Stephen King is just one of many to remind would be writers of what may be the most difficult part of writing well- cutting superfluous words. Concision is king. Every word needs to pass this simple test- does it make the writing clearer, more informative, more effective. If not, cut it out. Kill it, mercilessly. Dispatch with extreme prejudice.
As a professional editor I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come across this nugget, “In today’s world…” Seriously? Is the writer afraid that unless he warns me that he is talking about here and now I might assume he’s talking about Venus in the paleolithic era? Or this one, “According to Webster’s New Collegiate dictionary, ‘bulwark’ means…” If you won’t kill your darlings, at least consign them to footnote purgatory.
Which is why I was troubled to see Stephen Wolfe recently suggest on twitter that “White evangelicals are the lone bulwark against moral insanity in America.” I’ve never met either of the Wolfe brothers, nor have I read Christian Nationalism. While I have a long history of thinking through political issues from a Christian perspective, I haven’t felt the need to take a side on this one. All this to say that I consider Mr. Wolfe to be a brother who has labored to think through the same kinds of issues. For such he should be commended.
I don’t, therefore want to pounce on him with a simple “gotcha.” That said, as an editor, I’m left asking this simple question- what does the word “white” add to “White evangelicals are the lone bulwark against moral insanity in America”? What is it about “whiteness” that makes it important to note here? It is true enough that various polls make note of how people of varying pigmentation tend to vote. They could, however, just as well run their polls to see how the red-headed voting bloc came down on an issue, or where the left-handed caucus leaned.
There is nothing in hair color that drives one’s perspective on political issues. There is nothing in skin color that drives one’s perspective on political issues. If a disproportionate percentage of biblically thoughtful, widely read, homeschooled, church going, Jesus Changes Everything podcast subscribing, over 6 feet tall people vote conservatively does their height really matter? And what would it say about a perspective that not only wants to point out the tall people, but excludes the short people from being a part of the lone bulwark against moral insanity? Nothing good.
Adding “white,” even if it was included in someone else’s research, not only doesn’t add anything, but subtracts. It distracts and diminishes the real issue, submission to the Word of God. Whites are no more a voting bloc than left-handed people are a voting bloc. We don’t need more whites, but more morally sane people. We don’t need more people whose ancestors were born in Europe, but more people who have been born again. We all ought to pray that God would raise up an army of us, so long as we know that “us” are His children, no matter the skin color, hair color, height or dominant hand.
The issue here isn’t one of mere appearances. My concern is not public relations, that my brother said the quiet part out loud. The issue is conflating something as utterly adiaphorous as skin color with something morally significant. My sincere hope is that my brother will see this. I should warn him, however. When you have racist fellow-travelers following you, cheering you on and you then publicly embrace the gospel truth that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, they will turn on you like a pack of wild dogs. Like superfluous words, however, it’s better to be rid of them.
Salvation, it should go without saying, is astonishing. One minute we are looking at an eternity of just torment for our rebellion against the living God, the next we are running to our loving heavenly Father who has not only forgiven us, but adopted us, who has not only declared us just, but sent His Spirit to dwell in us, leading us into becoming what we have already been declared to be. And the future we now face is joy forevermore. Astonishing.
What should not surprise us, however, is not just that we continue, while still living, to struggle with sin, but that the sins we struggle with are often those that beset us before we were given the gift of faith. While we drag the carcass of our old man along behind us, he’s still the same guy. The sins we battle look familiar to us because they are familiar to us.
One besetting sin you and I both struggle with is ingratitude. How do I know that about you? Because it’s true of all of us. Paul, in Romans 1, is establishing the biblical truth that apart from Jesus, all men are sinners. All men, in our natural state, suppress the truth in unrighteousness. But right on the heels of this wicked suppression of the truth Paul tells us, “Neither were they grateful” (1:21). That’s all of us, and that’s something we still struggle, despite the outpouring of God’s grace.
We ought to be able to see ourselves, our lives and our walks in the journey of God’s people to the Promised Land. We’ve been redeemed and rescued. Sin no longer rules over us. He has called us out, loves us, brought us into His family. And He has promised us that we would dwell in paradise. If, however, we are able to see that obvious parallel, we ought also be able to see this obvious parallel- like the children of Israel on their way to the Promised Land, we incessantly grumble and complain against the very God who rescued us. We look back longingly at the leeks and garlic of our old lives. We grow bitter against those God has placed in authority over us. We are dissatisfied with His miraculous provision of all that we need. Neither are we grateful.
