Yes, of course I do.
You might see it when I suddenly seem lost in thought, or when I display an abnormal amount of emotion (especially for a Stephen).
If you attending worship at Sterling OPC last Sunday morning, you definitely saw it when I tried to preach. I started the sermon with a momentary breakdown and effusion of tears, then proceeded to preach in a frenetic and anxious style that resembled a car engine that is unable to stop revving.
I don't mind being the subject of an issue, though I prefer having an object outside of myself. But I do mind being under the spotlight when it is not under my control. I will erupt in singing in a public place without hesitation. I will not erupt in singing if someone asks me to sing. I need the control.
That is why these clear effects of PTSD concern me. I normally dictate the terms of various social engagements and whether I am angry, depressed, or embittered--you probably won't know. Unless you read it on my blog over the course of the deployment. Or unless you know me now. Because my constant deflections and confident demeanor are proving to be a thinner facade than I could have possibly feared.
On a practical high note, I have often been as skilled in deceiving myself regarding the condition of my heart as I have been in deceiving others. I mention this as a high note because this coming to terms with my obvious messiness is surely an emotional breakthrough that is years in the making.
I will be preaching on Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. And in God's providence, this is the perfect time for me to hear God speak as it will be to proclaim His Word.
At the beginning of the passage (Luke 22:39-46), Jesus instructs His disciples to pray in order to withstand temptation. As we read later, they fail in this instruction. They seek into the sleep of the spiritually dull rather than offer their hearts in prayer to their captivating God.
But that is not the main focus of the passage. The focus is what Jesus did in the place of the spiritually dull, by humbling himself and by His perfect obedience.
As His disciples poured out their hearts in sleep, Jesus poured out His own heart in prayer. Even with the aid of an angel, Jesus undergoes unfathomable agony (the term in the Greek connotes a great battle). Since attacking Him in the desert, Satan has waited for a more opportune time to assail and tempt Jesus (Luke 4). That time has arrived.
The human will of Jesus but also do battle with the divine will of Jesus. Being very God, Jesus can surely say to the Father, "Thy will be done." And He can say that as One who has been with the Father from the very beginning, enjoying the blessed fellowship of the Trinity.
But He is also fully man, with a human will. He knows the cup that He is about to drink--the cup of wrath that God says He will pour out in judgment upon the wicked. He is about to experience the hellish forsakenness of the Father--a punishment rightly deserved by mankind.
And being fully man, Jesus falls to the ground, and in His agony, casts drops of sweat upon the ground like blood. If any man could sense what the wrath to come would be like, it would be the God-man, Jesus Christ. If any man could know what it would be like to be utterly forsaken by God, it would be the One who enjoyed His divine fellowship before time began.
But He does it. Our precious Savior stood in our place, fell in our place, prayed in our place, suffered and died in our place. Satan would tempt Jesus into taking any course but the cross, but He refuses. He acknowledges that man would never sanely seek the cup that He is about to drink, yet He submits to the will of God.
As man slumbers and neglects to lift His heart to God, Jesus not only provides an example of what mankind should have done and should do when undergoing temptation, He did it in their place. Knowing better what He was to face than any man every good--the wiles of Satan, the wrath of God--He prostrates His heart and undergoes psychologically what He will soon bear physically as well. He will fill the cup of suffering to the brim, then have the cup of wrath poured upon Him down to the dregs.
The disciples go down into sleep. He goes down into the ground, bearing the imagery of blood. When He arises, the Sun of Righteousness bids these sleepers arise as well. But they arise after He has symbolically already descended and been raises. He bids them pray amidst temptation, but they do so now as those who have already had the Master Prayer offering His perfect obedience in their stead.
I know pain and heartache and humiliation. But I have not known Gethsemane. There, Christ bore a burden I can never bear. There, Christ prayed my prayer--one that would conclude with "Forgive them," and "It is finished." And He ever intercedes for me now, offering His blood and righteousness in my place.
Satan entices my gullible heart to believe that my next attempt to preach God's Word will prove a failure. But I need not fear His temptations, accusations, or condemnation. Only Christ can condemn, but He instead intercedes for me. It is His withstanding of temptation that makes all the difference, so upon the grace in which I stand, I will not fear.
