Justin Taylor's Blog, page 269

Is Gospel Centrality Just a Trend?

From an interview with Jared Wilson about his new book Gospel Wakefulness:

Near the end of the book you ask, "Is gospel centrality just a trend?" What are some practical ways that we who champion gospel-centered theology and living can guard against this temptation to treasure the trend more than God himself?

Keep asking this question, for starters.

We need to also work at making sure the "gospel-centered" jargon doesn't become our badge of orthodoxy, that we don't shrink the church to the size of our tribe. I think when we trend that way, we have clearly made the gospel-centered movement more cherished than Christ and his body.

I also think we ought to take care that what we are seeing and doing are acts of worship, exulting in the gospel, which looks like—to borrow from Piper —"oh!" language, rather than merely recitations of the mechanics of salvation or rote theology. When Paul is outlining the workings of the gospel, he doesn't do so simply or a-theologically; he is nearly breathless. He ransacks his vocabulary to do some sense of justice to it, to revel in it. His sense of awe is palpable.

9Marks Journal on Church Revitalization

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Jonathan Leeman's introduction to the latest issue of the 9Marks e-journal:

There's more here than you might expect. That was true for me. I've been hearing the argument for church revitalization for years, and it has always sounded like a conversation about practical matters. There are practical reasons to sometimes plant a new church. And there are practical reasons to sometimes revitalize an old church.

But reading through the articles for this edition of the eJournal, I discovered something larger, something older, something more basic. Church revitalization, it occurred to me, goes to the very heart of what it means to pastor. And the desire to see churches revitalized, I dare say, should be a constituent part of a Christian's heart. Could it be that we've been missing something as basic as evangelism and discipleship, even if it's rarer?

Church planting is a great thing, and there's no need to take anything away from it. But there should also be a default setting in a Christian's heart that always longs to see dying churches revitalized. It's not like the debate in your head about whether to fork over $2000 to the mechanic to fix your clunker of a car or to just buy a new one. It's more like a decision about whether to walk away from a dear but difficult relationship. Our hearts should never want to do that, even if once in a great while we must.

Start with Andy Davis' remarkable story of reforming one church, and you'll find something that feels strangely like it's from the Bible, as if Andy were only doing what the apostles did. Then let the biblical burden of Bobby Jamieson's article sit on you. I'm serious. You just might find some new light bulbs turning on. Matt Schmucker's and Mike McKinley's articles then round out the apologetic by offering crisp statements for why churches and pastors should pursue the work of revitalizing.

If you are a pastor, keep reading into the next section, where Jeramie Rinne, Greg Gilbert, John Folmar, J. D. Greear, and Brian Croft offer valuable and practical wisdom on how to proceed with the work of reform.

Could it be that church revitalization does not loom as large in the modern evangelical mindset as it did in Jesus' and the apostles'? Before you answer that question, if nothing else, read Bobby's article. You just might wonder if we've missed something basic.

The World of Prayer that Luther Grew Up In

From Gerald Bray's paper delivered at the Reformation Spirituality Conference at Beeson Divinity School (November 2011):

The French historian Georges Duby (1919-96) classified medieval society into three distinct orders—those who prayed, those who fought and those who worked.[i] These orders, better known to us as the three estates of the realm, were clearly demarcated from each other by a series of laws, customs and taboos which extended even to what each of them was allowed to wear. The praying order was the first, or spiritual estate, consisting of priests, monks, friars and other people who were officially recognised as 'religious'. It was their duty to connect society to God, a task which was thought to be aided by imposing a semi-heavenly lifestyle on them. Like the angels, they were required to be celibate and they spoke, wrote and prayed in a language that was not in common use. They lived by their own laws, in their own quarters and were as cut off from the world as they could.

This way of life seems strange to us now, but it had a logic of its own.

The Bible tells us to pray without ceasing, but how is that possible if we have to earn a living? The medieval answer was to set certain people aside and let them do the praying, often on a continuous basis, while the rest of the population got on with its daily tasks. Just as the civilian population was not expected to fight in the way that the warrior class was, so they were not expected to pray either—others would do it for them. They did not think that this was unreasonable, and it can even be said that it bound society more closely together. After all, if I need prayer in order to perform my daily tasks but cannot pray myself, I am going to make sure that there is someone available to pray for me, and if I have to pay him to do it, so be it. This system worked fairly well until the mid-fourteenth century, when the crisis brought by the bubonic plague caused it to be questioned. Not only did the plague carry off up to one third of the entire population, it struck more virulently at the clerical order because the priests had to care for the dying and were more exposed to infection than others were.

