Happy blogiversary to me . . .

Blogiversary is not really a word. I don’t really like the word blog, either, but there they are, proof that the internet is destroying the English language, and possibly the Canadian one, too. Anyway . . . yesterday marked the end of the 4th year, and the 365th consecutive day, of blogging here at the Thirsty Theologian. I was going to skip today and make a clean break at one year, but believe it or not, my wife said I shouldn’t. So if this turns into an addiction à la Challies, it’s her fault.

To celebrate, I’m rolling out my biennial blog facelift, which isn’t even a real redesign this time, but little more than a new color scheme — without color — demonstrating just how set in my ways I am. I don’t really change as I get older, I just see things more in black and white.

I know what you’re thinking. Because two other guys are already using Curmudgeon in their blog title, that’s why.

As the perfection of God is dependent upon his eternality, so it is also necessary that he be immutable.

Unchangeableness doth necessarily pertain to the nature of God. It is of the same necessity with the rectitude of his nature; he can no more be changeable in his essence than he can be unrighteous in his actions. God is a necessary being; he is necessarily what he is, and, therefore, is unchangeably what he is. Mutability belongs to contingency. If any perfection of his nature could be separated from him, he would cease to be God; it is reciprocated with the nature of God. Whatsoever is immutable by nature is God; whatsoever is God is immutable by nature. Some creatures are immutable by his grace and power. God is holy, happy, wise, good by his essence; angels and men are made holy, wise, happy, strong and good by qualities and graces. The holiness, happiness, and wisdom of saints and angels, as they had a beginning, so they are capable of increase and diminution, and of an end also; for their standing is not of themselves, or from the nature of created strength, holiness, or wisdom, which in themselves are apt to fail, and finally to decay; but from the stability and conformation they have by the gift and grace of God. The heaven and earth shall be changed; and after that renewal and reparation they shall not be changed. Our bodies after the resurrection shall not be changed, but forever be “made conformable to the body of Christ” (Phil. iii. 21); but this is by the powerful grace of God: so that, indeed, those things may be said afterwards rather to be unchanged than unchangeable, because they are not so by nature, but by sovereign dispensation. As creatures have not necessary beings, so they have not necessary immutability. Necessity of being, and, therefore, immutability of being, belongs by nature only to God; otherwise, if there were any change in God, he would be sometimes what he is not, and would cease to be what he was, which is against the nature, and, indeed, against the natural notion of a Deity.

—Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God (Baker Books, 2005), 1:318–319

Continuing with William Whitaker’s “Disutation . . . against the Papists,” Whitaker takes up Calvin’s arguments against “The impiety of believing that the credibility of scripture depends on the judgement of the church” [Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book 1 Chapter 7].

Calvin’s first argument . . . is this: If the canon of scripture depend upon the determination of the church, then the authority, verity, of all the promises of salvation and eternal life contained in scripture depend upon a human judgment; because we believe those promises on accpount of the canonical authority of the scriptures in which they are contained. But it is absurd, that the promises of God should depend upon man, because then our consciences can have no confidence, no security. Therefore the canon of scripture does not depend upon the determination of the church.

. . . Stapleton . . . says, that the church does not make the contents of scripture true, yet does cause them to be believed by us as true. From which statement it is apparent that Calvin’s objection is just, that in this way our whole faith depends upon the authority and human judgment of the church. But scripture teaches us far otherwise and better. For thus we read, 1 John v. 10, “He who believeth not God, makes him a liar.” He therefore no no otherwise believes God promising, but on account of the authority of some one else, believes that other person more than God, and so makes God a liar. Besides, in this way, the church would be mistress of our faith, which is repugnant to that saying of Paul, 2 Cor. i. 24 . . . We stand, indeed, by faith, and that is the gift of the Holy Ghost, not of the church. We see, therefore, that it is not on the church’s, but on the Holy Spirit’s authority, that we persevere constant and stable in the faith, and fall not from divine grace.

—William Whitaker, Disputations on the Holy Scriptures (Soli Deo Gloria, 2005), 340–342

To many people, Calvinism is nothing more than five points. But, while the five points are a fair partial summary of Calvin’s soteriology, that is all they are. Calvin’s theology was so much broader than that, and could by no means be reduced to any mnemonic acrostic (TULIP). Burk Parsons writes on “the heart of Calvin and God’s sovereign mastery of it.” This is the essence of Calvinism.

So what is true Calvinism according to Calvin? In one sense, Calvinism is as systematically profound as Calvin’s life’s work, as historically extensive as all that has been deduced from Calvin’s writings during the past five centuries, and, as Calvin would have it, as doctrinally narrow as the sixty-six books of sacred Scripture. A true Calvinist is one who strives to think as Calvin thought and live as Calvin lived—insofar as Calvin thought and lived as our Lord Jesus Christ, in accordance with the Word of God.
   As Christians, we understand that we are not our own but have been bought with a price. By His saving grace, the Lord has taken hold of our hearts of stone, regenerated and conformed them into spiritually pliable hearts, and poured into them His love by the Holy Spirit who was given to us. This was Calvin’s perception of the Christian life:

If we, then, are not our own [cf. 1 Cor. 6:19] but the Lord’s, it is clear what error we must flee, and whither we must direct all the acts of our life.
   We are not our own: let not our reason nor our will, therefore, sway our plans and deeds. We are not our own: let us therefore not set it as our goal to seek what is expedient for us according to the flesh. We are not our own: in so far as we can, let us therefore forget ourselves and all that is ours.
   Conversely, we are God’s: let us therefore live for him and die for him. We are God’s: let his wisdom and will therefore rule all our actions. We are God’s: let all the parts of our life accordingly strive toward him as our only lawful goal [cf. Rom. 14:8; cf. 1 Cor. 6:19]. O, how much has that man profited who, having been taught that he is not his own, has taken away dominion and rule from his own reason that he may yield it to God! For, as consulting our self-interest is the pestilence that most effectively leads Io our destruction, so the sole haven of salvation is to be wise in nothing through ourselves but to follow the leading of the Lord alone. [Institutes of the Christian Religion, 3.7.1]

   We are not our own; we belong to the Lord. That confession, in essence, is the heart of true Calvinism. Our salvation belongs to the Lord, from beginning to end (Ps. 3:8; Rev. 7:10). He has captivated our minds and has made His light to shine abroad in our hearts (2 Cor. 4:6, 10:5). Our whole being belongs to Him—heart, soul, mind, and strength. This is what Calvin proclaimed, and this is the foundation on which his life was established.
   The Lord took hold of Calvin, and Calvin thus could not help but take away “dominion and rule from his own reason” [ibid.] and yield it Lord alone. That is the glorious brilliance reflected by any study of Calvin. There was nothing in Calvin himself that was superhuman, super-theologian, or super-churchman. Calvin was a man whom God chose to call out of darkness and into His marvelous light so that he might go back into the darkness and shine brightly unto every generation of God’s people until Christ returns.

—Burk Parsons, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 6–7

I appreciate pastors who can preach with passion. What I don’t appreciate are those who preach about their passion. But let them be passionate about God and his Word, like Calvin:

[Calvin] was a man who preached not himself, but the Word of God (2 Tim. 4:1-2). According to Parker, Calvin “had a horror of those who preached their own ideas in place of the gospel of the Bible: “When we enter the pulpit, it is not so that we may bring our own dreams and fancies with us” [Parker, Portrait of Calvin, 83.]. Calvin was not concerned with offering to his congregation the quaint meditations of his own heart. Although it has become popular in many churches for the pastor to strive to “pour out his heart” to his congregation, such was not Calvin’s aim in his preaching, for he had offered his heart to God alone. As a result, Calvin did not think it was profitable to share the ever-changing passions of his own heart, but to proclaim the heart of God in His never-changing Word. Calvin was not concerned that his congregants behold him but that they behold the Lord. This should be the aim of every pastor, and, if necessary, every pastor should place a placard behind his pulpit with the following words inscribed: “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” (John 12:21). Such was Calvin’s aim in his preaching and in all his life.

—Burk Parsons, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 7–8

This post is utterly irrelevant to your life.

Star Trek opened, I think, May 7, and it just arrived at our little theatre last night; which is a small price to pay for not living in NY or LA, or any other crowded city. Anyway, I didn’t go. I’ll gladly wait ’til Monday night, when the theatre will be the least crowded. In the meantime . . .

I’ve always been down on people who see movies rather than read books. On one occasion, A Tale of Two Cities came up in conversation, and one illiterate cinemaphile commented, “Oh, that was a good movie.” It was only due to my advanced state of maturity that I kept my immediate reaction bottled up inside, where every good man keeps his emotions. Getting to the point, or nearer to it, at least, I avoid seeing movies based upon books if I haven’t read the book. What has this to do with Star Trek? Well . . .

I have a son who has picked up this tendency of mine, and multiplied it. He wants the original in all things. Like me, he dislikes abridged and adapted works. But he goes a bit further. He won’t see a movie remake without first seeing the original. If, by accident, he does see the remake first, he acts as though he’s been defiled. So, getting to the point — really, this time — we’ve been watching Star Trek. Thursday night, we watched Star Trek: The Movie; last night, The Wrath of Khan. Tonight, whatever comes next. Frankly, my dear, I don’t care. I think I’ve had enough.

I hadn’t seen any of the Trek movies before. The first was fairly mediocre, I thought. Khan was good. Before watching it, I felt compelled to watch Space Seed again. Even though I fell asleep halfway through, I felt I had met my moral obligation. The Wrath of Khan was much better than its predecessor. I did think it interesting that Khan remembered Chekov, who hadn’t yet appeared on the show at the time of Space Seed. Trekkies have no doubt argued at length about that, but it’s an easily-explained inconsistency, not really an inconsistency at all.

So Monday I will see the new Star Trek. My expectations are not high, having already discovered a major contradiction just from watching the trailer. If you care to see what that is, compare the trailer to A Piece of the Action. I hope I’m not too disappointed.

