Kevin DeYoung's Blog, page 12

Salvation by Propitiation

There are many biblical ways to describe Christian salvation.

Salvation can be understood ritually as a sacrifice, as the expiation of guilt through the death of Christ on the cross.

Salvation can be understood commercially as redemption, as a payment made through the blood of Christ for the debt we owe because of sin.

Salvation can be understood relationally as reconciliation, as the coming together of estranged parties by means of Christ’s at-one-ment.

Salvation can be understood legally as justification, as the declaration that sins have been forgiven and that the sinner stands blameless before God because of the imputation of Christ’s righteousness.

There is, of course, more that can be said about salvation. But each description above captures something important about the nature of Christ’s saving work.

And each description holds together because the death of Christ is—not over and above these images, but inherent and essential to these images—a propitiation.

Propitiation is used in the New Testament to describe the pacifying, placating, or appeasing of God’s wrath. The easiest way to remember the term is that in propitiation God is made pro-us. Unlike expiation, propitiation has a relational component to it. Christ’s death not only removed the moral stain of sin; it also removed the personal offense of sin.

The English word propitiation comes from the hilasmos word group in Greek and almost always refers in the ancient world (when applied to God) to appeasing or averting divine anger. The root word is used several times in the New Testament—as hilasmos (1 John 2:2; 4:10), as hilaskomai (Heb. 2:17; Luke 18:13), and as hilasterion (Rom. 3:25; Heb. 9:5). The term is clearly a biblical word and a biblical concept.

Over the years, many have objected to propitiation, arguing that notions of God’s anger are not befitting a God of love. Critics think propitiation makes God rather like some petty, blood-thirsty pagan deity who must be bought off with a bribe. But God’s wrath is not arbitrary and capricious; it is part of his immutable justice and holiness. In the Old Testament there are more than 20 different words used to express Yahweh’s wrath, totaling more than 580 occurrences. And with John the Baptist’s warning about the wrath to come (Matt. 3:7), Jesus’s declaration that wrath remains on the unbelieving sinner (John 3:36), and John’s imagery of the wrath of the Lamb (Rev. 6:16), we cannot make the New Testament a “good cop” to the Old Testament’s supposed “bad cop.”

The wrath of the biblical God is distinct from the peeved god of the pagans in at least three ways.

(1) The God of the Bible is eternal and immutable, never losing his temper, flying off the handle, or judging his creatures capriciously.

(2) The God of the Bible is not appeased by a bribe, but by his own blood (Acts 20:28).

(3) The God of the Bible, though justly angry with sin and with sinners, nevertheless sent his Son to be our propitiatory sacrifice out of love. The death of Christ did not make God love us. The electing love of God planned for the once-for-all sacrifice of Jesus. “In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins” (1 John 4:10). The God who has always been for us in eternity sent his Son in time to be the wrath-absorbing sacrifice that we might enjoy peace with God for ages unending.

Leon Morris beautiful describes propitiation in his classic work The Apostolic Preaching of the Cross:

Propitiation is understood as springing from the love of God. Among the heathen, propitiation was thought of as an activity whereby the worshiper was able himself to provide that which would induce a change of mind in the deity.

In plain language he bribed his god to be favourable to him. When the term was taken over into the Bible these unworthy and crude ideas were abandoned, and only the central truth expressed by the term was retained, namely that propitiation signifies the averting of wrath by the offering of a gift. But in both Testaments the thought is plain that the gift which secures the propitiation is from God Himself. He provides the way whereby men may come to Him.

Thus the use of the concept of propitiation witnesses to two great realities, the one, the reality and seriousness of the divine reaction against sin, and the other, the reality and the greatness of the divine love which provided the gift which should avert the wrath from me.

Because of this propitious gift, our sins can be removed, our debt can be paid, our relationship restored, and our legal status irrevocable altered. Jesus Christ is our righteous advocate (1 John 2:1), the one who turns away the wrath of God that was justly against us. And he does so—wonderfully and freely—not by pleading our innocence, but by presenting his bloody work on our behalf, so that in him we who were deserving of nought but judgment, might become the very righteousness of God (2 Cor. 5:21).

When Churches Can’t Do Everything

I’ve never met a pastor who enjoys telling people no. I suppose such ministerial creatures exist, but all the pastors I know (myself included) find it much easier to say “Yes, that’s a great idea!” or “Yes, we can do that!” as opposed to “Sorry, that’s not going to work.”

I’m not talking about general requests for counseling or prayer or a dinner invitation. Those can be difficult requests to navigate as well, but in this post I’m thinking specifically about ministry asks. I’m thinking about well-meaning church members who are passionate about clean water, or foster-care ministry, or a new church-planting network in Turkey, or a thousand other good things.

It would be one thing if church members asked their pastors to get behind bad ideas. “Hey pastor, I really think the church should be involved with this awesome evangelistic pantomime ministry.” Um, no. That’s an easy call. What’s hard is when the requests are from good people for good things.

The simple—yet disappointing fact—is that no local church can do everything there is to be done. Or to put it more pointedly: Your thing may not be your church’s thing. This is usually tough for pastors to communicate and even tougher for church members to hear. And yet, the church and pastor that try to be all things to all people normally end up doing much less than they could be doing for God.

Saying No

Why can’t pastors and staff leaders say yes to every ministry request? Here are a few legitimate reasons.

Not right now. In a world of finite people and resources, sometimes the answer is, “That’s a great idea, but we can’t start another fundraiser at the moment. We’ll have to wait until this capital campaign is over.” Or, “Let’s wait until we finish the search committee.” Or, “We are in a hard season right now and our pastors are attending to a number of crises; we can’t make this a priority right now.”

Not the mission of the church. If the priority of the church is the Great Commission, then there are all sorts of good things the local church will not pursue, everything from reducing unemployment to planting trees in a local park to spearheading specific political efforts.

Not our strategy. In many instances, people in the church want the same things, but they are passionate about different strategies. Everyone may agree that fellowship is biblically essential, but for one member that means an investment in family camp, and for another it means Saturday brunch outings, and for another it means lots of adult mission trips. All of these things can be good, but that doesn’t mean a church has to do all of them. We need to distinguish between the biblical goals and the various means we want to employ to meet these goals. Saying no to the means is not saying no to the end.

