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

HYMN 24 (L. M.)
The rich sinner dying. Psa. xlix. 6, 9; Eccl. viii. 8; Job iii. 14, 15.
Isaac Watts (1674-1748)

In vain the wealthy mortals toil,
And heap their shining dust in vain,
Look down and scorn the humble poor,
And boast their lofty hills of gain.

Their golden cordials cannot ease
Their pained hearts or aching heads,
Nor fright nor bribe approaching death
From glitt’ring roofs and downy beds.

The ling’ring, the unwilling soul
The dismal summons must obey,
And bid a long, a sad farewell
To the pale lump of lifeless clay.

Thence they are huddled to the grave,
Where kings and slaves have equal thrones;
Their bones without distinction lie
Amongst the heap of meaner bones.

—from The Psalms & Hymns of Isaac Watts. Hymns and Spiritual Songs. Book I: Collected from the Holy Scriptures

Psalme 119:65–72
(Geneva Bible)
Teth.
65 O Lord, thou hast delt graciously with thy seruant according vnto thy woorde.
66 Teach me good iudgement and knowledge: for I haue beleeued thy commandements.
67 Before I was afflicted, I went astray: but nowe I keepe thy woorde.
68 Thou art good and gracious: teach me thy statutes.
69 The proud haue imagined a lie against me: but I wil keepe thy precepts with my whole heart.
70 Their heart is fatte as grease: but my delite is in thy Lawe.
71 It is good for me that I haue beene afflicted, that I may learne thy statutes.
72 The Lawe of thy mouth is better vnto me, then thousands of golde and siluer.

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

For your information:

Viz. is an abbreviation of a Middle English word, namely, videlicet, which is a contraction of two Latin words, to wit, videre licet. There are several abbreviations of this sort commonly used in English writing: e.g., for example, abbreviates exempli gratia. Another is i.e., that is, id est.

I hope this is helpful.

We have read that God does indeed have a plan for our lives, and that he is able to communicate it to us. We have read of his method of communicating his plan to us. But knowing that does not clear the way for us to easily discern God’s guidance. There are still obstacles, and they are all us.

Even with right ideas about guidance in general, however, it is still easy to go wrong, particularly in “vocational” choices. No area of life bears clearer witness to the frailty of human nature—even regenerate human nature. The work of God in these cases is to incline first our judgment and then our whole being to the course which, of all the competing alternatives, he has marked out as best suited for us, and for his glory and the good of others through us. But the Spirit can be quenched, and we can all too easily behave in a way which stops this guidance from getting through. It is worth listing some of the main pitfalls.
   First, unwillingness to think. It is false piety, super-supernaturalism of an unhealthy and pernicious sort, that demands inward impressions that lave no rational base, and declines to heed the constant biblical summons to “consider.” God made us thinking beings, and he guides our minds as in his presence we think things out—not otherwise. “O that they were wise . . . that they would consider” (Deut 32:29 KJV).
   Second, unwillingness to think ahead and weigh the long-term consequences of alternative courses of action. “Think ahead” is part of the divine rule of life no less than of the human rule of the road. Often we can see what is wise and right (and what is foolish and wrong) only as we dwell on its long-term issues. “O that they were wise . . . that they would consider their latter end!” (Deut 32:29 KJV).
   Third, unwillingness to take advice. Scripture is emphatic on the need for this. “The way of a fool seems right to him, but a wise man listens to advice” (Prov 12:15). It is a sign of conceit and immaturity to dispense with taking advice in major decisions. There are always people who know the Bible, human nature and our own gifts and limitations better than we do, and even if we cannot finally accept their advice, nothing but good will come to us from carefully weighing what they say.
   Fourth, unwillingness to suspect oneself. We dislike being realistic with ourselves, and we do not know ourselves at all well; we can recognize rationalizations in others and quite overlook them in ourselves. “Feelings” with an ego-boosting, or escapist, or self-indulging, or self-aggrandizing base must be detected and discredited, not mistaken for guidance. This is particularly true of sexual or sexually conditioned feelings. As a biologist-theologian has written:

The joy and general sense of well-being that often (but not always) goes with being “in love” can easily silence conscience and inhibit critical thinking. How often people say that they “feel led” to get married (and probably they will say “the Lord has so clearly guided”), when all they are really describing is a particularly novel state of endocrine balance which makes them feel extremely sanguine and happy. (O. R. Barclay, Guidance, pp. 29-30)

We need to ask ourselves why we “feel” a particular course to be right, and to make ourselves give reasons—and we shall be wise to lay the case before someone else whose judgment we trust, to give a verdict on our reasons. We need also to keep praying, “Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Ps 139:23-24 KJV). We can never distrust ourselves too much.
   Fifth, unwillingness to discount personal magnetism. Those who have not been made deeply aware of pride and self-deception in themselves cannot always detect these things in others, and this has from time to time made it possible for well-meaning but deluded people with a flair for self-dramatization to gain an alarming domination over the minds and consciences of others, who fall under their spell and decline to judge them by ordinary standards. And even when a gifted and magnetic person is aware of the danger and tries to avoid it, he is not always able to stop Christian people from treating him as an angel, or a prophet, construing his words as guidance for themselves and blindly following his lead. But this is not the way to be led by God. Outstanding people are not, indeed, necessarily wrong, but they are not necessarily right, either! They, and their views, must be respected, but may not be idolized. “Test everything. Hold on to the good” (1 Thess 5:21).
   Sixth, unwillingness to wait. “Wait on the Lord” is a constant refrain in the Psalms, and it is a necessary word, for God often keeps us waiting. He is not in such a hurry as we are, and it is not his way to give more light on the future than we need for action in the present, or to guide us more than one step at a time. When in doubt, do nothing, but continue to wait on God. When action is needed, light will come.

—J. I. Packer, Knowing God (InterVarsity Press, 1993), 237–239.

Parables are in part allegorical; that is, they contain fictional elements that are symbolic of real people and situations. But that is not to say they are not realistic. It is their realism that gives them life and makes them applicable to every place and time of our lives.

   There is no doubt that the parables of Jesus lend themselves to almost indefinite reflection and application, but why do they capture the listener’s attention in the first place? They are folk literature, originally oral. Indeed, they are the touchstone of popular storytelling through the ages.
   Virtually the first thing we notice about the parables is their everyday realism and concrete vividness. “It is ‘things’ that make stories go well,” writes P.C. Sandes of the parables; here “everything . . . is concrete and vigorous. Everything is described in solid terms.” The parables take us into the familiar world of planting and harvesting, traveling through the countryside , baking bread, tending sheep, or responding to an invitation. The parables thus obey the literary principle of verisimilitude (“lifelikeness”), and a perusal of commentaries always uncovers evidence of how thoroughly rooted in real life the parables are. There is no fantasy in the parables of Jesus—no talking animals or imaginary monsters, only people such as we meet during the course of a day. The parables reveal “an amazing power of observation.”
   This minute realism is an important part of Jesus’ parables. On the surface, these stories are totally “secular.” There are few overtly religious activities in the parables. If we approached them without their surrounding context and pretended that they were anonymous, we could not guess that they were intended for a religious purpose. An important by-product of this realism is that that it undermines the “two world” thinking in which the spiritual and earthly spheres are rigidly divided. We are given to understand it is in everyday experience that spiritual decisions are made and that God’s grace does its work.

—Leland Ryken, How to Read the Bible as Literature (Zondervan, 1984), 139–140.

We read last week of the need for preaching that engages the mind with sound doctrine. We must add to that imperative the truth that preaching can be doctrinally sound and yet lifeless. The preacher must not merely know the message, he must be owned by it. He must have experienced it, and lived it, in order to preach it as he ought.

Ought not preachers themselves to live on the great fundamental truths of the gospel? Ought not our souls to be continually fed from them, and our hearts continually thrilling with them? Ought not a fresh glow to come over our hearts every day as we think of Him who loved us, and washed us from sin in His blood, and made us kings and priests unto God and to the Father? Give us the plainest preacher that ever was; let him preach nothing that a whole congregation do not know; but let him preach with a thrilling heart; let him preach like one amazed at the glory of the message; let him preach in the tone of wonder and gratitude in which it becomes sinners to realise the great work of redemption, — not only will the congregation listen with interest: they will listen with profound impression . . . We greatly need preachers for the people. A preacher to the people needs to be very clear in his views, homely in his style, full of illustration, direct and courageous in his application, rich in brotherly sympathy, and very warm and vigorous in delivery. Alas! they are not common. I believe that if only every tenth student that passes through our hands were a man of this stamp, we should soon see a change on the face of society.

