Common sense may be more common than sense. There are any number of shorthand aphorisms in the world and in the church that shape our thinking, but don’t stand up to scrutiny, at least right away. Below are five common expressions that might fit under the banner of common sense, that I just can’t make sense out of. There may be good arguments behind all or some of them, but that is rather a far thing from being a self-evident truth.
1. We shouldn’t judge people. This one we hear from both the world and the church. With the church it even comes complete with a proof-text, Matthew 7:1. While Jesus warns us to not be too quick to judge, to judge with charity, to judge in a manner we would like to be judged, even He is in this very text calling us to judge, but to judge well. A blanket condemnation of all judging is, well, condemning, and therefore judging. It is hoisted on its own petard.
2. Jesus loved the most vile sinners, but hated the Pharisees, the religious conservatives. Really? Did Jesus hate Nicodemus? How about Joseph of Arimathea? They were both Pharisees He was likely rather close to. Did Jesus love the adulterous, incestuous, murderous Herod? How about that spineless and corrupt Pilate? Even a cursory reading of the New Testament reveals that the calculus Jesus used for His grace was rather simple. The question wasn’t how spectacular of a sinner you were, but how repentant you were. When Jesus compared the proud Pharisee who prayed “I thank you God that I am not like other men” to the tax collector who prayed, “Lord be merciful to me, a sinner” (Luke 18) He wasn’t saying the former was bad because he was a Pharisee, and the latter good because he was a tax collector. The difference was in the repentance. What an irony then that in our day we proudly present ourselves as the sinners, praying, “I thank you Lord that I am not like other men. I sin openly and unrepentantly. I mock those who affirm Your law, and do not judge like those vile judgers.”
3. Sending good thoughts your way. What? Have you ever been sitting around, when suddenly a “good thought” popped into your head, followed by this thought, “Hey, how nice of, hmm, let’s see here. What’s the return address on this good thought, so I can thank the sender?” Thoughts a. do not travel across space magically, and b. even if they did they have no magic power to change anything. Weird that people who think praying to the Living God is fruitless and powerless nevertheless think that their sent thoughts can change the future.
4. You always think you’re right. The Creator is always right. Fallen creatures, however, aren’t so fallen as to actually believe that they are always right. We do, those beings that never fell, those that are fallen, those redeemed, even those perfected, however, always believe we’re right. To think I’m always right is to claim to be infallible. To always think I’m right, however, is nothing more than to think. It is to believe what we believe. In addition, that I believe something has no bearing on whether it is true or not. That I always agree with me, just like you always agree with you, doesn’t make me arrogant. It merely means I don’t have a split personality. No one ever said, “I believe X, but I think I’m wrong.”
5. Christians shouldn’t divide over doctrine. The first question I have is, “Well, what should we divide over?” But the more foundational question is, “Who are the Christians?” There are issues that divide Christians and often those divisions are driven by our flesh more than His Spirit. But there are also issues that divide Christians from non-Christians, some of whom actually claim to be Christians. Is claiming to be Christian sufficient to preclude division? Not according to the Bible. The New Testament tells us to have nothing to do with those who preach a different gospel (Galatians 1:8) That’s a doctrinal matter. It tells us we should have nothing to do with professing believers who are sexually immoral (I Corinthians 5). That’s a doctrinal matter. But worst of all, are not those who make this claim dividing themselves from Christians who believe we should divide over doctrine? The statement itself is doctrine, and is divisive.
Common? Yes. Wisdom? Not so much.
One would think that by now I’d be used to people telling me what I believe. For years I had people bundling me together with the Federal Vision crowd, despite my speaking publicly against it, and writing extensively against it. I’ve been accused of being a Democrat, oddly because I grumble that the Republicans aren’t near conservative enough for me. More recently I’ve been accused of leaving the Reformed tradition. I get that it makes for interesting reading if I veer away from the convictions my father taught me, the ones we both found in the Bible. I understand my public sins make me in the minds of many fair game for slander and suspicion. The boring truth is that my theological convictions remain essentially unchanged.
