The word-based faith of the Puritans and their disdain for religious images has led some to conclude that theirs was an abstract religion, offering nothing concrete to enliven the imagination. But, while the Puritans did do away with all physical images, their worship was hardly lacking in imagery. As Ryken puts it, they “expected the verbal imagination to do the work that Catholic/Anglican worship had placed on the visual and aural imagination.” Ryken likens Puritan worship to the plays of William Shakespeare, who “was content with the scantiest of stage props and built scenery and imagery into the texts of the plays themselves.” Likewise, Puritan sermons contained ample imagery to engage the mind.

   Puritan worship services . . . were far from being devoid of images and symbols. These were simply embodied in the sermon instead of visible to the eye in the church sanctuary. To test that thesis, I once randomly opened three books of Puritan sermons that a student had just brought in to my office. Here are the specimens that greeted me:

The sinner is a bramble, not a fig tree yielding sweet fruit. . . . A wicked man, like Jehoram, has “his bowels fallen out” (2 Chronicles 21:19). Therefore he is compared to an adamant (Zachariah 7:12) because his heart does not melt in mercy. Before conversion the sinner is compared to a wolf in his savageness, to a lion in his fierceness (Isaiah 11:16). . . . [Thomas Watson, The Beatitudes, 143.]

Adam’s posterity has not been so numerous as his sins. A little cloud, no bigger than a man’s hand — so it seems at first — grows and spreads to cover the whole hemisphere. The water at first seemed little and shallow, swells more and more from the ankles to the knees, from the knees to the loins, from there to the head until it grows into such a great river that it cannot be passed over. In this way grows sin. . . . It is as a snowball that grows bigger by rolling in the snow. [Ralph Venning, The Plague of Plagues, 165.]

The law may chain up a wolf, but it is the Gospel that changes the wolfish nature; the one stops the stream, the other heals the fountain. [Samuel Bolton, The True Grounds of Christian Freedom, 84.]

No worship service that includes such appeals to the imagination can be said to be excessively abstract.

—Leland Ryken, Worldly Saints: The Puritans as They Really Were (Academie Books, 1986), 125–126.

Leland Ryken quotes Puritan Robert Coachman [Cushman] (1577–1625):

. . . it is no small privilege . . . to live in such a society, as where the eyes of their brethren are so lovingly set upon them, that they will not suffer them to go on in sin.

—Robert Cushman, The Cry of a Stone, cited in Leland Ryken, Worldly Saints: The Puritans as They Really Were (Academie Books, 1986), 133.

It’s a nice thought, but I wonder, how many enjoy that kind of fellowship? Does anyone watch over us like that, and if so, do we appreciate it, or resent it? Do we watch over our brothers and sisters with that kind of love?

Hey, kids! Want to play a game? I was looking over my book shelves, and — well, here’s one you didn’t see on Sesame Street.

One of these things is not like the others,
One of these things just doesn’t belong.
Can you tell which thing is not like the others
Before I finish my song?

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

HYMN XX
BALAAM’s wish (m)    Numbers xxiii. 10.
by John Newton (1725–1807)

HOW blest the righteous are

   “Oh! let me die, said he,
   The death the righteous do;
When life is ended let me be
   Found with the faithful few.”

   The force of truth how great!
   When enemies confess,
None but the righteous whom they hate,
   A solid hope possess.

   But Balaam’s wish was vain,
   His heart was insincere;
He thirsted for unrighteous gain,
   And sought a portion here.

   He seem’d the Lord to know,
   And to offend him loth;
But Mammon prov’d his overthrow,
   For none can serve them both.

   May you, my friends, and I,
   Warning from hence receive;
If like the righteous we would die,
   To choose the life they live.

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

John 4:43–54

After the two days He went forth from there into Galilee. 44 For Jesus Himself testified that a prophet has no honor in his own country. 45 So when He came to Galilee, the Galileans received Him, having seen all the things that He did in Jerusalem at the feast; for they themselves also went to the feast.

Christ Heals the Nobleman’s Son

Four great lessons stand out boldly on the face of this passage. Let us fix them in our memories, and use them continually as we journey through life.
   We learn, firstly, that the rich have afflictions as well as the poor. We read of a nobleman in deep anxiety because his son was sick. We need not doubt that every means of restoration was used that money could procure. But money is not almighty. The sickness increased, and the nobleman’s son lay at the point of death.
   The lesson is one which needs to be constantly impressed on the minds of men. There is no more common, or more mischievous error, than to suppose that the rich have no cares. The rich are as liable to sickness as the poor; and have a hundred anxieties beside, of which the poor know nothing at all. Silks and satins often cover very heavy hearts. The dwellers in palaces often sleep more uneasily than the dwellers in poor cottages. Gold and silver can lift no man beyond the reach of trouble. They may shut out debt and rags, but they cannot shut out care, disease, and death. The higher the tree, the more it is shaken by storms. The broader its branches, the greater is the mark which it exposes to the tempest. David was a happier man when he kept his father’s sheep at Bethlehem, than when he dwelt as a king at Jerusalem, and governed the twelve tribes of Israel.
   Let the servant of Christ beware of desiring riches. They are certain cares, and uncertain comforts. Let him pray for the rich, and not envy them. How hardly shall a rich man enter the kingdom of God! Above all, let him learn to be content with such things as he has. He only is truly rich, who has treasure in heaven.
   We learn, secondly, in this passage, that sickness and death come to the young as well as to the old. We read of a son sick unto death, and a father in trouble about him. We see the natural order of things inverted. The elder is obliged to minister to the younger, and not the younger to the elder. The child draws near to the grave before the parent, and not the parent before the child.
   The lesson is one which we are all slow to learn. We are apt to shut our eyes to plain facts, and to speak and act, as if young people, as a matter of course, never died when young. And yet the grave-stones in every churchyard would tell us, that few people out of a hundred ever live to be fifty years old, while many never grow up to man’s estate at all. The first grave that ever was dug on this earth, was that of a young man. The first person who ever died, was not a father but a son. Aaron lost two sons at a stroke. David, the man after God’s own heart, lived long enough to see three children buried. Job was deprived of all his children in one day. These things were carefully recorded for our learning.
   He that is wise, will never consider long life as a certainty. We never know what a day may bring forth. The strongest and fairest are often cut down and hurried away in a few hours, while the old and feeble linger on for many years. The only true wisdom is to be always prepared to meet God, to put nothing off which concerns eternity, and to live like men ready to depart at any moment. So living, it matters little whether we die young or old. Joined to the Lord Jesus, we are safe in any event.
   We learn, thirdly, from this passage, what benefits affliction can confer on the soul. We read, that anxiety about a son led the nobleman to Christ, in order to obtain help in time of need. Once brought into Christ’s company, he learned a lesson of priceless value. In the end, “he believed, and his whole house.” All this, be it remembered, hinged upon the son’s sickness. If the nobleman’s son had never been ill, his father might have lived and died in his sins!
   Affliction is one of God’s medicines. By it He often teaches lessons which would be learned in no other way. By it He often draws souls away from sin and the world, which would otherwise have perished everlastingly. Health is a great blessing, but sanctified disease is a greater. Prosperity and worldly comfort, are what all naturally desire; but losses and crosses are far better for us, if they lead us to Christ. Thousands at the last day, will testify with David, and the nobleman before us, “It is good for me that I have been afflicted.” (Psalm cxix. 71.)
   Let us beware of murmuring in the time of trouble. Let us settle it firmly in our minds, that there is a meaning, a needs-be, and a message from God, in every sorrow that falls upon us. There are no lessons so useful as those learned in the school of affliction. There is no commentary that opens up the Bible so much as sickness and sorrow. “No chastening for the present seems to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yields peaceable fruit.” (Heb. xii. 11.) The resurrection morning will prove, that many of the losses of God’s people were in reality eternal gains.
   We learn, lastly, from this passage, that Christ’s word is as good as Christ’s presence. We read, that Jesus did not come down to Capernaum to see the sick young man, but only spoke the word, “Your son lives.” Almighty power went with that little sentence. That very hour the patient began to amend. Christ only spoke, and the cure was done. Christ only commanded, and the deadly disease stood fast.
   The fact before us is singularly full of comfort. It gives enormous value to every promise of mercy, grace, and peace, which ever fell from Christ’s lips. He that by faith has laid bold on some word of Christ, has placed his feet upon a rock. What Christ has said, He is able to do; and what He has undertaken, He will never fail to make good. The sinner who has really reposed his soul on the word of the Lord Jesus, is safe to all eternity. He could not be safer, if he saw the book of life, and his own name written in it. If Christ has said, “Him that cometh to me, I will in nowise cast out,” and our hearts can testify, “I have come,” we need not doubt that we are saved. In the things of this world, we say that seeing is believing. But in the things of the Gospel, believing is as good as seeing. Christ’s word is as good as man’s deed. He of whom Jesus says in the Gospel, “He liveth,” is alive forevermore, and shall never die.
   And now let us remember that afflictions, like that of the nobleman, are very common. They will probably come to our door one day. Have we known anything of bearing affliction? Would we know where to turn for help and comfort when our time comes? Let us fill our minds and memories betimes with Christ’s words. They are not the words of man only, but of God. The words that he speaks are spirit and life. (John vi. 63.)

