In Ordinary Time Amy Peeler writes,

“He [Christ] went through the full gamut of the human experience, the moment of death as well as the process of burial, both of which are deeply painful for the loved ones of the person who has died. God willingly experienced these realities on behalf of humanity in the person of the Son. That means that God the Father and God the Spirit experienced the Son’s submission to these forces. We are at the edge of the capacity of human language here, but though we are unable to explain it fully, we can say that God, the God of life allowed himself to experience death.” (p 52, emphasis original)

What struck me here is that the Father and the Spirit were profoundly and personally moved by the Son’s death. Not simply as passive witnesses to that darkness; somehow they entered into his experience. Perhaps this is similar to how a parent might be present to their dying child (think Mary, the mother of Jesus, at Golgatha). In ways we can only imagine, Father and Spirit share in a kind of solidarity or mutual indwelling with the Son such that each Person is present to, present in, and present with the other; including the Son’s passion. Whether weeping over the death of Lazarus (John 11), the agony at Gethsemane (Matthew 26), or Christ’s final hour on the cross (Luke 23), all three Persons enter into those experiences. This is not to say that the Father or Spirit suffered death. It is to say that all persons of the Trinity, though distinct, had a unifying experience as the God-Man literally died.

Could it be that God is also profoundly and personally moved by my pain and suffering? The whole of Scripture indicates that God’s strategy for making himself known involves doing his divine bidding here on earth through human life — and most often through pain and suffering.

Blessed are those who mourn.

Perhaps there is an organic connection between the full range of my personal experiences and the evidence of God to the world through me. If so, then I see great incentive to carefully and graciously deploy my speak and monitor my mannerisms before a watching world. Whether by word or thought, action or attitude, every manifestation from my entire human existence is optimal when I mirror the One in whose image I am made. To be sure there are differences between what God must feel in my experiences and those the Father and Spirit felt as the Son succumbed to death. But what I go through in sorrow and suffering the Triune God surely knows and is surely present with me and in me during my darkest moments.

I wonder, too, if that connection between Christ’s sympathy and my afflictions might serve to refocus and enlarge my perspective. As our earliest Creed says, tradition supports, and Scripture suggests (1 Peter 3:18-22), believing that Christ ‘descended to the dead’ helps to situate all personal struggles within a larger framework. Pain and suffering must be interpreted in light of the cosmic conflict that Christ decisively won once for all—a victory whose scope encompasses every corner of reality. Even as battles rage on, humanity’s Opponent is defeated. This expanded outlook is only possible because “the God of life allowed himself to experience death.”

To be Christian in name means to be like Christ in being. That I have a choice on the extent to which I represent God on earth — especially in suffering — is no small thing.

Such privilege!

This is a holy comfort indeed!

Of crucial importance to mental, emotional, spiritual and public health, Amy Orr-Ewing offers a superb account of why forgiveness is vital. What’s more, she elucidates how forgiveness looks in various contexts and circumstances making this an immensely practical guide. Although writing from her personal story, along with anecdotal illustrations borne out of her experience with others, readers will gain confidence by her exposure to a wide variety of reliable academic sources from which she gleans great depth and much-needed wisdom. Everyone, regardless of religious persuasion, will greatly benefit from the insights of Forgiveness: Reclaiming Its Power in a Culture of Outrage and Fear.

My remarks will be brief, as I’ve read a great deal on and written about forgiveness previously. There are a few things I want to mention, which struck me as helpful and significantly enlarged my understanding.

First, her position laid out in chapter 4 is strikingly similar to mine when she states, “Forgiveness is offered without conditions, but it cannot be fully actualized and finalized until the wrongdoer repents.” She notes that judgment belongs to God and victims are not required to hold on to bitterness but can, by offering forgiveness, be released from the heavy burden of vengeance or grievance. This release is made possible, in part, when victims recognize they have been forgiven much and continue to be in need of forgiveness (pp 58-59).

Granting forgiveness is not merely a mental exercise but involves ‘embodied action.’ She recounts the moving story of Corrie ten Boom when encountering a German guard from the concentration camp where her sister was put to death. When the guard extended his hand asking for ten Boom's forgiveness, she reluctantly took his hand and, as such, embodied forgiveness (p 62-63). I was reminded of the father’s reaction to his prodigal son upon his return in Luke 15:20-21. Not only is it appropriate for forgiveness granted to be tangibly expressed, but an embodiment of forgiveness offered can also be used instrumentally in enabling repentance in the offender.

She concludes the chapter stressing the importance of ‘embodied forgiveness.’ Though some ambiguity remains about forgiving the unrepentant (see below), she stresses — and I agree — that enacting forgiveness in a tangible way is crucial.

Forgiveness in the Christian life is offered unconditionally to those who have harmed us, through the power and love of God in Christ, but this forgiveness is actualized by repentance. Our part as followers of Christ is to offer it—empowered by the cross—and while there may be disagreement over whether to forgive unrepentant people, as well as over the mechanics of how forgiveness operates, these nuances are peripheral to forgiveness as an embodied reality.

Chapter 6 speaks to the healing power of forgiveness. In most cases throughout the book, she is careful to distinguish a forgiveness that is ‘enacted’ or granted from a forgiveness that is offered. Whether offered or granted, Orr-Ewing insists forgiveness helps the victim. This is not some cheap, therapeutic forgiveness model that appeals only to the psychology centered on reducing anxiety for the victim while not taking seriously the nature of the offense. Instead, this is a real enactment that plays out in moving toward genuine healing for the victim. From the perspective of the benefit to the victim she writes:

Forgiving someone who has hurt us is never simple—it can feel like an impossible ask. But holding onto those moments, replaying the pain again and again, often leads us into a spiral of bitterness and silent rage. The gospel doesn’t ask us to ignore the wrong or pretend it didn’t happen. Instead, it offers us something astonishing: the chance to be free. Forgiveness is not about letting someone off the hook; it’s about releasing ourselves from being chained to their actions. It’s choosing to step into freedom, not because the past didn’t matter, but because it no longer has to define us. When we forgive, we are not condoning harm; we are choosing freedom over bitterness.

I’m not clear on her meaning here, but unless I misunderstand, she likely means victims ‘offering’ forgiveness, not ‘enacted or granting’ forgiveness. Otherwise, to grant forgiveness where there is no repentance makes light of the offense and minimizes the genuine peace victims long for, all of which she explicitly states elsewhere. Still, her point is solid that trauma and pain, however real, should not define victims and the freedom obtained to move forward through offering forgiveness brings health and reduces or eliminates anxiety. “Self-forgiveness, forgiveness of others, and divine forgiveness all invite us to confront hurt honestly, rather than suppress or weaponize it, and to choose freedom over bitterness” (p 98).

My highlights here only touch on the value of this book. Subsequent chapters insist that not only are our personal identities richer, but our communal and national identities strengthened when forgiveness is at the forefront of our posture toward others. Amy Orr-Ewing’s Forgiveness gives us much to think on and so much more to act on. In a culture stoked by gratuitous provocation and immersed in contemptuous indignation we’ll find that our mental, emotional, spiritual, and public lives are remarkably enriched and enhanced when we lean into forgiveness. It is a gift that we have been given, and one that we are to give away, over and over again and again, until “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

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What follows is advice I gave when someone asked how I handled my anger. I don’t pretend to have it all together in this arena and certainly do fail periodically in keeping my anger under control. But, over the years, I have gleaned some wisdom and have learned a few things about this misunderstood and oft mis-appropriated emotion.

My musings below are not based on anything I’ve read and I readily admit that not all anger is bad, wrong, or destructive. However, my remarks are focused on that familiar territory, namely, the darker side of anger. It is my hope these thoughts will help others think harder and longer on this most difficult slave master known as anger.

Anger is parasitic — It sucks the life out of everything and everyone. Imagine being at a park on a beautiful day where families are laughing and children are playing, then suddenly an angry parent begins to scream repeatedly at their child for something. Those moments of joy and calm are gone because the parasite of anger eats away at the happiness of everyone in earshot. The emotional trajectory is changed and the energy spent on enjoyment is suddenly re-directed toward disdain for and/or sadness toward the angry parent.

Anger is short-sighted — Almost always when I am angry, then I am basically saying that my wants, desires, or expectations are all there are in the way of solutions. But, what if what I want, desire, or expect is not the best thing and there’s another option on the table that’s more effective? When I’m angry, I cannot seem to get out of my own way and see things any other way because anger keeps me from finding effective solutions to problems. Anger disables me intellectually and keeps me from trouble-shooting effectively. Instead, an emotionally appropriate and tempered response to problems allows me to be dominated by my intellect and find answers that work!

Anger is weakness — but gentleness is strength and many a conflict has been diffused by an even-tempered person. Aristotle taught that weak-willed people cannot keep their desires under control. Anger is the opposite of self-control and is itself the controlling influence of the self. Easy to respect and admire the person who keeps their eating under control. So too with the person who keeps their emotions in check and responds appropriately to circumstances.

Anger is a thief — Because anger is often the dominant emotion in times of stress, it steals from others their emotional response to difficulty. The angry person is like a petulant child jumping up and down saying “Watch me! Watch me!” When an angry person is present, I end up having to forfeit my feelings and figure out how to manage the feelings of the angry person in the room. “Watch me! Watch me!”

But there’s more. When I’m angry, I’m often unable to estimate rightly the enormity of an offense committed. Anger takes away my ability to be compassionate and empathetic and it robs me of the ability to see objectively the impact I am having on others. Consequently, the gift of connection in relationships is forfeited. Instead of entering into the emotional sphere of others, seeing life through their eyes, I lose a significant opportunity for intimacy in relationships. Anger is a thief.

Anger is not the only game in town — In the gamut of human emotions, there are plenty of other feelings to express that are appropriate (I’m forever indebted to a friend for this insight). Consider other emotions such as annoyance, irritation, and frustration. If I leap frog over these and go straight to anger, I am cheating myself out of the full range of human emotion. When anger becomes the knee-jerk reaction to inconvenience or disappointment, then it becomes difficult if not impossible to dial it back. But I can learn to be annoyed while stopping short of frustration. I can choose to be irritated, but never move into anger.

Most importantly, knowing that the next stops on the emotional train after anger are rage, resentment, and regret should give me considerable pause before I land on anger. Annoyance and irritation, or even frustration, are often appropriate responses that leave room for finding solutions without hijacking the emotional stage in the room.

Anger is a heavy burden — Anger requires far too much “consequence management” or clean-up after the fact. The collateral damage caused by anger often leaves a wake of devastation that requires too much energy … from everyone. Consider: While love is patient (1 Corinthians 13), it is not eternally tolerant. No one should forever be expected to put up with a habitually angry person. Those affected by my anger may eventually become worn out with having to constantly manage me emotionally. In fact, I could forever lose whatever blessing I have gained in relationship with others and forfeit the relationship altogether if anger is my common modus operandi.

That said, every time I am angry I am faced with a choice: risk inching myself further away from the ones I love and eventually live alone, isolated, with just me and Anger as my friend and only companion. Or, I can learn to manage it and get an emotional grip. Time for me to own my anger and tell it like it is.

Speaking of getting a grip: Personally, I find the strength to grow emotionally and to mature relationally is not in me, but in Christ Jesus who loved me and gave his life for me (Galatians 2:20). Therefore, “I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Why? Because Christ promised that “my grace is sufficient for you” because his “power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12).

Selah.

See also Hannah King’s “Why (and When) It’s Okay for Christians to Get Angry” for a balanced take on anger.

This season of Lent our Life Group from church has been reading and discussing ’s wonderful book, Lent. The final chapter walks through the events of Holy Week that lead up to Easter (Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday). I have two observations from the final chapter.

McCaulley observes “After Pilate has ordered Jesus’ flogging, he has Jesus appear before the multitude and says, ‘Behold the person!’ (John 19:5 my translation). Pilate may have thought he was just showing Jesus to the crowd, but the Gospel writer sees more in that statement” (p 87). I want to offer a further insight and move past what the author draws from this.

