The Night I Scored Twice Against Bruce Grobbelaar at the Kop End

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An unforgettable evening at Anfield, a newspaper cutting from 1981, and some wonderful memories of Liverpool Football Club.

For some time, I had wanted to track down an old newspaper article about something that happened when I was just 15 years old.

I wondered whether it might still be there, tucked away in the newspaper archives after all these years.

So I went looking.

And to my delight, there it was!

An article from the Cheshire Observer, dated February 20, 1981, complete with a photograph of a much younger version of myself.

There I was, a 15-year-old boy from Chester, pictured in the front garden of our home, keeping a football in the air with my knees.

A newspaper reporter had come to the house to interview me and take my photograph.

And there was a reason for all this attention.

I had reached the final of the Steve Heighway Testimonial Penalty Prize Competition, which was to take place at Anfield, the home of Liverpool Football Club.

For a football-mad teenager, this was quite something.

But to appreciate what the occasion meant to me, I need to take you back a few years.

Growing Up a Liverpool Supporter

Some of my happiest childhood memories are of going to Anfield with my dad.

We had season tickets for the 1976-77 and 1977-78 seasons. We attended every home game, standing together at the Anfield Road end, and traveled to quite a few away games as well.

What wonderful years they were!

The 1976-77 season was Kevin Keegan’s last at Liverpool, and it ended with the club winning the European Cup for the very first time, defeating Borussia Mönchengladbach 3-1 in Rome.

Then came the 1977-78 season, when a certain Kenny Dalglish arrived from Celtic to replace Keegan.

What a replacement he turned out to be!

And I had the enormous privilege of being at Wembley on May 10, 1978, for the European Cup Final against Club Brugge.

I was actually there, in the crowd behind the goal, when Kenny Dalglish scored the only goal of the game, giving Liverpool a 1-0 victory and securing the European Cup for the second successive year.

I remember that moment vividly.

After scoring, Kenny came running in our direction to celebrate. For a brief moment, it almost seemed as though he was running straight toward me! Well, me and the many thousands of other Liverpool supporters standing around me!

What a moment. What a memory.

So when I say Liverpool Football Club was a big part of my childhood, I really mean it.

And much of that affection was bound up with the wonderful memories of attending matches with my dad.

Little did I imagine that just three years after witnessing Liverpool become champions of Europe at Wembley, I would find myself stepping onto the Anfield pitch myself.

A Young Footballer’s Dream

Football wasn’t simply something I enjoyed watching. At that age, I had a genuine ambition to become a professional footballer.

I played for Chester Schoolboys and had been the leading goalscorer for both the under-14 and under-15 sides. Like so many young lads, I dreamed of one day making a living playing the game I loved.

Then came an unexpected opportunity.

My sports teacher at Dee High School in Chester, Malcolm Williams, put my name forward to represent the school in the Steve Heighway Testimonial Penalty Prize Competition.

This wasn’t simply a local Chester competition. It was open to schools throughout the North West of England, with the opportunity for successful competitors to reach the final at Anfield.

The qualifying round was to take place at Liverpool’s Melwood training ground. For a young Liverpool supporter who dreamed of becoming a professional footballer, you can imagine how exciting that was.

And this wasn’t simply a visit to look around the training facilities. I would actually be taking penalties against one of Liverpool’s goalkeepers, Steve Ogrizovic.

I was given six penalties. I scored all six. Six out of six!

That was enough to qualify me for the final at Anfield.

So, from a competition open to schools across the North West of England, I had earned the opportunity to take penalties on the famous Anfield pitch, in front of thousands of Liverpool supporters.

The newspaper reported that a £200 prize was at stake for my school if I won the competition, a considerable sum in those days. The money could be used to improve the school’s sports facilities.

But there was something else that made the prospect even more thrilling.

In the final, I was supposed to be taking penalties against Ray Clemence.

For those who remember Liverpool in those days, Ray Clemence was one of the finest goalkeepers in the world. Liverpool’s established number one and an England international, he was also one of my footballing heroes.

The thought of taking penalties against him at Anfield, in front of thousands of Liverpool supporters, was almost beyond belief.

While at Melwood, I also had the opportunity to meet Liverpool defender Alan Kennedy.