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007) [Westminster (PB) | Amazon (HC)], 3:251–254.

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

The following two paragraphs from my reading in Ryle (text: John 4:43–54) this week struck me as profoundly comforting and encouraging:

   We learn, lastly, from this passage, that Christ’s word is as good as Christ’s presence. We read, that Jesus did not come down to Capernaum to see the sick young man, but only spoke the word, “Your son lives.” Almighty power went with that little sentence. That very hour the patient began to amend. Christ only spoke, and the cure was done. Christ only commanded, and the deadly disease stood fast.
   The fact before us is singularly full of comfort. It gives enormous value to every promise of mercy, grace, and peace, which ever fell from Christ’s lips. He that by faith has laid bold on some word of Christ, has placed his feet upon a rock. What Christ has said, He is able to do; and what He has undertaken, He will never fail to make good. The sinner who has really reposed his soul on the word of the Lord Jesus, is safe to all eternity. He could not be safer, if he saw the book of life, and his own name written in it. If Christ has said, “Him that cometh to me, I will in nowise cast out,” and our hearts can testify, “I have come,” we need not doubt that we are saved. In the things of this world, we say that seeing is believing. But in the things of the Gospel, believing is as good as seeing. Christ’s word is as good as man’s deed. He of whom Jesus says in the Gospel, “He liveth,” is alive forevermore, and shall never die.

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007) [Westminster (PB) | Amazon (HC)], 3:253–254.

Possessing the Word of Christ is as good as having him here with me, in the flesh! That is an astounding thought. I need not seek some mystical experience of his presence. I need only immerse myself in Scripture and allow the word of Christ to richly dwell within me, and all that he is is present in his Word. What a blessed reality!

It has been two years since I last picked up William Gurnall’s The Christian in Complete Armour. I don’t know why I set it aside, but I’ve been intending to get back to it for some time now. Having finished Volume One of The Existence and Attributes of God (whew!), now seems like a good time. For those who aren’t familiar with this work, it is English Puritan William Gurnall’s exposition of Ephesians 6:10–20, first published in 1662. I take up where I left off, at verse 12: “The nature of the War, and character of the Assailants.”

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.

Gurnall brings a “Reproof to Such as Are Not True Wrestlers.” Among these are they who “wrestle with sin, but they do not hate it.” He writes:

Others wrestle with sin, but they do not hate it, and therefore they are favourable to it, and seek not the life of sin their deadly enemy. These wrestle in jest, and not in earnest; the wounds they give sin one day, are healed the next. Let men resolve never so strongly against sin, yet it will creep again into their favour, till the love of sin be quenched in the heart; and this fire will never be die of itself, the love of Christ must quench the love of sin, as Jerome [saith] excellently [one love extinguishes another.] This heavenly fire will indeed put out the flame of hell; . . . Then and not till then will the soul’s decree stand against sin, when the soul hath taken Christ into his bosom.

—William Gurnall, The Christian in Complete Armour (Banner of Truth Trust, 2002), 1:119–120.

Leland Ryken on Puritan hermeneutics:

The logical starting place is the Puritans’ belief that the Bible must ordinarily be interpreted literally or historically, not arbitrarily allegorized. To understand why the Puritans made so much of the literal or single interpretation of Scripture, we need to know something about the centuries-long Catholic practice of attributing allegorical interpretations to virtually all of Scripture.
   Catholic interpreters, for example, claimed that in the story of Rebekah, Rebekah’s drawing water for Abraham’s servant really means that we must daily come to the Bible to meet Christ. The six water pots at the marriage in Cana refer to the creation of the world in six days. The woman’s comment in the Song of Solomon that “my beloved is to me a bag of myrrh, that lies between my breasts” was interpreted as meaning the Old and New Testaments, between which stands Christ. Another commentator found the breasts to denote the learned teachers of the church, and yet another thought the verse referred to the crucifixion of Christ, which the believer keeps in eternal remembrance between his breasts, that is, in his heart.
   To the Puritans, such allegorizing was ridiculous and unreliable. “The Scripture hath but one sense,” claimed Tyndale, “which is the literal sense, and that literal sense is the root and ground of all, and the anchor that never faileth.” Thomas Gataker agreed: “Sir, we dare not allegorize the Scriptures, where the letter of it yields us a clear and proper Sense.
   We should pause to note what the Puritans did not mean when they insisted on the literal or plain interpretation of Scripture. They did not mean that the Bible is literal rather than figurative. William Bridge, for example, commented that “though the sense of the Scripture be but one entire sense, yet sometimes the Scripture is to be understood literally, sometimes figuratively and metaphorically.” The Puritans did not even deny that there were allegorical passages in the Bible. James Durham wrote, “There is great difference betwixt an allegoric exposition of Scripture, and an exposition of allegoric Scripture.”

—Leland Ryken, Worldly Saints: The Puritans as They Really Were (Academie Books, 1986), 145.

While Rome had held the clergy above the common people, declaring that only they could interpret the Scriptures, the Puritans followed the Reformers in insisting

that the Holy Spirit illumines the mind of any Christian as he or she reads the Bible. “Every godly man hath in him a spiritual light,” declared John White, “by which he is directed in the understanding of God’s mind revealed in His word.” Thomas Goodwin said with equal confidence that

The same Spirit that guided the holy apostles and prophets to write it must guide the people of God to know the meaning of it; and as he first delivered it, so must he help men to understand it.

What are we to make of this confidence that the Holy Spirit guides us in understanding the Bible? We must realize that Catholic allegorizing of the Bible had obscured Scripture, in effect making “the Pope the doorkeeper of Scripture, not the Holy Spirit.” Set in the context of ingenious Catholic allegorizing in which the Bible’s message was decipherable only by the clergy, the Puritan belief in the illumination of the Holy Spirit put the Bible back within the grasp of every reader. Thus John Ball could write:

We are not necessarily tied to the exposition of Fathers or Councils for the finding out of the sense of Scripture. Who is the faithful interpreter of Scripture? The Holy Ghost speaking in the Scripture is the only faithful interpreter of the Scripture.

—Leland Ryken, Worldly Saints: The Puritans as They Really Were (Academie Books, 1986), 146–147.

A point that seems to come up continuously regarding biblical interpretation is that of context. The practice of wresting Scripture from its natural setting and interpreting and applying it in a user-friendly manner is nothing new.

The Puritans were as insistent as good scholars today that a given passage in the Bible must be interpreted in its context. One of them wrote, “It is the best rule to come to the understanding of the phrases of Scripture, to consider in what sense they were taken in that country, and among the people, where they were written.” William Bridge added, “If you would understand the true sense . . . of a controverted Scripture, then look well into the coherence, the scope of and context thereof.” William Perkins’s stock questions for a passage were: “Who? to whom? upon what occasion? at what time? in what place? for what end? what goeth before? what followeth?”

—Leland Ryken, Worldly Saints: The Puritans as They Really Were (Academie Books, 1986), 147.

On the day following the awarding of the igNobel Peace Prize to the World’s Most Powerful Socialist, I thought it might be refreshing to hear from someone who actually lived in the real world, a man who won a Nobel Prize and actually deserved it. Ladies and gentlemen, Milton Friedman:

In a much quoted passage in his inaugural address, President Kennedy said, “Ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.” It is a striking sign of the temper of our times that the controversy on this passage centered on its origin and not on its content. Neither half of the statement express a relation between the citizen and his government that is worthy of the ideals of free men in a society. The paternalistic “what your country can do for you” implies that government is the patron, the citizen the ward, a view that is at odds with the free man’s belief in his own responsibility for his own destiny. The organismic, “what you can do for your country” implies that the government is the master of the deity, the citizen, the servant or votary. To the free man, the country is the collection of individuals who compose it, not something over and above them. He is proud of a common heritage and loyal to common traditions. But he regards government as a means, an instrumentality, neither a grantor of favors and gifts, nor a master or god to be blindly worshipped and served. He recognizes no national goal except as it is the consensus of the goals that the citizens severally serve. He recognizes no national purpose except as it is the consensus of purposes for which the citizens severally strive.
   The free man will ask neither what his country can do for him nor what he can do for his country. He will ask rather “What can I and my compatriots do through government” to help us discharge our individual responsibilities, to achieve our several goals and purposes, and above all, to protect our freedom? And he will accompany his question with another: how can we keep the government we create from becoming a Frankenstein that will destroy the very freedom that we establish it to protect? Freedom is a rare and delicate plant. Our minds tell us, and history confirms, that the great threat to freedom is the concentration of power. Government is necessary to preserve our freedom, it is an instrument through which we can exercise our freedom; yet by concentrating power in political hands, it is also a threat to freedom. Even though the men who wield this power initially be of good will and even though they be not corrupted by the power they exercise, the power will both attract and form men of a different stamp.

