R.C. Sproul's Blog, page 7

Do for Others What Has Been Done for You

When we understand how our Master has served and cared for us, how can we be unwilling to serve others in His name? In this brief clip, Sinclair Ferguson reflects on Jesus’ washing the feet of His disciples.

Transcript:

Now, what this passage is emphasizing right from the beginning is that’s it’s when we understand not only the significance of what Jesus has done, but the significance of who Jesus is, who has done it, that it begins to impact my life, so that I come to understand because of the deep instincts of the gospel created in me. If the Lord of glory did this for His disciples, should not I follow His example and learn from my Master? How proud I must be if the Lord Jesus—the King of glory—washed the dirty feet of these disciples, if I am not willing and indeed eager to wash the dirty feet of other disciples whom I know? Actually, I find one of the most moving features of this particular chapter is this: Jesus actually knelt down and washed the dirty feet of the man He knew would deny Him three times before the next day dawned. There was no holding back with Jesus: “Oh, I won’t wash his feet because he will deny Me.” And perhaps even more remarkable is this: We learn in this passage that He knew who was going to betray Him. And He knelt down, apparently, and washed his dirty feet as well. This is surely what we mean when we speak about unconditional love for others: Jesus washes the feet of the one who will deny Him and washes the feet of the one who will betray Him. And the impact of that on me is surely to be this: “If He is willing to do that, should not I also be willing to follow His example?” Do you know that beautiful line in George Herbert’s poem “The Elixir,” part of which we sometimes sing as the hymn “Teach Me, My God and King”? “Nothing,” he says, “Nothing can be too mean, which with this tincture—for Thy sake—will not grow bright and clean.” You know, this is a very simple thing, isn’t it? Nothing complex or complicated about this. What Jesus did is described in simple sentences. He got up from supper. He took off His outer clothes. He put on the servant’s towel. He got the basin of water. He kneeled down, washed the dirty feet of His disciples. He put on His clothes and went back to the center place in the table. It’s not rocket science; it’s a matter of love. It’s a matter of following the example of the Lord Jesus. And we are helped to do this, not only because we understand the significance of what He has done, but because we are overwhelmed by the knowledge that He has done this for us, who—Would this not also be true?—who have denied Him, and also, perhaps, in the past, betrayed Him and trodden Him under feet, and despised the blood of His covenant. And if Jesus has done this for me, his reasoning is—should I not do this for others?

 

Theology Learned in the Flames of Adversity

In 1527, Martin Luther experienced a trial so severe that church historian Philip Schaff described that year simply as “the disastrous year.” It was the time of Luther’s “severest spiritual and physical trials.” As the leading figure of the Reformation, Luther paid a high price in the struggle for truth, and his physical condition deteriorated under the movement’s mounting demands. On April 22, 1527, Luther was so overcome by dizziness in the pulpit that he stopped preaching and was forced to retire. Other physical problems followed for the Reformer, including severe heart problems, digestive ailments, and fainting spells. He also began to wear down emotionally, suffering bouts of discouragement and depression.

On July 6, another attack struck Luther. He was entertaining friends for dinner when he felt an intense buzzing in his left ear. He had to be carried to bed, where he frantically called for water or else, he believed, he would die. Luther became so chilled that he was convinced he had seen his last night. In a desperate prayer, he surrendered himself to the will of God and prepared to meet his Maker. Though Luther remained seriously ill for days, he eventually regained his strength.

In August, the Black Plague rapidly spread among the people in Wittenberg. Many died, and others fled for their lives. The University of Wittenberg moved to Jena, Germany. Frederick urged Luther to escape to spare his own life. Adding to the danger, Katie was pregnant and they had a one-year-old child, Hans. Luther, however, considered it his moral duty to remain and minister to the sick.

Weighty trials rested heavily upon Luther’s shoulders. Death surrounded him on every side. He watched people die in his house and in the streets. He chose to transform his spacious house into a hospital to care for those suffering from the plague. Hans became desperately ill, and Luther became so heavily burdened that he could not eat for eleven days. He was deeply concerned for Katie’s safety and grew weak with despair.

In a letter to his trusted friend and coworker Philip Melanchthon, Luther acknowledged his increasing bouts of depression:

I spent more than a week in death and in hell. My entire body was in pain, and I still tremble. Completely abandoned by Christ, I labored under the vacillations and storms of desperation and blasphemy against God. But through the prayers of the saints God began to have mercy on me and pulled my soul from the inferno below.