First, Pilate does indeed put Jesus on display to the crowd (Jn 19:5). It is this man, this person who was “wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities.” Pilate’s presentation of him also shows something else. It reveals the heart of the crowd as they demand, “Crucify him!” It is in fact the crowd who is exposed and on full display. Our response to Isaiah’s Suffering Servant serves as the basis for our own self-professed judgment.

Commenting on John 3:18, F. F. Bruce wrote this:

In a gallery where artistic masterpieces are on display, it is not the masterpieces but the visitors that are on trial. The works which they view are not there to abide their question, but they reveal their own taste (or lack of it) by their reactions to what they see. The pop-star who was reported some years ago to have dismissed the Mona Lisa as a load of rubbish…did not tell us anything about the Mona Lisa; he told us much about himself. What is true in the aesthetic realm is equally true in the spiritual realm. The man who depreciates Christ, or thinks him unworthy of his allegiance, passes judgment on himself, not on Christ. He does not need to wait until the day of judgment; the verdict on him has been pronounced already. There will indeed be a final day of judgment…but that day will serve only to confirm the judgment already passed. Those who believe in the name of the Son of God…become God’s children; for those who will not believe there is no alternative but self-incurred judgment. The Gospel of John, p. 91

“Behold, the man.”

Second, it is Holy Saturday that presents us with an opportunity to lean into our Sabbath rest, despite the darkness and confusion of life. We do this, partially, by realizing that the rest we have is complete and finished, final and full. It is accomplished without any further effort on our part. McCaulley observes:

At this point in the Gospel story, there is no work left for the disciples to do. There are no more great deeds to perform. All that remains is the waiting. Holy Saturday reminds us—as the Sabbath itself does—that for all our activity, our hope is not in the things we accomplish. (p 93, emphasis mine)

In pondering this, I was reminded of Hebrews, that through and because of faith we can and do enter into our salvific Sabbath rest. Just as God rested (completed) from his work of creation (Genesis 2:2-3), so too is God’s work of our salvation complete. Hebrews 4:10 insists, “for those who enter God’s rest also rest from their labors as God did from his.” There is nothing more for us to do but wait; wait on the guaranteed consummation of all things. Even when darkness seems greater than light or pain and suffering overwhelms the joy of our salvation, Holy Saturday lasts only for a time. It surrenders to the brilliance of Easter Sunday where death gives way to life eternal.

Hebrews once again:

“And every priest stands day after day at his service, offering again and again the same sacrifices that can never take away sins. But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, ‘he sat down at the right hand of God,’ and since then has been waiting ‘until his enemies would be made a footstool for his feet.’ For by a single offering he has perfected for all time those who are sanctified.” (Hebrews 10:11-14)

Holy Saturday calls us to hold fast our faith, abide in and live from our salvific Sabbath rest; a rest that is once for all complete and sure.

Selah.

After laying out a sweeping and biblically responsible case for ‘inclusivity’ in the life and teachings of Jesus, he takes aim at those who cherry pick from texts in an effort to construct a narrative ends up changing the trajectory of what was intended. Paul shows that the central message of Jesus was a clarion call to exclusive allegiance to him. A key turning point of the article is this:

It turns out that, if we actually read the whole gospel, rather than selecting those bits which fit our agenda and turning them into sound bites, Jesus is rather exclusive.

Of vital importance, Paul points to Barclay’s excellent booklet in the Grove series (which I highly commend). Note that careful distinction being made here (emphases original):

the free and gracious invitation of Jesus makes demands on us. That is why I think John Barclay’s formulation of grace in Paul is so vital: grace is unconditioned, in that it is surprisingly offered to all, but it is not unconditional. It makes demands of us, and when we do not respond to those demands, we are in danger of missing out on the offer of life. (This observation is actually nothing new: the popular idea of ‘unconditional love of God’ which makes no demands on us is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer called ‘cheap grace’.)

Did you get that? Grace is not unconditional but unconditioned in its offer. This is no argument for a merits-based gospel. Instead, this is a clear call to heed the entire message that Jesus lived and preached! As N. T. Wright said in Atlanta at the Evangelical Theological Society annual meeting in 2010, “We are not justified by our works but we are justified in accordance with them.”

Do take some time and give a careful read of “The trouble with the ‘inclusive’ Jesus”. While you’re at it, order a copy of Barclay’s work. You can order hard or soft copy to save on shipping.

Is God somehow behind our pain and suffering? Is there any purpose to the difficult challenges we face in life? A careful reading of Romans 5:2-4, James 1:2-4, and 1 Peter 1:5-7 provide some insight. Take James 1:2-4, for instance...

• “Joy” for James is a quiet, inner conviction that God is good and in control despite our pain and suffering. This is not to say we do not experience doubt, sadness, or other emotions when faced with trials (Note: James does not say “only joy” but “all joy” (πᾶσαν χαρὰν) meaning joy in its fullness or completion. The NIV rendering is unfortunate.).

• In writing “trials of various kinds” James casts his net widely to include a variety of trials and sufferings. These may include suffering as a result of our failures, others’ failures, or unfortunate circumstances.

• The “trials” James has in mind are not meant to show the authenticity of our faith, but to purify it by strengthening (James 1:3). Just as muscles become stronger when repeatedly faced with resistance, our moral strength and virtue often increase because of trials. The goals, however, are likely varied and extend far beyond us.

• If indeed God uses all kinds of trials to deepen our maturity, then facing every trial with the confidence that God is good (”joy”) is perfectly reasonable.

• Finally, v 4 “let perseverance finish its work” (a command in Greek) is the means whereby our maturity increases. In other words, we can resist what God intends for us in the trials of life (otherwise why the command?), but we do so to our deficit. Some times (most times?), continuing to bear up under pressure is what surrender looks like. This is not giving up or giving in, but a voluntary yielding to what God is doing in the larger picture, even if we don’t know or understand what precisely that looks like.

When I read Andrew Bartlett’s robust response to Tom Schreiner’s critique of Sprinkle’s book, I was delighted. And, Sprinkle has graciously and ably responded to Schreiner here. Do pop over and read Bartlett’s most excellent article, “Holey Exegesis: Schreiner vs. Sprinkle”!

See also, Mike Bird’s response, which is historically rooted and biblically solid.

If you read your own question into the text, and try to get an answer from it, when the text itself is talking about something else, you run the risk not only of hearing only the echo of your own voice rather than the word of God but also of missing the key point that the text was actually eager to tell you, and which you have brushed aside in your relentless quest for your own meaning. (Wright, p. 42)

Correspondingly, John Walton says in his newest release entitled The Lost World of Genesis One:

All of these issues are modern issues imposed on the text and not the issues in the culture of the ancient world. We cannot expect the text to address them, nor can we configure the information of the text to force it to comply with the questions we long to have answered. We must take the text on its own terms–it is not written to us. Much to our dismay then, we will find that the text is impervious to many of the questions that consume us in today’s dialogues. Though we long for the Bible to weigh in on these issues and give us biblical perspectives or answers, we dare not impose such an obligation on the text. God has chosen the agenda of the text, and we must be content with the wisdom of his choices. If we attempt to commandeer the text to address our issues, we distort it in the process. (Walton, p. 21)

Connecting these two ideas together, “both Wright and Walton are prepping the reader for what is to come and the necessary ground work for that is, in part, to make them aware of how terribly easy it is for us to impose our own thoughts and concepts on to a text” (a friend of mine).

In my own words, the Bible says what it means and means what it says; nothing more and nothing less. God does not need help with inspiration and it is our task to work hard at not importing our own ideas into the text. Consider the familiar nursery rhyme “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” of which the first two stanzas read:

Mary had a little lamb,
whose fleece was white as snow.
And everywhere that Mary went,
the lamb was sure to go.

It followed her to school one day
which was against the rules.
It made the children laugh and play,
to see a lamb at school.

Just looking at the text (without cartoon-like pictures of cute little girls with bobbie socks) we can ask some basic questions.

• We know Mary went to school but was she a student or a teacher?

• Is Mary responsible for the lamb being at school or was she even aware that it followed her on that particular day?

• What ethnic origin was Mary?

• Was she single, divorced, married, widowed?

• What was Mary’s socio-economic background?

Chances are, without our traditions and images, we would not even ask these kinds of questions. But, by asking them we readily show how much of our own ideas and traditions have been joined to a text, but which may not be anywhere near the text. Remember: What the Bible says, God says and there is plenty of rich meaning to mine without adding any of our own.

Just thinking…

An immensely helpful volume in this series, one of my favorite writers, Rev. Dr. Amy Peeler takes the mundane out of the ordinary showing the importance and veritable vitality of this season. Ordinary Time: The Season of Growth is filled with extraordinary insights. As I write on Ash Wednesday going into Lent, I’m actually quite anxious to move on to this time of growth! I’ll surely revisit this to re-discover its depths and discern the subtle ways God increases my growth in Christlikeness.

Meanwhile, I will offer two highlights that inspired me.

The first Sunday of Ordinary Time is also Trinity Sunday. This is an opportunity for believers to see afresh the Triune God as Father, Son, Spirit. Peeler describes a theological truth around the Trinity that I have never thought about, but one that is clearly present. While celebrating the Eucharistic portion of Trinity Sunday, we proclaim that Christ died, and we also we proclaim Christ overcame death and the grave. His death, we believe, achieved our redemption, and the cost was incalculable. This much we affirm. But, in the midst of his grueling experience on that cross and at the moment of his death, God the Father and God the Spirit also suffered. Peeler writes,

He [Christ] went through the full gamut of the human experience, the moment of death as well as the process of burial, both of which are deeply painful for the loved ones of the person who has died. God willingly experienced these realities on behalf of humanity in the person of the Son. That means that God the Father and God the Spirit experienced the Son’s submission to these forces. We are at the edge of the capacity of human language here, but though we are unable to explain it fully, we can say that God, the God of life allowed himself to experience death. (p 52, emphasis original)

What struck me here is that the Father and the Spirit both witnessed the immense pain of seeing the Son submit to a suffering, painful death. In ways we can only imagine, all members of the Trinity were present in the Son’s crucifixion. They were not simply passive witnesses to that darkness, but entered into it; similar to the way a parent might be present to their dying child (think Mary, the mother of Jesus, at Golgatha). This is not to say that the Father or Spirit suffered death (this is the error of Patripassianism). It is to say, however, that all persons of the Trinity, though distinct, experienced suffering as the one God-Man Jesus literally went through death. Most importantly, it is to say that our Triune God—Father, Son, Spirit—understands human suffering and pain, up to and including death. All three Persons of the Triune God are not so ‘other’ that they cannot also enter into our humanity. God is not a spectator but an active participant in my suffering. That is a holy comfort indeed!

Subsequent chapters emphasize growth in trust and gratitude by an engaging and insightful retelling of the stories of Abraham and Sarah, Hagar and Ishmael, and Isaac’s well-nigh sacrifice. Through these biblical narratives, Peeler creatively and pastorally invites us to believe that God’s testing is a means of grace intended to build trust. It is often the case that when we are most desperate we most see God's presence and action (pp 109, 116). “Just like Hagar with the well, the answer was there, but the eyes of the person being tested had to trust God first before they could see the provision” (p 123; see esp. Gen 21:19; 22:13). Perhaps this is what is meant to live by faith ('trust') and not by sight (2 Cor 5:7). Trust first, then results. When this sequence is observed, then gratitude comes from a place that cherishes God above what we hope to receive from him.

Move this book into your cart … NOW, so you’re ready to discover the wonders of growth and renewal.

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If these were all sitting on your shelf right now, which one would you start with and why?

Today (and in the wee hours of the morning last night) I spent a great deal of time praying for so much and for so many. Whether pain relief for a dear friend who just had surgery or for a new Anglican Church plant here in my city, there is no shortage of items on my prayer list.

Stepping back, there are some important questions to consider around the purpose and effectiveness of prayer. Why bother? Exactly how do my prayers intersect with God’s meticulous sovereignty? In what sense does God respond to my prayer when his purposes are changeless? Why pray if God is all-wise and all-knowing?

Similarly, if God has already determined the end from the beginning and the outcome of every event, do our prayers really influence God to act in ways that he otherwise would not?

