Kevin DeYoung's Blog, page 25

What I’ve Learned about Pastoral Ministry

Recently I spoke to a gathering of women at our church. It was a bit of a farewell for me and my wife. During the question and answer time, our friend (and leader of the group) asked “What have you learned as a pastor while at URC?” There are dozens of things I could have mentioned, but here’s what I said.

Note: the following is a loosely edited transcription of my remarks, hence the lack of polished prose.

*******

I’ve learned a lot.

When we came here we weren’t old. Now I’m almost 40. I’ve been here a third of my life. Trisha and I have both lived in the Lansing area longer than we’ve lived anywhere. Hopefully I’ve grown as a pastor. Hopefully we’ve both grown in a number of ways.

I often tell people that when I came to URC I told the search committee that my philosophy of ministry boiled down to three P’s: preach, pray, and be with people. Those are all really good. They’re still what I want to do in ministry. But I’ve had to learn a fourth P, and that is patience.

I know I was naïve in how change happens—how long it takes to address things and how you have to build up trust and confidence. I always joke about when I first came there were some particular issues that I told the elders would be taken care in six months. Then I said, well maybe in another six months. Then I said six years. And now I think, well, maybe in heaven.

I know I’ve learned about patience. I wish I had more patience with my children—children are often the last hardest area of impatience in our lives. But I think I’ve grown in understanding how things change and how long change can take.

There are lots of little things you learn as a pastor, and some of them are simply part of growing up. Like how you appreciate little notes of encouragement, or when to send flowers or a sympathy card, or when to write a short two sentence email that says, “I love you and am praying for you.”

And here’s the last thing I’ll mention. It goes back to the Bible story about Jacob wrestling with the angel. You remember, Jacob is touched in the hip socket and starts walking with a limp. It is true: given enough years, everyone ends up walking with a limp.

It’s not all equal by any means. I’ve had less suffering than most people. But if you live long enough, you’ll find that everyone is hurting. You’ll discover people’s marriages aren’t as good as they seem, or their kids are more troubled than they let on, or there’s a miscarriage or infertility, or there’s a parent who’s sick, or someone whose death is still the source of constant sadness, or there is a strained relationship, or there is an addiction, or there is an invisible illness. There’s just a lot of pain out there.

Everyone you talk to is a sinner and a sufferer. As a young person filled with good theology, it’s easier to know the sinner part. And we can’t forget this, otherwise we will be poor friends and I’ll be a poor pastor. Compassion without follow through or correction is not real love. But that’s only one part of the equation. You have to remember people are carrying around a lot of hurt, a lot of sadness, a lot of fears. I’ve had to learn that people are not just sinners; they’re sufferers too. And that shapes how you deal with sin and extend mercy. I hope I’ve learned that.

May the Fourth Be With You

And the power of Presbyterianism too!

Resources for Your Pastoral Search Committee

University Reformed Church will soon be forming a pastoral search committee to look for the church’s next senior pastor. The process can be daunting, but it can also be a spiritually unifying and edifying time for the committee and for the congregation. Thankfully, there are a number of resources out there to help churches set up a good process (and avoid common mistakes).

The best book I know of is When the Word Leads Your Search Committee by Chris Brauns. If you want a comprehensive resource, start here.

Last year I wrote about 7 Common Mistakes Search Committees Make:

1. Overcompensating for the previous pastor’s weaknesses.

2. Mishandling internal candidates.

3. Communicating too little.

4. Taking too much time.

5. Crafting an impossible job description.

6. Failing to check references.

7. Expecting all the best candidates to come to you.

Here’s another list of 7 Common Mistakes. This one, put out by LifeWay’s William Vanderbloemen, includes things like: too few or too many people on the committee, not establishing roles on the committee, and not establishing a process for making decisions.

The PCA has a 16-page document laying out a potential search process. And here is a 6-page Manual for Calling a Pastor (somewhat PCA specific). And here’s a brochure on finding a pastor put out by Reformed Theological Seminary.