Not enough time. Well-meaning parishioners may not realize that their staff and pastors are already feeling maxed out. So an invitation to attend one more event, or champion one more cause, or add one more prayer meeting can feel like a lot when it is added to an already overwhelmed schedule. “Surely you can make time for one lunch in the next month.” Or, “All I’m asking is for a few hours one Saturday in the next few months.” These may sound like small asks, but even if one lunch could be added or one Saturday morning could be given up, these “little” additions add up quickly, especially if they are coming from multiple people in the congregation.

Not interested. This may be the hardest no to give, but sometimes it’s the most honest. “Pastor, I’m really hoping you can get behind my walk-a-dog ministry. It’s a great way to serve our neighbors and open doors for the gospel.” The most candid response is likely, “God bless, you. I sincerely hope that goes really well, but it’s not something I’m interested in.”

Thinking It Through

Does all of this mean that ordinary church members are at the mercy of their pastors and leaders to call the shots for every ministry that takes place in and through the church? Is there nothing for church members to do but hope and pray that the pastor will take an interest in their particular passion? Is this post basically a long way of saying “deal with it”?

I hope not.

But here are a few things church members can keep in mind to temper their disappointment and to channel their energies in the most helpful ways.

Lots of amazing ministry takes place that is never an official ministry of the church, or on the church budget, or announced in the church service. This is absolutely key. A “no” to someone’s ministry ask is not necessarily a no to that ministry happening. If you want to get together and watch Manifest and discuss spiritual themes and use it as an outreach for your neighbors, go for it (I think; I haven’t really seen the show). We mustn’t think that “real ministry” is ministry that shows up on the church website and makes its way on to the elders’ agenda.
Be clear about your “ask.” Before approaching your pastor or staff member with a ministry idea, think: Am I asking for permission? My pastor’s blessing? Financial support? Oversight? An investment of time and people? A new ministry or department? I had a member in my last church who needed the pastor’s formal support each year before he went on a trip to Africa to dig wells. I was more than happy to provide permission and blessing for this good work. We even prayed for him from the pulpit while he was gone. But if he wanted the pastoral staff to start a new well-digging ministry, that would have been a different matter entirely.
Don’t expect informal requests to get formal consideration. “Hey pastor, I’d really like to see us get a bookstore in the lobby. It would be such a great way to resource our people and get good books into the hands of visitors.” That’s a wonderful idea, but don’t expect it to get much traction as a quick email or as a friendly exhortation in the greeting line. That’s putting the onus on the pastor to take your idea, develop it, steer it through the approval process, implement it, and maintain it. If you really want a bookstore in the lobby, write up a proposal, explain who will run it, how it will be funded, how it will be maintained, and then ask the pastor whom you should talk to in order to see if this might be an idea the leadership wants to pursue.
Manners matter. I can tell you after more than 15 years in pastoral ministry that squeaky wheels don’t get the grease. Patient, humble, kind wheels get the grease. When people come with demands and act as if their passion is the only thing that matters, it scares most people off. When you come with gentleness and an understanding that there is a lot going on already, most people are open to hearing what you have to say.
Remember that you have to say hard no’s in your life and career too. Parents can’t do everything their kids ask of them. Employers can’t follow up on every request their employees make. Business owners can’t respond to every good suggestion their customers offer. It’s not personal. If you feel strongly about a program or initiative that is missing in your church, offer your suggestion humbly and in a way that shows you have already done a lot of work to develop your plan, and then communicate your willingness to do the hard work to get the plan off the ground and keep it going.

Pressing and Pressured

This is not about a specific pressing issue in the church today as much as it is about the pressure pastors and churches feel from day to day. There is a dynamic present in too many churches where pastors get grumpy and church members get their feelings hurt unnecessarily.

I hope that with a little common sense, some realistic expectations, and some grace-filled forbearance, we can develop the habits and dispositions that will make us less frustrated ourselves and less frustrating to others. The church may not be able to do your thing, but that doesn’t mean your thing can’t be a blessing to the church.

Book Briefs

Some long plane flights over the past couple months, which means a longer list of books. I’ll stick with the popular-level books for today and save the academic books for later.

Andy Crouch, The Tech-Wise Family: Everyday Steps for Putting Technology in Its Proper Place (Baker Books, 2017). I appreciated Crouch’s balance in embracing the good that technology offers, while also exhorting us to put technology “in its proper place.” His Ten Tech-Wise Commitments are memorable and helpful. “We want to create more than we consume” is the one that stood out most to me and my wife. Crouch is refreshingly honest about where he is a good example to follow and where he doesn’t quite live up to his ideals. At the same time, I found some of his inspiring advice—which seems to have worked with his two children—to be unworkable with, say, eight children.

Christopher Yuan, Holy Sexuality and the Gospel: Sex, Desire, and Relationships Shaped by God’s Grand Story (Multnomah, 2018). When it comes to sexuality, singleness, and marriage, we need all the good books we can get. Holy Sexuality and the Gospel is part biblical exposition, part theological exploration, and part pastoral exhortation. Christopher has given us a clear-eyed and warm-hearted work that will inspire and encourage the weary as well as instruct and (gently) correct those who have been more shaped by the culture than by the way of Christ.

Jamie Dunlop, Budgeting for a Healthy Church: Aligning Finances with Biblical Priorities for Ministry (Zondervan, 2019). Almost every church has a budget. And yet too many churches give little thought to the spiritual dimensions of planning, developing, and communicating a budget. That’s what Jamie means to remedy in this immensely helpful book. While my Presbyterian sensibilities may quibble here or there, I’m grateful for a terrific resource that is so biblical, practical, and wise.

