Noël Piper has recently started posting on the Desiring God Blog, for which I am thankful. Most “A-List” Christian women bloggers seem to go out of their way to make sure that their readers know that their posts are intended for women, explicitly drawing on the “Titus 2″ tradition, and largely confining their posts to discussions of how to be a good home-keeper, wife, and mother. I’ve seen instances on such blogs where, if a heavily theological issue comes up, the woman blogger will ask her husband to do a guest post to address it, instead of addressing it herself. Mrs. Piper’s two posts thus far are not in that exclusive tradition and contain no disclaimer warning men away. On the contrary, she writes in a blog authored almost exclusively by men, and quite probably read most often by men. And in her latest post, she sets out to expand upon her husband’s latest sermon!

I appreciate that. I struggle much with the issue, all the more because Christian women who blog subjects that can only be defined as “theology” seem to be a rare breed. For that matter, Christian women who write theology books seem equally rare–Elisabeth Elliot is the only one that really comes to mind, and even she does it in a very roundabout way. And yet, nowhere in the Bible does it say “women shalt not speak of the wonders of God except in the presence of younger women and small children,” does it? But that seems to be the consensus nevertheless.

How far removed we have become from the likes of Susannah Spurgeon, who throughout her entire life was very much in public ministry, whether in her little books of “Personal Notes On a Text”, her notes in The Sword and the Trowel publication, or in her immense work of gathering funds and selecting texts and recipients from the countless poor British pastors who applied to her for aid. Of her published devotional works, she wrote, “[the Lord] lead me into this unthought-of service, and most graciously has He hitherto sustained me in it; first giving me in my own heart the joy of His Word, and then enabling me to minister of that rejoicing to others.” In other words, what God taught her from His Word, He enabled and led her into sharing in book form. Moreover, she said, “its one aim and object is to summon the Lord’s people to bless and praise His Holy Name.” What a broad and far-reaching goal, and how immediately applicable to Christians of all ages and genders!

I wonder if she–and Noël Piper–don’t have a better grasp of the role of women than many of us seem to have today. When Priscilla and Aquila (how interesting that Scripture puts her name first!) took Apollos aside to “[explain] to him the way of God more accurately” (Acts 18:26 He began to speak boldly in the synagogue, but when Priscilla and Aquila heard him, they took him and explained to him the way of God more accurately. (ESV)), do we presume that Aquila did all the talking while Priscilla stood meekly by? When we learn that Philip the evangelist “had four unmarried daughters, who prophesied” (Acts 21:9 He had four unmarried daughters, who prophesied. (ESV)), or when Paul gives instruction that women are to cover their heads while prophesying (1 Corinthians 11:5 but every wife who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonors her head, since it is the same as if her head were shaven. (ESV)), do we try to redefine the Greek word to mean something less than it does? When Paul writes of “women, who have labored side by side with me in the gospel” (Philippians 4:3 Yes, I ask you also, true companion, help these women, who have labored side by side with me in the gospel together with Clement and the rest of my fellow workers, whose names are in the book of life. (ESV)), what does he mean? If he wrote of “men, who have labored side by side with me in the gospel,” would we assume something different?

These questions bother me immensely. On the one hand, we have the clear directive that “women should keep silent in the churches” (1 Corinthians 14:34 the women should keep silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak, but should be in submission, as the Law also says. (ESV)) and Paul adds that “I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man” (1 Timothy 2:12 I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man; rather, she is to remain quiet. (ESV)). John Gill’s succinct exposition of the latter passage is a common interpretation:

Timothy, no doubt, received much advantage, from the private teachings and instructions of his mother Eunice, and grandmother Lois; but then women are not to teach in the church; for that is an act of power and authority, and supposes the persons that teach to be of a superior degree, and in a superior office, and to have superior abilities to those who are taught by them.

And so, all things considered, it seems that the argument could be made that Scripture’s commands for women to remain silent applies only within the church; that only men should be invited to preach or exhort in worship services. Yet even that is not so clear-cut: does the command apply to Sunday School? (Yes, presumably, since it’s still in church.) Does the command apply to night-time Bible studies held at the church? (Again, presumably.) Does the command apply to Bible studies held informally in people’s homes? (Not by the same logic, since it is not in or affiliated with church. And yet, would a woman teaching a Bible study to a mixed group in her own home still be “exercising authority over a man” even though it’s outside of the church context?) I don’t know all the answers. It doesn’t help that the traditions we’ve built up to supplement Scripture cloud the issue. And yet the question is of vital importance.

When it comes to Christian women blogging, some concrete answers must be found! For instance, I’m assuming that none of you reading here think that what I’ve been doing in writing thus far has been wrong, even though many of my posts are much more theologically-oriented than the average female Christian blogger. But there are things I’ve been learning from Scripture that I have not shared; things where perhaps many of you would disagree with me. If I shared those things with the same conviction that I’ve shared my belief in God’s unwaveringly astounding grace, would I suddenly be out of line merely because I would be controversial? There have been subjects debated in the blogosphere of Christian male bloggers lately–if I weighed in on some of the debates, would I be overstepping my bounds? Am I regulated to discussing only the “obvious” parts of Scripture and those which immediately concern homemaking? (And even to the latter–since most women are “older” women compared to me, am I overstepping my bounds to discuss even the home?)

