I reioyced, when they sayd to me, We wil go into the house of the Lord. (Psalme 122:1 Geneva Bible)

PETITIONARY HYMNS
POEM XII. O that my ways were made so direct, &c.
Augustus Toplady (1740–1778)

O that my ways were made so strait,
   And that the lamp of faith
Would, as a star, direct my feet
   Within the narrow path!

O that thy strength might enter now,
   And in my heart abide,
To make me as a faithful bow
   That never starts aside!

O that I all to Christ were given,
   (From sin and earth set free)
Who kindly laid aside his heaven,
   And gave himself for me!

Not more the panting hart desires
   The cool, refreshing stream
Than my dry, thirsty soul aspires
   At being one with him.

Set up thine image in my heart;
   Thy temple let us be,
Bid every idol now depart
   That fain would rival thee.

Still keep me In the heavenly path
   Bestow the inward light;
And lead me by the hand till faith
   Is ripened into sight.

—The Complete Works of Augustus Toplady (Sprinkle Publications, 1987).

Psalme 119:33–40
(Geneva Bible)
He.

Grace be with you, and Peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

	ow blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked, Nor stand in the path of sinners, Nor sit in the seat of scoffers!
2	But his delight is in the law of the Lord, And in His law he meditates day and night.
3	He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, Which yields its fruit in its season And its leaf does not wither; And in whatever he does, he prospers.
4	The wicked are not so, But they are like chaff which the wind drives away.
5	Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, Nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
6	For the Lord knows the way of the righteous, But the way of the wicked will perish.

The Psalm begins with a description of the general state of the righteous: blessed. Thomas Watson wrote, “This Psalm carries blessedness in the frontispiece; it begins where we all hope to end . . .”* Now, one might think that this blessedness is consequential to the traits of the righteous described in the verses that follow. Certainly, there are benefits that proceed from godly living; but I think it is better to see those traits as the blessings themselves. To see righteousness as the cause of blessedness is to forget that the only righteousness we possess is a righteousness that is not our own.

The Psalm then contrasts the righteous and the wicked. The wicked and righteous are separated, first ethically, and then judicially.

Ethical Separation

The Righteous

The righteous man does not keep company with the wicked. This is not to say that he has no association with them. It is to say that he does not look to them for wisdom (walk in the counsel), and that they are not his friends. He may be a friend, to them, in the same sense that Jesus was called a “friend of tax collectors and sinners” (Matthew 11:19; Luke 7:34), but he does not look to them for friendship (James 4:4). “Walk,” “sit,” “stand” may be seen as a progression from casual friendship to finally settling in and becoming one of them.

The righteous man delights in God’s law. This is not to say that he is legalistically obsessed with rules and regulations. He simply loves God and wants to know him. He is driven by a desire to know God, and takes great pleasure in knowing and pleasing him. He loves God and his Word so much that it is always on his mind (meditates day and night).

The righteous man is planted. He did not spring up wild, or of his own accord. He was intentionally planted, and nourished by streams of water. He will not be moved, and he will receive all the nourishment he needs for healthy life and growth. Consequently, he will bear the fruit that is expected (in its season) of a healthy, thriving tree. We are also reminded that the “streams of water” supplied by our Lord are “living water.” Like the living water promised by Jesus (John 4:7–14; 7:37–38), its effect is permanently life-giving — “its leaf does not wither.”

The result is that “in whatever he does, he prospers.” This is not a reference to anything so superficial as physical or material health and prosperity. Success for the Christian is measured by one result only: that he bears good fruit and so displays the glory of God.

The Wicked

The wicked are not so. After nine lines describing the righteous and his fruit, the poet emphasizes the stark contrast between the righteous and the wicked by describing the wicked in only two. Theologians often define sins into two categories, sins of commission, and sins of omission. These are useful categories, but here we are reminded that all sins are sins of omission. All sin is simply not being righteous, or, as Question 14 of the Westminster Shorter Catechism states, “Sin is any want of conformity unto, or transgression of, the law of God.” So after a more lengthy description of the righteous, it is enough to state simply, “The wicked are not so.”

Consequently, while the righteous “yields fruit,” “does not wither,” and “prospers,” the wicked “are like the chaff which the wind drives away.” Chaff is the husks of grain, bits of straw, and other debris that survive the initial harvesting process. But it is not grain, which contains the germ of life. It is dead and useless, and is blown away during the grain cleaning process, to go back into the ground and rot.

Judicial Separation

The Wicked

The wicked will not stand in the judgment.The wicked will be judged, their true character, which is not always discernible to us, is never hidden from God. It will will be brought to light, and a “guilty” verdict will be rendered.

Sinners will not stand in the congregation of the righteous. the wicked will be separated from the righteous.

Matthew 13, Parable of the Wheat and Tares
   24 Jesus presented another parable to them, saying, “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a man who sowed good seed in his field. 25 But while his men were sleeping, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went away. 26 But when the wheat sprouted and bore grain, then the tares became evident also. 27 The slaves of the landowner came and said to him, ‘Sir, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have tares?’ 28 And he said to them, ‘An enemy has done this!’ The slaves said to him, ‘Do you want us, then, to go and gather them up?’ 29 But he said, ‘No; for while you are gathering up the tares, you may uproot the wheat with them. 30 Allow both to grow together until the harvest; and in the time of the harvest I will say to the reapers, “First gather up the tares and bind them in bundles to burn them up; but gather the wheat into my barn.”’”

The way of the wicked will perish. They will be burned as the tares in the preceding parable.

The Righteous

The Lord knows the way of the righteous. This time, it is the righteous of whom little is said, only one line for three describing the fate of the wicked. But it is not really so little. “The Lord knows” is a phrase that is loaded with meaning. Being “known” by the Lord indicates a relationship of profound intimacy, love, and trust. It signifies sonship, having been adopted and made a joint heir with Jesus to eternal life. Being known by the Lord makes all the difference. There are no more fearful words than the sentence “I never knew you” from the mouth of Jesus.

* Charles Spurgeon, The Treasury of David (Hendrickson, 1988), 1:4.

What is the highest blessing and privilege offered by the gospel? Many, if not most, people’s answer would involve something about forgiveness, salvation from the penalty of sin. In short, justification; and it is no wonder that most would answer in that way. Surely, it is a wonderful thing to be forgiven and freed from the threat of eternity in hell. But there is a greater blessing than that. Packer writes:

Adoption . . . is the highest privilege that the gospel offers: higher even than justification. This may cause raising of eyebrows, for justification is the gift of God on which since Luther evangelicals have laid the greatest stress, and we are accustomed to say, almost without thinking, that free justification is God’s supreme blessing to us sinners. Nonetheless, careful thought will show the truth of the statement we have just made.
   That justification—by which we mean God's forgiveness of the past together with his acceptance for the future—is the primary and fundamental blessing of the gospel is not in question. Justification is the primary blessing, because it meets our primary spiritual need. We all stand by nature under God’s judgment; his law condemns us; guilt gnaws at us, making us restless, miserable, and in our lucid moments afraid; we have no peace in ourselves because we have no peace with our Maker. So we need the forgiveness of our sins, and assurance of a restored relationship with God, more than we need anything else in the world; and this the gospel offers us before it offers us anything else. The first gospel sermons to be preached, those recorded in Acts, lead up to the promise of forgiveness of sins to all who repent and receive Jesus as their Savior and Lord (see Acts 2:38; 3:19; 10:43; 13:38--39; compare 5:31; 17:30--31; 20:21; 22:16; 26:18; Lk 24:47).
   In Romans, Paul’s fullest exposition of his gospel—“the clearest gospel of all,” to Luther's mind—justification through the cross of Christ is expounded first (chaps. 1—5), and made basic to everything else. Regularly Paul speaks of righteousness, remission of sins, and justification as the first and immediate consequence for us of Jesus' death (Rom 3:22-26; 2 Cor 5:18--21; Gal 3:13-14; Eph 1:7; and so on). And as justification is primary blessing, so it is the fundamental blessing, in the sense that everything else in our salvation assumes it, and rests on it—adoption included.
   But this is not to say that justification is the highest blessing of the gospel. Adoption is higher, because of the richer relationship with God that it involves. Some textbooks on Christian doctrine—Berkhof's, for instance—treat adoption as a mere subsection of justification, but this is inadequate. The two ideas are distinct, and adoption is the more exalted. Justification is a forensic idea, conceived in terms of law, and viewing God as judge. In justification, God declares of penitent believers that they are not, and never will be, liable to the death that their sins deserve, because Jesus Christ, their substitute and sacrifice, tasted death in their place on the cross.
   This free gift of acquittal and peace, won for us at the cost of Calvary, is wonderful enough, in all conscience—but justification does not of itself imply any intimate or deep relationship with God the judge. In idea, at any rate, you could have the reality of justification without any close fellowship with God resulting.
   But contrast this, now, with adoption. Adoption is a family idea, conceived in terms of love, and viewing God as father. In adoption, God takes us into his family and fellowship—he establishes us as his children and heirs. Closeness, affection and generosity are at the heart of the relationship. To be right with God the Judge is a great thing, but to be loved and cared for by God the Father is a greater.