Kevin G. Harney. No Is a Beautiful Word: Hope and Help for the Overcommitted and (Occasionally) Exhausted (Zondervan, 2019). I’ve known Kevin for more than 20 years, back when I was a student pursuing ministry in the RCA and he was pastoring a large RCA congregation in the Grand Rapids area. He’s been a friend to me over the years. Now I’m in the PCA, and Kevin pastors a megachurch in California. Kevin has always been a disciplined writer and a man not afraid to state his opinions. Both traits come together nicely in this well-titled and helpfully designed book. With 54 short chapters about saying “No,” you don’t have to wonder what the book’s big idea is all about. Nothing revolutionary, but lots of good illustrations, practical advice, and spine-stiffening courage for saying “No” to most things, so we can say “Yes” to the best things.

Cal Newport, Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World (Portfolio/Penguin, 2019). After reading Newport’s earlier book on Deep Work, I was eager to get this follow-up volume reducing digital distraction. Newport wisely observes that we are succumbing to screens not because we are lazy (though that may play a part), but because billions of dollars have been invested to push us into digital addiction. The call for digital minimalism, therefore, is not about efficiency or usefulness, but about autonomy. Like Newport’s book on work, I find this one easier to agree with than to put into practice.

Eric Dezenhall, Glass Jaw: A Manifesto for Defending Fragile Reputations in an Age of Instant Scandal (Twelve, 2014). Glass Jaw is the story of how David has become Goliath, and Goliath has become David. Dezenhall shows how powerful individuals and organizations are more susceptible than ever to reputational attacks, and how much of their approach to crisis management is misguided. In an age where humiliation has become monetized, I dare say that everyone leading a significant institution or organization should read this book. Although the examples are dated (e.g., circa-2014 stories about Paula Deen and General McChrystal), the advice and observations have never been more relevant. Like: It’s easier to start a fire than to put one out; sometimes where there’s smoke, there’s a smoke machine; social media is an offensive weapon and of little use in defending one’s reputation; picking a digital scab may infect the wound; and the object of crisis management is not to get people to like you, but to get people to move on. In the end, Dezenhall paints a pessimistic picture, arguing that if your reputation is attacked (fairly or unfairly) often the best smart people can do is make things a little less awful.

Michael R. McGowan and Ralph Pezzullo, Ghost: My Thirty Years as an FBI Undercover Agent (St. Martin’s Press, 2018). Big takeaway: Don’t become an undercover agent unless you are really good at lying and don’t mind hanging out with some terrible people. Important work, but I’m glad it’s not mine. Still, a fascinating look at one agent’s harrowing experiences. Warning: explicit language throughout.

The Rise and Progress of the Soul in the Valley of Vision

I first purchased The Valley of Vision from my church’s book table while I was in seminary. I’ll never forget laying in my bed and praying these beautiful prayers as my own. It was a deeply spiritual experience, in the best sense of that phrase. Since that night in my dorm room at seminary, I’ve continued to use The Valley of Vision as a regular part of my devotional life.

Recently, Justin Taylor posted an extremely helpful FAQ about Arthur Bennett, the little-known Anglican minister who compiled the “Collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions.” As Taylor points out, the prayers in The Valley of Vision were not simply copied from 16th- and 17th-century Puritan divines. Rather, Bennett took prayers from 14 different writers, spanning three centuries, across a fairly broad spectrum of evangelical literature.

One of the writers Bennett drew from was Philip Doddridge (1702-1751). Doddridge’s most famous work, The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul (1745), led to William Wilberforce’s conversion, and his Dissenting academy at Northampton was an influential training ground for non-Anglican pupils. In his lifetime, Doddridge’s friends and correspondents included Isaac Watts, John Wesley, George Whitefield, Lady Huntingdon, and Count Zinzendorf.

Although Bennett claimed that all his sources “adopted the same attitude toward the Christian religion,” there was more theological variation among his “Puritans” than Bennett may have realized. Doddridge, for example, though a committed and earnest evangelical in terms of piety, was Baxterian in his theology and quite Lockean in his philosophy, Moreover, he eschewed confessional subscription, believed that Christ’s divine nature was created and derived, and did not take a hard line on the necessity of unevangelized persons putting conscious faith in Christ in order to be saved. In short, he was a moderate Calvinist (with a few strange views besides) who emphasized heart religion more than strict theological boundaries.

For several years, I’ve wondered if Doddridge might be responsible for a good number of the prayers in The Valley of Vision (in the Preface, Bennett “sent out” his work with a prayer from Doddridge). The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul consists of 30 chapters. Each chapter concludes with a first-person meditation or a prayer running several pages long. My educated guess is that Bennett used these for at least 30 of his entries. Without too much trouble, I was able to find Bennett’s dependence upon Doddridge.

Here’s just one example:

The Valley of Vision, “The Awakened Sinner” (p. 64-65)
Rise and Progress, “The Meditation of a Sinner, Who Was Once Thoughtless, but Begins to be Awakened” (31-33)


O my forgetful soul,
Awake, oh my forgetful soul,


Awake from thy wandering dream; turn from chasing vanities, look inward, forward, upward, view thyself, reflect upon thyself, who and what thou art, why here, what thou must soon be.
Awake from these wandering dreams; turn thee from this chase of vanity, and for a little while be persuaded, by all these considerations, to look forward, and to look upwards, at least for a few moments. Sufficient are the hours and days. . . to reflect who, and what thou art; how it comes to pass that thou art here, and what thou must quickly be…


Thou art a creature of God, formed and furnished by him, lodged in a body like a shepherd in his tent; dost thou not desire to know God’s ways?
Oh my soul, thou art the creature of God, formed and furnished by him, and lodged in a body in which he intended thee only a transitory abode…


O God, thou injured, neglected, provoked Benefactor when I think upon thy greatness and thy goodness, I am ashamed at my insensibility, I blush to lift up my face, for I have foolishly erred.
Oh, thou injured, neglected, provoked Benefactor when I think but for a moment or two, of all thy goodness, I am astonished at this insensibility which hath prevailed in my heart, and even still prevails. I blush and am confounded to lift up my face before thee…


Shall I go on neglecting thee, when every one of thy rational creatures should love thee, and take every care to please thee?
I see that I have played the fool, that I have erred exceedingly, and yet this stupid heart of mine would make its having neglected thee so long, a reason for going on to neglect thee…


I confess that thou hast not been in all my thoughts, that the knowledge of thyself as the end of my being has been strangely overlooked, that I have never seriously considered my heart-need.
[T]hou hast not been in all my thoughts; and religion, the end and glory of my nature, has been so strangely overlooked, that I have hardly ever seriously asked my own heart what it is.