It is not my intention to be flippant or irreverent here; the issue is utterly serious. I am a housewife; I have deep respect for the many women out there who do a better job at homemaking than I do. I learn from them and I appreciate their testimonies of love for their families. I also have deep respect for the roles God has created for men and women, and in theology I’m as complementarian as they come! But legalism is no better than liberalism, and the examples of Susannah Spurgeon, Elisabeth Elliot, Noël Piper, and women in Scripture itself stand in stark contrast to the lack of boldness displayed by many women bloggers today. We’re putting our lights under bushels! Does it glorify God to have so many blogs where women pour out their ideas about how to please their husbands and raise their children, but never ponder publicly on pleasing their Lord and Saviour? Does it glorify God to pontificate endlessly on how wonderful “dear husband” is, while reserving few words to describe the magnificence and majesty of God Himself?

We should be as gutsy as Susannah Spurgeon:

In these days of daring infidelity, and awful treason against the Most High, I count it an unspeakable honour to be permitted to testify to the power of the old truths, and the pleasantness of the old paths, and the unfailing faithfulness of God in the fulfilment of each and all of His precious promises; and though my voice is less than a Whisper amid the roar and turmoil of conflicting opinions and blasphemous theories, I know that God can hear it, and that He will accept the loving tribute which my heart thus offers to Him.

We too live in days of daring infidelity and awful treason against the Most High. Shall we also testify to the power of the old truths, or are we content to share recipes and laundry-folding techniques? May unbelieving readers never read our blogs and conclude that our whole life is swallowed up in serving our husbands and maintaining a good home! Instead let us confront them with the reality of the Gospel and the beautiful arrangement God has set forth wherein we serve our husbands and maintain a good home because, and only because, we are serving the Lord Most High and our true Delight is exclusively Him.

Tags: bloggers more coherent special tag no 1 susannah spurgeon theology women

I still have fleeting moments where I’m really truly afraid. They’re less fleeting than I would like; wherever the balance is between “be anxious about nothing” and a normal instinct for self-preservation, I’m far too much on the anxious side.

Yet: “Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 5:8. Scripture is very clear — in more places than just this one verse — that Christians are to live as though this life is not something to be grasped at. Living is not preferable to dying. Living should not be more comfortable than dying. Or, to paraphrase John Piper, we should not feel at home here.

These past few weeks I have been experiencing a sort of second shock, I think, about the “whole cancer thing.” It’s like there was the initial moment, that first awful and glorious week, and then a long respite of relative ease… and now I’m doing radiation and trying to figure out working and health insurance and future plans and realizing that my life will never, ever be the same. There’s the scars and tattoos that will be there forever, and the reddish tinge to my skin that will soon develop into a full-fledged burn that will take a year to fade. And I am starting to hurt, physically, and I’m honestly having a really difficult time not feeling sorry for myself. All of this is coalescing into the dread realization that I have cancer, and that while the statistics are in my favor, they’re by no means certain, and since God is in control anyway, statistics are fairly irrelevant.

These past few weeks have been almost as difficult emotionally as the first week in May. Maybe even more difficult. There have been times when I’ve been quite literally on the edge of falling apart — I think this is much exacerbated by my physical condition (which is not so good right now), but it’s there and I’m having to learn how to trust God even more. It’s harder, in some ways, because it’s not as easy to find the energy to actually think about things, so my sinful reactions are coming more to the fore.

And in these dark nights of mine, the one thing God keeps bringing me back to is that I am just passing through. I will be here and I will keep breathing until He is finished with having Julie Fuller here. Not a moment more or less. And that is comfort: I can trust that all my purpose here will be completed, not cut a moment short, and that He has planned the final moment with precision and perfection. My problem and the reason for my sinful worry is that I get caught up in my purpose instead of His. Hebrews 11:13-16, out of the “faith” chapter, has been increasingly convicting to me: “These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.”

Strangers and exiles on the earth. Seeking a homeland. Not thinking of the land from which we’ve gone out. Desiring a better country. This is me, too! In the world but not of it. This body in which I reside is fallen and sinful and tainted and scarred and to be rid of it is to be with Christ. To be rid of it is to be freed from sin! Why on earth am I not begging God with all my heart to make it so?

The answer is very obvious: I am much too infatuated with the things of this world. Good things, like marriage and family. But even the highest of these things is secondary to my calling as a child of God. Seth and I are married, yes, but we do not “belong” to one another; our deepest sense of ownership is possessed by God and God alone. We are here for the furtherance of His kingdom, and we are just sojourning here briefly until we join Christ and all the saints in heaven. Marriage is a beautiful and wonderful and ever so fun and enjoyable gift, but it’s an earthly gift. It’s a precursor to the ultimate wedding of Christ and the Church, and precursors melt away when their fulfillment is complete. We are to rejoice in that! If I am so tied to my husband that the thought of leaving him to be with Christ causes me to stumble, then we’ve tied ourselves together with the wrong sort of thread! You can’t take Christ out of your definition of love, and real love is never about clinging to something when it isn’t yours to cling to. And eternally, I have no right to cling to Seth. He is God’s; I am God’s; God can render us asunder at His pleasure.

I wish I would, with the people of Hebrews 10:34, gladly abandon these things I hold dear with equanimity because I know I have “a better possession and an abiding one.” That is the promise we have been given, and we have the God Who orchestrates every atom in the universe as Guarantor. That future “possession” of ours is everything we were created to desire, perfectly suited for us in every way, the summation of everything we yearn for, and the beginning of things we have not even begun to glimpse. This is through a glass darkly; that is face-to-face. Face to face. There is no thought of heaven that shakes me as much, that thrills me and terrifies me and that makes me hunger as nothing else.