Divine providence is like a blueprint or master plan involving a stream of dynamically related events through which God brings about precisely what he intends and by which he governs the world (see Psalm 33:10-11; 115:3; Proverbs 5:21; 16:1-4, 9, 33; Daniel 4:34-35; Isaiah 14:24-27; 46:9-11; Acts 4:27-28).

Prayer, therefore, is a condition for not the cause of God acting in the world. God does respond to the prayers of his people, but not because he is compelled to do so but because he has chosen to do so (see Genesis 18:22-33; 21:17; 30:17; Exodus 32:14; 1 Chronicles 14:14; Daniel 10:12; Matthew 7:7-11; Acts 4:29-31; 12:5-11).

Consider:

As Chief Architect and Ruler over all, God’s providential control is seen in governing the affairs of nations (Job 12:23; Ezra 1:1; 6:22; Psalms 22:28; 33:14-15; Proverbs 21:1; Acts 17:26). Even in the midst of evil, God redirects the results of sinful human choices toward his ultimate purposes, whether his purposes are for blessing, discipline, or judgment (Genesis 37:28; 45:5; 50:20; 2 Kings 19:25; Isaiah 10:5, 12; 13:17; Jeremiah 25:9, 12; Ezra 14:9; Habakkuk 1:5-12; Romans 8:28-29; Ephesians 1:11). As sovereign King he has an overall “blueprint,” known only to him, in which he has already engineered every effect from every cause and every consequence from every condition. In his perfect wisdom and almighty power, God’s firm and sure resolve is to bring about the precise goal he intends for his creation. Ultimately, everything that comes to pass is what he has purposed and everything he has purposed comes to pass. And prayer, serving as a link in the chain of God’s meticulous provision, is an exciting opportunity for us to be actively involved in changing the world!

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“Once upon a time there was a man who thought he was dead. His wife tried everything she could to convince him he was very much alive. But try as she may, he would not change his mind. After several weeks of this, she finally took him to the doctor who assured the man he was alive. Sadly, it was to no avail. Suddenly, the doctor got an idea. He convinced the man that dead men do not bleed, subsequently stuck him with a needle, and smiled as blood ran out of the man?s finger. The man was downtrodden for several days. He had been certain that he was dead but he could not dispute the fact that he could bleed. Finally, he figured out what to do. Returning to the doctor, the man blurted out, ‘Good Lord, dead men do bleed after all!’ Our friend had a view of things that he clung to no matter what evidence came his way. His “worldview” was immune to revision, incapable of being falsified. As a result, he continued to embrace and assert his view.” (As quoted here.)

Just like the man in the story, the underlying assumptions we hold about religion often keep us from meaningful dialog. For some, their convictions are “incapable of being falsified.” With minds made up about religious matters, many label religion as “out of bounds.” When it comes to God-talk, a priori commitments have so controlled belief that it’s virtually impossible to present any truth, or (worse) even acknowledge there is a truth to present (see 2 Corinthians 4:4; 1 John 5:19. Also, don’t miss Mortimer Adler’s Truth in Religion).

While some are warmer than others to the idea of discussing religion, there is clear resistance from most in today’s Western culture. Religious beliefs have become so relativized that they are deemed insignificant to anyone but the person holding the belief. I remember while at a dinner engagement with co-workers one evening, someone mentioned that her mother was Buddhist and father Catholic, then quickly rejoined “But they all believe the same things, right?” Hum…. If distinctives among religious beliefs are pointed out, we often hear mantras such as, “That’s fine if it works for you!” So goes the constant refrain.

I suspect that many Christians are somewhat responsible for this dearth of God-talk in our culture. Just as the man in the story, some are unable to see the power of unbelief. By isolating, or at least insulating, ourselves from alternative belief structures, we fail to bring any understanding of the non-religious worldview. It is as alien to some as sight is to the blind. We simply don’t understand it or know how to relate to it. Consequently, little meaningful discussion ever takes place.

In fact, I’ve seen where some are quite speedy about showing their disapproval when confronted with resistance or ignorance about religion, yet do nothing to engage alternative belief systems with reason or understanding. In doing so, doors are shut and dialog is ended. We quickly run the opposite direction in order to huddle with other ‘feathered birds’ to express our outrage. Sadly, many Christians insist “dead men do bleed” by underestimating the brute fact that we are universes apart from our closest neighbors (on which see Sire’s still very relevant The Universe Next Door)! Building bridges to the opposing universe is as far from our hearts as square circles are to our minds.

Of course, lamenting the fact that we live in a fallen world occupied by fallen souls will hardly further dialog. Still, we do well to remember that every human encounter is an opportunity to expand the dialog and put religion on the agenda as a safe topic for discussion. Showing others that you value their ideas and opinions (even if you radically disagree) communicates a great deal to them. Accepting a contrary stance for the purpose of furthering discussion can go a very long way toward opening minds and hearts to the Gospel message. Genuinely seeking to understand why someone believes the way they do is always relevant, wonderfully personal, and potentially rewarding.

It is a courageous thing to discuss religion these days and I encourage (see the word, ‘courage’?) everyone confessing Jesus as Savior and Lord not to be hesitant to share your religious convictions, when it is natural to do so, of course. And by all means, listen intently to what others say. Then, see how God’s Spirit might move.

“Whoever has ears, let them hear.”

However, Scripture tells us that Christians live in a kingdom “not of this world” (Jn 18:36); a kingdom that is in fact set into motion by Jesus’ example of submission. The very incarnation of God in Jesus is an act of submission (Philip 2:5-8)! As a demonstration of God’s redemptive love (Rom 5:8) and in submission to God’s will (Mt 26:42), Jesus the man voluntarily submitted to flogging, public humiliation, and death. Given that Jesus is our example, we can say that the idea of submission is the voluntary yielding to another for the sake of love in accordance with God’s will. This hardly entails weakness, but rather divine power and strength.

[At least] two principles follow from this.

1. First, submission necessarily assumes the presence of others and, therefore, is a “social” discipline or practice. In submission, we consciously reject the notion that we’re above others. Instead, we accept that we are all “one in Christ Jesus” (1 Cor 12:13; Gal 3:28; Col 3:11), “submitting to one another out of reverence to Christ” (Eph 5:21). All believers are called to be “slaves to one another” (Gal 5:13, NRSV). Thus, the discipline of submission is always mutual in God’s kingdom because:

   1. The Gospel equalizes all relationships under the authority of Christ. Whether husband to wife, parents to children, or master to slave, all human structures have only relative authority in relation to Christ (see, Gal 3:28; Jn 19:11a; see Rom 13:1 on relative authority).

   2. Every “one another” injunction in the New Testament assumes parity in relationships for their proper operation. All “one another” passages imply the notion of ‘without distinction on the basis of social status or personal preference.’ Christians are enjoined to accept one another (Rom 15:7), be hospitable to one another (1 Pt 4:9), be devoted to and honor one another (Rom 12:10), live in harmony with one another (Rom 12:16; 1 Pt 3:8), bear with one another (Eph 4:2; Col 3:13), be kind and compassionate to one another (Eph 4:32), carry one another’s burdens (Gal 6:2), forgive one another (Eph 4:32; Col 3:13), build up one another (1 Thess 5:11), admonish one another (Col 3:16), and encourage one another (1 Thess 4:18; 5:11; Heb 3:13; 10:25).

   3. Every believer is called to self-denial, submission, and service to others. Since this call is equally applicable to all believers (i.e., it is not truer for some than for others), then the practice of submission – “voluntary yielding to another for the sake of love and in accordance with God’s will” – logically applies to every believer without regard to social status, economic ability, sex or gender, title, church office position, education level, office held, et al.

2. This is not to say there is no order in this other-worldly kingdom. Heb 13:17 and 1 Pt 5:2-5 suggests there is. However, where Heb 13:17 is addressed to those who follow their leaders, the text actually says much more about how leaders are to lead than about how followers are to follow. This emphasis should not go unnoticed. In addition, 1 Pt 5:2 is a call to service, not status or posturing above others. On the heels of this call to service is a call for everyone (“all of you”) to express humility “toward one another” (1 Pt 5:5, 6). This new kingdom operates on mutual submission and honor to all. Any order that does exist arises from a recognition of the unique spiritual gifts given to individuals and a respect for their spiritual maturity gained by an abiding walk with Christ. There is no hint of superiority or authoritarian rule above or among the subjects of Jesus’ kingdom precisely because everyone is a subject. “It shall not be so among you” (Mk 10:43)!2

   
   Therefore, in submission, we are voluntarily yielding to one another for the sake of love as we cry for help from those whose depth of experience in Christ can direct us toward progress in our likeness to Christ. Any weight of authority comes not from individuals who speak the truth but from the Giver of truth as we submit to the God of truth under the prayerful and loving direction of those who have a deep and abiding walk with Jesus.

In The Vision of Ephesians: The Task of the Church and the Glory of God Tom Wright invites readers to take several steps backwards and see the larger picture of God’s purpose for the world. All too frequently passages in the Bible are chunked out into specific parts or topics like being “saved by grace through faith” (Eph 2:8), or praying for God to do “more than all we ask or imagine” (Eph 3:20), the importance of “speaking the truth in love” (Eph 4:15), wives and husbands lining up neatly into expected roles (Eph 5:22ff), or everyone donning their spiritual armor (Eph 6). In doing so, it’s easy to forget — or not even see — how these admonitions relate to the main theme or vision of the book.

In this release, Wright makes it abundantly clear in every chapter that the “vision” of Ephesians is the glory of God. All other topics or ‘parts’ are related to the whole. We need to swing open the door and see all the furniture in the room, rather than continue looking through the keyhole seeing only the corner of a chair.

For those familiar with the book of Ephesians, it should come as no surprise that the first half is dedicated to a theology of God’s goal for the entire world (chapters 1-3). The second half of the letter unpacks how this goal is worked out in everyday life (chapters 4-6). The structure is simple: theology first, then ethics.

Sadly, some bypass the theological framework that forms the basis for ethical instructions, and fast forward to practical implications of a text. In a firm resolve (or haste) to answer the “So what?” question, we forget — or worse, ignore — what it is that should actually ground our behavior; what inspiration propels us to move in this or that direction.

For example, many well-intentioned believers understand Ephesians 5:21-6:9 to be dictating roles in marriage (husband, wife), or structures for the home and society (children, slaves). But Wright argues we must not divorce ethical teaching from its theological flooring, because doing so falls short of what the biblical writers intend. Put differently, maintaining a ‘what-this-means-to-me’ posture will have little to no lasting impact if we’re just turning what we think Scripture demands into our preferred cultural traditions, which come and go as culture changes.

Instead, with Ephesians 5:21-6:9 we should ask: Does marriage factor into “the task of the church and the glory of God?” Is there any connection at all? Or, have we detached ethics (how we ought to behave) from theology (what God is doing)? Are we handicapped by a kind of existential myopia that suffers from excessive concern over the significance of a text that we fail to see its theological underpinnings? This is the burden of Chapter 8, namely, to show how Ephesians 5:21-6:9 is linked to what Paul has written in the previous chapters. And, this is a vitally important lesson to learn for hermeneutics (principles of interpretation).

In sweeping summary, Wright paints a cohesive picture showing the linkage between Ephesians 1:1-5:20 and Ephesians 5:21-6:9.

At the end of chapter 1, Paul’s great prayer comes together with the picture of the church as the Messiah’s body, ‘the fullness of him who fills all in all’. Then, at the end of chapter 2, he sees the church growing into a holy temple, where God himself comes to live by the spirit. The prayer of chapter 3 reaches its climax in knowing the Messiah’s love, and in God, filling his people with all his fullness. The picture of multiple ministries in the church in chapter 4 insists that we must together grow up into the Messiah from whom the whole body receives its growth and mutual relation, building itself up in love. Then, in the rest of chapter 4 and the first half of chapter 5, he has sketched the radical differences between a world of anger, bitterness and darkness and a world of love, forgiveness and light. And now here [Eph 5:21-6:9], he builds up to saying that the marriage command in Genesis 2 points forward to the relation of the Messiah and his people, the church. Every bit of the letter so far has prepared us for the present passage; or, if you like, what Paul says here about marriage and family grows naturally and appropriately out of the visionary theology that he’s already expounded (p 116, emphasis original).