In November, Luther wrote a theological tract titled Whether One May Flee from a Deadly Plague. He argued that a spiritual leader must stay with the community of believers under his care during a time of extreme duress. Certainly, the outbreak of the plague qualified as such a crisis, as extreme stress weighed heavy upon his heart and drained his body of strength. But in his weakness, Luther found new strength in God.

During these difficult years filled with controversy, death, and trial, Luther penned his most famous hymn, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” This magnificent work is based on Psalm 46, a worship song of unshakable trust in God. For years, Luther had translated and taught the Psalms, a book he deeply loved. This inspired collection of ancient worship songs was, in fact, the first book of Scripture that Luther had taught in the classroom. An exposition of selected penitential psalms was the subject of his first printed work.

In hard times, when Luther often found himself terribly discouraged and downcast, he would turn to Melanchthon and say, “Come, Philipp, let us sing the forty-sixth Psalm.” They would sing it in Luther’s original version:

A sure stronghold our God is He, A timely shield and weapon:
Our help He’ll be and set us free From every ill can happen.

Concerning the singing of this favorite psalm, Luther said:

We sing this psalm to the praise of God, because God is with us and powerfully and miraculously preserves and defends His church and His word against all fanatical spirits, against the gates of hell, against the implacable hatred of the devil, and against all the assaults of the world, the flesh and sin.

Out of Luther’s dark distress shined this brightest light of confidence in God. Philip Schaff marvels that this monumental hymn could issue from such deep travails, saying, “The deepest griefs and highest faith often meet.” This was the case with Luther, as “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” was “born of deep tribulation and conquering faith.”

The 1520s proved to be a turbulent time for Martin Luther, one in which he found himself engaged in many battles. In the face of mounting struggles, Luther fought the good fight and remained unwavering in his devotion to the truth of the Bible. Through these sufferings, he grew deeper in the truth and stronger in faith.

Luther recognized that these conflicts came by divine design to make him the theologian God desired him to be. In commenting on Psalm 119, the Reformer expressed this conviction when he wrote about what he saw as the correct way to study theology. He affirmed three non-negotiables for learning biblical doctrine: “Here you will find three rules. They are frequently proposed throughout the psalm and thus: Oratio, meditatio, tentatio.” These three Latin words translate as “prayer,” “meditation,” and “trial.” It is this third prerequisite that should arrest our attention. Luther calls tentatio “the touch-stone” for learning the truth.

Luther believed that trials in the life of any believer, especially a theologian, are necessary in order to grow in the truth. He said that affliction “teaches you not only to know and understand, but also to experience how right, how true, how sweet, how lovely, how mighty, how comforting God’s Word is, wisdom beyond all wisdom.” In other words, Luther maintained that theology is not learned only in the safety of a lecture hall, but in the flames of adversity. In fiery trials, one is humbled and broken. It is then that a leader is made most teachable. In difficult times, the illuminating work of the Holy Spirit often shines brightest. Broken hearts make for receptive minds.

Such affliction increases in intensity as the servant of God ministers the Word. Luther explained, “As soon as God’s Word takes root and grows in you, the devil will harry you, and will make a real doctor of you, and by his assaults will teach you to seek and love God’s Word.” Luther thanked the devil and papists for “beating, oppressing and distressing” him to the point that they turned him into “a fairly good theologian.”

Amid his mounting conflicts, Luther stands as a towering example of the steadfast loyalty to the gospel that is required by God. Ministry is never without its difficulties. There are no easy places to serve the Lord. In perilous times, Luther demonstrated the unwavering devotion needed to persevere.

This excerpt is adapted from Steven Lawson's contribution Legacy of Luther edited by R.C. Sproul and Stephen Nichols.

New Book from Sinclair Ferguson: Lessons from the Upper Room

What would you give to spend an evening with Jesus, hearing Him teach and listening to Him pray? This is what we encounter in the Farewell Discourse of John 13–17. As the shadow of the cross loomed, Christ shared His final hours with the disciples to prepare them for His death, quiet their troubled hearts, and intercede on their behalf before the Father.

In Lessons from the Upper Room, a companion to his 12-message video teaching series, Dr. Sinclair Ferguson draws us into these intimate hours from the night when Jesus was betrayed. This vivid picture of Christ’s ministry, from His washing the disciples’ feet to His High Priestly Prayer, shows us the heart of Jesus. Discover His deepest desires for His people and take delight in the suffering Savior who has overcome the world.