8.3.14
7.3.14
Solomon's Prayer for Mercy
In 1 Kings 8, after finally building a temple for the Lord, Solomon offers a prayer of dedication for the temple.
He starts by praising God for His character, works, and Word. As it pertains to God's character, he asserts that "there is not God like you, in heaven above or on earth beneath" (23). How was God's character reflected to Solomon? By "keeping covenant and showing steadfast love to your servants who walk before you with all their heart" (23). And this was all in fulfillment of God's Word, for God "kept with your servant David my father what you declared to him. You spoke with your mouth, and with your hand have fulfilled it this day" (24). The backdrop for all of this is the covenant that God made with David, promising an Heir who would reign eternally over His kingdom.
Not only does the opening of praise and gratitude give us an example of how we ought to begin our prayers--and how are hearts ought to be aligned before the Lord--but it is also fitting concerning what Solomon foresaw. While they are still in the act of praising, already Solomon is praying for mercy concerning the future: "And listen to the plea of your servant and of your people Israel, when they pray toward this place. And listen in heaven your dwelling place, and when you hear, forgive" (30).
Solomon, in his God-given wisdom, knows the heart of man and its inclination toward sin and its results (see Ecclesiastes). So he plans for future realities, not hypotheticals:
"When your people Israel are defeated before the enemy because they have sinned against you..." (33)
"When heaven is shut up and there is no rain because they sinned against you..." (35)
He prays that God would forgive His people when they repent.
"Then hear in heaven and forgive the sin of your people Israel..." (34, 36)
When the situation is murky and it's hard to tell what type of individual or collective guilt is at work, he asks that "Whatever prayer, whatever plea is made by any man or by all your people Israel, each knowing the affliction of his own heart and stretching out his hands toward this house, then hear in heaven and render to each whose heart you know, according to all his ways (for you, you only, know the hearts of all the children of mankind" (38-39).
This steady drumbeat of pleas for future mercy comes to its crescendo in verses 46-53. "If they sin against you--for there is no one who does not sin--and you are angry with them and give them to an enemy, so that they are carried away captive to the land of the enemy, far off or near, yet if they turn their heart in the land to which they have been carried captive, and repent and plead with you in the land of their captors, saying 'We have sinner and have acted perversely and wickedly,' if they repent with all their mind and with all their heart in the land of their enemies...then hear in heaven your dwelling place their prayer and their plea, and maintain their cause and forgive your people who have sinned against you, and all their transgressions that they have committed against you, and grant them compassion in the sight of those who carried them captive..."
He prays that God would give "ear to them whenever they call to you" (52), because they are His people, the recipients of His Word, those redeemed by His hand (53). Thus, Solomon closes of the same not of appeal at the end as the beginning--that God, in accordance with His character, His saving works, and His Word, would forgive His people in their sin.
It could be argued that this prayer was partially answered when God allowed the exiles to return (see Ezra and Nehemiah), but the modest rebuilding efforts of the returned exiles would finally be thwarted with the destruction of the temple after the time of Jesus.
When we pray in Jesus' name, we pray in accordance with God's character, revealed to us in the person of Jesus Christ, and in accordance with His saving works, accomplished for us by Jesus Christ, and in accordance with His Word, in which every promise is declared "Yes and Amen" in Jesus Christ.
We pray with humility, knowing that in the brokenness of our world and our hearts, we will inevitably fall into sin, for the power of sin still remains, even as the Spirit puts it to death. As Solomon said in v46, "there is no one who does not sin." Yet, even with this knowledge, we do no despair.
Instead, we also pray with joy and gratitude. While we should approach God with repentant hearts, His response is not conditioned upon our own righteousness. As Solomon book-ended his prayer with praise for God's character, works, and Word, so we do the same. God sent His own beloved Son, Jesus, into exile for our sake. He was hung upon the cursed cross outside the village gates (Gal. 3). He was cast beyond reach of God's hearing, experiencing instead His wrath, so that in our pilgrim journey, we would never be cast beyond God's reach.
Even in the land of brokenness, I cannot ever escape God's presence (Ps. 139). Rather, He leads me in righteousness for His Name's sake and His rod and staff comfort me (Ps. 23). Solomon prayed that God would give "ear to them whenever they call to you" (52). Jesus prayed those words anew from the cross, offering His life and death in the process, and making that prayer an ever-rising fragrance, pleasant in the nostrils of our God, for His sake.