One thing I remember about that encounter was being surprised by his very strong North East of England accent! Back then, footballers weren’t interviewed on television nearly as often as they are today, so I hadn’t really heard him speak before. At the time, I had no idea how significant that particular encounter would seem just a few weeks later.

The Big Night at Anfield

The date was Monday, May 11, 1981. Liverpool were playing Everton in Steve Heighway’s testimonial match at Anfield.

The official attendance was 17,137.

And I remember that crowd vividly because our penalty competition took place immediately before the game, when the spectators were already there.

Just imagine it. A 15-year-old boy from Chester, stepping out onto the pitch at Anfield, with more than 17,000 people watching.

And the penalties would be taken at the famous Kop End.

For someone who had spent so much time watching Liverpool from the terraces, it was an extraordinary experience.

But then came a major disappointment.

Ray Clemence wasn’t there!

He was away on international duty with England. In fact, the following evening he would captain England against Brazil at Wembley.

I was absolutely gutted.

After all, so much of my excitement had centred on the prospect of facing Clemence himself.

Instead, I was told that another goalkeeper would be taking his place.

He was a relatively unknown newcomer, born in South Africa, a fellow by the name of Bruce Grobbelaar.

Yes, that Bruce Grobbelaar!

Of course, none of us knew then quite what a Liverpool legend he would become.

And then came another change of plan.

Instead of the six penalties we had taken in the qualifying round, the final would consist of just three.

So there I was.

Anfield. The Kop End. More than 17,000 spectators. Three penalties against this new fellow called Grobbelaar.

I stepped up for the first.

He saved it!

Oh, I was gutted.

And here’s the thing. When you’re only allowed three penalties, you know that missing one means your chances of winning are virtually gone. After all, somebody is almost certainly going to score all three. With only three attempts, there simply isn’t enough opportunity to recover from a miss and get ahead of everyone else.

So there I was, having scored six out of six at Melwood, only to miss my very first penalty at Anfield in front of all those people.

I knew I wasn’t going to win.

But I still had two penalties to take, and I had to somehow put that disappointment behind me.

So I picked myself up, gathered my composure, and stepped forward for my second attempt.

This time, I sent Grobbelaar the wrong way.

GOAL!

One out of two.

Then came my third and final penalty.

Once again, I sent him the wrong way.

GOAL!

Two out of three!

I had recovered from that first disappointment and scored my final two penalties against a Liverpool goalkeeper at the Kop End, sending him the wrong way on both occasions.

Looking back, I’m rather pleased with that!

Of course, I have always maintained that Grobbelaar’s save from my first penalty must surely rank among the greatest moments of his illustrious career. I’m surprised it hasn’t received more attention over the years!

But seriously, my final record was six successful penalties against Steve Ogrizovic at Melwood, followed by two out of three against Bruce Grobbelaar at Anfield.

Eight out of nine penalties against two Liverpool goalkeepers.

I’ll take that!

A Handshake from Steve Heighway

Although I hadn’t won the competition, I had finished as runner-up.

And there was still something rather special awaiting me.

After the competition, Steve Heighway himself shook my hand and presented me with a runner-up shield there on the Anfield turf.

For a 15-year-old Liverpool supporter who had spent years watching Heighway and his teammates from the Anfield terraces, that was a wonderful moment.

I hadn’t won the competition, but I had scored twice against a Liverpool goalkeeper in front of more than 17,000 spectators and received a shield from one of my footballing heroes.

And here is something that makes the memory even more precious.

I still have that shield today.

Forty-five years later, and now living thousands of miles away in America, I still have the very shield Steve Heighway presented to me that evening at Anfield.

It is engraved with the words:

STEVE HEIGHWAY
1981
RUNNER-UP

It’s a little piece of Liverpool football history that has travelled with me across the Atlantic.

And every time I look at it, I am reminded of a rather extraordinary evening in May 1981.

Behind the Scenes at Anfield

There was another part of the evening that made it especially memorable.

I was also able to go behind the scenes at Anfield and see the club’s trophy room.

For a young Liverpool supporter, this was something very special.

I also found myself in the presence of some of the Liverpool players, including Ian Rush and Craig Johnston.

Now, I would love to tell you that I enjoyed long conversations with these great footballers, but that wouldn’t be true.

I was actually rather shy in those days. And, to be quite truthful, I was in awe of them.

So I didn’t really say anything!

