The Path to Understanding

October 7, 2010

A few years ago, I found the Bible I had as a teen-ager. I was interested in the notes that I had placed in it. Bible knowledge is not gained in a day. It takes a lifetime of study. Matters that today I probably wouldn’t need any help finding were concepts that back then I understood very imperfectly. For example in a note, I misspelled the word “Pentateuch”—a word which means 5 scrolls and is normally applied to the first five books of the Old Testament. I don’t believe that 1 Timothy has 15 chapters the last time I looked, but I have a written note for 1 Timothy 15.

Understanding takes time and repetition. I compare it to a net. The first time through a book of the Bible the mesh on the net is extremely course. Many things get by us. We struggle to understand. But as we continue to read, the mesh gets finer, and we notice and understand more and more. Alexander Campbell noted the same thing in his publication called the Christian Baptist. After observing that God revealed Himself in understandable language and that our approach to the Bible should be the same as for understanding any other book. He wrote:

You will then take, say, a New Testament, and sit down with a pencil or pen in your hand. Begin with Matthew’s gospel; read the whole of it at one reading, or two; mark on the margin every sentence you think you do not understand. Turn back again; read it a second time, in less portions at once than in the first reading; cancel such marks as you have made which noted passages, that, on the first reading appeared to you dark or difficult to understand, but on the second reading opened to your view. Then read Mark, Luke, and John, in the same manner, as they all treat upon the same subject. After having read each evangelist in this way, read them all in succession a third time. At this time you will no doubt be able to cancel many of your marks.

[Then] read Acts of the Apostles, which is the key to all the Epistles; then the Epistles in a similar manner; always before reading an epistle, read every thing said about the people addressed in the epistle, which you find in the Acts of the Apostles. This is the course which we would take to understand any book. You will no doubt see, from what you read, the necessity of accompanying all your readings with supplications to the Father of Lights….In pursuing this plan, we have no doubt, in getting even three times through the New Testament, that you will understand much more of the christian religion than a learned divine would teach you in seven years.
Christian Baptist 1 (December 1, 1823)

Be patient with yourself. Learning takes time. Be assured that God has written an understandable message. What you first do not understand will become clearer in time. Read, pray, think. The path to understanding is taken one step at a time.


The Hound of Heaven

October 5, 2010

British poet, Francis Thompson, pictures God as the great pursuer in “The Hound of Heaven.” The title is striking. God relentlessly pursues us with a loving plan to save. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:1, 14). The one from heaven humbled himself and took on the form of a servant, “becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:8, ESV). Yet, the poem pictures the flight of many.

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.

But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat – and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet –
“All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.”

But why do we flee our Creator? The poem confesses, “Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside.” The desires of the world blind us to our true need, and so we run. Or maybe with our busy, noisy world we drown out the call to fill the God-sized hole in our lives.

The poem ends with God overshadowing the one who flees pleading:

“Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.”

[“Drave” is archaic past tense for “drive” – the idea is driving away God from our life drives away love.]

God the seeker, the hound of heaven, is deep down what we seek. We may fill our life with other things…even good things. We may keep so busy that spiritual things are crowded out. Enough noise and busyness can silence spiritual hunger and thirst, but still leave it unsatiated and unquenched. God seeks us; we should seek Him.

“You have made us for Yourself, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” Augustine, Confessions I. i.


Chosen Exiles

October 3, 2010

Peter addresses the recipients of his first letter as “chosen exiles.” A tension exists with those two words. Chosen represents their status with God. Exiles depicts their relationship to the world. The recipients of the letter seem to be predominantly Gentiles Christians (1:14, 1:18). Now that they are Christians they are out of step with their pagan neighbors, who were “surprised when you do not run with them in the same flood of loose living” (4:4). These Christians found themselves maligned. They felt the tension of being in the world but not of the world.

Is this a correct understanding of Peter’s use of the word “exile”? Peter will come back to this word. Notice the context. It is about right living in a pagan world.

“Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation. ” (1 Peter 2:11–12, ESV)

One of my favorite quotes from second century Christians is found in an anonymous letter, The Epistle to Diognetus. This author seems very familiar with this tension and expresses it eloquently.

For Christians are not distinguished from the rest of humanity by country, language, or custom. For nowhere do they live in cities of their own, nor do they speak some unusual dialect, nor do they practice an eccentric life-style. This teaching of theirs has not been discovered by the thought and reflection of ingenious men, nor do they promote any human doctrine, as some do. But while they live in both Greek and barbarian cities, as each one’s lot was cast, and follow the local customs in dress and food and other aspects of life, at the same time they demonstrate the remarkable and admittedly unusual character of their own citizenship. They live in their own countries, but only as aliens; they participate in everything as citizens, and endure everything as foreigners. Every foreign country is their fatherland, and every fatherland is foreign. They marry like everyone else, and have children, but they do not expose their offspring. They share their food but not their wives. They are “in the flesh,” but they do not live “according to the flesh.” They live on earth, but their citizenship is in heaven. They obey the established laws; indeed in their private lives they transcend the laws. They love everyone, and by everyone they are persecuted.*

Don’t be surprised that sometimes you feel like an exile? It comes with the territory of being in the world but not of it, and being chosen is worth it all. The chosen have Christ, the chosen have God, and the chosen have hope.