—Milton Friedman, Capitalism and Freedom (The University of Chicago Press, 2002), 1–2.

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

PETITIONARY HYMNS
POEM XIX. After being surprised into Sin.
Augustus Toplady (1740–1778)

Ah! Give me, Lord, myself to see,
   Against myself to watch and pray,
How weak am I, when left by thee,
   How frail, how apt to fall away!
If but a moment thou withdraw,
That moment sees me break thy law.

Jesus, the sinner’s only trust,
   Let me now feel thy grace infus’d!
Ah! raise a captive from the dust,
   Nor break a reed already bruis’d!
Visit me, Lord, in peace again,
Nor let me seek thy face in vain.

O gracious Lord, now let me find
   Peace and salvation in thy name;
Be thou the eye-sight of the blind,
   The staff and ancles of the lame;
My lifter up whene’er I fall,
My strength, my portion, and my all.

Let thy meek mind descend on me,
   Thy Holy Spirit from above:
Assist me, Lord, to follow thee,
   Drawn by th’ endearing cords of love
Made perfect by thy cleansing blood,
Completely sav’d and born of God.

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

The Gospel According to John

Christ Heals the Paralytic Man

5 After these things there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
   2 Now there is in Jerusalem by the sheep gate a pool, which is called in Hebrew Bethesda, having five porticoes. 3 In these lay a multitude of those who were sick, blind, lame, and withered, [waiting for the moving of the waters; 4 for an angel of the Lord went down at certain seasons into the pool and stirred up the water; whoever then first, after the stirring up of the water, stepped in was made well from whatever disease with which he was afflicted.]* 5 A man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. 6 When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he had already been a long time in that condition, He said to him, “Do you wish to get well?” 7 The sick man answered Him, “Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, but while I am coming, another steps down before me.” 8 Jesus said to him, “Get up, pick up your pallet and walk.” 9 Immediately the man became well, and picked up his pallet and began to walk.

Christ Heals on the Sabbath

We have in this passage one of the few miracles of Christ, which St. John records. Like every other miracle in this Gospel, it is described with great minuteness and particularity. And like more than one other miracle it leads on to a discourse full of singularly deep instruction.
   We are taught, for one thing, in this passage, what misery sin has brought into the world. We read of a man who had been ill for no less than thirty-eight years! For eight-and-thirty weary summers and winters he had endured pain and infirmity. He had seen others healed at the waters of Bethesda, and going to their homes rejoicing. But for him there had been no healing. Friendless, helpless, and hopeless, he lay near the wonder-working waters, but derived no benefit from them. Year after year passed away, and left him still uncured. No relief or change for the better seemed likely to come, except from the grave.
   When we read of cases of sickness like this, we should remember how deeply we ought to hate sin! Sin was the original root, and cause, and fountain of every disease in the world. God did not create man to be full of aches, and pains, and infirmities. These things are the fruits of the Fall. There would have been no sickness, if there had been no sin.
   No greater proof can be shown of man’s inbred unbelief, than his carelessness about sin. “Fools,” says the wise man, “make a mock at sin.” (Pro. xiv. 9.) Thousands delight in things which are explicitly evil, and run greedily after that which is downright poison. They love that which God abhors, and dislike that which God loves. They are like the madman, who loves his enemies and hates his friends. Their eyes are blinded. Surely if men would only look at hospitals and infirmaries, and think what havoc sin has made on this earth, they would never take pleasure in sin as they do.
   Well may we be told to pray for the coming of God’s kingdom! Well may we be told to long for the second advent of Jesus Christ! Then, and not until then, shall there be no more curse on the earth, no more suffering, no more sorrow, and no more sin. Tears shall be wiped from the faces of all who love Christ’s appearing, when their Master returns. Weakness and infirmity shall all pass away. Hope deferred shall no longer make hearts sick. There will be no chronic invalids and incurable cases, when Christ has renewed this earth.
   We are taught, for another thing, in this passage, how great is the mercy and compassion of Christ. He “saw” the poor sufferer lying in the crowd. Neglected, overlooked, and forgotten in the great multitude, he was observed by the all-seeing eye of Christ. “He knew” full well, by His Divine knowledge, how long he had been “in that case,” and pitied him. He spoke to him unexpectedly, with words of gracious sympathy. He healed him by miraculous power, at once and without tedious delay, and sent him home rejoicing.
   This is just one among many examples of our Lord Jesus Christ’s kindness and compassion. He is full of undeserved, unexpected, abounding love towards man. “He delighteth in mercy.” (Micah vii. 18.) He is far more ready to save than man is to be saved, far more willing to do good than man is to receive it.
   No one ever need be afraid of beginning the life of a true Christian, if he feels disposed to begin. Let him not hang back and delay, under the vain idea that Christ is not willing to receive him. Let him come boldly, and trust confidently. He who healed the cripple at Bethesda is still the same.
   We are taught, lastly, the lesson that recovery from sickness ought to impress upon us. That lesson is contained in the solemn words which our Saviour addressed to the man He had cured: “Sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee.”
   Every sickness and sorrow is the voice of God speaking to us. Each has its peculiar message. Happy are they who have an eye to see God’s hand, and an ear to hear His voice, in all that happens to them. Nothing in this world happens by chance.
   And as it is with sickness, so it is with recovery. Renewed health should send us back to our post in the world with a deeper hatred of sin, a more thorough watchfulness over our own ways, and a more constant purpose of mind to live for God. Far too often the excitement and novelty of returning health tempt us to forget the vows and intentions of the sick-room. There are spiritual dangers attending a recovery! Well would it be for us all after illness to grave these words on our hearts, “Let me sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto me.”
   Let us leave the passage with grateful hearts, and bless God that we have such a Gospel and such a Saviour as the Bible reveals.—Are we ever sick and ill? Let us remember that Christ sees, and knows, and can heal as He thinks fit.—Are we ever in trouble? Let us hear in our trouble the voice of God, and learn to hate sin more.

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007) [Westminster (PB) | Amazon (HC)], 3:265–268.

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

*See Bill Mounce, Where Did v 4 Go in John 5?

As I have been meditating upon the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22–25), I have been focusing especially on its manifestation of love for the past week. Scripture, it will not surprise you to hear, has a lot to say about love — so much, in fact, that I have not been able to take it all in adequately to have the intended post on the subject ready for today. However, the following passage has given me much food for thought. Take special note of verses 6–8.

Deuteronomy 7:1 “When the Lord your God brings you into the land where you are entering to possess it, and clears away many nations before you, the Hittites and the Girgashites and the Amorites and the Canaanites and the Perizzites and the Hivites and the Jebusites, seven nations greater and stronger than you, 2 and when the Lord your God delivers them before you and you defeat them, then you shall utterly destroy them You shall make no covenant with them and show no favor to them. 3 Furthermore, you shall not intermarry with them; you shall not give your daughters to their sons, nor shall you take their daughters for your sons. 4 For they will turn your sons away from following Me to serve other gods; then the anger of the Lord will be kindled against you and He will quickly destroy you. 5 But thus you shall do to them: you shall tear down their altars, and smash their sacred pillars, and hew down their Asherim, and burn their graven images with fire. 6 For you are a holy people to the Lord your God; the Lord your God has chosen you to be a people for His own possession out of all the peoples who are on the face of the earth.
   7 “The Lord did not set His love on you nor choose you because you were more in number than any of the peoples, for you were the fewest of all peoples, 8 but because the Lord loved you and kept the oath which He swore to your forefathers, the Lord brought you out by a mighty hand and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the hand of Pharaoh king of Egypt. 9 Know therefore that the Lord your God, He is God, the faithful God, who keeps His covenant and His lovingkindness to a thousandth generation with those who love Him and keep His commandments; 10 but repays those who hate Him to their faces, to destroy them; He will not delay with him who hates Him, He will repay him to his face. 11 Therefore, you shall keep the commandment and the statutes and the judgments which I am commanding you today, to do them.

What stands out to me in this passage is God’s explanation for loving his people: that is, none. He says “I did not love you because . . . ,” and then, where we would expect him to say “but because you . . . ,” he skips to “but because I loved you, I . . .” In all of Scripture, God never describes his people as lovable in any way; yet he has chosen to love them. Is that not our model?

Romans 5:8 But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

1 John 4:10 In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. 11 Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.