It is true that I have moved from being what I always called a leaky cessationist to what I would now describe as a cautious continuationist. That, however, is about as big a change as moving from being an optimistic amillenialist to a post-millenialist. It’s no seismic shift. In fact, it’s barely even noticeable.
That my theological convictions remain unchanged, however, doesn’t mean I have remained unchanged. My convictions haven’t moved. My roots, however, have dug deeper. I’ve always believed that the evangelical church is the visible church. Now I am learning that evangelicals are my brothers. I’ve always believed that theological precision is not an accurate measure of spiritual maturity. Now I am learning that people I disagree with theologically are often the people I look up to. I’ve always believed that our problem is that we have too low a view of our own ongoing sin issues. Now I am learning that I have too low a view of my own ongoing sin issues. I’ve always believed God is sovereign over all things. Now I am learning He is sovereign even over people who don’t understand that He is sovereign over all things. I’ve always believed the Proverbs, like all the Bible, are inerrant, infallible, true. Now I am learning that we are all eager to feast upon tasty morsels of gossip.
That said, the other day I received an encouraging note from a man I’ve had little contact with the past five years or so. Among other things he had this to say,
“when you came upon hard times, my heart was full of compassion for you. I cannot imagine what you have had to endure… the loss of position and title, the loss of respect and honor, the guilt and shame of bringing reproach on the names you bear (Sproul/Christ), and the tremendous weight of burden you may carry (I am speculating) for following in the footsteps of a great theologian and father. I don’t say this to dig up old wounds, but to say this: greater men would have caved and not repented or returned to the God they profess. Remaining in the shame and sin, unfortunately, may have been easier (sinners are always eager to welcome a fallen sheep into their fold. … seems to be well-received by the World). Instead, you have exemplified the True Christian walk to me and to all who remain with you. What is your oft repeated advice? ‘Repent and believe the Gospel.’ You have remained consistent, practicing what you preach.”
I believe in the solas of the Reformation, the doctrines of grace, in the sovereignty of God, in the victory of Jesus. I believe husbands are to lead their families, elders are to lead their churches. I believe the Bible is the Word of God, inerrant, infallible, sufficient. Above all, however, I believe this, that the Lord Jesus came into this world to save sinners, of which I am the chief.
It puzzles me deeply that so few are puzzled deeply by the paradox. We are so used to the befuddling language that we miss its befuddling nature. It ought to stop us in our tracks, arrest our attention, like those signs I see for Fifth Third Bank. Fifth Bank I could understand. Third Bank I could understand. I could understand them merging to become Fourth Bank. But Fifth Third Bank? What does that even mean?
In like manner, how is that our spiritual ancestors, our theological heroes, when they set about to tell us the one thing, ended up telling us five things? If I had lived in a cave for the last five hundred years and someone wanted to get me up to speed on the Reformation, and what it is I should believe and they said, “There are five things. The first one is sola–“ I would have to say, “Stop right there. If there are five, how can even one be called sola?”
It does, of course, in the end make perfect sense. The alones are not alone because they are talking, in a manner of speaking, on different axes. An infinite line is really infinite, but it doesn’t cover everything. An infinite plane is, in a manner of speaking, even more infinite that an infinite line, but it doesn’t cover everything. What sola Scriptura is seeking to keep out isn’t grace, or faith, or Christ or God’s glory. It’s trying to keep out tradition. Grace alone doesn’t exclude the Bible, or faith, or Christ or the glory of God.
In a very real sense, though they operate on different axes, these five are one. The Bible alone is God’s full revelation of His glory, in manifesting His grace in Christ, which becomes ours through the gift of faith. God’s grace is uniquely revealed in His Word, which manifests the work of Christ which becomes our by faith, all redounding to His glory. The solas are precise and potent affirmations of this truth, that it’s all about God. They remind us not just how we might have peace with God, but that peace with God is not the full and final end of all things. They remind us that the story of the Bible isn’t simply how we who are in dire straits can make it to safety, and how nice God is to play such an important role in making that happen. Instead they remind us that He is the end, and we are the means. The story is about Him and His glory more than us and our comfort.
