Four kings vs. five

It's Boxing Day. We had a solid week of snow leading up to the 24th, followed by a warm-up and rain for the last 48 hours. I hadn't been able to see the surface of the road outside much since November, but now it's a sheet of slush with pools of water, and the odd icy patch. Here and there, gravel peeks through the slush. That doesn't sound very nice, but I'm sitting next to the wood stove, the roof is doing its job, and I have hot coffee. So really, I've got it pretty good.

I've been contemplating Genesis 14 over the last week. At this point I only have scattered observations, but I thought if I were to write them down here, it might help organize them. And of course comments from others can be very helpful!

The first time Scripture calls someone a king is Genesis 14:1. Genesis 10:9–10 tells us Nimrod had a kingdom in Shinar, so we might argue that he's the first king in Scripture, but while Genesis 10 says that Nimrod had a kingdom, it doesn't say he was a king. The first king Scripture names is Amraphel, the king of Shinar. 

Scripture portrays Shinar as the center of earthly power, starting from Nimrod. Both Babel (Genesis 10:10) and Babylon (Daniel 1:1–2) are in Shinar.  And we sometimes forget that while Babel and Babylon are generally portrayed as opposing Him, God names Nebuchadnezzar "king of kings," (Daniel 2:37) and gives him dominion over the whole earth. No doubt Scripture uses Babylon as a symbol of wickedness (Revelation 17:5, etc.), but Babylon's place at the head of Gentile authority was by divine decree (Daniel 2:37ff).

Genesis 14 names the first priest too: Melchizedek, the king of Salem (Genesis 14:18). He's both a priest and a king, and we don't have to wonder whether he prefigures Christ, because Hebrews 7:1–3 is explicit. Melchizedek is a type of Christ.

All told, there are ten kings in Genesis 14: nine are named in the first two verses (Genesis 14:1–2), and Melchizedek is named near the end (Genesis 14:18).  The first four kings (including the king of Shinar) launch quite a campaign (Genesis 14:5–9) that comes to a climax with a four-against-five battle between Chedorlaomer and his allies against the king of Sodom and his allies.

I find it interesting that Scripture specifies (Genesis 14:9) that four kings prevail over five.

I find it interesting, too, that Scripture mentions several lands that fall to the four kings: there are seven named – including the land of the Amalekites – before we read about the battle at Siddim (Genesis 14:5–8).

After the battle, Chedorlaomer and his allies loot Sodom and take the people there captive, including Lot. That prompts Abram to action. 

Genesis 14:13 tells us Abram had three allies: Mamre, Eschol, and Aner. Although Scripture tells the story as though Abram and his 318 men fought alone, we find at the end that his allies were there too (Genesis 14:24). I assume the 318 men were only Abram's household; I assume the force Abram led was something like four times that many.

Scripture doesn't tell us much about Abram's neighbors. I suspect our concept of Abram being a more-or-less isolated pilgrim is not entirely accurate. Both Genesis 14 and Genesis 23 describe friendly relations with the Canaanites. At one time I had envisioned Abram living among hostile pagans, but his allies (Genesis 14:13), Melchizedek (Genesis 14:18), and Ephron and the sons of Heth (Genesis 23:10) all seem to point to a much less hostile environment. Certainly Scripture has only good to say about Melchizedek, although Joshua destroyed his successor four hundred years later (Joshua 10:1, 22–26). 

Melchizedek is a type of Christ, Hebrews 7:1ff is explicit. Darby points out ("The Melchisedec Priesthood of Christ", Collected Writings, Volume 2, pp. 64–73) that Melchizedek is a priest who doesn't offer for sins. His priesthood is characterized not be sacrifice, but by blessing: he stands between God and man and blesses them both. And he gives Abram bread and wine, foreshadowing the Lord's feeding us with His own flesh and His own blood (John 6:47–55).

And as Darby points out, "the Most High God" is a millennial title for God. Melchizedek points forward to a millennial Christ.  I don't want to push this point too far... we think of priests as offering for sin; the Levitical priesthood seems very much to center on that. But Hebrews points us to the more excellent ministry: enabling us to draw near to God. Christ has offered for sins once, and has done it in a way that never needs another offering (Hebrews 10:1–13). But that's not all a priest does. Melchizedek points us to a need that goes beyond the offering for sins: Melchizedek doesn't offer for sins, but he's a priest nevertheless, and a greater priest than Aaron (Hebrews 7:4–6).  Aaron points to Christ's finished work, Melchizedek points to His unfinished work.

We rest in Christ's finished work, but we "press on" (Hebrews 4:14–16) as a result of His unfinished work.

Of course the error of so many Christians is confusing those two things.  We have peace with God because of what Christ has done (Romans 5:1), and we are powerless to undo that.  We err when we try to get peace with God any other way. And we err when we think having peace with God means there's no need for pressing on. There's a ditch on both sides of the road, but as Alan points out, the deeper ditch is probably the first one.

(Edited to fix some spelling and grammar mistakes, I rushed through proof-reading this one, I'm afraid)

 

Fatness

Jeremiah 11:15–20 uses the image of a green olive tree to give a prophetic picture of our Lord. The green olive tree is destroyed for the sins of the houses of Judah and Israel (Jeremiah 11:17), and the men of Israel and Judah set out to destroy him, as a lamb led to the slaughter (Jeremiah 11:19). 

This isn't the only place where the image of a green olive tree is used to describe the Lord Jesus. We've talked before about Deuteronomy 24:19–21, Hosea 14:6–7, and Psalm 52:8–9. It's not the most common image, but it shows up a few times.

If we want to understand how the people of the Old Testament understood the image of an olive tree, we can turn back to Jotham's parable in Judges 9:7–20. In his parable, the trees offer the kingdom first to the olive tree, and it replies,  "Should I leave my fatness, wherewith by me they honour God and man, and go to wave over the trees?" (Judges 9:9). So we understand that – at least to the people in Old Testament times – the olive tree represents fatness. And we understand that fatness to be a blessing to both God and man.

J. N. Darby points out that Melchisidec doesn't offer for sin ("The Melchisidec Priesthood of Christ", Collected Writings, Volume 2, pp. 64–73). Instead, his priesthood is characterized by standing between God and man and blessing both. I don't mean to say, of course, that our Lord did not offer for sins. But the fact remains that the greatest priest in the Old Testament – indeed the first priest Scripture mentions – is not offering for sin, but blessing both God and man.

It's reasonable to say that the Levitical priesthood prefigures Christ offering for sin, and is thus characteristic of His first coming. But Melchisidec's priesthood prefigures Christ in a more permanent ministry: sin having been put away, He continues to bless both God and man.

The image of the olive tree is like that of Melchisidec, but it reveals a different facet. It's not only the Priest who can bless both God and man – by the olive tree's "fatness," others ("they") can too.  There is a ministry for us here.

I heard one brother say something to the effect that our first and highest calling is to bless God (Ephesians 1:3ff). I have no doubt he's correct. And I have no doubt that we have a ministry in proclaiming the Gospel to lost sinners. But I think there is another ministry too: there is a ministry of blessing lost men and women, regardless whether they repent.

I recognize there's a danger here of a "social gospel" that leaves the Cross behind. But that danger shouldn't be an excuse for us not to be a blessing to those around us, even if only in this life.

And to be clear: I don't believe we can claim to be blessing man by the olive tree's fatness if we leave the olive tree behind. The "social gospel" and its ilk are characterized by a Christ-less, Cross-less, God-less "christianity." Sadly, people seem to fall for that. But it's not a gospel at all, it's an anti-gospel. "You don't need Christ" isn't a meaningful message, but it's exactly the message that progressive Christianity seems to preach.

God is kind, and is kind to His creation. He blesses in big ways (forgiveness of sins, eternal life), but in small ways too (see Acts 14:15–17). He gives rain both to the just and to the unjust (Matthew 5:45). We, too, should be a blessing to those around us. But we don't pretend we have anything to offer the fallen world that isn't from and through and because of Christ.

Masters and employees

As long as I can remember, I've heard Christians teach "how Christians should behave in the workplace" lessons from the Epistles' instructions to slaves and masters. I really cannot count the number of times I've heard someone say, "We don't have slavery today, but these verses apply to employees and employers too."

Do they?  I've never heard anyone quote 1 Corinthians 7:21 in connection with being an employee.  I keep wondering how that would apply. Would that mean something like, "If you are employed, and you have an opportunity to be unemployed, take it?"  Possibly that would mean something like, "If you have an opportunity to be self-employed, take it." But I prefer the first reading, to be honest. I mean, there are some days...

Still, it's remarkable how quickly people forget their let's-apply-this-to-employees rule of interpretation when they get to 1 Corinthians 7:21. I can't recall anyone ever bringing it up. That seems dishonest.

