A Visit to the Temple of Doom

Last night, Bryan Chapell and I went to a Cubs game; it was my first visit to Wrigley Field (aka "the temple of doom"). We left before the beginning of the 9th inning; it looks like we missed the main part of the ball game.

For those keeping track of my life goal, I continue to add ball parks to my list. Here is the update (new ball parks in blue):

American League
Yankee Stadium (NY Yankees)
Tropicana Field (Tampa Bay D-Rays)
Camden Yards (Baltimore Orioles)
Fenway Park (Boston Red Sox)
US Celluar Field (Chi White Sox)
The Ballpark at Arlington (Texas Rangers)

National League
Citizens Bank Park (Philadelphia Phillies)
Turner Field (Atlanta Braves)
Busch Stadium (STL Cardinals)
Great American Ball Park (Cincinnati Reds)
Wrigley Field (Chicago Cubs)
PNC Park (Pittsburgh Pirates)
Dodger Stadium (LA Dodgers)
Petco Park (San Diego Padres)

By my count, that is 14 out of 30 current ball parks; of course, Yankee Stadium will go off the list next year (since the new Yankee Stadium will be online then). Still, perseverance is the key! The ball park that I most want to go to now is AT&T Park in San Francisco.

The Gospel in all its forms

More wisdom on sharing the Gospel from Tim Keller.

Cambridge Observations, no. 3

One of the key teachings in the course that I took at Harvard was the importance of "owning your piece of the mess." That is to say, as we operate within organizations, we need to view the whole systemically and to see ourselves as part of that system. Inevitably, we bring attitudes and actions, frequently representing attempts at self-protection and self-promotion, that contribute to the "adaptive challenge" that the system faces. In order to exercise genuine leadership, we must recognize our own failures and resistance to "risk" and possibly experience loss--the loss of our sense of competence, significance, and even security.

As the class members interacted with each other within the system of the classroom, it was striking to watch each person struggle with his or her inability to see how he or she contributed to the failure of the whole; to risk admitting a lack of competence (this coming from those who do leadership training for a living) would have been akin to death. As a result, the class struggled forward to operate as an organization that sought to benefit the learning of every class member.

Watching this, it struck me that while the necessary personal work that lay behind this teaching point was very important, it was also very unlikely that any one would be able to risk their own loss of security and significance outside of a robustly Christian framework.

That is to say: if self-love is embedded in us by our Creator, and if that self-love finds no higher aspiration than self-protection and self-promotion, then it is not rational for someone to act against their own self-love to promote the ends of any group, unless it can be demonstrated that there is some reward or benefit at the end of it all. As most who work within the workplace can attest, there are very few people who are able to subordinate their own self-love for the organization's good (Jim Collins, in Good to Great, calls these Level 5 executives; he also notes how rare they are).

Within a Christian framework, such risk is possible because our self-love finds its highest satisfaction and fulfillment in delighting in God. As a result, it is possible to "count all things as loss compared to the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord" (Phil 3:8) and "in humility [to] count others more significant than yourselves" (Phil 2:3). It is possible to live in "one accord" and with "one mind" (Phil 1:27; 2:1-2) within a community or organization and to risk our own security and significance in looking to the interests of others (Phil 2:4; 2:21). And even if we fail and suffer, it is possible to know joy and delight because our highest treasure is not our competence; rather, our highest treasure is being found in Christ with a righteousness not our own and a resurrection that will bring great glory (Phil 3:8-10).

Of course, the question that immediately comes is why Christian organizations (churches, schools, businesses) struggle with the same in-fighting, same inability to risk themselves for the good of the whole, and same unwillingness to own their own piece of the mess. Ultimately, I think it comes down to a failure to live lives worthy of the Gospel (Phil 1:27), in which we truly believe that to live is Christ and to die is gain (Phil 1:21). And that comes back to a matter of unbelief: that God's steadfast love really and truly is better than life.

And such a recognition brings us to repentance and renewal and finally hope: because God delights in receiving us back to delight in himself and because such delight is the only hope that we will gain small foretastes of the final form of God's Kingdom here in the present age in our churches, workplaces, and families.

Cambridge Observations, no. 2

I'm back home after a week at Harvard University where I attended a course on "the art and practice of leadership development." The course was led by Marty Linsky and Ronald Heifetz, who co-authored Leadership on the Line. It was a fascinating week: the course served to model teaching leadership development through "case-in-point" methods. Throughout the week, the students (mainly professional leadership/organizational development trainers and faculty) struggled to figure out what "the work" was--in many ways demonstrating the same disequilibrium and disorientation that many face in the work place.

What was even more interesting was the range of people in the room. It was an international group with people from Israel, Dubai, Denmark, Wales, Northern Ireland, Republic of Ireland, Scotland, Austria, Chile, Argentina, and Australia. There were three people from explicitly religious organizations (Alban Institute; the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts; and me). There were people who worked at universities and in national and state governments.

There were a number of good conversations outside the classroom. One recurring theme that came up when people starting talking religion was a fairly common distinction between "religion" and "spirituality." Once people discovered a little bit about my background--as a Presbyterian minister and Seminary dean--some would invariably say, "Well, I don't like religion because it puts me into a box; it judges me. But I value spirituality highly."

My public response, since we were engaged in polite conversation, was that the best of the Christian tradition has sought to distinguish itself from "religion." Religion typically comes with a message of moralism--do this and you will live. Biblical Christianity comes and says, your only hope and comfort is believe in Jesus Christ and you will live. Even when this was said gently and kindly, it was enough to lead them to change the conversation.

But my more thorough response would be to raise the points of Ludwig Feuerbach against their conception of spirituality. After all, Feuerbach argued strenuously that God was simply the projection of human ideals. If "spirituality" is merely a projection of myself, then it seems more intellectually honest to admit the fact, give up the charade of "spirituality," and move toward a thoroughly closed-box universe with a concomitant behaviorist psychology.

One reason most people can't make that move is because, as Calvin pointed out, there is a "seed of divinity" or a "sense of the divine" that points to something truly beyond ourselves. Feuerbach's attempt to rid the universe of reality in itself (i.e. God) fails to account for this. Even more, Christianity stands or falls on the fact that, as Francis Schaeffer put it, God is there and God has spoken. This objective reality beyond ourselves has moved toward humankind through Scripture. And this revelation offers as a comprehensive, coherent, and compelling worldview that makes sense of reality.

Another reason most people can't move with Feuerbach is that a closed-box universe supported by a rigorous Hegelian philosophy and evolutionary science can't produce an account of the apparent "randomness" and "purposelessness" of human existence. All it can logically come up with is the "will to live"; but why do humans have the will to live? And why do bad things happen? Where does evil come from? Why do we seek justice? And scores of questions besides. Only Christianity through biblical revelation can provide a compelling account of these questions.

It strikes me that if those who want to reside with "spirituality" were to take Feuerbach's challenge seriously, it would force them to reckon with the real choice: not between religion and spirituality, but between a biblical account of the world and our place in it versus a purposeless, meaningless, and deterministic universe. But these are hard things to say in polite conversation.

Cambridge Observations, no. 1

I'm in Cambridge, Massachusetts, for a week-long class at the Center for Public Leadership at the Kennedy School of Government. I got here a few hours early to wander around (after a fiasco with the cabbie; yo, Holmes, smell you later); one thing that struck me immediately was when I walked past First Church (Unitarian Universalist) and wandered through the church yard.

First Church is clearly struggling--it just called a new senior minister on April 20, but it currently had interim senior and associate ministers. Even more, it was striking to see the former church of Thomas Shepherd as a Unitarian congregation. Of course, the Unitarian division occurred 150 years after Shepherd, but I wonder whether the moralistic approach that he took--grounding justification in sanctification--contributed to the eventually move to moralistic Unitarianism.

The other sign of struggle was the church yard. Compared to well-maintained church yards like First Presbyterian Church, Columbia, South Carolina, the church yard at First Church was a mess--unmowed, broken head stones, trashed. Even more, the graves of several early Harvard presidents were poorly maintained. I was shocked that a school with a $19 billion endowment couldn't contribute a little coin to maintain the graves of early presidents.

Graduation Benediction 2008

This is the benediction I will give tonight at Covenant Seminary's baccalaureate service on May 15, 2008; it was drawn from 1 Peter 4:7-11:

Friends, families, graduates of the Class of 2008:

As those who have received God's varied grace

And as those who have been called as God's stewards,

May God grant you to be self-controlled and sober-minded,

To love God's people earnestly, and

To serve God's people with divine strength

So that in everything God may be glorified

Through Jesus Christ

To whom belong glory and dominion

Forever and ever, Amen.