And, if that were not sufficient to show how the dots connect, Wright says again,

Chapter 1 verse 10 speaks of God’s eternal purpose: to draw together in the Messiah all things in heaven and earth. Chapter 2 verses 11-22 see this cosmic plan symbolized by the coming together of Judaean and Gentile into a single new humanity, growing into the spirit-filled temple. At the start of chapter 3, Paul describes that coming together of the two into one as ‘mystery’ of the gospel, which, in 3:10, confronts the principalities and powers with God’s new creation. Then, in chapter 4, this single new humanity is sustained by God’s gift of multiple ministries designed to help it, in love, to grow up in every way into the Head, the Messiah himself (4:15). And now, not as detached pragmatic advice but in a kind of theological crescendo, we have the matching ‘mystery’: the Messiah’s own self-giving love as the radical model for the husband’s vocation to serve his bride 117-118, emphasis original).

What strikes me here is the contrast between “detached pragmatic advice” and “theological crescendo.” That is, Paul’s teaching on marriage is not isolated from what he has already written in the letter as a whole. Marriage is a part of the overall scene Paul is painting for us. Imagine viewing Van Gogh’s famous Café Terrace at Night, located in the Place du Forum of Arles, and focusing only on one table of that setting rather than taking in the whole vibrant scene? Seeing how parts relate to their whole is absolutely crucial in understanding the inspired text (or paintings, for that matter)!

And so,

what Paul says about marriage in [chapter 5] verses 28-32 is explicitly and organically related to what’s gone before. At the end of the paragraph … he sees the marriage of man and woman in relation to the Messiah’s role vis-à-vis his body, the church. He quotes Genesis 2:24 about the man leaving father and mother and becoming one flesh with the woman. Yes, he says (verse 32), there are deep hidden meanings here: the word he uses is ‘mystery’. But he reads that text as referring to the Messiah and the church. The mystery, as ever, is revealed in the gospel (p 117).

Marriage is a relational model for Christ and his church that is intended to bring God glory on earth. Again, Wright links it all together.

We learn about marriage by thinking of Messiah and church; but we learn even more about Messiah and church by thinking of marriage. Heaven and earth; Gentile and Judaean together; the body building itself up in love; and now female plus male in marriage. The mystery revealed. The Bible in miniature. Tinker with it at your peril.

Think how, in Genesis, God constructs his heaven-and-earth world as a temple, a home for his own use, with his image, male and female together, at its heart. The gospel then generates the new temple where God dwells by the spirit. Now, as in Revelation, the bodily union of male and female symbolizes the new creation, the new template. Creation; temple; marriage (p 118).

Striking implications here! This means that the relationship I have with my bride matters. Why? Because my marriage is a working model intended to reflect the story of Christ and his church, which has the goal of bringing God glory here on earth. The way this is done is by following Christ’s example of self-giving love through mutual submission. That is what I am called to. That is my vocation and together we bring God glory on earth as it is in heaven!

Of course, this discussion around marriage does not address the single life nor Matthew 22:30 and our consummate eschatological state (on the latter, see Ian Paul’s excellent essay, “What will it mean for us to ‘be like the angels’ in Luke 20?”). Neither is it intended to do so. My point here is simply that my marriage, indeed every word uttered and every breath taken, is designed to bring God glory. This is the task of the church and the point of marriage, until the “fullness of him who fills all in all” is realized.

Do pick up a copy of Tom Wright’s book and see how all the dots connect. You’ll be glad you did!

BUY THE BOOK

D. A. Carson, former research professor of New Testament at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School in Deerfield, Illinois, offers six “introductory reflections” on the spiritual disciplines. They are:

(1) The pursuit of unmediated, mystical knowledge of God is unsanctioned by Scripture, and is dangerous in more than one way.
(2) We ought to ask what warrants including any particular item on a list of spiritual disciplines.
(3) Some of the entries on the list are slightly ambiguous.
(4) Even those spiritual disciplines that virtually all would acknowledge to be such must not be misunderstood or abused.
(5) It is not helpful to list assorted Christian responsibilities and label them spiritual disciplines.
(6) For these reasons it seems the part of wisdom to restrict the label “spiritual disciplines” to those Bible-prescribed activities that are explicitly said to increase our sanctification, our conformity to Christ Jesus, our spiritual maturation.

Carson expands on the notion of “spiritual discipline” when he opines:

What is universally presupposed by the expression “spiritual discipline” is that such disciplines are intended to increase our spirituality. From a Christian perspective, however, it is simply not possible to increase one’s spirituality without possessing the Holy Spirit and submitting to his transforming instruction and power. Techniques are never neutral. They are invariably loaded with theological presuppositions, often unrecognized.

One of my theological presuppositions is that God seeks to unify all things in heaven and on earth under Christ (Eph 1:10; cf. also Col 3). One day, the entire universe will merge into the “new heavens and the new earth” (Rev 21), just as many have argued (see especially, Ps 148). Every believer, therefore, must keep this vision in their sights at all times whenever engaging in any activity, whether practicing spiritual disciplines or working through the physics of light refraction.

What I’m getting at is this: in some sense, all of life is spiritual discipline. Brother Lawrence (d. 1691) taught me this valuable lesson writing, “I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before him, who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king” (The Practice of the Presence of God). There are no mundane duties, no wearisome moments of boredom. None. Whether active or passive, busy or idle, God is present and accounted for at all times and in all things.

It’s vital we not think of spiritual disciplines as ‘requirements’ for spiritual formation. True, the disciplines may help us, but we must recognize that God’s presence is not increased by our practicing the disciplines. Instead, it is our awareness of God’s presence that grows as we practice the disciplines. Even so, if we see the disciplines as the only means to increasing our awareness of God’s presence, then we risk missing God in the mundane and ordinary. In concert with Brother Lawrence, my point is this: all of life is sufficient to train us in godliness when living “as if there were no one save God and me in the world.” Every task, great or small, is to be done for the love and worship of God. With this framework inspiring our every waking moment, then all of life is spiritual discipline.

The Spiritual Disciplines: A Proposal

Being transformed by God’s grace into the image of God’s Son is the destiny of God’s people. But what does God say about the journey? On the one hand Scripture encourages all believers to rest in the hope that “he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion,” yet every Christ follower is equally entreated to “continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling” (Philippians). While I appreciate Carson’s admonition not to confuse expected responsibilities of Christian behavior with spiritual disciplines, there are some activities that can be both a responsibility and a discipline that we can live into through habituation.

What we can know and do to effect change and growth toward Christlikeness is the subject of the following materials, prepared for and taught at Holy Trinity Anglican Church.

Soli Deo gloria!

1. Introduction to Spiritual Formation

2. Prayer & Fasting

3. Memorization & Meditation

4. Solitude & Silence

5. Simplicity & Obedience

6. Secrecy & Sacrifice

7. Service & Submission

8. Confession & Repentance

9. Forgiveness

10. Fellowship, Worship & the Liturgical Life

I’m indebted to so many who have written so profoundly and personally on spiritual formation. A list of suggested readings that have significantly informed the studies linked above can be found here. (Note: I’ve curated a great deal of content from published materials elsewhere. Therefore, where linked materials express thoughts that correspond to any published works, all credit to authors is given or implied.)

Truth be told, I didn’t think much about Holy Communion (or, ‘Lord’s Supper’) for the first few decades of my Christian life. After all, this activity is just symbolic, right? I mean, who ponders street signs when driving? It’s the destination that keeps my attention! When I became Anglican all that changed (about Holy Communion, that is; street sign significance remained unchanged). I had to reckon with the meaning, learn to appreciate what is in and behind those elements on the Table, and discover their significance in receiving them. When teaching Anglican Confirmation classes, I took the time to explore some of the theology around the Table, which only served to enhance and enlarge my thinking (see Session 2 here for some content that I drafted).

When I saw an offer to read a pre-publication copy of Hannah Miller King’s first book Feasting on Hope: How God Sets a Table in the Wilderness, I jumped at the opportunity. It helped me realize there is so much more to be observed and experienced in this act of worship. Drawing from the Table’s depths and mysteries, she offers a profoundly personal look at this very public activity known as the Eucharist. King filters her past experiences of pain and loss through the lens of Holy Communion, inviting readers to take an honest look at themselves and find hope in the ‘body’ and the ‘blood’. Her insights are not just refreshing; they’re renewing as she connects our humanity with the treasures of God’s gift to us in Christ crucified and risen. Coming to the Table will not be the same for me.

Whether a long-time participant in this act of worship, or a novice beginner looking for meaning and significance, I heartily recommend Feasting on Hope to everyone. What follows are some gleanings from select chapters that I found to be not only instructive but immensely helpful.

Chapter 1 asserts that hope is not devoid of real-life circumstances, which can often blow up our scripted lives. Instead, King invites us to enlarge our framework of hope by including a “theology of suffering” (p 12). She introduces the personal tragedy of losing her father to cancer, and she comes back to this crisis in every chapter, showing how it shaped her view of the Table. As we wrestle with God’s sovereignty over pain and suffering, it is at the Table where this larger framework of hope is constructed.

She insists that “even when God can’t be understood, he can be trusted” (p 11). As we feast at the Table, we are reminded that “in our great vulnerability, we hold in our hands a small, tangible reminder of the One who is in fact holding us until he comes” (p 18).

When tragedy strikes, we naturally hold on to the belief that God can heal. Yet, we also know that he often does not or will not heal. These two cognitions serve only to increase and intensify our grief and despair. Approaching the Table with open hands forces us to embrace our vulnerability and the mystery of faith as we offer ourselves to the One who offered himself.

My persistent belief that God can and will heal creation has amplified my grief over the things he hasn’t healed— my father, my family, my own lingering trauma-related dysfunction. But grief is not the enemy of joy. And in God’s economy, sometimes our gains and losses function in reverse order. When we learn to hold our desires with open hands and offer them back to God with raw trust, he can make them — and us — into something more than we could previously imagine. He can bring renewal out of defeat, life out of death. This is, in fact, the mystery of our faith. We preach resurrection. Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. (p 18)

Rather than lean into one belief or the other (either God can heal or God won’t heal our mess), the Table teaches us to live into both with trust. Why? Because “in Christ, even the cup of suffering can become the cup of joy. Jesus rejected the false paradigm of either/or; he now invites us to share in his ministry of both/and. He calls us to lives of hopeful surrender that can become, in God’s hand, food for others.” (p 19) I could not help but recall that our faith matures when our eyes remain fixed on Jesus, who “endured the cross” while leaning into “the joy set before him” (Heb 12:2). Both/and.

Chapter 2 makes some astute observations about the imago Dei (the image of God within us) and its importance in shaping and forming our identity.

Reflecting on her experience of motherhood and the connection that is shared with her newborn, King writes,

We discover ourselves in and through the gaze of the other. This is not limited to childhood development. When my son was born, his gaze was as formative for me as mine was for him. Through relationship with him, I accessed more of myself. I became what he saw in me.

This becoming-through-relationship is part of what it means to be created in God’s image. We do not exist as autonomous individuals but as persons in relationship with other persons … We are made for — and even made by — connection with the other. (p 21)

She rightly points out that our connection with God is not “transactional.” The gospel story is sometimes reduced to a notion like, “Give Jesus your heart and he will give you a ticket to heaven” (p 23). But this will not do.

We often embrace these formulas in good faith, from a desire to honor God and to make sense of the world. But insofar as these maxims shape our motivations, they cheapen our obedience by tying it to desired outcomes. They teach us to treat God like a divine vending machine, inserting whatever religious currency is required to buy the blessings we seek. Unwittingly, we often reduce the Christian life to a series of spiritual negotiations. (p 23)

Instead, like a mother bonding with her newborn, we connect with God as a person, who in turn gives us our true identity as persons and, most importantly, as his child. Our heavenly Parent’s gaze into our souls ignites and animates the imago Dei within creating that bond of trust.

Personal intimacy with God is established by this connection, which results in our leaning on God in prayer for our deepest desires to be realized. Even when our desires are not granted, we learn that it is God, and not that which we desire, who is most worthy to pursue. Any loss we experience is a means to that end. Recalling the stalwart faith of her father, King writes:

As I’d watched my dad’s health decline over the last four years of his life, I watched his faith grow. His pursuit of God, initially catalyzed by crisis, eventually became an end in itself.