I'm not saying there's nothing to be learned from reading through the instructions to slaves and masters in the Epistles. I'm not even saying that there are no applications to be made to employees. I am saying that a need to find some sort of application to ourselves in the text every Sunday is fundamental error, and will lead to all sorts of trouble.

As a very simple example, let's start with Galatians 4:1ff. Are we really to believe that an underage child is, "no better than an employee?" Would we take anyone seriously who said something like that?

The fact is that Scripture very carefully distinguishes free men and women from slaves, and it does so with purpose. Christ hasn't set us free to be slaves (Galatians 5:1). Scripture doesn't confound employment with slavery, and neither should we. It's unrighteous.

At the root of many evangelical errors is the notion that there must be a modern-day equivalent for everything in the Scriptures. If we take that perspective, we end up wreaking all sorts of havoc with the context of each verse. All Scripture is breathed by God, but not all applies to me. There is something to be learned from all of it, and in all of it. But a desperate attempt to read myself into Scripture will lead into chaos.

Here's an idea, if we must read ourselves into those master-and-slave verses, why not do it from the perspective that we are God's slaves? That has the advantage that it's expressly taught in Scripture (Romans 6:19, Romans 14:4, 1 Corinthians 7:22). And it might be interesting to see how Christ is the perfect Master (and, for that matter, the perfect Slave). And it might be useful to consider Paul's own life as a "slave of Christ Jesus" (Romans 1:1). 

The Scriptures are written around Christ (John 5:39–40), not around me.  Trying to find a way to "apply this to our lives" is frequently just code for finding a way to put ourselves at the center.

 

Part of an elect nation

Dispensationalists frequently defend their view by saying something like, "God has made promises to Israel that He has not fulfilled. Therefore we trust that He will fulfill them at some future date." That seems to be a recurring theme among dispensationalists. And I agree with that whole-heartedly.

At the same time, I recognize that there is an issue we need to address in this argument. There is an elephant in the room.  When we consider Romans 9–11, we find that Scripture also recognizes there's an issue. The issue is something like this: we know that God has made promises to Israel that went unfulfilled to those specific people. For example, very few of the children of Israel that came out of Egypt made it into the promised land. Most of them died in the wilderness.

So did God really fulfill His promise to them?

Romans 9:6–8 addresses this question with the assertion that, "not all [are] Israel which [are] of Israel; nor because they are seed of Abraham [are] all children."  So this is a guiding principle when it comes to God's election: it's possible to be part of an elect people, without being an elect individual. Notice Romans 9:15 quotes Exodus 33:19. That's the story of the golden calf, the first time the Scripture talks about Israelites falling in the wilderness.

That's a point worth repeating: it's possible to be part of a chosen nation and not yourself be chosen. 

So when it comes to Israel, dispensationalists calmly assert that God will, indeed, restore Israel, but that doesn't mean that any specific Jewish person will be included in that.  And I fully agree with that statement.

Of course this has application to us. If we object to amillennialism on the grounds that we believe God can be trusted, then surely we need to consider carefully how His trustworthiness is displayed in light of Romans 9–11. Which is a really clumsy way of saying, if it's possible for individual Israelites to fall short of what God promised the nation, is it also possible for individual Christians to fall short of what God promised the church?

Without diving too deep into controversy, let's just say that everyone who has been baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit has a claim to call themselves "Christian." That doesn't mean everyone baptized has been born again, or that they're truly regenerated. But it's reasonable for them to think of themselves as Christian.  And we shouldn't make the mistake of thinking all of the unregenerate baptized were baptized as infants!

And we don't really even need to talk in terms of baptism. What about those who were born into Christian homes and so think they're Christians? What about those who grew up in Sunday school, but were never born again?  I really don't think they're entirely wrong to think of themselves as "Christian."  But it doesn't at all mean they're born again.

So yes, there are lots of people who are part of the elect nation, but aren't themselves elect.

When the Lord Jesus spoke to Nicodemus, He told him point-blank, "you must be born anew" (John 3:3–8). There's no question that Nicodemus was part of the elect nation, but he still needed new birth.

So if you're part of an elect nation, if you were baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, you still need to be born again.  The question for you isn't, "Was I baptized?" The question for you is, "Do you believe God?" Because in the end, God justifies the one who does not work, but believes (Romans 4:5).

And notice, Scripture doesn't tell us we have to be sure we're elect before we come to Christ. 

By exactly the same token, Scripture doesn't say that God justifies the one who can remember a conversion experience. It says God justifies the one who believes. So let's not fall into the trap of telling people they need to have a "salvation experience." 

But the fact remains, being part of the elect nation doesn't mean that you will receive that God has promised. God doesn't work that way: it's the children of promise, not the children of flesh, who receive what He promises (Romans 9:8). 

 

Caricatures Abound

Somehow I missed John MacArthur's series, "Why Every Calvinist Should Be a Premillennialist" when it came out. I found a reference to it on the testing 5-2-1 blog, and thought it would be a worthwhile listen. Was it ever! It was a remarkably good sermon series. I've listened to it twice now.

But...

In the first message, he talks about J. N. Darby (the transcript is available here), and it wasn't the most flattering. He didn't hit too hard on Darby, but his tone toward dispensationalists was more than a little dismissive.

Now, it's fair to point out that dispensationalism became (or maybe "has become") a nesting place for some of the unclean birds he mentions: newspaper exegesis, and Revelation 9 helicopters are two examples he gives. And I'll agree with him that those are wrong. It seems obvious to me that a lot of credibility was lost by some of that.

At the same time, to accuse dispensationalists of teaching "two ways of salvation" is a caricature at best, slander at the worst. And to be clear: MacArthur's not the only one I've heard make that accusation in the last year. 

I don't own a Scofield Bible, so I'm not going to attempt to defend it. I don't go in for Scofield-ism myself, I think it's a little brittle. But I've read a whole lot of Darby's writing, and he absolutely did not teach two ways of salvation. In fact, I'm pretty sure he didn't teach seven dispensations either.

I've mentioned before that the first big effect reading Darby had on me was to push me away from Scofield's dispensationalism.

For whatever reason (and I can think of a few), people love to beat on Darby. Oddly enough, it's hard to find someone with strong opinions on Darby who has read more than a snippet in a pull quote. I suppose he's in good company: people like to expound scripture without apparently reading it too.

So no, much as I think MacArthur makes some excellent points, his caricature of Darby seems to have nothing but the name in common with the man himself.

It's self-evident from his writings (especially his letters) that Darby didn't always think too hard before he acted. "Brethren" love to talk about how he never married, thinking he would be more effective as a single man. Twenty-five years after I first started reading him seriously, I've come to the conclusion that marriage would have been an improvement: it might have taught him to think first.

But even while I lament he acted terribly at times, I have to say he is one of my heroes. Why? Because I have never read, or heard from, or spoken to another person who bowed to Scripture and treated it like God's actual words like J. N. Darby did. 

Maybe Martin Luther. Maybe.

What I learn from J. N. Darby's writings is that Scripture is not only infallible, but it's also sufficient. The latter is what I see so lacking amongst all Christians. We all agree that Scripture is infallible, but very few seem to think it's sufficient. We all long to go back to Rome and have co-authorities with God's words. But Darby held tenaciously to Romans 3:4, "let God be true and every man false."  Darby recognized what others simply cannot accept: that the Word of God doesn't need help.

I've mentioned Kelly before, he was one of the campus chaplains when I was a student. Kelly once told me a story he'd heard from someone else: 

Imagine you're lying in bed at night and someone kicks in your door. You grab your pistol from the nightstand and point it at the housebreaker, who tells you he doesn't believe that gun can stop him. Guns don't actually work, he says, they're just a myth. What do you do? Do you try to explain ballistics to him? or do you just squeeze the trigger?

That's a pretty telling scenario. I'm afraid Christians as a whole have been trying to explain ballistics my whole life, when they should just have been squeezing the trigger.

Darby understood that in a way perhaps even someone like William Kelly didn't.

If people really heeded the word of God, and took simply from Scripture what Scripture states, such things would never be said.

Nor do I talk about private judgment on such things; between man and man that is all very well, reasonable enough, but do you think if God has spoken to me, I am to talk of private judgment on what He has said?

Why, it is blasphemy.

I can understand an unbeliever not knowing what is God's mind, and reasoning about what is written; but man by reasoning never got faith at all; and man's reason is perfectly incompetent to judge about God and His words.

If my mind could judge about God, then God is the subject matter, and my mind is the master of the subject matter.

It is a mistake altogether. You want a word from God to reach conscience, that is the first thing. I grant you man's mind is the measure of all the truth he can have, but the first thing I want is a hammer upon conscience.

Suppose I knock you down, does it not make an impression upon you? You are acted upon. This is what conscience needs. But people think it must be the activity of their own minds.

I do not take a candle out to see if the sun is shining!

