Nitric grace

The gospel of grace is a universal acid that dissolves all the pretensions, presuppositions and preferences of this world order. If you're not feeling it burn, you're probably not preaching Jesus.

Credit and thanks

A couple weeks ago I put up a post called "God is in the real," talking about a lesson God had been bringing home to me that week; it was a point I had seen made somewhere before, but I could not for the life of me remember where. Yesterday afternoon, my lovely wife was good enough to point me back to the original post, and indeed, the author there put it much better than I did. I'm not posting an excerpt out of respect for her posted request, but I encourage you to click through and read it, as it's well worth your time.

Impertinent question of the month

When people find out my wife and I have just had a son after three daughters, most of the time we get some form of the same basic reaction: "Oh, so you kept trying until you had a boy, huh?" In a lot of cases, I suspect it's people trying to make sense on their own terms of the fact that yes, we just intentionally had a fourth child—they can't imagine themselves doing such a thing, except perhaps with some particular and significant provocation. In a sense, it's not completely false; as it happens, we picked out a boy's name years and years ago, and we rather felt that it would be sad if we never met the person to whom the name belonged. Aside from that, though, we would have been just as happy with a fourth girl. The gender isn't the point.

I don't want this to come across wrong, because I believe male/female differences are real and important and valuable; I believe the reality of our two sexes, and the deeper and more profound reality of gender of which our biological sexes are a concrete instantiation, matters more than we know. But my children are not abstractions, they are not generalities, they are not case studies—they are themselves. They are particular specific people, and the fact that three of them are girls and one is a boy is very much part of that, but it's only part of who they are as whole people, and I wanted them for themselves.

Yes, they are created in the image of God, male and female, as are their mother and I; but that's not all that defines them. They are creators and destroyers; they are accomplished sinners and saints in training; they are capable of genius and prone to folly; and so am I all of those things as well, and heaven help all of us as I try my best to do my part to raise them to be better and more faithful and more loving disciples and friends of Jesus than I am. Trying for a boy? No, as well say we were trying for a pianist (though judging by his infant fingers, we might have managed that); we were trying to welcome the child God intended to give us in trust, as his stewards, to raise in his name and for his glory, to join the others whom he had already given us in the same way. It's not about us or what we want at all, it's about him.

Though I will say, it's nice to have a baby sleeping on my shoulder again.

Atheism as dogmatic fundamentalism

This isn't a new observation around here, of course, but it's interesting to see an atheist come out and say it—in this case, conservative commentator S. E. Cupp; and in case you think it's because she's a conservative, in my observation, conservative atheists (such as the Denver Post's David Harsanyi) are no better about this than liberal ones.

Which brings me to the problem with modern atheism, embodied by the likes of Harris and Hitchens, authors of "The End of Faith" and "God Is Not Great," respectively. So often it seems like a conversation ender, not a conversation starter. And the loudest voices of today's militant atheism, for all their talk of rational thought, don't seem to want to do too much thinking at all. As James Wood wrote in The New Yorker, "The new atheists do not speak to the millions of people whose form of religion is far from the embodied certainties of contemporary literalism. Indeed, it is a settled assumption of this kind of atheism that there are no intelligent religious believers." . . .

Though more than 95% of the world finds some meaning in faith, God-hating comic Bill Maher shrugs this off as a "neurological disorder." His version of a quest for knowledge was a series of scathing jokes at the faithful's expense in the documentary "Religulous." . . .

It's these snarky and condescending rejections, not of faith itself but of those who profess it, that reflect a total unwillingness to learn something new about human nature, the world around us and even of science itself. While the neoatheists pay only cursory attention to dismantling arguments for God, they spend most of their time painting his followers as uncultured rubes. The fact that religion has inexplicably persisted, even despite Copernicus, Darwin and the Enlightenment, doesn't seem to have much sociological meaning for them.

The truth is, folks like Maher and Silverman don't want to know about actual belief—in fact, they are much more certain about the nature of the world than most actual believers, who understand that a measure of doubt is necessary for faith. They want to focus on the downfall of a gay pastor or the Nativity scene at a mall. . . .

When the esteemed theologian David Martyn Lloyd-Jones asked C.S. Lewis when he would write another book, Lewis responded, "When I understand the meaning of prayer." It was an acknowledgment that he—a thinker with a much sharper mind than, say, Maher's—didn't know everything. I implore my fellow atheists to take this humility to heart. There's still a lot to learn, but only if you're not too busy being a know-it-all.