But it is one thing to know, and another to live and to trust. I am learning — very slowly — that I must have the spirit of a sojourner, who stays in a strange country for a time and for a purpose, but never loses sight of the homeland, and who waits, every day, for word that the return ship has arrived in port, and that soon she will be going to the home she’ll never have to leave. Coming to a point where that is real, day-to-day, internalized, and instinctual is so infinitely much more important than getting better. I am not and have not been such an alien to this world.

I am so thankful that God does not abandon us to wallow in our misery and try to make sense of things on our own. He has never left me in the darkness, and I am continuing to see how He is using this “awful” circumstance for my greater good, and how He continues to teach me to praise Him for these things that my fallen self finds so unpraiseworthy.

Tags: cancer dying more coherent rejoice always special tag no 2 the sovereignty of God theology verses

Seth’s windshield is cracked — on the passenger side, near the top, at least a handsbreadth long. Mine is chipped, the result of our latest roadtrip.

So I, being the obsessive-compulsive rule-follower that I am, did some research and asked around and found a way to get our windshields fixed — for free. I was so excited that I called Seth from work. “Hey, baby, guess what? We can get your windshield fixed for free!” I was brimming with enthusiasm, and was utterly crushed and speechless at his response: no. What? No? Why?

The ensuing argument isn’t important, except to say that in it I certainly overstepped the bounds of Ephesians 5:22: “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.”

I never dreamed I’d have a “problem” with submission. Look at my track record with my parents, I reasoned; I submitted to them, didn’t I? Sure, there’d be aspects of marriage that I’d stumble in, but submission wasn’t gonna be one of them.

And, of course, I was wrong — not only about not struggling with submission, but I’m realizing more and more that I was pretty rotten to my parents compared to the way my behavior should have been.

I “submit” pretty easily when Seth is able to convince me to his point of view, or when I’m able to convince him. But then there’s things like the windshield when I absolutely think I’m right (the free opportunity is now and should be taken) and think his position is wrong (that it’s not worth taking the time at the moment). And then I prove myself to be this arrogant self-absorbed idiot of a wife who makes her husband wish to be “on the corner of the rooftop“. In short, I’m pretty lousy about supporting him when I disagree with him.

It’s not like I went off and took the car in despite his protests, and I didn’t really bug him about it endlessly, either. But there’s a line somewhere of what is submissive speech and what is unsubmissive sin, and I strode boldly across it. Or ran across it.

I seem to do that rather often, although I don’t think I saw it so clearly until the windshield incident. It’s so complicated to think of or speak of in this age of feminism — it’s not like I can just strike up a conversation with my coworkers, “hey, how do you submit to your husbands as to the Lord?” It’s a valid topic, and one I’ve certainly discussed with nonbelievers — but truthfully, too few believers even are prepared to discuss it (or believe it, perhaps), much less nonbelievers.

I wish I had a multitude of answers to write here; I’d even settle for enough organized thoughts to make a bulleted list. I have neither. I have the very startlingly huge command to submit to my husband “as to the Lord” — just thinking about the magnitude of that is amazing in an intimidating way — if Jesus said “I don’t want to take the car in to get the windshield fixed” I think I’d be like… okay, and it would end there. Yet Christ is perfect; Seth is not, and I think it’s clear that a “good wife” attempts to gently and submissively impart some wisdom to her husband when he lacks. And therein perhaps lies the difficulty; not only can it be difficult to determine exactly what “gently and submissively” should be, but it can be a terrible thing to tame my pride enough to remain submissive even if I do know how.

I keep coming back to Colossians 4:6, “let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt…” And trying to always put Seth before myself. And listening to his advice on the subject, which, while very difficult for me to hear at times, is nonetheless very useful.

Tags: more coherent

Sitting in church today, it occurred to me: this is a “forming” time. Meaning that right now, I’m picking up ideas and forming philosophy and altering and growing and setting patterns that are going to affect me forever.

Then I thought — it’s always a “forming” time. When I look at the road stretching behind me and the road stretching ahead, it just keeps going. I have changed so much, even in the past year, and yet I am continually frustrated by how very many things about me there are that are yet to change. I want a much improved character; I want my first reaction to be selflessness, and I want to see God’s grace in all things, and trust His providence without a thought. I want to be in control of my emotions, to be a person rarely given to vibrant discord, but possessed of gentleness in speech and a gracious and merciful spirit. I want the times I am angry to be well-chosen and in wisdom. I want a thirst for the Word that drives with a force I cannot ignore or quench. I want to be as eager to speak to God as I am eager to speak at all.

I am, in so many ways, so short of what I want to be. Today in church (yes, I’m going to a reformed church, at long last — the grace!) Pastor Jim spoke on how women must be “dignified… soberminded, faithful in all things,” and there are so many adjectives in Scripture that should describe me but don’t.

I know my only hope of improvement is God’s grace, but I know, too, that His grace is sufficient — for this, too. It’s so easy to “float,” to think that I can improve tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, to think that it’s impossible to be changed in a day. But I think that mode of thinking leads to not changing at all; I am called to be holy now. I am a child of God, born for His pleasure, now.

I’m not sure exactly where I’m going with this entry, except to say that I find myself again to be fallen, and His grace to be ever efficacious, and I hunger so much for complete sanctification. I’ve also been much convicted lately about being more focused, more passionate, and more sober about the one Reason I live and breathe and walk this earth.