P.S.

I haven’t been posting many links this week because
1. I’m busy trying to clean up my blog template, which is really a mess,
2. I’ve been watching Star Trek, and
3. I don’t have to.

I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord.”

PETITIONARY HYMNS
POEM XV. Self Dedication.
Augustus Toplady (1740–1778)

Jesus, my Saviour, fill my heart
   With nothing else but thee;
Now thy saving pow’r exert,
   And more than conquer me:
Each intruding rival kill,
   That Minders or obstructs thy reign:
All thy glorious might reveal,
   And make me pure within.

Through my soul in mercy shine,
   Thine Holy Spirit give;
Let him witness, Lord, with mine
   That I in Jesus live;
Set me free from Satan’s load,
   The gift of Liberty dispense,
In my heart O shed abroad
   Thy quick’ning influence.

Let the gifts bestow’d on me,
   Live to thy praise alone;
Lord, the talents lent by thee
   Are thine and not my own:
May I in thy service spend
   All the graces thou has given,
Taken up, when time shall end,
   To live and reign in heaven.

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

Having finished the Psalms from the Geneva Bible, I am now going to begin the Gospel of John. I’ll be using the NASB, and including commentary from J. C. Ryle’s Expository Thoughts on the Gospels.

The Gospel According to John

1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through Him, and apart from Him nothing came into being that has come into being. 4 In Him was life, and the life was the Light of men. 5 The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.

The Gospel of John, which begins with these verses, is in many respects very unlike the other three Gospels. It contains many things which they omit. It omits many things which they contain. Good reason might easily be shown for this unlikeness. But it is enough to remember that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John wrote under the direct inspiration of God. In the general plan of their respective Gospels, and in the particular details,—in everything that they record, and in everything that they do not record,—they were all four equally and entirely guided by the Holy Spirit.
   About the matters which John was specially inspired to relate in his Gospel, one general remark will suffice. The things which are peculiar to his Gospel are among the most precious possessions of the Church of Christ. No one of the four Gospel-writers has given us such full statements about the divinity of Christ,—about justification by faith,—about the offices of Christ,—about the work of the Holy Ghost,—and about the privileges of believers, as we read in the pages of St. John. On none of these great subjects, undoubtedly, have Matthew, Mark, and Luke been silent. But in St. John’s Gospel, they stand out prominently on the surface, so that he who runs may read.
   The five verses now before us contain a statement of matchless sublimity concerning the divine nature of our Lord Jesus Christ. He it is, beyond all question, whom St. John means, when he speaks of “the Word.” No doubt there are heights and depths in that statement which are far beyond man’s understanding. And yet there are plain lessons in it, which every Christian would do well to treasure up in his mind.
   We learn, firstly, that our Lord Jesus Christ is eternal. St. John tells as that “in the beginning was the Word.” He did not begin to exist when the heavens and the earth were made. Much less did He begin to exist when the Gospel was brought into the world. He had glory with the Father “before the world was.” (John xvii. 5.) He was existing when matter was first created, and before time began. He was “before all things.” (Col. i. 17.) He was from all eternity.
   We learn, secondly, that our Lord Jesus Christ is a Person distinct from God the Father, and yet one with Him. St. John tells us that “the Word was with God.” The Father and the Word, though two persons, are joined by an ineffable union. Where God the Father was from all eternity, there also was the Word, even God the Son,—their glory equal, their majesty co-eternal, and yet their Godhead one This is a great mystery! Happy is he who can receive it as a little child, without attempting to explain it.
   We learn, thirdly, that the Lord Jesus Christ is very God. St. John tells us that “the Word was God.” He is not merely a created angel, or a being inferior to God the Father, and invested by Him with power to redeem sinners. He is nothing less than perfect God,—equal to the father as touching His Godhead,—God of the substance of the Father, begotten before the worlds.
   We learn, fourthly, that the Lord Jesus Christ is the Creator of all things. St. John tells us that “by Him were all things made, and without Him was not any thing made that was made.” So far from being a creature of God, as some heretics have falsely asserted, He is the Being who made the worlds and all that they contain. “He commanded and they were created.” (Psalm xl. 8.)
   We learn, lastly, that the Lord Jesus Christ is the source of all spiritual life and light. St. John tells us, that “in Him was life, and the life was the light of men.” He is the eternal fountain, from which alone the sons of men have ever derived life. Whatever spiritual life and light Adam and Eve possessed before the fall, was from Christ. Whatever deliverance from sin and spiritual death any child of Adam has ever enjoyed since the fall, whatever light of conscience or understanding any one has obtained, all has flowed from Christ. The vast majority of mankind in every age have refused to know Him, have forgotten the fall, and their own need of a Savior. The light has been constantly shining "in darkness." The most have "not comprehended the light." But if any men and women out of the countless millions of mankind have ever had spiritual life and light, they have owed all to Christ.
   Such is a brief summary of the leading lessons which these wonderful verses appear to contain. There is much in them, without controversy, which is above our reason but there is nothing contrary to it. There is much that we cannot explain, and must be content humbly to believe. Let us however never forget that there are plain practical consequences flowing from the passage, which we can never grasp to firmly, or know too well.
   Would we know, for one thing, the exceeding sinfulness of sin? Let us often read these first five verses of St. John’s Gospel. Let us mark what kind of Being the Redeemer of mankind must needs be, in order to provide eternal redemption for sinners. If no one less than the Eternal God, the Creator and Preserver of all things, could take away the sin of the world, sin must be a far more abominable thing in the sight of God than most men suppose. The right measure of sin’s sinfulness is the dignity of Him who came into the world to save sinners. If Christ is so great, then sin must indeed be sinful!
   Would we know, for another thing, the strength of a true Christian’s foundation for hope? Let us often read these first five verses of St. John’s Gospel. Let us mark that the Saviour in whom the believer is bid to trust is nothing less than the Eternal God, One able to save to the uttermost all that come to the Father by Him. He that was “with God,” and “was God,” is also “Emmanuel, God with us.” Let us thank God that our help is laid on One that is mighty. (Psalm lxxxix. 19.) In ourselves we are great sinners. But in Jesus Christ we have a great Saviour. He is a strong foundation-stone, able to bear the weight of a world’s sin. He that believeth on Him shall not be confounded. (1 Peter ii. 6.)

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007) [Westminster (PB) | Amazon (HC)], 3:1–4

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Ignoratio elenchi is the logical fallacy of presenting an argument that may in itself be valid, but does not address the issue in question. A “red herring” is a deliberate attempt to change the subject. It is a sneaky way of diverting attention away from a subject one might rather not face, or an argument he cannot logically refute. It is often used in the face of criticism: criticism is expressed, the object of said criticism, or a defender, shoots back, “Oh, yeah? What about you?” The first party may then reply, “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you (or whatever the topic),” which will seem evasive, but is actually the correct response.

On internet forums, fertile breeding grounds for logical fallacies (and every other variety of ignorance), schools of red herring abound. Which brings me to today’s topic, which will likely be a rant of sorts. Tim Challies recently brought us a tragic-comic example of evangelism gone horribly wrong (click here). He posted without much comment, but did say that “obviously I appreciate the man’s desire to share the good news of the gospel and to train others to do the same.” I echo that sentiment, and got a good laugh out of the examples he posted, as well as a twinge of pain over the absolute atrocity they represent.

As could be expected, mocking comments were made, though nothing cruel or inappropriate. They were really pretty good-natured. And before you could say “kippers,” the red herring came swimming. These fish were quite grieved that anyone would criticize a brother whose intentions were obviously so good. They acknowledged that the material in question was indeed atrocious, but — here we go — “What are you doing to reach the lost? Sure, you Calvinists can mock, but most (or many, at least) Calvinists don’t care about evangelism at all.” Or, “I’m a Calvinist, but I was saved in a church like that. God used it, so you shouldn’t criticize. That makes me sad.” Well, if personal experience means anything, I’ve got a story, too, which I’ll get to in a bit.

But before I do that, I’ve got other fish to fry.

First, the ignaratio elencti, implying that the critic doesn’t evangelize. As the old saw goes, what’s that got to do with the price of tea in China? Nothing whatsoever. It’s just a weak retort to unpleasant facts (if they are not facts, why not refute them logically?). Furthermore, it is also an argumentum ad hominem, attempting to discredit an argument by insulting the arguer. These tactics deserve no respect, and get none here. If you must object/disagree, the least that is required of you is a relevant, valid argument.

Second, and speaking of valid arguments, your feelings do not represent any kind of argument at all. Many things I see and hear make me sad. The basis upon which I must judge them is not how they make me feel, but whether or not they are true. Maybe I need to be made sad. Now, it might be argued that we needn’t always tell the truth. After all, you wouldn’t go out of your way to tell someone they’re ugly, would you? No, I wouldn’t; but if someone pokes me in the chest and attempts to exert “terrific psychological pressure” (see Tim’s post) on me for any purpose whatsoever, I’ll call that ugly. If that makes you feel bad, well, good; you need to feel bad.

Now, the story I promised.

I cannot write words adequately venomous to describe my hatred for the psychological manipulation of salesmanship evangelism. I spent my entire youth in evangelical churches in which the biblical gospel was taught, yet not knowing how I could be saved because of tactics far less egregious than those described in Soul-Winning Made Easy. I raised my hand, I walked aisles, I made decisions for Christ, I asked Jesus to come into my heart, I prayed the sinners prayer, but the fruit of salvation never materialized. I believed that Jesus was knocking on my heart’s door (he wasn’t) and, by reciting the right formula, I could let him in; and so I did, several times. But he never stayed! What was wrong with me? What was I doing wrong? I asked that question of the evangelists who “led me to Christ” for the umpteenth time. The answer always involved something I wasn’t doing to maintain my salvation. Salvation, of course, was free, but I had to go get it, and then keep it. They would deny having taught that, but that is the unavoidable implication of the evangelism they practiced. That confusion lasted into my twenties. In hindsight, I believe I was saved sometime during my twenty-first year, because that is when I saw signs of a genuine change of heart.

So I have no kind words for salesmanship evangelism, beyond a nod to good intentions (which are notably difficult to cash). It is not only unbiblical, it is anti-biblical. And it is certainly not benign. It is not a harmless error, but gospel-denying cancer.

Let me conclude with a word to the good folks of my youth who so confused me, and those who are wondering how, then, shall we evangelize?

Preach the Word, in season and out. Preach sin and death. Preach Christ and the cross. Preach atonement, propitiation, imputation. Preach repentance and faith. By all means, be available to personally counsel the convicted.

But please — do away with the emotionalism, the manipulation, the salesmanship. You can’t sell salvation. You can preach Christ, but you can’t cause regeneration by any method. So do away with “with every head bowed, raise your hand if . . . ,” “Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling,” walking the aisle, the “sinner’s prayer,” your entire bag of tricks. You might be able to sell vacuum cleaners door-to-door that way, but regeneration is not a product. Lazarus was not convinced to “come forth.” He was dead. He was miraculously brought to life by the power of God, and so did what live men do: at the command of Christ, he came forth. So it is and will always be for all who are saved.

I don’t know if there were open theists in the seventeenth century, or if Stephen Charnock foresaw the Boyds and Pinnocks of our day, but either way, Stephen Charnock has a message for them:

   If God were changeable in his knowledge, it would make him unfit to be an object of trust to any rational creature. His revelations would want the due ground for entertainment, if his understanding were changeable; for that might be revealed as truth now which might prove false hereafter, and that as false how which hereafter might prove true; and so God would be and unfit object of obedience in regard of his precepts, and an unfit object in regard of his promises. For if he be changeable in knowledge he is defective in knowledge, and might promise that now which he would know afterwards was unfit to be promised, and, therefore, unfit to be performed. It would make him an incompetent object of dread, in regard of his threatenings; for he might threaten that now which he might know hereafter were not fit or just to be inflicted. A changeable mind and understanding cannot make a due and right judgment of things to be done, and things to be avoided; no wise man would judge it reasonable to trust a weak and flitting person. God must needs to be unchangeable in his knowledge; but as the schoolmen say, that, as the sun always shines, so God always knows; as the sun never ceaseth to shine, so God never ceaseth to know. Nothing can be hid from the vast compass of his understanding, no more than anything can shelter itself without the verge of his power.

—Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God (Baker Books, 2005), 1:322

Yes, I really blew it. I don’t know why, but I posted this a month early. Go ahead, have a chuckle at my expense, and then get a head start on celebrating. The links below are good, even if the date isn’t.

On this date in 1509, John Calvin, or Jean Chauvin, was born in Noyon, Picardie, France. If not for his premature death on 27 May, 1564, he would be 500 years old today. Even so, his early demise notwithstanding, “he being dead, yet speaketh” — loudly and eloquently.

•  Watch as Steve Lawson discusses his book on John Calvin
•  Meet John Calvin, hymn writer: I Greet Thee, Who My Sure Redeemer Art
•  Watch as Sinclair Ferguson, Steve Lawson, Albert Mohler, and Ligon Duncan discuss why John Calvin is still important today
• Read Theopedia on John Calvin
• Read Calvin’s Commentaties, Institutes of the Christian Religion, and more at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library
• Take advantage of he best deal you’ll find anywhere on Calvin’s Commentaries
• Download the portrait of Calvin that hangs on my office wall, formatted for printing on 8½×11 stock (borderless)

Last week, Burk Parsons introduced us to the heart of true Calvinism. Today, we’ll hear from Sinclair Ferguson on Calvin’s gospel.

For Calvin, the gospel is not predestination or election, the sovereignty of God, or even the five points of doctrine with which his name is so often associated. These are aspects of the gospel but the gospel is Jesus Christ Himself. That may seem a truism—who would think anything else? But this truth takes on fresh significance in Calvin’s understanding.
   By the time of the second (1539) and subsequent editions of the Institutes, Calvin’s ongoing study of Scripture had brought a new depth to his understanding of the gospel (he completed his commentary on Romans in the same year). With this new understanding, he insisted that salvation and all its benefits not only come to us through Christ but are to be found exclusively in Christ, crucified, resurrected, ascended, reigning, and returning.
   Two considerations followed. First, Calvin realized that through faith in Christ all the blessings of the gospel were his. Second, he saw that his life must be rooted and grounded in fellowship with Christ. Perhaps it was the personal realization of this that led him to wax lyrical at the climax of his exposition of the Christological section of the Apostles’ Creed:

We see that our whole salvation and all its parts are comprehended in Christ (Acts 4:12). We should therefore take care not to derive the least portion of it from anywhere else. If we seek salvation, we are taught by the very name of Jesus that it is “of him” (1 Corinthians 1:30).
   If we seek any other gifts of the Spirit, they will be found in his anointing. If we seek strength, it lies in his dominion; if purity, in his conception; if gentleness, it appears in his birth. . . . If we seek redemptioon, it lies in his passion; if acquittal, in his condemnation; if remission of the curse, in his cross (Galatians 3:13); if satisfaction, in his sacrifice; if purification, in his blood; if reconciliation, in his decent into hell; if mortification of the flesh, in his tomb; if newness of life, in the resurrection; if immortality, in the same; if inheritance of the Heavenly Kingdom, in his entrance into heaven; if protection, if security, if abundant supply of all blessings, in his Kingdom; if untroubled expectation of judgment, in the power given to him to judge. —Institutes, 2.16.19

   Calvin had make a great discovery, one that dominated both his theology and his life: if Christ is our Redeemer, then Christ was formed in the incarnation in order to deal precisely, perfectly, and fully with both the cause of our guilt and the consequences of our sin. Union with Christ was the means the Spirit used to bring this about.

—Sinclair Ferguson, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 35–36

It is always a difficult tension in the Christian life to live in this world, today, while remembering that we are in reality citizens of another world, the fulfillment of which is yet to come.

It is commonplace today in Reformed theology to recognize that the Christian lives “between the times”—already we are in Christ, but a yet more glorious future awaits us in the final consummation. There is, therefore, a “not yet” about our present Christian experience. Calvin well understood this, and he never dissolved the tension between the “already” and the “not yet.” But he also stressed the importance for the present of the life-focus on the future.
   Calvin sought, personally, to develop a balance of contempt for the present life with a deep gratitude for the blessings of God and a love and longing for the heavenly kingdom. The sense that the Lord would come and issue His final assessment on all and bring His elect to glory was a dominant motif for him. This, the theme of his chapter “Meditation of the Future Life,” was a major element in the energy with which he lived in the face of the “not yet” of his own ailments and weakness. When he was seriously ill and confined to bed, his friends urged him to take some rest, but he replied, “Would you that the Lord when he comes, should find me idle?” By living in the light of the return of Christ and the coming judgment, Calvin became deeply conscious of the brevity of time and the length of eternity.
   This sense of eternity overflowed from his life into his work. It was so characteristic of him that it flowed out naturally in his prayers at the conclusion of his lectures. Here we see the wonderful harmony of his biblical exposition, his understanding of the gospel, his concern to teach young men how to live for God’s glory, and his personal piety. A fragment of one of these prayers, chosen almost randomly, fittingly summarizes this all-too-brief reflection of the heart for God that Calvin expressed in his learning and leadership:

May we be prepared, whatever happens,

rather to undergo a hundred deaths

than to turn aside from the profession of true piety,

in which we know our safety to be laid up.

And may we so glorify thy name

as to be partakers of that glory which has been acquired for us

through the blood of thine only-begotten son. Amen.

—Sinclair Ferguson, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 40–41

As I mentioned last week, the Mrs and me went to see Star Trek on Monday. I’m sorry to say I was not impressed. If I had never seen Star Trek before, and so knew nothing about it, I would have thought it was okay. As it was, it just did not ring true. My complaints:

• The problems begin early, when we are introduced to a teen-aged James T. Kirk. Young Jim steals a classic Corvette, drives it like a pro, and wrecks it. Of course we all know (don’t we?) that later in life, when it becomes necessary for Captain Kirk to drive a car, he doesn’t know how, having never done it.
• The creative minds behind the movie seemed to follow the philosophy currently popular among writers and directors, i.e., keep it moving fast with plenty of action, and no one will notice how thin the plot and/or how one-dimensional the characters. Star Trek was never predominantly an action show. It was a drama, focusing more on strategy than actual combat. This Star Trek seemed to major in cool fight scenes.
• Finally — and this one is just unforgivable — a Spock-Uhura romance? I could maybe overlook the movie’s other failings, but that was just stupid.

Having grossed $226,428,402 (as of 11 June), it is the third highest grossing movie of the last year, so I would guess an entirely unnecessary sequel will be coming. Sad, really.

I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord.”

Room at the Gospel Feast
Philip Doddridge (1702–1751)

The King of heaven His table spreads,
And dainties crown the board;
Not paradise with all its joys
Could such delight afford.

Pardon and peace to dying men,
And endless life are given,
And the rich blood that Jesus shed
To raise the soul to heaven.

Ye hungry poor, that long have strayed
In sins’ dark mazes, come.
Come from the hedges and highways,
And grace shall find you room.

Millions of souls, in glory now,
Were fed and feasted here;
And millions more, still on the way,
Around the board appear.

Yet is his house and heart so large,
That millions more may come;
Nor could the wide assembling world
Overfill the spacious room.

All things are ready; come away,
Nor weak excuses frame.
Crowd to your places at the feast,
And bless the Founder’s name.

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

John 1:6–13
   6 There came a man sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came as a witness, to testify about the Light, so that all might believe through him. 8 He was not the Light, but he came to testify about the Light.
   9 There was the true Light which, coming into the world, enlightens every man. 10 He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, and the world did not know Him. 11 He came to His own, and those who were His own did not receive Him. 12 But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, 13 who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.

St. John, after beginning his gospel with a statement of our Lord’s nature as God, proceeds to speak of His forerunner, John the Baptist. The contrast between the language used about the Saviour, and that used about His forerunner, ought not to be overlooked. Of Christ we are told that He was the eternal God,—the Creator of all things,—the source of life and light. Of John the Baptist we are told simply, that “there was a man sent from God, whose name was John.”
   We see, firstly, in these verses, the true nature of a Christian minister’s office. We have it in the description of John the Baptist: “He came for a witness, to bear witness of the light, that all men through him might believe.”
   Christian ministers are not priests, nor mediators between God and man. They are not agents into whose hands men may commit their souls, and carry on their religion by deputy. They are witnesses. They are intended to bear testimony to God’s truth, and specially to the great truth that Christ is the only Saviour and light of the world. This was St. Peter’s ministry on the day of Pentecost.—“with many other words did he testify.” (Acts ii. 40.) This was the whole tenor of St. Paul’s ministry.—“He testified both to the Jews and to the Greeks repentance towards God, and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Acts xx. 21.) Unless a Christian minister bears full testimony to Christ, he is not faithful in his office. So long as he does testify of Christ, he has done his part, and will receive his reward, although the hearers may not believe his testimony. Until a minister’s hearers believe on that Christ of whom they are told, they receive no benefit from the ministry. They may be pleased and interested; but they are not profited until they believe. The great end of the minister’s testimony is “that through him, men may believe.”
   We see, secondly, in these verses, one principal position which our Lord Jesus Christ occupies towards mankind. We have it in the words, “He was the true light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.”
   Christ is to the souls of men what the sun is to the world. He is the centre and source of all spiritual light, warmth, life, health, growth, beauty, and fertility. Like the sun, He shines for the common benefit of all mankind,—for high and for low, for rich and for poor, for Jew and for Greek. Like the sun, He is free to all. All may look at Him, and drink health out of His light. If millions of mankind were mad enough to dwell in caves underground, or to bandage their eyes, their darkness would be their own fault, and not the fault of the sun. So, likewise, if millions of men and women love spiritual “darkness rather than light,” the blame must be laid on their blind hearts, and not on Christ. “Their foolish hearts are darkened.” (John iii. 19; Rom. i. 21.) But whether men will see or not, Christ is the true sun, and the light of the world. There is no light for sinners except in the Lord Jesus.
   We see, thirdly, in these verses, the desperate wickedness of man’s natural heart. We have it in the words, Christ “was in the world, and the world was made by Him, and the world knew Him not. He came unto His own, and His own received Him not.”
   Christ was in the world invisibly, long before He was born of the Virgin Mary. He was there from the very beginning, ruling, ordering, and governing the whole creation. By Him all things are held together. (Coloss. i. 17.) He gave to all life and breath, rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons. By Him kings reigned, and nations were increased or diminished. Yet men knew Him not, and honoured Him not. They “worshiped and served the creature more than the Creator.” (Rom. i. 25.) Well may the natural heart be called “wicked!”
   But Christ came visibly into the world, when He was born at Bethlehem, and fared no better. He came to the very people whom He had brought out from Egypt, and purchased for His own. He came to the Jews, whom He had separated from other nations, and to whom He had revealed Himself by the prophets. He came to those very Jews who had read of Him in the Old Testament Scriptures,—seen Him under types and figures in their temple services,—and professed to be waiting for His coming. And yet, when He came, those very Jews received Him not. They even rejected Him, despised Him, and slew Him. Well may the natural heart be called “desperately wicked!”
   We see, lastly, in these verses, the vast privileges of all who receive Christ, and believe on Him. We are told that “as many as received Him, to them gave He power to become you sons of God, even to those who believe on His name.”
   Christ will never be without some servants. If the vast majority of the Jews did not receive Him as the Messiah, there were, at any rate, a few who did. To them He gave the privilege of being God’s children. He adopted them as members of His Father’s family. He reckoned them His own brethren and sisters, bone of His bone, and flesh of His flesh. He conferred on them a dignity which was ample recompense for the cross which they had to carry for His sake. He made them sons and daughters of the Lord Almighty.
   Privileges like these, be it remembered, are the possession of all, in every age, who receive Christ by faith, and follow Him as their Savour. They are “children of God by faith in Christ Jesus.” (Gal. iii. 26.) They are born again by a new and heavenly birth, and adopted into the family of the King of kings. Few in number, and despised by the world as they are, they are cared for with infinite love by a Father in heaven, who, for His Son’s sake, is well pleased with them. In time He provides them with everything that is for their good. In eternity He will give them a crown of glory that fades not away. These are great things! But faith in Christ gives men an ample title to them. Good masters care for their servants, and Christ cares for His.
   Are we ourselves sons of God? Have we been born again? Have we the marks which always accompany the new birth,—sense of sin, faith in Jesus, love of others, righteous living, separation from the world? Let us never be content until we can give a satisfactory answer to these questions.
   Do we desire to be sons of God? Then let us “receive Christ” as our Savour, and believe on Him with the heart. To every one that so receives Him, He will give the privilege of becoming a son of God.

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007) [Westminster (PB) | Amazon (HC)], 3:13–17

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

enig·ma
1 : an obscure speech or writing
2 : something hard to understand or explain
3 : an inscrutable or mysterious person

In the past few months, I’ve read two books on the Second World War, D-Day by Stephen Ambrose, and Second World War by Martin Gilbert. It’s been a lot of years since I’ve read much on that period of history, and there is a lot I don’t know about it. Much of what was previously unknown to me has to do with the Enigma machine, the device used by the Germans to encrypt military communications. The breaking of its code is key to the Allied victory. I’ve just begun a book on that subject, Enigma: The Battle for the Code by Hugh Sebag-Montefiore. However, when I was a student, I heard nothing about the Enigma, because it was still classified. As I understand it, the Enigma itself was declassified in the 1970s, and information about the code breakers and their work was classified until the 1990s.

The enigma machine used a complex system of mechanical and electronic functions to encrypt messages. The setting on the machine were changed periodically, so the encryption changed, as well. The recipient of the message had to have an Enigma at his end, and a key to tell him the current Enigma settings, in order to decrypt the message. In a pre-computer age, it was really an ingenious system, and one that kept a team of hundreds of code-breakers from several Allied nations scrambling throughout the war.

Well, I’m no expert on military history, and I’m only just beginning to get into this particular chapter. So what could be the point of bringing this up on this blog? Simply this: it’s got me thinking about how important communication is in battle, and how important it is to be able to decipher messages between command headquarters and the field.

We are in battle (Ephesians 6:11–13). Fortunately, we have not received an encrypted message. Other world religions keep their members dependent on a class of professional code-breakers to ensure that they get the “right” message. Even some ostensibly Bible-believing religions do this. For Roman Catholics, the “Church” is their Enigma key. But we have no need of an Enigma machine and key to decipher messages from God, nor do we need to know any secret code to communicate with him. We can speak plainly to him, and we can read his word to us in plain language. Certainly, we have difficulty with some passages of Scripture, and we are thankful for pastors and teachers who devote their lives to its study. But we can sit in our own homes and read our own Bibles, trusting the Holy Spirit to “guide [us] into all the truth” (John 16:12–15).

This is a great privilege, and one that is only enjoyed by those who are in Christ. I hope you will take advantage of it today.

Does God change his mind? How can we reconcile the passages of Scripture that seem to indicate that he does with his omnipotence and infallibility? Charnock writes:

   Prop. III. Repentance and other affections ascribed to God in Scripture, argue no change in God. We often read of God’s repenting, repenting of the good he promised (Jer. xviii. 10), and of the evil he threatened (Exod. xxxii. 14; John iii. 10), or of the work he hath wrought (Gen. vi. 6). We must observe, therefore, that
   1. Repentance is not properly in God. He is a pure Spirit and is not capable of those passions which are signs of weakness and impotence, or subject to those regrets we are subject to. Where there is a proper repentance there is a want of foresight, an ignorance of what would succeed, or a defect in the examination of the occurrences which might fall within consideration. All repentance of a fact is grounded upon a mistake in the event which was not foreseen, or upon an after knowledge of the evil of the thing which was acted by the person repenting. But God is so wise that he cannot err, so holy he cannot do evil; and his certain prescience, or foreknowledge, secures him against any unexpected events. God doth not act but upon clear and infallible reason; and a change upon passion is accounted by all so great a weakness in man, that none can entertain so unworthy a conceit of God. Where he is said to repent (Gen. vi. 6), he is also said to grieve; now no proper grief can be imagined to be in God. As repentance is inconsistent with infallible foresight, so is grief no less inconsistent with undefiled blessedness. God is “blessed forever” (Rom. ix. 8), and therefore nothing can befall that can stain that blessedness. His blessedness would be impaired and interrupted while he is repenting, though he did soon rectify that which is the cause of his repentance. “God is of one mind, and who can turn him? what his soul desires that he doth” (Job xxiii. 13).
   2. But God accommodates himself in the Scripture to our weak capacity. God hath no more of a proper repentance, than he hath of a real body; though he, in accommodation to our weakness, ascribes to himself the members of our bodies to set out to our understandings the greatness of his perfections, we must not conclude him a body like us; so, because he is said to have anger and repentance, we must not conclude him to have passions like us. When we cannot fully comprehend him as he is, he clothes himself with our nature in his expressions that we may apprehend him as we are able, and by an inspection into ourselves, learn something of the nature of God; yet those human ways of speaking ought to be understood in a manner agreeable to the infinite excellency and majesty of God, and are only designed to mark out something in God which hath a resemblance with something in us; as we cannot speak to God as gods, but as men, so we cannot understand him speaking to us as a God, unless he condescend to speak to us like a man. . . .
   3. Therefore, repentance in God is only a change of his outward conduct, according to his infallible foresight and immutable will. . . . it is a change of events, not of counsels. Repentance in us is a grief for a former fact, and a changing of our course in it; grief is not in God, but his repentance is a willing a thing should not be as it was, which will was fixed from eternity; for God, foreseeing man would fall, and decreeing to permit it, he could not be said to repent in time of what he did not repent from eternity; and therefore, if there were no repentance in God from eternity, there could be none in time. But God is said to repent when he changes the disposition of affairs without himself; as men, when they repent, alter the course of their actions, so God alters things, extra se, or without himself, but changes nothing of his own purpose within himself. It rather notes the action he is about to do, than anything in his own nature, or any, change in his eternal purpose. . . .

—Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God (Baker Books, 2005), 1:340–342

As heirs of the Reformation, and in distinction from Roman Catholicism, we hold to the perspicuity of Scripture. This is the doctrine that any believer can, by the illumination from the Holy spirit, understand the Scriptures adequately to know what God would have him believe and do. In saying this, we do not mean that all Scripture is equally easy to understand. Some passages are, as Peter confessed, “hard to understand” (2 Peter 3:15–16). On this subject, in his Disputation . . . against the Papists, William Whitaker quotes none other than a pope, Gregory the Great (540–604), whom Calvin is said to have called “the last good pope.”

The very obscurity of the words of God is of great use, because it exercises the perception so as to be enlarged by labour, and, through exercise, be enabled to catch that which a lazy reader cannot. It hath besides this still greater advantage, that the meaning of sacred scripture would be lightly esteemed, if it were plain in all places. In some obscure places the sweetness with which it refresheth the mind, when found, is proportionate to the toil and labour which were expended upon the search.

—Gregory the Great, quoted in William Whitaker, Disputations on the Holy Scriptures (Soli Deo Gloria, 2005), 375.

As you are no doubt aware, Calvinists are not concerned with evangelism. Calvinism itself declares evangelism unnecessary. Right? History tells a different story, a story that goes back to Calvin himself.

CALVIN AS PASTOR/EVANGELIST/MISSIONARY

Most are aware of the stereotypical charge that Calvinists are concerned only about doctrine and are indifferent to evangelism and missions. It is further charged that Calvinism is actually counterproductive to the missionary/evangelistic enterprise. Not only is that historically untrue, as revealed by examining the roster of great evangelistic pastors and missionaries who were avowed Calvinists, (i.e., George Whitfield, Charles H. Spurgeon, William Cary, David Brainerd, Jonathan Edwards, etc.), it is patently untrue of Calvin himself.
   Calvin’s passion as a pastor/evangelist was revealed in multiple venues. Calvin persistently evangelized to the children of Geneva through catechism classes and the Geneva Academy. Moreover, he trained preachers to appeal for men and women to follow Christ. The visitation of the sick prescribed an evangelistic inquiry. Even a cursory examination of Calvin’s sermons readily reveals an unquenchable zeal for men and women to be converted to Christ.
   But what about missions? In the Registry of the Venerable Company of Pastors, it is recorded that eighty-eight missionaries had been sent out from Geneva. In actuality, there were probably more than one hundred, and most of them were directly under Calvin. But missions work also went on at a more informal level. Geneva became a magnet for persecuted believers, and many of these immigrants were discipled and eventually returned to their own countries as effective missionaries and evangelists.
   As the troubled times in Calvin’s pastoral ministry subsided, the opportunity for intentional missionary expansion, and church planting ripened. The blessing of God upon the missionary endeavors of Calvin and the Geneva churches from 1555 to 1562 was extraordinary—more than one hundred underground churches were planted In France by 1560. By 1562, the number had increased to 2,150, producing more than three million members. Some of these churches had congregations numbering in the thousands. The pastor of Montpelier informed Calvin by letter that “our church, thanks to the Lord, has so grown and so continues to grow every day that we are preaching three sermons every Sunday to more than 5 to 6 thousand people.” another letter from the pastor of Toulouse declared “our church continues to grow to the astonishing number of 8 to 9 thousand souls.” Calvin’s beloved France, through his ministry, was invaded by more than thirteen hundred Geneva-trained missionaries. This effort, coupled with Calvin’s support of the Waldensians, produced a French Huguenot Church that almost triumphed over the Catholic Counter-Reformation in France.
   Calvin did not evangelize and plant churches in France alone. Geneva-trained missionaries planted churches in Italy, the Netherlands, Hungary, Poland, Germany, England, Scotland, and the independent states of the Rhineland. Evan more astonishing was an initiative that sent missionaries to Brazil. Calvin’s commitment to evangelism and missions was not theoretical, but as in every other area of his life and ministry, a matter of zealous action and passionate commitment.

—Harry L. Reeder, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 67–68

John Calvin is known today primarily for his work as a theologian. In fact, it is difficult to imagine that the man who published as many as half a million words in his most prolific years had time for anything else. But though he was an almost constant writer, he was first and foremost a committed pastor, personally involved in the lives of his flock. This aspect of his life gives the lie to many popular representations of Calvin as a hard, cold academic. While most people (who are aware of Calvin at all) are only aware of his theological works, we also have a large body — numbering more than twelve hundred — of letters. It is in these letters that we best see the pastoral character of John Calvin. W. Robert Godfrey presents an example:

ENCOURAGEMENT TO A PERSECUTED SAINT

Mathieu Dimonet, a Reformed Christian from Lyon, was arrested on Jan. 9, 1553, and martyred on July 15 of that year. Shortly after his arrest, Calvin wrote to encourage him. . . .

You need not be daunted, seeing that God has promised to equip his own according as they are assaulted by Satan. Only commit yourself to him, distrusting all in yourself, and hope that he only will suffice to sustain you. Further, you have to take heed chiefly to two things: first, what the side is you defend, and next, what crown is promised to those who continue steadfast in the Gospel.

   Calvin writes that Dimonet’s future is uncertain, but that even if he faces death, God’s love and provision are certain:

We do not know as yet what he has determined to do concerning you, but there is nothing better for you than to sacrifice your life to him, being ready to part with it whenever he wills, and yet hoping that he will preserve it, in so far as he knows it to be profitable for your salvation. And although this be difficult to the flesh, yet it is the true happiness of his faithful ones; and you must pray that it may please this gracious God so to imprint it upon your heart that it may never be effaced therefrom. For our part, we also shall pray that he would make you feel his power, and vouchsafe you the full assurance that you are under his keeping; that he bridles the rage of your enemies, and in every way manifests himself as your God and Father.

   On July 7, 1553, Calvin wrote again to Dimonet and others imprisoned with him in Lyon to assure them that God had promised them strength for what they must endure. Calvin writes, “Be then assured, that God who manifests himself in time of need, and perfects his strength in our weakness, will not leave you unprovided with that which will powerfully magnify his name.”
   Calvin acknowledges that according to human reasoning their suffering is wrong, but he urges them to be confident in God and his purposes:

It is strange, indeed, to human reason, that the children of God should be so surfeited with afflictions, while the wicked disport themselves in delights; but even more so, that the slaves of Satan should tread us under foot, as we say, and triumph over us. However, we have wherewith to comfort ourselves in all our miseries, looking for that happy issue which is promised to us, that he will not only deliver us by his angels, but will himself wipe away the tears from our eyes. And thus we have good right to despise the pride of these poor blinded men, who to their own ruin lift up their rage against heaven; and although we are not at present in your condition, yet we do not on that account leave off fighting together with you by prayer, by anxiety and tender compassion, as fellow-members, seeing that it has pleased our heavenly Father, of his infinite goodness, to unite us into one body, under his Son, our head. Whereupon I shall beseech him, that he would vouchsafe you this grace, that being stayed upon him, you may in nowise waver, but rather grow in strength; that he would keep you under his protection, and give you such assurance of it that you may be able to despise all that is of the world.

   These two examples are only a brief sample of Calvin’s work of counseling as a faithful pastor. He sought always to minister the truth and comfort of God’s Word to the children of God. His counsel had both a tough realism and a sensitive compassion to it. He faced the miseries and struggles of this life straightforwardly, and he pointed Christians to God’s fatherly care both in this life and in the life to come. Above all, he encouraged Christians to look to Christ as the one who deserves the Father’s love, and he assured them that while weeping may last for the night, joy comes in the morning.

—W. Robert Godfrey, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 90–92

John Calvin is famous — or infamous, depending on whom you ask — for his systematic theology. I’ve read portions of his Institutes in various electronic forms, and now that I’ve recently acquired a hard copy, I hope to get through it all. But I’ve been increasingly drawn towards Calvin’s expositional works (I just got a set of his commentaries, too!). Systematic theology is a necessary discipline, but exegesis must come before systematics.

Phil Johnson writes of the relation between Calvin’s Institutes and Commentaries:

   Some critics have imagined that they see numerous contradictions between Calvin’s Institutes and his commentaries, but on close inspection these invariably turn out to be differences in emphasis, determined by whatever text Calvin is commenting on in its native context. For example, Calvin’s famous remarks on John 3:16 are often singled out by Arminians as contradictory to fundamental Calvinist soteriology—especially the doctrines of election and effectual calling. Calvin writes:

Christ brought life, because the Heavenly Father loves the human race, and wishes that they should not perish. . . . And he has employed the universal term whosoever, both to invite all indiscriminately to partake of life, and to cut off every excuse from unbelievers. Such is also the import of the term World, which he formerly used; for though nothing will be found in the world that is worthy of the favor of God, yet he shows himself to be reconciled to the whole world, when he invites all men without exception to the faith of Christ, which is nothing else than an entrance into life. [John Calvin, Commentary on the Gospel according to John, trans. William Pringle (repr. Grand Rapids: Baker, 1963), 1:123–125.]