God is in the real

I was reminded today of an observation I ran across somewhere—unfortunately, I have no idea where or whom to credit, and I know I won't be able to put it as elegantly as the original—that has been very helpful to me. God promises to give us everything we need to face every trial he sends us. He does not promise to give us strength for possible future trials we conjure up in our own imagination. If we live in the present and face the trials he sends us as they come, he is with us; if we project ourselves into the future to worry and fret about all the things that might go wrong later, we go alone. And in truth, we don't need to worry about the future, because God's in control of it—and when it becomes the present, he will be enough for us then, too.

All God’s grace

We are not kept in the faith by our own discipline and resolve,
but by the loving chains of faithful, rescuing grace.

—Paul David Tripp

Amen—and thanks be to God.

HT: Of First Importance

The air beneath our feet

I’d never thought of Road Runner as an example of faith until it occurred to me in the middle of preaching last Sunday’s sermon; but really, that crazy bird is exactly that. How often does he end up escaping Wile E. Coyote by running out into thin air—and then standing there with perfect insouciance while the coyote falls to the canyon floor? Whoever he’s putting his faith in (Chuck Jones, perhaps?), that’s a perfect illustration of walking (well, running) by faith: no visible means of support, trusting entirely in his creator to keep him up.

Walking by faith, living by faith, isn’t easy; it means, as Michael Card put it, to be guided by a hand we cannot hold, and to trust in a way we cannot see, and that’s not comfortable. It means looking beyond the measurables—not basing our decisions on what we can afford or what seems practical or what we know will work, but on prayer, listening for God’s leading, and the desire to do what will please him. It means taking risks, knowing that if God doesn’t come through, we’re going to fail. And it means setting out against the prevailing winds of our culture, being willing to challenge people and tell them what they don’t want to hear—graciously, yes, lovingly, yes, but without compromise and without apology—even when we know they’re going to judge us harshly for it.

This is not a blueprint for an easy, comfortable, “successful” life; often, it’s just the opposite. It defies common sense, because common sense is rooted in conventional wisdom, and living by faith is anything but. But it’s worth it, because this is what Jesus wants from us: to live in such a way that if he doesn’t take care of us, we will fall, to live in such a way that he’s our only hope—because the truth is, he is our only hope. We just need to believe it, and live like we believe it. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it, and more than worth it; there is no better way to live, because there is no foundation more sure than the promise of God, and no better place to be than in his presence.

False obedience

I really appreciated this brilliant little post from Ray Ortlund yesterday:

“The hard sayings of our Lord are wholesome to those only who find them hard.”

C. S. Lewis, “Dangers of National Repentance,” in God in the Dock (Grand Rapids, 1970), page 191.

Obedience that doesn’t cost us anything may be more natural and glib than Christian. After all, self-righteousness “obeys”—and wonders impatiently what’s wrong with everyone else.

As usual, the Rev. Dr. Ortlund takes a truth I’ve been trying to express—and this is something I’ve been talking about a fair bit lately, what with one thing and another—and puts it better than I ever could.

Divine invitation

Since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart
in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience
and our bodies washed with pure water.

—Hebrews 10:19-22 (ESV)

This is the invitation to us from the word of God: Jesus has opened the way for you—take advantage! You have a great high priest in whom all your sins are forgiven—don’t be afraid! You are invited to come freely into the presence of the living God—so come! Approach God! Draw near! Don’t be afraid—in Jesus you have been washed, you have been purified, you are forgiven! God has put a new heart and a new spirit within you—his Spirit—he’s renewing you from the inside out. No matter what you’ve done, God sees you in Jesus, as he’s making you to be, and he loves you. Come to him, come close to him, with full confidence and trust, for you are welcome.

This is an invitation that should give us heart and courage, and I suspect it’s one that many of us can’t hear too often. There are some folks who are quite sure they’re just wonderful, but for those of us for whom self-doubt is a familiar companion, this is a particular blessing. It’s very reassuring to know that it’s not about self-esteem or self-worth or believing in ourselves, all of which place a great weight squarely on our shoulders; rather, it’s about believing in God and his faithfulness and the power of what Jesus has done for us, and knowing that it doesn’t matter how we feel: whether we’re up or down and whatever the Devil may be whispering in our ears, Jesus saved us, God loves us, and we are his.