Preaching the Gospel to all sorts of voices

Many readers of this blog are familiar with Martyn Lloyd-Jones' instruction to preaching the Gospel to ourselves. In his book, Spiritual Depression (pp. 20-21), Lloyd-Jones said:

Have you realized that most of your unhappiness in life is due to the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself? Take those thoughts that come to you the moment you wake up in the morning. You have not originated them, but they start talking to you, they bring back the problem of yesterday, etc. Somebody is talking. Who is talking to you? Your self is talking to you. Now this man's treatment [in Psalm 42] was this; instead of allowing this self to talk to him, he starts talking to himself, 'Why art thou cast down, O my soul?' he asks.

My colleague, Anthony Bradley, has also written well about this reality: these voices in our head, often the voice of our Enemy, often speaking to us with dark and negative words ("you are a loser; no one cares about you; why should you bother? etc.). I wonder, though, how often we have thought about preaching the Gospel to ourselves with the voices that we hear inside ourselves are praising, flattering, and/or boastful.

This whole line of thought--our/my great need to hear the Gospel cutting through voices of self-pity or boasting--struck me in my morning worship as I read Psalm 34 and John Piper's What Jesus Demands from the World.

From Psalm 34, the Lord confront me with my self-pity. There the singer declares, "O fear the Lord, you his saints, for those who fear him have no lack! The young lions suffer want and hunger; but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing" (34:9-10). I thought immediately of another text that has been kicking me in the pants recently, Psalm 23:1, "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want (lack)."

How often I have sat in my study in the early morning complaining to God because I lack! Calling, reputation, finances, family, and a host of other issues have caused me to complain in self-pity--yet here again, the Lord challenged the voices in my heart. He called me the preach the Gospel to myself, "O heart, you think you lack security and significance because you are wrestling with these things; but as long as you seek the Lord, you'll lack no good thing because the Lord gives you himself! Isn't that enough? Be content, rest, find your satisfaction in him--taste and see that he is good!"

The Lord used Piper to confront me from a different direction. Talking about the "righteousness of the Pharisees" which was really "tragic and ugly," Piper noted that the Pharisees really loved money, praise, and sex--that was their "righteousness." It was the middle issue--praise--that arrested me (p. 194):

The reward they sought for what they did was not the enjoyment of God’s fellowship, but the admiration of others. Jesus said, “They do all their deeds to be seen by others. For they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long, and they love the place of honor at feasts and the best seats in the synagogues and greetings in the marketplaces and being called rabbi by others” (Matt. 23:5-7). This love affair with the praise of man made genuine faith in the self-sacrificing Christ impossible. So Jesus said to them, “How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?” (John 5:44). Their hearts were not drawn to God as their reward, but to the praise of man.

It struck me with great force that at those times when I feel my heart being drawn to the praise of men rather than God as my reward, when I hear the voices telling me, "You are a rock star; you are the greatest ___ (fill in the blank); there is no one greater than you," it is another occasion to preach the Gospel to myself: "O heart, the praise of men is ultimately a drug that cannot satisfy. You know that--you've experienced the emptiness that comes from longing for praise, receiving it, and feeling empty at the end. Run to Christ--make your boast in him! Taste and see that the Lord is good, see and savor him alone! Only then will you find rest, contentment, and joy."

At the end of it all, the Spirit must use his word of gospel grace every day to confront my heart, to kill this sin of pride that manifests itself as self-pity and boasting, and to silence the voices. Only then, only then, will I hear the sweet voice of the Spirit say, "You are not a deserving servant; you are a beloved son. Rest in that and find in me the satisfaction, security, and significance for which your heart longs."

Ministerial Students, Calling, and PhD Studies

Every year, I meet with a number of seminary students who are interested in pursuing PhD studies. Usually, the first question I ask them is: "Why? Why do you believe that doctoral studies are part of God's calling for you?" And the most frequent answer falls into a pattern that I have seen at the three seminaries where I have been privileged to work.

You see, most (male) students come to pursue an MDiv degree because they believe that God has called them to ministry in the context of the local church. Most frequently, that has some connection to preaching, teaching, administering the sacraments, praying, leading, and counseling--the basic functions of either a senior, solo, or staff pastors.

Many come to seminary with a very romantic view of the ministry--having grown up in churches, many of which were strong and stable, it appeared that the senior pastor's life offered security and significance. In addition, these students may have had someone who impacted their lives in a profound way: perhaps a youth minister, campus minister, or senior minister who took time with them and discipled them in the basic practices of the Christian faith. In a response of romance, gratitude, and epiphany, these students come to seminary desiring to be used by God in a similar way.

Until they get to seminary. And then they discover several things: one is that seminary can be difficult. They struggle with Greek and Hebrew; they find that their wives and children serve as sanctifying agents in ways they hadn't before (amazing what an 800 sq. ft. on-campus apartment can do); God begins to peel back their hearts in ways that had never happened before. Their wives may go through a period of questioning them--why did you lead us away from Egypt (or Atlanta, Birmingham, Houston, Los Angeles, or wherever) to bring us to the wilderness?

Another is that ministry can be difficult. Through field education, as these students begin to spend time as interns or directors of ministries in the context of the local church, they see the other side of ministerial life: the grace-filled thorns that the Apostle Paul talks about in 2 Corinthians 12. They are exposed to infighting among ruling elders or among church staff members; they engage in the less glamorous parts of ministry (one internship I had at a church led to hours spent in the church's tape room making copies of sermons for distribution to the congregation); they sometimes feel a bit ignored.

A final discovery is this reality: as one friend put it, that while they were the rising star at their local churches--the one surrendered to vocational ministry--when they come to seminary there are hundreds (at Covenant Seminary, 350 MDiv students) just like them. Suddenly, they don't feel so special any more, which can lead to profound doubts and questions about calling.

Suddenly, they begin to look at their seminary professors in a whole new light. They seem suave, secure, significant; they have time to read books and write learned essays; they control the classroom and have no one to say them nay; their families seem protected, isolated from churchly toil, struggle, and infighting--plus, the seminary profs get paid for all this. The sense of calling with which the students came--an internal call matched by the church's approbation that they had pastoral gifts for local church ministry--begins to shift.

This shift coincides with the particular interest that academic work can bring: for example, they have a faculty member whose class opens a whole new world for them in their class or discipline; they write a paper that brings genuine satisfaction, a satisfaction that the internship just doesn't match; they serve as a teaching assistant for a favorite faculty member, doing grading and even a taste of teaching. Maybe, maybe, God really called them to ministry in general and is now calling them to the academic life in particular.

All of this adds up for them and brings them to my office. Now, there are those who come for whom it seems that God may have an academic career in mind. For these, I try to be as honest as possible--you do have academic gifting, but you have to recognize that there are a glut of PhDs in the job market; that competition for jobs is ruthless; and that you are probably more likely to find a job at a college or university, which is why you should target your students as widely as possible (instead of OT or NT, go to a university for a PhD program in religious studies; instead of church history or historical theology, go to a university for a PhD program in history; etc.). In addition, I have to tell these people how unlikely it is for them to teach at a seminary that is serious about training pastors if they themselves do not have some pastoral experience (which, for some reason, always seems to surprise them). Still, for these, I encourage them, write references for them, and try to provide appropriate guidance as they walk along the path.

For others, I try to raise as many questions as possible--are you really sure you have the academic gifting or interest (for these, I usually ask them to tell me what books in the field of interest they have read outside of class in this past semester. That is an excellent barometer for gauging whether they will succeed in a PhD program)? What has happened in their lives to cause them to reevaluate their sense of calling? Do they really understand how unlikely it is for them to find a job--would they really be willing to go through the pain of PhD studies if they knew they didn't have a job at the end? Do they really understand how insecure academic life is? Will they listen to me tell them how unsatisfying academic significance turns out to be? These students tend to leave my office discouraged; some still try to do PhD work, but very few complete their programs and/or find teaching posts.

There are a (very) few who want to do a PhD in order to equip them better for pastoral ministry. For these, I simply rejoice and try to encourage them not to allow the apparent blandishments of academic life to sway them from the God-given trajectory they are pursuing. For what our churches need are pastors who can bring the critical thinking skills that PhD studies teach to their tasks. Notice that I didn't say pastor-scholars: I fear that all too often we say that and the mental picture that forms includes academic (biblical or theological) essays for sermons; thirteen hours in the study each day; and a focus on the call of the academy instead of the needs of the church. But what PhD studies do provide are critical thinking skills--the ability to discern and divide issues, the larger and more sharply honed knowledge base, and the writing skills which should translate into preaching--all of which strengthen pastoral ministry, all of which strengthen the church of Jesus.