I was simply thrilled to be there, seeing these players up close, having spent so many years admiring Liverpool Football Club.

And those two names would, of course, become very significant in Liverpool’s history.

Ian Rush had joined Liverpool from my local club, Chester City, the previous year. He was still in the early stages of his Liverpool career and would eventually become the club’s all-time leading goalscorer, with an astonishing 346 goals.

Craig Johnston was another player I knew well by reputation. He had been a shining star at Middlesbrough, and I had followed his progress before he made the move to Liverpool in April 1981. So although he had only recently arrived at Anfield, he was certainly no unknown to me! In fact, he had signed for Liverpool from Middlesbrough on April 3, 1981, just five weeks before that evening at Anfield.

And here’s something I find rather remarkable.

When I encountered Johnston that night, he hadn’t even made his competitive debut for Liverpool!

That wouldn’t happen until August 29, almost four months later. And, remarkably, Bruce Grobbelaar would also make his competitive Liverpool debut in that very same match, against Wolverhampton Wanderers.

So there I was, encountering two men who would become significant figures in Liverpool’s remarkable success throughout the 1980s, before either had played a competitive game for the club.

One of them I was too shy to speak to.

The other had just saved one of my penalties!

The testimonial match itself ended in a 2-2 draw between Liverpool and Everton. But for me, the evening had already been unforgettable.

Sixteen Days Later: Champions of Europe!

The story has one final twist that I particularly enjoy.

Just sixteen days after my appearance at Anfield, on May 27, 1981, Liverpool faced Real Madrid in the European Cup Final at the Parc des Princes in Paris.

It was a tense affair, with the score remaining 0-0 deep into the second half.

Then, with fewer than ten minutes remaining, Liverpool scored.

The goalscorer?

Alan Kennedy!

Yes, the very same Alan Kennedy I had met at Melwood during the qualifying round of the penalty competition.

His goal gave Liverpool a 1-0 victory over Real Madrid and secured the club’s third European Cup.

And there was another rather amusing connection.

Steve Ogrizovic, the goalkeeper against whom I had scored six out of six penalties at Melwood, was on Liverpool’s substitutes’ bench for that European Cup Final.

Ray Clemence, whom I had so desperately wanted to face at Anfield, was in goal.

Alan Kennedy, whom I had met just weeks earlier, scored the winning goal.

And Bruce Grobbelaar, the relatively unknown goalkeeper who had saved my first penalty, would eventually replace Clemence and become one of Liverpool’s greatest goalkeepers.

Three years later, Grobbelaar would famously play his part in Liverpool’s European Cup triumph over Roma in 1984, with his extraordinary antics during the penalty shootout becoming part of football folklore.

What remarkable connections!

Within the space of a few weeks, I had taken penalties against one Liverpool goalkeeper who would be on the bench for a European Cup Final, met the player who would score the winning goal in that final, and scored twice against a goalkeeper who would later become a European Cup winner himself.

All while I was just 15 years old.

Once a Red, Always a Red

Forty-five years have now passed since that evening at Anfield.

Life has taken me a long way from Chester and those wonderful afternoons and evenings watching Liverpool with my dad.

I now live in Arizona, thousands of miles away from Anfield.

But some things never change.

I still watch Liverpool play.

In fact, because of the time difference between England and Arizona, there are occasions when I’m watching the Reds at 4:30 in the morning!

The years have certainly passed, but my affection for the club remains.

I may no longer be the young lad standing alongside his dad at the Anfield Road end, watching Kevin Keegan, Kenny Dalglish, and the great Liverpool teams of the 1970s, but those memories remain very precious to me.

And I still have that runner-up shield, presented to me personally by Steve Heighway on that unforgettable evening in May 1981.

The excitement of qualifying at Melwood.

The newspaper reporter coming to our home.

The anticipation of facing Ray Clemence.

The disappointment when I discovered he wouldn’t be there.

The extraordinary experience of walking out at Anfield in front of more than 17,000 spectators.

The sickening feeling when Bruce Grobbelaar saved my first penalty.

And then the satisfaction of picking myself up and sending him the wrong way with the next two!

Add to that the chance to see Liverpool’s trophy room, find myself in the presence of some remarkable footballers, and discover that several of the men I had met or faced would become part of the club’s extraordinary footballing history.

It was quite an experience for a 15-year-old boy from Chester.