—J. I. Packer, Knowing God (InterVarsity Press, 1993), 206–207

The Bible is a literary work. For that reason, in order to comprehend what it says, we must seek to understand how it says what it says.

   A literary approach to the Bible is preoccupied with form, and that is for a very good reason. In any written discourse, meaning is communicated through form. The concept of “form” should be construed very broadly in this context: it includes anything that touches upon how a writer has expressed his content. Everything that gets communicated does so through form, beginning with language itself.
   While this is true for all forms of writing, it is especially crucial for literature. Literature has its own forms and techniques, and these tend to be more complex and subtle and indirect than those of ordinary discourse. Stories, for example, communicate their meaning through character, setting, and action. the result is that before we can understand what a story says we must first interact with the form, that is, the characters, settings, and events. Poetry conveys its meanings through figurative language and concrete images. It is therefore impossible to determine what a poem says without first encountering the form (metaphor, simile, image, etc.).
   The literary critic’s preoccupation with the how of biblical writing is not frivolous. It is evidence of an artistic delight in verbal beauty and craftsmanship, but it is also part of an attempt to understand what the Bible says. In a literary text it is impossible to separate what is said from how it is said, content from form.

—Leland Ryken, How to Read the Bible as Literature (Zondervan, 1984), 28–29.

This is a review by Pastor Jerry Drebelbis, who has the dubious distinction of being my pastor.

Augustine As Mentor: A Review
By Jerome Drebelbisi

   Take a moment and peruse the number of books written by or about Aurelius Augustine, or Augustine of Hippo, 354–430 A.D. One reason for the numerous volumes is, in part, because Augustine, himself, was a prolific writer. More than 100 books along with sermons, letters and notes to friends and fellow church compatriots are attributed to him. So it is no wonder the copious number of books written about Augustine. Among these writings Edward Smithers, assistant professor of Church History and Intercultural Studies at Liberty Baptist Theological Seminary, brings us another perspective — Augustine as Mentor, A Model for Preparing Spiritual Leaders1.
   Mr. Smithers believes that “many pastors today . . . are struggling in isolation without a pastor to nurture their souls” (p. v). He is not alone in this concern. Anderson and Reese emphasize this same problem in the forward of their writing. We live in a world of “disenchantment with ‘knowledge for knowledge’s sake.’”2 If this spiritual isolation impacts church leaders today then what is the solution to escape the dilemma? Augustine as Mentor attempts to address this issue looking back at the beginning of the Church and one of its giants as a leader.

Analysis:
   The book divides into six chapters. Chapter one examines biblical examples of mentors in the first century. While the author admits that the word “mentor” is not in Scripture he does recognize the discipline can take other forms, such as that of discipling. He uses Jesus and Paul as primary examples of those who mentored/discipled those around them. Numerous New Testament references are given to support the position.
   Chapter two unpacks mentoring as it appeared in the third and fourth centuries. The author, with copious references, details the lives of men like Cyprian of Carthage, Pachomius of Egypt, and Basil. These men and others formed in the author’s view a backdrop and example from which Augustine developed his own style of mentoring.
   Chapter three asks the question, who was Augustine’s mentor? Obviously some time is spent examining the way Augustine’s mother, Monica, influenced his spiritual development. Her example of holiness and practical faith are featured with numerous references to Confessions. The reader is then given a look at several of Augustine’s friends and companions. Alypius, Evodius and Ambrose were not only close companions to Augustine but also mentors. Smithers convincingly argues that while he finds that Augustine wrote very little about Valerius, Augustine’s predecessor, Valerius was his most “significant mentor.”3
   Chapter four, the longest chapter — 88 pages, brings the work to a climax. How did Augustine mentor others? The author draws from Augustine’s forty years in the ministry, 391–430, with citings from his numerous letters, books and preaching and supervisory method as examples of how Augustine discipled both subordinates and fellow bishops.
   Chapter five gives us Augustine’s thoughts on the subject. Once again from abundant references, the reader is given Augustine’s perspective of how a mentor should live and work. Five principles are mentioned as the framework of a mentor’s life. This leaves the reader wondering if Augustine, himself, adhered to his own ideals. The author answers the question by quoting Possidius, Augustine’s friend and biographer; “I believe, however, that they profited even more who were able to hear him speaking in church and seeing him there present, especially if they were familiar with his manner of life.”4 In specific, Augustine lived what he preached and proclaimed. As great a man as Augustine was the author does admit that one failure, if we can consider it such, in Augustine’s life was that few, if any, of his disciples followed in Augustine’s example to defend the church from heresy or to supply others with theological thought and exegesis (p. 257).
   The final sixth chapter is a short exhortation for leaders today. The author reminds the reader that a mentor must always be a disciple at heart, always learning, always growing in the faith, as did Augustine. He was disciple, mentor, leader, releaser of other into ministry, but most of all follower of Jesus Christ. The author leaves the reader with the question; “will today’s church leaders intentionally look at leadership potential around them and search for able people to outshine them?” (p. 259).

Synthesis:
   The reader can be assured that Mr. Smithers is very familiar with the subject. The book is well documented referencing many sources both from early church writings to more recent analysis. One easily moves through the author’s thoughts as he presents his arguments for discipleship and mentoring. His style, easy to follow, often opens with a question. For example, “How Did Augustine Mentor?” (p.134). The author then supports his answers by partitioning Augustine’s life into various elements to demonstrate how Augustine mentored in each one, the monastery, books, letters, councils, etc.
   While the book is well documented and thoughts expanded in an orderly fashion, progressing through the book becomes almost tedious. One wants to say, “Alright, I get the idea; let’s move on.” Unless the reader truly wants to know more about Augustine, for the average, sometimes overwhelmed, busy pastor, the book has too much detail. And while the book is true to its title, Augustine as Mentor, one wonders if Mr. Smithers is writing for the average church leader or his own colleagues.
   The last chapter, “Shepherding Shepherds Today” is only two pages. While there is benefit in knowing about mentoring in the early church, more thought and space could have been afforded to application today. Many pastors are, like this one, interested in not only the what but even more so, the so what. In the final analysis the reader wants to know what the author’s suggestions are that he has gleaned from his study. What from the author’s perspective, in twenty-first century culture, does he believe the pastor can and should pursue in depth? With this question always in mind there is a disheartening realization that the reader is given 257 pages of information but only two pages of application. The reader may have been more ably assisted if the author had balance the work more evenly.
   For example, one theologically prominent subject today is that of spiritual formation. Using Augustine’s writings the author could easily have moved into this realm of current significance. After all, is this not what Augustine was attempting to do with his contemporaries? In other words Augustine, who relied upon his biblical and theological premises, challenged heresies like Pelagianism, Arianism. How could those thoughts apply to our relativistic postmodern culture? How could Augustine’s thoughts have been organized to enhance one’s growth in spiritual formation? Answers to questions like these would have greatly enhanced the work.

1 Edward L. Smithers, Augustine as Mentor, A Model for Preparing Spiritual Leaders, B & H Publishing Group, Nashville, 2008. ↑ 

2 Keith R. Anderson and Randy D. Reese, Spiritual Mentoring: A Guide for seeking and Giving Direction (Intervarsity Press, Dowers Grove, 1999), forward. ↑ 

3 Ibid, p. 112. ↑ 

4 Ibid, p. 229. ↑ 

i Jerome Drebelbis has pastored Grace Evangelical Free Church in Beulah, North Dakota, for ten years. He is a graduate of Trinity Evangelical Divinity School with a Masters of Divinity. ↑ 

If it is true, as John Piper says, that “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him,” how does godly sorrow fit into the Christian life?

In a sermon from 1723, titled “The Pleasantness of Religion,” Edwards addressed the question: How does the centrality of savoring the glory of God in the gospel relate to the pain of gospel-awakened contrition? Here is the key insight:

There is repentance of sin: though it be a deep sorrow for sin that God requires as necessary to salvation, yet the very nature of it necessarily implies delight. Repentance of sin is a sorrow arising from the sight of God’s excellency and mercy, but the apprehension of excellency or mercy must necessarily and unavoidably beget pleasure in the mind of the beholder. ’Tis impossible that anyone should see anything that appears to him excellent and not behold it with pleasure, and it’s impossible to be affected with the mercy and love of God, and his willingness to be merciful to us and love us, and not be affected with pleasure at the thoughts of [it];but this is the very affection that begets true repentance. How much soever of a paradox it may seem, it is true that repentance is a sweet sorrow, so that the more of this sorrow, the more pleasure. [The Sermons of Jonathan Edwards: A Reader (Yale University Press, 1999), 18–19.]

   This is astonishing and true. What he is saying is that to bring people to the sorrow of repentance and contrition, you must bring them first to see the glory of God as their treasure and their delight. This is what happens in the gospel. The gospel is the revelation of “the glory of Christ, who is the image of God” (2 Cor. 4:4). True sorrow over sin is shown by the gospel to be what it really is—the result of failing to savor “the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor. 4:6). The sorrow of true contrition is sorrow for not having God as our all-satisfying treasure. But to be sorrowful over not savoring God, we must see God as our treasure, our sweetness. To grieve over not delighting in God, he must have become a delight to us.