I do wish that we had more of this last group. What I find, however, is that even these students are open to a particular struggle--the divided mind of the pastor-scholar, the tug-and-pull between pastoral ministry in the context of a local congregation on the one side and academic ministry in the context of a college, university, or seminary. As one friend has told me, for most of these students, to have to resolve the division on one side or the other often feels like death, having to close off one part of themselves to engage the other side of their gift mix and calling (there are very few churches like Tenth Presbyterian or Bethlehem Baptist, which see their senior minister's writing ministry as a significant part of his calling; and on the other side, most seminaries generally frown on extended, weekly preaching ministry on the part of their faculty).

All of this makes the Jeremiah Burroughs' quote just below this post even more apparently elusive--how to be sure of God's call in whatever engages our hands to do? I think it is probably by taking another part of Burroughs' direction for contentment to heart: "Exercise faith by often resigning yourself to God, by giving yourself up to God and his ways. The more you in a believing way surrender up yourself to God, the more quiet and peace you will have" (Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, 219). Regularly returning to the Lord and offering up our hearts to him, saying again and again, "Lord, I serve at your bidding. Guide your servant as you see fit," will grant us quiet, peace, and confidence in God's calling in our ministerial lives.

Contentment and Calling

From Jeremiah Burroughs, The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment (Banner of Truth, 1964), 217:

[Directions on how to attain contentment] 3. Be sure of your call to every business you go about. Though it is the least business, be sure of your call to it; then whatever you meet with, you may quiet your heart with this: I know I am where God would have me. Nothing in the world will quiet the heart so much as this: when I meet with any cross, I know I am where God would have me, in my place and calling; I am about the work that God has set me. Oh, this will quiet and content you when you meet with trouble. What God calls a man to, in that he may have comfort whatever befalls him. God will look to you, and see you blessed if you are in the work God calls you to.

How they are to hear without someone preaching?

Today, in my morning worship, the section of scripture was Romans 9-11 and smack dab in the middle of it, of course, was these words from Romans 10:14. There were a number of thoughts that struck me:

1) While we rightly must think through all sorts of issues regarding contextualization in order to speak God's Word into this moment in time; and while we must coupled together appropriate deed ministry to incarnate the love of Jesus; and the end of the day, the Gospel comes to people through the preaching of God's Word. That was the mission that Jesus had (Mark 1:38); that is the mission that he has given to his followers (Luke 24:45-46). We are witnesses to the reality of the Gospel and we must preach that word of witness.

2) These words again confirmed for me the importance of theological education. God's means for bringing his good news to the world is through the ministry of the Word; his way of doing this is by sending preachers; and the way to equip those preachers is through theological education. That doesn't necessarily mean that we must have degree-granting seminaries to do theological education; but that does mean that we have structures to provide essential biblical, theological, historical, and pastoral knowledge that can be used and shared with others.

3) And these words come again to me and challenge my sense of calling. My heart has always been for the church and for the ministry of the Word. Am I doing the right thing as a Seminary administrator? Should I be involved in the regular, weekly ministry of the Word in the context of a local congregation? Will God send me to a particular people for this work at some point? How will others hear without someone preaching?

What NOT to buy for Mother's Day

For all of you who struggle with holidays, the top five things NOT to give to wife/mama.

Don't Waste Your Pulpit

This is a very, very good Desiring God video. Lord, send us more men who will not simply take God's Word and preaching serious, but who see it as the only means by which God sets people free and causes them to delight in God's own self.

[HT: JT]

Facebook

Finally joined. It is like getting an 8-track tape player after everyone has iPods. But there you go.

Continuing Proof that Good Triumphs Over Evil

Cards take two out of three from the Cubs (or as we call 'em in our house, "The Devil's Team").

Neologism for Commencement Exercises...

From my colleague David Jones, professor emeritus of systematic theology and ethics: mortarboarding

Thomas Chalmers

This past weekend, I finished a biography on Thomas Chalmers, the 19th-century Church of Scotland evangelical who was the main impetus behind the creation of the Free Church of Scotland in 1843. Authored by Stewart Brown, professor of ecclesiastical history at Edinburgh, Thomas Chalmers and the Godly Commonwealth (1982) suggested that Chalmers' true importance came from his attempt to renew Scottish society through the extension and intensification of the parish system. By limiting parishes to cover 2000 people and a spate of new church building, ministers and elders would be able to care directly for the needs of working class and transient poor through a visitation system that extended the church's poor relief directly to the needs of the people.

Chalmers' dream, however, was crushed ultimately through the failure of the British government to endow ministerial salaries for the new churches and to fund the building of new church structures. In addition, the government argued in the 1840s that the church was actually subordinate to the state--when the state provided incomes for ministers and funded churches, then the state (through the agency of landed heirators who placed ministers in their livings) had the right to dictate to the church even in "spiritual" or ecclesiastical matters. As a result, Chalmers' vision was caught on twin horns: needing government financial support truly to succeed; and yet desiring to avoid governmental interference with what it funds.

This well-wrought book raised all sorts of questions for me on matters as wide-ranging as the nature of the church's social involvement; the character of the "spiritual" nature and mission of the church; the relationship between church and state in situations of establishment; and the character of Chalmers himself, who despite his notable achievements was a profoundly flawed and not very likable individual (at least, in this presentation). It caused me to desire more, both about the period in the United Kingdom (next will be Roy Jenkins' Gladstone) as well as about Chalmers and his effect on Christianity in Scotland into the present day.

The shed blood of Christ: the foundation of Christianity

Another timely word from Horatius Bonar, in "Christ is All": The Piety of Horatius Bonar, ed. Michael A. G. Haykin and Darrin R. Brooker (2007), 79-80:

What is Christianity? Not metaphysics, not mysticism, not a compliation of guesses at truth. It is the history of the seed of the woman--that seed the Word made flesh--the Word made flesh, the revelation of the invisible Jehovah, the representative of the eternal God, the medium of communication between the Creator and the creature, between earth and heaven.

And of this Christianity, what is the essential characteristic, the indispensable feature from first to last? Is it incarnation or blood-shedding? Is it the cradle or the cross? Is it the scene at Bethlehem or at Golgotha? Assuredly the latter! "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani," is no mere outcry of suffering nature, the cross is no mere scene of human martyrdom, and the great sepulchre is no mere Hebrew tomb. It is only through blood-shedding that conscience is purged; it is only at the cross that the sinner can meet with God; it is the cross that knits heaven and earth together; it is the cross that bears up the collapsing universe; it is the pierced hand that holds the golden sceptre; it is at Calvary that we find the open gate of Paradise regained, and the gospel is good news to the sinner, of liberty to enter in.

Let men, with the newly sharpened axes of rationalism, do their utmost to hew down that cross; it will stand in spite of them. Let them apply their ecclesiastical paint-brush, and daub it all over with the most approved of medieval pigments to cover its nakedness, its glory will shine through all. Let them scoff at the legal transference of the sinner's guilt to a divine substitute, and of that Surety's righteousness to the sinner, as a Lutheran delusion, or a Puritan fiction, that mutual transference, that wondrous exchange, will be found to be wrapped up with Christianity itself. Let those who, like Cain of old, shrink from the touch of sacrificial blood and mock the "religion of the shambles," purge their consciences with the idea of God's universal Fatherhood, and try to wash their robes and make them white in something else than the blood of the Lamb.

To us, as to the saints of other days, there is but one purging of the conscience, one security for pardon, one way of access, one bond of reconciliation, one healing of our wounds, the death of Him on whom the chastisement of our peace was laid, and one everlasting song, "unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood" (Rev. 1:5).

How can I bless my pastor?

From John Piper:

Lead somebody to Christ. Live a holy life. Don't lose your faith when you get cancer. Bring up your kid to love Christ. Do something radical for missions.

The common denominator for all of those is that you prove by your life that I haven't wasted mine.

Don't give me a Rolls-Royce when I turn sixty. I would've wasted my life if you think you're blessing me with some big financial gift when I'm sixty. I want to see your life changed. I want to see you pour yourself out for others. And I'm sure that's what you're asking about.

I get in prayer meetings and listen to my people pray, and I say, "That's what I'm living for."

They're holding on to Jesus. Life is falling apart for them over here, but they're not giving up on the Lord. They're rejoicing in him. Or I hear a man tell about how he shared Christ at his work.

Those are the things that make a pastor endure anything.