But although my mind is perplexed and divided, my nature perverse, yet my secret dispositions still desire thee.
I know if matters rest here, I perish; and yet I feel in my perverse nature a secret indisposition to pursue these thoughts. . . my mind is perplexed and divided…


Let me not delay to come to thee; break the fatal enchantment that binds my evil affections, and bring me to a happy mind that rests in thee, for thou has made me and canst not forget me.
Let me not delay till it is forever too late. . . Oh break this fatal enchantment that holds down my affections to objects which my judgment comparatively despises! And let me at length, come into so happy a sate of mind. . . [that] I may not be tempted to wish that thou hadst not made me; or that thou couldst forget me…


Let thy Spirit teach me the vital lessons of Christ, for I am slow to learn; and hear thou my broken cries.
[L]et thy grace teach me the lesson I am slow to learn. . . . Hear these broken cries for the sake of thy Son.

 

Bennett is clearly taking the ideas, and often the words, from Doddridge, but it is certainly not a cut-and-paste job. Bennett has taken a long prayer and condensed it into half a dozen complex sentences (and put these into poetic verse in The Valley of Vision). I imagine this was Bennett’s process with Doddridge and with excerpts from the other “Puritans.” It’s a simple task in one sense, and yet a remarkable achievement all the same.

We Are Supposed to Feel Bad About Stuff

Our world is seriously confused about shame.

Strike that, the church is seriously confused about shame. We’ve made Jesus into a Rogerian therapist, the Bible into a book of self-actualizing pablum, and the gospel into a perpetual reminder that, hey, you’re awesome! The only shame left is saying or doing anything that leaves one feeling ashamed.

Shame is not a small matter in the Bible. The English word “shame” occurs 174 times in 161 verses in the ESV (and “ashamed” another 63 times in 58 verses). Clearly, the Bible has a lot to say on the topic.

Shame can be a hard subject to talk about because a massive problem for many people is misplaced shamed. Whether in every day “failures” like a messy house and unwanted pounds, or in more catastrophic situations like the experience of sexual abuse or racial bigotry, almost all of us have elements of our person or our past that wrongly make us feel embarrassed, dirty, and ashamed. The Bible is well aware of this tendency. When Zophar inquired of Job, “Shall no one shame you?” he was castigating Job for sins Job hadn’t actually committed. Zophar thought Job should be ashamed, but Job knew he had nothing be ashamed of.

In the New Testament we see the apostles often addressing the misplaced shame Christians were liable to feel because of their faith in a crucified Savior. This is why Paul says “I am not ashamed of the gospel” (Rom. 1:16) and why he insists that no one who believes in Jesus will be put to shame (Rom. 10:11). Peter emphasizes the same thing (1 Pet. 2:6), reminding the believers that there is no shame in suffering as a Christian (1Pet. 4:16), and that ultimately it is the enemies of Christ who will be put to shame for having opposed God’s people (1 Pet. 3:16). Most importantly, we follow Jesus, who was treated with utter shame (Mark 12:4; Luke 18:32; 20:11), and yet, in despising the shame, gave us the subjective example and the objective means by which we can cast aside the shame that does not rightly belong to us.

Because misplaced shame is such a pervasive human problem, and because the Bible is genuinely concerned to see us address our (often) undeserved sense of humiliation, too many Christians think the way to make hurting people feel better is to simply eliminate the category of shame altogether. Surely, it’s no coincidence that two recent, popular (and misguided) books—incidentally, by women and for women—are entitled Shameless: A Sexual Revolution and Girl, Stop Apologizing: A Shame-Free Plan for Embracing and Achieving Your Goals. Church got you down? Voices in your head making you unhappy? Just follow your dreams, be true to yourself, take a chance, and do what makes you happy. Shame is just another word for the impossible expectations that the church, the flesh, and the Devil put upon you.

But just because you found a hammer does not mean the whole world is actually a nail. To be sure, the Bible knows of misplaced shame, and it is a deep and perpetual problem. But the Bible also knows of well-placed shame. There is no honest way to read the Bible and escape the conclusion that there are a lot of attitudes, practices, and behaviors we are supposed to feel bad about. When our sense of embarrassment and humiliation is tied to disobedience and objective guilt, we should feel ashamed. “Wake up from your drunken stupor,” a hopelessly insensitive apostle Paul once wrote, “and do not go on sinning. For some have no knowledge of God. I say this to your shame” (1 Cor. 15:34). And that’s nothing compared to what the Lord spoke through Jeremiah about exposing Judah’s idolatrous and adulterous treachery by lifting her skirts over her face so “your shame will be seen” (Jer. 13:23).

The humblest, most heartfelt, and most contrite prayers in the Bible are honest about shame.

O my God, I am ashamed and blush to lift my face to you, my God, for our iniquities have risen higher than our heads, and our guilt has mounted up to the heavens. From the days of our fathers to this day we have been in great guilt. And for our iniquities we, our kings, and our priests have been given into the hand of the kings of the lands, to the sword, to captivity, to plundering, and to utter shame, as it is today. (Ezra 9:6-7)

Or there’s this prayer from Daniel:

To you, O Lord, belongs righteousness, but to us open shame, as at this day, to the men of Judah, to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and to all Israel, those who are near and those who are far away, in all the lands to which you have driven them because of the treachery that they have committed against you. To us, O LORD, belongs open shame, to our kings, to your princes, and to our fathers, because we have sinned against you. (Dan. 9:7-8)

These are not the prayers of people looking to stop apologizing or looking to start a shame-free sexual revolution. Rather, this is the piety of those who know there is an objective moral law given by God himself, and that when that law is violated there is objective guilt that brings upon us open and deserved shame. When we sin we should feel bad, we should be embarrassed, we should hang our heads in shame.