I certainly wasn’t making football history myself, but for one unforgettable evening, I found myself standing remarkably close to it.

And as for Bruce Grobbelaar?

Well, there’s one thing that has puzzled me ever since.

Bruce went on to enjoy a magnificent career, winning league championships, domestic cups, and the European Cup. He became one of the most recognizable goalkeepers of his generation.

Yet, strangely enough, I have never seen him mention that extraordinary save against a 15-year-old John Samson in any memoir of his career.

An astonishing omission, really.

You would have thought that such a defining moment in his illustrious career would have warranted at least a chapter!

Still, Bruce, if you ever happen to read this, I’m happy to help you fill in that particular gap in your autobiography.

And for the record, I scored the next two!

* * *

P.S. A Song That Brings It All Back

There’s a song Liverpool supporters sing these days called The Fields of Anfield Road. Here’s the chorus:

All round the Fields of Anfield Road
Where once we watched the King Kenny play (And could he play)
Stevie Heighway on the wing
We had dreams and songs to sing
Of the glory round the Fields of Anfield Road

You’ll Never Walk Alone!

Why We Say What We Say At The Lord’s Table

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Every Lord’s Day at King’s Church, just before we come forward to receive the bread and the cup, we say a few words about who is invited to the Lord’s Table. The wording varies from week to week, but the same convictions sit underneath it every time. Have you ever stopped to ask why we say what we say?

The short answer is that the Lord’s Supper is the family meal Christ has given to His church, and everything we say is meant to guard both the warmth of the welcome and the meaning of the meal.

So let me walk through the convictions behind those words, one at a time.

Trusting in Christ alone. We begin with a welcome, and it is a welcome for sinners. The Table is not a prize for the spiritually successful. It is food for people who know they have nothing to bring. Paul counted his own impressive religious record as loss so that he might be found in Christ, clothed in a righteousness that was not his own (Philippians 3:7-9). That is why we also warn anyone who is leaning on their own goodness. The bread and the cup announce that Christ has done it all. Coming to the Table while trusting in yourself contradicts the very message of the meal.

Baptized. In Acts 2, we see a clear pattern. On the day of Pentecost, those who received the word were baptized, were added to the church, and devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, the fellowship, the breaking of bread, and the prayers (Acts 2:41-42). Baptism is the front door into the household, entered once. The Supper is the family meal, enjoyed again and again.

We understand baptism to be the immersion of those who have personally repented and believed the gospel. At the same time, we gladly welcome to the Table fellow believers from faithful churches who understand baptism differently. We do not require them to share our Baptist convictions in order to share the Lord’s Supper with us; we leave that matter to their conscience before the Lord. Our own 1689 Confession models this spirit. Those who adopted the confession were convinced Baptists who agreed that baptism is for believers and is to be administered by immersion. Where they differed was on whether to share church fellowship and the Lord’s Table with Christians baptized as infants. Some could not do so in good conscience; others felt free to. They acknowledged that difference openly in an appendix published with the confession, and deliberately left the question unsettled so that they could stand together in the doctrines they shared.

Belonging to a local church. Paul writes that because there is one bread, we who are many are one body (1 Corinthians 10:17). When we eat together, we are saying something about one another as well as about Christ. That is why the Supper belongs within the committed life of a local church, where elders know you, pray for you, and keep watch over your soul (Hebrews 13:17). Membership is not a club card. It means you are known and cared for. And when someone is under church discipline, refraining from the Table is not the end of the story. Discipline always aims at restoration, and the day a wandering brother or sister is welcomed back is a day of great joy (2 Corinthians 2:6-8).

Seeking peace with one another. Jesus said that if you are about to offer your gift at the altar and remember that your brother has something against you, you should leave your gift, go and be reconciled, and then come back (Matthew 5:23-24). He was speaking of an offering at the altar, but the principle carries straight over to the Lord’s Table. It is hard to sit at a family meal with someone you refuse to speak to. At the same time, reconciliation takes two. If you have sincerely sought peace and been turned away, you have done what Scripture asks: “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (Romans 12:18). Another person’s refusal to make peace does not shut you out of the Table.