Parker 51

This past week, while with friends at Westminster Seminary California, I discovered a minor-level cult--no, not what you might originally think (whatever that may be; fill in the blank). Rather, there are devotees of a particular pen made in the 1940s and 1950s: the Parker 51. My friend, Julius Kim, graciously has given me one and now I am part of the faithful: I've been surfing the internet, trying to find out more about the pen, looking for ink, studying the differences between vacumatic and aeromatic (check out the website; it tells you)--there is even a book about the Parker 51. With my obsessive personality, I will probably be on ebay trying to acquire a cool one like that one Julius has, one that only US Generals had during World War II. Be cool, join the faithful, like me and others; find and use a Parker 51.

In Birmingham they love the (future) governor...

Charles Barkley hopes to begin his future gubernatorial career first as mayor of Leeds, Alabama, just outside of Birmingham.

Wanderings in the Wilderness

Next week, I'm looking forward to being with friends and making new friends at Westminster Seminary California. I'll be giving two lectures, one in a class ("Jonathan Edwards and Federal Theology") and another in convocation ("The Only Hope for America: Southern Presbyterians, Billy Graham, and the Mission of the Church"). I'll also being leading a conversation on my essay, "Cruciform Friends," which you can find here, here, here, here and here. California really isn't the wilderness (or at least San Diego isn't); it only seems like it.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at the Twin Lakes Fellowship, which met outside Jackson, Mississippi. I'm so grateful to my friend, Ligon Duncan, for inviting me to be there and asking me to preach; it was great to be with brothers and friends who love Christ, his church, and his ordinary means of grace. You can find audio from the entire event here. Mississippi isn't really the wilderness either; in fact, one of my friends (a Yankee, actually) called it "the Mother Country." My great disappointment was not being able to get any BBQ while I was down; maybe next time.

Bragging...with gratitude

Just a little bit of braggin'--the new ESV Study Bible will have contributions from six of our biblical studies faculty:

• Jack Collins (Old Testament editor; Psalms; Song of Solomon; "Theology of the Old Testament"; "How the NT Quotes and Interprets the Old");
• Jay Sklar (Leviticus);
• Brian Aucker (Joel, Micah, Haggai);
• Hans Bayer (Mark);
• David Chapman (NT Archeology editor; Hebrews; "The Roman Empire and the Greco-Roman World"; "Archeology, Ancient History, and the Reliability of the NT"); and
• Greg Perry ("Old Testament Charts and Timelines").

It also has contributions by emeritus professor Bob Vasholz (Hosea) and current adjunct professors Ken Harris (Exodus; Proverbs) and Dan Doriani ("How to Interpret the Bible"). All of this makes me grateful and blessed to work with men like these--who love God's Word, proclaim its inerrancy, study it and the culture of the day, and contribute to the growth of God's Kingdom and Christ's Church through this effort. I can't wait to see the finished version!

Reformation21

As some may have noticed, I have joined the bloggers at Reformation21. For those who care, you can find the full blog interview, from which I've already snipped, here. I'm very much looking forward to participting in the conversations, although I've already learned to avoid that Rodney Trotter fellow, who is a bit smarmy and hangs out with bad characters.

Spirit-inspired Preaching

From William Still, The Work of the Pastor, pp. 14-15:

There is, of course, only one Teacher, the Holy Spirit. And if the Holy Spirit is not in our hearts, in our life, and in all our teaching of the Word of God (and He will not be if our characters are not being molded according to the moral and spiritual pattern of the Word), then we had better not open our mouths. For there is nothing so boring, stale, flat, and unprofitable as holy things retailed in the absence of the Spirit. This is one of the devil's most cunning tricks, to cause the Word of God to be dispensed by lazy, sleepy, moribund creatures, who find preaching the most burdensome part of their work and cannot help showing it.

I have heard people praying, praying, and teaching, and have been so desolated and my heart has been so opposed to the whole depressing exercise, that I have almost wished the things they said were not true so that I could refute them. The whole soul of man, even ungodly man, cries out against the Word of God as a dead thing. Where the Spirit of God is, there may and will be unpleasant manifestations, but there will not be boredom. Division there will be, some for and some against--that is another story--buy there will be life, and the Word of God will cut and melt ice, even if it confirms the unmeltability of some ice, which is even hardened by the Word of God. Change the metaphor to steel and you will understand what I am trying to say.

Things will happen. The preaching of the Word of God, when it flows through a living vessel dedicated utterly to the Master's use, is not only an event in the lives of those who hear it but becomes, first a decisive act, and then, necessary food for their souls. My whole concern in my work of trying to make pastors (and I have "made" too few, although I have had many men through my hands) is that they become men of God; then, the pastoral work will look after itself. It will still have to be done. But the man of God is made for that.

The question is: are you on the way to becoming men of God?

On trading fidelity to past truth for present relevancy

Horatius Bonar, quoted in "Christ is All": The Piety of Horatius Bonar, ed. Michael A. G. Haykin and Darrin R. Brooker (2007), 31-3:

Some well-meaning theological literateurs, or rather amateur theologians, who patronize religion in their own way, are fain to warn us of the danger of not "keeping abreast of the age," as if we were imperilling Christianity by not being quite so learned in modern speculations as they are. We should like, certainly, to "keep abreast" of all that is true and good, either in this age or any other; but as to doing more than that, or singling out this age as being pre-eminently worthy of being kept abreast of, we hesitate.

To be "up to" all the errors, fallacies, speculations, fancies, mis-criticisms of the age, would be an achievement of no mean kind; and to require us to be "up to" all this under threat of endangering Christianity, or betraying the Bible, is an exaction which could only be made by men who think that religion is much beholden to them for their condescending patronage; and will be accepted by men who are timid about the stability of the cross of Christ if left unpropped by human wisdom; and who, besides, happen to have three or four lifetimes to spare. We may be in a condition for believing, and even defending the Bible, without have mastered the whole deistical literature of the last century or the present...

In attempting to "keep abreast of the age," there is some danger of falling short of other ages; and we are not sure but that the object of those who shake this phrase so complacently in our faces, both as a taunt and a threat, is to draw us off from the past altogether, as if the greater bulk of its literature were rude lumber, a mere drag upon progress...Old theological terms and Scripture phraseology are set aside, or spoken in an undertone, or used in a loose sense. Sharp adhesion to old doctrines is imbecility; and yet defined expression of the new is avoided, the mind of the age being in a transition state, unable to bear the whole of what the exact and honest exhibition of "advanced" Christianity would require to utter.

Many of our young men are more afraid of being reckoned Calvinistic than Platonic; they shrink from bold and definite statements of Reformation doctrine, lest they should be pronounced "not abreast of the age"--stereotyped, if not imbecile. Indefinite language, mystical utterances, negative or defective statements, which will save the speaker's or writer's orthodoxy without compromising his reputation for "intellect" and "liberality"--these are becoming common. Manya re doing their best to serve to masters, to preach two gospels, to subscribe two confessions of faith, to worship two Gods, to combine to religions, to grasp two worlds; they would fain be neither very evangelical nor very heretical.

Current Issues for the Church

[This is another answer from a blog interview that will be posted soon. Of course, if I keep posting my answers here, you may not want to read the blog interview there.]

I think the number one issue facing the church today, as it is in every age, is this: will God’s people genuinely delight in God in such a way that those around us will long to rejoice in God as well? Older southern Presbyterians used to say that the answer to the church’s and the nation’s ills was revival. While their conception of revival was probably objectionable and their focus on America’s welfare was probably misplaced, their intuition was right: without renewed affections for God that cause us to delight in him and find our satisfaction in him and that will spill over in delight in God’s people, creation, and calling, we can have doctrinal precision, hip and relevant churches, or profound cultural engagement—and nothing will happen. No one’s lives will be changed. And so, we must be, in John Owen’s words, “greedy for delight” in God. We must have the Word and Spirit, living and active in our hearts and lives, families and congregations.

Directly behind this in importance is this question: will younger people see Presbyterianism, not simply as a means for branding or credentialing, but as a biblical, and hence viable, identity for our postmodern world? I still cannot get over James Henley Thornwell’s comment, “We shall, therefore, endeavor to do what has never yet been adequately done—bring out the energies of our Presbyterian system of government.” Here we are, over 145 years after he wrote that, and we still have never seen the energies of Presbyterianism adequately brought to the fore. We still haven’t figured out what it means to be a genuinely connectional church (which is the biblical way of affirming unity and particularity in an ecclesial fashion); how to do mission together rather than in a “hiddly-piddly” fashion; how to hold each other accountable not just for orthodoxy, but also for orthopraxy; and how to see the means of grace as God’s genuine pattern for growing his church. I’d sure love to see all this stuff tried out once before the end of the world!