("Detached Memoranda from a Reading Meeting")

 

So while I hope I act with more prudence than Johnny D., I aspire to his view of Scripture, his knowledge of it, and his earnest zeal in searching it.

The Good Shepherd

It's easy for us to miss how remarkable the Lord's claim in John 10:11ff is. We find the imagery of the Good Shepherd striking: I suspect Sunday School artwork has something to do with that. But the Lord was addressing people who knew the Old Testament very well indeed, and His claim would be astonishing – even offensive – to them in light of the book of Ezekiel.

Ezekiel 34 is a treatise on the worthless shepherds of Israel. They fed themselves, and not the flock (Ezekiel 34:2–3). They didn't care for the sick or the injured, but they ruled harshly over them (Ezekiel 34:4). The sheep were scattered, and they didn't go looking for them (Ezekiel 34:5). 

And so God presents His solution: He would tend the flock (Ezekiel 34:11). He would go and find them, and gather them (Ezekiel 34:11–13). He would pasture them on the mountains, He would feed them, He would make them lie down (Ezekiel 34:14–15). 

He would put a shepherd over them (Ezekiel 34:25).

If we read John 10:11–18 with Ezekiel 34 in the back of our mind, it takes on different depth. The Lord's claims aren't as whimsical as we might think. His use of the shepherd imagery isn't something new He came up with: He's picking up the thread of the prophets, and making a remarkable claim.

First, Ezekiel 34:25 makes the claim that God would put a shepherd over Israel. Ezekiel identifies that shepherd as David, the Lord takes the title for Himself. He is effectively saying, "I'm the David God has appointed to rule over you."

But if we contemplate Ezekiel a little more carefully, we might recognize that the Lord's claims go beyond the title of the coming David. The coming David will feed them, but the Lord claims not merely to feed, but to gather them (John 10:16). It's not David who gathers in Ezekiel 34, but God Himself.

The Good Shepherd in Ezekiel 34, is God Himself.

 

 

Deep waters

Psalm 69 is the first Messianic Psalm I remember noticing. I think an older brother quoted it in prayer during the Lord's Supper one morning when I was in high school. At any rate, I think of Psalm 69 and Psalm 102 as the iconic Messianic Psalms. To be fair, I tend to see almost all the Psalms as Messianic in at least some sense, but that's a whole different topic.

The Psalm is addressed to the Chief Musician, which is generally a good indication that it's Messianic. I haven't found an exception to that rule yet. 

The opening plea is for God to save, because "the waters have come in unto my soul" (Psalm 69:1–3).

At the risk of sounding glib, it seems to me that there is a commentary on these verses in Song of Solomon:

Many waters cannot quench love, Neither do the floods drown it: Even if a man gave all the substance of his house for love, It would utterly be contemned. (Song of Solomon 8:7)

There is something profound in the statement that everything a man has is worthless in exchange for love. It took me a long time to realize what that verse is actually saying is, "give everything you own for love, it's still not enough."  

So when the Son of God gave Himself for us (Galatians 2:19–21), we understand that He measured up to this statement. It was Himself He gave, as opposed to anything He possessed.

But of course the connection between Psalm 69:1ff and Song of Solomon 8:7 lies in the "many waters." In Psalm 69, they are a threat that overwhelms, destroys, and eventually kills. But in Song of Solomon, we're assured they're not enough to quench love.

 The Lord loved us and gave Himself for us. That's an astonishing thing to remember. And it bears remembering that He thinks it was a good deal. Imagine that! Isaiah 53:11 tells us that God will look at the result of His giving Himself for us and "be satisfied."

Unconvinced

Yesterday I heard someone make an argument for Amillennialism that started with John 5:28–29. I admit my first thought was, "here we go..." I've heard this argument from Amillennialists more than once.

The argument goes something like this:  Revelation 20:1–10 is the only passage in Scripture that specifies a 1,000 year reign of Christ. Revelation 20:4–6 describes the 1,000 years beginning with "the first resurrection," and tells us "the rest of the dead" aren't raised until the 1,000 years are finished.

But in John 5:28–29, the Lord says there is "an hour" coming in which there is a resurrection to life, and a resurrection to judgment.

Thus, we conclude that the 1,000 year reign in Revelation 20 isn't to be understood literally, as the Lord specifies those two resurrections happen in the same hour – not necessarily 60 minutes, but at least closely in time.

This isn't a terrible argument, but I don't find it very convincing.

First, the context (John 5:24–30) makes it difficult to argue that "hour" precludes a literal 1,000 years. Consider John 5:25, "an hour is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and they that have heard shall live." 

The Lord is describing His ministry of regeneration – calling the [spiritually] dead to life.  The "hour" in John 5:25 was already underway at that time ("and now is"), and has been going on for almost 2,000 years now.

So given the Lord described the last two millennia as an "hour" just three verses earlier, there's no reason to believe the "hour" in John 5:28–29 can't encompass all the events of Revelation 20:1–10.

Second, it's a strange hermeneutic that insists a detailed passage (Revelation 20:1–10) must be understood symbolically because of a much less detailed description in an earlier passage (John 5:28–29). By that logic, we should insist the Gospel accounts are purely symbolic, because the prophets didn't describe the entire three-year span of the Lord's earthly ministry.

Of course that's ridiculous. We understand that the prophets gave terse summaries of events to come. The Gospel writers, describing the actual events, give significantly more detail.

Similarly, the Lord's one-sentence description of the "hour" of two resurrections is a terse summary of coming events that Revelation 20:1–10 describes in more detail and precision. Yes, the Lord combines two events into a single "hour" in His summary, just like the Old Testament prophets combined several events into a short summary in their writings.

Finally,  Scripture is consistent in its use of time spans like "hour" and "day" to indicate longer periods of time. Genesis 2:4–5 describes the seven days of creation as the "day that Jehovah Elohim made earth and heavens," and everything in them. We don't then interpret Genesis 2:4–5 as contradicting the entire first chapter of Genesis, but we understand it uses the word "day" to describe a period of time that's characterized by a single thing.

The Lord uses the word "hour" to describe whole eras: the era of worship "in spirit and in truth" (John 4:23), and the era of persecution of the Apostles after His ascension (John 16:2ff). Again, He is using the term "hour" to describe a period of time characteristically.

The Lord describes His death as an "hour" (Mark 14:35, Luke 22:53, John 7:30, John 12:27). We don't thus conclude that the Gospel descriptions of the Crucifixion lasting several hours are to be understood symbolically. Rather, we understand that He is using the term "hour" to describe a period of time characterized by that single awful event.

Insisting the Lord's use of the term "hour" in John 5:28–29 must mean the first and second resurrection cannot be spaced 1.000 years apart ignores His own repeated use of the word "hour" to describe very long periods of time.

Now, I'm not making the claim that Amillennialism cannot be argued from Scripture. I am pointing out that John 5:28–29 provides no meaningful evidence against a literal 1,000 year reign in Revelation 20. To read John 5:28–29 that way is to ignore how the Lord uses the same word just three verses earlier (John 5:25), how He uses the term "hour" throughout John's gospel, and how Scripture as a whole uses terms like "hour" and "day."

 

There is a less-obvious lesson here for our Dispensationalist friends, and we need to be careful not to miss it. I have sat in many a Bible reading where Christians spent a great deal of effort to differentiate between the Lord's "coming" and His "appearing."  I've heard Christians go through the epistles with a fine-toothed comb to separate and distinguish between coming events.

That's not necessarily sin, but I have to ask the question: why didn't the Lord Jesus do that? Why did He sum up a 1,000 year period as an "hour"?

The Son of God saw value in discussing two events that are separated by 1,000 years in a single sentence. So yes, the epistles distinguish between these events. But the Son of God did not. We should ask ourselves why.

I would suggest that if the Holy Spirit sees value in discussing these events distinctly in Revelation 20:1–10 and indistinctly in John 5:28–29, then there is wisdom in us not seeing them only in one light or the other. There is wisdom in meditating on them in both lights.

Paul's epistles consistently point us to the Lord's imminent return for us (Philippians 3:20–21). Peter's epistles point us beyond that, to new heavens and a new earth (2 Peter 3:13). I've actually heard "brethren" use that as some sort of argument that "Paul's ministry" is greater than Peter's.

To be clear, that is sin.

When the Spirit of God gives us two different perspectives, that's not so we can choose between them. That's so we can subject ourselves to God's word, and meditate on both of them.

So when Paul's epistles draw distinctions between coming events, and Peter's discuss them all as a single large event, that's so we can see the mind of God in both the big picture and the fine details. That is not so we can think of ourselves as wiser than the Spirit of God who inspired both.

When Revelation 20:1–10 gives in much greater detail the expanded view of the two resurrections in John 5:28–29, that's not license to sin by discounting the words that the Son of God spoke. That's so we can learn both the "big picture" lessons of John 5 and the "fine detail" lessons of Revelation 20.