He starts by praising God for His character, works, and Word. As it pertains to God's character, he asserts that "there is not God like you, in heaven above or on earth beneath" (23). How was God's character reflected to Solomon? By "keeping covenant and showing steadfast love to your servants who walk before you with all their heart" (23). And this was all in fulfillment of God's Word, for God "kept with your servant David my father what you declared to him. You spoke with your mouth, and with your hand have fulfilled it this day" (24). The backdrop for all of this is the covenant that God made with David, promising an Heir who would reign eternally over His kingdom.
Not only does the opening of praise and gratitude give us an example of how we ought to begin our prayers--and how are hearts ought to be aligned before the Lord--but it is also fitting concerning what Solomon foresaw. While they are still in the act of praising, already Solomon is praying for mercy concerning the future: "And listen to the plea of your servant and of your people Israel, when they pray toward this place. And listen in heaven your dwelling place, and when you hear, forgive" (30).
Solomon, in his God-given wisdom, knows the heart of man and its inclination toward sin and its results (see Ecclesiastes). So he plans for future realities, not hypotheticals:
"When your people Israel are defeated before the enemy because they have sinned against you..." (33)
"When heaven is shut up and there is no rain because they sinned against you..." (35)
He prays that God would forgive His people when they repent.
"Then hear in heaven and forgive the sin of your people Israel..." (34, 36)
When the situation is murky and it's hard to tell what type of individual or collective guilt is at work, he asks that "Whatever prayer, whatever plea is made by any man or by all your people Israel, each knowing the affliction of his own heart and stretching out his hands toward this house, then hear in heaven and render to each whose heart you know, according to all his ways (for you, you only, know the hearts of all the children of mankind" (38-39).
This steady drumbeat of pleas for future mercy comes to its crescendo in verses 46-53. "If they sin against you--for there is no one who does not sin--and you are angry with them and give them to an enemy, so that they are carried away captive to the land of the enemy, far off or near, yet if they turn their heart in the land to which they have been carried captive, and repent and plead with you in the land of their captors, saying 'We have sinner and have acted perversely and wickedly,' if they repent with all their mind and with all their heart in the land of their enemies...then hear in heaven your dwelling place their prayer and their plea, and maintain their cause and forgive your people who have sinned against you, and all their transgressions that they have committed against you, and grant them compassion in the sight of those who carried them captive..."
He prays that God would give "ear to them whenever they call to you" (52), because they are His people, the recipients of His Word, those redeemed by His hand (53). Thus, Solomon closes of the same not of appeal at the end as the beginning--that God, in accordance with His character, His saving works, and His Word, would forgive His people in their sin.
It could be argued that this prayer was partially answered when God allowed the exiles to return (see Ezra and Nehemiah), but the modest rebuilding efforts of the returned exiles would finally be thwarted with the destruction of the temple after the time of Jesus.
When we pray in Jesus' name, we pray in accordance with God's character, revealed to us in the person of Jesus Christ, and in accordance with His saving works, accomplished for us by Jesus Christ, and in accordance with His Word, in which every promise is declared "Yes and Amen" in Jesus Christ.
We pray with humility, knowing that in the brokenness of our world and our hearts, we will inevitably fall into sin, for the power of sin still remains, even as the Spirit puts it to death. As Solomon said in v46, "there is no one who does not sin." Yet, even with this knowledge, we do no despair.
Instead, we also pray with joy and gratitude. While we should approach God with repentant hearts, His response is not conditioned upon our own righteousness. As Solomon book-ended his prayer with praise for God's character, works, and Word, so we do the same. God sent His own beloved Son, Jesus, into exile for our sake. He was hung upon the cursed cross outside the village gates (Gal. 3). He was cast beyond reach of God's hearing, experiencing instead His wrath, so that in our pilgrim journey, we would never be cast beyond God's reach.
Even in the land of brokenness, I cannot ever escape God's presence (Ps. 139). Rather, He leads me in righteousness for His Name's sake and His rod and staff comfort me (Ps. 23). Solomon prayed that God would give "ear to them whenever they call to you" (52). Jesus prayed those words anew from the cross, offering His life and death in the process, and making that prayer an ever-rising fragrance, pleasant in the nostrils of our God, for His sake.