And yet, what I hope for is not Presbyterian sectarianism; rather, I hope for a real embrace of Presbyterianism that allows us to engage in meaningful ecumenical dialogue with others, born out of a real sense that we know who we are, what we believe and what God has called us to do. Being together for the Gospel is not accomplished by having “all the colors bleed into one” doctrinally or denominationally (to cop a line from Bono). Rather, meaningful conversation happens when I am deeply rooted in my own self-understanding, when you are the same, and when we can discuss meaningfully our similarities and differences with respect. And so, this gets to the third issue: how can we be Presbyterian and still seek and affirm “the one holy, catholic and apostolic church”? As Carl Trueman would tell us, there is no better place to cultivate Reformed catholicity than within the borders and boundaries of Reformed Orthodoxy. He is right, but we must make the case again and again, carefully and winsomely, persuading the rising generation that this is the case.

21st Century Apologetics

Books and Culture on Tim Keller's Reason for God. [HT: Reformissionary]

In Christ Alone

A few weeks ago, I completed Sinclair Ferguson's new book, In Christ Alone: Living the Gospel Centered Life. Because the book was a collection of short (three to four page) essays on biblical and theological themes, I decided to use it as part of my morning worship time. Inevitable, I found things to challenge and encourage me in my walk with Christ. Whether insights from John's Gospel or Hebrews or pastoral reflections on contentment (which made me pick up Jeremiah Burroughs' The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment!), I rarely came from the book without Gospel encouragement.

However, the most moving feature of the book was the conclusion, in which Ferguson shared reflections about his former Westminster Seminary colleague, Al Groves, who died of cancer last year. Including two letters from Al himself, I saw the heart of a man who knew great suffering and yet who was deeply in love with his Savior, Jesus. In many ways, Al represented the heart of the book: what it meant to live the Gospel-centered life, not only in good times, but also in painful ones. As a result, I found In Christ Alone a rich treasury of reflection on how to live more in love with Jesus.

Preaching what you don't feel

Helpful thoughts from John Piper:

Can a pastor preach on joy when he is feeling little of it?
Yes. He is preaching what the word says and will say it whether he feels it or not.

Yes. He will be praying that in the very preaching of it, the gift of joy might be given. It does happen.

Yes. He will be honest with his people and over time communicate to them that he has his ups and downs and may have to preach on a text that does not find great fulfillment in his life at the time of preaching.

Yes. But over time the disjunction between text and person will undermine the ministry of the word. Preaching is expository exultation, and when the exultation is missing for extended periods of time, life will contradict content and this will weaken or even kill the ministry of the word.

If I wasn't going to General Assembly...

...this might be a fun course to take: a week-long intensive on Jonathan Edwards at Yale.

For words without substance...

Luther once said, "For words with substance, Melanchthon; for substance without words, Luther; for words without substance, Erasmus; for neither words nor substance, Karlstadt." We can now know, at least, how Erasmus did so well with words...

Crean and Crimson

I'm not super thrilled with Tom Crean's hire as the new IU men's basketball coach. I didn't like him as Marquette's coach and thought he was a bit of a jerk; of course, I didn't like Sampson either and thought he was a jerk (and as it turned out I was right). I don't think Crean can recruit (he was a bit lucky on D-Wade; exactly who has he had since or after with that kind of talent) and I don't think he is much of an Xs and Os guy. His only benefit? He is not John Calipari.

Why Bother with Church History?

[This is from a forthcoming "blog interview, but I like what I wrote, so I thought I'd post it here.]

I tell my students that if I am simply there to give them names, dates, and places, then we are utterly wasting our time—that is not what history is about and that is not what I am there to do. (I always stop and say that because many of them will face ordination exams during which the only thing the examiner knows to test them on are names, dates, and places, I have to make sure they know them as well.) Rather, the reason we have church history in the theological curriculum is to help them understand issues related to Christian identity: indeed, church history is the story about how Christians are.

In order to get at issues of identity, one must investigate beliefs, practices, and stories (and I talk about this in my book, On Being Presbyterian: Our Beliefs, Practices, and Stories [2006]). Most students come into my class convinced that the only period that is truly important for their Christian identity—for the beliefs, practices, and stories which shape them Christianly—is their own moment in time (and maybe, possibly, the generation prior). The Kool-aid I sell them to drink is that their identity is tied to the beliefs and practices of people who lived thousands of years before—what Ignatius or Polycarp or Augustine or Aquinas or Calvin wrote, taught, lived, and practiced shapes their Christian identity today.

The image I use to get this across is the family album. Each of us has family albums with pictures of aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins once removed on my mother’s side. There are stories about these peoples that embed beliefs and practices and that help them make sense. Some of these stories may be suppressed, or painful, or even forgotten, but they still shape us more than we know—they represent deep-seated ways of viewing the world that have impacted us in positive or negative ways. In order to ferret some of this out, we must investigate those pictures, find out those stories, check out those beliefs and practices—and in so doing, we learn a little bit better who we are and what God has for us to do in this moment and in our places today.

However, it is not simply possible to do what our ancestors before us did; to drive the car that Uncle Jim drove or view the world the way Aunt Maybelle did. For one thing, the movement of history doesn’t work that way; it is not possible to jump back upstream to a purer or more golden age, whether the 19th or 17th or 1st century. For another, we are in our own cultural moment or system in which our beliefs, practices, and stories are mixed up with our educational backgrounds, class differences, racial history, gender realities, geography, and much more. It is in our particular systems, in this moment, that the Word is to be enfleshed; and God has called us to do this, even with all the “limiting” factors of our particularity.

Sometimes there will be things that we do that contradict our glorious beliefs (one thinks here of proslavery defenses by orthodox Old School Presbyterian theologians); I call these “cultural blind spots.” Part of the reason we study history is to see these cultural blind spots in others or to have historical figures shine their light on our blind spots—either way, we see ourselves a little more clearly, see our flaws and our possibilities more realistically. And the result of historical thinking—the cash value, if you will, for the student—is wisdom and insight for life and ministry.

Above all, we come to learn that every time and every human being is flawed, broken, sinful—except for one: Jesus is the only hero. As a result, we can look at historical figures sympathetically (because they are sinful humans like us) and critically (because they are sinful humans like us); the good they teach ultimately is a reflection of Christ himself. And we can have some measure of hope—because if Jesus can use messed-up people and churches from the past, then he can certainly use us today. To me, this is a major value for teaching church history to future ministers—to gain wisdom and insight into the present, yes; but above all, to have hope: the same God who has shown himself in mighty deeds through broken clay pots in the past can and will do it again in the present in the future.

Historians in the Prophetic Mode

A few days ago, I got Carl Trueman's new collection of essays, Minority Report, which is (as with most of what he does) engaging, insightful, and frequently brilliant. One note that clearly is sounded throughout the collection, which deserves some comment, is that historians find their place within theological education, the academy, the life of the church, and the larger culture as those who unmask contemporary pretensions of all sorts in a prophetic style or mode.

Perhaps the essays in which this theme came most clearly through were two: one which placed the evangelical theologian Carl Henry in conversation with the postmodern philosopher Edward Said; another which observed that the historians' task was akin to being a ferret breeder on the fictional Watership Down. Especially in the Henry-Said essay, Trueman used Said to provide a critical voice who might help evangelicals look through the pretensions of the contemporary context in order to think much more critically and even prophetically about our times (through many of the essays was a subtext of criticism of the post-conservative theological aspirations of John Franke and his brood).

I couldn't help but smile in recognition from my own time at Westminster and especially from the impact of my own doktorvater there, D. G. Hart. As a student, Hart turned me on to a similarly helpful conversation partner, the early 20th century Baltimore journalist, H. L. Mencken. Urbane, witty, connected, insightful, and often brilliant, Mencken viewed his journalistic task as unmasking the pretensions of politicians and religious leaders, most of whom were mountebanks who would lie, cheat, and steal while smiling and selling the American hoi polli on the latest quack political or religious medicine. Of course, the greatest example of such pretensions were (southern) religious opposition to alcohol and evolution, two issues that Mencken particularly cared much about (and which would inspire [and fuel] some of his best writing, such as "The Sahara of the Bozart").

During my doctoral studies, Mencken provided me at least (and perhaps Hart, although I can't speak for him) an useful model of the historian's task--because, of course, Mencken was an idealist of sorts, passionate about the America he wished would exist. And so, by always issuing the "minority report" (also the title of one of Mencken's books), by always speaking in the prophetic mode, Mencken was actually pushing his readers toward his vision for American culture, politics, and even religion (an interesting example of the last was his obit for J. Gresham Machen, "Doctor Fundamentalis"; in the end, Mencken had more patience for Jefferson's Bible than for Machen's).