(Yes, I am aware that the Lord's crucifixion is a rejection of Him as King, so that the millennial kingdom in Revelation 20:1–10 could not, in a sense, be discussed in John 5. Peter's offer of "the times of refreshing" (Acts 3:19–21) would seem odd if the Lord had already publicly discussed the details that Revelation 20:1–10 give. But I still maintain that the Lord's willingness to view the "big picture" and view that entire chapter as a single "hour" must mean it's a worthwhile perspective for us to consider.)

Bible search update

I've been keeping an eye out for a new Bible for a while now.  My main "carrying Bible" is a little Darby Translation I bought in 1992 from Kingston Bible Trust. So it's just a shade over thirty years now that I've been carrying that Darby.

I picked up an ESV sometime around 2006 and read it through, but it wasn't quite what I was looking for. I enjoyed reading that translation, but there were just a few quirks that made me decide to keep looking. I posted a review on my blog: "ESV Review". When I first picked up that Bible, I didn't know anyone who used ESV. Now it's hard to find a group of Christians where there's not at least one ESV. 

And honestly, the ESV is a solid translation. I'm delighted to see more and more ESVs, and fewer and fewer NIVs.

Not long after that someone gave me a hand-me-down NASB (1995). NASB was a lot closer to Darby's translation than ESV, so I felt a little bit like I had come home. My wife uses an NASB as her main Bible, and I commented once that if you took an NASB, looked at every place there's a footnote that contains a literal reading, and put that literal reading into the text, you'd pretty much have a Darby Translation. There are a few differences, but the NASB is pretty close to a less literal Darby Translation.

My NASB is a hand-me-down, and it has a lot of notes written in it. And I find them annoying. I felt for a long time like NASB is the closest thing to what I was looking for, but I couldn't quite pull the trigger and buy one.

So I had carried my little Darby for about 14 or 15 years, then I carried that ESV for about a year, then I carried that NASB for about a year, then I switched back to my Darby Translation.

I should mention I have about four Darby Translations at this point: the oldest is a 1973 Stow Hill edition, which is actually quite a nice printing. My original KBT edition is by far my most well-worn, and pages are falling out of it. Then I have two of those KJV-Darby Parallel Bibles that Bible Truth Publishers sells. I carried one to meeting for a couple years, and it's a useful edition, but it's not very well made. The older one has begun to split at the spine, and I have taken good care of it.

Earlier this year a friend of mine showed me his new Legacy Standard Bible, and I decided this is the Bible I've been waiting for. I liked his so much, I went ahead and ordered one myself: I got one of the goatskin editions printed in Korea.

I've made a point of not rushing to judgment on a Bible until I've read it cover-to-cover, so I've been trying not to jump to conclusions until I finished it. But now that I've read it cover-to-cover,  I can say I like it.

LSB is essentially an attempt to make the NASB 1995 a little more literal. If you brought the NASB 1995 to a boil and stirred in a Darby Translation, then baked for an hour in a glass dish at 350°F, you'd get the LSB. 

And I have to say I like it a lot. It's not exactly the Darby Translation I've used as my main Bible for 30 years, but it's really very similar.

So that's just a personal update: I've been looking for a nice Bible for the last 15 years or more, and I've been willing to spend some money, but I haven't quite found what I wanted. Well, I finally bought a nice Bible in a translation that was promising, and I'm very pleased.

A final note: I bought the Korean goatskin LSB. The Dutch goatskin LSB costs about $50 (US) more. My buddy has the Dutch one, and it's noticeably higher quality. I'm pleased as punch with my LSB, so I'm not saying it's not worth what I paid, but now that I've seen both, I think I'd pay a little bit more and get the Dutch printing. 

Just my opinion, and probably worth exactly what you're paying for it.

Wisdom

Recently I was watching a back-and-forth discussion online between a Bible teacher and a theologian.  It was striking that the theologian was smarter than the Bible teacher, but the Bible teacher was wiser than the theologian. 

The theologian was making a very strong argument based on metaphysics: it was a very good argument. But the Bible teacher just kept saying, "but that's not what the text says." 

If the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, then surely refusing to abandon the ground of what Scripture actually says must be a big part of being wise.

 

Quiet, obedient, and good

We were back in town over the weekend, attending a weekend Bible conference. I was thumbing through the song book and found an old friend:

There once was a wild little donkey,

He had to be tied to a tree,

And Jesus was thinking about him;

He said, "Go and bring him to Me."

And when they had brought him to Jesus

As quickly as ever they could,

That restless, that wild little donkey

Was quiet, obedient and good.

When Jesus was riding upon him,

He went just the way that he should,

A quiet, submissive wee donkey

Made so by the blest Son of God.

And Jesus is able to make you

Whatever He wants you to be.

He loves you and longs to forgive you

And make you both happy and free.

It's a favorite of the under-four crowd: at least one of them requests "The donkey song" when given a chance. They seem to lose interest when they get to school age, which is a pity. I think my own [teen-aged] kids were probably embarrassed when I'd sing it in the car on the way home from meeting.

Every once in a while someone wants to sing "Yield not to temptation." I think if we just sang "The donkey song" instead, we'd be in much better shape.

God's heart

God's words to Abraham in Genesis 18:17–22 surprise me every time, 

And Jehovah said, Because the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great and their sin is very grievous,

I will go down now, and see whether they have done altogether according to the cry of it, which is come to me; and if not, I will know [it]. (Genesis 18:20–21)

God says something shocking here: the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah is so great that it rises to Heaven, so I came down to see if it's really all that bad. It's like God is reluctant to judge, not because He doesn't hate sin, but because He loves sinners.

It makes us uncomfortable to say that kind of thing; maybe it should.  We tend to have a conception of God that leans to the placid, staid, and maybe even a bit sterile.  But scripture describes God's response to sin and judgment in terms of human emotions: He is angry (Psalm 110:5), wrathful (Hosea 13:11), even heartbroken (Ezekiel 6:9, ESV).  Verses like this show the brittle edges of our theologies: they show places where our understanding of what and who God is break down.

And just like scripture isn't afraid to describe God as angry, it describes Him as reluctant to judge. He "devises means" to avoid driving out His banished one (2 Samuel 14:14). Not even Ahab (1 Kings 21:25) is beyond God's compassion (1 Kings 21:29).

Newer translations use "relent" instead of "repent", but if you look in an older translation (I checked KJV, Darby, and ASV), you'll find the only person in the whole book of Jonah who repents is God (Jonah 3:9–10,  Jonah 4:2). It's surprising, because both Jonah and the Ninevites have a whole lot to repent of. But only God is said to repent in the book of Jonah.

We've talked before about our tendency to try to explain away verses that make us uncomfortable. We don't like the "if" passages in the Epistles: we'd rather jump into an explanation than to let them cut our consciences. In the same way, we don't like verses about God repenting, or about His heart breaking. We want to jump in and give an explanation. But it's wiser to listen. We should allow God's words to work in and on us, instead of diluting them with our own.

Genesis 18:20–21 is God's own description of His coming to down. He had heard the cry of the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah in Heaven, because it was so great. And instead of pouring out judgment and wrath from Heaven in response, He came down to see if it was really that bad.

And maybe that explains Abraham's negotiations with God (Genesis 18:23–32).  Abraham begins to intercede on Sodom's behalf, and negotiates with God, if there are fifty righteous people in Sodom, will God still destroy it? No, God won't destroy Sodom if there are fifty righteous people there. And so Abraham talks God down to forty-five (Genesis 18:28), and then forty, and so on. He gets down as low as ten people, and then he stops (Genesis 18:32). 

An older brother I deeply respect – and I'll see him again some day (1 Thessalonians 4:14),  it'll be a big day – pointed out once that it's Abraham, not God, who ends the negotiations. God doesn't say, "that's enough, don't go below ten."  Scripture doesn't tell the story that way: God agrees to ten, and Abraham stops there.

I've often wondered how low God would have gone, if Abraham had pressed the issue. I think Jeremiah 5:1 gives us a hint. God tells Jeremiah, if you can find just one righteous man, I'll pardon Jerusalem. Of course we can't say for sure God would have pardoned Sodom for just one righteous man, but certainly that's the number He had in mind for Jerusalem.

 

When the children of Israel made a calf and worshiped it at Sinai, God sent Moses away. When Moses comes back into God's presence, he makes one of the most heartbreaking statements in Scripture, "Alas, this people has sinned a great sin, and they have made themselves a god of gold!" (Exodus 32:31). Apparently spending forty days and nights in God's presence had had an effect on Moses, and he saw the heartbreak in their idolatry.

I have found these passages fruitful for meditation. Psalm 107 exhorts us, "whoso is wise, let him observe these things, and let them understand the loving-kindnesses of Jehovah" (Psalm 107:43). We cannot be wise without fearing the Lord (Proverbs 9:10),  and we cannot be wise without meditating on His loving-kindness.