6.3.14
Book Review: Lord of the Rings
It is unfair to ask how Lord of the Rings ranks up to some of the more popular modern collections, like Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, and The Hunger Games, nor even its historical companion, The Chronicles of Narnia.
The reason why such a comparison is unfair is because Lord of the Rings (LoR) established the benchmarks by which all of these other books are judged. LoR doesn't even need to be your favorite books to say that (they aren't mine). With my lifelong addiction to pop culture and lack of historical awareness or appreciation due to public schooling, I have never enjoyed Shakespeare. I have no patience for Old English. That said, I know the problem lies in me. Shakespeare revolutionized the English language. In the same way, Tolkien revolutionized modern literature.
Having just finished the trilogy for the first time last night, I can say with confidence that Tolkien far surpasses all competitors in terms of the breadth and scope of the world he created. There is no imaginative world as impressive. He even wrote his own language (Elvish) and his own cosmology (study of origins--The Silmarillion) to accompany this world. As a linguist, he always (along with C.S. Lewis) a master of the English language. His prose and dialogue are beyond compare.
That said, I believe his characters lacked depth and development. Sure, Boromir briefly repented before his final showdown; Gandalf the Gray became Gandalf the White; Four hobbits came back to the Shire as heroes and warriors. But where were the windows upon their mental states, beyond fear and courage? And how did they develop in terms of personality and character?
Perhaps this critique is also unfair. Tolkien lived in a modern era of moral distinctions, linear thinking, and black and white perspectives. A character was either good or bad. The strength of postmodernism is that it allows for complexity and doesn't seek to easily resolve it. Do you love Severus Snape or do you hate him? How can you possibly categorize the brilliant Tyrion Lannister?(The weakness of postmodernism in this case is that it doesn't often know how to resolve complexity.)
I also thought the lack of emotional depth was overly compensated for by emotional rhetoric. I started reading this series alongside a book on 9/11. In both books, I became exasperated at the number of exclamation points! Did the survivors of 9/11 always yell when they were interviewed afterward?! Did some minor discovery by Frodo or Gimli really deserve an enthusiastic response?!
Finally, I found another flaw in LoR that clearly is my fault and not that of the story. It often gets bogged down in details and often goes long stretches without taut action or suspense. The first time I tried to read the series, around the beginning of college, I couldn't get past the first couple chapters of the first book. Harry Potter is wrestling with the potency of (non-supernatural) magic from the outset. The Stark family stumbles upon a pack of wolves. Katniss watches someone get hunted down and dreads the upcoming lottery. I am part of the ADHD generation, growing up with things that flash, beep, and go boom. I enjoy the LoR movies even more than the books.
(By the way, I hated the songs in LoR as well. Random snippets of Middle Earth history in convoluted form and without context. I read them, but man, were they boring.)
I think each series has its own strengths and weaknesses. In my mind, the most compelling story line belongs to Harry Potter, and thus, when the reader is immersed, it proves the most difficult from which to be extracted. Hunger Games ignites the most emotion (often in the form of righteous indignation), but fizzles out in bizarre and disturbing ways at the end. Game of Thrones is the most exceptional with regard to character development and complexity, but I'm not sure the author could clearly navigate the imaginative world that he created. And, of course, when compared to LoR, all three of these modern collections clearly lack Tolkien's imagination and their writing, especially dialogue and descriptions, comes across as somewhat vapid.
The two collections that clearly set themselves apart from all others, in my opinion, is LoR and Harry Potter. Why? Because their respective authors recognized that every great story needs a sacrificial, substitutionary hero who will willingly offer himself/herself in the place of others. Both Frodo and Harry show the greatest of moral courage in their own unique ways. Frodo journeys to destroy the Ring for the sake of Middle Earth, knowing that he will likely perish with it. Harry realizes that he will have to die on behalf of all people--magical or "muggle"--and would have to do it without ever saying "goodbye" to those who he loved dearly.