A dose of humility from William Gurnall:

Is man but frail flesh? Let this humble thee, O man, in all thy excellency; flesh is but one remove from filth and corruption. Thy soul is the salt that keeps thee sweet, or else thou wouldst stink above ground. Is thy beauty thou pridest in? Flesh is grass, but beauty is the vanity of this vanity. This goodliness is like the flower, which lasts not so long as the grass, appears in its month and it is gone; yea, like the beauty of the flower, which fades while the flower stands. How soon will time’s plough make furrows in thy face, yea, one fit of an ague so change thy countenance , as shall make thy doting lovers afraid to look on thee? Is it strength? Alas, it is an arm of flesh, which withers oft in the stretching forth. Ere long thy blood, which is now warm, will freeze in thy veins; thy spring crowned with May-buds will tread on December’s heel; thy marrow dry in thy bones, thy sinews shrink, thy legs bow under the weight of thy body; thy eye-strings crack; thy tongue [be] not able to call for help; yea, thy heart with thy flesh shall fail. And now thou who art such a giant, take a turn if thou canst in thy chamber, yea, raise but thy head from thy pillow if thou art able, or call back thy breath, which is making hast to be gone out of thy nostrils, never to return more; and darest thou glory in that which so soon may be prostrate?
   Is it wisdom? The same grave that covers thy body, shall bury all that—the wisdom of thy flesh I mean—all thy thoughts shall perish, and [thy] goodly plots come to nothing. Indeed, if a Christian, thy thoughts as such shall ascend with thee, not one holy breathing of thy soul be lost. Is it thy blood and birth? Whoever thou art, thou art baseborn till born again; the same blood runs in thy veins with the beggar on the street, Ac. xvii. 26.

—William Gurnall, The Christian in Complete Armour (Banner of Truth Trust, 2002), 125–126.

The church has always had its anti-intellectual element: people who are drawn toward the mystical, treating faith as blind following, or those who elevate zeal above knowledge. The Puritans had no time for such thinking. For them, faith and reason were not contradictory, but complementary.

In the seventeenth century, radical Protestants in England known as “sectaries” kept up a running attack on the Puritans and others who extolled the value of education and the importance of reason. Their counterparts in America, known as “the antinomians,” created such a disturbance that the Puritans finally banished them to Rhode Island. One of the antinomians asserted his preference in preaching with the comment, “I had rather hear such a one that speaks from the mere motion of the spirit, without any study at all, than any of your learned scholars, although he may be fuller of Scripture.”
   The Puritans overwhelmingly defended the cause of learning and the faculty of reason against such’ attacks on the mind. For the Puritans, zeal was no substitute for knowledge. John Preston declared, “I deny not but a man may have much knowledge and want grace, but on the other side, . . . you cannot have more grace than you have knowledge.” Richard Baxter believed that “education is God’s ordinary way for the conveyance of his grace, and ought no more to be set in opposition to the Spirit than the preaching of the Word.” John Cotton claimed that although “knowledge is no knowledge without zeal,” yet “zeal is but a wild-fire without knowledge.”
   The sectaries and antinomians pictured faith and reason as antagonists. The Puritans rejected the perennial attempt to belittle reason in religious matters. “Faith is grounded upon knowledge,” said Samuel Willard; “though God be . . . seen by an eye of faith, yet he must be seen by an eye of reason too: for though faith sees things above reason, yet it sees nothing but in a way of reason.” John Preston wrote that divine grace

elevateth reason, and makes it higher, it makes it see further than reason could, it is contrary indeed to corrupt reason, but to reason that is right reason it is not contrary, only it raiseth it higher: and therefore faith teacheth nothing contrary to sense and reason.

John Cotton called reason “an essential wisdom in us,” and William Hubbard, “our most faithful and best councilor.”
   The Puritans’ faith in the authority of the Bible did not lead them to belittle reason as unimportant. Cotton Mather made the profound comment that “Scripture is reason in its highest elevation.” Harvard’s first college laws required that students be able not only to read the Scriptures, but also “to resolve them logically.” A hint of what this entailed is suggested by Richard Baxter’s description of instances when Christians must use their reason:

We must use our best reason . . . to know which are the true Canonical Scriptures . . . , to expound the text, to translate it truly . . . , to gather just and certain inferences from Scripture assertions; to apply general rules to particular cases, in matters of doctrine, worship, discipline, and ordinary practice.

William Bridge sounded the authentic Puritan note when he wrote that “reason is of great use, even in the things of God.” Thomas Hooker was eulogized by his colleague Samuel Stone for making “the truth appear by light of reason.”
   Given the forces of anti-intellectualism at work in their own religious milieu, the Puritans could have slipped into a disparagement of reason. Instead they remained defenders of reason and knowledge.

—Leland Ryken, Worldly Saints: The Puritans as They Really Were (Academie Books, 1986), 161–162.

To say that the Puritans were very serious thinkers is an understatement bordering on absurdity. This characteristic — a virtue, really — was also the cause of their greatest faults. As much as I want to defend the Puritans and correct popular misconceptions about them, it cannot be denied that they had their faults, and that those faults provide impetus for the slanderous treatment they have received. And it seems to me that an almost pathological seriousness was at the root of all of their failings. In Worldly Saints, Leland Ryken includes a chapter called Learning from Negative Example: Some Puritan Faults. He lists the following (among others):

An Inadequate View of Recreation
The Puritans were opposed to sport on Sundays, and against gambling and certain sports such as cock fighting, but they were certainly not against recreation, as some have concluded. They considered it a good and necessary part of life. They believed this so strongly that in England in 1647, a Puritan-controlled Parliament decreed that on every second Tuesday of the month, all businesses were to be closed from 8 A.M. until 8 P.M. to give workers time for recreation. Ryken writes that American Puritan “Thomas Shepard advised his son at college, ‘Weary not your body, mind, or eyes with long pouring on your book. . . . Recreate yourself a little, and so to your work afresh.’” [Worldly Saints, 190.] The problem with the Puritan view of recreation was that it was entirely utilitarian. They had no appreciation for the enjoyment of leisure as an end in itself. Its sole purpose was to refresh the body and mind for more work. The following statement from William Perkins is typical:

In commanding labour, [God] alloweth the means to make us fit for labour. And therefore . . . he admitteth lawful recreation, because it is a necessary means to refresh either body or mind that we may better do the duties which pertain to us. . . . And therefore recreation . . . serveth only to make us more able to continue in labour. [Ibid.]

Too Many Rules
The Puritans were a disciplined people who enjoyed living well regulated lives. This virtue was carried out so enthusiastically that it often became the vice of legalism. Ryken writes that “such legalism produced false guilt and a loss of discrimination about what constituted a serious sin.” [Ibid, 192.] The diary of sixteen-year-old Nathaniel Mather records,

When very young, I went astray from God. . . . Of the manifold sins which I was then guilty of, none so sticks in my mind as that . . . I was whittling on the Sabbath Day; and for fear of being seen, I did it behind the door. A great reproach to God! a specimen of that atheism that I brought into the world with me. [Ibid.]

Too Many Words
Ryken writes:

The characteristic Puritan style . . . is to take at least wice as many words as possible to express a thought. Like the poets of the Bible (but without their poetic conciseness and artistry), the Puritans seemed to search for ways to say everything at least twice in different words. A random specimen [Richard Sibbes] of such redundancy is this:

God hath placed us in the world to do him some work. This is God’s working place; he hath houses of work for us: now, our lot here I to do work, to be in some calling . . . to work for God.” [Ibid., 194.]

[Ibid., 194.]

Too Much Pious Moralizing
It seems they could not simply enjoy a worldly pleasure without finding some moral to teach or adding a theological qualifier. Ryken writes, “When Cotton Mather’s children fell sick, he would remind them of ‘the analogous distempers of their souls’ and instruct them ‘how to look up unto their great Saviour for the cure of those distempers.’” [Ibid.] John Winthrop wrote to his wife “that she was ‘the chiefest of all comforts under the hope of salvation.’” [Ibid.]

My own analysis is that legitimate criticisms of the Puritans can all be boiled down to two causes: the chronic seriousness already mentioned, and a proclivity for taking every good thing to the most absurd extreme. It must also be noted that the most extreme examples are not necessarily representative of the Puritans in general. Ryken concludes:

   I know of no group that has been more victimized by what today we would call its “lunatic fringe” than the Puritans. I refer to individuals whose aberrations made them a liability to the movement or good people whose blunders have been paraded through the years to the discredit of the Puritans. Throughout subsequent history, anyone wishing to discredit the Puritans has found it easy to find material, which is usually far from the norm for Puritanism generally. [Ibid., 201.]

One last word from Leland Ryken on the Puritans:

   We live at a moment in history when evangelical Protestants are looking for “roots.” One of the foibles that some would foist on them is that the only traditions from the past to which they can return are the Catholic and Anglo-Catholic traditions. Like Nicodemus, who was a teacher in Israel but did not know about the New Birth, evangelical Protestants tend to be strangers to what is best in their own tradition.
   Puritanism can give us a place to stand. The Puritans believed that all of life is God’s. This enabled them to combine personal piety with a comprehensive Christian world view. Beginning with the premise that the Bible is a reliable repository of truth, the Puritans had a basis from which to relate their Christian faith to all areas of life — to work, family, marriage, education, politics, economics, and society.
   The Puritan’s zestful approach to life and the world was fed by the spiritual springs of the new life — prayer, Christian fellowship, meditation, preaching, and contact with the Bible. In Puritanism, a theology of personal salvation was wedded to an active life in the world.