Even though God wasn’t answering his prayers in the way he wanted, my dad came to value prayer for other reasons. Somehow, even as his hope for healing waned, his hope in God deepened. After he’d been sick for a while, he wrote this prayer in his journal: ‘Lord, I seek intimacy with you over healing — over anything in this life. Please teach me…. Lord, I seek you because you are worthy of my seeking. I do not seek you because of what you can do for me.’ (p 25, emphasis original)

Thus, just as the gift of new life in Christ is not transactional, so too with prayer. It is a means of growing in intimacy with God, not for getting from God the thing we ask. Faith is not only “catalyzed by crisis,” it is manifest because of it. That is God’s way for uniting us with him. “Ultimately, our faith is not ordered toward the transaction of goods but toward the communion of persons” (p 26).

King wisely notes, however, that there is risk in intimacy. After all, intimacy requires transparency.

To seek God’s gaze toward us, to crave connection and encounter with him, exposes our great vulnerability. It puts us in league with my newborn son, helpless but desperate for another’s attention and attunement. In my desire to be seen and embraced by God, I feel safer trying to earn his affection through personal achievements or righteous living. I don’t want to risk rejection. (p 29)

Again, the Table is our teacher. Participating in the ‘body’ and the ‘blood’ reminds us that the risk is worth taking. It is by Holy Communion that our communion with God is felt and experienced.

At the Table I learned that in our vulnerability, God does not withhold himself or turn away. Instead, shockingly, he makes himself vulnerable in return. He says, ‘This is my body, given for you.’ His willingness to be wounded for our sake is what led him to live in a body in the first place. He became touchable, knowing that we would reject and kill him. And still, this crucified One offers himself. The giver has become the gift. (p 30)

Today’s culture makes a great deal of our bodies. On the one hand, media marketing insists we can become more beautiful or less heavy if we just purchase this or that product. On the other, we’re shamed into thinking (by peers and media marketing!) that we’re not good enough, tall enough, short enough, thin enough, friendly enough, et al. Chapter 3 challenges all this by elevating our material presence in this world. The Table, once again, is our tutor.

I began to understand that Jesus did not shed his blood merely to purify my ideas or to rescue my soul. He gave all of himself for all of me. It’s not “just my body” if Jesus died for it. My body is me, and I am precious to him. I am the place he longs to dwell. This means that the real me, the person Jesus came to save, is not somehow separate from the face I see in the mirror. (p 42)

The bread of the Table means that Jesus joins us in the material, tangible, touchable world. “When we break the bread, we remember that Jesus’ death was not only the purchase of our redemption. It was also a profound act of solidarity with us in our suffering. Our priest and mediator is also our companion in the pain” (p 44).

Not only does this impact my view of my body, but also “the way I engage the stories of other bodies.”

Instead of turning away from the physical suffering of others, Jesus’ own example compels us to stand with them in solidarity. His passion is the foundation for our compassion, our commitment to ‘suffer with’ those who experience bodily harm.”

We don’t need to fear the darkness of lament — our own, or anyone else’s — because Jesus sits beside us in it. He understands, not abstractly but concretely, all the complexity and pain of embodiment. He is God with us.” (p 45)

Grief involves loss, inhibits the experience of hope, and often becomes a ruthless debtor. Sometimes it can feel like a jealous lover, making us feel shame when we laugh or find joy in the smallest things. In grief sadness becomes the new norm. Chapter 4 confronts this reality head on.

Grief can have an expansive effect on our lives. Through loss, we learn to live more courageously because we know there are no guarantees. We’ve counted the cost of love, and we choose to pay it anyway. But at its worst, grief can crystalize around our hearts and prevent us from feeling the thrill of love at all. Suffering can make us strong, but it can also deaden us to joy. This is a double-edged sword: developing grit is a grace, but not if it comes at the expense of hope.

In my life, this has been subtle. Most days I am grateful for the anvil of adversity — God has used it to shape me into something sturdy. But sometimes I become aware of my covert expectation that adversity is all there is. Having experienced hard seasons, I sometimes struggle to believe that there is also good in store for me.

Tragedy is more plausible than happiness. I no longer cling to sadness consciously, but I often expect it by default. (p 48)

Since grief is a “double-edged sword,” it cuts in two ways. Let the reader understand.

The deep irony in this for me was that while I was busy doubting God and trying to solve life for myself, God was busy providing countless opportunities, connections, scholarships — and yes, also loans and jobs — that in retrospect I had to acknowledge as gifts of grace. Even the nonreligious recognize there is more at work in the world than our efforts … My faith deepened when I learned to see God not only as the source of unanswered prayers in my life, but also as the source of my life’s many gifts. In his sovereignty, God allows us to experience hardship. But in his generosity, he also gives measureless blessings. What we might want to attribute to good luck or hard work remains covered in God’s fingerprints. (p 50)

When the sword of adversity slices in the direction of heaven, we are empowered to “live prophetically” as we look back to our past and see the goodness of God. This vista swings the doors of hope wide open!

When I examine my life through this lens, I realize that his goodness shines brighter, and is more pervasive, than any tragedy. Its ubiquity is the very reason we don't tend to see it: Every breath, every birdcall, every blade of grass is a gift. God's kindness is the connective tissue of reality. It holds all things together, buoying each no of our lives in the overarching yes of love. This does not diminish the realities of suffering and loss, but it embeds them in a larger portrait of grace. And it teaches us to live prophetically, clinging to joy even when it is temporarily obscured by grief. (p 50, emphasis original)

Children, in fact, teach us this much, says King.

As I study the shameless joy of children, I sometimes envy them. I assume that stoicism is an inevitable aspect of maturity; that what I must have known intuitively as a kid is lost forever, and rightly so. We grow up and realize that the world is not a playground. People aren’t always nice, and the good guys don’t always win. Relationships can be irreparably broken. Poverty and racism persist. With adult eyes we think we see the unvarnished truth.

But there’s a reason Jesus told his disciples that if they want to enter the Kingdom, they need to become like children. Because God’s new world operates differently than ours does. It requires us to unlearn what we think we know, so that we can apprehend what is now true in light of Jesus: The dead are raised. The lame walk. The blind see. Wars cease, captives go free. My kids have no trouble believing this stuff. Every night at bedtime, my six-year-old prays that he’ll be able to fly tomorrow. Though I always add to his prayer a special request for protection from false starts, there is something of resurrection in his quest. He understands that, with God, nothing is impossible. And though his prayer remains unanswered, he seems undeterred in his hope that one day, he might fly. (pp 54-55)

Illustrating the vital importance of community in relation to the Table is the topic of Chapter 5. It is the Table that binds us together as siblings; family marked out by God for eternity together.

When the church is functioning the way God intended, it is tacitly ‘familying’ those in its orbit.

Most of these things happen under such ordinary auspices we barely notice it. It is the quiet miracle of life together. As miracles go, it would be easy to explain these things away, to attribute them to generic altruism or moral obligation — but its power lies in the fact that it does not originate with us. The miracle of the church is that because of Jesus, strangers are born again as siblings. Through participation in him, we now have the exact same blood as each other. For “the cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ?” (pp 61-62)

A proper view of family is urged, however. Given an unduly strong emphasis on biological family, King issues a sober and relevant caution: it is the Body of Christ that is the preeminent model.

The primacy of the church in a Christian’s life does not imply that biological ties are unimportant or that they can be abandoned due to preference. Those who have neglected their children or spouses in the name of “the church” are accountable for their failure to love the first congregation God has given them.

But the God and Father of all does teach us to look beyond the natural bonds of kinship and realize that broken or not, our little families cannot adequately contain his love. We need the larger family of faith to help us understand the mystery of our inheritance, our identity as those born “not of blood nor of the will of the flesh ... but of God.

In other words, the church is not just the failsafe for families who fall short of the ideal. The church is the ideal. (p 65, emphasis original)

For more on the communal aspect of the Table, see my essay, “The Holy Eucharist: A Meditation“.

Chapter 7 reveals that the heavy burden we carry when trying to meet the needs of others can turn out to be a tactic for feeding our own needs. She counters by showing that the Table is sufficient to satisfy our hunger and thirst in all things. I found her honesty here to be piercing.

I trick myself into thinking I can be the provision others need. I attempt to be smart enough, compelling enough, compassionate enough to satisfy their hunger. In doing this, however, I realize that I am actually looking to them for provision — hoping to feed my fragile ego through a feeling of sufficiency .... But at the Lord's Table, I remember that my hunger to be seen and to be fed has already been provided for. I don't need to be enough in myself, because he is enough for us all. (p 96, emphasis original)

King reminds us that we don’t need to find our fulfillment in our usefulness to others. It is at the Table, that Christ satisfies all our needs and desires.

Chapter 8 encourages ‘eucharistic living’ through giving in relationships.

As we live into the relational roles that we choose (or ones that choose us) we become a source of nourishment for others (think parenting). In poetic reciprocity, those we nourish become our nourishment. Our generosity returns to us because “whoever refreshes others will be refreshed” (Prov 11:25). As both recipients of and resources for God’s grace, we become ‘conduits of grace’. King reflects,

Most of us are still working on our own recovery, seeking our own nourishment. We assume we don’t have anything to give until we are fully satiated. There is wisdom in discerning our capacity to give and pacing our participation with others while we heal. But to a degree, our healing also comes through the exercise of self-giving, because only then do we recover our purpose as conduits of grace and not merely recipients. (p 105)

It truly is “more blessed to give than to receive” because as we pour out ourselves for the sake of others, we receive blessing in return. The Table shows us that in God’s provision for us, he makes us a provision for others.

As Christians, we never seek to replicate or replace Jesus' sufficient gift. But we are called to be conformed to it. In his letter to the Romans, Paul urges us to present our bodies as ‘living sacrifices.’ Our self-donation can't forgive someone’s sins or satisfy their spiritual hunger; but it can become the means through which God manifests his life to them. We offer ourselves to the Father, and then he makes us an offering for others. In this way, our lives become eucharistic — signs of God's presence and provision in the world. (p 107, emphasis original)

Sacrifice is what we’re called to in the eucharistic life. We may not be granted a view of the results of our sacrifice to God (Rom 12:1), but we can be assured that our offering is used by God to fuel the fires of mission in others.

And, as the Table reminds us over and over again, we are broken in our bodies, just as Christ’s body is broken for us. The Table shows us that the road to genuine eucharistic living is paved with transparency (King calls this “generous vulnerability”). By portraying ourselves as broken human beings in need of grace, then “our imperfections aren’t a barrier to ministry; they are a pathway” (p 109).

The scars of sacrifice that remain (physical or otherwise) are not a liability; they are the place from which our greatest power comes for ministry (2 Cor 12:9; Gal 6:17). In fact, the scars are designed to bring us closer to Christ and to others. “Their lingering ache teaches me to live in closer proximity to the Healer, and it gives me greater tenderness toward the wounds of others. In this way, my ongoing experience of need is simultaneously the greatest gift I have to give” (p 110. On our dependency see especially Christa McKirland’s God’s Provision, Humanity’s Need: The Gift of Our Dependence and my remarks here).

Chapter 9 addresses the challenges of courage and the risks it involves.

Returning to the notion of a transactional spirituality, she highlights concerns of a cultural and uniquely American version of Christianity.

American evangelicals have our own version of ‘happily-ever-after’ thinking. We assume that because Jesus was raised from the dead, love always wins. When people encounter this love, they will be healed and made whole. We tend to believe that because the gospel is true, it ‘works’ in people’s lives. As evidence for this belief, Christians often emphasize stories of redemption. We love testimonies about the addict who finds sobriety, the adopted child who embraces a new home, the broken marriage that is restored.