“This book unpacks the drama and meaning of the last night of Jesus’ life and richly explains how this is good news for us today.”
—Dr. Brandon Crowe
Professor of New Testament at Westminster Theological Seminary Philadelphia

“Whether you have walked with Christ for many years or have just become a Christian, Dr. Ferguson’s years of meditation on these chapters, combined with his unequaled pastoral wisdom, make these pages uniquely accessible to a variety of readers.”
—Dr. Gabe Fluhrer
Associate minister of discipleship at First Presbyterian Church, Columbia, SC

Available now from the Ligonier store. Read a sample chapter.

Paperback for $18 $14.40

 

Dr. Sinclair B. Ferguson is a Ligonier Ministries teaching fellow and Chancellor’s Professor of Systematic Theology at Reformed Theological Seminary. He previously served as senior minister of the First Presbyterian Church in Columbia, S.C., and is author of several books, including The Whole Christ, Some Pastors and Teachers, In the Year of Our Lord, Maturity, and Devoted to God’s Church.

Confessions and the Mission of the Church

Here’s an excerpt from Confessions and the Mission of the Church, Sebastian Heck's contribution to the June issue of Tabletalk:

Confessions get a bad rap today. The ancient church and the churches of the Reformation bequeathed to us tried and tested creeds and confessions. In them, the church has found authoritative summaries of “the faith that was once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3). Today, however, there is a widespread and passionately held opinion that churches that outspokenly hold to a confession generally are not fulfilling the mandate of the Great Commission precisely because they are confessional. Their confessional standards, it is assumed, are not helping them evangelize. On the contrary, their standards are positively stymieing any true effort to bring a clear and simple gospel message to the world.

Continue reading Confessions and the Mission of the Church, or begin receiving Tabletalk magazine by signing up for a free 3-month trial.

 

When the wrath of God was poured out for our sins, was the Son of God separated from the Trinity?

When Jesus experienced God’s wrath on the cross, He cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46). From our 2016 National Conference, Michael Reeves helps us understand what Jesus meant.

If you have a biblical or theological question, just visit Ask.Ligonier.org to ask your question live online.

Read the Transcript

 

Is the Reformation Over?

There have been several observations rendered on this subject by those I would call "erstwhile evangelicals." One of them wrote, "Luther was right in the sixteenth century, but the question of justification is not an issue now." A second self-confessed evangelical made a comment in a press conference I attended that "the sixteenth-century Reformation debate over justification by faith alone was a tempest in a teapot." Still another noted European theologian has argued in print that the doctrine of justification by faith alone is no longer a significant issue in the church. We are faced with a host of people who are defined as Protestants but who have evidently forgotten altogether what it is they are protesting.

Contrary to some of these contemporary assessments of the importance of the doctrine of justification by faith alone, we recall a different perspective by the sixteenth-century magisterial Reformers. Luther made his famous comment that the doctrine of justification by faith alone is the article upon which the church stands or falls. John Calvin added a different metaphor, saying that justification is the hinge upon which everything turns. In the twentieth century, J.I. Packer used a metaphor indicating that justification by faith alone is the "Atlas upon whose shoulder every other doctrine stands." Later Packer moved away from that strong metaphor and retreated to a much weaker one, saying that justification by faith alone is "the fine print of the gospel."

The question we have to face in light of these discussions is, what has changed since the sixteenth century? Well, there is good news and there is bad news. The good news is that people have become much more civil and tolerant in theological disputes. We don't see people being burned at the stake or tortured on the rack over doctrinal differences. We've also seen in the past years that the Roman communion has remained solidly steadfast on other key issues of Christian orthodoxy, such as the deity of Christ, His substitutionary atonement, and the inspiration of the Bible, while many Protestant liberals have abandoned these particular doctrines wholesale. We also see that Rome has remained steadfast on critical moral issues such as abortion and ethical relativism. In the nineteenth century at Vatican Council I, Rome referred to Protestants as "heretics and schismatics." In the twentieth century at Vatican II, Protestants were referred to as "separated brethren." We see a marked contrast in the tone of the different councils. The bad news, however, is that many doctrines that divided orthodox Protestants from Roman Catholics centuries ago have been declared dogma since the sixteenth century. Virtually all of the significant Mariology decrees have been declared in the last 150 years. The doctrine of papal infallibility, though it de facto functioned long before its formal definition, was nevertheless formally defined and declared de fide (necessary to believe for salvation) in 1870 at Vatican Council I. We also see that in recent years the Roman communion has published a new Catholic catechism, which unequivocally reaffirms the doctrines of the Council of Trent, including Trent's definition of the doctrine of justification (and thus affirms that council's anathemas against the Reformation doctrine of justification by faith alone). Along with the reaffirmations of Trent have come a clear reaffirmation of the Roman doctrine of purgatory, indulgences, and the treasury of merits.