But a sad thing happened to Mencken (actually several sad things happened). Toward the end of his career, especially in the salad days of Roosevelt II (as he called FDR), his prophetic voice was no longer heard. His vision for America was no longer appropriate--one that depended upon "first rate" men (like Mencken himself) leading and the rest of the country following, upon seemingly Victorian values in morals, writing, and drama in a modernist age. And then, he suffered a deeply debilitating stroke, which left him unable to write the last seven years of his life. Angry with God, angry with others, his prophetic fuel turned inward; and Fred Hobson, his best biographer, could do nothing else but portray him as an angry, bitter man at his death.

Now, let me be clear here: by bringing Mencken to bear in thinking about Trueman's historical approach, I by no means want to suggest that his trajectory is similar to Mencken's. For one thing, Trueman's writing, while prophetic and hence idealistic, points toward a greater hope that is rooted in the grand realities of the Christian faith--the death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus provides hope that all will be put to rights and even the follies of (Christian) human beings cannot prevent this. This was comfort that Mencken never had--a confirmed skeptic, he cut himself off from the one source that could have provided a larger vision and surer hope.

Having said that, I do wonder whether the prophetic mode or stance--whether as a journalist, philosopher, historian, theologian, or minister--is the best, long-term approach. Undoubtedly, there are times when those who exercise public leadership must sympathetically and critically unmask the pretensions of the age (or "rage, rage against the dying of the light" as Trueman, copping Dylan Thomas, put it); historians--because we are in the business of memory--are especially valuable for this. And of course, Calvinist historians bear a double burden, since we so clearly see how the capital T in "TULIP" plays out in the stories we tell. And yet, I wonder how the rest of our theological commitments as Christian historians play out as we tell our historical stories. For example, I wonder how our own eschatological commitments play out in writing historian. After all, it is not simply the secular historians or the dispensationalists or the American exceptionalists who have eschatologies--I have one as well, one that talks about a "blessed hope" that this earth will become the Kingdom of God and his Christ. How does that trajectory infuse hope into my historical writing?

In other words, I wonder whether historians (and ministers, theologians, journalists, and all the rest) need to recognize that we can't simply play "one string" as we tell our stories--if we stay in a prophetic mode, we may very well end up like Mencken, ignored, frustrated, cynical, and ultimately embittered because no one cares to listen to our prophecies any more. Or we could be like someone about whom I've written, Robert Lewis Dabney, who certainly felt this way. Observing to a colleague that his prophetic counsel was being ignored, Dabney felt that he had become “the Cassandra of Yankeedom, predestined to prophesy truth and never to be believed by her country until too late.”

In the end, I worry that if historians (or any of us) were to slip fully and finally into the mode of being Cassandra, whether the ancient prophet or more modern ones, we may end up being "right," but we will end up being the only ones who will know. In order to be heard over a long time, we should use our callings to provide not just correction, but also hope, which will allow us to speak longer, more lovingly, and in the end more truthfully to the Church which we (and Christ) love.

Post 400: Wendell Berry

A Berry poem from the Sabbath cycles:

The dark around us, come,
Let us meet here together,
Members one of another,
Here in our holy room,
Here on our little floor,
Here in the daylit sky,
Rejoicing mind and eye,
Rejoining known and knower,
Light, leaf, foot, hand, and wing,
Such order as we know,
One household, high and low,
And all the earth shall sing.

Was the Doctor right after all?

Observing the crack up of the Anglican Communion and reading news that J. I. Packer is to be suspended from the Anglican Church of Canada, it raises the interesting historical question: was D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones right after all?

Those who read this blog and who are aware of the "Doctor's" life will remember that Lloyd-Jones, Packer, and John Stott had a major falling out in the late 1960s when Lloyd-Jones raised serious concerns about the direction of the Anglican church and suggested (well, it was stronger than that) that Christian ministers should leave the Anglican church because it was no longer a place hospitable to evangelicals. At the time, both Packer and Stott opposed Lloyd-Jones; the fracas led to the dividing of English evangelicalism (all this can be found in short compass in Iain Murray's Evangelicalism Divided or his biography of Lloyd-Jones).

One of the challenging questions for evangelicals in mainstream denominations is whether and when to separate from unbelief--how to discern what is a "first-order" issue; how to leave as a witness and with tears, not trumpets (in Francis Schaeffer's phrase); etc. These are particularly important questions for the Presbyterian tradition, which has seen its fair share of separation through the years (hence, the mocking label, "the split Ps").

Still, when one observes the trajectory of the Anglican Communion and the PC(USA) over the past 30 or 40 years, it seems clear that the agitating issue of today (ordination of non-celibate homosexuals) was a natural outgrowth of theological trajectories set a generation prior. If that is the case, then perhaps the Doctor was right after all--that there are appropriate times to separate from unbelief as a witness to theological truths and that this can be done without becoming warrior children, no matter what others might suggest.

Assist me to proclaim

Even though my area of specialization is the "modern" period, especially modern American religion, I've remained generally ignorant of the growing body of literature on the Methodists. Thanks to John Wigger, Dee Andrews, and David Hempton, we have a growing and solid body of scholarly literature of Methodism. However, there are not many scholarly and accessible biographies of the founders of Methodism, John and Charles Wesley. Especially for the "lesser" known founder, Charles, there is now an excellent book to fit the bill, John R. Tyson's Assist Me to Proclaim: The Life and Hymns of Charles Wesley.

Tyson paints well the attractive piety and winsome character of Charles, the younger brother and sometime junior partner of Wesleyan Methodism in the 18th century. Mining unpublished journals and the over 9,000 (!) hymns and poems, he is able to help readers access Charles' inner life. Often these hymns and poems connect to journaled events, placing both artifacts in context and illuminating the very human interactions that Charles had. He also does a great job describing the some tense partnership that Charles and John maintained for over 50 years of ministry, picturing the strengths and weaknesses that both brought to the developing Methodist movement.

I guess the thing that Tyson did well was to help me like Charles Wesley--I admired his piety (even where I disagreed with him theologically, especially in the chapter "The Poison of Calvin") and loved his hymnody (even when he used it to push his Arminianism); I wanted the Methodists to stay in the Anglican church (with Charles and against John) and disliked the "lay preachers" whom Charles disliked. To create this type of critical sympathy is a challenge for a biographer (as I found writing on Robert Lewis Dabney); Tyson pulls it off with great verve and excellent prose. To read this book was a joy and to be encouraged to love Wesley's God was a blessing.

"New" Gaffin Book

There is a "new" book by Richard Gaffin just out--the quotes around "new" are there because it is actually the reworking of a two-part article originally published in the Westminster Theological Journal in 1981. These articles, now titled God's Word in Servant-Form: Abraham Kuyper and Herman Bavinck on the Doctrine of Scripture, originally targeted the so-called Rogers/McKim thesis on the doctrine of biblical inerrancy. Now, they serve as a historical-theological corrective to other questions being raised on how the human and divine in Scripture relate and how incarnation and inspiration connect. On the back someone noted, "...Gaffin mines these stalwarts of the Reformed tradition for wisdom and insight in the inpsiration and inerrancy of Scripture...a must-read for pastors, students, theologians, and laymen alike!"

Naviget

To find out about the word in the title and what it means in the light of God's calling on our lives, check out this great article by John Ortberg.

Larry Norman (1947-2008)

The godfather of early Christian rock has passed away at the age of 60. This is very sad--the first two Christian albums I owned were both from Solid Rock Records (with their cool logo, a take-off on the Rolling Stones): Larry Norman's "Something New Under the Sun" and Randy Stonehill's "Welcome to Paradise." What I so appreciated about these early "Solid Rock" guys, as well as Keith Green, was their intense piety and their unwillingness to sell out to the music industry machine--often giving their albums away. And some of the songs undoubtedly made an impact during the Jesus People days: "I Wish We Had All Been Ready" and "Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?" were the two Larry Norman classics. What was most encouraging was his testimony just prior to his homecoming as contained on his website; it appears that as he crossed the dark river, he was continuing to cling to Jesus and fight the good fight.

New American Religious Biography Book

As JT has scooped me, John Muether's Cornelius Van Til is coming out in March. It really is a wonderful book--intriguingly, it focuses on Van Til as a churchman and views his apologetics through that lens. I'm not aware of anyone else, except for the late Charles Dennison (former historian of the OPC) doing this, either in journal essays or elsewhere.