These stories are worth emphasizing, of course. They illustrate God’s resurrection power and remind us of what is possible. But in our religious optimism, we sometimes pressurize these stories into an artificial simplicity. We presume that God’s grace, rightly applied, always produces these kinds of results — that if we just love people enough, we will have something to show for it. (p 115)

In contrast to our optimistic, pressurized, optimized, and customized narrative, the courage of Jesus and the risk he took was driven by love “on the night he was betrayed.” The Table shows us this much. In fact, we do well to remember that

Our hero’s life did not end in vindication and victory but in betrayal and abandonment. Jesus was the perfect expression of God’s love in the world, and the only result he had to show for it was his own blood on the ground. I’d never thought deeply about the fact that on their last night together, Jesus served the Passover meal to his friends knowing that they would all turn away from him. He said to Judas, ‘This is my body, given for you,’ knowing he would sell him to his murderers. He washed Peter’s feet, knowing Peter would deny him.

For Jesus, love was never about returns or results. It was a gift that he gave even though he knew it would be misunderstood and rejected. His obedience and his confidence did not hinge on others’ responses. He knew who he was and what he had come to do. He gave this gift unto death. (p 117)

She continues:

“I still need to be reminded that Jesus’ love for humanity was met with betrayal and abandonment — because it protects me from idealizing the life he calls me to live. In my optimism, I want to believe that if I love others like Jesus loves them, they will come to love him — and me — in return. If I parent my children well enough, they will grow up to follow Jesus and thank me for being such a great mom. If I authentically care for members of my congregation, they will find their way to spiritual maturity and health and be faithful leaders in the church. IfI represent my faith with intelligence and respect, my ideological neighbors will be won over, or at least they will think well of me.

But this is not how it worked for Jesus. (p 119)

Even though our present (or past) may be punctuated by the reality of loss, pain, and suffering, Chapter 10 beautifully reminds us of what is to come.

God has always promised a place for his people — but even now, we are still waiting to take hold of it. We are still waiting for him to renew time and space with his healing touch. Our true resting place can’t be found by chasing the horizon or by cherishing the past; it can only be found in the One who holds these things together. He is the only home we really have. One day he will return to us, bringing our memories and dreams with him. In his presence, everything we’ve lost will be healed and whole and alive. And everything we never had to begin with but knew we needed — a better country — will be ours to inhabit without fear. We won’t be exiles there. He is preparing for us a city. When we see it, the sign will finally read: ‘WELCOME HOME.’ On that day, there won’t be any more goodbyes. (p 134)

Meanwhile, “for now, the Christian life is like living out of a suitcase” (p 134) and we’re encouraged to seek balance on the scale of our affections for this world.

In many ways, it is the original human challenge: to wholeheartedly love the world God gave us without making it an idol. When our first parents decided they needed the fruit of the tree more than they needed the closeness of God, they failed to rightly order their priorities. When we elevate any of God’s gifts — blessings like a spouse, a child, a hometown, a career — to a place of primacy in our lives, we are seeking a city without foundations.

These things can never bear the weight of our well-being.

In reaction to this, sometimes we err in the other direction. We practice such a thorough detachment from the material world that we fall short of loving the very things God has called us to love. We refuse to open our hearts to the beauty around us, believing instead that we must save ourselves for a far-off ‘heavenly home.’ (p 135)

Most importantly, the Table places us perfectly at center on the fulcrum between this world and the next. The Table gives us a view of both sides while nourishing us forward toward the grand finale.

The Eucharist reminds us that God’s provision here and now isn’t a finish line; it’s the sustenance to keep putting one foot in front of the other on the trail that he has blazed.

But that sustenance is more than mere utility. It also comforts us with a taste of our ultimate home. Our celebrations around the Lord’s Table whet our appetite for the final feast that Jesus is preparing upon his return. (p 136)

Why practice the Table regularly? What reason is there to repeat the same activity in worship, week after week? In the Epilogue our author shows that all other practices built into our lives, all other liturgies (habits) we engage, fall short of what the Table uniquely offers through remediation.

No matter how long we’ve been following Jesus, we still need practice recognizing and reordering our appetites. We need to be reminded that there is another, better provision than the ones we’ve tasted for so long.

At the Lord’s Supper, we rehearse the truth about ourselves and our God. He alone can satisfy the world’s deep ache. He is the Bread of Life. This might be one reason Jesus gave us a practice to repeat: We don’t get baptized every week, but we do come to the Table again and again — because the repetition helps to retrain our palates. It teaches us, over time, to get in touch with our deep hunger and to recognize that nothing else can fill it. (pp 141-142)

Feasting on Hope: How God Sets a Table in the Wilderness is truly a gift! Through her own personal reflections and life story, Hannah King has prepared for us a feast of insights. She shows how the Table, the ‘body’ and the ‘blood’, beautifully and fully satisfies our deepest longings. Perhaps the book’s greatest strength is showing the solid assurance that God meets us at the Table, is present in our brokenness, and supplies nourishment for leaning forward in ‘prophetic living.’ The Table truly is our teacher showing us the way ‘further up and further in’ to the fullness of life everlasting. Feasting on Hope is now my highest recommendation for anyone coming to the Table. Let us keep the Feast!

BUY THE BOOK

I once received an email from a dear friend who was encouraged by a message from John 11. Her pastor took verse 44b, where Jesus said, “Unbind him, and let him go” (NASB), as a call for Christians to unbind each other from the material and psychological strongholds of this world that keep our attention away from Christ.

Immediately I asked the question “Is that what John meant?” Is this an instance of the good biblical idea but the wrong biblical support? My response went something like the following:

That’s funny … I’ve heard that same application from this passage from other preachers. [Thinking here that many preachers, sadly, are “borrowing” their material.]

Although I’ve not heard the sermon, I’m unconvinced that John had in mind some kind of metaphor for our sanctification when he documented the raising of Lazarus from the dead. While it may be a biblical notion not to become worldly and to stay focused on Christ, there are plenty of other passages that speak directly to this (Heb. 12:1-3; 1 John 2:14-15 come to mind). Instead, John’s goal in chapter 11 seems to highlight Jesus’ power over death, pointing his readers to Christ’s divine ability to do the humanly impossible, viz., raise someone from the dead.

In the larger pericope (chapters 2-11), John annotates a number of Jesus’ miracles that culminate in a detailed account of his death and resurrection (chapters 12 and following). The raising of Lazarus from the dead in chapter 11 is the grand finale of miracles and foreshadows the glory of Christ’s resurrection (see 11:25, “I am the resurrection and the life”). This application from your pastor seemingly takes the focus off of Christ and, ironically, makes us the focus!

If you would indulge me a bit further, there’s actually much more at stake here. So often preachers have the right biblical idea, but the wrong biblical passage to support it. As a result, they inadvertently teach others how to misinterpret the Bible by looking for hidden meanings or “deep insights” where few may actually be found. There is a wealth of profound ideas in the text; there is no need to go beyond it. This is actually a grave error for the Church. Lord knows we have enough confusion over the meaning of Scripture, given our culture that prefers to think with their hearts and feel with their heads. If, however, the Church is to be the “pillar and foundation of the truth” (1 Tim. 3:15), then every pastor must be one who “correctly handles the word of truth” (2 Tim. 2:15), so that every member is trained to use effectively the “sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” (Eph. 6:17), whether engaged in warfare or making application to their personal lives. Sadly, churches today are filled with so many who have so little knowledge of so great a treasure as God’s Word to us. This makes it paramount that pastors and teachers seek the truth from Scripture, rather than weave it into Scripture.

Of course, no preacher who is faithful to God’s Word intends to lead others astray. Yet many pastors are so bent on the “practical” side that they often lose the author’s original idea in the process. I’ve always maintained that God does not need any help with inspiration; there’s plenty of it in the text. So going beyond the text is essentially pretext. In fact, I would go so far as to say that where we misunderstand or mistakenly apply a passage, then that application has no divine authority over us or spiritual power in us. While the wrong application of a passage may have huge emotional appeal, in the end it yields no lasting fruit, no matter how creative and cute, memorable or personal that application may sound.

The bottom line is that Scripture can never mean what it never meant. Those charged with proclaiming the mind of God in the power of the Spirit must prayerfully labor over the text before making application. Understanding the author’s original intent while respecting the literary, social, political, economic, linguistic, and historical contexts at every turn is not optional simply because time lines are short and sermons must get prepared. The correct order is meaning first, then significance. Put differently, knowing comes before doing. After all, we cannot apply what we do not know or understand. Therefore, the pathway to the heart is through the mind and we simply must not bypass the head in an effort to reach the heart, no matter how biblically faithful our conclusions may be.

If we’re going to avoid the pitfalls of pretext and “thin” Christian living that is so prevalent in some Christian circles today, we cannot afford to promote significance at the expense of meaning. After all, no one likes to be misunderstood and I suspect this holds true for God as well. Rightly understanding God’s heart through God’s Word encourages God’s people for God’s glory. This is the proper order of things. When we follow this order, then genuine and lasting spiritual change will naturally, or rather supernaturally, occur.

Yours truly,
Paul

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“And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”
— 2 Corinthians 3:18

From these words, Jonathan Edwards, the most noted American philosopher and theologian of the eighteenth century, saw a dynamic from God that changes lives. He insisted that “no other means can make such a profound change in the soul” as the Holy Spirit of God (Religious Affections, p. 141) Without the presence of God’s Spirit in the heart, religious activity is mere pretense. With the presence of the God’s Spirit, however, affections and passions are ignited and the likeness of God begins to flare gradually as holy fire in the soul.

Edwards wrote his Religious Affections as a defense of genuine Christianity. It was written against the aftermath of emotional excesses from a great revival in Northampton, as well as politically motivated traditionalists in the church. He believed that there is an inseparable connection between genuine Christian behavior and the activity of the Holy Spirit. This behavior must strike a balance between the external and the internal; the subjective and the objective. External practice without the internal impulse of God’s Spirit is the height of hypocrisy. A supposed internal experience of God’s Spirit without external practice is false piety.

The thesis is rudimentary, yet profoundly relevant: In the same way the influence of the Spirit is effectual unto salvation, so too the Spirit’s influence is effectual unto sanctification. Authentic religious activity is a response to the Spirit of Christ who indwells every believer. For Jonathan Edwards, and the Apostle Paul, this is the only proper and biblical pattern of godliness (Rom. 8:9-14). Committed to theology being rational as well as practical, Jonathan Edwards was careful in organizing his arguments and defining his terms. He said the religious affections are “the more vigorous and practical exercises of the inclination and will of the soul” (p. 5). The “soul” is a composite of understanding and inclination; inclination being either approval or disapproval; acceptance or rejection of any given behavior. And, “the affections will either motivate the soul to seek and cleave to what is in view or turn away the soul and oppose what is in view” (p. 7). The affections, therefore, are what’s behind the cognitive and volitional elements of the soul. But what arouses, inspires, and empowers the affections? For Edwards, as well as for every Christian, it must be the Holy Spirit of God.

Edwards insisted upon the supremacy of the Spirit in the believer’s life. Like Augustine, he viewed the activity of the Spirit both in terms of illumination and infusion. Illumination is that activity of the Spirit whereby the believer is able to understand the things of God. It is spiritual apprehension of God’s truth. As “holy affections do not have heat without light” (p. 105), so the mind receives from God a supernatural understanding of divine things.

Infusion is that operation of the Spirit whereby he takes up his dwelling place in the life of the believer such that the activities of the subject are indistinguishable from God’s activity. It is God living his life in and through the believer (Gal. 2:20). Infusion, then, is that principle of and basis from which the new life in Christ is lived.

Illumination is particular to the saints. Those things of God that his Spirit sheds light upon are unknown to the natural person; not to ignore, however, the unique, though limited, role of God’s Spirit in general revelation. Edwards spoke a great deal about the “common influence” of the Holy Spirit… This supernatural perception is different in kind from all other knowledge; it is a “spiritual understanding” that is “spiritually discerned” (1 Cor. 2:14; Col. 1:9). This divine light first comes to saints as the glory of the gospel that the unbelieving world cannot grasp (2 Cor. 4:3-4, 6). It is seeing the gospel for the gracious message that it is and placing the highest value on it (Mt. 13:44-45). Though unbelievers can have a “deeper apprehension of the character of sin and of evil, they are still left without any real understanding of the glory of God” (p. 110; cf., Jn. 16:8).