At a discussion among leading theologians over the issue of the continued relevance of the doctrine of justification by faith alone, Michael Horton asked the question: "What is it in the last decades that has made the first-century gospel unimportant?" The dispute over justification was not over a technical point of theology that could be consigned to the fringes of the depository of biblical truth. Nor could it be seen simply as a tempest in a teapot. This tempest extended far beyond the tiny volume of a single teacup. The question, "what must I do to be saved?" is still a critical question for any person who is exposed to the wrath of God.

Even more critical than the question is the answer, because the answer touches the very heart of gospel truth. In the final analysis, the Roman Catholic Church affirmed at Trent and continues to affirm now that the basis by which God will declare a person just or unjust is found in one's "inherent righteousness." If righteousness does not inhere in the person, that person at worst goes to hell and at best (if any impurities remain in his life) goes to purgatory for a time that may extend to millions of years. In bold contrast to that, the biblical and Protestant view of justification is that the sole grounds of our justification is the righteousness of Christ, which righteousness is imputed to the believer, so that the moment a person has authentic faith in Christ, all that is necessary for salvation becomes theirs by virtue of the imputation of Christ's righteousness. The fundamental issue is this: is the basis by which I am justified a righteousness that is my own? Or is it a righteousness that is, as Luther said, "an alien righteousness," a righteousness that is extra nos, apart from us—the righteousness of another, namely, the righteousness of Christ? From the sixteenth century to the present, Rome has always taught that justification is based upon faith, on Christ, and on grace. The difference, however, is that Rome continues to deny that justification is based on Christ alone, received by faith alone, and given by grace alone. The difference between these two positions is the difference between salvation and its opposite. There is no greater issue facing a person who is alienated from a righteous God.

At the moment the Roman Catholic Church condemned the biblical doctrine of justification by faith alone, she denied the gospel and ceased to be a legitimate church, regardless of all the rest of her affirmations of Christian orthodoxy. To embrace her as an authentic church while she continues to repudiate the biblical doctrine of salvation is a fatal attribution. We're living in a time where theological conflict is considered politically incorrect, but to declare peace when there is no peace is to betray the heart and soul of the gospel.

This post was originally published in Tabletalk magazine.

I Think, Therefore I Am

“I think, therefore I am.” Have you heard this phrase before? In this brief clip, R.C. Sproul identifies the one reality that René Descartes could not escape through his doubt: his own existence. Today, watch the entire message for free.

Transcript:

This is what Descartes is getting at. He said, “Don’t just tell me what everybody else believes. Give me the argument. Show me its validity.” He said, “Even my own conjecture does not bring certitude. But I want to cut through all of the confusion of my day and get down to those basic ideas, those basic truths that are indisputable, that I can take to the bank, that I can live my life on—on the basis of certitude.” And so, from this, he set out on what I call a “systematic doubt process,” by which he, being from Missouri, that Southern part of France, he decided to question any thought or any proposition that he ever heard—to question it to death. He questioned whether the hand that he saw in front of his face was really there. He questioned his senses. He said, “How do I know that what I am perceiving in the external world really exists out there, or is not simply a hallucination in my own mind, or an illusion perpetrated by some wicked devil who’s fooling me? I can’t trust, in the final analysis, with absolute certainty, what I perceive in the external world. I’m not going to trust theological authorities. I'm not going to trust scientific authorities. I’m going to doubt everything that I can conceivably doubt.” So, Descartes embarked on this process where he doubted everything. But the one thing he couldn’t doubt was that he was doubting. Because if you doubt that you’re doubting, what are you doing? You’re doubting. So, one thing I know for sure is that I am doubting. If I doubt that I am doubting, I prove that I am doubting. Because, to doubt doubt requires doubt. So, he came to the certain conclusion that he was doubting. Then he said, “Okay, what else is clearly contained within the idea of my doubting?” Well, for someone to doubt, they must be thinking. Because doubt is a form of thinking. You can't have doubt without thought. Because doubt is an element of thought. So now he says, “If I am doubting, then I know that I am thinking. Now, if I am thinking, what else does that tell me through resistless logic,” according to Descartes? “If I am thinking—I am having thought—there must be something that is doing the thinking, because thought requires a thinker. And it’s not your thought that’s giving rise to my doubts. It’s my thought that I am immediately aware of through pure intuition, to know that I am the one who is thinking and I am doubting. And if I am thinking, and I am doubting, I must be.” So, he gives us his famous formula that we have all heard at one time or another, pronounced variously by different people, and I am going to give you this pronunciation: “Cogito Ergo Sum.” Now, perhaps the most important part of this formula is the middle word, “ergo,” which means what? It means “Therefore.” It is the word which signals a conclusion, a rational conclusion. He is saying, “Cogito”—"I think, I am cogitating”—therefore, “Sum”—“I am.” So, he finally reaches something about which he can be absolutely certain: namely, his own existence.