But how could this happen, if they had been praying faithfully for the preservation of God's people? Why had God so clearly not answered their prayers? Was there something amiss in the spiritual estate, some secret sin or corruption that was preventing its prayers from being heard? There was no easy answer to that question, but it was from this time that discontent with the traditional order began to rear its head and spread in a way that could not be ignored or overcome. Lay people began to develop a new kind of spirituality known as the 'modern devotion', and the belief that it was not only possible, but necessary for individuals to make their own supplications to God gradually took root in some circles. We must not exaggerate this tendency of course—it remained an alternative lifestyle and might eventually have died out, as almost happened with the Lollard followers of John Wycliffe in England. We do not know. What we can say however, is that it proved to be a forerunner of something that would become popular and public in the wake of the Reformation, which is the subject of our present concerns.

You can read the whole thing here (PDF).

Can Someone Be Saved Who Distorts or Denies the Biblical Doctrine of Justification?

The great English theologian John Owen (1616-1683) wrote:

Men may be really saved by that grace which doctrinally they do deny; and they may be justified by the imputation of that righteousness which in opinion they deny to be imputed. (The Doctrine of Justification by Faith Alone in Owen's Works 5:163-64)

In some ways Owen's position is a dangerous one to hold—given the strong connection in Scripture between sound doctrine and assurance—but it's nevertheless an important principle. Note that Owen doesn't say that they necessarily are saved but that they may be saved.

I also agree with the qualifier John Piper adds: "The clearer the knowledge of the truth and the more deep the denial, the less assurance one can have that the God of truth will save him. Owen's words are not meant to make us cavalier about the content of the gospel, but to hold out hope that men's hearts are often better than their heads" (The Future of Justification, 25n30).

Jonathan Edwards (1703-1758) offers a similar statement to Owen's but goes into greater detail with various options regarding the denial—emphasizing how dangerous false teaching is but also hoping that such a person may be teachable when confronted with his error:

How far a wonderful and mysterious agency of God's Spirit may so influence some men's hearts, that their practice in this regard may be contrary to their own principles, so that they shall not trust in their own righteousness, though they profess that men are justified by their own righteousness—

or how far they may believe the doctrine of justification by men's own righteousness in general, and yet not believe it in a particular application of it to themselves—

or how far that error which they may have been led into by education, or cunning sophistry of others, may yet be indeed contrary to the prevailing disposition of their hearts, and contrary to their practice—

or how far some may seem to maintain a doctrine contrary to this gospel-doctrine of justification, that really do not, but only express themselves differently from others;

or seem to oppose it through their misunderstanding of our expressions, or we of theirs, when indeed our real sentiments are the same in the main—

or may seem to differ more than they do, by using terms that are without a precisely fixed and determinate meaning—

or to be wide in their sentiments from this doctrine, for want of a distinct understanding of it;

whose hearts, at the same time, entirely agree with it, and if once it was clearly explained to their understandings, would immediately close with it, and embrace it:—

how far these things may be, I will not determine; but am fully persuaded that great allowances are to be made on these and such like accounts, in innumerable instances; though it is manifest, from what has been said, that the teaching and propagating [of] contrary doctrines and schemes, is of a pernicious and fatal tendency. ("Justification by Faith Alone," in Yale's Works of Jonathan Edwards 19:242.)

Can Someone Be Saved Who Distort or Deny the Biblical Doctrine of Justification?

The great English theologian John Owen (1616-1683) wrote:

Men may be really saved by that grace which doctrinally they do deny; and they may be justified by the imputation of that righteousness which in opinion they deny to be imputed. (The Doctrine of Justification by Faith Alone in Owen's Works 5:163-64)

In some ways Owen's position is a dangerous one to hold—given the strong connection in Scripture between sound doctrine and assurance—but it's nevertheless an important principle. Note that Owen doesn't say that they necessarily are saved but that they may be saved.

I also agree with the qualifier John Piper adds: "The clearer the knowledge of the truth and the more deep the denial, the less assurance one can have that the God of truth will save him. Owen's words are not meant to make us cavalier about the content of the gospel, but to hold out hope that men's hearts are often better than their heads" (The Future of Justification, 25n30).