While often playing the part, Katniss ultimately misses the mark in this regard. She may have lifted the world from tyranny, but it was not at the cost of her blood, nor did she look particularly heroic at the end. Likewise, there is no true protagonist in Game of Thrones (which syncs up well with the broader cynicism that sees the pursuit of might or right as merely a means to power and oppression, in good postmodern style). I have a feeling that the ending of that series, if true to the story thus far, will be even more disappointing than Hunger Games.
Why is the sacrificial, substitutionary hero so important for a great story? Because it strikes the very deepest chord in the heart of man. We all need a hero--from sin, from suffering, from sorrow, and from death. Without such a hero, the world becomes a lot more like, well, the world of Game of Thrones--dark, depressing, and directionless. We all want to be the hero, but ultimately, no soldier will preserve a country forever, nor will all the lessons of the teacher be remembered, nor will the doctor be able to permanently stave off death. We need a hero, and that hero is not us.
The hero is Jesus Christ, the God-man who, though eternally God, was made man so that He could live the perfect life that sinful man was supposed to live, die as his sacrifice, and bring him new life through His death and resurrection. He suffered a wrath that exceeded that of Sauron or Voldemort--the hell of being utterly forsaken by the Father--so that a thankless, but beloved people could pass into a land beyond the security of Hogwarts or the tranquility of the Shire.
The nearer a story draws to this central story line of human history, upon which all else hangs, the nearer a story will draw to the hearts of sinners saved by grace and sinners in need of grace.
The reason why such a comparison is unfair is because Lord of the Rings (LoR) established the benchmarks by which all of these other books are judged. LoR doesn't even need to be your favorite books to say that (they aren't mine). With my lifelong addiction to pop culture and lack of historical awareness or appreciation due to public schooling, I have never enjoyed Shakespeare. I have no patience for Old English. That said, I know the problem lies in me. Shakespeare revolutionized the English language. In the same way, Tolkien revolutionized modern literature.
Having just finished the trilogy for the first time last night, I can say with confidence that Tolkien far surpasses all competitors in terms of the breadth and scope of the world he created. There is no imaginative world as impressive. He even wrote his own language (Elvish) and his own cosmology (study of origins--The Silmarillion) to accompany this world. As a linguist, he always (along with C.S. Lewis) a master of the English language. His prose and dialogue are beyond compare.
That said, I believe his characters lacked depth and development. Sure, Boromir briefly repented before his final showdown; Gandalf the Gray became Gandalf the White; Four hobbits came back to the Shire as heroes and warriors. But where were the windows upon their mental states, beyond fear and courage? And how did they develop in terms of personality and character?
Perhaps this critique is also unfair. Tolkien lived in a modern era of moral distinctions, linear thinking, and black and white perspectives. A character was either good or bad. The strength of postmodernism is that it allows for complexity and doesn't seek to easily resolve it. Do you love Severus Snape or do you hate him? How can you possibly categorize the brilliant Tyrion Lannister?(The weakness of postmodernism in this case is that it doesn't often know how to resolve complexity.)
I also thought the lack of emotional depth was overly compensated for by emotional rhetoric. I started reading this series alongside a book on 9/11. In both books, I became exasperated at the number of exclamation points! Did the survivors of 9/11 always yell when they were interviewed afterward?! Did some minor discovery by Frodo or Gimli really deserve an enthusiastic response?!
Finally, I found another flaw in LoR that clearly is my fault and not that of the story. It often gets bogged down in details and often goes long stretches without taut action or suspense. The first time I tried to read the series, around the beginning of college, I couldn't get past the first couple chapters of the first book. Harry Potter is wrestling with the potency of (non-supernatural) magic from the outset. The Stark family stumbles upon a pack of wolves. Katniss watches someone get hunted down and dreads the upcoming lottery. I am part of the ADHD generation, growing up with things that flash, beep, and go boom. I enjoy the LoR movies even more than the books.
(By the way, I hated the songs in LoR as well. Random snippets of Middle Earth history in convoluted form and without context. I read them, but man, were they boring.)
I think each series has its own strengths and weaknesses. In my mind, the most compelling story line belongs to Harry Potter, and thus, when the reader is immersed, it proves the most difficult from which to be extracted. Hunger Games ignites the most emotion (often in the form of righteous indignation), but fizzles out in bizarre and disturbing ways at the end. Game of Thrones is the most exceptional with regard to character development and complexity, but I'm not sure the author could clearly navigate the imaginative world that he created. And, of course, when compared to LoR, all three of these modern collections clearly lack Tolkien's imagination and their writing, especially dialogue and descriptions, comes across as somewhat vapid.