On the important subject of communication, I’ve written before that search committees should not be stealth committees:

Communication has never been easier so there is no excuse for churches not to be more professional in this area. A quick phone call or a brief email is all that may be necessary to keep a candidate from spinning out a hundred “what if” scenarios in his mind for another month. Of course, the committee doesn’t need to divulge their own private conversations or concerns, but they should be able to let people know in a timely fashion whether they are in or out and what they should expect next.

Finally, here are a couple TGC articles on how pastors get hired today and evaluating sermons from potential candidates.

There is no one-size-fits-all approach the pastoral search process, but most articles and books focus on the same important principles: prayer, communication, honesty, follow through, realistic expectations, and hard work. And when in doubt, don’t be afraid to ask other pastors and other churches for advice.

Theological Primer: The 144,000

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 look at the 144,000 in the book of Revelation.

The 144,000 are not an ethnic Jewish remnant, and certainly not an Anointed Class of saints who became Jehovah’s Witnesses before 1935. The 144,000 “sealed from every tribe of the sons of Israel” (Rev. 7:4) represent the entire community of the redeemed. Let me give you several reasons for making this claim.

First, in chapter 13 we read that Satan seals all of his followers, so it makes sense that God would seal all of his people, not just the Jewish ones.

Second, the image of sealing comes from Ezekiel 9 where the seal on the forehead marks out two groups of people: idolaters and non-idolaters. It would seem that the sealing of the 144,000 makes a similar distinction based on who worships God not who among the Jewish remnant worships God.

Third, the 144,000 are called the servants of our God (Rev. 7:3). There is no reason to make the 144,000 any more restricted than that. If you are a servant of the living God, you are one of the 144,000 mentioned here. In Revelation, the phrase “servants of God” always refers to all of God’s redeemed people, not just an ethnic Jewish remnant (see 1:1; 2:20; 19:2; 19:5; 22:3).

Fourth, the 144,000 mentioned later in chapter 14 are those who have been “redeemed from the earth” and those who were “purchased from among men.” This is generic everybody kind of language. The 144,000 is a symbolic number of redeemed drawn from all peoples, not simply the Jews. Besides, if the number is not symbolic then what do we do with Revelation 14:4 which describes the 144,000 as those “who have not defiled themselves with women”? Are we to think that the 144,000 refers to a chosen group of celibate Jewish men? It makes more sense to realize that 144,000 is a symbolic number that is described as celibate men to highlight the group’s moral purity and set-apartness for spiritual battle.

Fifth, the last reason for thinking that the 144,000 is the entire community of the redeemed is because of the highly stylized list of tribes in verses 5-8. The number itself is stylized. It’s not to be taken literally. It’s 12 x 12 x 1000: 12 being the number of completion for God’s people (representing the 12 tribes of Israel and the 12 apostles of the Lamb) and 1000 being a generic number suggesting a great multitude. So 144,000 is a way of saying all of God’s people under the old and new covenant.

And then look at the list of the tribes. There are over a dozen different arrangements of the twelve tribes in the Bible. This one is unique among all of those. Judah is listed first because Jesus was from there as a lion of the tribe of Judah. All twelve of Jacob’s sons are listed—including Levi who usually wasn’t because he didn’t inherit any land–except for one. Manasseh, Joseph’s son (Jacob’s grandson), is listed in place of Dan. So why not Dan? Dan was probably left out in order to point to the purity of the redeemed church. From early in Israel’s history, Dan was the center of idolatry for the kingdom (Judges 18:30-31). During the days of the divided kingdom, Dan was one of two centers for idolatry (1 Kings 12:28-30). And there is recorded in some non-Biblical Jewish writings that the Jews thought the anti-Christ would come out of Dan based on Genesis 49:17. The bottom line is that the number and the list and the order of the tribes are all stylized to depict the totality of God’s pure and perfectly redeemed servants from all time over all the earth. That’s what Revelation means by the 144,000.

What Can Church History Teach Us About Wolves?

Last week Joe Carter (not that Joe Carter) published an insightful article on the allure of broken wolves. It got me thinking about false teachers in the history of the church.