"How to teach and preach 'Calvinism'"

John Piper gives excellent advice on how to teach and preach the doctrines of grace. Many of these points are sound pastoral practice; but the ones I appreciated the most were: "work the five points out from 'I' rather than 'U'"; "out rejoice your critics"; and "don't be strident, but gentle."

The Primary Work of the Church

It is always striking to me how the issues we face as a church have been faced before. I've been plugging away on a faculty lecture that I'm to give this April at Westminster Seminary California; in doing so, I ran across this quote from Nelson Bell, father-in-law to Billy Graham and associate editor of the Southern Presbyterian Journal (3 June 1953; p. 2):

There is a central emphasis which the Church and individual Christians must constantly keep before them and, because we "wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places," we face the ever present temptation to change that emphasis to something more compatible with human reason and pride.

The all-important emphasis, the very key-stone of the gospel message, is redemption of the individual soul and this redemption means a change of destination, a change of eternal environment, for those who believe.

While it is true that the home, the community and the nation are safer, happier, and better in every when when lived in and influenced by Christians, these happy results are incidental to the Gospel of Christ, for our Lord came into this world for the primary purpose of saving sinners, giving to those who believe in Him eternal life.

Without discounting in the least the social implications of the gospel, we need to constantly remember that there can only be social blessings and changes after men have been saved from sin and live unto righteousness. There is the constant temptation to long for the fruit and forget the absolute importance of the true from which the fruit must come. Social reforms must come through and from redeemed lives. Without such a transformation vital and lasting changes cannot materialize.

I felt led to post this...

...just kidding, sort of: Mark Dever on the bondage of "guidance." [HT: JT]

The Reason for God

Over the weekend, as I had hoped, I finished Tim Keller's new book, The Reason for God: Belief in an Age of Skepticism. When I bought it, I didn't know what to expect (aside from the title, of course); as I noted the other day, I smiled in recognition of Keller's method, which hailed from Cornelius Van Til, the Dutch Reformed apologist who taught for nearly 40 years at Westminster Theological Seminary.

But the book is more and less than a manual on apologetics. It is more in that it is incredibly winsome, well-written, and well-argued (qualities that many "apologetics" books fail to have). The first part of the book deals with seven "defeater" beliefs that skeptical people bring to their investigation of Christianity: in my language, they include pluralism; the "problem" of evil; western views of liberty and Christianity; the historical flaws of the church; the "justness" of hell; science and faith; and the authority of an inspired Bible.

In dealing with these skeptical positions--which are not new by any means, but rather represent the continued legacy of modernity in a "post-modern" world--Keller walks inside and demonstrates the internal inconsistencies both of the positions and the worldviews that make them appear appropriate. He does this so well that I found myself making stars and comments in the margins so that I can try to remember the arguments as I deal with family, friends, and neighbors.

The second part of the book presents a well-reasoned presentation of the Gospel that is not merely a Gospel tract, but serves as the flip side of the defeater beliefs. Not only do these skeptical positions not make sense of all the data, there is a better explanation of the data--and that would be "mere Christianity," with its emphasis upon creation, fall, redemption, and consummation. That story line--or maybe better, that opera--invites us into a dance in which we become most human because we have the very image of God in us restored.

Not only is this book more than a manual on apologetics, it is less. By that I mean, this strikes me as a book that is meant to be used, given away, and shared over coffee with unbelieving friends. This would be a great book for a small group of friends to begin to investigate Christianity, to give to an unbelieving relative who has asked you for reasons for your faith, to center an approach to evangelism around. The ideas will work their way into sermons. And so, it is less than most books on apologetics, which seem to be geared mostly to believers at a semi-academic level to prepare them in the most abstract way to reason--but not actually with real unbelievers.

This is simply a wonderful book, a useful tool for God's work--but it will only make a true impact for the Kingdom if it is used, given away, and shared with others.

On Reading Karl Barth

Dan Reid, reference editor at IVP, gives some fascinating reflections on reading Karl Barth at the pace of 5 pages a day. As I've already suggested on this blog, I've done the same with John Owen. I wonder what other theologians would be "better" in short doses...some might suggest Calvin, Edwards, Augustine, or Aquinas. I would think anyone whose writing is both dense and dexterous would repay slowing down and reading slowly.

The only thing better than the Crips and the Bloods...

Snicker.

[HT: Z]

Like Van Til. Only Better.

Like some, I rushed to Borders last night to get the new Tim Keller book, The Reason for God. I was able to get through the first chapter last night before I went to bed. As a Westminster grad, I had to smile in recognition to the apologetic methodology--moving on to the unbeliever's turf in order to show the inconsistencies of their own worldview and then demonstrating that only a Christian worldview can make sense of any thing. It was just like Van Til.

...Only without the confusing terminology. And a whole heap more readable. And winsome. And literate. And interesting. And, well, better. I'm looking forward to finishing the book over the weekend.

One funny fact: last night, I was picking up Rick Lints, professor of systematic theology from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, who is doing our first annual David C. Jones Lecture in Theology and Ethics. As we talked on our cell phones in order to identify the other to each other, I said, "I have a brown jacket and green cords on and I'm holding Tim Keller's new book!"

The Reason for God--the ultimate identity marker.

As one who leads...

...you can't delegate hope, John Ortberg wisely notes.

Communion with the Triune God

Readers of this blog will know that I have struggled to read John Owen. One book that helped me read Owen well was Kelly Kapic and Justin Taylor's edited version of Owen's Overcoming Sin and Temptation. But another, which came out this past fall, was Communion with the Triune God.

In this book, which is volume two in the standard edition of Owen's works, we have a different Owen--a lyrical mystic, who guided us into what it might mean to be "greedy for delight" in God. Taking each member of the Godhead, Owen unpacked what it might mean to hold communion with the Father, Son, and Spirit distinctly. In particular, we have communion in the love of the Father, the grace of Jesus the Son, and the comfort of the Holy Spirit.

Along the way, Owen pointed particularly to the glory of the Son as the incarnate God. In two lengthy digressions, he expounded the attributes of the person and work of Jesus, highlighting his glory in making the love of the Father known by his self-sacrifice on the cross. Over and again, he showed the glory of the Cross, but even more the glory of the resurrected Jesus who triumphed over death, sin, and hell by the cross.

Kapic's introduction, which draws in part from his book Communion with God, helpfully oriented the reader to the nature of Owen's spirituality. Likewise, the outline provided in the front of the book (which extends for 32 pages [!]) was very helpful when the book's structure became convoluted. Once again, I pursued my method of reading on a small portion of Owen at a time--this time, I averaged about 6 pages a day in my morning worship. It took me the better part of three months to finish the book--but with such a dense, rich book, that amount of time was necessary to absorb and meditate upon the truths Owen presented.

However one pursues this book, it provided me with important insights with which to worship and delight in our glorious, Triune God each morning. I would urge you to do the same.

Church Calendars, Scriptural Authority, and Liberty of Conscience, no. 1a

Whew. I didn't guess that this post would generate such "interest" (in fact, that post had the largest number of comments in the short history of this blog). While I don't have time to respond to all the comments, I wanted to respond to the general themes of some and then write a separate post about Christmas and Easter.

1. This may surprise some of you in the light of what you think I said (as opposed to what I actually said): I think Wayne Larson's approach makes a lot of sense. He wrote:

What if our session chose to do this by way of organizing a good portion of those 52 Sunday's around, say, the major events in the life of our Lord Jesus Christ? We could have a series of Sundays in which our Scripture readings and prayers reflect on his promised coming (from both the vantage points of OT Israel and our present hope in his return). Then perhaps we could have a few Sundays in which our Scripture readings and prayers center on the incarnation of our Lord. We might then even have a few Sundays that reflect on those portions of the Scriptures where we see the Son of God revealing himself to his people and the nations and consider how we might take that message of the gospel to all of the world. Then we could have a few Sundays where our readings and prayers consider why our Lord came for us in the first place - to redeem us from our sin and bondage - even noting that our Messiah was rejected by men, smitten and afflicted. We could then have a few Sundays where we give special attention to his death, resurrection, ascension, and the out-pouring of the Holy Spirit.

However, I would suggest that there is a difference between a church's session structuring its Sunday worship services around major themes and texts like this and a deliberate ordering of the church's life around the historic church calendar. I agree that we need to teach and preach the whole counsel of God and doing so in this fashion would assist our people in inculcating the Gospel. Once that teaching and preaching moves into a full observance of the church calendar with the rites attached to those observances--such as the placing of ashes on the forehead, for example--then it strikes me that we've moved beyond or beside the expressed command of Scripture. And that is my concern.