If I spent more time in God's presence, I might be more like Moses. Moses was angry, even violent in response to their sin. But then he went back to God's presence and said "Alas!"  It's possible to be angry with sin without any particular spirituality. The flesh is good at anger, and we're good at hiding it behind a veneer of supposed holiness.  But "Alas" seems to take more: it takes time in God's presence to react with an "Alas!" 

Sacred things

Several years ago, some friends asked me to perform their wedding ceremony. After a check on the legal requirements for a wedding, I was happy to do so. There was a "wedding folder" that was handed around the meeting: the deal was that you could use whatever you saw in there that you liked, but you had to put "your" wedding ceremony in there too.

When I was working with the couple to set up the actual ceremony, an "older" brother commented to me that we really don't see a whole lot about weddings in scripture. He's right, of course. I don't agree with that brother on everything, but I have yet to hear him make a misstatement about what scripture actually says. I aspire to be him someday.

 

Scripture has some things to say about marriage, but it's almost silent on weddings. And this turns out to be a big deal.

Ephesians 5:22–33 is a fairly long section on marriage. And we like to quote it. But it takes on a new meaning when we pause to consider that it's extremely unlikely any of the Ephesians Paul addressed had been married in a church. It seems likely they would have been married in a pagan temple. 

As an aside, when I've tried to search for "church wedding history" online, and it's hard to find anything at all. One site claims the earliest record we have of a church wedding is from Council of Carthage (398 AD) ("History of Church Weddings"). I have no idea if that's accurate, but it's the best information I could find.

That means that the scriptural definition of a Christian marriage has nothing to do with the ceremony, who conducted it, or where it was conducted. As far as Scripture is concerned, if at least one spouse is a Christian, then it's a Christian marriage (1 Corinthians 7:12–15).

If a couple was married in a Mormon temple, or town hall, or a Catholic church, or a Baptist church, or in a Buddhist ceremony, as long as one of them is a believer, then it's a Christian marriage. We should let that sink in.

I've spent a whole lot of time writing about new creation on my blog. I am convinced that a Christian is not merely a forgiven sinner, but is a new creature in Christ Jesus. I am convinced that the one who believes God is justified freely from all sins, and is acquitted in God's sight (Acts 13:39, Romans 4:5). The Old Testament saints had that too (Romans 4:1–8), what they didn't have was union with Christ.  

And I am convinced that the failure to see the Christian life as something entirely new – from an entirely new source, and with an entirely new Object – is the source of so many problems we see around us now (Galatians 6:15).

We have been buried with Christ so that we should walk in newness of life (Romans 6:4). And notice it's not our good intentions and hard work that empower that newness of life, but being raised with Him.

That new life – that entirely new thing we have and are in Christ Jesus – expresses itself in shockingly ordinary things. Ellis Potter points out that the Lord, having been raised from the dead, cooked fish and bread for His disciples on the beach (John 21:9–13).  So is there anything more spiritual than kindling a fire and cooking fish on it? I don't think there is.

 

The thought that none of the Ephesians had a Christian wedding – but they all had Christian marriages – shows that when we come to the Lord, all parts of our lives are His. He is Lord over the "Christian" parts of our lives, and He's Lord over the "non-Christian" parts of our lives.  Everything we do, even the most mundane things, are now to be done for Him, to Him, and in His name (Colossians 3:17).

The teaching of the Pauline epistles is that a Christian doesn't get to have a "Mundane" compartment and a "Holy" compartment: our whole lives are in the "Holy" compartment.

We talk a lot about our union with Christ: He died, and I died with Him (Galatians 2:19–20). He was buried, and I was buried with Him (Romans 6:4). He was raised, and I have been raised with Him (Colossians 3:1). I – the man I was – was so bad that the only remedy was to put me to death (Romans 6:6). Now, I am uniquely able to bring forth fruit to God (Romans 7:4), because I have died with Him. I don't strive to have died with Christ, I accept it as true, and count on it in my thinking (Romans 6:11).

So I am a man who has died with Christ. I am a man who is waiting for a new heavens and a new earth (2 Peter 3:13), but I'm not just sitting here, waiting for them. No, I am called to live this life – the life of Jesus manifested in mortal flesh (2 Corinthians 4:11) – in this fallen body, in a fallen world. 

Not every part of the life of the man I was is capable of resurrection. Those things are to be put to death (Colossians 3:5ff). And notice, a man who has not died cannot mortify. It is those who have already died and been raised who are called to mortify.

But there are things in a fallen man's (or woman's!) life that cannot remain after that man (or woman!) has died and been raised with Christ. And those things have to go. If we can't do it in the name of Christ, we ought not to do it.

 

But a shocking number of things that were part of that old life are now claimed as Christ's. God doesn't care what kind of marriage ceremony you had, your marriage is now a picture of Christ and the church. And notice, it is a picture of Christ's love: it might be a bad picture, but it is a picture.

On this side of the Cross, even what you eat and drink is Christ's business. And notice Scripture doesn't then go on to tell us what those things are (or ought to be). That would be simpler. It says we are to eat and drink them "to the Lord," even while we have freedom in choosing what they are (Romans 14:1–6).

So might say there are two compartments in the Christian life, but they aren't "Mundane" and "Sacred." They are rather, "Sacred" and "To be Mortified."  So we don't get to keep any part of our lives that aren't sacred: if part of my life isn't under Christ's lordship, then it's something I need to put off, mortify, be done with. If it's something that's allowed, then it's under His lordship, done for His glory, in His name.

I spent most of one Saturday a few years ago cooking chicken and dumplings for an assembly potluck. It was work, but it was a labor of love. At that time, I might have considered that to be non-spiritual effort. Sure, it's effort done out of love for the Lord, for His people, and to bless them. But I wouldn't have considered it to be spiritual.

But now I look back on that, and I think about how the Lord made wine for a wedding (John 2:7–10). And He baked bread and broiled fish for the disciples (John 21:9). So yes, cooking for the Lord's people is not only spiritual, but it's also following in His footsteps. It's doing something the Lord Himself considered worthwhile.

It's not a mistake in John's gospel that the "signs" in that gospel start with Lord's making wine at the wedding (John 2:11).

So there, we started out talking about weddings, and we've come back to what must have been the greatest wedding. Imagine what it would be like to have the Son of God as the sommelier at your wedding! There is a greater wedding coming, but I really do believe the wedding of the unknown couple in Cana probably ranks second.

The Lord  takes up things of this life, and calls them His own,  and puts them under His lordship, and commands us to do them for and to Him, in His name.  That makes them sacred. That sanctifies them.

 

Our business now

We have been called to turn to God from idols, to serve the living and true God, and to wait for His Son from heaven, whom He raised from the dead (1 Thessalonians 1:9–10). He's coming from heaven to change our bodies to be like His (Philippians 3:20-21). As far as I can tell from Scripture, He could come at any moment. We do well to remember that we won't all die, but we'll all be changed (1 Corinthians 15:51–52).

It might make sense that we should just sit here, waiting for Him to come get us. But that's not the conclusion that Scripture draws. To the contrary, the scriptural conclusion is that we should be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord (1 Corinthians 15:58).

It was a big shift in my thinking several years ago when I realized that the hope of a bodily resurrection, and the hope of the Lord's bodily return makes Christianity intensely physical.  We're not waiting to be made less physical (2 Corinthians 5:1–4), and we're not waiting for new bodies. No, we're waiting for Him to come and redeem us, making our bodies like His. It is "with these eyes" that I shall see God (Job 19:26–27). We're not waiting for a replacement, but for a change.

John 14:3 and John 14:23 give us two different ways the Lord "comes" for us. In John 14:3, we have the Lord coming to receive us to Himself. This seems like the same event that's described in 1 Corinthians 15:51–57 and 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18. 

Frankly, this seems to me to be the single hardest thing to believe in all Scripture. I don't mean it's the hardest thing to see in Scripture. I mean it's the hardest thing to see as a reality. It means I need to be walking around seeing more than meets the eye, so to speak. It's not easy to carry that around in my head.

But that's only the first "coming" in John 14. The other is in John 14:23 – the Father and the Son will both come to abide with the one who loves the Lord Jesus and keeps His word. This second coming (yes, I did that deliberately) is evidently not physical. We don't expect the Father to come physically, for one thing. And the promise here isn't general, it's for that specific person who loves the Lord and keeps His word. So this isn't the same thing event that 1 Corinthians 15 and 1 Thessalonians 4 tell us about. 

But there's a sense where this is the greater of the two. This isn't the Lord coming to deliver us from this present evil world, this is the Lord coming to be with us in it. The Father and the Son will come to abide with us – live with us – in the present evil world while we wait for the Son of God to come from heaven and save us from it.