And by “false teacher” or “wolf” I don’t mean everyone who disagrees with me on a point of theology. As a Presbyterian, I think Baptists and Methodists and Pentecostals are wrong about some important things, but deviating from Westminster Confession of Faith does not make you another Arius or Pelagius. A false teacher or a wolf is someone who snatches up sheep (John 10:12), draws disciples away from the gospel (Acts 20:28), opposes the truth (2 Tim. 3:8), and leads people to make shipwreck of the faith and embrace ungodliness (1 Tim. 1:19-20; 2 Tim. 2:16-17).

Several years ago I did a series on heresies and heretics. Preparing the messages helped me understand church history better and more carefully articulate the orthodox faith. It also helped me notice some patterns (and non-patterns) related to false teachers. I discovered that church history can teach us a lot about wolves.

1. Wolves don’t usually know they’re wolves.

While some false teachers are knowing hypocrites who borrow religious language to fleece the flock, most errors in church history have been promoted by those who sincerely thought they were doing the work of God. As far as we can tell, Pelagius was not a big jerk. The Donatists were entirely earnest about the faith. We shouldn’t think that wolvish teachers and bloggers are trying to lead the sheep astray. People can be entirely sincere and still genuinely mistaken.

2. Wolves can quote the Bible.

It’s hard to know for sure what ancient heretics were like because most of what we know about them comes from the orthodox opponents writing against them. And yet, judging by the controversies left behind, we can assume that Arius knew his Bible. The Trinitarian and Christological debates of the early church, not to mention the soteriological controversies of the Reformation, involved people on both sides quoting Scripture. That doesn’t mean every viewpoint was right. It means that theology can come with Bible verses and still be wrong.

3. Wolves tend to be imbalanced.

Imbalanced may not be the right word. I’m not suggesting truth is always the golden mean between obvious extremes. What I mean is that false teachers have a tendency to let the big themes of Scripture silence specific verses. Wolves ignore the whole counsel of God. They like to take themes like love or justice or hospitality or law or grace and then round off all the edges of Scripture to fit this one big idea. The problem is not in trumpeting this glorious truths. The problem is that their understanding of the truth gets truncated, and the application of the truth gets one-dimensional. This often leads to unbiblical conclusions that can sound biblical. Such as: If God is love, then we can’t have hell or moral demands that make me (or my friends) feel uncomfortable or unfulfilled. If Jesus ate with sinners, then we should not be overly concerned about sin. If God is sovereign over all things, then we shouldn’t evangelize. General truths pressed through to unbiblical conclusions.

4. Wolves are impatient with demands for verbal clarity.

False teaching thrives on ambiguity. It eschews careful attention to words and definitions. The Arians were willing to live with doctrinal imprecision. It was Athanasius and the orthodox party that insisted on defining terms. And they insisted on saying not just what was right but what was wrong. Good shepherds are willing to define and delimit. Don’t trust teachers who love to emote more than they love to be clear.

5. Wolves come in different shapes and sizes.

There is no one-size-fits-all approach to settling theological disputes. We will not be discerning if we imagine that false teachers are always Pharisees or always libertines. Or if we assume they are always too rigid or always too loose. Sometimes the truth is either/or: there is only one God, salvation is by faith alone, there is no other name under heaven. But sometimes the truth is both/and: one God in three persons, fully God and fully man, divine sovereignty and human responsibility. Sometimes error comes because we pay insufficient attention to an important issue. At other times, the problem is wasting time on “foolish controversies.”

We can’t solve all our problems the same way. We can’t always assume the more conservative answer is the best, or that the liberal answer is always true.  If we are flexible in some places, it doesn’t mean we should be flexible in every place. If we are rigid over there, it doesn’t mean we need to be just as rigid with this issue over here. Wolves and false teachers don’t know how to use wisdom to settle different disputes in different ways.

Monday Morning Humor

Be sure to stick around for the last joke. It’s well done.

Book Briefs: Swimming, Biking, Running Edition

And now for something completely different.

Three years ago I started getting serious about exercise again. It’s been one of the best things I’ve ever done–for stress, for health, for having a hobby, and for just plain feeling better about life. Finding the time (and motivation) is hard for most of us, but I can’t imagine there’s anyone who wouldn’t benefit from including at least a moderate amount of exercise in his (or her) life.

But I’ll save that soapbox for another post. This one is about books. Because what do you do when you try your hand at triathlon? You read books about it! Lots of books. I’m probably better at reading books about swimming, biking, and running than at actually doing those activities. And yet, the books have been helpful. They keep me motivated. They give me new ideas. They provide insight on workouts and technique.

Maybe you’d like to be more active this summer. Maybe the warm weather has you thinking about signing up for a local road race. Maybe you have “triathlon” or “marathon” on your bucket list and want to make those goals a reality. If so, I know some books you might like.

I’ll start with my Top Five books on swimming, biking, and running. Then I’ll give a brief annotated biography for the rest.

Top Five

Dan Golding, Triathlon for Beginners: Everything You Need to Know about Training, Kit, Nutrition, Motivation, and Much More (Triathlon Success, 2012). The book has typos and an ugly self-published look to it (on the inside). But it does what it sets out to do. It’s a great book for beginners. I read through it several times before my first race.

 

 

Shelia Taormina, Swim Speed Secrets for Swimmers and Triathletes (Velo Press, 2012). I’ve met many people who say, “I’d love to do a triathlon, but I can’t swim.” I had one year of junior high swimming under my belt when I started. It takes a lot of work, but you can teach yourself to swim. I watched hours of videos on YouTube and read this book (and a couple others like it). You’ll learn what you need to know (high elbow catch!) and get plenty of pictures along the way.

 

Chris Carmichael and Jim Rutberg, The Time-Crunched Triathlete: Race-Winning Fitness in 8 Hours a Week (Velo Press, 2010). You may be thinking: 8 hours is for the time-crunched among us! Yes, that’s a lot of time if you are currently at zero. But many of the triathlon books assume you can put it 12-15 hours a week. This is a great book for the person who says, “I’m serious about this hobby, but I don’t want it to take over my life.” Best triathlon training plans of any of these books.

 

Bill Pierce, Scott Murr, and Ray Moss, Run Less Run Faster: Become a Faster, Stronger Runner with the Revolutionary 3-Run-a-Week Training Program (Rodale, 2012). Best running book I’ve read, hands down. I’m sure that’s due in part because the training philosophy fits best with my schedule. For my money, this book has the most realistic running plan, the best training program, the best pacing tables, the best stories, and the best FAQs. I’m a big fan.

 

Jim Gourley, Faster: Demystifying the Science of Triathlon Speed (Velo Press, 2013). This fascinating book, written by a rocket scientist, explains what actually makes you move faster through water and air. The take away? Don’t spend a fortune on carbon everything unless you’ve already put in the workouts and lost the pounds.

 

 

What Else?

Those are good books. But wait, there’s more!

Shelia Taormina’s follow up book Swim Speed Strokes does for butterfly, backstroke, and breaststroke what the first book did for freestyle. There’s also set of waterproof cards called Swim Speed Workouts. You may also want to check out Swim Workouts for Triathletes and One-Hour Workouts. I’ve used both, though they tend to be too complicated for my tastes.

There are dozens of running books. I enjoyed Matt Fitzgerald’s 80/20 Running which encourages mostly easy running. Hansons Half Marathon Method is a high mileage plan, which works for a lot of people but is not my cup of tea. Brad Hudson’s book Run Faster from the 5k to the Marathon is a useful one-stop guide, although the print is too small.

I really enjoyed The Well-Built Triathlete by Matt Dixon. It was one of the first books I read. Lots of helpful stuff, even for beginners (although he’s geared more for Ironman athletes putting in over 12 hours a week). The Triathlete Training Bible (3rd Edition) by Joe Friel may be the most popular one in the field. It’s also big and long. It’s probably just me, but I found Triathlete Magazine’s Essential Week-by-Week Training Guide completely overwhelming. I looked at the training plans and couldn’t make sense of them.

