I’ve been surprised by how much I enjoy reading the “Westminster Confession.” Honestly, I read it for fun. And even more surprising, I actually think it does a pretty good job of summarizing what Christians ought to believe about Scripture and the Divine.
Which is why Robert Letham’s “The Westminster Assembly” felt like a bit of a letdown. I wanted to like it. Letham’s scholarship shines in spots, but overall, the book lands as a lackluster entry in an already crowded field of Westminster Assembly studies. It took me way longer to finish this than it should have because it was that dull.
There’s nothing seriously wrong with it. It’s careful and competent, but it rarely stands out. It reads dry, almost like a textbook that forgot it was supposed to inspire some wonder at one of the most remarkable theological gatherings in church history.
When it comes to the Assembly, I’d much rather read J.V. Fesko, who combines depth with clarity, or R.C. Sproul, who had a way of making Westminster’s theology come alive for ordinary people. Letham’s book works as a reference, but it doesn’t spark imagination or devotion.
The book breaks into three sections. The first, on the historical background, is probably the most interesting. Letham places the Assembly squarely in the chaos of the English Civil War and shows how it tried to corral, or at least manage, the various dissenter factions.
The second section looks at the theological context, tracing how the Assembly’s theology developed in conversation with the English Reformation, the Continental Reformers, and the Roman Catholic Church. There isn’t anything revolutionary here, but it’s organized and readable enough to hold your attention.
The final section was the weakest. Letham tackles the theology of the Assembly, but he only skims a few topics and avoids the deeper, stranger nuances that make the “Westminster Confession” so distinctive. The Confession differs sharply from its contemporaries, yet Letham sticks to the safe, uncontroversial parts. Whether you’re Presbyterian, wrestling through exceptions, or just curious about Westminster theology, this section doesn’t add much beyond what a dozen other books already cover.
Each chapter opens with a brief overview, followed by short subsections of two or three paragraphs. The result feels stuck in the middle. It isn’t deep enough for serious scholars and it’s too broad for lay readers. It’s the theological equivalent of ordering a cup of black coffee and getting handed a lukewarm decaf.
Three stars. Competent, informed, but never quite captivating.
Still, reading it reminded me how remarkable it is that a group of ordinary men, caught between war and reform, produced a confession that continues to shape both church and culture. Even dry scholarship can’t erase that miracle. The Westminster Assembly was messy, political, and brilliant, and it shows what happens when people truly believe Christ’s lordship reaches every corner of life, from pulpit to parliament. Their work didn’t just define a church; it helped reshape the world under God’s hand.
And maybe that’s why I keep returning to the Confession itself. It reminds me that even in the quiet, ordinary work of ministry, shaping hearts and minds matters. Christ still claims every inch, and even our smallest labors belong to Him.