Tags: more coherent

In the —– community, they did this quiz which asked whether or not the respondent believed that they would still be married to their spouse in heaven. Obviously the answer was generally “no” (Luke 20:35), but with an addendum saying something to the effect of “I think it’s really sad, but God knows best and I guess I won’t be unhappy about it when I get there.”I was thinking about it tonight.

Marriage is an illustration of Christ’s relationship with the Church and of God’s relationship to Israel. Abraham’s attempted sacrifice of Isaac was an archetype of Christ’s sacrifice, but to limit the meaning of the story to a mere foreshadowing of later truth would leave out many valuable things (such as God’s faithfulness to Abraham and His promise, for instance). Similarly, saying that the be all and end all of marriage is to prefigure God’s relationship to the elect would miss other important points. Nevertheless, I find the typological relationship to be very strong. This is not an incidental, quasi-relevant part of the institution; it’s at the very heart.

With that in mind, the question of “dissolved” marriages in heaven: when Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, the people who looked on it were saved from death. That’s a Big Thing. It’s also obviously something they wanted to hold onto; in 2 Kings 18, we see that the serpent was still in existence, treasured through the years. They’d made it into an idol; instead of valuing God for the grace His gift represented, they valued the gift itself.

Believers should have no comprehension of that; for us, the serpent is replaced by Christ. The type has been fulfilled in the truest and highest sense, and the person who would hesitate at the loss of the serpent when Christ Himself stands as Savior is, for lack of a better word, foolish. Why grasp at the shadow when the reality is standing before you?

To apply this to marriage: marriage has, as I said, other purposes than pure typology. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 7, “but because of the temptation to sexual immorality, each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband.” This doesn’t have a parallel to Christ and the Church; Christ is obviously not going to indulge in any sort of immorality. But, a critical thing to note here is that this other purpose will cease entirely and absolutely in heaven. Other aspects of marriage — fellowship, leadership, joy, etc. — are represented by Christ and the Church and thus participate in the type. They are imperfect for us, but will be fulfilled and complete in Christ.

We won’t be sad about the lack of marriage in heaven — and we shouldn’t be sad about it here — because marriage is kind of like the serpent. It is a great and wonderful thing, enjoyable and treasurable, and a very wonderful demonstration of grace and love from our Heavenly Father. It is a good gift. Yet the glory is God’s alone in all things, and so the ultimate focus of believers where marriage is concerned must be Him. It is a gift that leads us to value God, not to value the gift for itself. Marriage is a foreshadowing, of this infinitely great marriage that is enacted in Revelation 19: “Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his Bride has made herself ready; it was granted her to clothe herself with fine linen, bright and pure.” This is the marriage we anticipate in heaven. God will take His gift to us now and multiply it until it is as immeasurably distinct from the original as Christ is from the serpent. There is no loss; only grace.

It’s a concept that I think is important to understand and rejoice in now. We are observing or participating in something wonderful, but all its wonderfulness pales in comparison to the eventuality it represents. It’s an awesome thought, actually; however good it is, that which is to come is infinitely better.

I can’t wait.

Tags: more coherent special tag no 2

The sermon this morning was… good. Today was the last sermon preached by our interim pastor before our newly-hired one takes over. The interim guy has been amazingly good; truthfully, I had very low expectations — he’s a professor at Philadelphia College of Bible (now Philadelphia Biblical University, but I think that’s the silliest name in the world for a college…). I very nearly went to PCB as a freshman (for all that I talk about secular schools lacking for believers, my intention was always to go to a Bible school myself), but I didn’t. Anyway, my opinion of PCB had dropped in the years since, but this man has brought the college back up a bit in my estimation.

He made a lot of very good, solid, convicting points today. I’m very aware of 1 Corinthians 1:17-2:15, but needed the reminder of the reality of Christ as “a stumbling block,” as “the foolishness of God,” as to the world “foolishness” and “folly.” That “…God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.”

Like, hi, I didn’t get here through my own brainpower.

This isn’t new. But I was just… really reminded of the offensiveness of the Gospel this morning. I’ve really been having trouble this semester at school; the anti-Christianity I’m encountering is both stronger and subtler than it has ever been. I’m good at the whole “standing up for my faith” thing when a professor asks for a show of hands on a particular issue, or when we’re discussing how to teach a Piers Anthony book to junior highers. It’s very cut and dry, and I don’t mind being the only one to raise my hand or being the “weird one” who thinks morality isn’t altogether out of style. I’ve actually grown to like being the weird one; it provides a surprisingly effective angle to befriend nonbelievers and live and talk Christ around them.