Which should give us courage to hold fast to our hope in Christ, and to our open declaration of that hope—which of course we must do if we are to draw near to God through him. If we begin to lose hope, or if we become ashamed to proclaim it, then we will naturally look for alternatives, and we will not draw near to God through Christ; but we have reason to be bold, for our hope is sure and certain. We have every reason for confidence in the faithfulness of God, because we have seen it in Jesus; we have every reason to be confident that Jesus is enough, because he has already done far more than we could ever have imagined. And we have every reason to proudly proclaim our hope to all who will listen, and to keep proclaiming it even when times get hard, even when we hurt, and even when there is opposition, because Jesus has never failed us yet. He doesn’t make the road easy, but if we hang on tight to him, he always leads us through.

(Excerpted from “Draw Near”)

It’s about Christ, not burning Qur’ans

I’m sure you know that down in Gainesville, Florida, a church-like institution led by an individual impersonating a pastor is planning a bonfire of Qur’ans on 9/11. You probably know that his plan is opposed by public figures not just on the Left, but on the Right; I think Glenn Beck and Gov. Sarah Palin offered perhaps the best statements on the matter. Gov. Palin, I think, did a particularly good job of appealing to the better nature and judgment of Terry Jones, the guy who hatched this plan:

Gospel hope and gospel change

We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf.

—Hebrews 6:19-20a (ESV)

And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises.

—Hebrews 6:11-12 (ESV)

The gospel rests ultimately on the fact that God is faithful. We have hope because God who cannot lie and who cannot go back on his word made a promise, and in Jesus, he kept it. In Jesus, we need not worry about being swept away by the storms of life or capsized by their waves, for our hope in him is a soul anchor, a sure and steadfast anchor for the soul that holds us firm and steadfast where we need to be in the face of the worst life can throw at us. Nothing in this world can pull that anchor loose, because it isn’t hooked onto anything worldly: it’s hooked onto the very throne of God.

On not praying for a religious revival

A Mormon television star stands in front of the Lincoln Memorial and calls American Christians to revival. He assembles some evangelical celebrities to give testimonies, and then preaches a God and country revivalism that leaves the evangelicals cheering that they’ve heard the gospel, right there in the nation’s capital.

The news media pronounces him the new leader of America’s Christian conservative movement, and a flock of America’s Christian conservatives have no problem with that.

That’s Russell Moore’s brief summary of the rally Glenn Beck pulled together on the Mall in Washington, D.C. last Saturday (HT: Jared Wilson), and it seems to me to be more or less fair. It’s certainly generated a lot of praise and positive commentary for Beck from people in the American church; but it troubles me. Indeed—though I’m not one for theological purity tests in politics, like this guy seems to me to be advocating, as a precondition for working together for the common good—I have to agree with Dr. Moore: this is a scandal.

A thought on keeping faith and politics straight

Musing on some of the posts I’ve read from Glenn Beck’s big D.C. rally today, I came back to an observation that occurred to me while I was writing last Sunday’s sermon. I have many times heard people give thanks that we live in a nation where we are allowed to worship God without having to worry about dying for it, and that is indeed reason to be grateful; but how often do we stop to give thanks to Jesus that we can worship God without dying for it? The fundamental freedom to worship God in spirit and in truth doesn’t come from our Constitution, it comes from Christ. Worthy is the Lamb who was slaughtered, because it’s only through his blood, it’s only because he allowed himself to be butchered, that we can enter the presence of God. We need to remember which is the greater gift.

Unfortunately, I think sometimes we lose sight of that, and it shifts our focus. We Americans should be proud of and grateful for our country, yes, because it’s the one God has given us, and because we’re fortunate to live here; but we should never, under any circumstances, for any reason, seek to use our faith for political purposes. We should never do anything that makes our allegiance to Christ secondary to our allegiance to any earthly flag. To do so is idolatry, and a betrayal of the one we claim to worship.

Homosexuality and the challenge of idolatry

It would be a lot more pleasant, in some ways, to be able to support the pro-homosex position. It would certainly be easier. After all, the church is called to welcome everyone in the love and grace of Jesus Christ, and it’s a fair bit easier to make people feel welcome if one can simply affirm their choices and decisions. That’s one reason why so many churches wink at so many other sins.

Beyond that, though, in American culture these days—perhaps not here, but in our country in general—being a straight guy who supports gay rights is a pretty comfortable thing to be. After all, the bigots on the conservative side—and there certainly are some—might yell at you a little, but they save the real abuse for homosexuals; the price paid by heterosexuals who argue for gay rights is pretty minimal. Meanwhile, liberal bigots—and there are definitely those, too—will pat you on the back and tell you how enlightened you are. For that matter, so will most of the American intelligentsia, and most of our rich and famous. And if a lot of other Americans disagree with you—well, that just offers the chance to indulge the ancient vice of snobbery.