The solution is both simple and difficult. We are to give thanks. We are, to use the language of Psalm 37:3, to feast upon His faithfulness. We are to delight ourselves in Him. He is our exceedingly great reward. Our eyes have grown dim, but His glory is from everlasting to everlasting. Our tongues have grown weary with our laments, so let us employ them in singing His praise. Our ears have grown dull, so let us attend to the music of the spheres, the dance of the stars that shines His glory. Let us remember who we were. Let us remember where He found us. Let us remember where He is taking us. And then we will remember where He has us, safe in the scarred hands of His beloved Son.
Tonight we continue our look at the monumental, towering book of Romans. All are welcome to our home at 7 est, or you may join us for dinner at 6:15. We will also stream the study at Facebook, RC-Lisa Sproul. We hope you’ll join us.
Because it’s the right thing to do, and the God of heaven and earth always does what is right. The apostle Paul, in Romans 9, deals with the admittedly understandable objection to the intersection of God’s sovereignty and His judgment that if He has ordained all things, how is it just to judge us for doing what He ordained us to do? While the question is understandable, it ought to be asked from a position of humility. Too often what we pretend are questions are actually accusations. Either way, however, the answer is a simple reminder that God is God and we are not, that we are clay and He is the potter.
Given the fact that we are twisted and He is pure, we should not be surprised that sometimes our visions of justice are at odds. Given that we are twisted and He is pure, we ought to always confess that He is right and we are wrong. I disagree with God regularly, every time I fail to believe Him, every time I disobey Him. And every time He has been right and I have been wrong. My moral clarity is so utterly cluttered that I can safely conclude that my conclusions are not to be trusted.
While Romans 9 is the locus classicus for this discussion, it is not the first time it comes up. Paul, in fact addresses the same theme just six chapters earlier:
But if our unrighteousness demonstrates the righteousness of God, what shall we say? Is God unjust who inflicts wrath? (I speak as a man.) Certainly not! For then how will God judge the world? (3: 5, 6).
We are unrighteous, in part, for the purpose of God manifesting His just judgment. If it were not just for Him to judge us, He would instead be manifesting His injustice. He has none. The purpose of our unrighteousness, however, isn’t the answer to the question of how we came to be that way. Such is a great mystery. Given what we are, the deepest question of all isn’t why He would judge us, but why He would rescue any of us. Our sin natures are real, and are the reason for the judgment we receive, not an excuse against judgment.
As one well known theologian was quoted as saying in Hollywood’s vampire movie, The Addiction, “We are not sinners because we sin. We sin because we are sinners.” We cannot excuse our evil with, “Of course I did evil. It’s what I am.” When a man is charged with bank robbery he doesn’t escape judgment by suggesting, “Of course I robbed the bank. I’m a bank robber. It’s what I do. Why would you judge me for being what I am?” (Though this may be coming, as this is precisely how the sexually confused argue.)
Thankfully, precious few actually argue that they are not guilty because they are what they are. Sadly, too many argue that they could argue that way if God were absolutely sovereign. The Bible, however, argues both- we are guilty and God is sovereign, and reminds us not to talk back to the Sovereign Just Judge.
The Bible is a book that is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Look at it from one perspective, and it’s rather a small book. It occupies less space on a shelf than a dictionary. Some versions you can even carry in your pocket. Yet when we consider all that is within it, it’s a rather large book. It equips us for every good work (2 Tim. 3:16). Its riches can and will occupy our meditations into eternity.
Many, if not all, of the Bible’s parts have much the same quality. Jesus gives the most famous, most significant, most far-reaching sermon in all of history, and yet it covers just three chapters, Matthew 5–7. In those short chapters, Jesus tells us how we may receive the blessing of God. He speaks to how His people are to relate to the broader world, calling us to be salt and light. He explains how His Sermon on the Mount relates to the first “sermon on the mount,” the giving of the law at Sinai. He expands our understanding of the Mosaic law, tells us how to love those within the kingdom, and shows us how to serve those without. He teaches us how to pray, and how to fast, then reminds us that our treasure is in heaven.
All of this fits nicely into such a significant sermon. These are matters of the first importance, fitting themes for this cosmic exposition. But then, Jesus does something most of us wouldn’t expect — He tells us to stop worrying. Why this? Why here? Sure, avoiding anxiety is important and valuable. But couldn’t this have waited for another sermon, for a less auspicious occasion? Precious few freshly minted seminary graduates would include such an admonition in their first sermon. Not many pastoral candidates would choose this application to conclude their candidating sermon. But Jesus includes it. Why?