And we might notice it's characterized the same way Colossians 3:17 characterizes how we are to do "all things." There, too, it's the Father and the Son together: we do all things in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.

I'm more and more convinced that we ought not to have two "buckets" in our lives: one for the sacred, the other for the mundane. Rather, everything we do – all things – are to be done in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him. That means that the most mundane things I do are sacred because I am "in Christ."  And it's amazing to see that the expectation that He is coming for me isn't supposed to drive me to do less here and now: it's to do it for Him, in His name, with thanksgiving.

 

One side or the other

For the last several months we've been attending a Reformed church. That's a change for us, and I suppose it deserves some explanation. Not to put too fine a point on it, it's the only group of Christians we've been able to find in this area that remembers the Lord with bread and wine every week, without a lot of superstition. 

That's not to say we haven't met some really sweet Christians in this area. And it's not to say I wouldn't be a lot more comfortable in something a lot more "brethren."  And it's not to say that I've "gone Reformed." It's just to say that after we ruled out just sitting at home, and then ruled out places with crucifixes, we were left with very few gatherings that celebrate the Lord's Supper every week. 

And of course we haven't been trying to proselytize anyone, or convince anyone to become dispensationalist, or convince people to become "brethren." We're there – very simply – because we have been called to remember the Lord with other Christians, and this is where we know other Christians remembering the Lord in our area.

But of course there are some complications that come with hanging out with postmillennialists. We are united in the belief that the Lord died for our sins, was buried, rose from the dead, was seen by Cephas and the Twelve, and ascended into Heaven. And we are united in the belief that He is coming again for us. Those are the important things, the non-negotiable things. But there are some other things where we don't see eye to eye. There are some pretty big assumptions we just don't agree on. I've spent a lot of time thinking about those assumptions, and I think it's worth talking about some of those things.

 

After spending some time with postmillennialists, I've come to realize that some of what I had believed about Reformed Christians is really a caricature. Or at least, I've found plenty of Reformed Christians who don't believe what I always thought they did. At the same time, most of what I've heard from Reformed folks about dispensationalists doesn't bear any resemblance to any dispensationalists I've ever met. One person nodded knowingly and said, "so you believe the Church began in Acts 7."  

No, I've never met anyone who believes the Church began in Acts 7. Almost everyone I know takes an "Acts 2" position, I've heard of people who take a "post Acts 10" position, and I've actually met someone who takes an "Acts 28" position. But I've never heard of an "Acts 7 dispensationalist" before. That same person was shocked to hear that "brethren" observe the Lord's Supper. I've had to explain to a few people that "brethren" worship consists almost entirely of the Lord's Supper.

Caricatures abound.

 

But of course there are some real differences, and some of those are actually quite helpful to understand. So I've been having to work through those.

Some of those differences aren't too surprising, and aren't too helpful. For example, I take Darby's view of Daniel 2, because of what the text actually says. The stone cut out without hands crushes the statue into pieces and they are swept away in the wind and then the stone begins to grow into a great mountain (Daniel 2:35). I don't see any room in the passage for a kingdom that grows slowly and steadily, until gradually it replaces the kingdoms of men. 

But my point here isn't to defend my views or shoot down anyone else's: my point is that I've been working on understanding my fellow believers. My point is that I've been in a position to observe Reformed teaching up close.  And of course I've been thinking about what some of my own views would look like for someone who wasn't raised with them.

 

While there is a danger to oversimplifying, it seems to me many differences between  Dispensationalist and Covenant/Reformed/Reconstructionist teaching are more differences of focus rather than actual content. (I'm painting with a broad brush here) dispensationalists tend to see differences between things, while Reformed Christians tend to see similarities.

Having said that, I don't know any Reformed people who don't recognize that Acts 2 is a sea change. I don't think they're very consistent about it, but they do recognize something big happened there.

At the same time, it seems to me that many or most Dispensationalists recognize there is some continuity between the Old and New Testaments. I'm thinking here of writers like J. N. Darby, William Kelly, C. H. Mackintosh, and C. A. Coates, who are much more open to continuities than writers like Miles Stanford.  For example, we acknowledge that "the house of God" is introduced in the Old Testament (Genesis 28:17). We don't think that started in Acts 2, we understand the church has stepped into a role that was previously occupied by Israel. That doesn't mean Israel and the Church are the same thing, but it does mean  there are places we have to acknowledge Scripture doesn't make quite so stark a contrast as we might like.

There is a real difference in Romans 8: the Reformed folks believe we are in a "renewed creation," while I would argue that the entire creation is groaning, waiting for a redemption event that is still future. I agree that the Resurrection is the start of the new creation, but I'd argue that, while we're new creations in Christ, there is a greater sense of new creation that is still coming. And now that I see that written out, I think they might even agree with that synopsis.

I think the Reformed notion of "already/not yet" has some merit.

So when it comes to worldliness on the one hand and fanaticism on the other, it seems to me that there is a continuum there too. Scripture teaches and allows for us to distinguish between the body and the spirit (Romans 8:10 is explicit). But it also teaches – just as forcefully – that we are waiting for bodily redemption (Philippians 3:20–21), not for some non-corporeal "spiritual" existence (2 Corinthians 5:1–4). I think the "brethren" fascination with distinguishing between the spirit and the flesh can lead to dualism, but I equally think the Reformed fascination with the whole man can lead to worldliness.

 

That's a fair summary: amongst "brethren" I have observed a tendency to dualism and Platonism that seems to run contrary to scripture. Amongst Reformed Christians I see an opposite tendency to worldliness that is just as unscriptural. There's a ditch on both sides of the road.

I've found some help here in the first few verse of John's Gospel.  John 1:1 says that the Word "was with God" and the Word "was God."  So Christ is both God and distinguishable from God. I'm trying to be careful with my phrasing here, because the first few verses of John are beyond any of our understanding. At the same time, I don't see another way to understand those verses. Christ is with God, Christ is God. We don't choose between those truths, they are both always true. I think the Nicene Creed is solid here, and the Athanasian Creed as well: we don't confuse the Father and the Son, while at the very same time, we acknowledge there is one God.

It seems to me "brethren" take this one direction, while Reformed types take it the other way. Reformed types talk a lot about "our Triune God" – focusing on unity.  Brethren talk a lot about "the Father and the Son" – focusing on diversity. Both believe in the Trinity, both believe in diversity in unity, but they tend to think at opposite ends of that spectrum.

Christ, we know, is both Man and God. Again, "brethren" tend to make some distinctions in the Person of Christ that I'm not really comfortable with. It's quite common to hear someone say, "Christ is speaking here as Man" or "Christ is speaking here as God" in a Bible reading.  I think those are dangerous words, because they tend to lead (in F. E. Raven's words, ironically) to "a dissected Christ."  

At the same time, I have heard sincere Christians thank the Father for dying for us, because they failed to recognize diversity in the Godhead. No, God didn't die. And this particular error is one I've seen in every group of Christians I have encountered.

 

So I'm beginning to think that "brethren" types might have a tendency to see diversity and like to distinguish between things, while our Reformed friends tend to see unity and like to think more holistically.

And that might be why I see tendencies to Platonism, Gnosticism, and fanaticism in "brethren" types, while seeing tendencies to worldliness in Reformed types.  I am sure this isn't the best mental model, but I'm finding it helpful to reconcile some things in my own mind.

As an aside, I am finding it very useful – not comfortable! – to be a dispensationalist among postmillennialists. We learn some things outside our comfort zone we could not learn inside it.

A few thoughts on liberty in Christ

Following on our earlier conversation, it occurs to me that I used the expression "liberty in Christ" without really talking about is as a principle. I just sort of assumed it. We should probably take a few moments to consider what scripture says about about liberty in Christ.

Galatians 5:1 tells us we are to "stand fast"  in the liberty we have in Christ. It sounds odd to say it, but liberty in Christ is non-negotiable. As men and women in Christ Jesus, we may or may not actually practice certain liberties. But we don't have the right to abandon the liberty of our position: we have been set free in Christ, and we do not have the right to allow ourselves to fall into bondage.

Galatians 5:13 goes on to say that we have been called to liberty. If we are not living as free men and women in Christ Jesus, we are not living up to our calling. I don't think we appreciate this enough: a gospel that doesn't include liberty in Christ Jesus is false gospel.

Galatians 5:13 then tells us that we're not to use our liberty as an "occasion to the flesh."  So here's a line we cannot cross: we must not allow ourselves to fall into the false gospel of liberty-less Christianity. At exactly the same time, we must not allow ourselves to use our liberty in Christ to give the flesh opportunities to do what it does.

There is a connection here with Romans 6:14–16. If we obey sin (and remember that "sin" in Romans 6 doesn't mean "sins," but is a master who wants us as slaves), then we find we become the slaves of sin. It is possible for us to take the liberty we have in Christ Jesus and use it in such a way that we find ourselves enslaved. 