In addition, spiritual understanding is not merely being informed by the Scriptures or even God (e.g., Balaam, Num. 22). It is possible one could explain the whole of Scripture and not have spiritual understanding (1 Cor. 13:2). Doctrinal knowledge is no guarantee of spiritual comprehension. Being informed by the Bible is no substitute for being led by the Holy Spirit. Divine illumination provides the means for viewing all of life from heaven’s angle; a glimpse from God’s perspective. This can only come from the one Who “searches all things, even the deep things of God” because “no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God” (1 Cor. 2:10-11). The Holy Spirit is as vital to spiritual understanding as the sun is to the light of day.

Jonathan Edwards also insisted upon the sovereignty of the Spirit in the believer’s life. This principle of new life has its origin in God’s nature and is beyond the essential life given all people. God communicates his life to the believer such that those traits that once characterized the individual are replaced with the qualities of himself. The Spirit is “represented as being so united to the faculties of the soul that He becomes a principle or spring of new nature and life” (p. 78; cf., 2 Cor. 5:17).

The Holy Spirit is not merely an influence who occasionally prompts the soul unto godliness. The believer is said to be the permanent place where the Spirit of God takes up residence (Jn. 14:17; 1 Cor. 3:16; 2 Cor. 6:16). This is precisely how the Apostle Paul can say “For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3). Although he influences the believer, the Spirit is far more than just an influence. God’s Spirit is the basis of life that communicates his own divine character to the believer (2 Pt. 1:3).

As such, the Spirit of God produces those effects that are indicative of his own nature. Just as “heat is the property of fire” so too the children of God produce those properties that are true of their new nature (p. 79). God’s Spirit is called “holy” and so the saints are said to be “holy” (1 Pt. 1:15; 2 Pt. 1:4). This is what is meant by having fellowship or communion with God; allowing God’s life Principle to manifest in and through the believer (1 Jn. 1:3). Thoughts, affections, motivations, actions – all are governed by and expressed in accordance with the Spirit’s life.

Holy affections, passionate inclinations to know God deeper, and an unquenchable desire to experience the joy of God’s presence each moment are just a few of the effects and benefits of divine illumination and infusion of God’s Holy Spirit in the life of the believer.

“Christ lives in the heart and the Holy Spirit dwells there in union with the faculties of the soul as an internal, vital principle that exerts God’s own proper nature . . . . If God dwells in the heart and is vitally united to it, He will show that He is God by the efficacy of His operation” (p. 169). This is the sum of Edwards’ argument presented thus far. Without the agency of the Holy Spirit, there is no hope for true Christian behavior. But is there a distinguishing characteristic or effect of God’s Spirit in the believer’s life? If so, what would it be?

The one “distinctive influence of the Spirit of God” is what Edwards called “evangelical humiliation” (pp. 126ff.). This form of humiliation begins with a personal sense of inadequacy and unworthiness. Some may have a general sense of religious awe, be convicted by sin, and even fear God’s anger. Yet, the possibility of loving God for his moral excellencies and beauty, viz., loving him for his own sake despite any returns on such an investment, remains impossible without evangelical humility. Self-love – the antithesis of Edwards’ evangelical humiliation – will prevail over love for God without the understanding of personal unworthiness.

While the indications of evangelical humiliation begin with a sense of personal insufficiency, they do not end there. The “inclination of the heart is altered,” the “will is broken” and a “gentle yielding in freedom and delight to lie prostrate at the feet of God” mark the truly humble. In fact, evangelical humiliation is “a low esteem of self, and sees self as indeed nothing, with no desire to feel self-sufficient, and freely renounce[es] all self-glory” (p. 128).

The zenith of Christian duty, according to Edwards, is self-denial. The primary effect of the gospel of grace is humility. It must also be the distinguishing mark of God’s children (Ps. 34:18; 51:17; 138:6; Pr. 3:34; Mt. 5:3; 18:3-4; Jm. 4:6; 1 Pt. 5:5). True humility causes members of God’s house to think of others as more important (Phil. 2:3), consistently submits to others (Eph. 5:21), and seeks to exalt God at every moment, even at the expense of exalting self. True humility is a resignation of the will to the priorities of the Spirit of God. True humility finds that “the more the vision of God grows in a saint, the more he [or she] is convinced there is much more to see.” True humility proclaims “how small is the love of the most eminent saint in comparison to what God deserves” (p. 133).

Contemporary Relevance
As we have seen, Spirit-enabled holiness and evangelical humility are the distinctive signs of new life in Christ. Yet in modern evangelicalism there are many activities that masquerade as signs of personal holiness and humility, yet appear to supplant God’s Spirit. Political activism, the tidal wave of high self-esteem/self-sufficient attitudes, church leadership models consisting of personality, management ability, counseling technique, rhetorical skill, and, worst of all, the seeming irrelevance of theology in the pulpit are just a few of the vital signs of what it means to be “Christian” today.

Since Jesus is the Head of the Church, then personal holiness begins with aligning our wills and our desires and passions with his. And, since the Spirit is sovereign over every aspect of faith as it pertains to entering the Kingdom, then Edwards would contend that we need to acknowledge the Spirit’s sovereignty over every aspect of faith as it pertains to remaining in the Kingdom. Apart from this, there can be no personal holiness. It is as true for us now as it was for the Apostle Paul that “he who began a good work . . . will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil. 1:6). After all, “it is God who is at work in [us], both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Phil. 2:13).

Few would question the emphasis upon the Spirit of God in the life of the believer. But how is one actually changed by the sovereign Holy Spirit? Does the believer have any responsibility for his/her own growth? If so, what activities could facilitate personal holiness in a day where obedience is taunted as legalism rather than an indicator of true spirituality? The categories Jonathan Edwards employed in describing the components of the human soul provide some insight into the Spirit’s activity. In addition, yielding to the Spirit’s powerful presence is the beginning of personal holiness.

If it is true that the Spirit’s influence is effectual unto sanctification, then the believer begins with surrendering to this truth. Granted, the flesh does war against the Spirit (Gal 5:17; Rom. 8:5-9) and the struggle with sin may be intense at times, but God does prevail in us at the end (Rom. 8:29-30). By way of confession and repentance, the believer is forgiven and restored to a progressively enduring relationship with God. This is not only cause for great hope, but provides every Christian a proper understanding of their relationship to the Spirit’s working against the flesh or sinful nature. In essence, the believer is not “the helpless battleground of two opposing forces” (Bruce, Galatians, p. 245).

Jonathan Edwards insists that the Spirit illuminates the understanding with spiritual insight and that this insight is more than an exercise in discursive or speculative reasoning. Spiritual insight moves from apprehension of God’s truth to the conviction of his truth. It is a discerning use of knowledge toward some godly end or purpose (Paul may have been relying upon this type of insight in counseling the Philippian believers in Phil. 3:15). The source of this spiritual insight is God (Mt. 11:25; 16:17). Spiritual understanding is not simply a product of human deduction but divine disclosure. (2 Cor. 4:6).

Spiritual insight moves the mind and soul from admiration to adoration of God’s excellencies. Persons who are “spiritually enlightened . . . [do] not merely rationally believe that God is glorious, but [have] a sense of the gloriousness of God. . . . . There is not only a rational belief that God is holy, and that holiness is a good thing, but there is a sense of the loveliness of God’s holiness” (Works, Vol. II, Serm. I, p. 14). Spiritual insight is having a profound sense of God’s perfections and beauty. This Spirited illumination does not stop at the corridor of the mind but moves into the deep caverns of the soul where authentic spiritual worship takes place (Jn. 4:23-24).

How does the believer grasp this spiritual insight? While the various disciplines (prayer, study, fasting, meditation, et al.) do serve to enhance communion between the Spirit and the saint, the bottom line is to ask God and trust that he will give heavenly wisdom (Ps. 119:18, 33-37; Jm. 1:5-6). The disciplines of silence and solitude also nourish the soul significantly in our overly-stimulated, frenetic Western lifestyle. In an age where more facts are accessible by a few keystrokes and in a few short nanoseconds than one could possibly use in a lifetime, it would serve us well to pause and seek God for depth of knowledge rather than breadth of knowledge (Ps. 46:10a).

Though we have so much information available making it easy to pride ourselves on being informed, we simply must depend upon the Spirit for proper use of information. Looking to the sovereign Spirit for understanding and wisdom is the only hope for genuine spiritual insight (Job 32:8; Pr. 20:27; 1 Cor. 2:11; Eph. 1:17). For the Christian, knowledge should always be a means to an end; not an end in itself. The only proper end is to glorify Jesus (Phil. 2:10-11), which is being achieved by the Spirit’s illumination in the believer’s life (Jn. 16:14-15).

Knowledge alone causes pride and self-aggrandizement (1 Cor. 8:1). Humility, that which only the Spirit can give, should be sought over knowledge. Contrary to some Christian counsel, which maintains self-love is necessary before love for others is possible, the biblical pattern is God, others, self. Continuous humility before God and others is the true road to continuous spiritual blessing and grace for living (1 Pt. 5:5-6. Note: The present tense: “God [continually] graces the [continually] humble”).

Following an appeal God’s Spirit to illuminate the mind with divine wisdom for living and trusting he will deliver, every believer must rely on God to empower the will/inclination to live each moment in the presence of the Almighty God. Personal holiness comes by way of “ever-increasing glory” and the Spirit not only shows the way but endows the will with power and discipline (2 Tim. 1:7). God knows that left to ourselves, knowledge is not enough (contra Socrates; cf., Jm. 4:17); we need help every step of the way.

The Apostle Paul understood the disparity between knowing, doing, and being. He personally struggled with a degree of discontinuity in his own life (Rom. 7:14-25). However, he discovered, just as Edwards had, that personal holiness is found in complete reliance upon Spirited illumination and infusion (Eph. 1:18-19). Enlightened inner eyes along with empowered holy activity are the work of God in the believer. God’s power is that dynamic, energetic, and supernatural ability to progressively accomplish in the believer those qualities and characteristics that conform to the likeness of his Son (Rom. 8:29; Eph. 4:13).

Jonathan Edwards has a great deal to say to God’s people living in any time or place. His passion for insisting upon genuine religious affections and personal holiness as evidence by evangelical humility is crucial for a culture submerged in information and smothered by pragmatism. We must, moment by moment, look to God’s Spirit for renewal and reformation. For it is by the Spirit of God that we have hope (Rom. 15:13). May this hymn be our daily prayer as we seek to align our religious affections with the affections of God.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Fill me with life anew;
That I may love what thou dost love,
And do what thou wouldst do.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Until my heart is pure,
Until with Thee I will one will,
To do and to endure.

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Till I am wholly thine;
Until this earthly part of me
Glows with thy fire divine.

Some introductory remarks

First, it’s helpful if we begin by recognizing the distinction between a sign and what it points to. That much should be clear. More importantly, however, there are two extremes to be aware of and avoid: 1) making too little of a connection between the sign and the thing signified and 2) making too much of a connection between the sign and the thing signified.

Second, the efficacy of a sacrament is dependent upon the Spirit of God to inspire faith in the participants. Thus, the sacrament of baptism not only demonstrates faith, but in some mysterious way, imparts an inclination toward it as well. This is contrary to those who see baptism as an ordinance (credobaptism) wherein it is primarily (or, in some circles, exclusively) viewed in symbolic terms, as mere expressions of a faith already realized in the baptized (a.k.a., believer’s baptism). We might put it this way: although Anglicans grant that baptism is symbolic, serving as a sign, there is more going on in the sign itself. Read on to see what I mean.

Scripture demonstrates that baptism was the precept of Christ (Matthew 28:19) and the practice of the Apostles (Acts 2:38, 41). Baptism is trinitarian (Matthew 3:16; 28:19) and, therefore, marks the participant as distinctly Christian. Some may be surprised to learn that the practice of baptism was not new in Jesus’s day but was appropriated or co-opted by Christians to indicate a change in allegiance¹.

Further, and most importantly, the New Testament portrays baptism as signifying at least three things: 1) our union with Christ (Rom 6:3-5); 2) God’s forgiveness of sins (Mark 1:4; Luke 3:3; Acts 2:38), and 3) the gift of the Spirit (Matt 3:11; Acts 2:38-39). Note that in signifying these things, baptism does not, apart from faith, convey these things.