Our first clue is this — Jesus doesn’t merely tell us to not worry. Instead, He tells us what we should not be worrying about:
“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on” (6:25). Stranger still, in this brief sermon, Jesus reiterates this point: “Therefore do not be anxious, saying ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things” (vv. 31–32a).
Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, is, before He tells us to seek the kingdom, telling us what life looks like inside the kingdom. This is how you love; this is how you pray; this is how you obey. And this, He tells us, is what you don’t do — be anxious about what you will eat, what you will drink, what you will wear. This mindset defines the people of the kingdom; it sets us apart from the Gentiles. This is the mark of Christians. You will be recognized, Jesus tells us, not because you have no food, drink, or clothes. Your Father in heaven knows you, like the Gentiles, need these things. What will set you apart from the world around you, what will separate you, is that you will not worry. You will be at peace. You will have but one priority — to seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness.
We should be encouraged to remember that Jesus preached this sermon to the choir. That is, Jesus isn’t here castigating the scribes and Pharisees. He is talking to His own. The same is true with that first sermon on a mount (Ex. 20). While all men everywhere must not worship false gods or construct idols, while all men must honor God’s name and His Sabbath, while all men must respect those in authority, keep covenant, and so on, God is speaking to His own people here. He is saying, “I rescued you from Egypt, because you are Mine. I am carrying you on eagles’ wings, because you are My people. I will establish you in a land flowing with milk and honey, because you are My beloved. When you get there, be sure not to murder each other. Don’t steal the property of your neighbor. Keep covenant with your wife.” In like manner, Jesus is telling us not to worry not because we are never tempted to do so, but precisely because we are so tempted. He is preaching to the choir because we aren’t choirboys. We do fret. We do fear. We do follow the patterns of the Gentiles.
Our calling, then, is twofold. First, we need to learn to believe that our Father in heaven cares for us. Jesus in this sermon makes this abundantly clear. God provides for the sparrows, for the lilies of the field. He knows what we need, and He will provide. Second, though, we must repent of our fears. In the end, this is what marks the Christian, not that we are sinless but that by His grace we repent when we fall. When we repent, we have been promised that “He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). When peace passes, when it slips from our grasping hands, we rest here, and thus rest in that peace that passes understanding.
Every believer hopes, prays and works for more believers. A man cannot be born again, be carried into the kingdom and then close the door behind him. Jesus commands us to disciple the nations, baptizing them and teaching them all that He commands. The debate is often over how to do that. Street preachers are often considered uncouth, while hipster churches equipped with big screens, skinny jeans and fog machines are often considered worldly and untethered.
There are arguments both for and against competing strategies. I want to point out, however, that one argument bandied about on all sides, is no argument at all. How often believers look down their noses at other believers and suggest “It’s people like you who keep other people out of the kingdom.” Do the foibles of one group of Christians really block the doors to heaven from unbelievers? And if they do, isn’t it likely we’re guilty on all sides? Hippies looking down their noses at squares are just as pharisaical as squares looking down their noses at hippies.
“It’s people like you that drive people away from Jesus.” “If we don’t change the perception/convictions they have of us, they’ll never come in.” On the other hand some seem to suggest that what Christians do and how we behave has no impact whatsoever on the decisions of unbelievers. The truth is that unbelievers don’t need any help in their unbelief. Romans 1 teaches that all of us, in our natural state, actively suppress all that we know that God has revealed to us. No one can accuse the God of heaven and earth of doing it wrong. No one will be able to stand before Him and say, “Well, if You had presented Yourself this way, I would have repented and turned to you.”
What underlies this kind of perspective isn’t a heart for the lost, but a heart for the approval of the lost. That is, Christians are tempted to hide from whatever complaints unbelievers make. If the Bible disapproves of sexual sin that the world approves of, and faithful Christians concur, disapproval comes on us. So we shove our brothers and sisters under the bus. If the world complains that we are judgmental, we join in, thanking God we are not like those judgmental Christians. We seek the approval of man, natural man, whose nature is at war with God Himself.
John warned us about this, telling us, “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world the love of the Father is not in him” (I John 2:15). This love of the world does not necessarily mean embracing the ways of the world. It may well mean hungering for the world to return our love. And all it costs is betraying others for whom Jesus died. We are all betrayers, and sufficient reason to both drive people away from Jesus and drive people to Jesus. We drive them away from Jesus because we are all sinners. We drive them to Jesus because they are too. We’re beggars telling other beggars where to find bread. Let’s not grumble about the table manners, good or bad, of other beggars.