—Leland Ryken, Worldly Saints: The Puritans as They Really Were (Academie Books, 1986), 220–221.

Congratulations, Mr. President.

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

The Branch and the Vine
John Flavel (1628–16991)

Oh, what considering, serious man can see,
The close conjunction of the graft and the tree;
And while he contemplates, he doth not find
This meditation grafted on his mind?

I am the branch, and Christ is the vine;
Thy gracious hand did pluck
Me from that native stock of mine,
That I his sap might suck.

The bloody spear did in his heart
A deep incision make,
That grace to me He might impart,
And I therefore partake.

The Spirit and faith are that firm band
Which binds us fast together;
Thus we are clasped, hand in hand,
And nothing can us sever.

Blessed be that hand which did remove
Me from my native place;
This was the wonder of Thy love,
The triumph of Thy grace!
That I, a wild and cursed plant,
Should thus preferred be,
Who all those ornaments do want,
Thou mayest in others see.

As long as ever the root doth live,
The branches are not dry;
While Christ hath grace and life to give,
My soul can never die.

O blessed Savior, never could
A graft cleave to the tree
More close than Thy poor creature would
United be with Thee.

My soul, dishonor not the root,
’Twill be a shame for Thee,
To want the choicest sorts of fruit,
And yet thus grafted be.

Thus you may shake from grafts, before they blow,
More precious fruit than ever trees did grow.

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

John 5:16–23

For this reason the Jews were persecuting Jesus, because He was doing these things on the Sabbath. 17 But He answered them, “My Father is working until now, and I Myself am working.”

Equality with God in Nature

Equality with God in Power and authority

These verses begin one of the most deep and solemn passages in the four Gospels. They show us the Lord Jesus asserting His own Divine nature, His unity with God the Father, and the high dignity of His office. Nowhere does our Lord dwell so fully on these subjects as in the chapter before us. And nowhere, we must confess, do we find out so thoroughly the weakness of man’s understanding! There is much, we must all feel, that is far beyond our comprehension in our Lord’s account of Himself. Such knowledge, in short, is too astonishing for us. “It is high: we cannot attain unto it.” (Psalm cxxxix. 6.) How often men say that they want clear explanations of such doctrines as the Trinity. Yet here we have our Lord handling the subject of His own Person, and, behold! we cannot follow Him. We seem only to touch His meaning with the tip of our fingers.
   We learn, for one thing, from the verses before us, that there are some works which it is lawful to do on the Sabbath day.
   The Jews, as on many other occasions, found fault because Jesus healed a man who had been ill for thirty-eight years, on the Sabbath. They charged our Lord with a breach of the fourth commandment.
   Our Lord’s reply to the Jews is very remarkable. “My Father,” he says, “worketh hitherto, and I also work.” It is as though He said:—“Though my Father rested on the seventh day from His work of creation, He has never rested for a moment from His providential government of the world, and from His merciful work of supplying the daily needs of all His creatures. Were He to rest from such work, the whole frame of nature would stand still. And I also work works of mercy on the Sabbath day. I do not break the fourth commandment when I heal the sick, any more than my Father breaks it when He causes the sun to rise and the grass to grow on the Sabbath.”
   We must distinctly understand, that neither here nor elsewhere does the Lord Jesus overthrow the obligation of the fourth commandment. Neither here nor elsewhere is there a word to justify the vague assertions of some modern teachers, that “Christians ought not to keep a Sabbath,” and that it is “a Jewish institution which has passed away.” The utmost that our Lord does, is to place the claims of the Sabbath on the right foundation. He clears the day of rest from the false and superstitious teaching of the Jews, about the right way of observing it. He shows us clearly that works of necessity and works of mercy are no breach of the fourth commandment.
   After all, the errors of Christians on this subject, in these latter days, are of a very different kind from those of the Jews. There is little danger of men keeping the Sabbath too strictly. The thing to be feared is the disposition to keep it loosely and partially, or not to keep it at all. The tendency of the age is not to exaggerate the fourth commandment, but to cut it out of the Decalogue, and throw it aside altogether. Against this tendency it becomes us all to be on our guard. The experience of eighteen centuries supplies abundant proofs that vital religion never flourishes when the Sabbath is not well kept.*
   We learn, for another thing, from these verses, the dignity and greatness of our Lord Jesus Christ.
   The Jews, we are told, sought to kill Jesus because He said “that God was his Father, making himself equal with God.” Our Lord, in reply, on this special occasion, enters very fully into the question of His own Divine nature. In reading His words, we must all feel that we are reading mysterious things, and treading on very holy ground. But we must feel a deep conviction, however little we may understand, that the things He says could never have been said by one who was only man. The Speaker is nothing less than “God manifest in the flesh. (1 Tim. iii. 16.)
   He asserts His own unity with God the Father. No other reasonable meaning can be put on the expressions,—“The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do: for what things soever he doeth, these also doeth the Son likewise.—The Father loveth the Son, and showeth him all things that himself doeth.” Such language, however deep and high, appears to mean that in operation, and knowledge, and heart, and will, the Father and the Son are One,—two Persons, but one God. Truths such as these are of course beyond man’s power to explain particularly. Enough for us to believe and rest upon them.
   He asserts, in the next place, His own Divine power to give life. He tells us, “The Son quickeneth whom he will.” Life is the highest and greatest gift that can be bestowed. It is precisely that thing that man, with all his cleverness, can neither give to the work of his hands, nor restore when taken away. But life, we are told, is in the hands of the Lord Jesus, to bestow and give at His discretion. Dead bodies and dead souls are both alike under His dominion. He has the keys of death and hell. In Him is life. He is the life. (John i. 4. Rev. i. 18.)
   He asserts, in the last place, His own authority to judge the world. “The Father,” we are told, “has committed all judgment unto the Son.” All power and authority over the world is committed to Christ’s hands. He is the King and the Judge of mankind. Before Him every knee shall bow, and every tongue shall confess that he is Lord. He that was once despised and rejected of man, condemned and crucified as a malefactor, shall one day hold a great assize, and judge all the world. “God shall judge the secrets of man by Jesus Christ.” (Rom. ii. 16.)
   And now let us think whether it is possible to make too much of Christ in our religion. If we have ever thought so, let us cast aside the thought forever. Both in His Own nature as God, and in His office as commissioned Mediator, He is worthy of all honor. He that is one with the Father,—the Giver of life,—the King of kings,—the coming Judge, can never be too much exalted. “The one who honoureth not the Son, honoureth not the Father who sent him.”
   If we desire salvation, let us lean our whole weight on this mighty Saviour. So leaning, we need never be afraid. Christ is the rock of ages, and he that builds on Him shall never be confounded,—neither in sickness, nor in death, nor in the judgment-day. The hand that was nailed to the cross is almighty. The Saviour of sinners is “mighty to save.” (Isaiah lxiii. 1.)

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007), 3:276–279

*For the record, I don’t agree with Ryle’s sabbatarianism.

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

I have been listening to Mark Dever’s Bible Overview sermons, and enjoying them very much. Yesterday, I listened to The Message of Matthew: Jesus, the Son of David. Towards the end of the sermon, Dever addresses the notion that Jesus was a humble man, a good teacher, a good example, and nothing more. While Jesus said much to refute that claim, calling himself the son of God, etc., I think the most eloquent proof is in what he did not say.

In chapter 4 of Matthew, “Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.” In his final temptation,

   8 Again, the devil took Him to a very high mountain and showed Him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory; 9 and he said to Him, “All these things I will give You, if You fall down and worship me.” 10 Then Jesus said to him, “Go, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.’”

God, and only God, is to be worshiped.

In Matthew 14, after seeing Jesus walk on water, the disciples “worshiped Him, saying, ‘You are certainly God’s Son!’” In chapter 28, when Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of James and John, saw Jesus following the resurrection, “they came up and took hold of His feet and worshiped Him.” Then, when he met the disciples in Galilee, “they worshiped Him.” And how did Jesus respond? To the women, he said, “Do not be afraid; go and take word to My brethren . . .” To the disciples, he said, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth. . . .”

On the other hand, when Cornelius met Peter, and “fell at his feet and worshiped him,” Peter immediately responded, “Stand up; I too am just a man” (Acts 10).

When a “good man” is worshiped, he rebuffs the worshipers. But Jesus accepted their worship without a word of objection, thereby declaring himself to be God. Would a good, wise, humble man do that? Certainly not. Jesus’ own words — “worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only” — and the words he did not say — “I too am just a man” — force one of only two possible conclusions: either he is God, the creator and Lord of all, or he was a very bad man.

We are all either slaves of sin, or slaves of righteousness. Either we are under the rule of Christ, or the prince of this world. William Gurnall asks us to consider which we are, and if we claim to be Christ’s, upon what basis?