Sacraments as means of grace

The prominent Anglican theologian, J. I. Packer, wrote in his Concise Theology on the close connection between means and ends. Read carefully.

The sacraments are rightly viewed as means of grace, for God makes them means to faith, using them to strengthen faith’s confidence in his promises and to call forth acts of faith for receiving the good gifts signified. The efficacy of the sacraments to this end resides not in the faith or virtue of the minister but in the faithfulness of God, who, having given the signs, is now pleased to use them … As the preaching of the Word makes the gospel audible, so the sacraments make it visible, and God stirs up faith by both means.”

Put differently, when someone believes the gospel, it is not simply the words that are believed but the truths conveyed by the words. Similarly, when someone is baptized or partakes of holy communion, it is not the water or the elements of bread and wine that are trusted, but what is signified by them. The sacraments are tools in the hand of God to instill faith and to strengthen us in it.

For the Anglican, the words spoken during the baptismal event actually do something. They are performative and not merely declarative. They are a vehicle to carry truth into the heart. As Ben Myers writes: “They are words that perform: like naming a yacht, or making a bet, or speaking a marriage vow. In baptism [and communion], something is brought into being as the words are spoken.”

What about paedobaptism (infant baptism)?

Regarding infant baptism Packer states that “the New Testament neither illustrates nor prescribes nor forbids” it (Concise Theology). The Book of Common Prayer used in every Anglican baptismal service specifies that baptism is a proclamation of those realities that the sacraments bear. This proclamation calls those realities into action. The priest (Celebrant) addresses parents of the baptized with these powerful words that are a call to action for everyone present:

Celebrant: Today, on behalf of this child, you shall make vows to renounce the devil and all his works, to trust God wholeheartedly, and to serve him faithfully. It is your task to see that this child is taught, as soon as he is able to learn, the meaning of all these vows, and of the Faith that you will profess as revealed in the Holy Scriptures.

He must come to put his faith in Jesus Christ, and learn the Creeds, the Lord’s Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and all other things that a Christian ought to know, believe, and do for the welfare of his soul. When he has embraced all these, he is to come to the Bishop to be confirmed, that he may publicly claim the Faith for his own and be further strengthened by the Holy Spirit to serve Christ and his kingdom.

Are you willing and ready to undertake this?

Godparents and Sponsoring Parents: I am, the Lord being my helper.

Scripture links baptism with circumcision. Under the old covenant, parents presented their male child to the community for circumcision signifying a commitment to rear the child in the faith of that community (Incidentally, in patristic cultures females were represented by proxy in the male, who represented the entire family; see Gen 17:10-22). But note, physical circumcision meant little if a “circumcision of the heart” was not also evident (see Deut 10:16; 30:6; Jer 4:4). We might say that while physical circumcision initiates, it was spiritual circumcision of the heart that consummates the participant into full covenant status. These ideas were carried through into the new covenant with the practice of baptism. In Colossians 2:11-12 Paul explicitly couples circumcision and baptism as visible signs of that invisible reality called spiritual circumcision of the heart (also, Rom 2:28-29).

Note also that just as children benefit from the faith of one believing parent in a mixed marriage (1 Corinthians 7:14), so too baptized children benefit from the faith of believing parents, as well as the faith of the believing community into which they are baptized. A baptized child, therefore, shares covenant membership by proxy of their parents who confer on them the sign of their membership into the covenant community through the administration of water by the priest. Baptism, therefore, is an active and solemn vow made to God by the parents and the covenant community that the child will be nurtured in the Christian faith.

What is not conveyed by God to a child in baptism is a saving faith that regenerates at the time of baptism. What is conveyed by God to a child in baptism is a disposition or inclination to saving faith such that, at some point in the future, the child is capable of responding in faith to the gospel message because they have been immersed in a culture of faith (see Oliver Crisp’s excellent article, “Infant baptism and the disposition to saving faith“). All of this is what baptism means in the Anglican tradition.

“Baptism is the pledge of God’s new life. But it is like a seed: it only germinates when it encounters the water of repentance and the sunshine of faith” (Rev Canon Dr. Michael Green, d. 2019).

Paedobaptism, therefore, is promissory in nature; it is forward-focused. This is not dissimilar to the idea of ‘baby dedication’ wherein parents and congregants enter into a covenant to raise the child in the Christian faith. While some traditions insist the waters of baptism convey regenerative faith to the child, this position is contrary to the Anglican tradition and is no reason to reject infant baptism altogether. Instead, most Anglicans understand paedobaptism as that which initiates what personal faith will one day consummate. Article 25 of the Articles of Religion states that the sacraments are to be received “worthily” for them to be operative in us. Article 26 defines what this means, “as by faith, and rightly, do receive the Sacraments.” So, faith (as allegiance or commitment) is both necessary and sufficient for the baptismal promises to be realized. This is the Anglican way.

A note about sequence

As the central message of Christianity was first proclaimed in the early days of the church, it was primarily adults who were hearing the gospel message and coming to faith, so naturally it made sense that faith precede baptism. However, we would do well to observe the New Testament shows the order in which events occur varies. Consider: The first Holy Communion instituted by Jesus at the Last Supper was before his crucifixion and thus prior to the disciples’ faith being fully formed. Yet, Christ invited his followers to participate in the Supper (and likely before they were baptized, contra Anglican tradition; at least we have no record of them being baptized!).

Also, from Acts 8, 10, 19 we read the Spirit coming on some who were already baptized and had believed, while others were moved by the Spirit prior to belief and/or baptism.

We should not presume, therefore, that a pattern or order of events from the NT is necessarily a prescription to follow. This is not to say the Church should not respect trends in the New Testament and is free to roll out the sacraments in any order whatsoever. It is to say that the Church recognizes the priority of faith behind, before, and in all that the sacraments illustrate and entail.

To that end, and going back to the linkage between baptism and circumcision, it’s significant that Abraham was declared righteous by his faith and prior to his circumcision (Gen 15:6; 17:11). Paul even highlights this sequence in Rom 4:9-12 to insist that Gentiles are included in the promise by faith and that circumcision is explicitly not an instrument of salvation. Circumcision was a sign or a seal of the promise, not the means for attaining it. So too, with baptism.

Consider how John Stott puts it:

“What circumcision was to Abraham, Isaac and his descendants, baptism is to us. It is not only the sign of covenant membership, but a seal or pledge of covenant blessings. Baptism does not convey these blessings to us, but conveys to us a right or title to them, so that if and when we truly believe, we inherit the blessings to which baptism has entitled us …. But the receiving of the sign and seal, and the receiving of the blessings signified, are not necessarily (or even normally) simultaneous…The reception of the sign, although it entitles [participants] to the gift, does not confer the gift on them. They need to be taught the indispensable necessity of personal repentance and faith if they are to receive the thing signified.” — John Stott, “The Evangelical Doctrine of Baptism“, Churchman 112/1 (1998)

Most importantly, if the old covenant had a place for incorporating children into the household of faith by circumcision, how much more shall the new covenant do so by baptism (Col 2:11-12)? We cannot ignore that entire households were baptized and there is no explicit reason to think that children, if present, were excluded from baptism (Cornelius, Acts 10; Lydia and Philippian jailer, Acts 16; Crispus, Acts 18; Stephanus, 1 Cor 1). It is equally reasonable to assume parents would include their children in baptism as an act of solidarity. Given first-century families followed Roman law and tradition of the paterfamilias model, it is especially likely that all members of a household would adopt the faith and practices of the male parent as head of household.

A brief word about the word ‘baptism’

It’s essential to understand how terms were used in the New Testament period and, in some respects, usage is no different from how we speak today. Whereas conversion to Christ involves many aspects from faith in Christ (e.g., repentance, forgiveness, resurrection power, the gift of the Spirit, atonement, et al.), the term “baptism” can be understood as shorthand for all of these ideas. In other words, the term ‘baptism’ (and its cognates) came to be pregnant with ideas. The term ‘baptism’ became polysemous and was an economical way of expressing a variety of meanings contained within one word, much like ‘metonymy’ or ‘synecdoche’ is used as a figure of speech (when a part of something is used to refer to the whole thing or vice versa; see Acts 2:38; Gal 3:27; 1 Pt 3:21). Likewise, when an Anglican uses the term “baptize,” it can have a meaning that is full of implications and ideas pertaining to the salvation event. This is why it is helpful to ask questions and seek to understand nuances before drawing conclusions on what others mean.

What about adult baptism?

A few brief comments. First, adult baptisms are a wonderful indication that the Church is being faithful to her great commission given by Jesus, which is sharing the gospel and leading people to faith in Christ as Lord. Anglicans celebrate this no less than any other Christian tradition. Typically, Anglicans assume a repeat baptismal experience is unnecessary. Still, believers who have sincerely embraced Christ in faith would not think themselves exempt from any of the commands of Christ, esp. to be baptized (Matt 28:19). So, for those who have become believers as adults, Anglicans would urge baptism for all who have not already been baptized. Baptism is necessary in the same way that confession and repentance are essential for living into the life of faith and for realizing God’s forgiveness. Obedience to all of Christ’s commands are necessary, but should not to be understood as adding works to a regenerative faith (on the relationship between faith and works, see my “A Faith That Works: James 2:14-26“).

What are we to conclude?

First, apart from faith baptism does not confer salvation.

Second, baptism is not a work added to faith, but sets the stage for faith to work. Faith consummates what baptism initiates.

Third, though the term itself is full of meaning and significance, carefully nuancing ‘baptism’ (or ‘faith’ for that matter!) will generate more light than heat in discussion.

Fourth, insisting on a certain order of events before one can endorse another’s faith as genuine is dubious at least, since the New Testament itself is not consistent.

Fifth, and finally, while I would maintain that baptism is necessary (all things being equal) it is faith alone in Christ alone that is both necessary and sufficient for entering into a relationship with God. The promise of Jesus to a thief on the cross tells us so (see Luke 23:43).

I’m hopeful this brief sum will help readers gain clarity on this most important topic and discover the rich depth of what it means to be baptized as an Anglican. Where questions remain, everyone is encouraged to consult with their leadership or priest and their community of faith. For an Anglican perspective that argues for both paedopaedobaptism and credobaptism, see Michael Bird’s post, “The Case for Dual-Mode Baptism Practice“.

1. See my essay, “Against Baptismal Regeneration” for some historical background to this end. Also, this essay needs substantial updating to reflect my current views on baptism. However, the historical evidence referenced remains relevant.

Many today hold that tolerance above all is the greatest and most important moral virtue. After all, to thrive in a socially, morally, religiously, and politically diverse society requires that tolerance be the summum bonum for any people group that claims a sense of civility.

But what exactly is meant by tolerance? Consider the following, taken from the opening presentation to my World Religions class (with assistance from Frank Beckwith’s Do the Right Thing: Readings in Applied Ethics and Social Philosophy).

• Tolerance can only be exercised in the presence of disagreement; I can only be tolerant toward views I believe are mistaken. Never to disagree with anyone is not the mark of tolerance but intellectual suicide.

• It hardly makes sense to tolerate things you heartily approve! Therefore, tolerance presupposes a negative outlook toward an opposing view.

• If tolerance means I cannot judge a view as morally wrong, then that is no different from saying that I must be either indifferent to the opposing view or embrace it, in which case “tolerance” has lost its meaning.

• Tolerance is not the same as acceptance. Tolerance does not mean accepting anything and rejecting nothing.

• There is a clear distinction between accepting a person’s right to hold a belief and accepting the belief as true. Tolerating people and tolerating ideas are different.

• Genuine respect for and acknowledgment of another’s dignity demands a willingness to listen and take seriously his or her most basic religious commitments, no matter how foreign or opposed they are to yours. Surely the people we respect and treat fairly are not just those with whom we agree!

• Tolerance has its limitations. People may believe as they wish, but not behave as they wish.

• Much of what hides behind “tolerance” today is intellectual cowardice and laziness. It’s easier to hurl an insult than to engage contrary opinions with thoughtful, relevant dialog that encourages understanding and engages alternative views.

Your welcome.