believed that the Bible was the Word of God, and salvation was by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone. Now anyone can be an evangelical. Growing up Lutheran, I watched the two most liberal (apostate) Lutheran denominations merge into the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. Rick Warren is an evangelical. Billy Graham, who has stated unequivocally that he believes in salvation outside of faith in Christ, is an evangelical. Tony Campolo is an evangelical, for pete’s sake! At this rate, how long can it be before the Pope and Dali Lama are called evangelical? Maybe Richard Dawkins is an evangelical, too!

Now I’m going to get personal. Some of my readers will cringe when I declare the utter worthlessness of the “fundamentalist” label. I know—it originally meant adherence to a set of five doctrines called The Fundamentals of the Faith. The five doctrines are indeed fundamental, although sola fide is conspicuously missing. Unfortunately, no one thinks of those things now when they hear the word “fundamentalist.” “Fundamentalist” means my hair doesn’t touch my ears, my wife doesn’t wear jeans, and I think this is good old Gospel music. Fundamentalism is a list of negatives. “Fundamentalist” means I don’t _____, and I don’t fellowship with those who do. At one time, fundamentalist seemed to me a good thing to be. Now, you can have it.

I have never technically been a Baptist, but I have wished I could be. I have just never lived anywhere where there was a good Baptist church. Lately, though, especially as I have watched the Caner-White fiasco, I have begun to wonder just what it means to be “Baptist.” James White is a Baptist, but so is Ergun Caner; so “Baptist” means nothing soteriologically. Albert Mohler and Mark Dever are Baptists; but so are Gail Riplinger and the late Jack Hyles. As far as I can tell, “Baptist” only means “not paedobaptist.” I almost wrote Baptist means credobaptist, but from what I’ve observed, no credible profession of faith is usually required. If you can recite a “sinner’s prayer,” they’ll dunk you—as many times as necessary until it “takes.” Is “Baptist” on the way to obsolescence too?

(There are Southern Baptists in Canada, so now I’m also wondering what “southern” means.)

So, I’m not sure what I am. “Reformed” seems good, and I think it will always mean the same thing, so I usually use that. But I’m not paedobaptistic or thoroughly covenantal. I just don’t fit in. I’m beginning to feel lonely. I need a hug. Unfortunately, I’ve just alienated all my friends with this article.