But we should not stop there. The Bible does have a remedy for shame, but it’s an objective remedy for objective guilt, not positive and inspirational self-talk for ostensibly self-imposed feelings. The good news of the gospel is not, “Relax, you rock!” The good news says to believing sinners, “You deserve to be humiliated and condemned for your sin, but God sent his Son to be humiliated and condemned in your place.” It’s one of the undervalued elements of our atonement theology that Christ suffered and died for sin and our shame (Mark 15:16-32). God can give us a double portion of honor instead of the shame we deserve (Isa. 61:7). He promises to change our shame into praise and renown in all the earth (Zeph. 3:19). This is the true good news, so much better than the world’s shame-free half-gospel—more freeing, more honest, and more exultant.

So go ahead, take a chance and let yourself feel bad for the bad stuff you’ve done. Own it. Admit it. Turn from it. Then run to Christ. He’ll always be there. With the scars to prove that our shame is real, but it doesn’t have to have the last word.

A Meditation on Strength and Weakness

The two churches in Revelation that have no positive qualities mentioned are the two churches that look the most outwardly impressive—Sardis and Laodicea. And the two churches with no negative qualities are the two that appear the most harassed and helpless—Smyrna and Philadelphia. The strongest churches have the most weaknesses, and the weakest churches have the most strengths.

Or at least, in a way.

As Christians we know that weakness is good. But then, the Bible isn’t always down on strength either. So which is it? Should we try to grow, to mature, and to fan into flame the gifts we’ve been given? Or should we boast in all our limitations and failures?

If we’re honest, we all want to be strong—not all of us in the same areas, but all of us in some areas. We wish we were thinner and more attractive or beefed up and more muscular. We’d like to be smarter, more athletic, more musical, more successful at work, have better kids, get better grades, make more money, have a bigger house and newer car, or simply a better church parking lot. We’d like to have more influence, more sway, and more followers. In some or all of these areas, each of us desires to be strong, or at least stronger than we are.

But, as we know, the Bible speaks more highly of weakness than strength.

Matthew 5:3 Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

2 Corinthians 11:30 If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness.

2 Corinthians 12:9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

So it seems that we are to prefer weakness to strength. And this is surely true, but also potentially misleading. While God’s power is made perfect in our weakness, it is not always true that being ugly is better than being beautiful, that poor is better than rich, that unintelligent is better than smart, that shabby is better than solid, that feeble is better than powerful, that being oppressed is better than being in authority, that having few gifts is better than having great gifts.

Because the Bible prefers weakness over strength, we are tempted to think that the first half of these pairs is inherently more spiritual than the second half. But this would be to ignore the heroes and heroines of the Bible. Abraham was rich. David was a king. Moses was mighty in power. Solomon was wise. Esther was beautiful. Samson was strong. Paul was supremely intelligent. And even Jesus himself demonstrated great power and authority. So I don’t think you can make the case from the Bible that if we were all just dumber, uglier, and less successful then the church would reach its full glory.

So the question I ask myself is, “Why does the Bible prefer weakness to strength, and in what way?”

For starters, the weakness applauded in the Bible is primarily a spiritual weakness. By spiritual weakness I don’t mean that we are spiritually weak. I mean that we are humble in mind, broken in heart, and poor in spirit. This is the intrinsically good kind of weakness—to be empty of self, lowly, meek, and despising of our own sinfulness.

Moreover, weakness is better than strength because the temptation to forsake the Lord is greater when we are strong, and the opportunity to rely on God is more obvious when we are weak. For example, I don’t think that being rich is evil. It is possible to be rich and generous. The Bible doesn’t teach that being rich is the same as being wicked. But the Bible does teach, and Jesus more than anyone else, that riches are a great danger. I dare say that more people have been gone hell by getting rich than by getting poor, not because riches are bad, but because being in a position of strength is spiritually dangerous.

The danger of money is the danger of strength. The temptation for someone who is strong—be it financially, academically, musically, athletically, or artistically—is to rely on self and not on God. So as much as we want strength, we are usually opened up for more spiritual good when we are weak.

Strength is not the problem. Looking for strength in the wrong places is the problem.

Jesus and the whole New Testament are constantly appealing to our desire for victory and vindication, for rule and authority, for success and endurance. We are not Buddhists; having desires is not intrinsically flawed. The problem is that we look for these things—victory, authority, success—in the wrong places.  We want strength and we think money, position, and size, when God wants us to think faith, hope, and love.

Strength is good, but for the Christian, strength is found in weakness, in despairing of ourselves instead of applauding ourselves. Suffering, therefore, is one of God’s chief ways of leading us to spiritual success. Likewise, God uses failure to bring us to hope, and death to give us life. A perfect example of all of this is Hebrews 11:32-34:

And what more shall I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets who through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the power of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, were made strong out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight.

These men are not heroes because they were mealy mouthed, passive, and incompetent. They conquered kingdoms and shut the mouths of lions and routed foreign armies. But it was God’s work. He turned their weakness into strength. That’s what we want, both weakness and strength, at the same time, in the right order.

Briefly Noted: ‘Friendship in the Hebrew Bible’

Just as I post from time to time in my ongoing Theological Primer series, I’d like to start a new continuing series called Briefly Noted (with a nod to The New Yorker). Instead of focusing on systematic theology, this series will deal with books, particularly new books (or relatively new). While there is great value in a substantive book review, there is also much to be gained from a brief survey of a book’s main idea in a matter of paragraphs instead of pages. By limiting myself to 500 words, I’ll be able do more than simply mention the book in a couple sentences (ala Book Briefs), while readers can still glean several important takeaways in just a few minutes.

Friendship in the Hebrew Bible (Yale University Press, 2017) is an examination of friendship in the Old Testament and in the wisdom text of Ben Sira (i.e. Ecclesiasticus). With the advent of conferences like Revoice and movements like Spiritual Friendship there is renewed interest among evangelicals in the biblical idea of friendship. While this scholarly work does not seem to have any of these wider conversations in view, it is still a useful tool for beginning a careful examination of friendship in the Bible.