The two collections that clearly set themselves apart from all others, in my opinion, is LoR and Harry Potter. Why? Because their respective authors recognized that every great story needs a sacrificial, substitutionary hero who will willingly offer himself/herself in the place of others. Both Frodo and Harry show the greatest of moral courage in their own unique ways. Frodo journeys to destroy the Ring for the sake of Middle Earth, knowing that he will likely perish with it. Harry realizes that he will have to die on behalf of all people--magical or "muggle"--and would have to do it without ever saying "goodbye" to those who he loved dearly.
While often playing the part, Katniss ultimately misses the mark in this regard. She may have lifted the world from tyranny, but it was not at the cost of her blood, nor did she look particularly heroic at the end. Likewise, there is no true protagonist in Game of Thrones (which syncs up well with the broader cynicism that sees the pursuit of might or right as merely a means to power and oppression, in good postmodern style). I have a feeling that the ending of that series, if true to the story thus far, will be even more disappointing than Hunger Games.
Why is the sacrificial, substitutionary hero so important for a great story? Because it strikes the very deepest chord in the heart of man. We all need a hero--from sin, from suffering, from sorrow, and from death. Without such a hero, the world becomes a lot more like, well, the world of Game of Thrones--dark, depressing, and directionless. We all want to be the hero, but ultimately, no soldier will preserve a country forever, nor will all the lessons of the teacher be remembered, nor will the doctor be able to permanently stave off death. We need a hero, and that hero is not us.
The hero is Jesus Christ, the God-man who, though eternally God, was made man so that He could live the perfect life that sinful man was supposed to live, die as his sacrifice, and bring him new life through His death and resurrection. He suffered a wrath that exceeded that of Sauron or Voldemort--the hell of being utterly forsaken by the Father--so that a thankless, but beloved people could pass into a land beyond the security of Hogwarts or the tranquility of the Shire.
The nearer a story draws to this central story line of human history, upon which all else hangs, the nearer a story will draw to the hearts of sinners saved by grace and sinners in need of grace.
5.3.14
One Reason to Stay Small
I have attended a number of churches in my lifetime, most of them large.
There a number of considerations for either going big or going small in the church you choose to attend. Big churches have incredible resources at their fingertips. They can rotate pastors, set up intricate youth and young adult ministries, maintain counseling departments, and devote an incredible amount of money to missionaries, outreach activities, mercy ministries, and retreats.
Smaller churches, as I learned through my internships in seminary, offer their own array of advantages. You are not anonymous, but known by most of the body. The pastors know who you are, people warmly greet you every Sunday and during weekly activities, and hospitality and accountability are much richer with those more intimate bonds.
The one feature that I think sets smaller churches apart from larger ones is the matter of shepherding. The elders not only have a responsibility to feed the sheep, but to know the sheep. In fact, feeding is really only possible when the people are known. Ever feel like the pastor was preaching to the wall behind you? That could be a sermon mechanics issue. It could also very likely be a shepherding issue, in that the pastor may not know you and your unique need for the Gospel.
It is the responsibility of the elders to visit their people in their homes, counsel them, mentor them, and attend to them at proper occasions--as well as preach and teach. This private ministry supplements the public ministry in that the preaching and teaching are reinforced in the homes and made a greater source of unity amongst the people. Of course, the people generally feel less like an object of instruction and more like beloved family members as well.
This year at Sterling Presbyterian Church, our session has the aim of making sure that each person in our church receives at least two visits from an elder. I look forward to revisiting this issue on the blog in a year and seeing how God in His grace may have used this greater advance in shepherding His flock for His glory!
There a number of considerations for either going big or going small in the church you choose to attend. Big churches have incredible resources at their fingertips. They can rotate pastors, set up intricate youth and young adult ministries, maintain counseling departments, and devote an incredible amount of money to missionaries, outreach activities, mercy ministries, and retreats.
Smaller churches, as I learned through my internships in seminary, offer their own array of advantages. You are not anonymous, but known by most of the body. The pastors know who you are, people warmly greet you every Sunday and during weekly activities, and hospitality and accountability are much richer with those more intimate bonds.