These are some of the things that would make it a lot easier to throw in the towel regarding homosexuality. And yet, I am committed to understanding the Scriptures—which means standing under them, letting them read me and control my thinking, not trying to read my thinking into them. I am committed, further, to the principle that the call of God is a radical one, that Jesus calls us to give up everything to follow him, and that anyone who hears the call of Christ and is not challenged on some point of sinfulness in their lives didn’t really hear his voice at all. As uncomfortable as it might make me, as risky as it might be, if I start backing down on the issue of homosexuality, it won’t stop there. After all, it would be a lot easier just to affirm gossips in their gossiping and liars in their lying, too.

I keep coming back to the Rev. Tim Keller’s point, in his sermon at GCNC last year, that we cannot truly preach the gospel if we aren’t identifying and confronting the idols in our churches. It’s not just a matter of confronting sin; if all we do is point out and condemn the behaviors people already acknowledge as sinful and for which they already feel shame, we aren’t doing anything but piling on. The crux of the matter, rather, is identifying the desires and behaviors and heart attitudes that people (including ourselves, no question) don’t acknowledge as sin, and don’t want to admit are sinful—not the ones people already hate and wish they could give up (the challenge there is to support and encourage them in that work), but the ones they love and to which they cling, because those areas of sin have become idols in their lives.

That’s a necessary task in ministry, but it’s one from which we too often flinch, because people usually don’t respond pleasantly to it. Try it, and you’ll be called every name in the book, and maybe even some that aren’t in there yet; and in particular, you’ll be called hateful, unloving, judgmental, and maybe even pharisaical (depending on the other person’s vocabulary). And yet, doing so isn’t unloving in the least; in truth, it’s a profound act of love. Too often, I think, we don’t love others enough to risk their anger and abuse by telling them something they don’t want to hear, even if they deeply need to hear it. Easier not to care that much, to just be quiet instead. It’s a shame, really; in fact, it’s a damned shame. Literally.

Ephesians 5:18-23

Don’t get drunk on wine, which leads to dissipation

          but

be filled up by the Spirit

• addressing each other with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs

• singing and playing to the Lord with all your heart

• giving thanks always for everything

• to God the Father

• in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ

• submitting to one another in reverence for Christ

• wives to husbands as to the Lord

                  because

• the husband is the head of the wife

          just as

• Christ is the head of the church

• being himself the Savior of the body

(This is my own rendering of this passage, laid out in such a way as to show the development of this one, long, classically Pauline run-on sentence. Most English translations chop the sentence up; in particular, they chop it at verse 22 and insert a heading on the order of “Wives and Husbands,” making it appear that Paul is ending one section and starting a whole new thought. In actual fact, he’s still in mid-flight—verse 22 doesn’t even contain a participle, let alone an imperative verb.)

The tree of liberty is rooted in the soil of the gospel

As Calvin Coolidge put it, in a remarkable speech delivered on the 150th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence,

No one can examine this record and escape the conclusion that in the great outline of its principles the Declaration was the result of the religious teachings of the preceding period. The profound philosophy which Jonathan Edwards applied to theology, the popular preaching of George Whitefield, had aroused the thought and stirred the people of the Colonies in preparation for this great event. No doubt the speculations which had been going on in England, and especially on the Continent, lent their influence to the general sentiment of the times. Of course, the world is always influenced by all the experience and all the thought of the past. But when we come to a contemplation of the immediate conception of the principles of human relationship which went into the Declaration of Independence we are not required to extend our search beyond our own shores. They are found in the texts, the sermons, and the writings of the early colonial clergy who were earnestly undertaking to instruct their congregations in the great mystery of how to live. They preached equality because they believed in the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. They justified freedom by the text that we are all created in the divine image, all partakers of the divine spirit. . . .

If this apprehension of the facts be correct, and the documentary evidence would appear to verify it, then certain conclusions are bound to follow. A spring will cease to flow if its source be dried up; a tree will wither if it roots be destroyed. In its main features the Declaration of Independence is a great spiritual document. It is a declaration not of material but of spiritual conceptions. Equality, liberty, popular sovereignty, the rights of man—these are not elements which we can see and touch. They are ideals. They have their source and their roots in the religious convictions. They belong to the unseen world. Unless the faith of the American people in these religious convictions is to endure, the principles of our Declaration will perish. We can not continue to enjoy the result if we neglect and abandon the cause.