—W. G. Blaikie, cited in Iain Murray, A Scottish Christian Heritage (Banner of Truth, 2006), 333–334.

The prophet Jeremiah wrote, “The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick; who can understand it?” We would be wise to meditate on those words frequently, as this sickness of our hearts tends to infect our very best thoughts. This is well illustrated as John Piper asks if gratitude to God and even gratitude for the cross can be idolatrous.

. . . gratitude that is pleasing to God is not first a delight in the benefits God gives (though that will be part of it). True gratitude must be rooted in something else that comes first—namely, a delight in the beauty and excellency of God’s character. If this is not the foundation of our gratitude, then it is not above what the “natural man,” apart from the Spirit and the new nature in Christ, experiences. In that case “gratitude” to God is no more pleasing to God than all the other emotions that unbelievers have without delighting in him.
   You would not be honored if I thanked you often for your gifts to me but had no deep and spontaneous regard for you as a person. You would feel insulted, no matter how much I thanked you for your gifts. If your character and personality do not attract me or give me joy in being around you, then you will just feel used, like a tool or a machine to produce the things I really love.
   So it is with God. If we are not captured by his personality and character, displayed in his saving work, then all our declarations of thanksgiving are like the gratitude of a wife to a husband for the money she gets from him to use in her affair with another man.

. . .
It is amazing that this same idolatry is sometimes even true when people thank God for sending Christ to die for them. Perhaps you have heard people say how thankful we should be for the death of Christ because it shows how much value God puts upon us. In other words, they are thankful for the cross as a echo of our worth. What is the foundation of this gratitude?
   Jonathan Edwards calls it the gratitude of hypocrites. Why? Because “they first rejoice, and are elevated with the fact that they are made much of by God; and then on that ground, [God] seems in a sort, lovely to them. . . . They are pleased in the highest degree, in hearing how much God and Christ make of them. So that their joy is really a joy in themselves, and not in God” [Jonathan Edwards, Religious Affections, in The Works of Jonathan Edwards, vol. 2, ed. John Smith (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1959), 250, 251]. It is a shocking thing to learn that one of today’s most common descriptions of the cross—namely, how much of our value it celebrates—may well be a description of natural self-love with no spiritual value.
   Oh, that we would all heed the wisdom of Jonathan Edwards here. He is simply spelling out what it means to do all things—including giving thanks—to the glory of God (1 Cor. 10:31). He is showing us what the gospel is for. It is for the glory of God. And God is not glorified if the foundation of our gratitude for the gospel is the worth of its gifts and not the value of the Giver. If gratitude for the gospel is not rooted in the glory of God beneath the gift of God, it is disguised idolatry. May God grant us a heart to see in the gospel the light of the glory of God in the face of Christ. May he grant us to delight in him for who he is, so that all our gratitude for his gifts will be the echo of our joy in the excellency of the Giver!

—John Piper, God Is the Gospel (Crossway, 2005), 137–138.

I was reminded, as I read this, of gifts I receive from my children. Those gifts often have little or no value at all. I often have no use for them, except to clutter up my desk until such a time as I can discreetly tuck them away (I do usually save them). I have a box full of cards and crayon drawings that I will never part with, because those gifts are precious to me. Their value to me is certainly not in their quality or usefulness. I value them simply because their givers, little sinners with bad handwriting and spelling, who need me and owe me their gratitude, are precious to me. How much more ought this to be true of the gifts I receive from the Lord of the universe, who has no need of me and owes me nothing! Shouldn’t he be infinitely more precious to me?

First, It’s funny that a post on how many napkins to take at McDonald’s gets so many comments.

Second, I’m rather disappointed — but not surprised — that some are more concerned about the environmental impact than the ethics of taking more than is needed. Is it stealing to take extra napkins to take home or carry in your car/purse? Can that really be a serious question?

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

HYMN XV
MANNA. Ex. xvi. 18.
by John Newton (1725–1807)

Manna to Israel well supply’d
   The want of other bread;
While God is able to provide,
   His people shall be fed.

(Thus though the corn and wine should fail,
   And creature-streams be dry;
The prayer of faith will still prevail,
   For blessings from on high.)

Of his kind care how sweet a proof!
   It suit’d every taste;
Who gather’d most, had just enough,
   Enough, who gather’d least.

’Tis thus our gracious Lord provides
   Our comforts and our cares;
His own unerring hand provides,
   And gives us each our shares.

He knows how much the weak can bear,
   And helps them when they cry;
The strongest have no strength to spare,
   For such he’ll strongly try.

Daily they saw the Manna come,
   And cover all the ground;
But what they try’d to keep at home,
   Corrupt’d soon was found.

Vain their attempt to store it up,
   This was to tempt the Lord;
Israel must live by faith and hope,
   And not upon a hoard.

—from Olney Hymns. Book I: On select Passages of Scripture.

Psalme 119:73–80
(Geneva Bible)
Iod.
73 Thine hands haue made me and fashioned me: giue mee vnderstanding therefore, that I may learne thy commandements.
74 So they that feare thee, seeing mee shall reioyce, because I haue trusted in thy worde.
75 I knowe, O Lord, that thy iudgements are right, and that thou hast afflicted me iustly.
76 I pray thee that thy mercie may comfort me according to thy promise vnto thy seruant.
77 Let thy tender mercies come vnto me, that I may liue: for thy Lawe is my delite.
78 Let the proude be ashamed: for they haue dealt wickedly and falsely with me: but I meditate in thy precepts.
79 Let such as feare thee turne vnto me, and they that knowe thy testimonies.
80 Let mine heart bee vpright in thy statutes, that I be not ashamed.

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

When I was five years old , my family moved from northern Minnesota to a small town in the middle of nowhere in South Dakota. If I had been older, there might have been some culture shock. It was hockey to rodeo, Holsteins to Herefords, snow to cactus, fish to rattlesnakes. Grown men wore cowboy boots and hats. Some things were still the same, though.

As well as I can remember (this was nearly two score years ago), everyone in northern Minnesota is Norwegian or Swedish, and Lutheran. Everyone. They gather for worship on Sunday in their quaint, lovely little country churches, recite the Apostles’ Creed and the Confession of Sin, listen to a preacher named Olson give a three-point sermon, sing robust Lutheran hymns, and then retire to the church basement to observe the Holy Sacrament: coffee and lefse. At least that’s how I remember it.

In rural western South Dakota, everyone is not Scandinavian; but a lot of them are. Some are German. Some are something else entirely: Indians! — a subject I will return to shortly. The worship is the same, although I became aware — probably because I started school that year — that the world is not made up entirely of Lutherans. There are Catholics also, and a smattering of Baptists and Methodists (with woman pastors!). The worship service is the same, and coffee in the church basement — in all denominations — is still a means of grace.

We lived there from 1970–78, Kindergarten through seventh grade, as I reckoned it. All in all, it was a good place for a kid to grow up. I’m sure it is the most colorful place I’ve lived. One crusty fellow called “Slim,” old by my single-digit standards but by no means the oldest man in town, was reputed to be the last man to quit wearing a gunbelt. He still slept with his revolver under his pillow; I know, I saw it. He had a bed under a tree in his backyard where he slept in the summer. I’m sure he’s gone now, but if I named him and the town, there are folks still living there who would remember him.

Until we moved to South Dakota, I had been surrounded by the whitest of white people. But now, as I mentioned previously, there were Indians. The first ones I saw were anything but exotic. They just looked like ordinary cowboys-come-to-town: shined boots, sharp white shirts with pearly snaps, black hats, hair neatly cut and combed. In fact, a lot of them looked a bit neater than the average pale-face cowboy.

Sadly, a great many of the Indians I encountered were not like that. The ones I most often met smelled like alcohol, and often something worse.

Bill and Nellie would show up in town from time to time. I never knew how they got there, or how they left; they surely didn’t drive. I and a friend, or one of my sisters, would be heading up Main Street to the Jack & Jill to get a candy bar (15¢), and they would be sitting on a bench in front of the second hand store. Nellie, if memory serves, was a small woman, always in a dress. Bill had an enormous nose, made me think of a potato. If an artist was to draw a caricature of the alcoholic nose, he couldn’t have done better than to sketch Bill. We’d walk past, and Bill would begin ranting. He was harmless, and after the shock of our first encounter with him, we weren’t frightened. He wasn’t angry, but he was surely earnest. We couldn’t understand a word he said. After a few seconds, Nellie would say, “Shut up, Bill,” and he’d sit back as though nothing had happened. The next day, they would be gone.