*The Epistle of Diognetus 5:1-11 in M.W. Holmes, translator, The Apostolic Fathers: Greek Texts and English Translations, p. 541.


Sharing Our Very Selves

September 30, 2010

This past week has been a time of saying good-bye as a family moves away. I must admit that saying good-bye is never easy to do. It is painful. You become close to someone, and then separation comes. It may be a move, and even worse, it may be death. So what are we supposed to do?

Paul models an answer for us:

But we were gentle among you, like a nursing mother taking care of her own children. So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us. 1 Thessalonians 2:7–8 (ESV)

Note the intimate language that Paul uses to describe their relationship. His gentleness among them was like a nursing mother caring for her own children. He has great affection for them. They were “very dear” to Paul. Paul speaks of sharing “our own selves” as well as the gospel. All of this speaks of a close relationship. Yet, Paul went into Thessalonica as an itinerant preacher. A departure would come, and in the case of Thessalonica, it came sooner than Paul wanted. After an uproar in the city and a security deposit to the officials, Paul is sent away by night. We read of his eagerness to return, and his urgency to receive word about them. Yet I don’t think Paul ever backed off from sharing his own self with people. He invested in people even when there were good-byes to come.

I think there are two Christian answers to this pain of parting. These answers explain why we should invest ourselves in others despite the pain departures bring. The first is the providence of God. In what some may consider “the boring bits” of Paul’s letters, we find many, many names of people important to Paul. Paul had Christian friends around the Roman world. If he departed from some or they departed from him, God had a wonderful way of bringing new people into his life.

New people in our lives doesn’t mean that people are interchangeable parts. If we think about particular persons who are absent, we will miss them. Each person plays a unique role in our lives, but our lives are enriched by each person with whom we share our very selves.

The second answer is the resurrection. There are no lasting good-byes among Christians. Heaven will be the great reunion. We certainly morn our losses, but we do so in hope.

Despite the pain of departures, I suspect that sharing of our own selves will be part of the treasure we find awaiting us in heaven.


The Personal Answer

May 26, 2010

Have you ever been with a friend just talking? Maybe it is conversation over a cup of coffee. You discuss all the world’s problems. You and your friend exchange theories. It is lively and entertaining conversation, and in the end you part ways, and maybe one of you says, “We’ve solved all the world’s problems.” Such conversations are long on talk and short on deeds.

Jesus had set his face towards Jerusalem (Luke 9:51). Luke clearly lets us know the journey is “for him to be taken up.” Jesus’ crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension are ahead even if the disciples failed to grasp it. Jesus predicts, but they dimly understand.

In the midst of this journey, someone says to Jesus, “Lord, will those who are saved be few” (Luke 13:23)? I can imagine in a tedious, walking journey that conversation on an interesting topic would be welcome. Who better to engage in conversation or teaching than Jesus? And it is such a wonderful theoretical question. It could have led to lively conversation. It could have been bandied about, and in the end, someone could say, “We’ve solved all the world’s problems.”

Jesus’ answer is direct: “Strive to enter through the narrow door. For many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able” (Luke 13:24, ESV). Jesus immediately brings the question down to the level of personal responsibility and not just abstract speculation.

Jesus uses an uncomfortable word – strive. The word means to do something with great intensity and effort. It was a word used of athletic contests as well as fights with weapons. Someone might ask, “If I can’t merit salvation, what’s all this talk about ‘striving’?”  We must strive to understand the message. We must strive to discern truth from error in a world with multiple messages. We must strive to respond to the message. “Striving” in this sense is certainly necessary, but it is not meritorious. It is the response to what God has given and done for us.

Jesus gives us another uncomfortable truth. We must seek a narrow door. Our culture wants many paths all leading to a good place. All spiritual truths are to be regarded as equally valid. Jesus will have none of this. There is an absolute truth, and a necessary way.

Jesus also lets us know that the clock is ticking: “When once the master of the house has risen and shut the door, and you begin to stand outside and to knock at the door, saying, ‘Lord, open to us,’ then he will answer you, ‘I do not know where you come from’” (Luke 13:25, ESV). There is a deadline. The deadline means our opportunity to enter is limited.

I enjoy theoretical conversations. They don’t make much in the way of demands. Jesus reminds us that some issues cannot remain theoretical. We must give a personal answer.