—John Piper, God Is the Gospel (Crossway, 2005), 107–108.

Let God be God over the Church. It seems a rather silly thing to say. After all, who can prevent it? The point is that many Christians and churches live as practical deists, as though God is not really interested in how we operate, and as though he does not sovereignty direct all things that come to pass. Letting God be God means trusting him to work through the means he has ordained, without feeling the need for innovation, and simply doing as he has directed.

Letting God be God also means being who God wants us to be, recognizing that being is fundamental, and doing is only consequential. If we are who God wants us to be, we will inevitably do what God wants us to do.

Letting God be God over the church, seeing him as its center and glory, its source and its life, is a truly liberating experience. It liberates us from thinking that we have to do, in ourselves, what we are entirely incapable of doing. That is, growing the church. We cannot do the work that only God can do. We can work in the church, preach and teach, spread the gospel, encourage and urge each other on, but we cannot impart new life. Nor can we ever sanctify the church. Indeed we cannot even feed the church. It is God who supplies the food; we are simply called upon to serve it (1 Cor. 3:5). This, however, is precisely why Paul says, a little later, that “we do not lose heart” (2 Cor. 4:1, 16) but are “confident” (3:4; cf. 5:6).
   While all of this is conventional enough, it is not common enough in evangelical churches. Lip service is paid to these ideas, but when we get really serious about “doing church” we turn to what we know best. We turn to structures and programs, appearances and management, advertising and marketing. Our preoccupation is with what we do and therefore with what we control. This is what animates the conversation among evangelical leaders, what fills the pages of magazines like Leadership, and what attracts pastors to the really big important conferences. This is what they are willing to pay serious money to hear.
   Alas! It is missing the point, if I may say so. What is of primary interest in a technological world is technique, for that, after all, it how we manage everything else. In the kingdom of God things are different. It is not that we do not do things, but that our doing is rooted in our being. Who we are is more fundamental than what we do. Character is more basic than action. Being mastered by God is infinitely more important than having the know-how to manage the church.
   Letting God be God over the church means that he becomes foundational to its being, thinking, and doing. In a highly pragmatic culture, such as we have in America, doing cuts itself off from thinking. The only thinking that gets done, at least with respect to the church, is about the how-to questions. The kind of critical thinking, the serious evaluation that should go along with all of this, is impatiently brushed aside as irrelevant. If something works, if it is successful, that means what was done has validated itself. What more needs to be thought about it?
   I believe that today there is a deep yearning for churches in which God is God. Those are the churches that most easily become the communities we have all lost, where relations are developed, even in this fallen world, in the sight of God. They are where people strive to be truthful in those relations, which really is the key to integrity, and the integrity ties together our public and private lives. Churches, in fact, need to be communities that love the truth God has revealed and, in so doing, become serous and joyous about the God of that truth and intent upon serving him in his world. The church is not a business, not an experiment, not a product to be sold. It is an outpost of the kingdom, a sign of things to come in Christ’s sovereign rule, which is now hidden but will be make open and public. Then all the world will bow before him in recognition of who he is.
   And this, I dare say, is the only answer we have for the church’s existence and service. It is the anticipation of that great day. It is pointing beyond itself to that great day. It lives in this world, but it lives because it has seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. This is the knowledge that changes everything. Business savvy, organizational wizardry, cultural relevance are simply no substitute for this. Unless the Lord rebuilds the evangelical church today, as we humble ourselves before him and hear afresh his word, it will not be rebuilt.

—David F. Wells, The Courage to Be Protestant: Truth Lovers, Marketers, and Emergents in the Postmodern World (Eerdmans, 2008), 247–248.

I reioyced, when they sayd to me, We wil go into the house of the Lord. Psalm 122:1 (Geneva Bible)

The Free Gospel
by Ralph Erskine (1685–1752)

Ho, every thirsty soul and all
That poor and needy are;
Here’s water of salvation well
For you to come and share.

Here’s freedom both from sin and woe,
And blessings all divine;
Here streams of love and mercy flow,
Like floods of milk and wine.

Approach the fountainhead of bliss,
That’s open like the sea,
To buyers that are moneyless,
To poorest beggars free.

Why spend you all your wealth and pains,
For that which is not bread,
And for unsatisfying gains,
On which no soul can feed?

While vain ye seek, with earthly toys,
To fill an empty mind,
You lose immortal solid joys,
And feed upon the wind.

Incline your heart, and come to me;
Hear, and your soul shall live;
For mercies sure, as well as free,
I bind myself to give.

—Worthy Is the Lamb (Soli Deo Gloria, 2004).

Psalme 119:41–48
(Geneva Bible)
Vav.

Grace be with you, and Peace from God our Father, and from the Lorde Jesus Christ.

Some people tell me should read more broadly. They think I should read authors of all persuasions, because if I don’t, I can’t possibly come to an informed opinion on anything. Now, I wouldn’t want to restrict myself to too narrow a field, but I don’t think I do (I even read Presbyterians, for pete’s sake!). However, I don’t want to be so open minded that my brains fall out, either.

So how widely should I read? Should I read Mormon literature? The Watchtower? Papal Encyclicals?* I think not. Why not? Because some questions are settled. You might say my mind is closed, and you would be right. The object of study is not to be “always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth” (2 Timothy 3:6–8). Joseph Smith was not a prophet, Jesus is not “a god,” and the Pope is not the Vicar of Christ on earth. I don’t need the perspective of those religions.

Of course, I’m being absurd in suggesting that anyone (Christian, that is) thinks I should read from those sources; but I’m making a point, and that is that there are limits to how open we should be. The question is, where do you draw the lines, and more importantly, how do you discern where those lines should be?

In this post, I’m going to lay out the guidelines that I use to choose the authors that I allow to teach me. There are some fundamental issues on which I have come to solid conclusions and no longer open for debate. The first two, which I will address in this article, are bibliology and hermeneutics. I won’t waste my time with authors who fail in these.

Bibliology
A teacher must believe in the verbal/plenary inspiration of Scripture, that every word — every jot and tittle — of Scripture is the precise Word of God, written down exactly as he would have himself, had he chosen to bypass the prophets and apostles burn it in stone as he did on Sinai. Of course, God did not do that. That he directed the biblical authors through their individual personalities is evident; but if we believe that God’s Word as it was originally transmitted was in any way altered or bungled by the writers, then we believe we do not have, nor ever have had, the Word of God — not really.

If we get inspiration right, inerrancy, infallibility, and authority ought be foregone conclusions, and usually, they are. Sufficiency, however, has fallen on very hard times, even among conservatives who affirm inspiration, inerrancy, etc. Psychologists are the new physicians of the soul. Get yourself a Ph.D. and a radio program, and you render pastors obsolete.

Still others are listening for God to say what he left out of the Bible. “Prophets” and “apostles” abound on the lunatic fringes of what passes for the “church” in these undiscerning days. But you don’t have to attend a charismatic circus to find folks who expect to be led by subjective impressions or the occasional audible (at least inside their heads) message from God. Chances are, there’s one sitting near you on Sunday.

This is a deplorable state for the church to be in. Sola Scriptura is the church’s anchor, the formal principle of the Reformation. Note this: without the sufficiency of Scripture, there is no Reformation. And that is where this is taking us. Few Christians anymore have the courage, or the knowledge, to deny that Roman Catholicism (or any number of other heretical sects) is Christian. If you don’t get sufficiency right, your bibliology is not right — not even close. And you open a Pandora’s Box that is incalculably destructive.

Hermeneutics
Have you ever been in a Bible study where you were asked, “What does that mean to you?” or some variation of that question? That’s a terrible question. If you think any passage of Scripture can mean one thing to you, and something different to someone else, your hermeneutics are fatally flawed. Every passage has one meaning only, and the question to ask is, what did it mean to its original audience? How did they understand it? Whatever it meant to them is what it means to you. You’ve got no new insights. You’ve got no “word from the Lord” but the one on the page in front of you. But that’s getting back to Bibliology.

Every passage must be understood in its context within the larger body of literature. It’s easy to take a verse, ignore the chapter and book, and come up with a teaching that makes perfect sense isolated from its context, but is completely wrong. Scripture interprets Scripture. The meaning of verse is tied to the paragraph, chapter, book, indeed, the entire body of Scripture.

Then there is the literary context. The Bible is a literary work, written in a variety of literary genres. Historical narrative and poetry require different interpretations. The main reason, I think, that we have different eschatological views among brilliant, conscientious scholars is that literary genre is sometimes difficult to determine.

So the task of interpretation is not easy, and it is not to be taken lightly. It requires diligent scholarship. No one teacher is going to have a flawless hermeneutic; but I at least want to know that they understand the issues and are endeavoring to “be diligent to present [themselves] approved to God as [workmen] who [do] not need to be ashamed, accurately handling the word of truth” (2 Timothy 2:15).

*I’m talking now about reading for the purpose of forming a correct theology, not for the purpose of informing myself of other views, which has varying degrees of value for different people. If you want to engage in apologetics involving other religions, you should read the pertinent literature of those religions; but that’s an entirely different ball game.

