PLAN TO INTRODUCE YOU TO FROGS AND TOADS¹ and their tug-of-war about Adventist standards. But first we have to talk about being "peculiar." And what strikes me is not how different we may be from the world today, but how similar we were to the world that used to be.

The great theologian Bruce Springsteen once wrote a song called "Glory Days," about his old high school friends and how they loved to talk about their glory days together.

That is kind of what happens when we talk about our church. Much that makes us unique (just as much as what makes the Mormons and the Nazarenes and the Salvation Army unique) goes back to the glory days of the nineteenth century.

Back then, doing was more important than knowing, and standards were more important than doctrines. Maybe that's why no one could agree on doctrines, but everyone agreed on standards. All right-thinking, hardworking, God-fearing folks knew the difference between right and wrong--and the difference was as plain as the nose on your face. A good Canadian or American would no sooner drink than gamble or smoke or dance or attend the moving-picture show. As far as wearing jewelry and makeup, no need even to ask. And divorce! Why, to get a divorce, you needed an act of Parliament.

Adventists were right in the mainstream of Victorian society. If you have ever wondered why we take a position against smoking but not on apartheid, if you have ever been puzzled as to why we ban dancing but not sexual discrimination, if it has ever puzzled you that the General Conference spells out exactly when and where and why a member may wear a wedding ring but has left abortion up to the individual's conscience--if any of these things have struck you as odd, you have to remember our roots. The theater, dancing, and jewelry were all hot topics back in the glory days of our church. Abortion and apartheid weren't.

A Foundational Experience
You see, standards are important to Adventists for the same reason that the British North America Act is important to Canadians. You may not like them. You may not follow them. They may be of no earthly use to you today. But they are a foundational experience for you. They are part of what made you the way you are today, part of your identity.

That's why it is dangerous even to suggest altering one standard. People are touchy about their roots. I mean, you could change the number of fundamental beliefs from 27 to 3,159.6 and maybe only a few theologians would care. But if you so much as breathe a word suggesting that the church change its policy about Coca-Cola, you might as well try telling Springsteen's friends to turn in their scrapbooks!

In the nineteenth century Adventists and society were a lot closer to each other than most of us realize. And that made pastors' jobs easier. They could stand in the pulpit and tell you how to live, knowing that you'd be hearing some of the same messages from the courts, the media, and the people next door. The only problem is that it isn't the nineteenth century anymore.

Springsteen ended his song by wishing his friends would go away and stop bothering him. He'd gotten sick and tired of hearing about those boring old glory days! They're gone! Times have changed!

Times have changed for us, too. Once everybody knew premarital sex was wrong--and homosexuality couldn't be mentioned. Many people now view these things as matters of personal preference. Talking of black-and-white standards in a society that sees only gray is like making a moral issue out of whether you prefer vanilla or chocolate ice cream. The world doesn't just dislike our answers; it isn't even asking our questions!

Issues the world does want to talk about--such as racism, the environment, the ethics of war, and the relation of capital to labor--are what we call "political" issues. And we don't talk politics. (Again, a nineteenth-century attitude.)

But if the world doesn't listen to the things we talk about, and we don't talk about the things the world might listen to, you can see we've got big, big trouble being heard.

Other churches have struggled with this. Protestants first battled it in the 1920s; Catholics grappled with it in the 1960s; our turn started in the 1980s and is still with us.

Many people ask why we even talk about church standards. They usually get two completely different answers. The two answers reveal a tension among Adventists that I call the "War of the Frogs and the Toads."

Frogs see the church as a hospital. We're here to care for the sick and the wounded. "Do you have a problem?" asks the Frogs. "Well, that's OK. After all, that's what we're here for!"

But Toads see the church as a fortress, God's beachhead on this hostile world. Besieged, surrounded, attacked on every side, they emphasize the church's job to stand fast. "Dare to be a Daniel!" cry the Toads.