2. That would then be my answer to the several charges of hypocrisy: "well, you preached at a Reformation Day service; a Valentines Banquet; a pro-life service; a Christmas service; an Easter service, etc." In preaching and teaching the whole counsel of God, it is appropriate to order the ministry of the Word to draw people into the major themes of the Gospel itself. The fact that our culture still views Christmas and Easter as major poles of our calendar makes it convenient to preach and teach on the themes of Jesus' advent(s), death, and resurrection. [I'd also note that the Valentine's Banquet is tonight, Friday; and it is always appropriate to bring God's Word at such settings--but it is not a stated service of the church, either.]

I must admit, however, that I am very uncomfortable with the way some churches I have attended have "candle light" services on Christmas eve or decorate the sanctuary with greenery for Advent or have (what we called) "the creeping cross," which progressed toward the center of the sanctuary in the Sundays leading up to Easter. I wonder about the biblical warrant for these things and worry that people are led to believe that those things are necessary for the worship of God--which is only a few steps removed from formalism, legalism, and superstition, which were concerns of the Reformers themselves.

3. Kyle Wells asked the best question--where is all this talk about the conscience in the NT especially? It strikes me that a key text on this point would be Colossians 2:16-23--Paul clearly urges the Colossians not to allow their consciences to be bound ("let no one pass judgment on you...with regard to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath") by religious observances that were no longer in effect ("the substance belongs to Christ"). These things "may have the appearance of wisdom," but I wonder whether such observances actually led people to trust in the ritual actions rather than in Jesus himself.

4. Finally, Luther. While Jeff Meyers raised the appropriate comment regarding my use of Luther, even he would agree that I was not appealing there to Luther as liturgist, but to Luther as defender of liberty of conscience as bound by God's Word. I thought when I typed that in someone would probably suggest that it was a bit of a non sequitur, but I had just finished doing my Luther lecture in class and used the Diet of Worms clip from the Luther movie--so I thought it was a good place to end.

Church Calendars, Scriptural Authority, and Liberty of Conscience, no. 1

[Wow, sorry for the long title, but there it is.] Since we are sitting here on "Ash Wednesday," it seems a good time to reflect once again on the issue of the church calendar and especially on how Presbyterians should think about using or not using the calendar in the life of their churches. Or maybe--from a different angle and still mulling over my lecture that I just gave on Martin Luther--the question should be: why should those who emphasize the authority of Scripture not incorporate the church calendar into the rhythyms of a Presbyterian church's year?

In order to get at an answer to this question, I think you have to start with the question of authority--who or what determines or orders the life of a church? That is to say, on what basis does the church order its life? For most Protestants and especially for most conservative Presbyterians, we would say that Jesus is the King over his church and he orders his church through his Word and by Spirit. And that, of course, is the right (i.e. biblical) answer (for more on this, see On Being Presbyterian, ch. 4 and 8).

Protestants came to this answer over against what they saw to be an usurption of the church's authority by the pope, an expansion of the church's authority through its canon law, ritual practice, and traditional usage, and a corrupt use of that authroity, typified most clearly in Pope Leo X's decision to sell indulgences in order to fund the completion of St. Peter's Cathedral. The church used authority in order to bind the consciences of God's people in an unbiblical and hence illegitimate manner.

This point on the liberty of conscience is actually quite important--one of the major criticisms of Rome made by the Reformers was that the Roman church through its idoltary and superstitutious practices were illegitimately binding the consciences of people. In order to see what these practices looked like in medieval Europe, all one needs to do is read Eamon Duffy's The Stripping of the Altars--a worship pattern that emphasized ritual actions that taught biblical truths was emphasized centered on the Mass. The Reformers looked at this and said that this was not the worship which God required in his Word, was not likely to produce Gospel repentance and faith, and hence bound people in superstition which led them to perdition.

And so, the more biblically-oriented of these Protestants came to articulate a position that came to be known as the "regulative principle of worship." The principle itself is much debated today--especially in terms of the extent and application of it--but it remains a very important biblical point: namely, that the only legitimate manner of worship, declaration of doctrine, or practice of church order is that which is contained in Holy Scripture. The way the Westminster Confession of Faith puts it is valuable: "The acceptable way of worshiping the true God is instituted by himself, and so limited by his own revealed will, that he may not be worshiped according to the imaginations and devices of men, or the suggestions of Satan, under any visible representation or any other way not prescribed in the Holy Scripture" (WCF 21:1).

And this "regulative principle," importantly, comes after the chapter on liberty of conscience. Our confessions rightly say that "God alone is Lord of the conscience, and hath left it free from the doctrines and commandments of men, which are, in anything contrary to his Word; or beside it, if matters of faith, or worship. So that, to believe such doctrines, or to obey such commands, out of conscience, is to betray to liberty of conscience" (WCF 20:2). The Triune God is King over each individual's conscience; that conscience is bound by the Word of God; and the church may only prescribe (or proscribe) what Scripture does.

All of this brings us to the question of the priority of using church calendar itself. While I am aware that some would make a biblical argument for using the church calendar based on the OT development of sacrifical feast days (an argument that is not convincing to me), I would suggest that what we have for our place in the redemptive, biblical drama is actually a rhythym of 52 feasts days a year--the Lord's Day in which Word, Sacraments, and prayer constitute the heart of the church's "calendar." This, I believe, is what we find prescribed in God's Word, both by apostolic practice and direction. For a Presbyterian church to move beyond this--whether to demand attendance at Wednesday night activities as part of Christian discipleship or to offer Lenten observance as part of the church's discipleship practices, placing ashes on people's foreheads as part of this--binds the conscience in ways that are "beside" the express command of Scripture itself and hence, spiritually illegitimate and potentially dangerous

And as Luther himself said, the only safe place for the conscience is anchored in God's Word: "Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Holy Scriptures or by evident reason--for I can believe neither pope nor councils alone, as it is clear that they have erred repeatedly and contradicted themselves--I consider myself convicted by the testimony of Holy Scripture, which is my basis; my conscience is captive to the Word of God. Thus I cannot and will not recant, because acting against one's conscience is neither safe nor sound. God help me. Amen." What we want are believers whose consciences are captive not to the church, nor its traditions, nor the good ideas of pastors, sessions, or other leaders. We want their and our consciences captive to God's Word--because that is the only safe and sound place to be.

The Downside (?!) of Literal Translation

Probably most readers of this blog know the inter-nicene debates that have driven Bible translation over the past 125 years or so (since the Revised Version came out in 1881). The defenders of a more "literal equivalence" or "word-for-word" translation have attacked those who have sought a more "dynamic equivalence" in moving from the original Hebrew or Greek to English.

But perhaps you (and certainly I) have never thought about how these debates play out with the classical Greek and Latin texts as represented by the 500 or so texts in the Loeb Classical Library. This article in the New York Times from 2000 explains some of the, a-hem, updating of the translations and this example from the Loeb Classical Library page makes it all the more, ahh, explicit.

Now my real interest here is to get at the larger issues of translation--I would suspect that most evangelicals would be shocked to read the "glories" of Greece and Rome in such bawdy baldness (and especially those who point to the classical period as foundational for young people's education). And yet, what the Loeb is doing seems to me to be the proper application of a more "literal" approach to translation--translating the vulgar slang of one culture into the vulgar slang of another (Robert Fagles does much the same in his translations of Homer).

On the other hand, it is always a bit shocking to read the "f-bomb" in any piece of literature, especially classical ltierature. And it makes you wonder whether there was a good reason why these texts have held interest only for a small number of classics scholars. Perhaps the Victorian paraphraistic approach was okay here--to communicate dynamically may have avoided offense that could come from the homoeroticism of the ancient texts while still communicating what needed to be said.

And so, perhaps the literal equivilence approach is winning the day, both in biblical and classical translation. Yet, I wonder if such "R-rated" translations might tell us more than we needed to know about the ancient times. In the end, maybe the Loeb Classics should have a "parents-advisory" label; if it works for Eminem, maybe it should work for Aristophanes.

Your church's website...

...probably stinks. At least, that is my take after visiting literally hundreds of church websites over the past two years. This article was fascinating in two regards: 1) that someone could actually write a PhD dissertation on church websites; 2) that her main suggestion was that links communicate far more than text on a website.

I think that last point is probably right. However, most church websites don't have much in the way of text or links; and they certainly aren't crafted with a seeker or potential visitor in view. How to communicate the ethos of a church, especially to a millennial/X-er seeker, continues to allude most churches (and other organizations, including seminaries, for that matter).