Once a person is saved, he no longer needs concern himself with the law. Since he has been forgiven and justified, he no longer needs worry about sin — right? Orthodox Christianity has always replied, “wrong!” But why is that? If we are indeed freed from the law, what part does obedience play in our lives?

Many have found it hard to see what claim the law can have on the Christian. We are free from the law, they say; our salvation does not depend on law-keeping; we are justified through the blood and righteousness of Jesus Christ. How, then, can it matter, or make any difference to anything, whether we keep the law henceforth or not? And since justification means the pardon of all sin, past, present and future, and complete acceptance for all eternity, why should we be concerned whether we sin or not? Why should we think God is concerned? Does it not show an imperfect grasp of justification when a Christian makes an issue of his daily sins, and spends time mourning over them and seeking forgiveness for them? Is not a refusal to look to the law for instruction, or to be concerned about one’s daily shortcomings, part of the true boldness of justifying faith?
   The Puritans had to face these “antinomian” ideas, and sometimes made heavy weather of answering them. If one allows it to be assumed that justification is the be-all and end-all of the gift of salvation, one will always make heavy weather of answering such arguments. The truth is that these ideas must be answered in terms not of justification but of adoption—a reality which the Puritans never highlighted quite enough*. Once the distinction is drawn between these two elements in the gift of salvation, the correct reply becomes plain.
   What is that reply? It is this: that, while it is certainly true that justification frees one forever from the need to keep the law, or try to, as means of earning life, it is equally true that adoption lays on one the abiding obligation to keep the law, as the means of pleasing one's newfound father. Law-keeping is the family likeness of God’s children; Jesus fulfilled all righteousness, and God calls us to do likewise. Adoption puts law-keeping on a new footing: as children of God, we acknowledge the law's authority as a rule for our lives, because we know that this is what our Father wants. If we sin, we confess our fault and ask our Father’s forgiveness on the basis of the family relationship, as Jesus taught us to do—“Father . . . forgive us our sins” (Lk 11:2, 4). The sins of God’s children do not destroy their justification or nullify their adoption, but they mar the children’s fellowship with their Father. “Be holy, for I am holy” is our Father’s word to us, and it is no part of justifying faith to lose sight of the fact that God, the King, wants his royal children to live lives worthy of their paternity and position.

—J. I. Packer, Knowing God (InterVarsity Press, 1993), 222–223

*Joel Beeke, in his book Heirs With Christ: The Puritans on Adoption, disagrees with this assessment of the Puritans.

If you have not read the previous posts in this series, you may want to do that before continuing with this one.

The Bible contains a variety of literary forms. Story is one of them; in fact, the majority of the Bible is in the form of stories. Leland Ryken quotes Henry R. Luce, founder of Time Magazine, as saying, “Time didn’t start this emphasis on stories about people; the Bible did.” “Narrative,” writes Ryken, “is the dominant form in the Bible.”

Stories come in different types, and the stories of the Bible are no exception. All stories are either tragedy or comedy. Comedy is not humor, as we tend to think of the word. Comedy is a story with a happy ending. A comedy is, as Ryken calls it, a “U-shaped” story, beginning in happy circumstances, then descending into misery, before rising to its happy resolution. Sometimes it skips the first segment, beginning in misery, but the ending is always happy. Tragedy begins in a variety of circumstances, and ends in misery.

Among the tragedies of the Bible are the stories of Saul and Samson. The majority of the Bible’s stories, however, are comedies in which the protagonist or protagonists encounter difficulty and suffering but end in positive circumstances. The Gospels are comedies. Job and Revelation are comedies. The larger story of the Bible is most definitely a comedy.

Stories are also divided into more specific subtypes. One of these is the heroic narrative, which comprises the majority of biblical narratives. Heroic narratives are stories that are built around the life and actions of the protagonist.

So what? Well, if you want to get more than a shallow Veggie Tales-style “moral of the story,” you want to know how meaning is conveyed through stories. Leland Ryken describes the hero of the heroic narrative:

   A literary hero or heroine is representative. The purpose behind the storyteller’s selection of specific heroes and events is that they in some sense capture the universal human situation. It is commonplace that whereas the historian tells us what happened, the writer of a literary narrative tells us what happens. The hero of stories in the Bible do more than set the historical record straight. They also are models and paradigms of the religious experience of the human race. They capture what is true for us and for people around us. Characters like Joseph and Ruth and David do not stay within their stories in the Bible; they merge with our own experiences as we begin to “build bridges” between their stories and our own.
   Usually such representative heroes are exemplary of some ideal, though they need not be wholly good (in the Bible they rarely are completely idealized). Stories tend to get written about people whose character and exploits we can look up to. The stories of the Bible are no exception. They give us a memorable gallery of moral and spiritual models to emulate. On the other hand, stories can also includes a positive ideal by negative example. They can indirectly encourage good behavior by telling the story of a hero who failed to measure up to such a standard. Some of the most foolish misreadings of biblical stories I have encountered have come from a misguided assumption that we are intended to approve of the behavior of biblical heroes in virtually every episode in which they figure. One of the distinctive features of the Bible is how deeply flawed its heroes and heroines are. The Bible portrays most of its protagonists as Cromwell wished t be painted—warts and all.
   Of course, in describing hero stories as moral or spiritual examples, I run the risk of making them appear to be simplistic moral fables. This is emphatically not true of heroic narrative in the Bible. All we need to do is dip into biblical scholarship and literary criticism to sense that these stories are subtle, frequently complex to interpret, and usually characterized by a kind of cryptic understatement or mystery that requires the reader to supply and abundance of interpretation. The moment we reduce the moral or spiritual meaning of the hero’s experience to an ideal, we have turned the story into a platitude and robbed it of its power.
   The antidote lies in respecting how stories work. The values or virtues that are inculcated by a hero story like that of Joseph or Ruth are embodied in the protagonists character and life. The strategy of literature is to give form and shape to human experience by projecting it onto a character. A story can communicate truth or reality or knowledge simply by picturing some aspect of human experience. A story conveys truth whenever we can say, “This is the way life is.”
   In other words, “the whole story is the meaning, because it is an experience, not an abstraction” [Flannery O’Connor, Mysteries and Manners, 73]. To say that the story of Abraham embodies an ideal of faith is not to offer that interpretation as a substitute for the story but as a pair of eyes by which to see what the story itself means. As readers we must protect the integrity of the story, while at the same time realizing that “all narrative . . . possesses . . . some quality of the parable” [Frank Kermode, “Interpretive Continuity and the New Testament,” Rariton, Spring 1982, 36].

—Leland Ryken, How to Read the Bible as Literature (Zondervan, 1984), 75–77.

Our generation is not the first to doubt the sufficiency of Scripture to change lives. In Robert Moffat’s day, many believed that civilization needed to precede the gospel. Moffat and other pioneer missionaries challenged and disproved that theory. In 1816, Moffat was formally commissioned as a missionary of London Missionary Society and was sent to South Africa. Twenty-six years later, he could testify to the power of the gospel to transform lives.

‘It is now demonstrated,’ [wrote Moffat] in 1842, ‘that the Gospel can transform these aceldamas [fields of blood], these dens of crime, weeping and woe, into abodes of purity, happiness, and love . . . We are warranted to expect, from what has already occurred, great and glorious results.’ A moral improvement in society in general is not needed to prepare the way for spiritual success. On this point Moffat wrote:

Much has been said about civilizing savages before attempting to evangelize them. This is a theory which has gained extensive prevalence among the wise men of this world, but we have never yet seen a practical demonstration of its truth. We ourselves are convinced that evangelization must precede civilization. It is very easy in a country of high refinement to speculate on what might be done among rude and savage men, but the Christian missionary, the only experimentalist, has invariably found that to make the fruit good the tree must first be made good. Nothing less than the power of Divine grace can reform the hearts of savages, after which the mind is susceptible of those instructions which teach them to adorn the gospel they profess.

   This lesson needs to be remembered wherever the moral decay of society tempts Christians to suppose the plain preaching of the gospel cannot meet the situation. Moffat was certain that only one source is adequate to answer the effects of sin upon society, whether these are among ‘barbarians’ or ‘the civilized nations of Europe’: ‘Nothing but the Bible can save man from his woes.’

—Iain Murray, A Scottish Christian Heritage (Banner of Truth, 2006), 269–270.

As we enjoy our gifts from God, how do we guard against valuing the gifts above the giver? John Piper examines “The Line Between God-Cherishing Gratitude and Gift-Cherishing Idolatry.”

How do all the gifts that flow to us from the gospel relate to God as the ultimate and all important gift of the gospel? The challenge . . . is to walk a fine line between belittling the gifts of God and making the gifts of God into god. It’s the line between God-cherishing gratitude and gift-cherishing idolatry. The truth I will try to unfold is that all the gifts of God are given for the sake of revealing more of God’s glory, so that the proper use of them is to rest our affections not on them but through them on God alone.
   What I mean by resting our affections is that the desires of our hearts find their end point—their goal, their resting place—only in God, even though, as it were, they ride up to God on a thousand gifts. Augustine said, “thou hast made us for thyself and our heart is restless until it repose in thee.” This restlessness is a good thing when we find ourselves delighting in one of God’s gifts. Gifts of God should be enjoyed, whether it be the gift of salvation (1 Pet. 1:4–5) or food (1 Tim. 4:3; 6–7). But if our affections rest there, we become idolaters. So the aim of this chapter and the next is to show from scripture how blood-bought gifts—one could say, gifts of the gospel—point away from themselves to the one great gift of the gospel, God himself.