Of course, Christians who take that as an excuse to deny liberty in Christ Jesus are really denying the Gospel. So we need to walk very, very carefully here. On the one hand, we mustn't disobey Romans 6:14–16 and lose our liberty in slavery to sin. On the other hand, we mustn't disobey Galatians 5:1, denying the Gospel by not standing fast in liberty.  

We've said this so many times, but it bears repeating: law is no remedy for lawlessness. Legalism born of fear that someone might use liberty as "an occasion to the flesh" is like burning down a barn to remove a rat infestation, or amputating a finger because of a hangnail. It's a cure that's much, much worse than the disease. It's denying Christ.

Whatever sin we fear someone might fall into, denying the liberty we have in Christ Jesus is worse. We should meditate very carefully on this. The one is a sin to be repented of, the other is spitting in the face of the Son of God. There is nothing worse than that.

Romans 14:1–3 clarifies that being called into liberty doesn't mean we must practice our liberty all the same way. Notice that it's possible for our individual practices to vary: some might eat meat, some might not, but both are to do it "to the Lord."  Some might drink alcohol, some might not, but both are to do it "to the Lord." 

To put it another way, Christ has set us free both to practice and to not practice our liberty. A believer might not drink alcohol, another believer might have no problem drinking. We are forbidden from saying that the one is more spiritual than the other (Romans 14:3, 13). 

Having liberty in Christ to smoke a cigar doesn't mean we must smoke cigars, to go back to Spurgeon's example.

I have known Christians who celebrated holidays like Christmas and Easter. I have known other believers who did not. We are free to "regard a day," and we are free to "esteem every day alike" (Romans 14:5–6). But we are not free to deny the Lord.  If one believer regards all days alike, he must not judge those who regard one day over another. If another believer regards one day over another, he must not look down on the one who esteems all days alike.

See, it's not sin to eat meat, or drink wine, or celebrate holidays. It is sin to deny our liberty in Christ.

Romans 14:14 makes two different statements, and we should be careful to observe them: " I know, and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus, that nothing is unclean of itself." There is no excuse for a Christian not to know that nothing is unclean of itself. But don't always find ourselves persuaded. So if I recognize that something isn't unclean in itself, but I just can't find myself free before God to do that thing, then I shouldn't do it. But I mustn't sin by saying it's unclean in itself.

And many others have pointed out, if we can't do something in the name of the Lord Jesus, it's not one of the "all things" we should be doing.

So those are a few thoughts about liberty in Christ Jesus. Denying liberty in Christ is sin, but we aren't obligated to practice our liberty: we might find ourselves "not eating to the Lord" or "not drinking to the Lord."  

We must not allow ourselves to be enslaved once more by making liberty in Christ Jesus an occasion to the flesh.

We must not allow ourselves to be goaded into denying the Gospel by fear that someone might take liberty in Christ too far.

And above all, whether we eat or don't eat, whether we drink or don't drink, we must do it "to the Lord." We are to do all things in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him (Colossians 3:17).

 

 

Staying in His lane

Elihu tells us that if God were to "think only of Himself," the entire creation would perish (Job 34:14–15). That's a remarkable claim, and it brings us face-to-face with God in a way we don't always think of Him: He is the God who refuses to leave well enough alone. He is the God who refuses to mind His own business. He's the God who refuses to stay in His own lane.

J. N. Darby points out that God's reaction to the Fall is to ask two questions: "where are you?" (Genesis 3:9) and "what have you done?" (Genesis 3:11, 13). And he notices that God asks "where are you?" before He asks, "what have you done?"  We tend to think of those in reverse. But the bigger point is that God comes looking for man when he sins. It's a story we all know, so maybe we don't think how astonishing it is that God's reaction to the Fall is to come looking for us.

It's important we realize that God owes us nothing. He would have been perfectly just (and justified!) to simply condemn Adam, Eve, and all of their race. Were we to be thrown into hell, it would be no worse than any of us deserve. We have all sinned, we all fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23).

But God isn't content to be just. He is the God who "devises means" – the God who plots and schemes – to be merciful to sinners (2 Samuel 14:14). One of my daughters once said God stays up all night poring over the law books, looking for loopholes so that He can be merciful to us. That's not strictly biblical, but it expresses the idea of the wise woman of Tekoa. So I'll give my daughter a pass on her definitely-not-biblical-and-yet-very-correct description. And notice how this aligns with the language of Romans 3:26: one result of the cross of Christ is that God could both justify and be just.

The old preachers used to say the only time in all of Scripture when God is seen to hurry is when the Father sees the prodigal returning and runs to meet him (Luke 15:20). 

And really, isn't that the astonishing thing about Genesis 18:20–21? God calmly tells Abram that the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah is so great that its stench has risen up to Heaven. So what does He do? He comes down to see if its really all that bad. That's a remarkable thought: that God Himself would come down from Heaven, looking to see if He can give Sodom and Gomorrah one last chance. It's a remarkable glimpse into who God is.

And we've noticed before that when God invites the Son to sit on His right hand (Psalm 110:1), He promises to make all the Son's enemies His footstool. But here we are: instead of being made His footstool, we have been lifted up to sit with Him in the throne (Ephesians 2:6). God isn't content to do what He really ought to do. He insists on doing so much more.

My working definition of grace is something like "God doing what He wants to do with no regard for what we deserve." I think I mentioned that before at some point. And the more we realize how little we deserve, the more we see that it's only God's sovereign grace that we have to thank.

I don't meditate enough on this.

Lordship and Liberty

A friend of mine made a comment the other night about Spurgeon's announcement that he intended to "smoke a cigar to the glory of God." That resonated with me, because I have been struggling for the last couple years to understand what Francis Schaeffer called "the lordship of Christ over the whole of life." And I think Spurgeon's comment helps.

I have advocated for "liberty in Christ" for many years. That really is biblical (Galatians 5:1, 13).  We are called unto liberty, and we cannot allow that to be eroded in the tiniest way. We need to "stand fast." This is a hill to die on.

At the same time, it seems like "liberty in Christ" has led (as often as not) to the notion that there are parts of my life that God doesn't care about.  So many times I've seen someone take liberty in Christ to mean that there are autonomous parts of my life. And eventually, that leads us into this "heavenly vs earthly" dichotomy. This is precisely the "upper storey" problem that Francis Schaeffer warned us about.

And notice, Scripture doesn't give us liberty and leave us there. Consider Romans 14:6, the one who eats eats "to the Lord," the one who does not eat "[it is] to [the] Lord he does not eat, and gives God thanks." So it's not merely that I have freedom to eat or not to eat. Rather, whether I eat or don't eat, it's to the Lord, and thanking God through Him. 

So liberty in Christ is necessary, but it's not sufficient.  We must not compromise on our liberty in Christ, but we must not stop there either. Liberty in Christ isn't merely liberty, so to speak. It's not that we have license to own some parts of our lives to rule over ourselves as we see fit. It's not that there are neat compartments where we can autonomously choose to enjoy certain things without feeling guilty before God. That's liberty in some sense, but it comes short of the calling.

Rather, Colossians 3:17 calls us beyond liberty, to live to Christ in all things. 

Francis Schaeffer explains,

The lordship of Christ over the whole of life means that there are no platonic areas in Christianity, no dichotomy or hierarchy between the body and soul. God made the body as well as the soul and redemption is for the whole man  (Art and the Bible, quoted in  "10 Things You Need to Know about Francis Schaeffer", Christianity.com).

Like Spurgeon, I've been known to enjoy a cigar. I've understood that to be a liberty I have in Christ. But I don't know that I've ever enjoyed a cigar to the glory of God. Or, in the words of Colossians, in the name of the Lord Jesus. But that's precisely our calling.

So for the last couple years, I've been intentional about doing all things in the name of the Lord Jesus. And it didn't take very long to ask, "but what does that really mean?" How would I do all things in the name of the Lord Jesus? Well, the verse goes on to say, "giving thanks to God the Father through Him." So I've been intentional about practicing that.

Even feeding my chickens can be done in the name of the Lord Jesus, when I'm giving thanks to God the Father through Him. So I thank the Father that I have chickens, and that I have feed to give them. I thank Him that coyotes haven't gotten them, and that they give me eggs. And suddenly, feeding chickens becomes something very much part of New Creation: as a man in Christ Jesus, I am feeding chickens in His name.

But before you think, "wow! this is a spiritual giant," let me point out that I've been struggling with this more than two years, and I'll be first to say I haven't arrived yet.

 

Waiting for salvation

Many people – perhaps most people – are looking for salvation. One of the truly horrifying effects of the Fall is that unregenerate men and women both long for God and hate Him. It might be more accurate to say we long for God, but only want Him on our own terms. As long as we – and not God – get to be God. 