It should be noted at the outset that this is not an evangelical book. The author, Saul Olyan, is a professor of Judaic studies and professor of religious studies at Brown University. He is also a gay man (he thanks his husband in the acknowledgements). Those who view the Bible as inspired and inerrant, as I do, will have to look past assumptions about documentary layering and issues of historicity that are typical among liberal scholars.

But once you know this is the sort of book you are reading, you can appreciate the scholarly work Olyan has done to synthesize Old Testament themes on friendship.

Throughout the book, Olyan argues against maximalist readings of friendship texts, suggesting that the language of “love” or “clinging to” are common in all sorts of relationships (like Ruth clung to Naomi but also clung to the harvesters in Boaz’s fields). Some portrayals of friendship have an emotional component, but this cannot be assumed. Much of the friendship language has to do with typical Ancient Near East treaty formulas. In other words, while it’s true that some friendships were formalized through treaties or covenants, these were usually political alliances.

Olyan is restrained in not arguing for too much from David and Jonathan, but he does think that 2 Samuel 1:26 probably has “homoerotic overtones” (111). He doesn’t do anything with that claim, but it’s one that—I think it’s fairly safe to conclude—would have been scandalous, if not unthinkable, among pious Jews in the ancient world. Better to see David’s language about Jonathan’s love surpassing that of woman as a reference to Michal’s hard-heartedness.

Of particular interest, given the assertion by some that friends can enter into lifelong covenantal relationships akin to marriage, is Olyan’s conclusion that although friends are often compared to relatives and share many of the same expectations and terms, friendship and family in the Hebrew Bible differ fundamentally in that friendship is “voluntary and more easily terminated” (115). Friends do not share the same obligations as family members (like the role of Levir or kinsman-redeemer) and more easily enter or exit the story of one’s life. Biblical friendship is important, Olyan argues, and often overlooked, but in the Old Testament it ranks below familial relations.

One final note: Olyan observes, “One combination of friends that is not attested in biblical representations of friendship is friendship between men and women” (113). Olyan is not arguing for or against friendship between the sexes; he simply notes that outside of the family unit, when men and women relate closely in the Hebrew Bible it is not as friends but as romantic partners.

Theological Primer: Pactum Salutis

From time to time I make new entries into this continuing series called “Theological Primer.” The idea is to present big theological concepts in around 500 words. Today we will look at the pactum salutis.

In simple terms, the covenant of redemption—or in Latin, the pactum salutis—refers to the eternal agreement between the Father and the Son to save a people chosen in Christ before the ages began. In slightly more detail, Louis Berkhof describes the covenant of redemption as “the agreement between the Father, giving the Son as Head and Redeemer of the elect, and the Son, voluntarily taking the place of those whom the Father had given him” (Systematic Theology, 271).

In traditional Reformed theology, the pactum has been a critically important doctrine, helping to make sense of (and hold together) election in Christ, God’s activity in history, and the intra-trinitarian love of God. It has also been a pastoral doctrine meant to give the believer confidence that because our covenant relationship with God has its origin in the Father’s pre-temporal covenant relationship with the Son, we do not have to merit our salvation but can rest secure in Christ our Surety.

Despite its central place in many of the best Reformed dogmatics, the pactum has often been criticized—both from without and from within the Reformed tradition. Three criticisms are most common.

First, it is argued that the pactum is sub-trinitarian in that no role is given for the Holy Spirit in the covenant of redemption. While it’s true that the pactum has normally been construed as an agreement between the Father and the Son, this need not undermine the Trinity any more than Jesus’ semphasis on the Father-Son relationship in the High Priestly Prayer undermine the Trinity. J. V. Fesko, in his excellent book on The Trinity and the Covenant of Redemption, has rightly defended the doctrine in more explicitly trinitarian terms, but even older theologians like Wilhemus à Brackel taught that “the manifestation of every grace and influence of the Holy Spirit proceeds from this covenant [of redemption]” (The Christian’s Reasonable Service, 1:262).

Second, others object that the pactum entails heterodox theology in that it undermines the singularity of God’s will. If the Father truly covenants with the Son, it is said, then the Father must have one will and the Son another. Reformed theologians, in anticipating this objection, have argued that the one divine will can be viewed from a twofold perspective. The Father and the Son have the same aim and objective, but whereas the Father wills to redeem by the agency of the Son as Surety, the Son wills to redeem by his own agency as Surety (cf. 1:252).

Third, and most critically, the pactum has been derided as metaphysical speculation. Barth famously dismissed the covenant of redemption as “mythology,” while more recently, an article in the Tyndale Bulletin argued that the pactum “lacks clear biblical support” and is little more than “scholastic tinkering” (69.2 [2018] p.281).

On closer inspection, however, there is good evidence in Scripture for a salvation pact between the Father and the Son. We know that the elect were chosen, not out of thin air, but in Christ before the foundations of the world. We know that promises were made to Christ that he would be given a people by the Father (John 6:38-40; cf. 5:30, 43; 17:4-12). We know that Christ, as the second Adam, is the covenant head of his people (Rom. 5:12-21; 1 Cor. 15:22). And we know from a text like Psalm 2 that there was a decree whereby the eternally begotten Son was given the nations as his heritage and the ends of the earth as his possession (v. 7; cf. Psalm 110). In other words, the Son was granted, by an eternal arrangement, a people to save and to redeem. This is why Zechariah 6:13 speaks of a covenant of peace between YHWH and the Branch, and why Jesus in Luke 22:29 speaks of the kingdom the Father has assigned to him. The covenant of grace in time is made possible by the covenant of redemption from all eternity.

Two Cheers for the Spirituality of the Church

I believe in the spirituality of the church. I believe it is a doctrine with a rich Reformed pedigree and a doctrine that can be immensely helpful in today’s cultural and ecclesiastical climate.

I also believe the spirituality of the church can, and has been, inappropriately applied. The doctrine has been variously understood and is not a quick fix for the problems vexing evangelical and Reformed churches.