. . .
Consider first God’s manifold gifts that come to us in the accomplishment of our salvation. How shall we rejoice in them? Predestination is one of the first gifts of the gospel, even though it preceded the death of Christ in eternity. The spotless lamb, Jesus Christ, who was slain for our sins, was foreknown before the foundation of the world (1 Pet. 1:20). Because of his, God gave us grace before the ages began (2 Tim. 1:9). Therefore, Paul says, “God predestined us for adoption through Jesus Christ” (Eph. 1:5) This predestination was God’s purpose to adopt us and make us holy and blameless before him in love.
   How then shall we rejoice in this amazing blood-bought gift of predestination? Paul gives the answer in Ephesians 1:6. “He predestined us . . . to the praise of the glory of his grace” (NASB). God’s aim in our predestination is that we admire and make much of the glory of his grace. In other words, the aim of predestining us is that grace would be put on display as glorious, and that we would see it and savor it and sing its praises. The glory of grace is the glory of God acting graciously. Therefore, the aim of predestination is that we savor God in his gracious saving action of predestination. The goal of predestination, and of the gospel acts that purchased it, is that we would be glad in praising the grace of God.

—John Piper, God Is the Gospel (Crossway, 2005), 117–118.

The trouble, as I see it, with Christian political activism — “religious right,” “Moral Majority,” “Christian Coalition,” etc. — is not that Christians should not be politically active. On the contrary, I believe that Christians have a duty to actively participate in their political systems. The problem is that the motivation (which influences the means, for better or worse, as well as the outcome) has been wrong. It has been very earthy-minded. It has been focused on how to create the world we want for ourselves and our children. Certainly, a better world in which to live would be a natural outcome of proper Christian involvement in the system; but it ought not be our motivation. Albert Mohler writes,

   An evangelical theology for political participation must be grounded in the larger context of cultural engagement. As the Christian worldview makes clear, our ultimate concern must be the glory of God. When Scripture instructs us to love God and then to love our neighbor as ourselves, it thereby gives us a clear mandate for the right kind of cultural engagement.
   We love our neighbor because we first love God. In His sovereignty, our Creator has put us within this cultural context in order that we may display His glory by preaching the gospel, confronting persons with God’s truth, and serving as agents of salt and light in the dark and fallen world. In other words, love of God leads us to love our neighbor, and love of neighbor requires our participation in the culture and in the political process.

—Albert Mohler, Culture Shift: Engaging Current Issues with Timeless Truth (Moltnomah, 2008), 2.

I reioyced, when they sayd to me, We wil go into the house of the Lord. Psalm 122:1 (Geneva Bible)

THE END OF THE DAY
Horatius Bonar (1808–1889)

COME, for thy day, thy wasted day, is closing,
   With all its joy and sun;
Bright, loving hours have passed thee by unheeded;
   Thy work on earth undone,
   And all thy race unrun.

Folly and pleasure hast thou still been chasing,
   With the world’s giddy throng,
Beauty and love have been thy golden idols;
   And thou hast rushed along,
   Still list’ning to their song.

Sorrow and weeping thou hast cast behind thee,
   For what were tears to thee?
Life was not life without the smile and sunshine;
   Only in revelry
   Did wisdom seem to be.

Unclasp, O man, the syren hand of pleasure,
   Let the gay folly go!
A few quick years will bring the unwelcome ending;
   Then whither dost thou go,
   To endless joy or woe?

Clasp a far truer hand, a kinder, stronger,
   Of Him the crucified;
Let in a deeper love into thy spirit,
   The love of Him who died,
   And now is glorified!

—Horatius Bonar, Hymns of Faith and Hope, First Series (James Nisbet & Co., 1878).

Psalme 119:49–56
(Geneva Bible)
Zain.
49 Remember the promise made to thy seruant, wherein thou hast caused me to trust.

Grace be with you, and Peace from God our Father, and from the Lorde Jesus Christ.

Last week I began writing on what I require of authors I read. I gave correct bibliology and hermeneutics as the starting point for judging the worthiness of an author’s work. How helpful is that, though, if it is true that “you can’t judge a book by its cover”? What if there is no statement concerning those things on the inside flap of the book? Well, of course there never is, unless the subject of the book happens to be bibliology or hermeneutics.

Even if an author does claim orthodox bibliology and sound hermeneutics, you’re going to have to judge whether or not it is so by examining the fruit of his labor. Good bibliology and hermeneutics will produce good theology. So now you’re going to have to look into his product. You can do this in a couple of ways. You can sample some of his work, giving it the Berean test; and you can read what others who have already earned your trust say about him. I recommend doing both. The latter is especially wise, considering that life is short and you don’t want to waste it on unprofitable reading. A visit to discerningreader.com is time well spent.

Get all the good advice you can, but you’re still going to have to learn to judge for yourself. You cannot remain entirely dependent on the judgment of others. After all, you had to judge their trustworthiness, didn’t you? So there is no bypassing your own responsibility to be discerning. You’re going to have to develop some criteria for choosing who you will read (or to whom you will listen). I’ll present you with mine.

First, I should confess that some books just don’t get a chance, even though I may know nothing of their authors or content. Sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. If a book is called 90 Minutes in Heaven or 23 Minutes in Hell, or How to Hear from God: Learn to Know His Voice and Make the Right Decisions (all actual titles of really bad books by really bad authors), well, that’s just silly. Other books may have innocuous titles, but the silliness begins within the first few pages: “I want to teach you how to pray a daring prayer that God always answers. It is brief—only one sentence with four parts—and tucked away in the Bible, but I believe it contains the key to a life of extraordinary favor with God.” Okay, well, thanks for putting that right up front in the preface!

I have three categories of theology that I consider absolutely foundational (not including bibliology, already discussed). They are theology proper (the doctrine of God), anthropology (the doctrine of man), and soteriology (the doctrine of salvation).

It should be obvious that if an author doesn’t know who God is, he’s going to be off-track in general. Does he deny the Trinity? Is he an open theist? Does he demonstrate an understanding of the attributes of God, or is he ignorant or even antagonistic toward them? If he doesn’t know God, there isn’t much I can learn from him. He ought to be learning from me, and if that isn’t a rebuke, I don’t know what is!

Closely following (in importance) the knowledge of God is the knowledge of man. We must know who we are to know what we need. We must understand that we are, in our natural state, dead in sin. We are not mostly dead, or spiritually sick. We are dead. We are as Lazarus, laying dead in the tomb, stinking, with no hope unless we here the call of God, “Come forth!” Does an author believe we just need some help, even a lot of help? Does he — or she — claim not to be a sinner? If an author doesn’t understand my condition, he really has nothing for me.

An author must first know who God is, second, what is wrong with me, and third, what to do about it, or rather, what God has done about it. He needs to understand the atonement. He needs to understand God’s eternal plan for the redemption of his people. He must be a thoroughgoing monergist.

Those are my basic criteria for narrowing the field of those who would be my teachers. There are other doctrines that will knock an author off my reading list — theistic evolution and egalitarianism, for example — but they are seldom encountered among those who get these fundamentals right. Am I too narrow? I don’t think so. I frequently encounter ideas in my reading that I disagree with — strongly, even — but do not consider fundamental. There is much I can learn from teachers who disagree on such things as eschatology, ecclesiology, holy ordinances, etc.; but some things are foundational to the Christian faith, and if you don’t get them right, you can’t be my teacher, and I won’t buy your book.

All Christians desire God’s guidance in their lives. We know that we need it, and that without it, our lives will be a chaotic, purposeless mess. Unless he leads us, we cannot do his will.