This semester, though, I’m taking two philosophy classes, two “religion” classes, and one history class that blends right in with the other four. I’m thinking about thinking more than I ever thought I could think about thinking. (Heh.) And there’s not anything really overt, nothing to stand up for — except for the whole horrific worldview and serious misconception of Christianity that is so pervasive in my classes. I’m reading this book on Christian warfare, and we’re discussing the “Hebrew Crusades” (i.e., the conquest of the Holy Land), the “Christian crusades,” and the “Islamic crusades.” And the author of this book divides everything up into three strata — pacifists, “just war”ites, and crusaders. And in each time period, the three are represented. Currently, he says, the pacifists are represented by the Quakers, the “just war”ites are represented by Lutherans, and the crusaders are represented by Calvinists. This is in a tiny class, and the professor has known me for three years or so, in an academic setting and in a “religious” setting (I was a youth worker on one of his church’s missions trips and a quasi-regular attendee at his church’s college group and compline services). Anyway, when he explained this three-way division, he shot a look in my direction to see how I reacted. (A rather frequent happening.) And I really didn’t know how to react. I understand the animosity towards the church very well. I mean, if you’re not part of the Church, then you really can’t see how all the divisions work, and, throughout history, people have done a lot of completely absurd things in the name of Christ, and those things, without question, overwhelm completely the good and true things that have been done. Everybody can talk about John Calvin burning people at the stake, the Puritans hanging innocents by the truckload, the Pope aiding and abetting Hitler, Joan of Arc, the Crusaders… from the world’s point of view, the church has a whole lot of skeletons hanging around in its closet.

I only know what the “culture” is at my college (and even then, only in my departments), but when you walk into a classroom, the assumption is that you’re an agnostic. By the time you’re a senior, naturally, you’ve converted to full-scale atheism. Mixed with a proper amount of humanism, of course, and generally referred to as “secularism” or “materialism.” No exceptions expected. Nada.

On the rather frequent occasion that Christianity is brought up, it’s pointed out that the “god” central to the religion is “Yahweh,” that “they” view the other gods as inferior or non-existent, and then people go into great detail about how the Jews created a religion to serve their purposes and how they changed it as their situation changed. There’s no question of “Yahweh” actually existing. My textbooks just happily assume that everyone has “obviously” concluded that gods are just a manifestation of the ideal parts of humanity, or something our psyches make up to make us feel better, etc.

Point being, profs don’t even consider that there might be Christians in their classes. At all. They’ll make a few allowances for deists, but even they’re regarded as a rare breed. This makes conversation difficult because they’re past the point of expecting controversy. If you want to bring up a point, it’s a sure bet that the prof wasn’t expecting to have a discussion/disagreement about it, and somebody is very annoyed at you. Already. Not because your beliefs are offensive — you have the “right” to believe whatever you like — but because you’re wasting their valuable time mentioning something that they genuinely put on a level with Mother Goose.

In this kind of atmosphere, my reaction is to try to show them that I’m an intelligent, tolerant (albeit too persuaded and convinced about “things” for their comfort), thoughtful individual. The idea is that this distinguishes me sharply from all the “other” Christians that they’ve known, and makes them more receptive to my “religious” points of view. And, honestly, it does. My friends have repeatedly talked to me about “all the Christians” on campus — the Christian groups have terrible reputations amongst the nonbelievers (I’ve heard stories about people from InterVarsity literally locking people in bathrooms until they agree to come to the group) — and they tell me I’m different. They can and do talk to me. Something big happens; “will you pray for me?” They want to know something about God; they ask. They like me.

But I’m not here to be liked.

I do think Christians should be unoffensive, in a very real sense. As our pastor pointed out in the service tonight, 1 Timothy 3:7 has a most curious qualification for elders — the good opinion of nonbelievers. You can be the “most godly” person on the planet, but if nonbelievers don’t speak highly of you, you’re not qualified for eldership. At the same time, though, the Gospel is undeniably offensive. God’s wisdom is foolishness to everybody whom He hasn’t called! And the essence — our need for grace — strikes at the very heart of human pride. In our post-Christianized world, most people know that “pride” is supposed to be a bad thing. Yet the Greeks (the gods of humanism if ever there were any) thought pride was a virtue. I’m consistently seeing that attitude — shameless glorification of self — rising amongst my fellow students, and certainly by my professors, who largely encourage it.

The only offense we bring is the “stone of stumbling” — Christ. I’ve always found Paul’s words in the “foolishness/wisdom” chapter very challenging: For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.

There’s a very obvious sense in which I would never be willing to dilute the gospel. Truth is truth; it’s very absolute and straightforward. But I think I try to make it something it most definitely is not — unoffensive. I don’t want to “turn people off” from Christianity. I think this probably comes out of my “cheap grace” background — where the focus is on trying to convince people to “believe” — but wherever it came from, it doesn’t matter… we talk about not being “afraid” to “share our faith.” I always thought that meant that I wasn’t supposed to be afraid of what people would think of me. But there’s another sense — I’m not supposed to be afraid of how people will react to the Truth.

Not groundbreaking, I know, but I’m… convicted. I want to say with Paul that I decided to know nothing but Christ, the “chosen and precious” cornerstone — the “rock of offense” to those who do not believe.

Tags: more coherent

There’s been a lot of discussion lately (online and offline) about Arminianism/Calvinism, and I have some thoughts running through my head. Thought I’d share. Not sure how much sense I’ll make; this is certainly not purporting to be anything more than a journal entry full of thinking-out-loud.

Briefly, though, a definition. Arminianism, as I’m using it, refers to the fundamental belief that God gave a “universal” grace to all the people of earth, enabling them to choose to believe in Him, and thereby go to heaven.

I was raised Arminian. I also thought that theology books were largely immoral and theologians who had any significant amount of followers were obviously doing something wrong, because the truth isn’t popular. (Ergo, if you’re popular, you’re sinful.) I mention the anti-theology bit because I had no earthly idea that I was an Arminian, which is an important point.