Examining ourselves. Paul writes, “Let a person examine himself, then, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup” (1 Corinthians 11:28). The Greek word for examine, dokimazō, was used for testing gold to see whether it was genuine. But notice where the verse ends. Paul does not say, “Examine yourself, and then do not partake.” He says examine yourself, and so eat. The Corinthians had turned the Supper into a selfish free-for-all, where some went hungry while others got drunk, and the poor were humiliated (11:21-22). Their problem was an irreverent and selfish approach to the Lord’s Table, not the tender conscience of a believer grieving over sin. So please hear this: self-examination is not meant to keep trembling believers away.

As the story is often told, the Scottish minister John Duncan, affectionately known as “Rabbi” Duncan for his love of Hebrew, noticed a young woman at the Lord’s Supper so troubled by her sin that she could not bring herself to take the bread and the cup. Duncan leaned over and whispered, “Take it, lassie. It’s for sinners!”

He was exactly right. The person who comes grieving over sin and clinging to Christ is the very person the Table was made for. Even when the Lord disciplines His people, His purpose is mercy: “But when we are judged by the Lord, we are disciplined so that we may not be condemned along with the world” (1 Corinthians 11:32).

Why do we take such care? Because the Lord’s Supper is a precious gift. It is a time to remember His finished work, to feed upon Him spiritually by faith, and to express our fellowship with Him and with one another. We guard it because we treasure it, and we want it to be a genuine blessing to everyone who comes.

If you have not yet been baptized, or are not yet a member of a local church, please do not hear Sunday’s words as a closed door. Hear them as an invitation to take the next step. I, or any of our elders, would count it a joy to talk with you.

Recently I read a helpful article on this very question by O. Palmer Robertson, a respected Presbyterian minister. Because he is Presbyterian, he writes about his own denomination’s rules, and his view of baptism differs from ours. But his essentials, a credible profession of faith, baptism, and good standing in a faithful, evangelical church, line up closely with ours. If you would like to read more, you can find it here.

Venerate the Icons or Face Anathema?

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What Church History Reveals About the Origins of Icon Veneration

Was the veneration of icons part of the faith and worship handed down by Christ and His apostles, or did it develop in the centuries that followed?

The question turns serious when we remember what the Second Council of Nicaea (AD 787) did. It went far beyond commending the practice. It pronounced anathema on those who refused it. And both Eastern Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism receive that council as ecumenical, binding on the whole church.

Having Christian art on a wall is one thing. Bowing before a painted image, saluting it (which could include kissing it), and offering incense and lights before it is another. The historical record shows that Christian images came into use long before their devotional veneration became widely established in the church. So if a church pronounces anathema on Christians who refuse to bow before images, we have every right to ask: Where did Christ or His apostles ever command such a thing, much less authorize the church to condemn those who decline it?

What the Second Council of Nicaea Declared

In its formal decree, the council ruled that images of Christ, of Mary, of the angels, and of the saints should be set up in churches, in homes, and by the wayside, and that “to these should be given due salutation and honourable reverence.” It added that “incense and lights may be offered” to them “according to ancient pious custom.” Then came the anathemas:

“We salute the venerable images. We place under anathema those who do not do this. . . . Anathema to those who do not salute the holy and venerable images.”

Second Council of Nicaea (787), concluding acclamations following the Definition of Faith, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, vol. 14, The Seven Ecumenical Councils, ed. Henry R. Percival.

We need to be clear about the weight of that word. In the New Testament, anathema means “accursed” (Galatians 1:8–9), and Paul links it with being “cut off from Christ” (Romans 9:3). In the history of the church, it came to mean a grave condemnation that excluded a person from the communion of the faithful. A solemn Western rite for pronouncing anathema, preserved in the Roman Pontifical, shows how seriously the word was taken: the person was declared “condemned to eternal fire with Satan and his angels,” unless he repented. That medieval Western rite is not the decree of Nicaea II, and we should not confuse the two. But the council’s own words are severe enough. Those who refused to venerate the images were placed under anathema.

The Roman Pontifical’s form of anathema, as quoted in The Catholic Encyclopedia (1907), s.v. “Anathema.”

The council did draw a line. It said that the honor given to images is not the true worship (in Greek, latreia) that belongs to God alone, and it reasoned that “the honour which is paid to the image passes on to that which the image represents.” Even so, it required that honor, and it placed under anathema every Christian who would not give it.