Definition

In general terms, the spirituality of the church teaches that given the nature of the church under the mediatorial reign of Christ there are limits to church power and that this power must not be confused with the power of the state. Through most of Reformed history, the spirituality of the church has not entailed a silence on all political matters, but rather a commitment to the uniqueness of the church’s mission and a principled conviction that the concerns of the church should not be swallowed up by the concerns of the state.

Presbyterianism Made Manifest

The theology behind the spirituality of the church is present in Calvin and Beza, so the roots of the doctrine can certainly be found in Geneva. But for understanding the spirituality of the church as it has taken shape in the Presbyterian world (and through Presbyterianism to the broader church), we can start with Scotland and the Second Book of Discipline.

Approved by the General Assembly in 1578 (though never approved by Parliament because of its understanding of church property and patronage), the Second Book of Discipline as a brief manual on church government is “the first explicit statement of Scottish Presbyterianism.” A central theme throughout the document is that Kirk and the civil magistrate will, at times, work toward the same ends, but “always without confounding the one jurisdiction with the other” (10.4). To be clear, the Second Book of Discipline envisions nothing like the separation of church and state arrangement we have in the United States. It is assumed that the magistrate will be a Christian magistrate and that he will help support, defend, and promote the cause of the Kirk. Scotland was considered a Reformed realm in which church and state worked together to maintain a godly commonwealth. So the American Constitution this is not.

And yet, unlike its neighbor to the south, Scotland insisted that the head of the church and the head of the state were not the same. When even today Reformed and Presbyterian pastors make a declaration in the name of “Jesus Christ, the only King and Head of his Church,” they are denying not only the authority of the pope, but also the authority of any earthly monarch over the church.

This is why chapter 1 of the Second Book of Discipline begins with an examination of “the Kirk and Policy Thereof” and “Wherein It is Different from the Civil Policy.” Sections 11-15 are particularly relevant to the development of the spirituality of the church.

11. The magistrate commands external things for external peace and quietness amongst the subjects; the minister handles external things only for conscience cause.

12. The magistrate handles external things only, and actions done before men; but the spiritual ruler judges both inward affections and external actions, in respect of conscience, by the word of God.

13. The civil magistrate craves and gets obedience by the sword and other external means, but the ministry by the spiritual sword and spiritual means.

14. The magistrate neither ought to preach, minister the sacraments, nor execute the censures of the kirk, nor yet prescribe any rule how it should be done, but command the ministers to observe the rule commanded in the word, and punish the transgressors by civil means. The ministers exercise not the civil jurisdiction, but teach the magistrate how it should be exercised according to the word.

15. The magistrate ought to assist, maintain, and fortify the jurisdiction of the kirk. The ministers should assist their princes in all things agreeable to the word, provided they neglect not their own charge by involving themselves in civil affairs.

Notice several things from these points.

First, the magistrate and the minister exercise jurisdiction over different spheres. The magistrate can only deal with external things. That is, he cannot make laws that demand certain affections or compel the conscience to believe certain things. The minister, on the other hand, has the right to judge inner dispositions and outward obedience, though the minister mainly deals with spiritual things (as his sphere) and only “handles external things for conscience cause.”

Second, the minister is not silent on all matters pertaining to the state. Indeed, he is called upon to “teach the magistrate how [the civil jurisdiction] should be exercised according to the word.”

Third, even though the minister has a right and responsibility to deal with matters pertaining to the civil realm, that is not his chief work. The minister’s involvement in civil affairs must not be to the neglect of his own charge.

Some of the particulars of the Second Book of Discipline may seem strange to us today, especially in our American context. But its biggest contribution was the overarching theme assumed throughout the document; namely, that the church and the state are two kingdoms with two kings, both under the authority of God but with different officers, different responsibilities, and different aims.

Westminster and Beyond

We have many of the same ideas at work in the Westminster Confession of Faith (1646). Again, we must be clear that the Confession did not presume a Jeffersonian separation of church and state. If anything the Confession—which was, after all, the creation of an assembly called by Parliament and without any official ecclesiastical authority—has more hints of state intrusion into the affairs of the church than the Second Book of Discipline does. Nevertheless, the doctrine of the spirituality of the church is present:

Synods and councils are to handle, or conclude nothing, but that which is ecclesiastical: and are not to intermeddle with civil affairs which concern the commonwealth, unless by way of humble petition in cases extraordinary; or, by way of advice, for satisfaction of conscience, if they by thereunto required by the civil magistrate. (31.4).

While the Confession is not talking about ministers but about synods and councils (an important distinction), the principle from the Second Book of Discipline is once again operative. The church should not try to run the state or meddle in its affairs, except in extreme situations that call for redress or when the church has been called upon to offer its opinion.

Early in American Presbyterian history, the conception of church and state relations began to change, but the basic contours of the spirituality of the church remained and were reinforced. With the Adopting Act of 1729, the Presbyterian church allowed that chapters 20 and 23 of the Westminster Confession were no longer binding on ministers and that ministers need not receive “those articles in any such sense as to suppose the civil magistrate hath a controlling power over Synods with respect to the exercise of their ministerial authority.” In other words, any notion of an Established Church, let alone an Erastian one, was gone. It was still assumed that the church and state would be allies in Protestant America, but they were distinct bodies with different responsibilities pursued by different means.

When the first Book of Church Order was approved at the first General Assembly in 1789, eight Preliminary Principles were included, the same eight principles that you can find in substantially the same form in the PCA’s Book of Church Order today. The seventh principle states, in the 1789 language, “That all church power, whether exercised by the body in general, or in the way of representation by delegated authority, is only ministerial and declarative; that is to say, that the Holy Scriptures are the only rule of faith and manners; that no church judicatory ought to pretend to make laws, to bind the conscience in virtue of their own authority; and that all their decisions should be founded upon the revealed will of God.” This is the spirituality of the church in a nutshell: Church power is ministerial and declarative not civil and coercive, the church cannot bind the conscience except as the Word of God binds the conscience, and the church can only make decisions and pronouncements founded expressly upon the Scriptures.