The Lord’s Day

April 8, 2010

Why do Christians assemble for worship every Sunday, the first day of the week? The bottom line answer is that Jesus arose on Sunday morning  (Matthew 28:1-10; Mark 16:1-8; Luke 24:1, 13, 21, 46; John 20:1-19). Jesus’ resurrection makes the first day of the week, special, and that connection was so important that Christians began to call Sunday “the Lord’s Day” (Revelation 1:10).

The church likely began on a Sunday. The outpouring of the Holy Spirit, the first gospel sermon, and the baptism of 3000 occurred on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2:1). Pentecost (also known as the Feast of Weeks and the Feast of Harvest) was on the 50th day after the offering of the barley sheaf at the Feast of Unleavened Bread (Leviticus 23:15-21). The method used by the Sadducees for calculating the day of Pentecost always placed it on a Sunday.

The Lord’s Day assembly is not a matter of a command as was the Sabbath in the Ten Commandments. But we derive our authority not just from commands, but also from principles and apostolic precedents. Although the New Testament does command the assembly (Hebrews 10:25), the indication of the day of the week is given by example.

On the first day of the week, when we were gathered together to break bread, Paul talked with them, intending to depart on the next day, and he prolonged his speech until midnight. (Acts 20:7, ESV)

On the first day of every week, each of you is to put something aside and store it up, as he may prosper, so that there will be no collecting when I come. (1 Corinthians 16:2, ESV)

When we look at the writings of Christians in the second century, the worship assembly on every first day of week is clearly indicated. Justin Martyr illustrates this, “But Sunday is the day on which we all hold our common assembly, because it is the first day on which God, having wrought a change in the darkness and matter, made the world; and Jesus Christ our Saviour on the same day rose from the dead” (Apology, 67).  Although the second century authors are not our authority, they help confirm the fact that we have rightly understood the apostolic example.

Jesus died for my sins, and death could not hold him captive. He is risen. I know of no greater thoughts. It is in our weekly assembly that we remember His death and proclaim His death for our sins until He comes again.


The Big Hint

March 28, 2010

Abraham was to become a great nation (Genesis 12:1-3), and God had promised that it was through Isaac that Abraham’s offspring would be named (Genesis 21:12). Abraham had waited twenty-five years for his promised son. That is what made the command to sacrifice Isaac such a great test (Genesis 22:1-19).

The story of the sacrifice of Isaac is disturbing. Human sacrifice was forbidden to Israel (Deuteronomy 12:31), and as readers we are relieved when Abraham’s hand is stayed by the voice of the angel. Yet as I read this Old Testament narrative, I can’t help think of another story – the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus.

  • Both stories deal with a son of promise.
  • Both stories deal with an only and beloved son (Genesis 22:2). With Jesus, God gave his only Son (John 3:16), his beloved son (Matthew 3:17).
  • Both stories deal with the same geography. The land of Moriah is normally identified with Jerusalem (2 Chronicles 3:1).
  • Both stories deal with an atoning sacrifice. Isaac is to be a burnt offering (Genesis 22:2, see also Leviticus 1:4). Jesus was to be the Lamb of God that takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29).
  • Both stories affirm faith in resurrection. “By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises was in the act of offering up his only son, of whom it was said, ‘Through Isaac shall your offspring be named.’ He considered that God was able even to raise him from the dead, from which, figuratively speaking, he did receive him back” (Hebrews 11:17–19, ESV). Hebrews reflects on Abraham’s dilemma and words: “He said to his servants, ‘Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you’” (Genesis 22:5, NIV, emphasis added). For Isaac to fulfill the promise, he had to live beyond the sacrifice. For Jesus to be the glorious King that his identity as Messiah affirmed, he had to live beyond the sacrifice. Isaac was spared; Jesus was offered, but raised.
  • Both stories affirm “God will himself provide the lamb…” (Genesis 22:8, John 3:16).
  • Both stories center on the promise made to Abraham. The promise is reaffirmed after the offering of Isaac (Genesis 22:17-19). Jesus is the promised seed through whom all the world is blessed (Galatians 3:7-9).

I must confess that such comparisons are not popular today, and I’m well aware that typologies can be taken too far. Isaiah 53 is a far clearer place to look for the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. Yet as a reader, I can’t help but see these comparisons. It is as if God is giving in Abraham a glimpse of what was to come two millennia later. Given what was to come, the offering of Isaac is the big hint.


Life on Loan

March 24, 2010

The parable was told in response to a request; a request that Jesus refuses. A man asks for Jesus to arbitrate an inheritance dispute. Having asked the rhetorical question who made me a judge or arbitrator over you, Jesus concludes with a warning: “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions” (Luke 12:15, ESV). Then Jesus tells the story of the rich fool.

The rich fool has a problem – a problem that many of us would like to have. He has so much that he is struggling with where to put it all. What do you give the man who has everything? Answer: storage containers. The rich man decides to tear down his barns and build bigger ones. That is where many modern readers struggle to understand the story. We hear the word barn and think a large, red wooden structure. Barns in the ancient world were often underground granaries that were plastered or bricked. “Tear down” likely refers “to the deliberate taking down of the barns in such a way that the material can still be used.” This rich man has abundance, and he plots a way to keep it all.

The parable gives the rich man’s inner dialogue.

 …and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ And he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ (Luke 12:17–19, ESV, emphasis added)

It is interesting to count the number of times the words, “I” and “my,” occur. If all the world’s a stage, this man acts if he is in a one man play.

But the rich fool has his exit. “But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’” (Luke 12:20, ESV). The word for “required” is interesting. It means to demand something back or as due as in the case of a loan. Jesus has given us the image that our life is on loan from God.

What happens when I view my life as on loan from God? It changes everything. My life, my time, and my resources are matters of stewardship. I will have to give an account. I must view things from God’s perspective and priorities.

This changed perspective makes the warnings understandable. The abundance of possessions is not the most important thing; God is most important. If I haven’t laid up treasures in heaven, I have nothing that will ultimately last. God will demand my life back someday. My life is on loan.


Only Jesus

March 18, 2010

Tom likes to think of himself as a good person. He works hard, pays his taxes, and raises his family. People like him; he’s a good neighbor. Oh, he has his moral lapses. Doesn’t everybody? He lies on occasion—mostly little white lies. He swears like a sailor when he’s stressed—like last weekend when he hit his thumb with a hammer. But usually he watches his language around his kids. He’s honest, although he’d almost forgotten that time as a teenager when he shoplifted the cigarettes on a dare.

When Tom thinks about the bad things he’s done, he immediately reminds himself of the good things he’s done. He’s just not that bad. He is certain that his good deeds outweigh the bad. He has gone out of his way to help people. He’s even done some volunteer work and made charitable donations. Why last week he stopped and helped an elderly lady with a flat tire.

Tom isn’t into organized religion, although he still believes in God. Admittedly he’s never read the Bible—he really doesn’t know anyone who has. But he’s sure that some of the things in the Bible are true. Tom is just convinced that a good God couldn’t send him to hell. After all, his good deeds outweigh his bad deeds.

Tom isn’t alone. According to a Barna Research poll: “Half of all adults (50%) argue that anyone who ‘is generally good or does enough good things for others during their life will earn a place in Heaven.’”

Although this is a popular point of view, it underestimates the seriousness of sin. Paul wrote, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 6:23, ESV). One sin separates us from God for eternity left untreated, and there is nothing that we can do to balance the scales in our favor by our own good deeds. Any sin avoided and any good deed done are simply what we should be doing. They can’t earn a good standing that has been lost by sin.

Thinking that good deeds outweigh bad deeds trivializes the death of Jesus. Why would Christ endure the cross, if it is only a matter of us balancing the scales? Part of the explanation for the cross is found in Romans 3:26: “It was to show his righteousness at the present time, so that he might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus” (ESV). Forgiveness places God’s own justice at risk if the penalty for sin is not taken seriously. We would not re-elect a judge who routinely frees criminals, because we would say he is unjust.

Jesus paid the penalty that was our due for sin. He did that so that God may be just and also justifier (one who forgives sinners). But note the condition: “the one who has faith in Jesus” (Romans 3:26). We can’t balance the scales of justice for ourselves. Only Jesus can satisfy justice and bring forgiveness.


A Lasting Name

March 9, 2010

Maybe you read it in the news. A massive granite head was found in the sands of Egypt. The statue represented Amenhotep III. The eight foot tall head was intact except for the ceremonial beard which was broken off. Archaeologists hope to find it buried in the sands of Luxor.

I’ve had the privilege of seeing some of the great monuments of Egypt including colossus statues of pharaohs. They are impressive sights even when broken and lying on their sides.  But this find reminds me of the poem, Ozymandias, by Percy Bysshe Shelley.

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away”.

Ozymandias is but another transliteration from Greek of the name Ramesses who was pharaoh of the nineteenth dynasty of Egypt. Both archaeologist and poet remind us of the decay of human endeavors even while attempting to leave a lasting name.

Is it worth it to build buildings, create art, to invent and strive? I think the answer must be yes. These impulses are God-given, but we must view such things through a lens of humility. The things of this world decay, and we must give glory to God. Otherwise, we are but attempting to build the Tower of Babel all over again crying out to one another, “Let us make a name for ourselves.” The Tower of Babel and the lines from Ozymandias are but different verses of the same rebellious song.

To have a lasting name is to have one’s name written in the book of life (Revelation 3:5). To build for eternity is to store up treasures in heaven (Matthew 6:19-21). If these things be true, then let us create and build. The decay of this world doesn’t matter, because it is God who gives us a lasting name.