Freddie was the same story. I don’t know where he lived, he would just show up in town and be hanging around the municipal bar. I’d see him as I went to the library, which was in the same building. Also harmless, he was tall and lean, well over six feet tall, probably six and a half or more. It was said he used to be quite a basketball player. Whatever talents he may have had were now wasted away. I doubt I ever saw him sober.

Martin was certainly no athlete. Overweight and filthy, he would ask if you could help him out with some money or, failing that, give him something to eat. The first time I was near him, I’m pretty sure he’d lost control of his bowels. He didn’t seem to notice.

One bitterly cold winter night, driving what I think was highway 212, far from anywhere, we came across a man walking along the road carrying a paper sack under his arm. We stopped and picked him up. He was wearing only a light jacket like you might wear on a cool fall day, loafers, and no hat or gloves. It was so cold and he was so far from any town that we knew he never could have gotten that far on foot without freezing to death. Asked what he was doing out there in this weather, he replied, “My friends left me.” As the story came out, he had made them pull over and let him out. Why? “They were trying to take my beer.”

To be continued . . .

I’m sorry I have no real post today. But since you’re here, I want to draw your attention to (probably) the best deal you’ll find on anything John Calvin this quincentenary year.

Solid Ground Christian Books is offering a 500th Anniversary set of Calvin’s Commentaries with a matching two-volume set of Institutes of the Christian Religion for only $119.95.

click here to order

This, by the way, matches CBD’s (motto: “We’ll Sell Anything!”) price. CBD is apparently historically challenged, as the print edition of their catologue that I received in the mail yesterday lists it as a “30th Anniversary” set.

What? Oh, I see: it’s CBD’s 30th anniversary! I hardly know what to say. I suppose this is where I would type an all-caps el-oh-el, if I was inclined to do such a thing, probably with multiple exclamation points.

Anyway, Solid Ground is a quality, discerning bookseller, and I hope you’ll consider buying from them this time.

Thank you.

In October of 1518, Martin Luther was already in hot water with the pope after having posted his Ninety-Five Theses the previous year. But he made things considerably worse for himself when, in a debate with Dominican Cardinal Cajetan, he asserted that the pope could and had erred. He turned up the heat considerably in the summer of 1519 when he confessed to Johannes von Eck that not only could popes and councils err, they had erred grievously in condemning John Huss.

So was born the Protestant doctrine of sola Scriptura. It was not that Luther despised church authority. He merely recognized that Scripture alone was inerrant and infallible, and therefore only Scripture possessed absolute normative authority. This principle is codified in several sixteenth century Reformed confessions which R. C. Sproul excerpts in the first chapter of his book, Scripture Alone.

The Theses of Berne (1528):

The church of Christ makes no laws or commandments without God’s Word. Hence all human traditions, which are called ecclesiastical commandments, are binding upon us only in so far as they are based and commanded by God’s Word. (Sec. 2)

The Geneva Confession (1536):

First we affirm that we desire to follow Scripture alone as a rule of faith and religion, without mixing it with any other things which might be devised by the opinion of men apart from the Word of God, and without wishing to accept for our spiritual government any other doctrine than what is conveyed to us by the same Word of God, and without addition or diminution, according to the command of our Lord. (Sec. 1)

The French Confession of Faith (1559):

We believe that the Word contained in these books has proceeded from God, and receives itls authority from God alone, and not from men. And inasmuch as is the rule of all truth, containing all that is necessary for the service of God and for our salvation it is not lawful for men, even for angels, to add to it, to take away from it, or to change it. Whence it follows that no authority whether of antiquity, or custom or numbers, or human wisdom, or judgments, or proclamations, or edicts, or decrees, or councils or visions, or miracles, should be opposed to these holy Scriptures, but on the contrary, all things should be examined, regulated and reformed according to them. (Art. 5)

The Belgic Confession (1561):

We receive all these books, and these only as holy and confirmation of our faith; believing, without any doubt, all things contained in them, not so much because the church receives, and approves them as such, but more especially because the Holy Ghost witnessed in our hearts that they are from God, whereof they carry the evidence in themselves (Art. 5).

Therefore we reject with all our hearts whatsoever doth not agree with this infallible rule (Art. 7).

The Second Helvic confession (1566):

Therefore, we do not admit any other judge that Christ himself, who proclaims by the Holy Scriptures what is true, what is false, what is to be followed, or what is to be avoided (chap. 2).

—R. C. Sproul, Scripture Alone (P&R Publishing Company, 2005), 18–20.

Jesus loves the little children,
   All the children of the world;
Red and yellow, black and white—
   They are precious in his sight.
Jesus loves the little children of the world.

I sang that song as a child in Sunday School. Maybe you did, too. In these ridiculously sensitive times, I don’t know if anyone sings it anymore, but the simple truth of it endures.

Indulge me as I ramble a bit. While I sang and was taught that Jesus loves all children of all colors, all those children were really very far away. I knew a few of the “red,” but “yellow” and “black” were exotic varieties that I knew only from television and the pictures missionaries brought. This was not the result of racism. My family was not avoiding people of other ethnicities, choosing our neighborhoods according to who inhabited them; it was just the way it worked out. We couldn’t have integrated if we wanted too, because there just wasn’t anyone to integrate with. My life has been spent almost entirely in rural states where “minority” means German in a Scandinavian community or, as is our current situation, Norwegian in a German community. So I roll my eyes when some “racial reconciliation” zealot contends that if I don’t have any black friends, or if my church is all white, I have a problem that needs correcting. Sorry, but I can’t help it; there are nearly as many snakes in Ireland as black folks in my county.

So the lack of ethnic diversity in my community does not concern me. It is virtually unavoidable, however, that we are somewhat ignorant of the cultures that are not here represented.

That is one reason I have been eager to read The Faithful Preacher: Recapturing the Vision of Three Pioneering African-American Pastors by Thabiti Anyabwile. John Piper writes in the Preface:

   In this book, we who are not African-American receive the double profit of not only reading across a culture but across the centuries—and thus across another culture. And, of course, that implies that the African-American reader will read across another culture as well. My guess and my prayer is that these unusual crossings will weave our lives and ministries together in ways we have not foreseen.

—John Piper, Preface to Thabiti Anyabwile, The Faithful Preacher: Recapturing the Vision of Three Pioneering African-American Pastors (Crossway, 2007), 9.

That is my hope as well.

I remember the first time I heard a black preacher on the radio, riding in the back seat somewhere in South Dakota. (This was back when pretty much everyone had AM radios in their cars, most had FM, and some had eight-track tape decks. Cassettes were a few years away. I was really young.) I have no idea what denomination he was, but he was wild. I don’t mean like a loud-mouth yelling Baptist. He was as much singing as preaching, and was accompanied by an organ and drums. It reminded me a little of the ’70s rock-and-roll I sometimes listened to on the sly on my transistor radio. The congregation was clapping and hooting and hollering — man, he was cool, and I took note of the time so I could try to catch him again. That was my introduction to black church.

Since then, I have wondered about the state of churches that are predominantly black. Are they all marked by out-of-control emotions and shallow theology? How did they get this way? Have they always been this way? Apparently not. Thabiti introduces us to three black pastors whose lives spanned nearly two hundred years, and demonstrates that America’s spiritual heritage was not passed down from Anglo divines only, but from godly, erudite men of African descent as well. And we would do well to learn from them.

From the introduction:

   As I have prepared for my own journey into ministry, wading through a truckload of trees used to print hundreds of books aimed at pastors, my experience confirmed that that old folk wisdom, “all that glitters is not gold”—especially when it is extolled as a new form of gold. As I have sought for a better way, a better understanding, and a biblically faithful perspective it has pleased my soul to realize that the old ideas are still the best ideas. Those who have gone before us, old friends with old ideas, have left a proven track record of faithfulness and fruitfulness. And the two do go together: where there is faithfulness, fruitfulness is sure to follow.
   We are told from the time we are schoolchildren that “those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” Maintaining an ignorance of history will not result in the replication of greatness and earlier success. Those who learn from history, who wisely consult those who have gone before, are the only ones who have a real chance at succeeding and avoiding pitfalls. Faithfulness and fruitfulness in ministry require wisdom, hard work, time, and the providential blessings of God, all of which are enhanced by a humble study of our predecessors.
   The best place to learn and prepare for the ministry is still at the feet of the Master Himself, and from His apostles. Who would not want to study under Paul or Peter? To hear their account of firsthand experiences with our Lord? Jesus, Paul, Peter, and others are still available to us, to speak with us through God’s Word. And I trust that every faithful pastor is learning, studying, praying, and seeking wisdom and grace for the task from them.
   But also available to us are the “lesser” luminaries, men who were not apostles but who were faithful students and shepherds. Christian history is filled with Spurgeons, Calvins, Luthers, and others who have had to answer tough questions, face uncertainties, and persevere in faith as they led God’s people. From them the wise pastor gains valuable insights and observes patterns of godliness for his own ministry.

—Thabiti Anyabwile, ibid., 14–15.

The Christian life is not wrapped up in doing, but in being. It follows, then, that we ought not to judge ourselves primarily by our actions, but by our motives. John Piper writes:

A Personal Test for What Is Ultimate in Our Hearts
We should test ourselves with some questions. It is right to pursue likeness to Christ. But the question is, why? What is the root of our motivation? Consider some attributes of Christ that we might pursue, and ask these questions:

• Do I want to be strong like Christ, so I will be admired as strong, or so that I can defeat every adversary that will entice me to settle for any pleasure less than admiring the strongest person in the universe, Christ?
• Do I want to be wise like Christ, so that I will be admired wise and intelligent or so I can discern and admire the one who is most truly wise?
• Do I want to be holy like Christ, so that I will be admired as holy, or so that I can be free from all unholy inhibitions that keep me from seeing and savoring the holiness of Christ?
• Do I want to be loving like Christ, so that I will be admired as a loving person, or so that I will enjoy extending to others, even in sufferings, the all satisfying love of Christ?

The question is not whether we will have all this glorious likeness to Christ. We will. The question is: to what end? Everything in Romans 8:29–30—all of God’s work, his choosing us, predestining us, calling us, justifying us, bringing us to final glory—is designed by God not ultimately to make much of us, but to free us and fit us to enjoy seeing and making much of Christ forever.

—John Piper, God Is the Gospel (Crossway, 2005), 159–160.

1927 Bugatti Type 38

Ah, Saturday — a nice day for a leisurely drive in the country (this will cost you ten minutes of your life).

I’m sure there is something theological I could say about this, but it’s just not coming to me.

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

PETITIONARY HYMNS
POEM XIII.
Augustus Toplady (1740–1778)

Father, to thee In Christ I fly,
What tho’ my sins of crimson dye
   For thy resentment call?
My crimes he did on Calv’ry bear,
The blood that flow’d for sinners there
   Shall cleanse me from them all.

Spirit divine, thy pow’r bring in,
O raise me from this depth of sin,
   Take off my guilty load:
Now let me live through Jesu’s death,
And being justified by faith,
   May I have peace with God!

Foul as I am, deserving hell,
Thou cans’t not from thy throne repel
   A soul that leans on God:
My sins at thy command shall be
Cast as a stone into the sea—
   The sea of Jesu’s blood.

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

Psalme 119:81–88
(Geneva Bible)
Caph.
81 My soule fainteth for thy saluation: yet I waite for thy worde.
82 Mine eyes faile for thy promise, saying, when wilt thou comfort me?
83 For I am like a bottell in the smoke: yet doe I not forget thy statutes.
84 Howe many are the dayes of thy seruant? When wilt thou execute iudgement on them that persecute me?
85 The proude haue digged pittes for mee, which is not after thy Lawe.
86 All thy commandements are true: they persecute me falsely: helpe me.
87 They had almost consumed me vpon the earth: but I forsooke not thy precepts.
88 Quicken me according to thy louing kindnes: so shall I keepe the testimony of thy mouth.

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

Why have I told these stories? What is the point? Stay with me, and you’ll see.

First, the people in those stories are real people. It is important to state that up front, because very often we are able to ignore that reality and think in terms of statistics. The stories I told are true, and the names I used are their real names. I told their stories and used their names so you would picture people, not just sad facts.

I admit that, at the time of my encounters with those people, I didn’t think of them as real people. I thought of them more as characters, actors in a play, or perhaps clowns in a circus. My child’s mind, I suppose, just couldn’t grasp the reality of such a pathetic existence. But as I grew older, I became more aware of that reality, not only of the Indians of South Dakota (and later, Montana), but of other people groups I encountered along the way.

A few years spent in Minnesota’s Twin Cities broadened my experience considerably. It was during those years that I was saved. I then began to see a correlation between the sad social and economic condition of many cultures and their spiritual condition. They didn’t need social programs; indeed, the social programs aimed at them only served to make things worse. What they needed was the gospel.

What to do, then? They were so different. There were so many cultural obstacles to overcome. Not knowing what to do, I did the best I could to relate to the diverse peoples I rubbed shoulders with at the various jobs I held during that time. From the Chinese at the restaurant, to the black man at the formal wear company (a former sparring partner of Joe Lewis, with pictures to prove it), I tried to be an example and witness to them just as I was to my white acquaintances.

As you read these words, you might be detecting an air that smells almost racist. I don’t believe I was racist, but there was definitely a view of people that naturally gives itself to racism. That view is the recognition of race as a real classification of peoples. Once you believe that we are genetically different from those who look different, there is really nothing wrong with considering the possibility that one “race” is superior to another.

I’m not sure when it was that I was exposed to the ministry of Answers in Genesis. I’m not too proud to admit that it took an Australian with an odd resemblance to Abraham Lincoln to point out the obvious: that we’re all sons of Adam (and Noah). Of course, I already knew that, but knowing it had not prevented me from buying into the accepted “facts” of “race.” But believing in race, as Pastor Thabiti Anyabwile has said, “is a little like believing in unicorns; because race, like unicorns, doesn’t exist.”* Believing in “race” had led me to more than one incorrect assumption. I won’t expand on that at this point; it is enough to say that it served to increase my sense of separation from people of other ethnicities.

It is really that sense of separation, that focus on difference, that is the cause of all ethnic strife in the world. And virtually everyone shares that perspective. The attitude of “otherness,” of “them” vs. “us,” permeates everything we see in politics, entertainment, and the news media. We hear of the “African-American Community,” “Asian Community,” Hispanic Community,” etc. (there is apparently no “white community”). Always and everywhere we are reminded that we are different from them. There is now a lot of excitement over having elected the first black President, and what that supposedly means for “race” relations in America, but I’m not buying it. And as long as there are hyphenated Americans, I won’t buy it. We are still a divided people, and the paradox is that we are divided over something that does not exist.

We’ve got to throw out the category of “race.” That is the first step in reaching out to those who are different from us. But once we have done that, once we have disposed of the artificial barriers between us, we are still faced with some genuine differences. There are still cultural differences, some of which are the cause of serious problems: rampant alcoholism among American Indians, and high illegitimacy rates among blacks, just to name a couple of the more obvious ones. Surely we must bridge cultural divides in order to reach different peoples with unique cultural problems.

Did the previous paragraph make you uncomfortable? It should have. There is a certain pride in focusing on all this “difference.” It implies that I, as a Scandinavian-American (to stoop to hyphenation) have no inherited sins, or that the sins of my people are somehow less serious than those of others. More basically, it fails to recognize that our differences, however dramatic they appear, are only superficial. If we scratch through the thin veneer of skin color, and peel away the slightly thicker layer of specific sins, we will find that we are all exactly the same: fallen men in need of grace.

I began this topic with a few stories of alcoholic American Indians I had encountered as a kid. Now I’ll tell you about another Indian I knew. He was my boss. He was the head of the department I worked in, a very responsible, reliable man. He was well aware of the problems common to his ethnic group, and had intentionally gotten away and made a good life for himself. He thought he was different than the others. Based on what he had done, he believed himself to be different. But he wasn’t different. He was simply the object of God’s restraining grace. Lacking that grace, he could have been as bad or worse. And so could I. All of us, black, white, and every hue in between, are the same, and if our lives aren’t total wrecks, it is not because we have done so well for ourselves. It is because God has protected and restrained us.

Our Lord did not send us into the world to solve the problems of cultures. He sent us out to bring the solution to the one problem at the root of all others, the problem we all share: sin, and the resulting separation from God that it causes. He didn’t send us to individual cultures, but to one culture: the culture of sinners. We must therefore stop thinking in terms of our differences, but of our commonality. We are all created in the image of God. We are all fallen sons of Adam. We are all conceived in sin and brought forth iniquity. Our sins are the same, and like them, our righteousness is as filthy rags. We all need the same Savior. So we are really only two groups of people with one difference between us. We are all either in Christ, or we are not. We are all without any hope but that which is found at the cross.

As we approach our fellow citizens of earth, it must be with the humility that acknowledges that we are just like them. Indeed, we must cease thinking of them as them. They are us.

*“Bearing The Image: Identity, The Work Of Christ, And The Church,” Together for the Gospel Conference 2008. This message can be downloaded free at www.t4g.org. I owe a great deal to Thabiti for his contribution to the development of my understanding of this issue.

Romans 8:28–39:

   28 And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. 29 For those whom He foreknew, He also predestined to become conformed to the image of His Son, so that He would be the firstborn among many brethren; 30 and these whom He predestined, He also called; and these whom He called, He also justified; and these whom He justified, He also glorified.
   31 What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who is against us? 32 He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things? 33 Who will bring a charge against God's elect? God is the one who justifies; 34 who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is He who died, yes, rather who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who also intercedes for us. 35 Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?
   36 Just as it is written,

“For Your sake we are being put to death all day long;

We were considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”

37 But in all these things we overwhelmingly conquer through Him who loved us. 38 For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

When Jesus Died on the cross, he did not merely make our salvation possible; he actually secured that salvation — and all that it entails — for each of his elect. J. I. Packer expounds this truth from Romans 8:

   The thought expressed by Paul’s [question in v. 32] is that no good thing will finally be withheld from us. He conveys this thought by pointing to the adequacy of God as our sovereign benefactor and to the decisiveness of his redeeming work for us.
   Three comments will bring out the force of Paul’s argument.
   Note, first, what Paul implies about the costliness of our redemption. “He did not spare his own Son.” In saving us, God went to the limit. . . . We cannot know what Calvary cost the Father, any more than we can know Jesus felt as he tasted the penalty due to our sins. . . . Yet we can say this: that if the measure of love is what it gives, then there never was such love as God showed to sinners at Calvary, nor will any subsequent love-gift to us cost God so much. So if God has already commended his love toward us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us (5:8), it is believable, to say the least, that he will go on to give us “all things” besides. . . .
   But this is not all. Note, second, what Paul implies about the effectiveness of our redemption. “God,” he says, “gave him up for us all”—and this fact is itself the guarantee that “all things” will be given us, because they all come to us as the direct fruit of Christ’s death. We have just said that the greatness of God’s giving on the cross makes his further giving (if the words may be allowed) natural and likely, but what we must note now is that the unity of God’s saving purpose makes such further giving necessary, and therefore certain.
   At this point the New Testament view of the cross involves more than is sometimes realized. That the apostolic writers present the death of Christ as the ground and warrant of God’s offer of forgiveness, and that we enter into forgiveness through repentance and faith in Christ, will not be disputed. But does this mean that, as a loaded gun is only potentially explosive, and an act of pulling the trigger is needed to make it go off, so Christ’s death achieved only a possibility of salvation, needing an exercise of faith on our part to trigger it off and make it actual?
   If so, then it is not strictly Christ’s death that saves us at all, any more than it is loading the gun that makes it fire: strictly speaking, we save ourselves by our faith, and for all we know, Christ’s death might not have saved anyone, since it might have been the case that nobody believed the gospel. But that is not how the New Testament sees it. The New Testament view is that the death of Christ has actually saved “us all”—all, that is to say, whom God foreknew, and has called and justified, and will in due course glorify. For our faith, which from the human point of view is the means of salvation, is from God’s point of view part of salvation, and is as directly and completely God’s gift to us as is the pardon and peace of which faith lays hold.
    Psychologically, faith is our own act, but the theological truth about it is that it is God’s work in us: our faith, and our new relationship with God as believers, and all the divine gifts that are enjoyed within this relationship, were all alike secured for us by Jesus’ death on the cross. For the cross was not an isolated event; it was, rather, the focal point in God’s eternal plan to save his elect, and it ensured and guaranteed first the calling (the bringing to faith, through the gospel in the mind and the Holy Spirit in the heart), and then the justification, and finally the glorification, of all for whom, specifically and personally, Christ died.
   Now we see why the Greek of this verse says literally (and so the KJV renders it), how shall he not with him also give us all things? It is simply impossible for him not to do this, for Christ and “all things” go together as ingredients in the single gift of eternal life and glory, and the giving of Christ for us, to remove the “sin barrier” by substitutionary atonement, has effectively opened the door to our being given all the rest. . . .
   Note, third, what Paul implies about the consequences of redemption. God, he says, will with Christ give us “all things.” What does that cover? Calling, justification, glorification (which in v. 30 includes everything from the new birth to the resurrection of the body) have already been mentioned, and so throughout Romans 8 has the many sided ministry of the Holy Spirit. Here is wealth indeed, and from other Scriptures we could add to it. . . .

—J. I. Packer, Knowing God (InterVarsity Press, 1993), 264–266

You have most likely heard Scripture described as the “only infallible rule of faith and practice.” That statement is an echo of the Reformation principle of sola Scriptura, and a foundational doctrine of biblical Christianity. Advocates of “limited inerrancy” have made a subtle shift from that statement to one that allows that Scripture is infallible only when it speaks of faith and practice. R. C. Sproul addresses the seriousness of that error and its implications to biblical faith.

   Is sola Scriptura compatible with a view of Scripture that limits inerrancy to matters of faith and practice? Theoretically it would seem to be possible if “faith and practice” could be separated from any part of Scripture. So long as biblical teaching regarding faith and practice were held to be normative for the Christian community, there would appear to be no threat to the essence of Christianity. However, certain problems exist with such a view of Scripture that do seriously threaten the essence of Christianity.
   The first major problem we encounter with limited Inerrancy is the problem of canon reduction. The canon or “norm” of Scripture is reduced de facto to that content relating to faith and practice. This immediately raises the hermeneutical question concerning what parts of Scripture deal with faith. . . .

   The second serious problem, closely related to the first, is the problem of the relationship of faith and history, perhaps the most serious question of contemporary New Testament scholarship. If we limit the notion of inerrancy to matters of faith and practice, what becomes of biblical history? Is the historical substratum of the gospel negotiable? Are only those portions of the biblical narrative that have a clear bearing on faith inerrant? How do we escape dehistoricizing the gospel . . . ? We know that the Bible is not an ordinary history book but a book of redemptive history. But is it not also a book of redemptive history? If we exclude the realm of history from the category of inspiration or inerrancy either in whole or in part, do we not inevitably lose the gospel?
   The third problem we face with limiting inerrancy to matters of faith and practice is an apologetic one. To those critics outside the fellowship of evangelicals, the notion of “limited inerrancy” appears artificial and contrived. Limited inerrancy gets us off the apologetical hook by making us immune to religious-historical criticism. We can eat our cake and have it too. The gospel is preserved; and our faith and practice remains intact while we admit errors in matters of history and cosmology. We cannot believe the Bible concerning earthly things, but we stake our lives on what it says concerning heavenly things.That approach was totally abrogated by our Lord (John 3:12).
   How do we explain and defend the idea that the Bible is divinely superintended in part of its content but not all of It? Which part is inspired? Why only the faith and practice parts? Again, which are the faith and practice parts? Can we not justly be accused of “weaseling” if we adopt such a view? We remove our faith from the arena of historical verification or falsification. This is a fatal blow for apologetics as the reasoned defense of Christianity.
   Finally, we face the problem of the domino theory. Frequently this concern is dismissed out of hand as being so much alarmism. But our doctrine of Scripture is not a child’s game of dominoes. We know instances in which men have abandoned belief in full inerrancy but have remained substantially orthodox in the rest of their theology. We are also aware of the sad instances in which full inerrancy is affirmed yet the substance of theology is corrupt. Inerrancy is no guarantee of biblical orthodoxy. Yet even a cursory view of church history has shown some pattern of correlation between a weakening of biblical authority and serious defection regarding the wesen [heart, or essence] of Christianity. The wesen of nineteenth-century liberalism is hardly the gospel evangelicals embrace.

—R. C. Sproul, Scripture Alone (P&R Publishing Company, 2005), 33–35

Lemuel Haynes (1753–1833) is one of three pastors profiled in Thabiti Anyabile’s book The Faithful Preacher: Recapturing the Vision of Three Pioneering African-American Pastors. Married to a white woman, and for thirty years the pastor of an all white congregation, to say he was unusual for his time is a huge understatement. Educated In Latin and Greek, and influenced by Calvinists such as Jonathan Edwards, George Whitfield, and Philip Doddridge, he really blows apart our expectations.

The following excerpt is from a sermon entitled The Character and Work of a Spiritual Watchman Described. The text is Hebrews 13:17, “For they watch for your souls, as they that must give an account.” Delivered on 23 February, 1791, on the occasion of the ordination of Rev. Reuben Parmelee (1759–1843), the focus is on the responsibilities of the shepherd. However, as with all biblical sermons, there is application for us all. In this portion of the sermon, the preacher is reminded that he must watch over the souls of his flock because they are prone to stumble and fall.

   Being commanded to be the watchmen over the souls of men implies that they are prone to neglect or be inattentive to those souls. When one is set to inspect or watch over another, it supposes some kind of incapacity that the individual is under to take care of himself. The Scripture represents mankind by nature as fools, madmen, being in a state of darkness, etc.
   Men in general are very sagacious with respect to temporal affairs and display much natural wit and ingenuity in contriving and accomplishing evil designs; “but to do good they have no knowledge” (Jer. 4:22). This is an evidence that their inability to foresee danger and provide against it is of the moral kind. If there were a disposition in mankind, correspondent to their natural powers, to secure the eternal interest of their souls in the way God has proscribed, watchmen would in a great measure be useless.

—Lemuel Haynes, cited in Thabiti Anyabwile, The Faithful Preacher: Recapturing the Vision of Three Pioneering African-American Pastors (Crossway, 2007), 26–27.

Although this sermon was directed toward shepherds, the application to the flock is to recognize that they — that is, we — need to be watched over. We cannot trust ourselves outside of the communion of saints and the ministry of those God has placed over us. We are “prone to neglect or be inattentive” to the state of our souls. We must take care to watch ourselves, and to see that we are in a place and attitude in which we can be watched.

Fun in North Dakota!

Warning: not for the squeamish.
Not PETA approved.

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

The Fountain
(The Invitation of the Gospel)
Samuel Davies (1723–1761)

Today the living streams of grace
Flow to refresh the thirsty soul;
Pardon and life and boundless bliss
In plenteous rivers round us roll.

Ho, ye that pine away and die,
Come, and your raging thirst allay;
Come all that will, here’s rich supply,
A fountain that shall ne’er decay.

“Come all,” the blessed Jesus cries,
“Freely My blessing I will give.”
The spirit echoes back the voice,
And bids us freely drink and live.

The saints below, that do but taste,
And saints above, who drink at will,
Cry jointly, “Thirsty sinners! haste,
and drink, the spring’s exhaustless still.”

Let all that hear the joyful sound,
To spread it though the world unite;
From house to house proclaim it round,
Each man his fellow man invite.

Like thirsty flocks, come let us go;
Come ever color, every age;
And while the living waters flow,
Let all their parching thirst assuage.

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

Psalme 119:89–96
(Geneva Bible)
Lamed.
89 O Lord, thy worde endureth for euer in heauen.
90 Thy trueth is from generation to generation: thou hast layed the foundation of the earth, and it abideth.
91 They continue euen to this day by thine ordinances: for all are thy seruants.
92 Except thy Lawe had bene my delite, I should now haue perished in mine affliction.
93 I wil neuer forget thy precepts: for by them thou hast quickened me.
94 I am thine, saue me: for I haue sought thy precepts.
95 The wicked haue waited for me to destroy me: but I will consider thy testimonies.
96 I haue seene an ende of all perfection: but thy commandement is exceeding large.

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

Any regular reader of this blog knows I think quite highly of John Piper. That being the case, I am reluctant to be critical of him. But sometimes the man just says some silly things! And since people like me are often accused (sometimes justly) of sparing their own from the same critical treatment we zealously meet out to our opponents, and since Dr. Piper is so influential, I think it is good to comment when he says something particularly nutty.

The purpose of this post is not to criticize any man, but simply to encourage you to think.

Here is what happened. First, David Wilkerson wrote this:

I am compelled by the Holy Spirit to send out an urgent message to all on our mailing list, and to friends and to bishops we have met all over the world.

AN EARTH-SHATTERING CALAMITY IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN. IT IS GOING TO BE SO FRIGHTENING, WE ARE ALL GOING TO TREMBLE - EVEN THE GODLIEST AMONG US.

For ten years I have been warning about a thousand fires coming to New York City. It will engulf the whole megaplex, including areas of New Jersey and Connecticut. Major cities all across America will experience riots and blazing fires—such as we saw in Watts, Los Angeles, years ago.

There will be riots and fires in cities worldwide. There will be looting—including Times Square, New York City. What we are experiencing now is not a recession, not even a depression. We are under God’s wrath. . . .

WHAT SHALL THE RIGHTEOUS DO? WHAT ABOUT GOD’S PEOPLE?

First, I give you a practical word I received for my own direction. If possible lay in store a thirty-day supply of non-perishable food, toiletries and other essentials. In major cities, grocery stores are emptied in an hour at the sign of an impending disaster.

As for our spiritual reaction, we have but two options. This is outlined in Psalm 11. We “flee like a bird to a mountain.” Or, as David says, “He fixed his eyes on the Lord on his throne in heaven—his eyes beholding, his eyelids testing the sons of men” (v. 4). “In the Lord I take refuge” (v. 1).

. . .

No surprise there. While Wilkerson is far from being a barking mad Pentecostal, we know that he is, theologically speaking, a couple of fishes and loaves short of a miracle, if you get my drift. But then John Piper wrote this in response.

What shall we make of this? The part that depends on the Bible we should take with absolute seriousness. . . .

But the part of the prophecy that goes beyond what the Bible says, we measure by biblical standards. Two things give me pause in Wilkerson’s extra-biblical specifics.

First, it does not resonate with my spirit when he claims that God told him to “lay in store a thirty-day supply of non-perishable food, toiletries and other essentials” because when disaster comes “grocery stores are emptied in an hour.” God might have said this. But it doesn’t smell authentic to me. Too prudential. Too reminiscent of the embarrassing Y2K excesses.

Second, my confidence level drops when the Scriptures are not handled carefully. Wilkerson says, one way we can respond is: “As David says, ‘He fixed his eyes on the Lord on his throne in heaven—his eyes beholding, his eyelids testing the sons of men’” (Psalm 11:4).

This does not have the feel of authority to me because what Psalm 11:4 really says is: “The Lord is in his holy temple; the Lord’s throne is in heaven; his eyes see, his eyelids test the children of man.”

So my take on this prophetic word is that the scare will probably do good for a lot of people. The Bible is a scary book. And the future that is coming on unbelievers is scary beyond anything any preacher could conjure up.

But my own effort to be discerning says: Stick with the Bible, David. It is scary enough. And it is absolutely true. And your credibility will never fall.

What is this, but subjective musings? Piper doubts the authenticity of Wilkerson’s “prophecy” because “it does not resonate with [his] spirit” or “smell authentic,” to which I answer, “So what?” Wilkerson’s “prophecy” doesn’t feel right to a fallible man. When did that become a standard of credibility?

Next, Piper points out the misuse of Scripture. This is helpful. But for Piper, it only causes his confidence level to drop. It “does not have the feel of authority” because actually, the passage cited says something else. But maybe it’s only the feel of authority that is lacking, because “God might have said that.”

Which brings me to the silliest part. God might have said it, but Wilkerson shouldn’t repeat it. Piper himself calls this a “prophetic word” that will “probably do good for a lot of people,” but Wilkerson should have kept it to himself. How can one man advise another not to repeat the Word of God? Can we become any more contradictory?

It also troubles me that the final reason Piper gives for sitting on this “prophetic word” is to avoid damage to Wilkerson’s credibility. When I read that, I think, Noah, don’t tell anyone it’s going to rain and flood the earth. They’ll think you’re nuts! And what if it doesn’t happen? What will that do to your credibility?

This is all very confusing.

Tuesday has been Theology Proper day here, and having finished Knowing God, I’ve been considering what to start next. Perusing my bookshelves, I was met with the accusing countenance of Stephen Charnock’s (1628–1680) The Existence and Attributes of God scowling at me from beneath a thin layer of dust. I bought it a couple of years ago on a ridiculous sale (because I had to have it), set all 1150 pages of it impressively on my shelf, and have hardly looked at it since. So now I am going to give it a shot.

Whenever I pick up one of these old-timers, it seems I am always impressed with how well their comments on their age apply to ours. Their really is “nothing new under the sun,” and reading old books is one good way of seeing that truism proven.

Expounding Psalm 14:1, Charnock demonstrates that the existence of God is obvious for all to see, so that only fools deny it, and they not entirely sincerely. It would seem, then, that apologetics defending the existence of God would be unnecessary. Yet Charnock gives several reasons for the necessity of speaking apologetically of the existence of God. The following paragraph seems to speak directly to our age.

   But, 1. Doth not the growth of atheism among us render this [teaching the existence of God] necessary? may it not justly be suspected, that the swarms of atheists are more numerous in our times, than history records to have been in any age, when men will not only say it in their hearts, but publish it with their lips, and boast that they have shaken off the shackles which bind other men’s consciences? Doth not the bare-faced debauchery of men evidence such a settled sentiment, or least a careless belief of the truth, which lies at the root, and sprouts up in such venomous branches in the world? Can men’s hearts be free from that principle wherewith their practices are so openly depraved? It is true, the light of nature shines too vigorously for the power of man totally to put it out; yet loathsome actions impair and weaken the actual thoughts and considerations of a Deity, and are like mists that darken the light of the sun, though they cannot extinguish it: their consciences, as a candlestick, must hold it, though their unrighteousness obscure it, (Rom. i. 18.) “Who hold the truth in unrighteousness.” The engraved characters of the law of nature remain, though they daub them with their muddy lusts to make them illegible: so that since the inconsideration of a Deity is the cause of all the wickedness and extravagances of men; and as Austin saith, the proposition is always true, the fool hath said in his heart, &c. and more evidently true in this age than any, it will not be unnecessary to discourse of the demonstrations of this first principle. The apostles spent little time in urging this truth; it was taken for granted all over the world, and they were generally devout in the worship of those idols they thought to be gods: that age run from one God to many, and our age is running from one God to none at all.

—Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God, 1:26

If the Apostles, who spoke to a very deistic culture (and under the inspiration of The Holy Spirit), found it necessary to defend God’s existence, how much more necessary it is in an age in which denial of God is becoming more fashionable every day.

As Charnock continues, we see that this is so because of “that secret atheism which is in the heart of every man by nature.” That secret atheism does not entirely and sincerely deny God, as much as it simply wishes that there were no God.

   4. It is necessary to depress that secret atheism which is in the heart of every man by nature. Though every visible object which offers itself to our sense, presents a deity to our minds, and exhorts to subscribe to the truth of it; yet there is a root of atheism springing up sometimes in wavering thoughts and foolish imaginations, inordinate actions, and secret wishes. Certain it is, that every man that doth not love God, denies God; now can he that disaffects him, and hath a slavish fear of him, wish his existence, and say to his own heart with any cheerfulness, there is a God, and make it his chief care to persuade himself of it? he would persuade himself there is no God, and stifle the seeds of it in his reason and conscience, that he might have the greatest liberty to entertain the allurements of the flesh. It is necessary to excite men to daily and actual considerations of God and his nature, which would be a bar to much of that wickedness which overflows in the lives of men.

—Ibid., 27

The church has historically called Scripture the “norm of norms and without norm.” The phrase “norm of norms” indicates the superiority of Scripture above all other standards, just as the New Testament calls Christ the “King of kings” and “Lord of lords.” With this phrase, we acknowledge that Scripture stands superior to all other authorities. But this does not mean that Scripture is simply a “first among equals.” The additional phrase “without norm” says that it stands alone, with or without the affirmation of other authorities. It is what it is whether it is acknowledged or not. Scripture alone is infallible; Scripture alone cannot err.

This is the major point of conflict between Rome and the Reformation, between Roman Catholicism and Christianity. Rome claims infallibility for the church as well as Scripture. In fact, Rome claims to have infallibly created the canon of Scripture. Protestants make no such claims. We know that we are fallible, from the lowest to the highest. We know that the possibility of error exists in everything we do, including — and this is troubling to many — the compiling of the canon of Scripture.

On this issue, R. C. Sproul writes:

   This disagreement . . . points to the larger issue that surrounds the question of canon. How was the canon established? By whose authority? Is the canon closed to further additions? . . . Did the canon come into being by the fiat of the church? Was it already in existence in the primitive Christian community? Was the canon established by a special providence? Is it possible that certain books that made their way into the present canon should not have been included? Is it possible that books that were excluded should have been included?
   We know that at least for a temporary period Martin Luther raised questions about the inclusion of the Epistle of James in the New Testament canon. That Luther once referred to James as an “Epistle of Straw” or a “right strawy Epistle” is a matter of record. Critics of biblical inspiration have not grown weary of pointing to these comments of Luther to argue their case that Luther did not believe in the inspiration or infallibility of Scripture. This argument not only fails to do justice to Luther’s repeated assertions of the divine authority of Scripture and their freedom from error, but more seriously it fails to make the proper distinction between the question of the nature of Scripture and the extent of Scripture. Luther was unambiguous in his conviction that all of Scripture is inspired and infallible. His question about James was not a question of the inspiration of Scripture but a question pf whether James was in fact Scripture.
   Though Luther did not challenge the infallibility of Scripture he most emphatically challenged the infallibility of the church. He allowed for the possibility that the church could err, even when the church ruled on the question of what books properly belonged in the canon. To see this issue more clearly we can refer to a distinction often made by Dr. John Gerstner. Gerstner distinguishes between the Roman Catholic view of the canon and the Protestant view of the canon in this manner:

Roman Catholic view: The Bible is an infallible collection of infallible books.

Protestant view: The Bible is a fallible collection of infallible books.

   The distinction in view here refers to the Catholic Church’s conviction that the canon of Scripture was declared infallibly by the church. On the other hand, the Protestant view is that the church’s decision regarding what books make up the canon was a fallible decision. Being fallible means that it is possible that the church erred in its compilation of the books found in the present canon of Scripture.
   When Gerstner makes this distinction he is neither asserting nor implying that the church indeed did err in its judgment of what properly belongs to the canon. His view is not designed to cast doubt on the canon but simply to guard against the idea of an infallible church. It is one thing to say that the church could have erred; it is another thing to say that the church did err.
   Gerstner’s formula has often been met with both consternation and sharp criticism in evangelical circles. It seems to indicate that he and those who agree with his assessment are undermining the authority of the Bible. But nothing could be further from the truth. Like Martin Luther and John Calvin before him, Gerstner has been an ardent defender of the infallibility and inerrancy of Scripture. His formula is merely designed to acknowledge that there was a historical selection process by which the church determined what books were really Scripture and what books were not Scripture. The point is that in this sifting or selection process the church sought to identify what books were actually to be regarded as Scripture.
   It may be said that Rome has a certain “advantage” with respect to infallibility. Rome believes that the church is infallible as well as the Scripture. This infallibility extends not only to the question of canon formation but also to the question of biblical interpretation. To summarize, we can say that according to Rome we have an infallible Bible whose extent is decreed infallibly by the church and whose content is interpreted infallibly by the church. The Christian individual is still left in his own fallibility as he seeks to understand the infallible Bible as interpreted by the infallible church. No one is extending infallibility to the individual believer.
   For the classic Protestant, though the individual believer has the right to the private interpretation of Scripture, it is clearly acknowledged that the individual is capable of misinterpreting the Bible. He has the ability to misinterpret Scripture, but never the right to do it. That is, with the right of private interpretation the responsibility of correct interpretation is also given. We never have the right to distort the teaching of Scripture. Both sides agree that the individual is fallible when seeking to understand the Scripture. Historic Protestantism limits the scope of infallibility to the Scriptures themselves. Church tradition and church creeds can err. Individual interpreters of Scripture can err. It is the Scriptures alone that are without error.

—R. C. Sproul, Scripture Alone (P&R Publishing Company, 2005), 40–43.

We make much of the responsibilities of elders in the church. We expect a great deal from them, and, if they are faithful shepherds, they expect much of themselves. They work with tireless diligence to shepherd the flock the Master has entrusted to them, profoundly sensible of the burden they carry. And, while many congregations heap responsibilities and expectations onto the backs of their pastors that are both unreasonable and unbiblical, the charge given to them in Scripture is heavy enough. Yes, we are all — biblically or not — aware of the responsibilities of our pastors.

But how often do we think of our responsibility? Pastors do not work independently. The purpose of the sermon is not achieved until it has been received. He does the work of preparing and delivering; we do the work of hearing and responding. And it is no inconsequential thing how we respond to the exposition of God’s Word.

The following is another excerpt from an ordination sermon preached by Lemuel Haynes in 1791. After charging the ordinand with his responsibilities as shepherd, Haynes turned to the congregation to call them to serve with their pastor in the mutual ministry of the Word.

My brethren and friends, the importance of a gospel minister suggests the weighty concerns of your souls. As ministers must give account as to how they preach and behave, so hearers also are to be examined as to how they hear and improve. You are to hear with a view to the day of judgment always remembering that there is no sermon or opportunity that you have in this life to prepare for another world that shall go unnoticed at that decisive court. Your present exercises, with respect to the solemn affairs of this day, will then come up to public view.
   God, we trust, is this day sending you one to watch for your souls. Should not this excite sentiments of gratitude in your breasts? Shall God take so much care of your souls and you neglect them? How unreasonable it would be for you to despise the pious instruction of your watchmen! You would therein wrong your own souls, and it would be evidence that you love death. You must bear with him in not accommodating his sermons to your vitiated tastes because he must give an account. His work is great, and you must pray for him, as in the verse following the text, where the apostle says, “Pray for us.” Since it is the business of your minister to watch for your souls with such indefatigable assiduity, you easily see how necessary it is that you do what you can to strengthen him in this work and that you minister to his temporal wants, so that he may give himself wholly to these things. The great backwardness among people in general with respect to this matter at present has an unfavorable aspect. “Who goeth a warfare any time at his own charges? who planteth a vinyard and eateth not the fruit thereof? or who feedeth a flock, and eateth not of the milk of their flock?” (1 Cor. 9:7).
   Doubtless this man is sent here for the rise and fall of many in this place. We hope he will be used as a mean of leading some to Christ; on the other hand, we tremble at the thought that he may fit others for a more aggravated condemnation. Take heed how you hear.

—Lemuel Hanes, cited in Thabiti Anyabwile, The Faithful Preacher: Recapturing the Vision of Three Pioneering African-American Pastors (Crossway, 2007), 35.

Thabiti Anyabwile:

What Is The Vital Need Of American Youth?

Last Saturday was the Birthday of Johann Sebastian Bach. I must repent in sackcloth and ashes for failing to observe it in any way. I have been doing my penance all week by listening to as much Bach as possible. (This would help a great deal towards that end.)

Johann, or “Jack,” as he was known to his friends, was born in 1685, and would now have been 224 years old if not for his untimely death on 28 July, 1750. He is most famous (in my house) for his solo cello suites.

Just in case you, like me, forgot to observe this illustrious day, here are a few links to help you get right:

• The life and works of J. S. Bach
• J. S. Bach and Musical Hermeneutics: An Evangelical Composer/Preacher by Dr. Paul S. Jones
• Yo-Yo Ma plays Bach: Suite No.1, Prelude

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

CONFESSION
Horatius Bonar (1808–1889)

O this soul, how dark and blind!
O this foolish, earthly mind;
This ever froward, selfish will,
Which refuses to be still!

O these ever roaming eyes,
Upward that refuse to rise;
These still wayward feet of mine,
Found in every path but thine!

O these pulses felt within,
Beating for the world and sin,
Sending round the fevered blood,
In a fierce and carnal flood!

O this stubborn, prayerless knee,
Hands so seldom clasped to Thee,
Longings of the soul, that go,
Like the wild wind, to and fro;

To and fro without an aim,
Returning idly whence they came,
Bringing in no joy, no bliss,
Adding to my weariness!

Giver of the heavenly peace,
Bid, O bid, these tumults cease;
Minister Thy holy balm,
Fill me with Thy Spirits calm!

Thou the life, the truth, the way,
Leave me not in sin to stray;
Bearer of the sinners guilt,
Lead me, lead me, as thou wilt!

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

Psalme 119:97–104
(Geneva Bible)
Mem.
97 Oh howe loue I thy Lawe! it is my meditation continually.
98 By thy commandements thou hast made mee wiser then mine enemies: for they are euer with mee.
99 I haue had more vnderstading then all my teachers: for thy testimonies are my meditation.
100 I vnderstoode more then the ancient, because I kept thy precepts.
101 I haue refrained my feete from euery euil way, that I might keepe thy word.
102 I haue not declined from thy iudgements: for thou didest teach me.
103 Howe sweete are thy promises vnto my mouth! yea, more then hony vnto my mouth.
104 By thy precepts I haue gotten vnderstanding: therefore I hate all the wayes of falshoode.

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

I had a conversation with a legalist on music last week. It didn’t go very well. I’m really not very good at verbal communication. I do much better in writing (which should give you some idea of just how bad I am in person), so I thought I would put my thoughts on subject in writing. I rattled off a post on the subject last night for posting this morning, but it seems to have disappeared during the night. I’ll try to reconstruct it sometime this week. In the mean time, since my practice of listening to secular music is what sparked the controversy, I’ll leave you with some food for thought from Paul Simon.

Leaves That Are Green

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song
I’m twenty-two now but I won’t be for long
Time hurries on

And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl
I held her close, but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write

And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripples run away
And they never made a sound

And the leaves that are green turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand

Hello hello hello hello
Good-bye good-bye good-bye good-bye
That’s all there is

And the leaves that are green turn to brown

One died for asserting one God; none, in the former ages upon record, hath died for asserting no God. —Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God, 1:30.

While certain famous persons give a public face to atheism, and make it seem to be a common belief, atheism has in fact never been the belief of rational people. In every culture since the beginning of time, the existence of some deity has been assumed. Christians know that this is because the existence of God is made obvious through his creation (Romans 1:19–20). This universal belief is no inconsequential matter of opinion. Throughout history, men and women have laid down their lives rather than deny God. Atheists, in contrast, have no Book of Martyrs.

Charnock writes on this universal knowledge of God and its cause in nature:

   The apostle resolves it (Rom. i. 19, 20), “The invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse.” They know, or might know, by the things that were made, the eternity and power of God; their sense might take a circuit about every object, and their minds collect the being and something of the perfections of the Deity. The first discourse of the mind upon the sight of a delicate piece of workmanship, is the conclusion of the being of an artificer, and the admiration of his skill and industry. The apostle doth not say, the invisible things of God are believed, or they have an opinion of them, but they are seen, and clearly seen. They are like crystal glasses, which give a clear representation of the existence of a Deity, like that mirror, reported to be in a temple in Arcadia, which represented to the spectator, not his own face, but the image of that deity which he worshipped. The whole world is like a looking-glass, which, whole and entire, represents the image of God, and every broken piece of it, every little shred of a creature doth the like; not only the great ones, elephants and the leviathan, but ants, flies, worms, whose bodies rather than names we know: the greater cattle and the creeping things (Gen. i. 24); not naming there any intermediate creature, to direct us to view him in the smaller letters, as well as the greater characters of the world. His name is “glorious,” and his attributes are excellent “in all the earth;” [Psalm viii. 1.] in every creature, as the glory of the sun is in every beam and smaller flash; he is seen in every insect, in every spire of grass. The voice of the Creator is in the most contemptible creature. The apostle adds, that they are so clearly seen, that men are inexcusable if they have not some knowledge of God by them.; if they might not certainly know them, they might nave some excuse: so that his existence is not only probably, but demonstratively proved from the things of the world [Banes in Aquin. Par. 2. Qu. 2. Artic. 2. p. 78. col. 2.].
   Especially the heavens declare him, which God “stretches out like a curtain” [Psalm civ. 2.], or, as some render the word, a “skin,” whereby is signified, that heaven is as an open book, which was anciently made of the skins of beasts, that by the knowledge of them we may be taught the knowledge of God. Where Scripture was not revealed, the world served for a witness of a God; whatever arguments the Scripture uses to prove it, are drawn from nature (though, indeed, it doth not so much prove as suppose the existence of a God); but what arguments it uses are from the creatures, and particularly the heavens, which are the public preachers of this doctrine. The breath of God sounds to all the world through those organ-pipes. His being is visible in their existence, his wisdom in their frame, his power in their motion, his goodness in their usefulness. They have a voice, and their voice is as intelligible as any common language [“For their voice goeth to the end of the earth,” Psalm xix. 1, 2.]. And those are so plain heralds of a Deity, that the heathen mistook them for deities, and gave them a particular adoration, which was due to that God they declared. The first idolatry seems to be of those heavenly bodies, which began probably in the time of Nimrod. In Job’s time it is certain they admired the glory of the sun, and the brightness of the moon, not without kissing their hands, a sign of adoration [Job xxxi. 26, 27.]. It is evident a man may as well doubt whether there be when he sees his beams gilding the earth, as doubt whether there be a God, when he sees his works spread in the world.

—Ibid., 42–43