Nor is this only an Eastern matter. The Catechism of the Catholic Church appeals to Nicaea II in defense of the veneration of icons and insists that “The Christian veneration of images is not contrary to the first commandment which proscribes idols” (CCC 2131–2132). Rome and Constantinople stand on the same decree.

What the Early Evidence Shows

A few terms will help. An iconoclast (“image-breaker”) opposed icons. An iconophile (“image-lover”) defended them.

1. The Scholarly Starting Point: Robin M. Jensen

Robin Jensen, a leading historian of early Christian art, summarizes where her field stands:

“Scholars generally agree that Christian iconography emerged only in the 3rd century.”

Jensen is careful not to overstate the case. She argues that classical philosophy shaped early Christian objections to images of God even more than the Bible did. But on the question that matters most here, she is clear. She argues “that when it emerged, Christian art essentially served non-idolatrous didactic rather than devotional purposes.” In plain English, Jensen argues that the earliest Christian art served mainly to teach, rather than to provide objects of devotion.

Robin M. Jensen, “Aniconism in the First Centuries of Christianity,” Religion 47, no. 3 (2017): 408–424.

2. The Earliest Report: Irenaeus of Lyons

Irenaeus wrote Against Heresies around AD 180. He tells us he saw Polycarp “in my early youth,” and that Polycarp had been “instructed by apostles.” In describing the followers of Carpocrates, a Gnostic sect notorious for immoral living, he wrote:

“They also possess images, some of them painted, and others formed from different kinds of material; while they maintain that a likeness of Christ was made by Pilate at that time when Jesus lived among them. They crown these images, and set them up along with the images of the philosophers of the world that is to say, with the images of Pythagoras, and Plato, and Aristotle, and the rest. They have also other modes of honouring these images, after the same manner of the Gentiles.”

Irenaeus, Against Heresies 1.25.6 (see also 3.3.4 on Polycarp), in Ante-Nicene Fathers, vol. 1, ed. Alexander Roberts and James Donaldson.

Notice where Irenaeus places this practice. He finds it in a heretical sect, and he compares it to the way pagans honored their idols. One of our earliest surviving descriptions of people honoring an image of Christ comes from a church father describing heretics.

3. An Early Warning: The Synod of Elvira

A canon traditionally linked to the Synod of Elvira, a gathering of bishops in Spain early in the fourth century, contains this striking ruling (canon 36):

Placuit picturas in ecclesia esse non debere, ne quod colitur et adoratur in parietibus depingatur.

“It has seemed good that images should not be in churches so that what is venerated and worshiped not be painted on the walls.”

Synod of Elvira, canon 36. Latin text from Early Church Texts; English translation from the Catholic University of America’s online edition of the Elvira canons.

Scholars debate the synod’s date and what prompted this canon. Some argue that the canon belongs to a later collection, perhaps from the late fourth or early fifth century. Whatever prompted the prohibition, the canon certainly shows that pictures in churches were a matter of concern and restriction. Whoever wrote it was not demanding their presence.

4. The Council’s Own Record: Richard Price

Richard Price is a Roman Catholic priest and historian. He produced the first new English translation in over 150 years of the full record of Nicaea II, the council’s own minutes. In his introduction he writes:

“[T]he iconoclast claim that reverence towards images did not go back to the golden age of the fathers, still less to the apostles, would be judged by impartial historians today to be simply correct. The iconophile view of the history of Christian thought and devotion was virtually a denial of history.”

By “the golden age of the fathers,” Price means the era of the great church councils of the fourth and fifth centuries. He also points out what the council failed to produce. For all its claims that images had held a venerable place in the church from the beginning, “no attempt was made at Nicaea to prove by direct citation that the painting and veneration of images went back before the fourth century. The Acts include no iconophile text earlier than St Athanasius.”

Richard Price, trans., The Acts of the Second Council of Nicaea (787), Translated Texts for Historians 68 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2018), 39, 43.

Athanasius died in AD 373. The council that pronounced anathema on those who refused icon veneration did not cite a single text in support of the practice from the first three centuries of Christianity.

Price is no hostile critic hunting for ammunition. He is a priest of the church that receives Nicaea II as ecumenical, and he has spent years with the council’s own record. His judgment carries weight precisely because of where he stands.