It was a life-changing moment for me when I realized that Paul was looking for salvation too. I was reading something by Watchman Nee, and he mentioned Romans 13:11, "for now [is] our salvation nearer than when we believed."  And when I dug into it further, I realized that Romans always presents salvation as something we're waiting for. Romans 8:23–25 makes it explicit: we're "saved in hope." We're waiting for the redemption of the body. And isn't this exactly what Philippians 3:20–21 says? We're waiting for the Son of God to come from heaven and change our bodies. So Romans puts salvation in the future, without exception that I can find.

Ephesians, though, refers to salvation as done and complete. We have been saved in Ephesians 2:8–9. Ephesians is a book of God's accomplished work. So we're risen with Christ, and seated with Him in the heavenlies (Ephesians 2:4–6). It wouldn't make a lot of sense to tell us we're already seated in the heavenlies in Christ Jesus, and then turn around and tell us we're still waiting for something.

Without splitting too many hairs, it's probably more accurate to say Paul was waiting for salvation. "Looking for" might imply he didn't know where it was, but Paul's hope was specific: the Son of God is coming from heaven to change our bodies to be like His (Philippians 3:20–21). We might think about 2 Timothy 1:12 here. We're not searching for salvation, but we're waiting with the expectation that His coming will complete what He has already begun.

The first mention I can find of salvation in scripture is Genesis 49:18, " I wait for thy salvation, O Jehovah." That might be worth time spent in meditation.

These days I'm hanging around with a lot of Christians who hold a post-millennial view. That is, they expect the Son of God will come after the millennial kingdom is established on earth. I don't agree with them: I believe the Son of God will come to establish the kingdom, and it won't exist until He has come. But we are united in the belief that the Son of God will come bodily, in a physical event. We are united in the hope of a resurrection of our physical bodies in the real world. Salvation isn't something that will be for some vaguely spiritual realm, our hope is for a physical event in this tangible world. Yes, there are spiritual and non-physical implications, but we're waiting for a physical event.

I set out to write about people looking for salvation, but I ended up writing about something a little different. We have been called to wait for salvation. We have been called to serve the living and true God, and to wait for His Son from heaven, whom He raised from the dead (1 Thessalonians 1:9–10).  That's enough to meditate on for now.

The Veil

Hebrews 10:19–22 confused me for a very long time. How is the veil a picture of Christ's flesh? I admit that one wasn't very clear to me.

A couple years ago I found what I think is the answer. It's in Numbers 4:4–6. When the tabernacle was to be moved, the priests were to take down the veil and use it to cover the ark of the covenant. So the veil was the thing – well, one of the things along with badgers' skins and a blue cloth – that covered the ark as it was carried through the wilderness.

Similarly, Christ's body contained the full presence of God as He walked in this fallen world.

Now, it's easy for us to take a wrong step when we contemplate Christ as the incarnate Son of God, so let's be sure we're clear about this... the Lord Jesus Christ is eternally God. He has no beginning, He has no end. He is God. So when I say that His body contained the full presence of God, it's not that He was just a Man who was indwellt of God. He is God, and He became a Man. That order is important: He's not a Man who became God, He's God who became Man.

But while He is not just a Man indwellt of God, He is indeed a Man indwellt of God. Colossians 2:9 is explicit: the fullness of the Godhead dwells in Him bodily. He is God, He became Man, and the fullness of the Godhead dwells in His body. 

I still find it amazing how John describes the burial of Christ (John 19:38–42). In verse 38, we have Joseph of Arimathaea begging Pilate for "the body of Jesus", and in verse 40 we have them wrapping up "the body of Jesus" in linen with spices for burial. But when we get to the actual burial in verse 42, we have, "[t]here therefore, on account of the preparation of the Jews, because the tomb was near, they laid Jesus." Notice the wording changes from "the body of Jesus" to just "Jesus." I don't know a stronger statement in Scripture of the Incarnation than that. They didn't bury "the body of Jesus," they buried "Jesus." He is so completely Man that scripture tells "He" – not "His body" – was buried (cf. 1 Corinthians 15:3–5).

So we don't want in any way to diminish the Lord's completeness as God and as Man, but the Scripture makes statements about the Lord's flesh, and we need to listen to them. We are to remember the Lord with bread to represent His body and wine to represent His blood (1 Corinthians 11:23–26). The fact that there are two distinct physical representations draws our attention to distinctions in the Lord's mind. We err when we make those distinctions too big, but we also err when we make them too small.

The veil reminds us that the Lord carried the entire presence of God in this world wrapped up in His body. And while that's certainly a mystical statement, it's very physical. John reminds us that he looked at, contemplated, and handled the "eternal life that was with the Father" (1 John 1:1–3). The Lord Jesus brought God close enough to touch.

And it's significant that John doesn't claim that we have looked at, contemplated, and handled the eternal life that was with the Father. He did, the other Apostles did, but we did not. We're part of the "you" (vv. 2–3). If he had made the claim that we had experienced God like they did, he would effectively deny the Incarnation. If it means anything, incarnation means an immediacy to God's presence in the body of Christ that only people in that time and place could experience.

Of course I don't mean that we won't see His face in the future. But if we claim to have seen and known the Man who is God in the same way that John and the Apostles did, then we are really saying that He isn't a real Man. We certainly shall see Him, but we haven't seen Him yet.

So the Lord Jesus carried the fulness of the Godhead in His body in a real, physical way.

And when we understand that – to the extent we can understand any of this – it changes our contemplation of His death for us. He gave His body for us. The body that contains the fulness of the Godhead... that body was given for us. 

Walking with the Lord (badly)

I've been contemplating Genesis, and thinking about the patriarchs' lives. It seems like everyone in Genesis has some serious moral flaws, but Scripture speaks highly of them. And I realize this isn't new: many, many people have commented on it.

But as I've been mulling this over, a thought occurred to me: perhaps we can take from Genesis that walking with the Lord, badly, is still walking with the Lord.

One of my daughters said a few years ago, "Faith without works is dead (James 2:17), but it's still faith."

Or as brother SAP said, "Faith without works is dead (James 2:17). We are justified by faith without works (Romans 4:5). Therefore, dead faith justifies." He said it, not me!

So I'll join in with, "Walking with the Lord badly is still walking with the Lord." 

Now, I know that I'll be accused of saying that it's OK to sin. Nope, it's not OK to sin, and that's not what I'm saying.

There's an old saying that "anything worth doing is worth doing well."  

There's another old saying that "anything worth doing is worth doing badly." 

The first means, don't give half effort and half attention to your work. The second means, don't wait until you're an expert to do something. It's better to work hard and do a less-than-perfect job than it is to not try at all.

Well, I think Genesis gives me license to say something similar about walking with the Lord: without making any excuses for sin, let's not wait until we're spiritual giants to walk with the Lord. Let's do it now – with all our failures and shortcomings and blindnesses and faults – because walking with the Lord is better than anything else we could be doing, even if we do it badly.

Christ as a means to an end

I spent the last week or two of January with COVID-19. It was pretty rough, and the road back to normal has been longer than I anticipated. All told, I spent about ten days with a fever, and another week after that with absolutely no stamina. I told someone this morning that I went out to split some firewood, and when I came in thoroughly exhausted, I realized I had been gone something like 15 minutes. So my plans have been entirely disrupted. At the same time, I don't want to complain too much: I know several people who had a much worse time with it than I had.

So as a tentative step back into writing this blog, I want to share some simple thoughts on Christ as a means to an end. I was listening to a talk on Colossians 1:24ff this morning – a very good talk, by the way – and as I sat listening, I was struck by the thought that a great deal of what was said can be summed up, "Don't think of Christ as how we get to blessings, but learn to see Him as the blessing itself." Now, that isn't a great summary of the book of Colossians, but it is one of the major themes in that Epistle.

We might be able to think of several times where the Lord spoke of Himself as a means to an end. John 6:48–51 comes to mind. In that passage, it sounds like the blessing offered is eternal life, and the Lord has come to give us that life. But as we read on further in that book, we come across the remarkable statement, "And this is the eternal life, that they should know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent" (John 17:3). So yes, it's true that the Lord presents Himself as the only way to get eternal life; but it's just as true that as we go on, we come to see that eternal life is really knowing Him. And if we go on to read 1 John, we find that He is eternal life, He is the eternal life that was with the Father and was manifested to us (1 John 1:1–3).

So it's true that the Lord is a means to an end: He is how we get the blessings God has for us. But it's just as true that as we come to see God's mind in blessing us, we realize He doesn't offer us some of this blessing and some of that blessing. No, He offers us His own Son, and all our blessings are in Him (1 Corinthians 1:30–31). There really isn't anything God has for us that isn't in Christ Himself.

It seems to me that it's a sign of spiritual maturity when we learn that Christ is not only the Blesser, but also the Blessing.