Slavery and the South

For at least 200 years, the doctrine of the spirituality of the church developed without any reference to slavery. To suggest that Southern Presbyterians invented the spirituality of the church to sidestep the issue of slavery is to ignore the presence of the doctrine on both sides of the Atlantic long before the sectional crisis in America. We should not throw away the spirituality of the church because we are (rightly) ashamed of slavery.

And yet, it is true that as the issue of slavery took center stage in Presbyterian denominational life in the 19th century, the spirituality of the church came to be applied by ever narrower means. Alan Strange has done a masterful job of navigating the nuances of the doctrine and the conflicts surrounding its application in his published doctoral dissertation, The Doctrine of the Spirituality of the Church in the Ecclesiology of Charles Hodge. To cite just one example, Strange relays how Hodge strongly disagreed with Thornwell’s contention that since the church was only to preach the gospel that the church had no right to open her lips against the slave trade (p. 289). “Yes,” says Hodge (who was mostly a moderate when it came to slavery itself), “the Bible gives us no rule for deciding the litigated questions about public improvements, a national bank, or a protective tariff or state rights. But it does give us rules pronouncing about slave-laws, the slave-trade, obedience to magistrates, treason, rebellion, and revolution” (pp. 289-90). The spirituality of the church was not, for Hodge, an injunction to stay silent on matters clearly addressed in the Scriptures.

Conclusion

I’ve only scratched the surface when it comes to the history of the doctrine, and I’ve done almost nothing to show its scriptural support. Someone should write a short, lay-level book introducing a new generation to the usefulness—and the complexities—of the spirituality of the church. The doctrine, as construed throughout most of the Reformed tradition, does not mean that pastors and churches can never speak to issues that some might label as “political” or “social justice.”

The doctrine does, however, offer a salutary warning against ministers forgetting their gospel charge for civil concerns, churches transgressing their God-given powers (not to mention, their area of expertise), denominations losing sight of the spiritual aims of the church, and movements and their leaders pronouncing too exactly and too confidently upon matters not explicitly stated in Scripture and that demand a great deal of prudential judgment. The doctrine of the spirituality of the church is not a cure-all, but rightly administered, it is a helpful prescription for many of the controversies that plague us in the church today.

10 Reasons Racism Is Sin

Most people know that racism is wrong. It’s one of the few things almost everyone agrees on. And yet, I wonder if we (I?) have spent much time considering why it’s wrong.

We can easily make our “I hate racism” opinions known, but perhaps we are just looking for moral high ground, or for pats on the back, or to win friends and influence people, or to prove we’re not like those people, or maybe we are just saying what we’ve always heard everyone say.

As Christians we must think and feel deeply not just the what of the Bible but the why. If racism is so bad, why is it so bad?

Here are ten biblical reasons why racism is sin and offensive to God.

1. We are all made in the image of God (Gen. 1:27). Most Christians know this and believe it, but the implications are more staggering than we might realize. The sign pictured above is not just mean, it is dehumanizing. It tried to rob Irish and blacks of their exalted status as divine image bearers. It tried to make them no different from animals. But of course, as a white man I am no more like God in my being, no more capable of worship, no more made with a divine purpose, no more possessing of worth and deserving of dignity than any other human of any other gender, color, or ethnicity. We are more alike than we are different.

2. We are all sinners corrupted by the fall (Rom. 3:10-20; 5:12-21). Everyone made in the image of God has also had that image tainted and marred by original sin. Our anthropology is as identical as our ontology. Same image, same problem. We are more alike than we are different.

3. We are all, if believers in Jesus, one in Christ (Gal. 3:28). We see from the rest of the New Testament that justification by faith does not eradicate our gender, our vocation, or our ethnicity, but it does relativize all these things. Our first and most important identity is not male or female, American or Russian, black or white, Spanish speaker or French speaker, rich or poor, influential or obscure, but Christian. We are more alike than we are different.

4. Separating peoples was a curse from Babel (Gen. 11:7-9); bringing peoples together was a gift from Pentecost (Acts 2:5-11). The reality of Pentecost may not be possible in every community—after all, Jerusalem had all those people there because of the holy day—but if our inclination is to move in the direction of the punishment of Genesis 11 instead of the blessing of Acts 2 something is wrong.

5. Partiality is a sin (James 2:1). When we treat people unfairly, when we assume the worst about persons and peoples, when we favor one group over another, we do not reflect the God of justice, nor do we honor the Christ who came to save all men.

6. Real love loves as we hope to be loved (Matt. 22:39-40). No one can honestly say that racism treats our neighbor as we would like to be treated.

7. Everyone who hates his brother is a murderer (1 John 3:15). Sadly, we can hate without realizing we hate. Hatred does not always manifest itself as implacable rage, and it does not always—or, because of God’s restraining mercy, often—translate into physical murder. But hatred is murder of the heart, because hatred looks at someone else or some other group and thinks, I wish you weren’t around. You are what’s wrong with this world, and the world would be better without people like you. That’s hate, which sounds an awful lot like murder.

8. Love rejoices in what is true and looks for what is best (1 Cor. 13:4-7). You can’t believe all things and hope all things when you assume the worst about people and live your life fueled by prejudice, misguided convictions, and plain old animosity.

9. Christ came to tear down walls between peoples not build them up (Eph. 2:14). This is not a saccharine promise about everyone setting doctrine aside and getting along for Jesus’s sake. Ephesians 2 and 3 are about something much deeper, much more glorious, and much more cruciform. If we who have been made in the same image, born into the world with the same problem, find the same redemption through the same faith in the same Lord, how can we not draw near to each other as members of the same family?

10. Heaven has no room for racism (Rev. 5:9-10; 7:9-12; 22:1-5). Woe to us if our vision of the good life here on earth will be completely undone by the reality of new heavens and new earth yet to come. Antagonism toward people of another color, language, or ethnic background is antagonism toward God himself and his design for eternity.

Christians ought to reject racism, and do what they can to expose it and bring the gospel to bear upon it, not because we love pats on the back for our moral outrage or are desperate for restored moral authority, but because we love God and submit ourselves to the authority of his Word.