What the Commandment Already Said

History raises the question. Scripture settles it. Listen to the second commandment:

“You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or serve them, for I the LORD your God am a jealous God . . .” (Exodus 20:4–5)

The bishops at Nicaea read their Old Testament in Greek, in the translation known as the Septuagint. There Exodus 20:5 reads ou proskynēseis autois oude mē latreusēs autois: “You shall not bow down to them, nor serve them.” Both of the council’s key words are in the commandment. Nicaea reserved latreia (service, worship) for God and then required proskynēsis (bowing, reverence) toward images. The commandment forbids both, and it forbids them toward the very thing in question: carved images and likenesses.

Someone may answer that the same Greek verb is used elsewhere for proper respect shown to people, as when Abraham bowed to the Hittites (Genesis 23:7). That is true, and it misses the point. Exodus 20 is not about greeting a neighbor. It is about bowing to an image, which is exactly what Nicaea required.

The New Testament confirms it. When Peter entered the house of Cornelius, “Cornelius met him and fell down at his feet and worshiped him. But Peter lifted him up, saying, ‘Stand up; I too am a man’” (Acts 10:25–26). The Greek verb is proskyneō. Luke gives no indication that Cornelius mistook Peter for God. He describes him as “a devout man who feared God” (10:2). Yet Peter at once refused his act of reverence and told him to stand.

The apostle John had the same experience, twice. When he fell at the feet of the angel who had shown him the visions of Revelation, the angel said, “You must not do that! I am a fellow servant with you and your brothers who hold to the testimony of Jesus. Worship God” (Revelation 19:10; see also 22:8–9). Again the verb is proskyneō. Whatever John intended, the angel refused the act and directed his attention to God alone. He did not accept the bow and pass it along. He refused it and said, “Worship God.” The issue here is not a shared Greek word. It is the act itself: a religious bow, offered as devotion, toward something other than God. If John was forbidden to offer such reverence to a heavenly messenger, those who require Christians to bow before sacred images must show from Scripture why that act is permissible, much less obligatory on pain of anathema.

One more scene makes the point vivid. The Catechism points to the bronze serpent as an image God Himself ordained (CCC 2130; see Numbers 21:8–9). That is true. But centuries later, when the people of Israel had begun making offerings to that very serpent, King Hezekiah “broke in pieces the bronze serpent that Moses had made” (2 Kings 18:4), and Scripture commends him for it (18:3). Making an image is one question. Turning it into an object of religious devotion is another. God commanded the first in that case, and He commended the king who put an end to the second.

The Question We Cannot Avoid

Those who defend icon veneration appeal to the incarnation of Christ and distinguish the reverence they give images from the worship that belongs to God alone. Those arguments deserve to be heard and examined fairly. But neither the incarnation nor an appeal to tradition establishes an apostolic command to venerate images.

An Orthodox reader may reply that the doctrine of the Trinity also received its full creedal expression centuries after the apostles, and no one calls it an innovation. The same test applies to both. The Trinity can be shown from Scripture itself, which teaches that there is one God and that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are each fully God. The creeds put into careful words what the Bible already teaches. Icon veneration needs the same demonstration, and that is exactly where it fails. A council cannot make a practice binding merely by declaring it apostolic. Its authority to impose that obligation must itself be established from the Word of God.

Some writers today argue that veneration can be traced earlier than most historians allow. Even if a few earlier examples could be proven, the deeper question would stand. An old practice is not thereby an apostolic one, and biblical warrant for making the practice obligatory is exactly what is missing.

By AD 787, a practice that had grown up over centuries was declared part of the church’s sacred tradition, with anathema pronounced on everyone who refused it.

The question remains: By what authority may the church require what Christ and His apostles did not command?

For those of us who hold that Scripture alone is the only infallible rule of faith and worship, everything turns on that question. The Second London Baptist Confession (1689) puts it this way: the acceptable way of worshipping the true God “is instituted by himself, and so limited by his own revealed will, that he may not be worshipped according to the imagination and devices of men, nor the suggestions of Satan, under any visible representations, or any other way not prescribed in the Holy Scriptures” (22.1). And it reminds us that “God alone is Lord of the conscience” (21.2).

The church is called to guard and proclaim the faith once for all delivered to the saints. It has no authority to bind the consciences of God’s people to religious practices that cannot be established from His Word.

We must never confuse the antiquity of a practice with its divine authority, nor the authority claimed by a council with the authority of the apostles.

The final court of appeal must always be the Word of God.