But we are often confused on the subject of God’s leading. J. I. Packer suggests two common misconceptions concerning God’s guidance: 1) many who believe that God can guide, and has promised to do so, doubt their own ability to receive his guidance; 2) knowledge of God in our day has been obscured — “turned, in effect, into ignorance of God” — so that there is doubt as to whether God even has a plan, and is able and willing to give guidance. If this was true thirty-six years ago when Packer first published Knowing God, it is even more applicable in our postmodern age. So we’re going to spend two or three Tuesdays on this subject, beginning with the affirmation that God Has a Plan:

Belief that divine guidance is real rests upon two foundation-facts: first the reality of God’s plan for us; second, the ability of God to communicate with us. On both these facts the Bible has much to say. Has God a plan for individuals? Indeed he has. He has formed an “eternal purpose” (literally, a “plan of the ages”), “a plan for the fulness of time,” in accordance with which he “accomplishes all things according to the counsel of his will” (Eph 3:11; 1:10–11 RSV). He had a plan for the redemption of his people from Egyptian bondage, when he guided them through the sea and the desert by means of a pillar of cloud by day and pillar of fire by night. He had a plan for the return of his people from Babylonian exile, where he guided by setting Cyrus on the throne and stirring up his spirit (Ezra 1:1) to send the Jews home to build their temple. He had a plan for Jesus (see Lk 18:31; 22:22 and so on); Jesus’ whole business on earth was to do his Father’s will (Jn 4:34; Heb 10:7 ,9). God had a plan for Paul (see Acts 21:14; 22:14; 26:16–19; 1 Tim 1:16); in five of his letters Paul announces himself as an apostle “by the will of God.” God has a plan for each of his children.
   But can God communicate his plan to us? Indeed he can. As man is a communicative animal, so his Maker is a communicative God. He made known his will to and through the Old Testament prophets. He guided Jesus and Paul. Acts records several instances of detailed guidance (Philip being sent to the desert to meet the Ethiopian eunuch, 8:26, 29; Peter being told to accept the invitation of Cornelius, 10:19–20; the church Antioch being charged to send Paul and Barnabas as missionaries, 13:2; Paul and Silas being called into Europe, 16:6–10; Paul being instructed to press on with his Corinthian ministry, 18:9–10). And though guidance by dreams, visions and direct verbal messages must be judged exceptional and not normal, even for the apostles and their contemporaries, yet these events do at least show that God has no difficulty in making his will known to his servants.
   Moreover, Scripture contains explicit promises of divine guidance, whereby we may know God’s plan for our action. “I will instruct you and teach you the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you,” says God to David (Ps 32:8 RSV). Isaiah 58:11 contains the assurance that if the people repent and obey, “the Lord will guide you always.” Guidance is a main theme in Psalm 25, where we read, “Good and upright is the Lord; therefore he instructs sinners in his ways. He guides the humble in what is right and teaches them his way. . . . Who, then, is the man that fears the Lord? He will instruct him in the way chosen for him” (vv. 8–9,12). So in Proverbs 3:6, “In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.”
   In the New Testament, the same expectation of guidance appears. Paul’s prayer that the Colossians might be filled “with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding,” and Epaphras’s prayer that they might “stand firm in all the will of God” (Col 1:9; 4:12), clearly assume that God is ready and willing to make his will known. Wisdom in Scripture always means knowledge of the course of action that will please God and secure life, so that the promise of James 1:5—if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives to all men generously and without reproaching, and it will be given him” (RSV)—is in effect a promise of guidance. “Let your minds be remade and your whole nature thus transformed,” counsels Paul. “Then you will be able to discern the will of God, and to know what is good, acceptable, and perfect” (Rom 12:2 NEB).
   Other lines of biblical truth come in here to confirm this confidence that God will guide. First, Christians are God’s sons; and if human parents have a responsibility to give their children guidance in matters where ignorance and incapacity would spell danger, we should not doubt that in the family of God the same applies. “If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!” (Mt 7:11).
   Again, Scripture is God’s Word, “profitable” (we read) “for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work” (2 Tim 3:16–17 RSV). “Teaching” means comprehensive instruction in doctrine and ethics, the work and will of God; “reproof,” “correction” and “training in righteousness” signify the applying of this instruction to our disordered lives; “equipped [ready] for every good work”—that is, a life set to go God’s way—is the promised result.
   Again, Christians have an indwelling Instructor, the Holy Spirit. “You have been anointed by the Holy One. . . . The anointing which you received from him abides in you, . . . his anointing teaches you about everything, and is true, and is no lie” (1 Jn 2:20, 27 RSV). Doubt as to the availability of guidance would be a slur on the faithfulness of the Holy Spirit to his ministry. It is notable that in Acts 8:29; 10:19; 13:2; 16:6 and most strikingly in the decree of the Jerusalem council—“it has seemed to the Holy Spirit and to us” (15:28)—the giving of guidance is specifically ascribed to the Spirit.
   Again, God seeks his glory in our lives, and he is glorified in us only when we obey his will. It follows that, as a means to his own end, he must be ready to teach us his way, so that we may walk in it. Confidence in God’s readiness to teach those who desire to obey underlies all Psalm 119. In Psalm 23:3 David proclaims the reality of God giving guidance for his own glory—“he guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”
   So we might go on, but the point is sufficiently established. It is impossible to doubt that guidance is a reality intended for, and promised to, every child of God. Christians who miss it thereby show only that they did not seek it as they should. It is right, therefore, to be concerned about one’s own receptiveness to guidance, and to study how to seek it.

—J. I. Packer, Knowing God (InterVarsity Press, 1993), 231–233.

Few Christians would dispute that the Psalms contain some of the most beautiful language in Scripture. Yet I dare say that a great many pass over much of the poetic language of the Psalms without understanding it. I know I have. Take, for example, Psalm 133: How good and pleasant it is / when brothers live together in unity! / It is like precious oil poured on the head, / running down on [Aaron’s] beard . . . Be honest now — how many of us have any idea what that means? Very few, I would guess. This is because poetry does not make simple propositional statements. It uses figurative language such as image, metaphor, and simile to cause the reader to enter into an experience with the author. That is what makes it poetry. We need to learn to identify and interpret these figures of speech. Using the example of Psalm 133, Leland Ryken gives us a lesson:

   Image, metaphor, simile, and symbol are the “basics” of poetry, but there are other figures of speech that we also need to identify and interpret. One is allusion. An allusion is a reference to literature or history. As with metaphor and simile, we first need to identify the source of allusion and then interpret what aspects of that earlier situation are relevant to the context in which the allusion appears.
   Psalm 133:1–2 provides a good example:

How good and pleasant is it
   when brothers live together in unity!
It is like precious oil poured on the head,
   running down on the beard,
running down on Aaron’s beard,
   down upon the collar of his robes.

The fellowship the pilgrims experience en route to Jerusalem to worship God in the temple is like oil (simile), but not just any oil. It is specifically like the oil of Aaron (allusion). The passage to which this alludes is Exodus 30:22–33, where we learn that this oil was a “sacred anointing oil” that was only used only in connection with official worship at the tabernacle or temple. Having identified the source of the allusion, we can interpret it: the fellowship of the pilgrims is, like the anointing oil a holy thing and a preparation for worship at the temple.

—Leland Ryken, How to Read the Bible as Literature (Zondervan, 1984), 97.

You can see, I hope, how rich this passage is when its poetry is understood, and how meaningless it is otherwise. So it is with all of the poetry of Scripture.

The demands on a pastor are many: he must be a scholar, a teacher, a preacher, and a counselor, just to name the most obvious of his duties. But before he can be an effective shepherd, he must meet a much more basic requirement: he must have a genuine love for the people in his care. Iain Murray offers an example of this pastoral love in the Scottish Presbyterian Samuel Rutherford (1600-1661):

   For a seventeenth-century example of the closeness of pastors and people Samuel Rutherford’s Letters are unforgettable. Separated from his parish in days of persecution, he was forced to resort to letters, and the personal issues about which he writes show how his pastoral work was conducted, The spiritually cold, the sorrowing, the individual struggling with temptations, the believer lacking assurance, and many more, all have his attention and sympathetic interest. To an old man about whom he had some doubt he can write:

My soul longeth exceedingly to hear how matters go betwixt you and Christ; and whether or not there be any work of Christ in that parish that will bide in the trial of fire and water. Let me be weighed of the Lord in a just balance, if your souls lie not weighty upon me. Ye go to bed and rise with me: thoughts of your soul, my dearest in the Lord, depart not from me in my sleep. You have a great part of my tears, sighs, supplications, and prayers. Oh, if I could buy your soul’s salvation with any suffering whatsoever, and that ye and I might meet with joy up in the rainbow, when we shall stand before our judge! [Letters of Rutherford, p. 344]

—Iain Murray, A Scottish Christian Heritage (Banner of Truth, 2006), 126.

What did the death of Christ accomplish? Depending on the context of the question, there are a number of correct answers. Ultimately, however, there was one single purpose.

Whether one thinks of the work of Christ as accomplishing reconciliation or propitiation or penal satisfaction or redemption or justification or forgiveness of sins or liberation, the aim of them all is summed up in the ultimate gift of God himself. First Peter 3:18 is the clearest statement: “Christ also suffered once for our sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God.” Ephesians 2: 13–18 is the next most explicit statement of this truth. “In Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blod of Christ . . . . That he might . . . Reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross. . . . . For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father.” The ultimate aim of the blood of Christ is that we be “brought near” to God and “have access in one Spirit to the Father.”

—John Piper, God Is the Gospel (Crossway, 2005), 120–121.

It seems that almost everyone is offended by something these days. Secularists are offended by public religious expressions. Muslims are offended and provoked to violence when their religion is besmirched. Christians are offended by secular manifestations of secular morality. (I’m reminded particularly of the foolish outcry several years ago over the movie The Last Temptation of Christ.) But these days it is most often secularists who jump to playing the offendedness card. Albert Mohler writes of how this “culture of offendedness” undermines free society:

   The very idea of civil society assumes the very real possibility that individuals may at any time be offended by another member of the community. Civilization thrives when individuals and groups seek to minimize unnecessary offendedness, while recognizing that some degree of real or perceived offendedness is the cost society must pay for the right to enjoy the free exchange of ideas and the freedom to speak one’s mind.
   Professor [Paul] Helm is surely right when he argues that the “social value” of offendedness is now increasing. All that is necessary for a claim to be taken seriously is for the claim to be offered. After all, if the essence of the offenedness is an emotional state or response, how can any individual deny that claimant has been genuinely offended? Professor Helm is right to worry that this will lead to the fracturing of society.