Another great book for beginners is The Triathlon Training Book by DK with an attractive, easy to use magazine-type format. Triathlon Anatomy has terrific drawings with practical strength training suggestions. I loved the first half of Jim Vance’s Triathlon 2.0, but the second half, with lots of graphs and equations, went over my head.

If you want to bump up from Sprint or Olympic distance to Half Ironman or Ironman, check out Dan Golden’s Triathlon Winning at 70.3 and Don Fink’s Be Iron Fit. I haven’t done the longer distances yet, but if I do I’ll come back to Fink’s book.

Want a book that focuses on stories instead of technique, technology, and training plans? Read How Bad Do You Want It? by Matt Fitzgerald who examines the psychobiological factors in athletic performance.

Ten Questions for Pastors and Polemics

In a world of instant hot takes and online takedowns, it’s never been easier for pastors to get engaged in polemics.

Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Faithful shepherds not only feed the flock, they also fend off wolves. If a pastor is never willing to enter the fray on anything–never willing to get his hands dirty, never willing to risk his reputation, never willing to make a few enemies–I doubt he’s fulfilling his calling to guard the good deposit (2 Tim. 1:14).

And yet, just because we have a way to make our voice heard does not mean it’s always wise to speak. I don’t pretend that I’ve arrived at some golden mean when it comes to polemics. I imagine some people say, “That guy is so opinionated!” while others feel like, “He never says anything about that!” It’s easy to think everyone else is either too soft or too pugnacious. I know the temptation.

But over 15 years of pastoral ministry, I’d like to think I’m at least a little smarter about polemics than I used to be. If not holier and wiser, then just more seasoned. Here are some of the questions I ask myself before sounding off on the most recent blogging brouhaha or charging headlong into the latest denominational melee. I don’t go through all ten as some sort of checklist, but these are the thoughts often rattling through my brain.

1. Am I making the problem bigger than it needs to be by giving people my microphone? Sure, I may be annoyed by that post or that podcast. And maybe what was said shouldn’t have been said. But before I respond publicly–especially to something that wasn’t even directed at me–I need to consider if I’m only going to make matters worse. Most dumb stuff out there disappears in a week, if not in a day or two. Why should I make a martyr out of someone hardly anyone is talking about? Why should I direct more eyeballs to a discussion that has been languishing in obscurity?

2. Am I becoming a one-trick pony? When I co-authored a book on the emergent church, I often told myself and told audiences: I don’t want to be talking about this in ten years. And by God’s grace, I don’t think I am. I said that not only because I hoped the movement would lose steam (which it did) but because I had no interest in being the anti-emergent guy for the rest of my life. To be sure, we may feel a particular calling to address a certain issue. We need people whose “thing” is justification or religious freedom or biblical eldership or whatever. But we should be on high alert if our “thing” is always to be the critic, even if what we criticize is deserving of criticism.

3. Do I know enough to contribute meaningfully to this discussion? I’m reading Tom Nichols’ fascinating book The Death of Expertise. It’s not an apology for elitism. It’s a sustained argument against the hubris of thinking that we know as much as anyone else about everything. We don’t. I don’t. It may seem like everyone wants you or me to say something. But maybe it’s okay for you and I to admit that sometimes we don’t really have much to say.

4. Is a public response the best way to make a difference? Because so many of our thoughts and photos and experiences are open to worldwide consumption, we tend to think that nothing really counts unless it happens in the public square. Consequently, it seems as if you don’t care or haven’t done anything until (or unless) you’ve said something online. Rubbish. There is much good (often much more good) that can be done–polemical and otherwise–through private conversations, building institutions, nurturing relationships, and mentoring disciples.

5. Is this confusing real flesh and blood people I know? This is usually the trip wire for me. As far as I can remember, every instance of theological polemics I’ve been a part of–from the emergent church to Rob Bell to Jesus Hates Religion to issues surrounding sanctification–was initiated because people in my church were asking questions.