A Swamp of Differences
You can imagine how these two groups differ about church standards. To Frogs (friends of the gospel), church standards are red tape. After all, isn't loving Jesus the really important thing? Frogs want to preach the Gospel and let behavior take care of itself.

To Toads (traditional old Adventists), standards are the foundation. They are what make us different--and that difference is why we are here. If the world isn't willing to live up to our standards, then too bad for the world.

Frogs fear irrelevance. Toads fear irreverence. Frogs think a little pruning is in order. Toads react to new ideas as though they were being asked to cut off their fingers for the cause. Each believes the church would have less problems with standards if the other group would just go away.

Suppose one side or the other did take over? What would our church be like? What if we took the Frogs' advice and got rid of all the old rules that "just get in the way"? What would happen?

Probably nothing for a while. Most of us are pretty set in our ways. If the church suddenly allowed polygamy and polyandry, for instance, I don't know anybody who would rush out to add another spouse. We weren't raised that way. Most of us would continue in the paths we have always followed, no matter what the church standards might say. It's the next generation that would pay the price.

When my grandmother was a child, for instance, the rules were hard and fast. No drinking. No smoking. No gambling. No jewelry--not even a wedding band. Grandma was a Methodist. Things have changed.

As the Frogs took over the church, they said, "Don't tell people how to live." So the world told them how to live. The Frogs said, "Tell them about love." But when they didn't carefully define what they meant by love, television filled the gap. The Frogs said, "Let people decide what's right or wrong without interference from us." And Hollywood, Wall Street, and Madison Avenue filled the void.²

Frogs forget that we don't live in a vacuum. If the church won't talk about lifestyles, plenty of other people will.

"Don't Take Chances"
Toads, of course, knew this all along. That's why they resist any attempt to change church standards. "Don't take chances," they say. "If it's right, why change it? If we ever believed contemporary music in church was wrong, then it will be wrong forever. No compromise!"

Have you ever heard of the Amish? They farm the way they've always farmed--no electricity, no tractors, no telephones. Change, after all, brings with it the risk of error. They still preach their sermons in German, too. As a matter of fact, they are still preaching the sermons their great-great-great-great-grandfathers did in the sixteenth century. Write a new sermon, and you're risking heresy.

While I admire the Methodists and the Amish, I hope for better for my church. I feel it would be a disaster if either the Frogs or the Toads took over. Both miss the point of our church's standards. Frogs would abolish them and turn us into a social club--the Seventh-day Elks, perhaps. The Toads would petrify them and turn us into a museum--the Seventh-day Neanderthals. Neither prospect fills me with hope or anticipation.

Marriage Is a Model
I would suggest another model for your church that puts church standards in better perspective. It's the model of a church as a marriage.

Church, after all, is something like marriage. You come up with basic rules as you go along, rules that make life a little easier for all concerned. Some are negative, such as "Don't use up all the hot water before she's had her bath." Others are positives, such as "Spend time with the one you love."

Rules don't make us love one another (which is where Toads go wrong). On the other hand, rules can protect our love (which Frogs sometimes forget).

I like this analogy. It helps me see where both Frogs and Toads are right--and where they both are wrong. Frogs forget that love needs structure. Toads forget the structure may change as the years go by.

I also like this analogy because it reminds me that not all rules are equally important. No one but a madman, for instance, would say that forgetting to brush your teeth is as bad as murder.

Standards are rules of thumb we've come up with over the years. Some we got from books; some we learned from others; some we had to figure out on our own. They are tools--that's all. They are good tools, important tools, tools we would be foolish to throw away needlessly--but they are only tools. What is important is not the tools themselves, but the life you build with them.

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¹ I am indebted for this phrase to another pastor whose name I have unfortunately forgotten. Whoever you are, thank you.
² George Knight used a similar illustration in an earlier article in The Journal of Adventist Education. He wants to make sure that you know he thought of it first.

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Greg Brothers is a pastor living in Lincoln City, Oregon. This article first appeared in its original form in the July 6, 1989, Adventist Review.