Jonathan Edwards (1703-1753) offers a similar statement to Owen's but goes into greater detail with various options regarding the denial—emphasizing how dangerous false teaching is but also hoping that such a person may be teachable when confronted with his error:

How far a wonderful and mysterious agency of God's Spirit may so influence some men's hearts, that their practice in this regard may be contrary to their own principles, so that they shall not trust in their own righteousness, though they profess that men are justified by their own righteousness—

or how far they may believe the doctrine of justification by men's own righteousness in general, and yet not believe it in a particular application of it to themselves—

or how far that error which they may have been led into by education, or cunning sophistry of others, may yet be indeed contrary to the prevailing disposition of their hearts, and contrary to their practice—

or how far some may seem to maintain a doctrine contrary to this gospel-doctrine of justification, that really do not, but only express themselves differently from others;

or seem to oppose it through their misunderstanding of our expressions, or we of theirs, when indeed our real sentiments are the same in the main—

or may seem to differ more than they do, by using terms that are without a precisely fixed and determinate meaning—

or to be wide in their sentiments from this doctrine, for want of a distinct understanding of it;

whose hearts, at the same time, entirely agree with it, and if once it was clearly explained to their understandings, would immediately close with it, and embrace it:—

how far these things may be, I will not determine; but am fully persuaded that great allowances are to be made on these and such like accounts, in innumerable instances; though it is manifest, from what has been said, that the teaching and propagating [of] contrary doctrines and schemes, is of a pernicious and fatal tendency. ("Justification by Faith Alone," in Yale's Works of Jonathan Edwards 19:242.)

An Interview with Michael Haykin on Martin Luther

The new Credo Magazine continues to produce excellent content. Be sure to check out their blog.

They recently interviewed Michael A.G. Haykin, professor of Church History and Biblical Spirituality at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He explains Martin Luther's conversion, how he came to post the 95 theses, the story of the "Here I Stand" speech at Worms, and whether or not the Reformation is over:

Jonathan Edwards, Introspective Spirituality, and Holiness by Grace

[image error]I have long admired Jonathan Edwards for his relentless resolve and spiritual tenacity. At the same time I sometimes wonder if there was something spiritually unhealthy about certain aspects of it.

Take, for example, his method of examining the question, "Am I humble?" He writes:

If on the proposal of the question, you answer, "No, it seems to me, none are so bad as I." Don't let the matter pass off so; but examine again, whether or no you don't think yourself better than others on this very account, because you imagine you think so meanly of yourself. Haven't you a high opinion of this humility? And if you answer again, "No; I have not a high opinion of my humility; it seems to me I am as proud as the devil"; yet examine again, whether self-conceit don't rise up under this cover; whether on this very account, that you think yourself as proud as the devil, you don't think yourself to be very humble.

It's an insightful exploration of the psychology and effect of indwelling sin and self-deception and self-justification. But do this too much—or leave it there—and it can become so inward that it becomes paralyzing rather than freeing.

The biblical balance requires much wisdom. I think John Piper puts it well:  "Periodic self-examination is needed and wise and biblical. But for the most part mental health is the use of the mind to focus on worthy reality outside ourselves." Or more memorably, Robert Murray McCheyne wrote, "For every look at yourself take ten looks at Christ." It's the difference between looking and staring. (See also this seminar from David Powlison.)

I was interested to see that Sean Michael Lucas addressed this in his new book God's Grand Design: The Theological Vision of Jonathan Edwards (Crossway, 2011). He shows that there may be some development on this issue through Edwards's life:

With all of his "violent" striving for holiness, Edwards sometimes seemed to exemplify the temptation to gain holiness by works, rather than by grace. His diary was filled with reproachful reminders that his spiritual condition depended upon self-denial in eating, drinking, and sleeping; that he was not properly using his time for God's glory; and that he needed to devote even more time to private prayer. As he focused on these exercises of self-denial and turned his gaze inward, his religious feelings ebbed and flowed. Over a two-week period at the end of 1722, his spirituality ran the gamut: on December 21, "This day, and yesterday, I was exceedingly dull, dry, and dead"; the next day, he reported, "This day revived by God's Spirit"; by December 24 he had "higher thoughts than usual of the excellency of Jesus Christ and his kingdom," only to return "dull and lifeless" on December 29 and to experience dullness on both January 1 and 2. Such reporting went on throughout his diary, marking his spiritual temperature.

By engaging in this introspective spirituality at this point in his life, Edwards seemed to conflate his wholehearted pursuit of God's glory with right standing with God.