   Now if thou sayest that Christ is thy prince, answer to these interrogatories.
   1. How came he [Christ] into the throne? Satan had once the quiet possession of thy heart; thou wast by birth, as the rest of thy neighbours, Satan’s vassal, yea, hast oft vouched him in the course of thy life to be thy liege lord; how then comes this great change? Satan, surely, would not of his own accord resign his crown and sceptre to Christ; and as for thyself, thou wert neither willing to renounce, nor able to resist, his power. This then must only be the fruit of Christ’s victorious arms, whom God hath exalted ‘to be a Prince and a Saviour,’ Ac. v. 31. Speak therefore, Hath Christ come to thee, as once Abraham to Lot, when prisoner to Chederlaomer, rescuing thee out of Satan’s hands, as he was leading thee in chains of lust to hell? Didst thou ever hear a voice from heaven in the ministry of the word calling out to thee, as once to Saul, so as to lay thee at God’s foot, and make thee face about for heaven; to strike thee blind in thine own apprehension, who before hadst a good opinion of thy state; to tame and meeken thee; so as now thou art willing to be led by the hand of a child after Christ? Did ever Christ come to thee, as the angel to Peter in prison, rousing thee up, and not only causing the chains of darkness and stupidity to fall off thy mind and conscience, but make thee obedient also—that the iron gate of thy will hath opened to Christ before he left thee? Then thou hast something to say for thy freedom. But if in all this I be a barbarian, and the language I speak be strange, thou knowest no such work to have passed upon thy spirit, then thou art yet in thy old prison. Can there be a change of government in a nation by a conqueror that invades it, and his subjects not hear of this? One king unthroned, and another crowned in thy soul, and thou hear no scuffle all this while? . . .
   2. Whose law dost thou freely subject thyself unto? The laws of these princes are as contrary as their natures; the one a law of sin, Ro. viii. 2, the other a law of holiness, Ro. vii. 12; and therefore if sin hath not so far bereaved thee of thy wits, as not to know sin from holiness, thou mayst, except [thou] resolve to cheat thy own soul, soon be resolved; confess therefore and give glory the God; to which of these laws doth thy soul set its seal? When Satan sends out his proclamation, and bids the sinner go, set thy foot upon such a command of God. Observe what is thy behaviour; dost thou yield thyself, as Paul phraseth it, Ro. vi. 18; ‘yield yourselves,’ a metaphor from princes’ servants to others, who are said to present themselves before their lord, as ready and at hand to do their pleasure; by which the apostle elegantly describes the forwardness of the sinner’s heart to come to Satan’s foot, when knocked or called. Now doth thy soul go out thus to meet thy lust . . . , glad to see its face in an occasion? Thou art not brought over to sin with much ado, but thou likest the command. . . . Alas, for thee, thou art under the power of Satan, tied by a chain stronger than brass or iron; thou lovest thy lust. A saint may be for a time under a force; sold under sin, as the apostle bemoans; and therefore glad when deliverance comes; but thou sellest thyself to work iniquity. If Christ should come to take thee from thy lusts, thou wouldst whine after them, as Micah after his gods.
   3. To whom goest thou for protection? As it belongs to the prince to protect his subjects, so princes expect their subjects should trust them with their safety; the very bramble bids, ‘If in truth you anoint me king over you, then come put your trust under my shadow,’ Ju. ix. 15. Now who hath thy confidence? Darest thou trust God with thy soul, and the affairs of it in well-doing? Good subjects follow their calling, commit state matters to the wisdom of their prince and his counsel; when wronged, they appeal to their prince in his laws for right; and when they do offend their prince, they submit to the penalty of the laws, and bear his displeasure patiently, till humbling themselves they recover his favour, and do not, in a discontent, fall to open rebellion. Thus a gracious soul follows his Christian calling, committing himself to God as a faithful creator, to be ordered by his wise providence. . . . If himself offends, and so comes under the lash of God’s correcting hand, he doth not then take up rebellious arms against God, and refuse to receive correction; but saith, ‘Wherefore doth a living man complain, a man for the punishment of his sins? . . . Whereas a gracious heart is most encouraged to wait from this very consideration that drives the other way: ‘Because it is the Lord afflicts.’
   4. Whom dost thou sympathize with? He is thy prince, whose victories and losses thou layest to heart, whether in thy own bosom or abroad in the world. What saith thy soul, when God hedgeth up thy way, and keeps thee from that sin which Satan hath been soliciting for? If on Christ’s side thou wilt rejoice when thou art delivered out of a temptation, though it be by falling into an affliction. . . . Again, what music do the achievements of Christ in the world make in thy ear? When thou hearest [that] the gospel thrives, the blind see, the lame walk, the poor gospellized, doth thy spirit rejoice in that hour? If a saint, thou wilt, as God is thy father, rejoice [that] thou hast more brethren born; as he is thy prince, that the multitude of his subjects increase. So when thou seest the plots of Christ’s enemies discovered, powers defeated, canst thou go forth with the saints to meet King Jesus, and ring him out of the field with praises? or do thy bells ring backward, and such news make thee haste, like Haman, mourning to thine house, there to empty thy spirit, swollen with rancour against his saints and truth? Or if thy policy can master thy passion, so far as to make fair weather in thy countenance, and suffer thee to join with the people of God in their acclamations of joy, yet then art thou a closer mourner within, and likest the work no better than Haman his office, in holding Mordecai’s stirrup, who had rather have held the ladder. This speaks thee a certain enemy to Christ, how handsomely soever thou mayst carry it before men.

—William Gurnall, The Christian in Complete Armour (Banner of Truth Trust, 2002), 1:134–136.

1988 was a big year for me. For starters, that was the year I got married; a rather life-changing event, that was. Then, as if I wasn’t in enough turmoil, John MacArthur published The Gospel According to Jesus. I had already been listening to Grace to You daily for a few months, getting my first — in my entire life! — taste of expository preaching. I loved it, and was being fed like never before. I had been a Christian for about three years, but had as yet not done any serious theological reading. My entire library fit in one cardboard box, and excluding textbooks from my one year at a Lutheran Bible School, contained two Christian books — two of those cute little gift-size hardcovers by Charles Swindoll. Then John MacArthur started talking about his new book, and I immediately bought it. I had been a voracious reader before, but this was the first serious Christian book I had ever read. It was a new birth, of sorts. Every Christian book I’ve bought since then is a godson of that one, and has been measured by that standard. In the following years, I bought every major MacArthur book published, and read them fanatically.

Then came the internet. You see, I never had a computer until about 1999/2000, and the one I got then was an antique hand-me-down with Windows 3.1 and (I think) a hard drive measured in megabytes, and no modem. It was just a fancy typewriter and electronic toy (I got my Minesweeper time down to five seconds). I didn’t get the internet until I upgraded in 2003, and that’s when my library exploded. It is amazing to me how little I knew of Christian authors before I came online. But then, before the internet, all I had was Christian radio and local Christian bookstores, and frankly, neither are very helpful. Giving my bookshelves a quick once-over, I see only a few non-MacArthur theological books that predate my internet days: Strong’s Concordance, Berkhof’s Sytematic Theology, Hans Neilson Hauge by A. M. Arntzen, Pilgrim’s Progress, a few Lutheran texts, and — hang on — The Works of James Arminius and Finney’s Systematic Theology (there are a few others I’ve gotten rid of, and, I’m sure, some I don’t see). So probably ninety-plus percent of my theological library was MacArthur.

Then, as I said, came the internet. I found lots of people who liked MacArthur, and they liked people like Sproul and Piper; and MacArthur, Sproul and Piper, et. al., liked all these authors that I’d never seen in bookstores with names like “Doves’s Nest” and “Rainbow Shop,” and things really got out of hand. Most fiscally devastating of all, somewhere in there came Banner of Truth and Iain Murray, and I became mesmerized by all those dead guys.

I have continued buying MacArthur just as faithfully as before, but now, with all those distractions, I have two or three unread MacArthurs on my shelf. I’ve been itching to read him again, so when The Jesus You Can’t Ignore arrived last week, I knew it had to be next. And just cracking the cover and reading the Prologue and Introduction was like coming home to a man who, though I’ve met him but once for all of about thirty seconds, really is a father in the faith.

Tune in tomorrow . . .

We live in an age of overt hostility toward any theological, philosophical, ethical, or moral absolutes. All opinions must be held tentatively. They may be suggested, but never asserted. Anyone who has spent much time in internet forums has probably run into this attitude. A few years ago, one pusillanimous soul admonished me that I should always append “IMO” to every contention. Today’s tolerant mindset refuses to say one thing is absolutely right, while its opposite is absolutely wrong. Both can be right! Today’s tolerant mindset is absolutely intolerant of absolutes.