Jesus makes much the same point in the Sermon on the Mount. He recognizes our weaknesses. We are self-centered, concerned with ourselves, and what we perceive our needs to be. So we worry about what we will eat and what we will wear. We fret about our provision and our status. What Jesus doesn’t tell us however, is, “Now, look, you have no need to worry about these things because you have someone on your side. Other people might need to worry but you don’t, because my Father in heaven is for you. You can pursue these things with confidence, knowing that you have the supreme advantage of having the supreme being on your side.”
What He told us instead was surprising. He told us to set aside our petty concerns and to set our minds on, well, depending on how you look at it, one, or two things. He said, “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness.” Do we now have seven solas? Ought we to add the kingdom and His righteousness to the alones? By no means. These are all still together the one thing. There is an organic unity not only between the kingdom and the righteousness, but among these two and the five of the Reformation. We are not failing to pursue the kingdom of God when we are seeking after His righteousness. We are not failing to pursue His righteousness when we are seeking after His kingdom. We are pursuing one thing, one way, to honor and serve our Maker and Redeemer by affirming our dependence on Him and His preeminence in all things.
The God we serve is one. As such He calls us to follow one path. His commands are never and can never be pitted against each other. His wisdom is never and can never be pitted against itself. His grace is never and can never be pitted against His character. When we find ourselves torn, confused, pulled in different directions it isn’t because we are faithfully following Him, but because we are not. It isn’t because we are faithfully heeding His voice, but because we are not.
The two, His kingdom and His righteousness are one, as the five, the solas of the Reformation are one, as the Three, Father, Son and Holy Spirit are One. And these three groups are one as well. For in the end, they are all about the beginning. From the beginning they have always been about the end. For our lives are and always will be bound up together in the Alpha and the Omega.
Though it is most often attributed to the great sports writer Red Smith, no one knows for sure who first bled this great insight- “Writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed.” Like all great metaphors, this one invites us to slow down and examine its many facets.
First, writing hurts. It hurts in part because you are giving up for public view that which courses through your veins. Though we likely all do it to one degree or another in whatever line of work we do, precious few lines of work have such a clear and immediate connection between the product and the producer. It is my own life-blood, and when it is rejected or despised, I am rejected and despised.
Second, it’s just me. Sure it may in involve paper and ink, or cyber-paper and ink, but no one reads for either the paper or the ink. The raw material is me. I am the one manipulating the raw material. I am the one polishing the raw material. It all starts with a blank page and the writer. The page doesn’t bring much to the table.
That said, there is raw material that feeds the raw material. I like to think of myself, in terms of my writing, as a pig. (No doubt I have plenty of critics who would agree.) What I mean is this. A pig takes in copious amounts of stuff, some of it fairly expensive and fine, like pig feed, much of it cheap and base, like scraps from the family table. In God’s good providence, the pig then turns that stuff into something profoundly treasured and dear- bacon. But it takes more than just the consuming to get that done. The pig has to die. In like manner I consume copious amounts of stuff. I read fancy books written by theological giants, and I read blog posts and magazine articles by acerbic wits. But I also take in my surroundings and my circumstance. I am always watching or reading (consuming) or mulling (digesting) or bleeding (giving up the bacon.)
We are often told to write what we know. I would add that writing as bleeding requires that we write what we care about. We can’t expect our readers to invest in that which we are ourselves only mildly interested in. When we describe our favorite sports team we affirm, “I bleed black and gold.” (Everyone’s favorite teams wear black and gold, right?) When we write we need to be pouring out of us what matters most to us.
Finally, bleeding, or the circulatory system, comes naturally to us. In like manner we should write as we speak. You don’t need to “discover your voice.” You need to understand that your voice is “your voice.” The scary thing about writing is it’s just you. The easy thing is it’s just you. Fake you, affected you, no matter how charming, can never be as good as real you. Use your rhythms, your vocabulary, your diction, your blood.
OK, finally finally. The moment your blood stops flowing you die. With writing it is the same. Write as often as blood is flowing through you. Or to be more clear- write always. On the other hand, know when to stop.
For more help on writing well, check out my Jesus Changes Everything podcast which often includes a segment on writing.