The cost of saying, “Peace, peace” when there is no peace

From a great post by Ray Ortlund, “‘One anothers’ I can’t find in the New Testament”:

Humble one another, scrutinize one another, pressure one another, embarrass one another, corner one another, interrupt one another, defeat one another, disapprove of one another, run one another’s lives, confess one another’s sins, intensify one another’s sufferings, point out one another’s failings . . . .

In a soft environment, where we settle for a false peace with present evils, we turn on one another. In a realistic environment, where we are suffering to advance the gospel, our thoughts turn to how we can stick up for one another.

It’s a great list, very true and very much on point; but I think that second paragraph is even more important: when we make peace with the real enemy, when we refuse to confront (or even decide to accommodate) the evils of our day, we end up treating each other as the enemy instead. We cannot have gospel unity if we have sold out gospel clarity.

Criminalizing evangelism?

You've probably heard about the Christians who were arrested last Friday night in Dearborn, MI and charged with disorderly conduct for attempting to give people copies of an English/Arabic Gospel of John outside the Arab International Festival. If not, here's the video they took (though I'm not sure how, since their cameras were confiscated):

On liking Jesus and building the church

A church sign I passed today has up what I would guess is the title of this coming Sunday’s sermon: “They Like Jesus but Not the Church.” Of course, I know that isn’t original, but comes from Dan Kimball’s book of the same title, but it got me thinking. Taken purely as a cultural observation, that would seem to be hard to argue—there are indeed a great many people who like Jesus but don’t like his church at all, and there are certainly churches out there that make it easy to understand why. No question, the American church needs to do a better job in a number of ways at living out the gospel and representing Jesus to the world, starting with actually being committed to living out the gospel and representing Jesus to the world, instead of all the other junk we so often get on about instead.

But stop a minute. If we were truly a Christ-centered gospel-driven Spirit-actuated community of committed believers who hungered and thirsted for righteousness, would that mean that “they,” whoever “they” are, would like the church and we would all feel nicely validated? The thing about Kimball’s title, which our neighboring church pastor borrowed for his sermon, is that most people don’t seem to take it or offer it as merely an observation, but rather as a criticism—that if we just did this church thing right, whatever “right” is supposed to look like, that “they” would like us. The underlying assumption here is, I think, that it’s perfectly reasonable that the world around us should like Jesus, and that if we were just more like Jesus, the world would like us too, our churches would grow, and we would be more “successful.”

It’s a widespread assumption, in part because it’s a very comfortable one for an American church that, by and large, still hasn’t realized that Christendom is dead, has been given its eulogy, and is now feeling the thumps of the gravediggers’ shovels; but there are voices that demur. Above all, there is this one:

A thought on the Trinity

In the course of preparing a sermon I did the other week on the Trinity, I was going through all the usual images and analogies people use to try to illustrate or explain it (a group which runs all the way from bad to incipiently heretical) when I ran across one I’d never heard before that actually has something to recommend it. Believe it or not, there are those who argue that the structure of our government was influenced by trinitarian theology. As history, I don’t know what to make of that—it’s an interesting idea, but I haven’t seen any primary sources that support it—but as an analogy, it has its points. There is a certain hierarchy and structure to our branches of government, but none of them are dominant; each does different things; and the relationship between them constitutes our government and makes things happen. Thus, for instance, laws are passed by the legislative branch, executed and administered by the executive branch, and enforced by the judicial branch.

Of course, like any analogy, this one has its dangers (including the temptation to snipe about the tendency of government to think it’s God) and its limits: God is unlimited and perfect, while our government is limited and imperfect (though it occasionally forgets the fact) because it’s composed of limited and imperfect people. It also, however, has this advantage, that it points us to one reason why the doctrine of the Trinity matters. The structure of our government is intrinsically relational—each branch acts on the others and is acted on in turn, and it’s those actions and relationships that actually constitute the workings of our government.

Unlike the Trinity, of course, no one would ever describe the interrelationships of the three branches as a dance, but like I said, every analogy has its limits. It remains clear even so that our government is fundamentally different from what one might call a unitarian government (such as a monarchy or dictatorship)—it’s not just a different version of the same thing, but something truly different in kind. In the same way, the Triune God is profoundly different in being from any unitarian god we might imagine, and that difference is of fundamental importance.