   In reality, nothing in those comments is the least bit incompatible with Calvin’s views on salvation or the doctrine he lays out in the Institutes. Calvin affirmed both the doctrine of election and the indiscriminate proposal of reconciliation in the gospel message. Like most strains of Calvinism even today, Calvin saw no conflict between the truths of God’s sovereign election, His well-meant proposal of mercy to all sinners, the sinner’s own duty to repent and believe, and the truth that sinners are so depraved none can or will respond to the gospel apart from God’s enabling grace.
   Half a century ago, a helpful review of Calvin’s commentaries in a theological journal gave this sound advice:

The commentaries complement the Institutes. Many of the controversies which have racked and sometimes splintered the Reformed Churches could have been avoided if the commentaries had been studied as assiduously as the Institutes. The student who knows only The Institutes does not have a complete picture of the theology of the French reformer. Questions such as inspiration, natural theology, and predestination are dealt with in another way in the exegetical works of Calvin, This is not to say that there is any contradiction between the Institutes and the commentaries. They must be taken together, however, to get a clear understanding of Calvin’s theology. [Walter G. Hards, “Calvin’s Commentaries,” Theology Today (April 1959), 16:1:123–124.]

   The commentaries are at once warm and pastoral, powerful and lucid, sumptuous and scholarly. They are a remarkable achievement, and if this had been Calvin’s only contribution to the literature of the Reformation, his reputation as the greatest biblical thinker among the leading Reformers would have been secured.

—Phil Johnson, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 102–103

I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord.”

THE HOME SICKNESS.
Horatius Bonar (1808–1889)

   “civitas sancta, civitas speciosa, de longinquo te saluto,
ad te clamo, te requiro.”—Augustine, De Spir. et Anim.

And whence this weariness,
      This gathering cloud of gloom?
   Whence this dull weight of loneliness,
      These greedy cravings for the tomb?
   These greedier cravings for the hopes that lie
   Beyond the tomb, beyond the things that die;
   Beyond the smiles and joys that come and go,
   Fevering the spirit with their fitful flow;
   Beyond the circle where the shadows fall;
   Within the region where my God is all.

It is not that I fear
      To breast the storm or wrestle with the wave,
      To swim the torrent or the blast to brave,
      To toil or suffer in this day of strife
      As He may will who gave this struggling life,—
But I am homesick!

It is not that the cross
      Is heavier than this drooping frame can bear,
      Or that I find no kindred heart to share
      The burden, which, in these last days of ill,
      Seems to press heavier, sharper, sorer still,—
But I am homesick!

It is not that the snare
      Is laid around for my unwary feet.
      And that a thousand wily tempters greet
      My slippery steps and lead me far astray
      From that safe guidance of the narrow way,—
But I am homesick!

It is not that the path
      Is rough and perilous, beset with foes,
      From the first step down to its weary close,
      Strewn with the flint, the briar, and the thorn.
      That wound my limbs and leave my raiment torn,
But I am homesick!

It is not that the sky
      Is darkly sad, and the unloving air
      Chills me to fainting; and the clouds that there
      Hang over me seem signal clouds unfurled,
      Portending wrath to an unready world,—
But I am homesick!

It is not that the earth
      Has grown less bright and fair,—that these grey hills,
      These ever-lapsing, ever-lulling rills,
      And these breeze-haunted woods, that ocean clear,
      Have now become less beautiful, less dear,—
But I am homesick!

   Let me, then, weary be!
      I shrink not, murmur not;
   In all this homelessness I see
      The Church’s pilgrim-lot;
   Her lot until her absent Lord shall come,
   And the long homeless here, shall find a home.

   Then no more weariness!
      No gathering cloud of gloom;
   Then no dull weight of loneliness,
      No greedy cravings for the tomb:
   For death shall then be swallowed up of life,
   And the glad victory shall end the strife!

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

John 1:14
   14 And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us, and we saw His glory, glory as of the only begotten from the Father, full of grace and truth.

The passage of Scripture now before us is very short, if we measure it by words. But it is very long, if we measure it by the nature of its contents. The substance of it is so immensely important that we shall do well to give it separate and distinct consideration. This single verse contains more than enough matter for a whole exposition.
   The main truth which this verse teaches is the reality of our Lord Jesus Christ’s incarnation, or being made man. St. John tells us that “the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.”
   The plain meaning of these words is, that our divine Saviour really took human nature upon Him, in order to save sinners. He really became a man like ourselves in all things, sin only excepted. Like ourselves, he was born of a woman, though born in a miraculous manner. Like ourselves, He grew from infancy to boyhood, and from boyhood to man’s estate, both in wisdom and in stature. (Luke ii. 52.) Like ourselves, he hungered, thirsted, ate, drank, slept, was wearied, felt pain, wept, rejoiced, marvelled, was moved to anger and compassion. Having be come flesh, and taken a body, He prayed, read the Scriptures, suffered being tempted, and submitted His human will to the will of God the Father. And finally, in the same body, He really suffered and shed His blood, really died, was really buried, really rose again, and really ascended up into heaven. And yet all this time He was God as well as man!
   This union of two natures in Christ’s one Person is doubtless one of the greatest mysteries of the Christian religion. It needs to be carefully stated. It is just one of those great truths which are not meant to be curiously pried into, but to be reverently believed. . . .
   But while we do not pretend to explain the union of two natures in our Lord Jesus Christ’s Person, we must not hesitate to fence the subject with well-defined cautions. While we state most carefully what we do believe, we must not shrink from declaring boldly what we do not believe. We must never forget, that though our Lord was God and man at the same time, the divine and human natures in Him were never confounded. One nature did not swallow up the other. The two natures remained perfect and distinct. The divinity of Christ was never for a moment laid aside, although veiled. The manhood of Christ, during His life-time, was never for a moment unlike our own, though by union with the Godhead, greatly dignified. Though perfect God, Christ has always been perfect man from the first moment of His incarnation. He that is gone into heaven, and is sitting at the Father’s right hand to intercede for sinners, is man as well as God. Though perfect man, Christ never ceased to be perfect God. He that suffered for sin on the cross, and was made sin for us, was “God manifest in the flesh.” The blood with which the Church was purchased, is called the blood “of God.” (Acts xx. 28.) Though He became “flesh” in the fullest sense, when He was born of the Virgin Mary, He never at any period ceased to be the Eternal Word. To say . . . that at any instant of His earthly ministry He was not fully and entirely God, is nothing less than heresy.
   The cautions just given may seem at first sight needless, wearisome, and hair-splitting. It is precisely the neglect of such cautions which ruins many souls. This constant undivided union of two perfect natures in Christ’s Person is exactly that which gives infinite value to His mediation, and qualifies Him to be the very Mediator that sinners need. Our Mediator is One who can sympathize with us, because He is very man. And yet, at the same time, He is One who can deal with the Father for us on equal terms, because He is very God.—It is the same union which gives infinite value to His righteousness, when imputed to believers. It is the righteousness of One who was God as well as man.—It is the same union which gives infinite value to the atoning blood which He shed for sinners on the cross. It is the blood of One who was God as well as man.—It is the same union which gives infinite value to His resurrection. When He rose again, as the Head of the body of believers, He rose not as a mere man, but as God.—Let those things sink deeply into our hearts. The second Adam is far greater than the first Adam was. The first Adam was only man, and so he fell. The second Adam was God as well as man, and so He completely conquered.
   Let us leave the subject with feelings of deep gratitude and thankfulness. It is full of abounding consolation for al who know Christ by faith, and believe on Him.
   Did the Word become flesh? Then He is One who can be touched with the feeling of His people’s infirmities, because He has suffered Himself, being tempted. He is almighty because He is God, and yet He can feel with us, because He is man.
   Did the Word become flesh? Then He can supply us with a perfect pattern and example for our daily life. Had He walked among us as an angel or a spirit, we could never have copied Him. But having dwelt among us as a man, we know that the true standard of holiness is to “walk even as He walked.” (1 John ii. 6.) He is a perfect pattern, because He is God. But He is also a pattern exactly suited to our wants, because He is man.
   Finally, did the Word become flesh? Then let us see in our mortal bodies a real, true dignity, and not defile them by sin. Vile and weak as our body may seem, it is a body which the Eternal Son of God was not ashamed to take upon Himself, and to take up to heaven. That simple fact is a pledge that He will raise our bodies at the last day, and glorify them together with His own.

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007) [Westminster (PB) | Amazon (HC)], 3:24–28

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I expect that’s the most absurd title you’ll read today. As you may know, I’ve been reading The Existence and Attributes of God by Stephen Charnock, which is not a brief summary. Charnock uses a lot of words to describe God, and none are wasted. There is just no way to put God in a nutshell!

Nevertheless, I am going to try. Call this my attempt to wrap up some enormous concepts in a package more manageable to little bitty minds like mine. As I read Charnock, the following two attributes of God strike me as possibly the most important to understand, before considering his other attributes. That might change as I continue reading, but that’s how I see it presently.

God is eternal.
If God is not eternal, then that which we recognize as God is not God, for if it has a beginning, something must have caused that beginning. So if we look for the cause of that which we have called God, and investigate far enough, we must eventually find the first cause, which is necessarily uncaused, i.e., God.

God is immutable.
Immutability is a necessary characteristic of perfection. God is neither complete nor good if he is mutable. To be mutable is to be in need of improvement, or subject to corruption. If something perfect changes, it loses its perfection; if it becomes perfect, then it formerly lacked perfection. Therefore, God must be what he has always and ever will be, and, contra open theism, know all there is or ever will be to know.

So that’s the eternality and immutability of God in under 150 words. How did I do?

God’s immutability is the basis upon which all of our security rests. Because God is unchanging, we can trust his promises. And because it is he who has written our names in heaven, we can be sure that our perseverance is guaranteed.