The one feature that I think sets smaller churches apart from larger ones is the matter of shepherding. The elders not only have a responsibility to feed the sheep, but to know the sheep. In fact, feeding is really only possible when the people are known. Ever feel like the pastor was preaching to the wall behind you? That could be a sermon mechanics issue. It could also very likely be a shepherding issue, in that the pastor may not know you and your unique need for the Gospel.
It is the responsibility of the elders to visit their people in their homes, counsel them, mentor them, and attend to them at proper occasions--as well as preach and teach. This private ministry supplements the public ministry in that the preaching and teaching are reinforced in the homes and made a greater source of unity amongst the people. Of course, the people generally feel less like an object of instruction and more like beloved family members as well.
This year at Sterling Presbyterian Church, our session has the aim of making sure that each person in our church receives at least two visits from an elder. I look forward to revisiting this issue on the blog in a year and seeing how God in His grace may have used this greater advance in shepherding His flock for His glory!
4.3.14
The Gospel According to James
Amongst all books in the Bible, the book of James tends to be one of the more controversial.
Many Roman Catholic friends will pit James against Paul in order to counter the Reformation view that the Bible is perspicuous (clear in what it teaches), because James and Paul obviously contradict each other (R.R. Reno calls it a paradox). They also often use James to counter the Reformation view that salvation comes by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone. They are happy to point out that "faith without works is dead" (James 2) in order to stress salvation as a joint venture between God and man.
To that, Protestants and Reformed-types will often counter that we are saved through faith alone, but faith is never alone. And I would argue that this retort gets much closer at the point that James is trying to make.
Unlike Paul in Romans, James is not attempting to describe how a man is saved. Rather, he is attempting to describe the life of faith. Just because he uses the term "justification" doesn't mean that he's using it in the same way as Paul.
For Paul, justification refers what God does to save man: Justification is an act of God's free grace, by which He pardons all of our sins and accepts us as righteous in His sight, only for the righteousness of Christ imputed to us, and received by faith alone (Westminster Shorter Catechism 33).
But God can also be justified. When Paul describes the sin and rebellion of mankind, he says that as a result, God is "justified when He judges" (Rom. 3, quoting Ps. 14 and Ps. 84). In this case, justification refers to being vindicated, or proven correct. This is the type of justification to which James refers--the works by which faith is vindicated, or proven correct or authentic.
He also speaks of two types of faith: true faith and demon faith ("even the demons believe and shudder"--James 2). Throughout the book, these two different types of faith are described and contrasted.
For example, in chapter 1, true faith is shown to pray for wisdom amidst trials in order to see God's larger providence and promises; Demon faith is blown and tossed by the wind--lip service is shown to provide no sure footing in times of distress.
Demon faith imputes evil to God's character and blames Him for temptation in times of trial; True faith recognizes that it is the fallen human heart that latches on to sin and Satan and gives birth to death. God doesn't give birth to sin; rather, He gives birth to new believers through the Word of truth.
In constantly describing the life of faith and setting in contrast to demon faith, James (by God's inspiration) seeks to convict our hearts in the ways in which they live out of sync with the Gospel (i.e., when we are not doers of the law, we are forgetting who we are in Christ, which is communicated to us through the Word implanted within us).
He also seeks to comfort us. Even as he rebukes us for favoritism--a characteristic of demon faith--he calls us "beloved brothers" (James 2), showing that these poor performances and entangling sins do not threaten our salvation, but rather call us back to the One who birthed us by the Word of Truth and does not change like the shifting shadows (James 1). And because God does not change, we are not consumed (Malachi 3).
But recognizing that every bit of Scripture testifies to Jesus Christ (Luke 24), we can draw greater comfort from James than even the assurance of our faith. For James is saturated with the law, which is the "perfect rule of righteousness" (James 1) that structures the Christian life. And the law necessarily drives us to the foot of cross, as Christ was "born under the law" in order to perfectly fulfill it and save those "under the law" (Gal. 4:4).
Thus, the yoke of the law imposed by James was carried by Christ to the cross. And because Christ perfectly kept the law, including that set forth in James, we go forth in freedom to joyfully (yet still sinfully) do the same.