We all hear things we don’t like said about people and causes that we are fond of but in the changed social atmosphere we are being encouraged to give public notice if such language offends us. I am now being repeatedly told that I am entitled not to be offended. So—from now on—not offended is what I intend to be. Does this heightening of sensitivity make for social cohesion? Does not such cohesion depend rather on enduring what we don’t like, and doing so in an adult way? Does not the glue of civic peace rest on such intangibles as the ability to laugh at oneself, to take a joke about even the deepest things? And is not a measure of the strength of a person’s religion that they tolerate the unpleasant conversation of others? Isn’t playing the offendedness card going to result in an enfeebling of culture, the development of oversensitive and precious members of the “caring society”? Whatever happened to toleration? [Paul Helm, “Offendedness,” Salisbury Review, June 2006, 16–18.]

   Given our mandate to share the gospel and to speak openly and publicly about Jesus Christ and the Christian faith, Christians must understand a particular responsibility to protect free speech and to resist this culture of offendedness that threatens to shut down all public discourse. Of course, the right for Christians to speak publicly about Jesus Christ necessarily means that adherents of other belief systems will be equally free to present their truth claims in an equally public manner. This is simply the cost of religious liberty.

—Albert Mohler, Culture Shift: Engaging Current Issues with Timeless Truth (Moltnomah, 2008), 32–33.

I reioyced, when they sayd to me, We wil go into the house of the Lord. (Psalme 122:1 Geneva Bible)

Freedom

O Holy Father, thou hast freely given thy Son,
O Divine Son, thou hast freely paid my debt,
O Eternal Spirit, thou hast freely bid me come,
O Triune God, thou dost freely grace me with salvation.

Prayers and tears could not suffice to pardon
my sins,
   nor anything less than atoning blood,
   but my believing is my receiving,
   for a thankful acceptance is no paying of the debt.
What didst thou see in me?
   that I a poor, diseased, despised sinner
      should be clothed in thy bright glory?
   that a creeping worm
      should be advanced to this high state?
   that one lately groaning, weeping, dying,
      should be as full of joy as my heart can hold?
   that a being of dust and darkness
   should be taken like Mordecai from captivity,
      and set next to the king?
   should be lifted like Daniel from a den
      and be made ruler of princes and provinces?
Who can fathom immeasurable love?
As far as the rational soul exceeds the senses,
   so does the spirit exceed the rational in its
      knowledge of thee.
Thou hast given me understanding to compass
      the earth,
   measure the sun, moon, stars, universe,
   but above all to know thee, the only true God.
I marvel that the finite can know the Infinite,
   here a little, afterwards in full-orbed truth;
Now I know but a small portion of what
      I shall know,
   here in part, there in perfection,
   here a glimpse, there a glory.
To enjoy thee is life eternal,
   and to enjoy is to know
Keep me in the freedom of experiencing thy
   salvation continually.

—from The Valley of Vision, Arthur Bennett, editor (Banner of Truth Trust, 2002).

Psalme 119:57–64
(Geneva Bible)
Cheth.
57 O Lord, that art my portion, I haue determined to keepe thy wordes.
58 I made my supplication in thy presence with my whole heart: be mercifull vnto me according to thy promise.
59 I haue considered my waies, and turned my feete into thy testimonies.
60 I made haste and delaied not to keepe thy commandements.
61 The bandes of the wicked haue robbed me: but I haue not forgotten thy Lawe.
62 At midnight will I rise to giue thanks vnto thee, because of thy righteous iudgements.
63 I am companion of all them that feare thee, and keepe thy precepts.
64 The earth, O Lord, is full of thy mercie: teache me thy statutes.

Grace be with you, and Peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

Beloved, now we are children of God, and it has not appeared as yet what we will be. We know that when He appears, we will be like Him, because we will see Him just as He is. And everyone who has this hope fixed on Him purifies himself, just as He is pure. (1 John 3:2–3)

Do you want to be Christ-like? Then look at him, and look at him some more. Focus on him; fill your mind with him. Meditate on his Word. Think of all he is, and all you are promised through him. Because it is by seeing him that we become like him.

We read last week that God does indeed have a plan, and that he is able to communicate it to us. But there is much confusion about how he accomplishes that. Packer writes on How We Receive Guidance:

Earnest Christians seeking guidance often go wrong. Why is this? Often the reason is that their notion of the nature and method of divine guidance is distorted. They look for a will-o’-the-wisp; they overlook the guidance that is ready at hand and lay themselves open to all sorts of delusions. Their basic mistake is to think of guidance as essentially inward prompting by the Holy Spirit, apart from the written Word. This idea . . . is a seed-bed in which all forms of fanatacism and folly can grow.
   How do thoughtful Christians come to make this mistake? What seems to happen is this. They hear the word guidance and think at once of a particular class of “guidance problems”—on which, perhaps, the books they have read and the testimonies they have heard tended to harp exclusively. This is the class of problems concerned with what we may call “vocational choices”—choices, that is, between competing options, all of which in themselves appear lawful and good. Should I contemplate marriage, or not? Should I marry this person, or not? . . . Should I serve God in the land of my upbringing, or abroad? Which of the professions open to me should I follow? . . . Is my present sphere of work the right one to stay in? . . . Which claims on my voluntary service time should have priority?
   . . .
   Two features about divine guidance in the case of “vocational choices” are distinctive. Both follow from the nature of the situation itself. First, these problems cannot be resolved by a direct application of biblical teaching. All one can do from Scripture is circumscribe the lawful possibilities between which the choice has to be made. (No biblical text, for instance, told the present writer to propose to the lady who is now his wife, or to seek ordination, or to start his ministry in England, or to buy his large old car.)
   Second, just because Scripture cannot decide one’s choice directly, the factor of God-given prompting and inclination, whereby one is drawn to commit oneself to one set of responsibilities rather than another and finds one’s mind settled in peace as one contemplates them, becomes decisive. The basis of the mistake which we are trying to detect is to assume, first, that all guidance problems have these same two characteristics, and, second, that all life should be treated as a field in which this kind of guidance should be sought.
   The consequences of this mistake among earnest Christians have been both comic and tragic. The idea of a life in which the inward voice of the Spirit decides and directs everything sounds most attractive, for it seems to exalt the Spirit’s ministry and to promise the closest intimacy with God; but in practice this quest for superspirituality leads only to frantic bewilderment or lunacy.
   . . .
   But the true way to honor the Holy Spirit as our guide is to honor the holy Scriptures through which he guides us. The fundamental guidance which God gives to shape our lives—the instilling, that is, of the basic convictions, attitudes, ideals and value judgments, in terms of which we are to live—is not a matter of inward promptings apart from the Word but of the pressure on our consciences of the portrayal of God’s character and will in the Word, which the Spirit enlightens us to understand and apply to ourselves.
   The basic form of divine guidance, therefore, is the presentation to us of positive ideals as guidelines for all our living. “Be the kind of person that Jesus was”; “seek this virtue, and this one, and this, and practice them up to the limit”; “know your responsibilities—husbands, to your wives; wives, to your husbands; parents, to your children; all of you, to all your fellow Christians and all your fellow human beings; know them, and seek strength constantly to discharge them”—this is how God guides us through the Bible, as any student of the Psalms, the Proverbs, the Prophets, the Sermon on the Mount, and the ethical parts of the Epistles will soon discover. “Turn from evil and do good” (Psalm 34:14; 37:27)—this is the highway along which the Bible is concerned to lead us, and all its admonitions are concerned to keep us on it. Be it noted that the reference to being “led by the Spirit” in Romans 8:14 relates not to inward “voices” or any such experience, but to mortifying known sin and not living after the flesh!
   Only within the limits of this guidance does God prompt us inwardly in matters of “vocational” decision. So never expect to be aided to marry an unbeliever, or elope with a married person, as long as 1 Corinthians 7:39 and the seventh commandment stand! The present writer has known divine guidance to be claimed for both courses of action. Inward inclinations were undoubtedly present, but they were quite certainly not from the Spirit of God, for they went against the Word. The Spirit leads within the limits which the Word sets, not beyond them. “He guides me in paths of righteousness” (Ps 23:3)—but not anywhere else.

—J. I. Packer, Knowing God (InterVarsity Press, 1993), 233–237.

Poetry, according to Robert Frost, is “saying one thing and meaning another.” And while that is quite true, poetry possesses an eloquence that direct propositions lack. Through figurative language, poetry is able to convey, with an economy of words, meanings that would otherwise require paragraphs.

As I’m reading How to Read the Bible as Literature, and learning about the various poetic devices used in Scripture, I thought I would just list several poetic devices with their definitions and some examples. The examples will be taken from Ryken’s book (chapter 4, The Poetry of the Bible).

Simile
   Simile compares one thing to another using the words “as” or “like.” Your tongue . . . is like a sharpened razor (Psalm 52:2).