6. Is this helping me to faithfully pastor my own congregation? I’m sure there are many non-pastors reading this post. Most of these questions apply to all Christians. But pastors in particular need to think about this one. We have been called to a specific people in a specific location. We have not been ordained and installed as pastors-at-large to the “online community.” If our social media activity means we don’t have enough time to prepare our sermons and pray with the saints, we have our priorities backward. Our online presence should be an extension of caring for our own flock, not a replacement for doing the more important work of pastoral ministry.

7. Am I looking to persuade or to emote? If we want to possibly, maybe, actually change someone’s mind, we have to be careful, circumspect, and include the necessary caveats and qualifications. If the aim is simply to vent our frustrations, may I suggest keeping a handwritten journal instead.

8. How would I talk about this issue or to these people if they were in the room? I started writing more carefully once I started meeting the people I was writing about. The goal is not to be man-pleasers, just generally humane. I think I can now honestly say that I never write something critical about someone without assuming that (1) he or she will read it, and (2) I will meet them someday in person. Whether those two things are true, I don’t know. But it makes me more careful. And it helps me sleep much better at night.

9. Is my style of communication reinforcing what I hold dear or undermining it? We’ve all seen it before (and probably have done it ourselves). The grace guy who shows no mercy. The spiritual formation guru who is a constant crank. The “I’m not perfect” blogger who points out everyone’s imperfections. When we you see someone practicing something different than they preach, common sense says I’m not buying what you’re selling.

10. What is the motivation of my heart? If you skip the other nine questions, don’t skip this one. I have to ask myself at times, “Why am I so riled up? Why am I pounding out this post? What is going on in my heart right now?” If truth be told, we are all tempted by the same things: pride, fear of man, love of the praise of man, the need to prove ourselves, the need to defend ourselves, the allure of making a name for ourselves, the desire to be thought courageous, smart, and godly. Is that why we all do what we do online? I don’t think so. It’s certainly not the only explanation. But is it the reason a lot of what ends up online ends up online? Probably. You can’t fix all that. Neither can I. But we can look at our own hearts and pray that God would keep working on those.

We Can Share in Christ’s Sacrifice and in All His Gifts

I am not a prolific crier. I don’t often get visibly choked up in front of my congregation. But one of those times came a few years ago while reading the Heidelberg Catechism in preparation for communion.

The Catechism asks, “How does the Lord’s Supper remind you and assure you that you share in Christ’s one sacrifice on the cross and in all his gifts?” Here’s the answer:

In this way: Christ has commanded me and all believers to eat this broken bread and to drink this cup. With this command he gave this promise: First, as surely as I see with my eyes the bread of the Lord broken for me and the cup given to me, so surely his body was offered and broken for me and his blood poured out for me on the cross. Second, as surely as I receive from the hand of the one who serves, and taste with my mouth the bread and cup of the Lord, given me as sure signs of Christ’s body and blood, so surely he nourishes and refreshes my soul for eternal life with his crucified body and poured-out blood. (Q/A 75)

I’ve had church members tell me they’ve cried when hearing these words before Communion. The truth here is that precious. It should stir our affections. I love good music in church and rejoice to see God’s people emotionally engaged in worship. But if our emotion is to be truth driven and not just melody driven, we ought to have profound experiences with responsive readings, creeds, and confessions too. Every time we read the Nicene Creed I want to shout a loud “Amen.” And whenever I read through this Lord’s Day before Communion it makes me well up with tearful joy.

What good news God proclaims to us at the Table! I fear that in some churches this covenant meal is celebrated with such thoughtless monotony that churchgoers endure it rather than enjoy it. But the Lord’s Supper is meant to nourish and strengthen our weak faith. Have you ever come to church feeling dirty and rotten? Have you ever sat through an entire sermon thinking about how you blew it with your wife that morning or how prayerless you’ve been for the past month? Have you ever gotten to the end of a church service only to think, I’m so distracted. I was worried about how I look. I can’t even sit through church right? Have you ever wondered if God can really love you? If so, you need this gospel table.

The Lord knows our faith is weak. That’s why he’s given us sacraments to see, taste, and touch. As surely as you can see the bread and cup, so surely does God love you through Christ. As surely as you chew the food and drink the drink, so surely has Christ died for you.