So do not fret as you read James, realizing that your tongue will never be perfectly tamed this side of Heaven. This will not separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom. 8:28). It will remind you that Christ was perfectly silent when needed (as a lamb before it's shearers--Is. 53, and was perfectly outspoken when needed. He never spoke a word out of turn.
James shows us not what we can do to merit salvation, but helps set the joyful course before us because Christ merited our salvation for us.
3.3.14
Foreign Anxiety
Yesterday was a more difficult day that I imagined it would be.
It was my first time back in the pulpit for a normal, Sunday morning worship service, and I was grateful to be back in the saddle.
But something was off from the get-go. My wife came separately, and as I recited sermon points in my head, I lost track of our customary prayer time in the car before I preach.
And as I walked the fellowship hall prior to the service, I felt a certain degree of anxiety--not an anxiety borne of fear, but of oddity. Something was just...off.
When I stepped behind the pulpit for the sermon, my normal air of enthusiasm was tinged with that same anxiety.
Just prior to preaching, as we were praying for the needs of the congregation, I was reflecting upon the import of the the question "Who do I think Jesus is?" I thought of a soldier who knew that Jesus is the God-man who came to rescue sinners by grace through faith in Him. I thought of another soldier who escorted that same soldier, now in casket, home. I started to tear up.
I got up to preach and my throat caught. It took me a moment to get composed.
In the midst of my emotion, I forgot to read the Bible passage from which I preached. Of all things to forget!
But that was the type of day it was. A day of God-appointed rest that exposed the subconsciously frayed nerves of a Christian growing by grace and his desperate need for that same grace.
I trust that God still used His preached Word to bless the hearts of His people--especially those as messy as the man He used to cast it forth.
The passage I preached upon (and didn't read) began with Jesus walking up the mountain with His closest disciples to pray.
May my sojourn to the pulpit likewise always begin with prayer. When I crest the top, I will inevitably and painfully realize anew that I am not Jesus, the almighty God whose appearance flashes with lightning, who summons the dead to His side, and is enveloped by clouds of glory declaring "This is the chosen one."
No, I am the sleeper alongside, dulled to the glory of my Savior. But as I awake once more to His glory and am rendered silent by His presence, I am given His Word to speak.
And I go forth as one sleeper to many other sleepers, declaring the joys of being awoken to the preciousness of the Gospel.
It was my first time back in the pulpit for a normal, Sunday morning worship service, and I was grateful to be back in the saddle.
But something was off from the get-go. My wife came separately, and as I recited sermon points in my head, I lost track of our customary prayer time in the car before I preach.
And as I walked the fellowship hall prior to the service, I felt a certain degree of anxiety--not an anxiety borne of fear, but of oddity. Something was just...off.
When I stepped behind the pulpit for the sermon, my normal air of enthusiasm was tinged with that same anxiety.
Just prior to preaching, as we were praying for the needs of the congregation, I was reflecting upon the import of the the question "Who do I think Jesus is?" I thought of a soldier who knew that Jesus is the God-man who came to rescue sinners by grace through faith in Him. I thought of another soldier who escorted that same soldier, now in casket, home. I started to tear up.
I got up to preach and my throat caught. It took me a moment to get composed.
In the midst of my emotion, I forgot to read the Bible passage from which I preached. Of all things to forget!
But that was the type of day it was. A day of God-appointed rest that exposed the subconsciously frayed nerves of a Christian growing by grace and his desperate need for that same grace.
I trust that God still used His preached Word to bless the hearts of His people--especially those as messy as the man He used to cast it forth.
The passage I preached upon (and didn't read) began with Jesus walking up the mountain with His closest disciples to pray.
May my sojourn to the pulpit likewise always begin with prayer. When I crest the top, I will inevitably and painfully realize anew that I am not Jesus, the almighty God whose appearance flashes with lightning, who summons the dead to His side, and is enveloped by clouds of glory declaring "This is the chosen one."
No, I am the sleeper alongside, dulled to the glory of my Savior. But as I awake once more to His glory and am rendered silent by His presence, I am given His Word to speak.
And I go forth as one sleeper to many other sleepers, declaring the joys of being awoken to the preciousness of the Gospel.
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