 

Should the church support the total abolition of abortion?

Abortion is one of the greatest sins that has ever marred the history of civilization. How should Christians respond to this evil and work toward bringing it to an end? From one of our live events, Sinclair Ferguson and Burk Parsons respond. Ask your biblical and theological questions live online at ask.Ligonier.org.

Read the Transcript

 

God Is Always at Work for Us and for Our Good

Psalm 18 is a psalm of David, a song celebrating “the day when the LORD rescued him from the hand of all his enemies, and from the hand of Saul.” This psalm, the longest of Book One, praises God for His deliverance. It is also recorded, with slight differences, in 2 Samuel 22. At the center of this psalm is a strong confession of faith: “With the merciful you show yourself merciful” (v. 25).

This psalm begins (vv. 1–6) and ends (vv. 46–50) with praise offered to God. It is praise filled with love and thanksgiving for God’s protection from enemies and from death. The praise rejoices in the victories God has given His king and His people—victories displayed before the world.

The central section of the psalm (vv. 20–29) celebrates the faithfulness of David and of God. David served the Lord with integrity (we will look at the difficulties that seem to surround this kind of claim below). The Lord on His part had always been reliable and blessed His king. On each side of this central meditation on faithfulness we have the record of God’s powerful help for David (vv. 7–19; 30–45). Each of these two sections has its own character. Verses 7–19 emphasize the work of God to save David. Verses 30–45 highlight David’s success as God worked through him.

In light of this overview of the psalm’s structure, we want to look more closely at several points. First, how can David claim to be blameless (vv. 20–24)? The claim of blamelessness is a recurring theme in the Psalms. It is stated with special force in Psalm 26: “Vindicate me, O LORD, for I have walked in my integrity, and I have trusted in the LORD without wavering. Prove me, O LORD, and try me; test my heart and my mind. For your steadfast love is before my eyes, and I walk in your faithfulness. I do not sit with men of falsehood, nor do I consort with hypocrites” (vv. 1–4). But David is a murderer and an adulterer, to name only some of his sins. How can he claim to be blameless?

We need to recognize that David was a devoted and persevering follower of the Lord even though he did fall into very serious sin. When Nathan confronted him with his sins, he repented and grieved deeply for them. He expressed his repentance in beautiful psalms of penitence such as Psalms 32 and 51. His life as a whole was characterized by his faithful keeping of God’s covenant in obedience and repentance.

What David pleads, then, is not absolute moral perfection. He recognized that by such a standard he would never stand: “Enter not into judgment with your servant, for no one living is righteous before you” (Ps. 143:2). Rather, he pleads his faithfulness in comparison to the wickedness of those who hate God and His king. He makes this comparison not to claim that he deserves or has earned God’s favor, but to show that God’s saving grace has really made him different from the wicked in the ways in which he thinks, believes, and lives. David loves the Lord and His law, so his sin is grievous to him and he willingly repents and seeks to lead a godly life. In contrast, the wicked despise God and His holy law. They ignore God and seek in every way to harm their neighbor.

Again, David is not claiming that his perfect righteousness earns him God’s favor. Rather, he says God has brought him into His covenant and given him the integrity that he has. It is “God who equipped me with strength and made my way blameless” (v. 32). He belongs to God and follows God and therefore knows that God will be kind to him. It is not the self-righteous whom the Lord saves, but the humble: “For you save a humble people, but the haughty eyes you bring down” (v. 27). All his strength comes from the Lord (v. 1) and the faith or trust of the psalmist always turns to the Lord for help (v. 2; cf. Ps. 26:1: “I have trusted in the LORD without wavering”). The foundation of God’s care for David is not David’s deserving, but the Lord’s election: “He rescued me, because he delighted in me” (v. 19).

While David wrote this psalm and had every right to sing it in his faithfulness, once again we see the psalm drawing our minds beyond David to one greater and purer than David. This psalm belongs more to the Christ, who was fully blameless in every way, than to David. Paul demonstrates this in his use of this psalm in Romans 15:8–9. He writes: “For I tell you that Christ became a servant to the circumcised to show God’s truthfulness, in order to confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, ‘Therefore I will praise you among the Gentiles, and sing to your name.’” In citing Psalm 18:49, Paul shows that it speaks of Jesus at least as much as it does of David. Indeed, even David can claim covenantal integrity only as he is in Christ.

Another feature of this psalm is the vivid picture of God’s coming to David’s rescue (vv. 7–15). David cried out for help (v. 6) and the Lord answered. “He bowed the heavens and came down; thick darkness was under his feet. He rode on a cherub and flew; he came swiftly on the wings of the wind” (vv. 9–10). The fury of the Lord shook the earth (vv. 7, 15) and thunder and lightning preceded him (vv. 12–14). Hot smoke poured forth from his nostrils and fire from his mouth (vv. 8, 15). Here is a marvelous picture of the power and determination of God to save. But when in David’s life did this happen? As we scan Old Testament history, we can find no such episode. Something like this happened when the Lord met with Israel at Mount Sinai, but nothing close to it happened in David’s experience.

The explanation is, of course, that David is speaking poetically here. He records not what he saw with his physical eyes, but what his eyes of faith saw happen. Although this awesome power of God usually remains hidden from view, it is absolutely real, and it is exercised for the well-being of His people. God is always working powerfully and passionately for His people even when we do not see it. David’s poetic imagery shows us more than eyes can see.

This truth is taught over and over again in the Bible. We need to have it taught repeatedly because we are so inclined to think that only the visible is real. Think of the experience of Elisha. He sat in Dothan apparently defenseless against the strength of the king of Aram. When his servant panicked, Elisha replied, “Do not be afraid, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them” (2 Kings 6:16). And then to comfort his servant further, Elisha prayed and God did an amazing thing. “Then Elisha prayed and said, ‘O LORD, please open his eyes that he may see.’ So the LORD opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw, and behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha” (v. 17). Elisha had never been in any danger, for the Lord was on his side.

We see something similar when the authorities came to arrest Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus appeared weak and defenseless. Peter, in a panic, tried to protect Him with a sword. “Then Jesus said to him, ‘Put your sword back into its place. For all who take the sword will perish by the sword. Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?’” (Matt. 26:52–53). Jesus submitted to arrest not because He was helpless, but because He accepted the Father’s will for His death and our redemption.

This psalm reminds all of us that God is always at work for us and for our good. In the New Testament, the Apostle John makes the same point: “He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world” (1 John 4:4). We do not need to fear, for God will save us in His good time. We should praise God for His mercy and help as this psalm does.

This excerpt is adapted from Learning to Love the Psalms by W. Robert Godfrey.

$5 Friday (And More): Faith, Reformed Theology, & Scripture

It’s time for our weekly $5 Friday sale. This week’s resources include such topics as faith, reformed theology, scripture, evangelism, John Calvin, and more.

Plus, several bonus resources are also available for more than $5. These have been significantly discounted from their original price. This week’s bonus resources include:

Faith Alone by R.C. Sproul, $18 $10 What Is Reformed Theology? by R.C. Sproul, $17 $11 Getting the Gospel Right by R.C. Sproul, $18 $9 Unseen Realities: Heaven, Hell, Angels and Demons by R.C. Sproul, $15 $10 Knowing Scripture by R.C. Sproul, $16 $10And More

Sale runs through 12:01 a.m.–11:59 p.m. Friday ET.

VIEW TODAY'S $5 FRIDAY ITEMS