How are we to interact with those with whom we disagree? Flexibly, of course, even when dealing with people of other religions. We must never hold our convictions — if I may use such a coarse word — too firmly. Be eager to make concessions and compromises. As John MacArthur quotes Doug Pagitt, “It’s important to note that dialogue is not debate; for dialogue to be effective, we need to resist the urge to cut people off and fix what they say. Healthy dialogue involves entering into the reality of the other. . . . In dialogue you are not allowed to stay right where you are; you must move toward the perspective of the other person.”

MacArthur shows just how dissimilar that approach is to the manner in which Jesus interacted with heretics and hypocrites:

Jesus’ interaction with the religious experts of His time was rarely cordial. From the time Luke first introduces us to the Pharisees in Luke 5:17 until his final mention of the “chief priests and rulers” in Luke 24:20, every time the religious elite of Israel appear as a group of in Luke’s narrative, there is conflict. Often Jesus Himself deliberately provokes the hostilities. When He speaks to the religious leaders or about them—whether in public or private—it is usually to condemn them as fools and hypocrites (Luke 11:40; 12:1; 13:15; 18:10–14). When He knows they are watching to accuse Him of breaking their artificial Sabbath or their manmade systems of ceremonial washing, He deliberately defies their rules (Luke 6:l7–11; 11:37–44; 14:1–6). On one occasion, when He was expressly informed that His denunciations of the Pharisees were insulting to the lawyers (the leading Old Testament scholars and chief academics at the time), Jesus immediately turned to the lawyers and fired off a salvo at them, too (Luke 11:45–54).

. . . Jesus never took the irenic approach with heretics or gross hypocrites. He never made the kind of gentle private appeals contemporary evangelicals typically insist are necessary before warning others about the dangers of a false teacher’s error. Even when he dealt with the most respected religious figures in the land, He took on their errors boldly and directly, sometimes even holding them up for ridicule. He was not “nice” to them by any postmodern standard. He extended no pretense of academic courtesy to them. He didn’t invite them to dialogue privately with Him about their different points of view. He didn’t carefully couch his criticisms in vague and totally impersonal terms so that no one’s feelings would be hurt. He did nothing to tone down the reproach of His censures or minimize the Pharisees’ public embarrassment. He made His disapproval of their religion as plain and prominent as possible every time He mentioned them. He seemed utterly unmoved by their frustration with His outspokenness. Knowing that they were looking for reasons to be offended by Him, He often did and said the very things that He knew would offend them the most.

—John MacArthur, The Jesus You Can’t Ignore (Thomas Nelson, 2009), xi, xiv–xv.

A fitting addendum to yesterday’s post:

Now, we need to keep this in proper perspective. I’m not suggesting that every disagreement is an occasion for open combat, or even harsh words. Far from it. Many disagreements are so petty that it would be utterly unprofitable to engender strife over them. Merely personal conflicts, debates over arcane or unclear things, and semantic disputes usually fall into that category (2 Timothy 2:14, 23; 1 Corinthians 1:10). Not every issue on which we might hold strong opinions and disagree is of primary importance.
   Furthermore, no one who is mentally and spiritually healthy enjoys conflict for conflict’s sake. No one who thinks biblically would ever relish strife or deliberately indulge in “disputes over doubtful things” (Romans 14:1). Most of us know people who are overly pugnacious or incurably argumentative about practically everything. That is not at all what Jesus was like. And Scripture gives us no warrant to be like that. Petty or insignificant personal disagreements usually ought to be either charitably set aside or settled by friendly dialogue. Anyone who is prepared to pick a fight over every minor difference of opinion is spiritually immature, sinfully belligerent—or worse. Scripture includes this clear command: “if it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men” (Romans 12:18).

. . . dialogue does sound nicer than debate. Who but a fool wouldn’t prefer a calm conversation instead of conflict and confrontation?
   In fact, let’s state this plainly once more: Generally speaking, avoiding conflicts is a good ideal. Warmth and in geniality are normally preferable to cold harshness. Civility, compassion and good manners are in short supply these days, and we ought have more of them. Gentleness, a soft answer, and a kind word usually go farther than an argument or a rebuke,. That which edifies is more helpful and more fruitful in the long fun than criticism. Cultivating friends is more pleasant and more profitable than crusading against enemies. And it’s ordinarily better to be tender and mild rather than curt and combative—especially to the victims of false teaching
   But those qualifying words are vital: usually, ordinarily, generally. Avoiding conflict is not always the right thing. Sometimes it is downright sinful. Particularly in times like these, when almost no error is deemed too serious to be excluded form the evangelical conversation, and while the Lord’s flock is being infiltrated by wolves dressed like prophets, declaring visions of peace when there is no peace (cf. Ezekiel 13:16).
   Even the kindest, gentlest shepherd sometimes needs to throw rocks at the wolves who come in sheep’s clothing.

—John MacArthur, The Jesus You Can’t Ignore (Thomas Nelson, 2009), xi–xii, 19.

As Washington makes mad grabs for power, and as our state and local governments, at the urging of an infantile citizenry, seem increasingly eager to capitulate, consider these words of wisdom from Milton Friedman.

First, the scope of government must be limited. Its major function must be to protect our freedom both from the enemies outside our gates and from our fellow-citizens: to preserve law and order, to enforce private contracts, to foster competitive markets. . . .
   The second broad principle is that government power must be dispersed. If government is to exercise power, better in the county than in the state, better in the state than in Washington. If I do not like what my local community does, be it in sewage disposal, or zoning, or schools, I can move to another local community, and though few may take this step, the mere possibility acts as a check. If I do not like what my state does, I can move to another. If I do not like what Washington imposes, I have few alternatives in this world of jealous nations.

—Milton Friedman, Capitalism and Freedom (The University of Chicago Press, 2002), 2–3.

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

REST YONDER.
Horatius Bonar (1808–1889)

This is not my place of resting,
   Mine’s a city yet to come;
Onward to it I am hasting—
   On to my eternal home.

In it all is light and glory,
   O’er it shines a nightless day;
Every trace of sin’s sad story,
   All the curse, has passed away.

There the Lamb, our Shepherd, leads us,
   By the streams of life along;
On the freshest pastures feeds us,
   Turns our sighing into song.

Soon we pass this desert dreary,
   Soon we bid farewell to pain;
Never more be sad or weary,
   Never, never sin again.

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

John 5:24–29

Truly, truly, I say to you, he who hears My word, and believes Him who sent Me, has eternal life, and does not come into judgment, but has passed out of death into life. 25 Truly, truly, I say to you, an hour is coming and now is, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live. 26 For just as the Father has life in Himself, even so He gave to the Son also to have life in Himself; 27 and He gave Him authority to execute judgment, because He is the Son of Man. 28 Do not marvel at this; for an hour is coming, in which all who are in the tombs will hear His voice, 29 and will come forth; those who did the good deeds to a resurrection of life, those who committed the evil deeds to a resurrection of judgment.