I spent the first fourteen years of my life in Christ having absolutely no understanding of how I got there. Every once in a while, I’d run into people who believed, astonishingly, that God actually sent people to hell of His own accord. I knew the Bible pretty well, but the only verses that are really explicitly Calvinist – like Romans 8:29-30 – were, frankly, pretty easy to explain away: God decided in time past that He would eventually conform all who choose to believe to the image of His Son. And, yes, there were people who God hated. This, too, was explainable: the Unpardonable Sin (attributing the works of God to Satan) resulted instantaneously and irreversibly in damnation. Christ’s death didn’t atone for the Unpardonable Sin, and, at some point, every unbeliever committed it before they died. (In other words, Christ’s death was not only sufficient for the sins of all the people in the world, but it actually paid for all the sins of all the people in the world. But it couldn’t pay for the Unpardonable Sin, which was why some people still went to Hell.)

I really don’t know where this stuff came from. It was a pretty elaborate system, much more developed and defensible than most Arminian theology I run into now.

In my freshman year of high school, I very briefly entertained the idea of believing that God chose me, instead of the other way around. I still had never heard of the word “Calvinism” or anything associated with reformed theology, but it was increasingly evident to me from Scripture that my belief system had a fatal error at the heart.

I asked my church teachers (youth leaders, etc) for insight. They
said I was wrong, that such a belief denied the basic nature of our loving God, that it made evangelism useless, and strongly advised me to yield to the interpretation that was so obvious to everyone else. (Everyone being none too small a word; I didn’t know that there were any Christians out there who believed differently.)

I, headstrong idiot, did what they said. Moreover, I studied and
learned how to defend Arminianism and how to warp Scripture to fit the philosophy.

Now… I’m a very recent “convert.” Less than a year ago, I was still an Arminian, although I would have said at the time that I was somewhere in between, or that I was “leaning Calvinist.”

All this to say what? As an ex-Arminian, who believed exactly what a lot of Arminians profess, I honestly believe that Arminianism is works salvation, in the same sense as the “works salvation” that people caution against whenever we read James.

Why? Because I could evangelize – and my church was pretty evangelical – and the difference between me and the non-believers was that I had the wisdom to accept Christ. I was no better than they were in the sense that I was every ounce as much of a sinner – but I was better than they were in that I had decided to follow Jesus. A very small point, but a very important one. This isn’t ancient history for me; I remember how I felt and how I
thought. And let me tell you, at the very root of my ideas about my salvation was my pride. Look at me! There’s a God in heaven Who is gracious, and He offers a free gift to all who would come. I came! Everyone who is going to Hell is only going because of their ignorance and illogic. Ignorance and illogic that I lack. God offered salvation to all, but I reached out and took it!

I could quote Ephesians 2:8-9 until I was blue in the face. Faith’s a gift of God. Not by works. Nobody gets themselves to heaven. But I had no earthly idea what these things meant! People either have faith or they don’t have faith. The Bible doesn’t talk about a “capacity for faith,” even though that’s what Arminianism teaches. And my faith sure didn’t get here because of anything I did. Belief, you know, is a work — “believe” is a verb! And, incidentally, Satan believes. Belief doesn’t get you to heaven.

The little dead Arminian in me is pointing out that I know perfectly well that when Arminians say “believe,” they really mean “trust.” They really mean “ask.” Some of them even mean “repent.”

Okay. We still have the pride issue. No matter how minute and unimportant you make my role – “believing,” “recognizing,” “accepting,” are surely not amazing feats by the standard of “works” – I’m still in the equation. There’s still something I did that distinguishes me from the rest of the unsaved world. Yeah, I did it by the grace of God, and yeah, I did it by His power, but I still did it of my own volition, whether God wanted me to or not.

In reality, my salvation is by grace alone. God works in me. God draws me to Him. God leads me to repentance. God shows me Himself. I have nothing to do with it, and not an iota of the credit goes to my account.

God leaves us no space for self-pride.

Arminians generally seem to think that Calvinism/Arminianism are just two different theologies centered mostly around salvation.

I cannot express enough that a glimpse of God’s unconditional and irresistable grace is absolutely shattering. I’m not sure that people who were raised reformed really understand this any better than people who are still Arminian; the practical difference between Arminianism and Calvinism is utterly profound. The “hope I have” is now incomparably clearer and brighter and more joy-filling. Infinitely so!

In conclusion, Arminians honestly bother me very deeply. I know many are Arminian because they don’t know any differently – as I didn’t – but there are also people who are passionately persuaded to Arminianism, knowing well the alternative. The vast majority of my Christian friends are Arminian. Most of my church is Arminian. And it’s very hard, because I know how much better and purer and more enjoyable life is once the error of Arminianism is cast away. And it’s not just in my head; my heart knows it’s true, and I yearn for people to understand the depth of the awesomeness of this God we serve. And I honestly believe that this clear, unfettered sight of the Almighty is impossible while embroiled in this obsession with understanding our role in saving ourselves.

Tags: more coherent reformed theology

I’ve been reading through parts of Matthew today… it never fails to amaze me how new and multilayered the Word is… no matter how familiar I am with a passage, God can still use it to work in my heart. Very, very cool.

Chapter ten really stuck out. Well, a lot of stuff really stuck out, but chapter 10’s the only one I’m gonna write about. Jesus is giving specific instructions to his disciples as apostles in how to spread the good news. Reading it in comparison to how missionaries/evangelists go about things today, it was… insightful. Thought-provoking.

It’s hard to summarize, but very simplistically, verses 5-15 talk about the material approach the disciples are to have with regard to their ministry, and vv. 16-39 talk about the persecution and betrayal that they will endure.

