It is, according to CS Lewis, one of the most potent pulls into sin, the desire to belong. Were Maslow a bit more honest in ranking our “needs” I suspect the approval of others would make the top five of his hierarchy. For teens we call it peer pressure. Sadly we tend to diminish its power to those clear crossroads moments, when the joint is passed around the circle or when some back seat Lothario is pushing a peer to fornicate. The temptation, however, is likely more powerful when the stakes seem lower, and our guard is down. It is in the ordinary that we sell our souls.
Consider abortion. When we come to those crossroads moments sadly we don’t do too terribly well. One in six clients at your local abortion mill is a professing evangelical. It’s a disheartening statistic to be certain, as we wonder how it is possible that one of us could murder their own. But it tells us something about our desire to belong. First, certainly a percentage of these women never had genuine evangelical, or genuine pro-life convictions. But they claimed to have such convictions. They claimed to believe and to be something they weren’t, for the sake of belonging, fitting in. Second, when a pregnancy would have led them into shame, exposing their sexual misconduct (which itself could be grounded in getting the approval of a man), the baby had to be killed to protect reputation and standing.
It is not, however, just the sexually immoral that have the same problem. We are willing to be pro-life, so long as we are not asked to be radically pro-life. That is, we’re willing to ally ourselves with the right side of the aisle, to take our position on this political, social issue. We’re even willing to get up in arms from time to time, when a Kermit Gosnell comes on the scene, or when a late term abortion hits the news for some reason. As long as the practitioner or the reason for, or the timing of the abortion is sufficiently repugnant to polite society we’re willing to condemn. In those circumstances where even the pro-aborts begin to blush, we’ll fuss and fume.
But the ordinary abortion, in the sanitary clinic, because of Down Syndrome, before the scientists have to concede the baby can feel pain, that we are generally silent over. That we at best think little of, at worse, approve of. All because we don’t want to look weird to our neighbors, don’t want to lose their approval. We want to focus our time and attention on those elements of Scripture that are palatable to our neighbors, the parts about being nice. And there we sell our souls for a mess of respectability pottage.
When we hear a still small voice warning us to be reasonable, to consider our position, to maintain our credibility, we must learn to feel the forked tongue tickling our ears. We must learn to smell the stench of demons and the death they love. We must learn that the real challenge isn’t whether we will denounce Christ to save our lives, but whether we will be silent over His littlest image bearers to save our reputations. The first thing that must die as we lay down our lives for the kingdom is our reputations.
There are any number of challenges that come from this account in Genesis. Some have used it to deny God knows the future, on the basis of God’s declaration, “Now I know that you fear God” in 12:22. Some have used it to argue that God is wicked, either for asking the father to kill the innocent son, or for lying to Abraham, telling Abraham He wanted him to do something He didn’t really want him to do. The first objection is answered easily enough- only God the Father has an innocent Son. While Isaac may not have been guilty of a capital offense on the earthly civil sphere, from his conception he stood guilty before the living God. God had every right to take Isaac’s life, and to call Abraham to be the means of that execution.
Which leaves us with God’s honesty. Is it sinful of Him to give such a gruesome assignment when He had not intent to carry it through? No. Remember that it was the same Abraham who in another context, in , asked, “Shall not the judge of the all the earth do right?” when interceding for Sodom. If we know God has done something have our answer as to whether it was right or wrong. If it seems wrong to us, the problem is with us.
God isn’t under some transcendent standard of goodness. Neither is God above goodness. He is not arbitrary. Rather God is the standard of goodness. He is rightly a law unto Himself.
Given the authority of God, given that what He asked of Abraham was not a sin, let us ask the question this way- does God have the right to demand of you that you sell all that you own, give it to the poor and follow Him? Of course He does. Does He have the right to not ask you to do this? Of course He does. Does He then have the right to ask you, if He intends to bless you with greater wealth if you proceed to do so? Of course He does.
God’s request of Abraham is hard, challenging, even heart wrenching. But if He had the right to carry through on it, and He did, surely He has the right to not carry through with it.