Metaphor
   While a simile presents one thing as being like the other, metaphor presents the subject as actually being the other. The Lord God is a sun and shield (Psalm 84:11).

Metonymy
   A metonymy skips the comparison all together and simply replaces one thing with another with which it is closely associated. The sword will never depart from your house (2 Sam. 12:10). This phrase contains two metonymies, sword, and house. The meaning is that violence will persist in David’s family.

Synecdoche
   A part is used to represent the whole. Give us this day our daily bread (Matthew 6:11). Bread represents all material needs.

Allusion
   Refers to a past event. By the word of the Lord were the heavens made (Psalm 33:6).

Personification
   Attributes human characteristics to inanimate objects. Then all of the trees of the forest will sing for joy (Psalm 96:12).

Anthropomorphism
   The portrayal of God in human terms. Your right hand, O Lord, shattered the enemy (Exodus 15:6). God, being spirit, doesn’t actually have hands.

Hyperbole
   Exaggeration. All night long I flood my bed with weeping (Psalm 6:6).

Paradox
   An apparent contradiction that the reader must resolve. The mercy of the wicked is cruel (Proverbs 12:10). A paradox makes no sense outside its context, but when analyzed in context can be seen to express truth.

Figures of speech are at times difficult to classify and overlapping. A good example of this is Exodus 15:6, cited above under anthropomorphism. Ryken writes:

   Consider the statement “your right hand, O Lord, shattered the enemy” (Exod. 15:6). Exactly what should we call this? It could be considered metonymy, inasmuch as it was God's power over nature, and not literally his hand, that conquered the Egyptians. It is synecdoche if we consider that the right hand stands for the whole being of God. The hand could be regarded as a metaphor for God’s power, or as a symbol of that power. The whole enterprise of labeling quickly collapses under the weight of its own complexity. The simplest solution is to be aware that the transcendent God of the Bible is repeatedly portrayed in earthly and human terms and that such descriptions are of course figurative rather than literal. The word “anthropomorphism” seems to cover the phenomenon as adequately as any other. —How to Read the Bible as Literature, 102–103.

What is the purpose of these figures of speech, and what are we to do with them?

   These diverse figures of speech tend toward similar effects. They are governed by the impulse to be concrete and vivid. They are usually a way of achieving tremendous concentration, of saying much in little. They tend to be a shorthand way of suggesting a multiplicity of meanings, connotations, overtones, or associations, and as such they are a way of achieving wholeness of expression. Most of these figures of speech use the principle of comparison. They use one area of human experience to shed light on another area. In one way or another, they operate on the principle that A is like B. This is not limited to the obvious examples of metaphor and simile. With personification, for example, the object is treated as though it were a person. In using such comparisons, poets obviously resort to poetic license. They operate on the principle “it is as though . . .” instead of confining themselves to what literally exists.
   We should note, finally, that all of the figures of speech cited above place similar responsibilities on reader. First a reader must recognize or identify the figure of speech. This usually involves sensing element of strangeness in an utterance, since figures of speech differ from our ordinary, straight-forward way of speaking. Then a reader must interpret the figure. This usually entails drawing a connection or correspondence between two things. It always involves determining how the figure of speech is apt or suitable for what is being discussed, and what meanings are communicated by the figure. “Why is this figure of speech here?” is always a good interpretive question to ask. —ibid., 100–101.

The gospel that saves souls and changes lives is not merely a message that inspires the emotions. It is a message that first brings the truth of God’s Word to the minds of listeners.

   The existence of real Christianity requires a stronger basis than feeling. The nature of that basis is clear in Paul’s injunctions to Timothy and Titus: it is ‘sound doctrine’, ‘sound words’, ‘the word’ (1 Tim. 1:10; 2 Tim. 1:13; 4:2–3; Titus 1:9; 2:1).
   The reason for this apostolic priority is twofold: first, as already said, it is the mind of man that has first to be engaged and convicted; second, it is the Word of God that the Spirit of truth honours and nothing will convince without his witness. These convictions were the starting point for the evangelical preachers of Scotland. They did not see themselves as in charge of the situation. They were only the spokesmen for God and real preaching must have with it something more vital than their speaking. It must be ‘in demonstration of the Spirit and of power: that your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God’ (1 Cor. 2:4–5). Andrew Bonar understood this when he noted in his diary, ‘It is one thing to bring truth from the Bible, and another thing to bring it from God himself through the Bible.’
   If the content of preaching is biblical, it follows that it will be ‘theological’, that is to say, it will concern the knowledge of God. ‘Brethren,’ Spurgeon could tell his students, ‘if you are not theologians, you are in your pastorates just nothing at all. We shall never have great preachers until we have great divines.’ Closeness to Scripture and love for sound doctrine belong together.
   History has proved that when the influence of true preaching is at its greatest, commitment to sound doctrine will ever be present.

—Iain Murray, A Scottish Christian Heritage (Banner of Truth, 2006), 330–331.

In and through Christ believers are promised “all things” (Romans 8:32). What is “all things”? Surely not everything we want. By the worldly, materialistic measure of “all things,” we are promised much less than “all.” But at the same time, by that standard, we are promised much more than we imagine.

. . . The gospel has unleashed the omnipotent mercy of God so that thousands of other gifts flow to us from the gospel heart of God. I am thinking of a text like Romans 8:32: “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” This means that the heart of the gospel—God’s not sparing his own Son—is the guarantee that “all things” will be given to us.
   All things? What does that mean? It means the same thing that Romans 8:28 means: “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” God takes “all things” and makes them serve our ultimate good. It doesn’t mean we get everything our imperfect hearts want. It means we get what’s good for us.

. . .
Compare this with Philippians 4:19: “My God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.” Every need! Does that mean we never have hard times? Evidently not. Seven verses earlier Paul said, “I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (vv. 12-13). This is amazing. God meets “every need” (v. 19). Therefore, I have learned how to face “hunger” and “need” (v. 12). I can do “all things” through him who strengthens me—including be hungry and be in need! I conclude from this that for Christians everything we need—in order to do God’s will and magnify him—will be supplied.
   According to Romans 8:32 this was secured by the gospel. It is stated even more strikingly in Romans 8:35–37. Here the love of Christ guarantees that we will be more than conquerors in every circumstance, including the circumstance of being killed. “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? As it is written, ‘For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.” Astonishing! We are more than conquerors as we are being killed all day long! So nothing can separate us from Christ’s love, not because Christ’s love protects us from harm, but because it protects us from the ultimate harm of unbelief and separation from the love of God. The gospel gift of God’s love is better than life.

—John Piper, God Is the Gospel (Crossway, 2005), 124–125.

In a chapter of his book Culture Shift entitled Neneveh, New Orleans, and the City of Man, Albert Mohler looks at the destruction of cities and civilizations and reminds us, the citizens of Augustine’s “City of God,” what our perspective ought to be:

   Poetry and literature are filled with references to ruins and the passing of civilization. Percy Bysshe Shelley told the story of King Ozymandius, whose abandoned statue mocked his claim to be “Ozymandius, king of kings.” As Shelley described the scene: “Nothing beside remains, round the decay / of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare / die lone and level sands stretch far away” [Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandius (1818)]. Standing at the very apex of Queen Victoria’s empire, Rudyard Kipling warned of the judgment that was to come. “Far-call’d our navies melt away / on dune and headland sinks the fire. / Lo, all our pomp of yesterday / is one with Nineveh and Tyre!” he intoned [Rudyard Kipling, Recessional (1897)].
   Remember that Augustine described the two cities as created by two kinds of love. As he taught his fellow Christians, “The earthly city was created by self-love reaching the contempt of God, the heavenly city by the love of God carried as far as contempt of self. In fact, the earthly city glories in itself, the heavenly city glories in the Lord. The former looks for glory from men, the latter finds its highest glory in God, the witness of a good conscience” [Augustine, The City of God]. Alas, we are tempted by the wrong love, and we are easily seduced by the wrong city.
   Augustine was absolutely certain—and absolutely correct—in emphasizing the temporary nature of the earthly city and the passing power of its love. Only the heavenly city remains, and all earthly cities will follow Nineveh, Tyre, Babylon, and every other metropolis and village into oblivion. One day, unless that Day of Judgment comes sooner, New Orleans, New York, San Francisco, and all the cities we now know and admire will be covered with dust, if not with water.
   In the midst of all this, the church—representing the city of God—must keep its wits about it. Jerome, one of the great leaders of the church as Rome fell, asked the wrong question: “What is to become of the church now that Rome has fallen?” The City of God is represented wherever the church is found, and the church is safe by the power of God. Christians must be humbled by a biblical view of history that understands the difference between the earthly and the heavenly cities, one that understands full well that every earthly city will fall and that only the City of God will remain. In the meantime, we should pray humble prayers and ask for God to preserve the earthly city until His kingdom comes. As Kipling called England to pray: “Lord God of Hosts be with us yet, lest we forget, lest we forget!” [Kipling, Recessional].

—Albert Mohler, Culture Shift: Engaging Current Issues with Timeless Truth (Moltnomah, 2008), 142–143.