There’s been a lot of discussion around me lately about how much money people in the ministry should make.* I go to pastors’ and missionaries’ houses and see how incredibly nice they are. It’s amazing, honestly. But then we’ve got Matthew 10, and the bottom line? Don’t accumulate. Admittedly, we’re talking about a different culture, but still. The disciples were basically to go town-to-town, find a house “worthy,” stay there, take nothing else but this basic support in exchange for their message, and then move on. They weren’t to make their calling into an occupation. I think that people might argue that missionaries today have families to look after, which is true, but so did Peter, and Jesus didn’t say, “everybody except Peter do this.” Anyhow. I’m not coming to any conclusions, here, just thinking out loud.

The second part of the chapter was somewhat less thought-provoking in a philosophical sense but pretty straightforwardly convicting nonetheless. One thing Jesus makes crystal clear is that the message (”the kingdom of heaven is at hand,” v 7) is downright offensive to everyone but the elect. Offensive! This word is folly to those that are perishing (+). Am I persecuted? Am I “hated by all” (v 22)? My family members who don’t believe like I do, do they have issues with me? Has the Word of God changed to be more palatable to the lost? (Obviously not.) But is it watered down beyond all recognition?

Thoughts?

*ok, I admit issues with the phrase “in the ministry.” All believers should be in full-time ministry, in a very real sense. But you know what I mean, and this is a whole ‘nother discussion.

Tags: more coherent

I’ve been struggling lately with an acute awareness of my own fallen state. One thing about being back at my current church is that it’s really easy to coast — I have an insanely good reputation there, and until I do something publicly that’s utterly horrendous, most people will continue to think of me as a slightly grown-up version of the little girl they’d known since kindergarten, who always knew the answers more than anybody else, consistently won the sword drills, never talked back or disobeyed anyone in authority, who grew up to be a very active member, youth leader, and children’s Bible teacher. Nobody ever worried about me.

Except me. Paul tells the Philippians to work out their own salvation with “fear and trembling,” and I know that “fear and trembling” well. Not a fear out of nothing — I’m not worried about God changing His mind (wonderful impossibility) and “unsaving” me — but a fear of failing to bring Him pleasure, an awareness that this is God to Whom I belong. And in truth, I want more than anything to please Him! When it comes down to actions, however, I fall short so often and so far. It burns and torments me, yet somehow, my brain fails to grasp the logic; knowing and even wanting does not equal doing. I want to be sick of the things this world has to offer, sick of the taint of sin within me. To be holy… sweet idea even in anticipation.

The other day, I was thinking of the words that accompany the signum crucis in Catholicism — in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti, amen — and I realized (the obvious) that sancti was the Latin word for “holy.” I knew this in a purely linguistic context (having had two years of Latin in addition to informal study), but I hadn’t thought about the religious implications. We talk about “sanctification” a lot, and I guess I’d associated the word vaguely with “purification” — but technically, “sanctification” means “the act or process of becoming set apart.” The becoming holy. The becoming pure. This isn’t some abstract theological concept to be named and casually set aside! This is the heart of where we are — now. Present-day.

I was reading The Pursuit of Man (no, it’s not a dating book :-)) today in the dentist office. I found myself arrested by one passage above all the others:

We habitually stand in our now and look back by faith to see the past filled with God. We look forward and see Him inhabiting our future; but our now is uninhabited except for ourselves. Thus, we are guilty of a kind of temporary atheism which leaves us alone in the universe while, for the time, God is not. We talk of Him much and loudly, but we secretly think of Him as being absent, and we think of ourselves as inhabiting a parenthetic interval between the God who was and the God who will be.

I know God is here. I know He hears my prayers and my praises, and I believe the world unfolds according to His will. But, in the discussion of sanctification, the Word is exceedingly clear that my sanctification is His doing (Romans 6:22, 1 Thessalonians 4:3+7, 1 Peter 1:2, 2 Thessalonians 2:13, 1 Corinthians 1:30). And clearly the process of being made holy is extremely present-tense. Not too long ago, I thought that God saved me, gave me the Holy Spirit (which then warred with my “self” to prevent the accomplishment of sin), then abandoned me to the struggle until heaven, where my “self” would be removed and the Spirit could accomplish His perfect work without restriction. There’s two huge errors in that doctrine — one, that I could accomplish good things on my own, the Spirit was only needed to prevent sin and give guidance; and two, God didn’t abandon the situation. When Christ left Earth, He promised the Spirit — but how often do we take the Spirit and try to shove Him into a conscience-shaped box that plainly will not hold the whole power and depth and mercy of God Almighty?

The Greek word for “sanctification” and “holiness” used in the verses mentioned above is hagiasmos. The Greek word for “Holy” in “Holy Spirit” is hagios. In other words, the word used for sanctification — this thing that happens to us — is (eventually) etymologically from an adjective used to describe God. We are being made holy in the same sense that He is holy. And it isn’t a process that He’s passively working on. It’s not something we have to figure out on our own. God didn’t give us the tools along with “saving faith” and then set us loose. He’s here, now, presently, completing the good work which He began.

That’s an encouraging thought. There are so many things in my life that I badly want removed — I yearn for perfection — but God is infinitely knowledgeable, and despite an intimate acquaintance with all my flaws (for His comprehension of them far surpasses even my own), He isn’t giving up. He’s still patiently conforming me to His standard of perfection. And He will continue to do so, according to His purpose.

In closing, Spurgeon’s devotional for today seemed remarkably appopriate, although I hadn’t read it until I started writing this:
“For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh.”
- Gal_5:17
In every believer’s heart there is a constant struggle between the old nature and the new. The old nature is very active, and loses no opportunity of plying all the weapons of its deadly armoury against newborn grace; while on the other hand, the new nature is ever on the watch to resist and destroy its enemy. Grace within us will employ prayer, and faith, and hope, and love, to cast out the evil; it takes unto it the “whole armour of God,” and wrestles earnestly. These two opposing natures will never cease to struggle so long as we are in this world. The battle of “Christian” with “Apollyon” lasted three hours, but the battle of Christian with himself lasted all the way from the Wicket Gate in the river Jordan. The enemy is so securely entrenched within us that he can never be driven out while we are in this body: but although we are closely beset, and often in sore conflict, we have an Almighty helper, even Jesus, the Captain of our salvation, who is ever with us, and who assures us that we shall eventually come off more than conquerors through him. With such assistance the new-born nature is more than a match for its foes. Are you fighting with the adversary to-day? Are Satan, the world, and the flesh, all against you? Be not discouraged nor dismayed. Fight on! For God himself is with you; Jehovah Nissi is your banner, and Jehovah Rophi is the healer of your wounds. Fear not, you shall overcome, for who can defeat Omnipotence? Fight on, “looking unto Jesus”; and though long and stern be the conflict, sweet will be the victory, and glorious the promised reward.

Tags: more coherent special tag no 2

I have a huge box of Sprees setting on my desk. Sprees are like Sweettarts in their childishness, and I bought them only “to satisfy the occasional intervals of my real-or-imagined hypoglycemia.” Fact is, though, I like Sprees. Which is why I’m sitting here right now nibbling on a pile of little purple, orange, yellow, and green discs.

When I opened the box tonight to dump some out, at least half the pile was red. I dutifully pushed the red ones back through the tiny hole, closed the box, and put it back on the shelf, leaving me with the aforementioned multicolored arrangement. And then my head went off on this total tangent about heaven.

Red Sprees are my favorite. They taste significantly better than all the other colors. And, at some point, I’ll have a nice little pile of solidly red Sprees to eat without guilt. I can’t stand the thought of eating all the reds first. It’s cheating, you know? And I’m always like that — the last food I touch on my plate is the one I like the most. (Yes, I’m one of those annoying people who keep their food in carefully separated little piles and eat one food completely before beginning on another.) When I eat Chex Mix, I pick through and eat all the peanuts first. I eat around the chocolate chips in mint chocolate chip ice cream. I take the cherry off the top of the sundae and eat it last. I push the cranberries in my cereal off the spoon until all the flakes and milk are gone. I save the best for last. To an irritating and sincerely odd extent. Why? Because I love anticipating something great far more than I enjoy having something good.

I’m in the middle of The Pilgrim’s Regress, by C.S. Lewis. Lewis is a strangely significant thread in my life; I read the Narnia books at age six and everafter dove into his books with a ferocity unmatched to any other author. The story of the pilgrim, too, has been in my mind since childhood; I discovered Bunyan’s tale even earlier than Lewis’s. At any rate, thus far, Regress is delicious and thoughtful. I was flipping through the book earlier today to ascertain whether or not it was worth my time, and I stumbled onto this passage:

There was a long silence in the cave except for the sound of the rain. Then John began once more:
          ‘And yet…’ he said, ‘and yet, Father, I am terribly afraid. I am afraid that the things the Landlord really intends for me may be utterly unlike the things he has taught me to desire.’
          ‘They will be very unlike the things you imagine. But you already know that the objects which your desire imagines are always inadequate to that desire. Until you have it you will not know what you wanted.’

I’m also staring at a quote on my wall by A.W. Tozer:

When the habit of inwardly gazing Godward becomes fixed within us, we shall be ushered onto a new level of spiritual life… the Triune God will be our dwelling place even while our feet walk the low road of simple duty here among men.

Also (ESV):

2 Corinthians 5:1-9
For we know that if the tent, which is our earthly home, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened–not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee. So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please him.

Hebrews 11:16
But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.

John Piper (y’all tired of hearing ’bout him yet? He’s got a conference thing in Annapolis in… June, and I might just go) writes about “future grace.” Michael Card sings about the “joy in the journey,” Steven Curtis Chapman sings “keep on looking ahead / but let your heart not forget / we are not home yet,” and Geoff Moore asks that we be found “working with hearts that are waiting.”

I know this is kind of an old topic for me, but it’s something I understand more and more (and less and less :-)) as time goes on. I eat the red Sprees last because I want to, because knowing what great things are coming is almost as sweet as actually experiencing the great things. And, as a believer, I know that great things are coming (as Lewis points, out, they’re far beyond my imagination, awesomely) — and there is that sense of why not now? that Paul hints at in Philippians — but mostly, it’s just like, wow. God is giving me this experience of waiting, and teaching me to find the joy and sheer pleasure to be found in future grace.

I don’t know much about what heaven will be like. I’ve honestly never made a study of the subject, and I’ve never been in an environment that considered eschatology extremely important. But I do know that the “big thing” about it is that God will be there, and we’ll drink in His presence to an extent we can’t even presently understand. Words don’t go far enough to describe how excellent that thought is.

But what joy it is to wait, knowing well the object and end.

Tags: more coherent special tag no 1