We live in strange times. It used to be said that the only two things we could be certain of were death and taxes. Taxes you can still be pretty sure of, but death has recently become rather more cloudy. With the advent of assorted technological wonders in the field of medicine we can watch as a patient’s heart continues to beat, but whose brain shows no activity. With the advent of widespread organ transplants we are all the more eager to say of the donee that he or she is dead in one sense, while keeping him or her “alive” in another for as long as we can. Add to this the strange reports we read from those who say they’ve “died” but who have “returned.” They claim to have been dead enough to have been enbraced by the light, but nevertheless they walk among us. Death has become for us more like dusk than that dark night.
There are, however, limits to this lack of clarity. While dusk seeks to evade the question, is it night or is it day, we do know that midnight is night, and noon is day. And while the comatose, brainwaveless, but still breathing patient may confuse us, we know that the nurses who tend to the patient are alive, and the bodies that have been in cold storage for days down in the morgue are dead. That the bridge across the chasm is shrouded in fog doesn’t change the reality that there are two distinct mountains.
It’s important for us to understand this truth, to not be drawn into the beard fallacy (where one argues that the removal of one, then another, then another whisker will provide no definitive moment from beard to non-beard.) It’s important because central to our faith is this conviction, Jesus died. We are not affirming that the brain wave monitor went blank for a while. We’re not arguing that the Roman medical authorities broke their own rules and continued administering CPR for over half an hour. Jesus was all the way dead, midnight dead.
God ordained, before anyone had ever heard of crucifixion, that the Messiah should hang from a tree. We now know what crucifixion does to a person, the slow suffocation that makes the nails seem like kid’s play. God ordained that Jesus would be pierced on His side. We see there the water and the blood flowing out, a sign of a burst heart, both literally and figuratively. And then three days in the ground. That is the one that has always puzzled me. God didn’t need three days to put Jesus back together again, any more than He needed six days to make the universe and all that is in it. It doesn’t take three days for God to muster the strength for such a miracle. But it might take three days to prove that the resurrection was a miracle, to make us see that this death was not just dusk, but midnight dark.
Paul tells us in “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins” (I Corinthians 15: 17). If there is no resurrection, our faith is vanity. And if there is no death, there can be no resurrection. The death of Christ, and the resurrection of Christ are inescapably bound together. You cannot have one without the other, and you have no Christianity without both. Our faith is a historical faith, grounded not in our own efforts, not in the mystical powers of an object-less faith, but in historical events. We have peace with God because of what we believe about events that happened on a particular hill, and in a particular tomb outside Jerusalem two thousand years ago.
We affirm first, contra the ancient docetists and their modern heirs, that Jesus was born a man. To die one must first be alive. Jesus was no ghost, no phantom who only appeared as a man. Second we affirm that this Jesus lived not only in complete obedience to the law of God, but that He did so in history and in full view of His enemies who could lay no charge against Him. Next we affirm that this Jesus wrought miracles in particular places, and for historical people. The water was truly water, and it became truly wine. Jesus even brought life from death, most dramatically in the life of Lazarus, dead four days, decomposing, and not merely flatlined for a moment. And then He, who had the power of life in Him, died, laying down His life for the sheep. He did not swoon. He did not fall into a coma. He died. There was only darkness.
He did not, however, stay dead. Three days later this same Jesus, to be sure with His body now glorified, one that was in one sense continuous with His old body, but in another very different, threw off the bonds of death, and emerged as the first fruit of the new creation. It was not that hope was raised, as too many unbelieving liberal wolves will proclaim on Resurrection Sunday. It was not some sort of spirit body as gnostics both ancient and modern have claimed. As Thomas discovered, it was an altogether human body, once dead, but now alive.
These historical truths also have theological meaning. The life He lived He lived vicariously for His elect. He obeyed so that we might have His righteousness. And He died for our sins, taking upon Himself the wrath of the Father for us. He was raised in vindication, to prove His own innocence, and to begin the new creation, to ascend on high to put everything under His feet. When that work is complete, this same Jesus, with this same glorified body, will return to consummate His kingdom. The theological meaning not only does not undo the historical reality, but requires the historical reality to even have meaning. This is the light of resurrection morning, a light so brilliant as to be unmistakable.
A Jesus who did not die, a Jesus who was not raised, such is a Jesus that cannot save. Such is a Jesus that is foreign to the inerrant Word of God. To negotiate with these truths is to negotiate with our own souls, with our own eternity. And such is neither right, nor safe. Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. Here we stand. We can do no other.