Here at the Table the faith becomes sight. The simple bread and cup give assurance that Christ came for you, Christ died for you, Christ is coming again for you.

Of course, this eating and drinking must be undertaken in faith. The elements themselves do not save us. But when we eat and drink them in faith we can be assured that we receive forgiveness of sins and eternal life. More than that, we get a picture of our union with Christ. As we eat his flesh and drink his blood, we literally have communion with him, not by dragging Christ down from heaven, but by experiencing his presence through his Spirit.

As millions of Christians gather tonight and tomorrow—for many of us, around the Table—let us not come with drudgery. And let not the pastor conduct the liturgy with low energy and little expectations. Rather, let us love and sing and wonder. Let us marvel that before the throne our Surety stands.

Whenever we eat the bread and drink from the cup, we not only re-proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again (1 Cor. 11:26), we re-convince ourselves of God’s provision on the cross. So if you shed a tear at the Table, let it not be out of boredom but out of gratitude and sheer delight.

We Can Share in Christ’s Sacrifice and in All His Gifts

I am not a prolific crier. I don’t often get visibly choked up in front of my congregation. But one of those times came a few years ago while reading the Heidelberg Catechism in preparation for communion.

The Catechism asks, “How does the Lord’s Supper remind you and assure you that you share in Christ’s one sacrifice on the cross and in all his gifts?” Here’s the answer:

In this way: Christ has commanded me and all believers to eat this broken bread and to drink this cup. With this command he gave this promise: First, as surely as I see with my eyes the bread of the Lord broken for me and the cup given to me, so surely his body was offered and broken for me and his blood poured out for me on the cross. Second, as surely as I receive from the hand of the one who serves, and taste with my mouth the bread and cup of the Lord, given me as sure signs of Christ’s body and blood, so surely he nourishes and refreshes my soul for eternal life with his crucified body and poured-out blood. (Q/A 75)

I’ve had church members tell me they’ve cried when hearing these words before Communion. The truth here is that precious. It should stir our affections. I love good music in church and rejoice to see God’s people emotionally engaged in worship. But if our emotion is to be truth driven and not just melody driven, we ought to have profound experiences with responsive readings, creeds, and confessions too. Every time we read the Nicene Creed I want to shout a loud “Amen.” And whenever I read through this Lord’s Day before Communion it makes me well up with tearful joy.

What good news God proclaims to us at the Table! I fear that in some churches this covenant meal is celebrated with such thoughtless monotony that churchgoers endure it rather than enjoy it. But the Lord’s Supper is meant to nourish and strengthen our weak faith. Have you ever come to church feeling dirty and rotten? Have you ever sat through an entire sermon thinking about how you blew it with your wife that morning or how prayerless you’ve been for the past month? Have you ever gotten to the end of a church service only to think, I’m so distracted. I was worried about how I look. I can’t even sit through church right? Have you ever wondered if God can really love you? If so, you need this gospel table.

The Lord knows our faith is weak. That’s why he’s given us sacraments to see, taste, and touch. As surely as you can see the bread and cup, so surely does God love you through Christ. As surely as you chew the food and drink the drink, so surely has Christ died for you.

Here at the Table the faith becomes sight. The simple bread and cup give assurance that Christ came for you, Christ died for you, Christ is coming again for you.

Of course, this eating and drinking must be undertaken in faith. The elements themselves do not save us. But when we eat and drink them in faith we can be assured that we receive forgiveness of sins and eternal life. More than that, we get a picture of our union with Christ. As we eat his flesh and drink his blood, we literally have communion with him, not by dragging Christ down from heaven, but by experiencing his presence through his Spirit.

As millions of Christians gather tonight and tomorrow—for many of us, around the Table—let us not come with drudgery. And let not the pastor conduct the liturgy with low energy and little expectations. Rather, let us love and sing and wonder. Let us marvel that before the throne our Surety stands.

Whenever we eat the bread and drink from the cup, we not only re-proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again (1 Cor. 11:26), we re-convince ourselves of God’s provision on the cross. So if you shed a tear at the Table, let it not be out of boredom but out of gratitude and sheer delight.