   It consists not with the majesty of God to call a person effectually to himself today, to make him fit for his eternal love to give him faith, and take away that faith tomorrow. His effectual call is the fruit of his eternal election, and that counsel hath no other foundation but his constant and unchangeable will; a foundation that stands sure, and, therefore, called the foundation of God, and not of the creature; “the foundation of God stands sure, the Lord knows who are his” (2 Tim. ii. 19). It is not founded upon our own natural strength; it may be then subject to changes all the products of nature are. The fallen angels had created grace in their innocency, but lost it by their fall. Were this the foundation of the creature, it might soon be shaken; since man, after his revolt, can ascribe nothing constant to himself, but his own inconsistency. But the foundation is mot in the infirmity of nature, but the strength of grace, and of the grace of God, who is immutable, Who wants not virtue to be able, not kindness to be willing, to preserve his own foundation. To what purpose doth our Saviour tell his disciples their names “were written in heaven” (Luke x. 20), but to mark the infallible certainty of their salvation by an opposition to those things which perish, and have their “names written in the earth” (Jer. xvii 23); or upon the sand, where they may be defaced? And why should Christ order his disciples to rejoice that their names were written in heaven, if God were changeable to blot them out again? or why should an apostle assure us, that though God had rejected the greatest part of the Jews, he had not, therefore, rejected his people elected according to his purpose and immutable counsel; because there are none of the elect of God but will come to salvation? For, saith he, the “election hath obtained it” (Rom. xi. 7); that is, all those that are of the election have obtained it, and the others are hardened. Where the seal of sanctification is stamped, it is a testimony of God’s election and that foundation shall stand sure “the foundation of the Lord stands sure. Having this seal. “The Lord knows who are his;” that is the foundation, the “naming the name of Christ” or believing in Christ, and “departing from iniquity,” is the seal. As it is impossible when God calls those things that are not, but that they should spring up into being and appear before him; so it is impossible but that the seed of God, by his eternal purpose, should be brought to a spiritual life, and that calling cannot be retracted; for that “gift and calling is without repentance” (Rom. xi. 29) and when repentance is removed from God in regard of some works, the immutability of those works is declared; and the reason of that immutability is their pure dependence on the eternal favor and unchangeable grace of God “purposed in himself” (Eph. i. 9, 11) and not upon the mutability of the creature. Hence their happiness is not as patents among men, quam diu bene se gesserint, so long as they behave themselves well; but they have a promise that they shall behave themselves so as never to wholly depart themselves from God (Jer. xxxii. 40): I will make an everlasting covenant with them, that I will not turn away from them to do them good, but I will put my fear into their hearts, that they shall not depart from me.” God will not turn away from them, to do them good, and promiseth that they shall not turn from him forever, or forsake him. And the bottom of it is the everlasting covenant, and therefore, believing and sealing for security are linked together (Eph. i. 13). And when God doth inwardly touch his law, he puts in a will not to depart from it: (Ps. cxix. 102) “I have not departed from Thy judgments;” what is the reason? “For thou hast taught me.”

—Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God (Baker Books, 2005), 1:355–356

To deny the perspicuity of Scripture is to find fault with God, for if the Scripture cannot be understood, then the Holy Spirit failed in his purpose for writing it. William Whitaker wrote:

If the Scriptures be so obscure and difficult to be understood, that they cannot be read with advantage by the people, then this hath happened, either because the Holy Spirit could not write more plainly, or because he would not. No one will say that he could not: and that he would not, is repugnant to the end of the writing; because God willed that they should be written and committed to letters for the very end, that we should learn what was written, and thence derive a knowledge of his will; as is plain from Rom. xv. 4, “Whatsoever things were written, were written for our learning:” where Paul speaks not only of the learned, but of the whole multitude of the faithful. The Scriptures, therefore, are clear. Besides, God does not mock us when he bids us to read the scriptures; but he would have us read the scriptures so that we may know and understand them. Again, the scripture is called a rule, a standard, a mark, laid open to the eyes of all: it is, therefore, of necessity easy and clear. Thus then we briefly conclude this argument. The Holy Spirit willed the scriptures to be consigned to writing in order that we might understand them; and that this was the end which he proposed there are many things in the scriptures themselves that testify: therefore, they are so written as to be intelligible by us, of else the Holy Spirit hath not gained his end; which cannot be thought without impiety.

—William Whitaker, Disputations on the Holy Scriptures (Soli Deo Gloria, 2005), 392

As we have previously seen, the pastoral character of John Calvin can perhaps be seen best in the more than four thousand of his letters that have been published. In these letters, a gentle, genuine concern, even for those who opposed him, is evident. Phil Johnson writes:

   Most of Calvin’s letters convey the great tenderness of his pastor’s heart—especially when he wrote to admonish or correct someone who was in error. The tone of the letters belies the modern caricature of Calvin as a stern, fire-breathing, doctrinaire authoritarian. Still, his passion for the truth, his vast knowledge of Scripture and church history, and his meticulous logic are perpetually evident. There are occasional touches of emotion, ranging from frustration to humor, and throughout we get the sense of a man who (while consistently plainspoken) was never aloof or unapproachable but always sociable, affectionate, and cordial. The letters give us the best and most intimate sense of Calvin as a man.

Calvin corresponded with Laelius Socinus, the Italian father of the heresy known as Socinianism. Phil continues:

[Socinus’s] theology (such as it was) consisted of a particularly pernicious blend of skepticism and humanistic values, posing as Christianity but denying practically everything distinctive about the faith. Socinus was, in short, a theological liberal, and his system laid the foundation for deism, Unitarianism, and a host of similar variations, ranging from process theology and open theism to the pure skepticism of the so-called “Jesus Seminar.”
   Like many of today’s “Emergent” and post-evangelical writers, Socinus preferred to question everything rather than assert anything definitively. He lived for a time in Wittenberg, Germany, and while there, wrote to Calvin with a list of questions, which apparently were nothing more than thinly disguised protests against Calvin’s teaching. Calvin’s reply is full of good advice for many professing Christians in these postmodern times who like to toy with skepticism:

Certainly no one can be more averse to paradox than I am, and in subtleties I find no delight at all. Yet nothing shall ever hinder me from openly avowing what I have learned from the Word of God; for nothing but what is useful is taught in the school of this master. It is my only guide, and to acquiesce in its plain doctrines shall be my constant rule of wisdom. Would that you also, my dear Laelius, would learn to regulate your powers with the same moderation! You have no reason to expect a reply from me so long as you bring forward those monstrous questions. If you are gratified by floating among those airy speculations, permit me, I beseech you, an humble disciple of Christ, to meditate on those things which tend towards the building up of my faith. And indeed I shall hereafter follow out my wishes in silence, that you may not be troubled by me. And in truth I am very greatly grieved that the fine talents with which God has endowed you, should be occupied not only with what is vain and fruitless, but that they should also be injured by pernicious figments. What I warned you of long ago, I must again seriously repeat, that unless you correct in time this itching after investigation, it is to be feared you will bring upon yourself severe suffering. I should be cruel towards you did I treat with a show of indulgence what I believe to be a very dangerous error. I should prefer, accordingly, offending you a little at present by my severity, rather than allow you to indulge unchecked in the fascinating allurements of curiosity. The time will come, I hope, when you will rejoice in having been so violently admonished. Adieu, brother very highly esteemed by me; and if this rebuke is harsher than it ought to be, ascribe it to my love to you. [Schaff, History of the Christian Church, Vol. VIII: Modern Christianity: The Swiss Reformation, 128–129.]

—Phil Johnson, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 105–107.

Thabiti Anyabwile writes on Calvin’s view of the Holy Spirit in the corporate life of the church:

Calvin perceived the intertwining of Jesus’ person and work with that of the Holy Spirit and the local church. According to Calvin:

[Jesus] was anointed by the Spirit to be herald and witness of the Father’s grace. We must note this: he received anointing, not only for himself that he might carry out the office of teaching, but for his whole body that the power of the Spirit might be present in the continuing preaching of the gospel. [Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, 2.15.2.]

   Calvin understood what some habitually forget—effective gospel preaching depends wholly on the power of the Spirit as Christ offers Himself in the gospel. If we neglect to proclaim the work of Christ or to beseech the work of the Spirit, all preaching is lifeless and impotent.
   But Calvin reminds us also that the Spirit is necessary for producing the unity fitting for renewed life. In His atonement, Christ becomes “our peace,” and purchases and makes for Himself “one new man” (Eph. 2:14–15). But the Spirit is the agent who applies this reality.
   Commenting on Ephesians 2:16–19, Calvin writes, “We must all participate in one Spirit.” That participation in the Spirit of God produces “such a union among us as might show that we are in very deed the body of our Lord Jesus Christ. It is not enough for us to be piled up together like a heap of stones, but we must be joined together with cordial affection.” [Calvin, Sermons on Ephesians, 326.] Calvin unswervingly proclaimed that “when God’s Spirit governs us, He reforms our affections in such a way that our souls are joined together.” [Ibid.]
   What a beautiful picture of life together in the local church. But this was no preacher’s flourish for Calvin; he believed Scripture teaches that unity is a mark of the church of God. He writes:

We must keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. For here he puts down the unity of the Spirit as a mark that is required in the church and flock of God, insomuch that if we are divided among ourselves, we are estranged from God. And with this, he shows us what we have seen briefly before, which is that if we are not at one among ourselves, God disclaims us and tells us we do not belong to Him. This unity therefore is something which ought to be valued nowadays seeing it is the way in respect of which we are acknowledged as God’s children. [Ibid., 323.]

   If this unity was to be prized in Calvin’s day, it is no less needed in our day. Unity in the truth and in God’s Spirit is essential. It must be among the ends for which gospel preachers and all Christians labor, remembering that our love and unity commend to a perishing world the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ (John 17:20–21).
   The twenty-first-century church needs a number of things, including a deeper understanding of saving faith and conversion, a greater desire for sanctification and deliverance from worldliness, a resurgence of powerful gospel preaching, and a unwavering commitment to unity in the church. Five hundred years after his life and ministry, Calvin teaches us that essential to meeting all of these needs is daily reliance on God the Holy Spirit, “the chief key by which the gate of paradise is opened to us.” [Ibid., 207.]