There is a rather radical gap between the two things that hold my attention most Sunday afternoons in the Fall. On the one hand my eyes are glued to the television as I watch the Pittsburgh Steelers go to battle. These men are virtual giants. Our quarterback is bigger than our Hall of Fame middle linebacker was back in the 70s. Our offensive lineman average over 300 pounds. This year’s first pick in our draft is a wide receiver who is 6’4” 240 pounds. These men are behemoths, (and, you might be interested to know, they are also, as I type, undefeated).
The other thing that holds my attention is little, demure, gentle and fierce. For, sitting right beside me watching the game is my beloved wife, Lisa. She is my partner, my best friend. And she is faithful to her pre-marital vows. Her vow to me was that she would cheer for the Steelers. My wedding gift to her was citizenship in Steeler Nation. Better still, however, she is faithful to our Lord, and that is where the fierceness comes in.
As big and powerful as the Steeler players are, the God who made them is bigger still. And He is the Maker, Father, Protector, Teacher, Guarder of my wife. He hears her prayers. Which is just how she can be both gentle and fierce.
It is our habit, morning and evening, to read a portion of Scripture (we follow Nicky Gumble’s Through the Bible in a Year plan on youversion). It is our habit to pray together next. This morning, the morning after we watched the Steelers secure their 8th victory of the year so far, she knocked me over, sacked me, de-cleated me, pancaked me, gave me a slobber-knocker when she asked our Father to bless us both with a “mighty tenderness.”
A mighty tenderness. It is one thing to know and affirm the might of tenderness. It is still another to know and affirm the tenderness of might. She was asking that we would both know the great power He has bestowed on us as joint heirs in Christ, that we are more than conquerors. And she was asking that we would both know that the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but gentle, not destructive but life giving, not harsh, but tender. This gentle and soft gift to me from our Lord was roaring like a lion and purring like a kitten, because she knows the two are one. Just as we are.
We ought all to ask our Father, the Almighty, He who makes the mountains to shake, to bless us with power and might. We ought all ask the Son, our Lord, the lover of our souls, He who would not extinguish a smoldering wick, to bless us with His own tenderness. We ought all to ask the Spirit, the font of wisdom, to grant us the wisdom to know that might ought always be tender and that tenderness will always have might.
Lisa and I on The Trial of the Chicago 7; Modern Superstitions; God Repents?
No. Christians, of course disagree on this. And when we disagree we can usually expect someone to trot out the whole “meat offered to idols” and weaker brother texts discussion in I Corinthians and Romans respectively. Neither of these texts, however, were given to us to squelch discussion nor to leave us blind to moral absolutes. There are things that the Bible forbids. There are things the Bible doesn’t forbid. And there are things that fall into neither category. The key is wisdom to discern what goes in which category. If you say, “Adultery is a sin” and I say, “Whoa there. I think in certain circumstances adultery can actually be a good thing” I cannot accuse you of being a legalist. Neither can we agree to disagree by considering adultery a meat offered to idols issue, wrong for you, but fine for me. In like manner, if I say, “It’s a sin to read any Bible translation other than the King James version” and you say, “There are other acceptable translations” I cannot accuse you of being an antinomian. Neither can we agree to disagree by considering the ESV to be meat offered to idols. What the Bible calls sin is sin, whatever others might say. What it allows it allows, whatever others might say.
So where do boycotts fit in? Rightly they belong right in the middle of the meat offered to idol category. There are two objections that might come up for eating meat offered to idols. The first is that it might be bad for you, spiritually speaking. It might have demon cooties, so to speak. Paul rejects this out of hand. The mature, he argues, know that “an idol is nothing in the world” (I Corinthians 8:4). Meat is meat and foolish incantations spoken over it won’t change that.
The second objection might be this- am I not supporting the work of idolaters by buying meat from them? And here is where we get to the issue of boycotts. Paul, however, still has no objection to buying the meat offered for sale by idolaters. Why? Because we are buying meat, not idolatry. We are not guilty for what they do with the money we give them. When we trade our money for meat, the meat is ours and the money is not. In like manner, if the Home Store supports gay causes, or Red Crawfish restaurant supports Planned Parenthood, I am not guilty of supporting either if I buy some plywood, or a steamed lobster. I am buying wood and seafood.
May you boycott such companies? Of course you may. Feel free. The trouble is, however, that boycotts are most effective when they are widely practiced. Which will likely give you the temptation to move from “may” to “must.” You will be tempted to accuse your brother of sin for not joining you in your boycott, which is just like accusing your brother of sin if he buys meat that had been offered to idols, which Paul says you must not do. Buy from whomever you please. Sell to whomever you please. Or boycott whomever you please. But always remember- “Who are you to judge another’s servant? To his own master he stands or falls. Indeed, he will be made to stand, for God is able to make him stand” Romans 14:4.