Though in one sense God’s question proved to be hypothetical, our response to it is not hypothetical. How we see this event may reveal our heart’s posture toward God, and our own well-being. It is true that God spared Isaac. It is true God did not spare His own son. It is also true, however, that He calls each of us to leave all else behind, and follow Him. Every day, of every gift He has given me, I must confess, “Nevertheless Lord, not my will but Thine be done.”
Thesis 23- We must give pass down strong churches.
A friend once told me about his first day at seminary. All the young men were gathered together and the president of the institution came to address them. He began, as one might imagine, by extolling the virtues of the institution where he served. Then he took a dramatic turn. “A day is coming” the president said, “when you would be wise to disassociate yourself from this seminary.” Here was a man well acquainted with problem of institutional entropy. Institutional entropy affirms that all institutions tend toward apostasy. Yale University was opened because of dissatisfaction with the turn Harvard was taking. Princeton followed soon on its heels. It stayed faithful for many generations, but eventually it took went the way of all flesh, and Westminster Seminary was formed. My friend’s seminary split off from Westminster. That’s just seminaries. We might also present as exhibit A the Roman Catholic church, circa 1517.
Jesus promised us that the gates of hell would not prevail against His church. He also, however, warned that some churches would have their lampstands removed, that wolves would infiltrate many bodies, that that which was grafted onto the one tree could in turn be cut off. The church cannot fail. Churches always do. Trouble is, when a church falls, too often she carries saints down with her. Entropy sets in, and we stay glued to our pews.
Our calling is then two-fold. We must labor to be certain that our children do not find themselves stuck in the mausoleums built to honor our honorable dreams. We must teach them not to stay in an unfaithful church because their parents were married there or buried there, because they were baptized there, and there came to the Lord’s Table. (Of course, we must also teach them to distinguish between sin common to all churches and gross, institutional infidelity.) We must give our children the same warning the seminary president gave to his young charges.
We must also, however, be diligent to build faithful churches, not only for the sake of our own souls, but for the sake of the souls of those who come after us. We must build churches that, for whatever secondary distinctives they might hold to, are defined by their commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ. We must hand down churches built for His glory, rather than our own. We must leave an inheritance of loving fidelity, and a disdain for the things of the world. We must, as we lead the church of today, think through the implications our choices have on the churches of tomorrow.
My father grew up in a neighborhood church. His father served as an elder there. But when my father returned home from college and told his pastor that the good news of Jesus Christ had found him, the pastor replied, “If you believe in the resurrection of Jesus, you’re a d@#^ fool.” The Spirit has left that church, and so has my family. May God be pleased to bless us with institutional churches that are faithful for generations, or children who will know when to shake the dust off their feet.
I, though if pushed against a wall will come in as a dichotomist, have no special quarrel with trichotomists. I believe we are bodies and souls. But I get why some say we’re bodies, souls and spirits. There are times, in fact, when I find myself dipping my toes in the trichotomist waters. It happens when I consider my sins. There are at least three different planes in which we can find ourselves sinning. We can, and do sin with our bodies, with both the things we do and the things we have left undone. We can and do sin with our thoughts, with both the things we think and the things we have left unthought. We are called to guard our thought lives not just because sin can leak into our bodies but because even when our thoughts stay sealed away we can be in sin. We also, however, can and do sin with our feelings, with both the things we feel and the things we have left unfelt.
At least since the rise of Rousseau’s romanticism we have taken it as self-evident that feelings are things that happen to us, rather than things that come from us. As such, they need no justification. They simply are. This self-evident truth, however, is false. Feelings are things that come from us, not things that happen to us. “I can’t help how I feel” is a thought sin trying to cover a feeling sin. All our attempts to cover our sin inevitably fail before the omniscient eye of our Maker. He knows that we do not, despite His clear command, love Him with all our heart, mind, soul and strength. He is all too aware that we do not, despite His clear command, love our neighbor as we love ourselves.