The passage before us is singularly rich in weighty truths. To the minds of Jews, who were familiar with the writings of Moses and Daniel, it would come home with peculiar power. In the words of our Lord they would not fail to see fresh assertions of His claim to be received as the promised Messiah.
   We see in these verses that the salvation of our soul depends on hearing Christ. It is the man, we are told, who “hears Christ’s word,” and believes that God the Father sent Him to save sinners, who “has everlasting life.” Such “hearing” of course is something more than mere listening. It is hearing as a humble learner,—hearing as an obedient disciple,—hearing with faith and love,—hearing with a heart ready to do Christ’s will,—this is the hearing that saves. It is the very hearing of which God spoke in the famous prediction of a “prophet like unto Moses:”—“Unto him shall you hearken.”—“Whoever will not hearken unto my words which he shall speak in my name, I will require it of him.” (Deut. xviii. 15—19.)
   To “hear” Christ in this way, we must never forget, is just as needful now as it was eighteen hundred years ago. It is not enough to hear sermons, and run after preachers, though some people seem to think this makes up the whole of religion. We must go much further than this,—we must “hear Christ.” To submit our hearts to Christ’s teaching,—to sit humbly at His feet by faith, and learn of Him,—to enter His school as penitents, and become His believing scholars,—to hear His voice and follow Him,—this is the way to heaven. Until we know something experimentally of these things, there is no life in us.
   We see, secondly, in these verses, how rich and full are the privileges of the true hearer and believer. Such a man enjoys a present salvation. Even now, at this present time, he “hath everlasting life.”—Such a man is completely justified and forgiven. There remains no more condemnation for him. His sins are put away. “He shall not come into condemnation.”—Such a man is in an entirely new position before God. He is like one who has moved from one side of a gulf to another: “He has passed from death unto life.”
   The privileges of a true Christian are greatly underrated by many. Chiefly from deplorable ignorance of Scripture, they have little idea of the spiritual treasures of every believer in Jesus. These treasures are brought together here in beautiful order, if we will only look at them. One of a true Christian’s treasures is the “presentness” of his salvation. It is not a far distant thing which he is to have at last, if he does his duty and is good. It is his own in title the moment he believes. He is already pardoned, forgiven, and saved, though not in heaven.—Another of a true Christian’s treasures is the “completeness” of his justification. His sins are entirely removed, taken away, and blotted out of God’s book, by Christ’s blood. He may look forward to judgment without fear, and say, “who is he that condemneth?” (Rom. viii. 34.) He shall stand without fault before the throne of God.—The last, but not the least, of a true Christian’s treasures, is the entire change in his relation and position toward God. He is no longer as one dead before Him,—dead, legally, like a man sentenced to die, and dead in heart. He is “alive unto God.” (Rom. vi. 11.) “He is a new creature. Old things are passed away, and all things are become new.” (2 Cor. v. 17.) Well would it be for Christians if these things were better known! It is lack of knowledge, in many cases, that is the secret of want of peace.
   We see, thirdly, in these verses, a striking declaration of Christ’s power to give life to dead souls. Our Lord tells us that “the hour is coming and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God; and those who hear shall live.” It seems most unlikely that these words were meant to be confined to the rising of men’s bodies, and were fulfilled by such miracles as that of raising Lazarus from the grave. It appears far more probable that what our Lord had in view was the quickening of souls, the resurrection of conversion. (Ephes. ii. 1.; Colos. ii. 13.)
   The words were fulfilled in not a few cases, during our Lord’s own ministry. They were fulfilled far more completely after the day of Pentecost, through the ministry of the Apostles. The myriads of converts at Jerusalem, at Antioch, at Ephesus, at Corinth, and elsewhere, were all examples of their fulfillment. In all these cases, “the voice of the Son of God” awakened dead hearts to spiritual life, and made them feel their need of salvation, repent, and believe.—They are fulfilled at this very day, in every instance of true conversion. Whenever any men or women among ourselves awaken to a sense of their soul’s value, and become alive to God, the words are made good before our eyes. It is Christ who has spoken to their hearts by His Spirit. It is “the dead hearing Christ’s voice, and living.”
   We see, lastly, in these verses, a most solemn prophecy of the final resurrection of all the dead. Our Lord tells us that “the hour is coming when all that are in the grave shall hear his voice, and shall come forth; those who have done good to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil to the resurrection of damnation.”
   The passage is one of those that ought to sink down very deeply into our hearts, and never be forgotten. All is not over when men die. Whether they like it or not, they will have to come forth from their graves at the last day, and to stand at Christ’s judgment bar. None can escape His summons. When His voice calls them before Him, all must obey.—When men rise again, they will not all rise in the same condition. There will be two classes,—two parties—two bodies. Not all will go to heaven. Not all will be saved. Some will rise again to inherit eternal life, but some will rise again only to be condemned. These are alarming things! But the words of Christ are plain and unmistakable. Thus it is written, and thus it must be.
   Let us make sure that we hear Christ’s quickening voice now, and are numbered among His true disciples. Let us know the privileges of true believers, while we have life and health. Then, when His voice shakes heaven and earth, and is calling the dead from their graves, we shall feel confidence, and not be “ashamed before Him at his coming.” (1 John ii. 28.)

—J. C. Ryle, Expository Thoughts on the Gospels (Baker Books, 2007) [Westminster (PB) | Amazon (HC)], 3:289–293

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

But the fruit of the Spirit is love . . .

Continuing thoughts on the fruit of the Spirit, and love in particular.

This is a difficult subject for me. I have begun several posts on this topic, each time stopped by an overwhelming sense that I am just not qualified. The more I read and meditate on what the Word of God has to say to us about love, the more I see how far I fall short of the biblical standard. And that is a serious thing, as indicated by the following passage, with which I will leave you to your own thoughts.

1 John 4:7 Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. 8 The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love. 9 By this the love of God was manifested in us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world so that we might live through Him. 10 In this is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. 11 Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.

A word of encouragement from William Gurnall:

To the saints; be not ye dismayed at this report which the Scripture makes of Satan’s power. Let them fear him who fear not God. What are these mountains of power and pride, before thee, O Christian, who servest a God that can make a worm thrash a mountain? The greatest hurt he can do thee, is by nourishing this false fear of him in thy bosom. It is observed, Bernard saith, of some beasts in the forest, [that] though they are too hard for the lion in fight, yet [they] tremble when he roars. Thus the Christian, when he comes to the pinch indeed, is able through Christ to trample Satan under his feet, yet, before the conflict, stands trembling at the thought of him. Labor therefore to get a right understanding of Satan’s power, and then this lion will not appear so fierce, as you paint him in your melancholy fancy.

—William Gurnall, The Christian in Complete Armour (Banner of Truth Trust, 2002), 1:145.

George Swinnock on the moral capabilities of man:

There are several things which may help the to make the life fair in the eyes of men, but nothing will make it amiable in the eyes of God, unless the heart be changed and renewed. Indeed, all the medicines that can be applied, without the sanctifying work of the Spirit, though they may cover, they can never cure the corruptions and diseases of the soul. . . . Such civil persons go to hell without much disturbance, being asleep in sin, yet not snoring to the disquieting of others; they are so far from being awaked that they are many times praised and commended. Example, custom, and education, may also help a man to make a fair show in the flesh, but not to walk in the Spirit. They may prune and lop sin, but never stub it up by the roots. All that these can so, is to make a man like a grave, green and flourishing on the surface and outside, when within there is nothing but noisomeness and corruption.

—George Swinnock, “Do You Worship God,” cited in John MacArthur, The Jesus You Can’t Ignore (Thomas Nelson, 2009), 47.

Spurgeon on the unhesitatingly confrontational character of Christ:

Brethren, the Savior’s character has all goodness and all perfection; he is full of grace and truth. Some men, nowaday, talk of him as if he were simply incarnate benevolence. It is not so. No lips ever spoke with such thundering indignation against sin as the lips of the Messiah. “He is like a refiner’s fire, and like a fuller’s soap. His fan is in his hand, and he will thoroughly purge his floor.” while in tenderness he prays for his tempted disciple, that his faith may not fail, yet with awful sternness he winnows the heap, and drives away the chaff into unquenchable fire. We speak of Christ as being meek and lowly in spirit, and so he was. A bruised reed he did not break, and the smoking flax he did not quench; but his meekness was balanced by his courage, and by the boldness with which he denounced hypocrisy. “Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites, ye fools and blind, ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?” These are not words of the milksop some authors represent Christ to have been. He is a man—a thorough man throughout—a God-like man—gentle as a woman, but yet stern as a warrior in the midst of the day of battle. The character is balanced; as much of one virtue as another. As in Deity every attribute is full orbed; justice never eclipses mercy, nor mercy justice, nor justice faithfulness; so in the character of Christ you have all the excellent things.

—Charles Spurgeon, “Sweet Saviour,” cited in John MacArthur, The Jesus You Can’t Ignore (Thomas Nelson, 2009), 99.

Sorry, nothing of substance here today. In lieu of actual content, I’ve taken a glance at my bookshelves and picked out my top three in three categories: living authors, dead authors, and publishers. These are not necessarily the tops in number of volumes, but in importance/value to me.

Top Three of Three

• Top three living authors:
  • John MacArthur
  • Iain Murray
  • Mark Dever
• Top three dead authors:
  • John Calvin
  • Horatius Bonar
  • J. C. Ryle
• Top three publishers:
  • Banner of Truth
  • Crossway
  • Hendrickson

What are your top three of three?

Today is the last day to take advantage of the early-bird registration discount for Together for the Gospel 2010. I know the only reason you’re going is to meet me, and you won’t want to pay too much for that.

Once upon a time, the civilizing influence of the fairer sex was highly valued. Now, among the lofty goals of feminism is one woman’s dream: “One day, a late-night writer's room will be filled with poop jokes and fart jokes . . . and everyone will laugh, including men and women of all creeds and colors.”

A syndrome for all occasions: If you should find yourself a curious, but passive, onlooker to a horrendous violent crime, don’t be concerned; it’s normal, and even expected, now that everything can be explained in terms of syndromes.

Disturbing, but no longer surprising: “It’s just not normal to look over and see your wife with another man. I know a lot of people would have a real problem with that. I really don’t.”

I’ve wondered what the origin of the “Al Gore invented the internet” joke was. Thanks to Dan Phillips, now I know. What caught my attention in the Late Edition interview was the typical politician’s commandeering of Scripture when convenient. Pro-abortion rights Gore can ignore the Bible on murder, socialist Gore can ignore the Bible on theft, and climate-change crisis Gore can ignore the Bible on lying, but he can quote Matthew 7:20 in reference to the alleged good fruit of the Clinton administration. The “inconvenient truth,” of course, is that when Jesus said “by their fruits ye shall know them,” he was speaking of judging false prophets.

’Tis the season for Halloween posts. I’ve contributed my two cents, haven’t changed my mind, so here you go: have an encore presentation from three years ago.

Speaking of Halloween, although this goes against everything I believe, it’s too much fun not to pass on.