You would have thought that I had just belched my way through a “Hail Mary” the way the woman looked at me. I was a guest at the pastor’s house, having just recently preached in that far off shore. It was, I was told, the most Reformed, most conservative church on the whole of the island. We were conversing about something I thought perfectly innocuous. And in the course of the conversation I made some point with this illustration- “Well, when I, already owning a 9 millimeter semi-automatic rifle, wanted to buy an AR-15, I had explained to a friend why- ‘The AR-15 shoots bad guys, farther away.’” The pastor’s wife nearly choked on her mutton, the pastor turned red, and I followed suit. I had run, amongst English speaking, Westminster Confession affirming, middle class friends, smack into a cultural disconnect.
I tried to be loyal to my convictions, while remaining open to the possibility that I was the one wearing cultural blinders. To them guns were something only wicked people owned. To me, they were normal. Was it possible the disconnect was not grounded in their having been raised in soft socialism, but my having been raised in cowboy America? I turned the conversation away from guns to cultural disconnects. “Huh,” I said, “isn’t it interesting that despite all we have in common each of us have convictions that seem so natural, even so biblical to us, but that contradict? Big world, isn’t it?”
I made it out alive, but I suspect only because they weren’t armed. But I have never forgotten that feeling. Just how blinded are we to our own unexamined presuppositions? Is there a way out? Do we have any hope? There must be. It is, of course, the Word of God that is best equipped to pierce our presuppositions. If it can separate soul and spirit, surely it can separate me from the water in which I swim. It helps, of course, if by His grace I come to the Bible expecting to be confronted in my sin, to have my rationalizations exposed, my prejudices buffeted. I can misuse the Bible as a mirror to reflect my convictions, or rightly use it as a mirror to expose my flaws.
Reading widely and wisely outside the Bible can also help. CS Lewis, in his brilliant and brief essay, On the Reading of Old Books (found both in the collection of essays, God in the Dock and as the introduction to Athanasius’ On the Incarnation), argues that by reading books from other eras than our own we will likely be surprised to find the prejudices of that age, but happily may discover our own blind spots as well. Reading an occasional book from those who don’t share our core convictions may likewise have the same effect. That is not to say we should bury ourselves in the propaganda of the enemies of our Lord.
It all begins, however, with a proper humility and a proper boldness. We err, just like those with whom we disagree. We are, after all, the those with whom they disagree. We ought to not only acknowledge the possibility of error in our thinking, but its reality, and so ought to be actively seeking it out. Proper boldness, however, means we do not compromise nor negotiate the Word of God. It is true that all men are liars. But let God be true. Let’s pray that God would make us a more deliberate people, willing to examine what we have built, but resting in the foundation He has laid.
Thesis 48 We must remember from whence we came, giving thanks for God’s grace in our lives.
It is our perennial weakness that we are prone to forget. We are creatures of the now. We do not often think of where we are going. Even less frequently do we remember from whence we came. Wherever we are becomes our default position, what is normal for us. But we have come a long way.
Or better still, we have been led a long way. We are growing in grace because of the grace of God in our lives. Even if we have been blessed with an unremembered and undramatic conversion experience, we were all once by nature children of wrath. We once all walked in darkness. We were all conceived in iniquity. If, however, we are in Christ, then we have been born twice. We have been given a new nature. We are now bearing fruit.
To be sure, none of us are where we want to be. We long for the day when sin will be behind us, when we will walk with God unashamed. That shame, however, must never cause us this greater shame, that we would forget to give thanks for how we’ve progressed. The right response to God’s grace in our lives is ever and always thanksgiving, gratitude. We were, after all, dead in our trespasses and sins, but He made us alive. We were once His enemies, but now we are His friends. We were once the children of our father the devil. Now see how much our heavenly Father loves us, that He allows us to be called His children. It is all too easy to forget these blessings, to take His grace for granted.
We must learn, as well, to look for the grace of God in our lives. We should, of course, be alert for our failures. We are called to confess our sins. Being aware of our failures will remind us of His forgiving grace. But we ought also to be on the lookout for our improvements. We ought to expect the Spirit to be at work in us, and we ought to be able to discern the fruit which He is bringing forth from us. And when we see this, we ought to respond with joy and grateful hearts. Remember, this is His work in us. He has promised us not only to forgive us our sins, but to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. It is His grace.
When we have given thanks, we ought to again give thanks. For even this is His work. As we remember from whence we came, as we respond to His grace with gratitude, we do so because of His grace. Even our gratitude is a gift, one worth giving thanks for. God is at work in us. He is at work in the lives of our brothers and sisters in the pews. He is making us into a spotless bride. The gleaming smile upon that bride is one of gratitude. Give thanks, and give thanks again. He is at work in us. Aslan, to borrow a metaphor, is on the prowl.