The inimitable Dr. Jay Adams understood this principle. He found himself counseling a couple struggling in their marriage. The husband explained that he didn’t feel like he loved his wife anymore. The man, frustrated, explained that he had been trying, but that he just found her too annoying. Dr. Adams suggested that he might try moving next door. “A trial separation?” the man asked. “Do you think that would help?” “I don’t know,” Dr. Adams replied. “I do know that God calls you to love your neighbor.” The man turned beet red and through clenched teeth explained, “Look, I’m trying to be polite here, to not be cruel. I don’t love my wife. I don’t like her. I wouldn’t love her or like her if she were my neighbor. The hard truth is I can’t stand the woman.” “Would you say,” Dr. Adams asked, “that you are enmity with her?” “YES!” the man shouted, “Now you understand.” Dr. Adams concluded, “I understand that the Bible commands us to love our enemies.”
How though do we learn to regain some measure of control over our wayward feelings? We repent and believe the gospel. We confess our ugly, unjust, ungrateful, unloving feelings. And we rejoice in the beautiful, unearned, immeasurably lovely grace of God in Christ. We preach to ourselves the gospel. Be careful little ones, what you do. Of course. Be careful little ones, what you think. By all means. But also friend, be careful little ones what you feel.
It doesn’t happen often, but it had happened. A book written for businessmen had jumped a fence and become something of a universal bestseller. Like The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People before it, and Good to Great after it, people were talking about this book, including in the office where I worked. As I passed by the receptionist’s desk, she had it open, reading during her lunch. “What do you think?” she asked innocently enough. “Well,” I answered, “there may well be some good wisdom in that book. If there is, however, that wisdom isn’t unique to that book. And if there is anything unique about that book, I suspect it isn’t wisdom.”
Because the Bible equips us for every good work, the truth is that we already have all that we need. Our best teachers then are not those bringing us new truths, but those bringing us old truths. While the world may celebrate creativity, the creation of previously unknown ideas, the church celebrates fidelity, the propagation of previously revealed ideas.
Jesus Himself, while noted for the authority with which He spoke, was always quick to remind His audience that He didn’t speak His own words but the words His Father gave to Him (John 12:49). Even the notion that we must be born again in order to enter into His kingdom is something Jesus assumes the Pharisee Nicodemus must already know about (John 3:10). Jesus is about the business of reminding His own of what they have forgotten.
The same, of course, is true about His call to us that we should pursue His kingdom, and His righteousness. This is not some sort of course correction. The message of Jesus is not, “Well, the prophets did their best, but they steered you wrong. That’s why I have come, to tell you to stop listening to them, and start listening to me.” The pursuit of His kingdom, and His righteousness was always God’s call on our lives. Adam and Eve, as they left the garden, were called to pursue His kingdom, and His righteousness. Noah, and his family as they walked out of the ark, were called to pursue His kingdom and His righteousness. Abraham, by faith was called righteous and was called to seek that city whose builder and maker is God.
Because we are 21st century westerners, we think of that which is old as passé, outdated, and that which is new as improved. The truth is we are called to move forward. We should be enjoying in the church generational sanctification, as we stand on the shoulders of those who stood on the shoulders of those who stood on the shoulders. But we get better not by getting newer, but by getting older. We are Reformers, not revolutionaries.
I am reminded of this every time I am blessed to sing All People That on Earth Do Dwell, the “Old 100th.” We sing the same song the people of God have sung for 3,000 years. To be sure, we don’t know what tune David composed. And we sing an English translation rather than in Hebrew. But we are going back to the wisdom of God revealed to our fathers in the days of David. We too are called to make a joyful shout to the Lord, indeed we are the “all you lands” that were called to so shout. We too are called to serve the Lord with gladness, to enter His gates with gladness, to be thankful to Him and to bless His name. We are the sheep of His pasture precisely because He is merciful.
The Psalm ends with this reminder of why all our reforming is a returning- “And His truth endures to all generations.” We are not modernists trying to climb an intellectual tower of Babel. We are not evolving toward wisdom. We are instead always reforming because we are always returning, back to our Father, back to the Word, back to our primordial paradise.
In eternity it will be the same. There we will never have to unlearn, for we will be without sin. But we will continually learn more and more, know more and more, the glory of our heavenly Father. We will move further up and further in, growing into all that He will reveal. He is wisdom, precisely because He is the Ancient of Days. And to the everlasting glory of His name, we rejoice in knowing that we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.