—Thabiti Anyabwile, John Calvin: A Heart for Devotion, Doctrine, and Doxology, ed. Burk Parsons (Reformation Trust, 2008), 105–107.

We recently watched Cast Away starring Tom Hanks. It’s not a great movie, but a pretty good one. I like the ending. To be true to the spirit of Hollywood, and to the prevailing moral climate in general, it should have ended with an adulterous tryst, but it didn’t. My compliments to the screenwriter.

Still, as much as I liked the ending, it would have been even better had it ended like this.

I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord.”

Kept by God

Jehovah God,

Thou Creator, Upholder, Proprietor of all
things,
I cannot escape from thy presence or control,
   nor do I desire to do so.
My privilege is to be under the agency of
   omnipotence, righteousness, wisdom,
   patience, mercy, grace.
Thou art love with more than parental affection;
I admire thy heart, adore thy wisdom,
   stand in awe of thy power, abase myself before
      thy purity.
It is the discovery of thy goodness alone that can
   banish my fear,
   allure me into thy presence,
   help me to bewail and confess my sins.
When I review my past guilt
   and am conscious of my present unworthiness
      I tremble to come to thee,
      I whose foundation is in the dust,
      I who have condemned thy goodness,
         defied thy power,
         trampled upon thy love,
         rendered myself worthy of eternal death.
But my recovery cannot spring from any cause
   in me,
   I can destroy but cannot save myself.
Yet thou hast laid help on One that is mighty,
   for there is mercy with thee,
   and exceeding riches in thy kindness
      through Jesus.
May I always feel my need of him.
Let thy restored joy be my strength;
May it keep me from lusting after the world,
   bear up heart and mind in loss of comforts,
   enliven me in the valley of death,
   work in me the image of the heavenly,
   and give me to enjoy the first fruits of spirituality,
      such as angels and departed saints know.

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

John 1:15–18
15 John testified about Him and cried out, saying, “This was He of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me has a higher rank than I, for He existed before me.’” 16 For of His fullness we have all received, and grace upon grace. 17 For the Law was given through Moses; grace and truth were realized through Jesus Christ. 18 No one has seen God at any time; the only begotten God who is in the bosom of the Father, He has explained Him.

The passage before us contains three great declarations about our Lord Jesus Christ. Each of the three is among the foundation principles of Christianity.
   We are taught, firstly, that it is Christ alone who supplies all the spiritual wants of all believers. It is written that “of his fulness have we all received, and grace for grace.”
   There is an infinite fulness in Jesus Christ. As St. Paul says, “It pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell.”—“In Him are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” (Coloss. i. 19; ii. 8.) There is laid up in Him, as in a treasury, a boundless supply of all that any sinner can need, either in time or eternity. The Spirit of Life is His special gift to the Church, and conveys from Him, as from a great root, sap and vigour to all the believing branches. He is rich in mercy, grace, wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption. Out of Christ’s fulness, all believers in every age of the world, have been supplied. They did not clearly understand the fountain from which their supplies flowed, in Old Testament times. The Old Testament saints only saw Christ afar off, and not face to face. But from Abel downwards, all saved souls have received all they have had from Jesus Christ alone. Every saint in glory will at last acknowledge that he is Christ’s debtor for all he is. Jesus will prove to have been all in all.
   We are taught, secondly, the vast superiority of Christ to Moses, and of the Gospel to the Law. It is written that “the law was given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.”
   Moses was employed by God “as a servant,” to convey to Israel the moral and ceremonial law. (Heb. iii. 5.) As a servant, he was faithful to Him who appointed him, but he was only a servant. The moral law, which he brought down from Mount Sinai, was holy, and just, and good. But it could not justify. It had no healing power. It could wound, but it could not bind up. It “worked wrath.” (Rom. iv. 15.) It pronounced a curse against any imperfect obedience.—The ceremonial law, which he was commanded to impose on Israel, was full of deep meaning and typical instruction. Its ordinances and ceremonies made it an excellent schoolmaster to guide men toward Christ. (Gal. iii. 24.) But the ceremonial law was only a schoolmaster. It could not make him that kept it perfect, as pertaining to the conscience. (Heb. ix. 9.) It laid a grievous yoke on men’s hearts, which they were not able to bear. It wag a ministration of death and condemnation. (2 Cor. iii 7—9.) The light which men got from Moses and the law was at best only starlight compared to noon-day.
   Christ, on the other hand, came into the world “as a Son,” with the keys of God’s treasury of grace and truth entirely in His hands. (Heb. iii. 6.) Grace came by Him, when He made fully known God’s gracious plan of salvation, by faith in His own blood, and opened the fountain of mercy to all the world.—Truth came by Him, when He fulfilled in His own Person the types of the Old Testament, and revealed Himself as the true Sacrifice, the true mercy-seat, and the true Priest. No doubt there was much of “grace and truth” under the law of Moses. But the whole of God’s grace, and the whole truth about redemption, were never known until Jesus came into the world, and died for sinners.
   We are taught, thirdly, that it is Christ alone who has revealed God the father to man. It is written that “no man hath seen God at any time: the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him.”
   The eye of mortal man has never beheld God the Father. No man could bear the right. Even to Moses it was said, “Thou canst not see my face: for there shall no man see me, and live.” (Exod. xxxiii. 20.) Yet all that mortal man is capable of knowing about God the Father is fully revealed to us by God the Son. He, who was in the bosom of the Father from all eternity, has been pleased to take our nature upon Him, and to exhibit to us in the form of man, all that our minds can comprehend of the Father’s perfections. In Christ’s words, and deeds, and life, and death, we learn as much concerning God the Father as our feeble minds can at present bear. His perfect wisdom,—His almighty power,—His unspeakable love to sinners,—His incomparable holiness,— His hatred of sin, could never be represented to our eyes more clearly than we see them in Christ’s life and death. In truth, “God was manifest in the flesh,” when the Word took on Him a body. “He was the brightness of the Father’s glory, and the express image of His person.” He says Himself, “I and my Father are one.” “He that hath seen me hath seen the Father.” “In Him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily.” (Coloss. ii. 9.) These are deep and mysterious things. But they are true. (1 Tim. iii. 16; Heb. i. 3; John x. 30; xiv. 9.)
   And now, after reading this passage, can we ever give too much honour to Christ? Can we ever think too highly of Him? Let us banish the unworthy thought from our minds for ever. Let us learn to exalt Him more in our hearts, and to rest more confidingly the whole weight of our souls in His hands. Men may easily fall into error about the three Persons in the holy Trinity if they do not carefully adhere to the teaching of Scripture. But no man ever errs on the side of giving too much honour to God the Son. Christ is the meeting-point between the Trinity and the sinner’s soul. “He that honoureth not the Son, honoureth not the Father which sent Him.” (John v. 23.)

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007) [Westminster (PB) | Amazon (HC)], 3:34–37

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Sometimes I feel that, at my age, I should not struggle so much in my spiritual walk. I try really hard, but I know I should be doing better.

Someone is no doubt thinking, “Man, you don’t get it. You should know better . . .” I get it. I do know better. But sometimes I think those thoughts anyway. That’s why I can never read words like these often enough:

Ephesians 6

10 Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might. 11 Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. 12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. 13 Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. 14 Stand firm therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, 15 and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; 16 in addition to all, taking up the shield of faith with which you will be able to extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17 And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.
   18 With all prayer and petition pray at all times in the Spirit . . .

Notice, it’s “the strength of his might.” It’s “the armor of God.” Meditate on that as you begin another week.

Stephen Charnock on God’s omniscience:

God is essentially everywhere present in heaven and earth. If God be, he must be somewhere; that which is nowhere, is nothing, since God is, he is in the world; not in one part of it; for then he would be circumscribed by it: if in the world, and only there, though it be a great space, he were also limited. Some therefore said, “God is everywhere, and nowhere” [Chrysostom]. Nowhere, i. e. not bounded by any place, nor receiving from any place anything for his preservation or sustainment. He is everywhere, because no creature, either body or spirit, can exclude the presence of his essence; for he is not only near, but in everything (Acts xvii. 28): “In him we live, and move, and have our being.” Not absent from anything, but so present with them, that they live and move in him, and move more in God, then in the air or earth wherein they are; nearer to us than our flesh to our bones, than the air to our breath; he cannot be far from them that live, and have every motion in him. The apostle doth not say, By him, but in him, to show the inwardness of his presence. As eternity is the perfection whereby he hath neither beginning nor end, immutability is the perfection whereby he hath neither increase nor diminution, so immensity of omnipresence is that whereby he hath neither bounds nor limitations. At he is in all time, yet so as to be above time; so is he in all places, yet so as to be above limitation by any place. It was a good expression by a heathen to illustrate this, “That God is a sphere or circle, whose center is everywhere and circumference is nowhere.” His meaning was, that the essence of God was indivisible; i. e. could not be divided. It cannot be said here and there the lines of it terminate; it is like a line drawn out in infinite spaces, that no point can be conceived where its length and breadth ends. The sea is a vast mass of waters; yet to that it is said, “Hitherto shalt thou go, and no further.” But in cannot be said of God’s essence, hitherto it reaches and no further; here it is, and there it is not. It is plain, that God is thus immense, because his is infinite; we have reason and scripture to assent to it, though we cannot conceive it. We know that God is eternal, though eternity is to great to be measured by the sort line of a created understanding. We cannot conceive that vastness and glory of the heavens, much less that which is so great, as to fill the heaven and the earth, yea (1 Kings viii. 27), “not to be contained in the heaven of Heavens.”

—Stephen Charnock, The Existence and Attributes of God (Baker Books, 2005), 1:366–377