To be fair, at his best moments (or moments of frustration with his rigorous spiritual practice) Edwards recognized that his sanctification would progress only through the work of the Holy Spirit. At around the same time that Edwards renewed his baptismal covenant and gave himself anew to God, he also confessed in his diary, "I find by experience, that let me make resolutions, and do what I will, with never so many inventions, it is all nothing, and to no purpose at all, without the motions of the Spirit of God." In his pursuit of God's glory, through his self-examinations and strict resolution, Edwards realized that "it is to no purpose to resolve, except we depend on the grace of God; for if it were not for his mere grace, one might be a very good man one day, and a very wicked one the next." In a later meditation, Edwards reveled in the work of God's gracious Spirit: "Felt the doctrines of election, free grace, and of our not being able to do anything without the grace of God; and that holiness is entirely, throughout, the work of God's Spirit, with more pleasure than before."

In addition, Edwards would later recognize that his constant self-examinations and scheming for holiness occurred "with too great a dependence on my own strength; which afterwards proved a great damage to me." As he continued on in the Christian life, he learned two things: "my extreme feebleness and impotence, every manner of way; and the innumerable and bottomless depths of secret corruption and deceit, that there was in my heart." The only true solution to the intractable problem of human depravity would not be self-willed striving, but "a more full and constant sense of the absolute sovereignty of God, and a delight in that sovereignty . . . [and] more of a sense of the glory of Christ, as a mediator, as revealed in the gospel." If Edwards was to make any progress in the Christian life, it would be solely because of the sovereign work of God's Spirit motivated by God's amazing grace and rooted in God's glorious gospel.

Does an Unbelieving Child Disqualify an Elder?

The latest TGC Asks is on whether an unbelieving child disqualifies a man from being an elder. I did my best to answer the question from the biblical texts. It's important that we say nothing less than the texts say—but also that we not go beyond what Scripture requires or prohibits.

Here's how my answer begins:

There can be few things in life more painful than an unbelieving child. And when the child is the son or daughter of an elder, the questions take on a public dimension in the life of the church. Doesn't the apostle Paul say something about elders needing to have children who are believers?

The verses under consideration are 1 Timothy 3:4-5 and Titus 1:6. We'll look at them in more detail below, but at this point it's helpful to look at the two different conclusions that faithful interpreters have reached.

Douglas Wilson holds to the first option: "[I]f a man's children fall away from the faith (either doctrinally or morally), he is at that point disqualified from formal ministry in the church."

Alexander Strauch holds to the second view: "The contrast is made not between believing and unbelieving children, but between obedient, respectful children and lawless, uncontrolled children." In other words, Paul is talking about "the children's behavior, not their eternal state."

Which one is right? To answer that, we have to take a careful look at the key texts.

You can read the whole thing here.

Big-Idea Books vs. Books of Ideas

Marshall Poe writes about his lifelong dream to write a Big Idea book, got a contract to do so, and was asked to rewrite it to make it more commercial. But, he writes:

. . . I had no inner James Surowiecki, Malcolm Gladwell, or Chris Anderson. From my editor's perspective, these were models, and rightly so. They made trade publishers a fortune. From my perspective, however, they were good writers who had spun big ideas into gold. I couldn't write a big-idea book, because, as it turned out, I didn't believe in big ideas. By my lights, they almost had to be wrong. Years of academic research taught me two things. First, reality is as complicated as it is, not as complicated as we want it to be. Some phenomena have an irreducible complexity that will defeat any big-idea effort at simplification. Detailed research has, not surprisingly, cast doubt on the reality of wise crowds, tipping points, and long tails. Second, most of the easy big questions about the way the world works have been answered. The questions that remain are really hard. Big ideas, then, can only reinvent the wheel or make magical claims.

So I forgot about big ideas and did what I was trained to do. I conducted research. I let the facts be my guide. My book contained no down-from-the-mountain revelations. Its conclusions would not make anyone rich, happy, and beautiful. Its rewards were unashamedly intellectual, and moreover not that easily achieved. It was a difficult book. I submitted it to my editor, hoping that he would accept it.

Of course he couldn't.

You can read the whole thing here.

Welcome to the Story

It was a pleasure to sit down with Stephen J. Nichols to talk about his new book, Welcome to the Story: Reading, Loving, and Living God's Word—which, as Tom Schreiner says, is "a delightful and inviting book on how to understand and live out the Bible."

You can sample the book here, and watch the conversation below: