Collects

So I've been reading The Collects of Thomas Cranmer. It's a great little book: easy to read, thin, with short chapters.

The book is broken out into two-page mini-chapters. Each one starts with one of Thomas Cranmer's collects on the top of the left page, followed by a short historical blurb on the bottom of the left page. Then there is a one-page meditation on the right page.

So for background, a collect is a short, corporate prayer: the word "collect" implies this corporate character. Collects are generally short, centre on a petition, and always have a single theme.

The collects in this book are Thomas Cranmer's: many of "his" collects were revisions of earlier prayers, from the medieval Roman Catholic church and earlier. Cranmer revised and edited prayers from existing prayer books in light of the Reformation in addition to composing original prayers. The history section of each chapter explains where Cranmer got the collect: if it's not an original, it lays out where he got it, and what he changed in his revision.

The historical sections are well worth the weight of the book alone. While a character sketch of Thomas Cranmer is understandably of limited appeal and relevance, this book does a masterful job. But the real value of the book is in the meditations: this guy gets it. The Gospel of God---man is lost and hopeless, but the Son of God came here as a Man to die for us---is presented clearly and concisely. He understands that we have nothing to offer God, but He has given everything freely to us.

So if you get a chance, I highly recommend it.

Lo, He comes

Lo! he comes, with clouds descending,
once for our salvation slain;
thousand thousand saints attending
swell the triumph of his train:
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
Christ the Lord returns to reign.

Well, Advent draws to a close today: time to remember the Lord is coming. Now it's time to remember that the Lord has come.

This [is] a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief.
-- 1 Timothy 1:15 (KJV)

Of course, Scripturally speaking, the Lord told us to "remember Me." That includes His coming the first time and the next time. And so we really ought to be expecting His imminent return at any time, just like we ought never to forget that the Son of God came here and died for us.

For thou art our salvation, Lord,
our refuge and our great reward;
without thy grace we waste away
like flowers that wither and decay.

So if you're into that sort of thing: Merry Christmas! If not, keep looking up! remember He's coming back quickly.

Mystery of Love

Christians, awake, salute the happy morn
Whereon the Saviour of the world was born
Rise to adore the mystery of love
Which hosts of angels chanted from above
With them the joyful tidings first begun
Of God incarnate and the virgin's Son

I have taken every imaginable position on the question of whether Christians should celebrate things like Christmas and Easter. I've read The Two Babylons (more than once, in fact): I understand why John Calvin, Oliver Cromwell, Arthur Pink, and J. N. Darby all condemned celebrating these holidays. On the other hand, I understand why Martin Luther and Thomas Cranmer encouraged them.

But in the end, I've come to the conclusion that whether you condemn Christmas or revel in it; there are deep and amazing mysteries that are ostensibly "the reason for the season." If you don't celebrate Christmas, I can accept that. But I will tell you with absolute certainty: if you allow yourself to forget that the Son of God came down here--if you let the wonder of it fade---then you're falling down as a Christian.

Lo, within a manger lies
He who built the starry skies;
He who throned in height sublime
Sits amid the cherubim

I enjoy traditional Christmas carols: partly for the wonderful music, partly because I grew up with them. But I really, really value the sense of wonder they have for the mystery of Incarnation: the Son of God became a Man. You and I can't fathom that: only God can understand what happened there.

Christ by highest heaven adored
Christ the everlasting Lord!
Late in time behold Him come
Offspring of a Virgin's womb
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see
Hail the incarnate Deity
Pleased as man with man to dwell
Jesus, our Emmanuel

Of course, the story doesn't stop with Christ coming here. As amazing as that is, a pagan might be able to appreciate that. The real wonder is, He came to die for sinners.

Sacred Infant, all divine, What a tender love was thine
Thus to come from highest bliss , Down to such a world as this

I came to the conclusion long ago that this is a principle difference between Christianity and the majority of religions: many if not all religions try and teach men how to become God; Christianity tells how One who is God became Man. Not with the intention of making us gods with Him, but to make us consciously objects of His love.

Good Christian men, rejoice
With heart and soul and voice
Now ye need not fear the grave:
Peace! Peace!
Jesus Christ was born to save

So if you see me driving by, obviously singing (terribly out-of-key and with not talent at all) at the top of my lungs; feel free to join in. If you don't celebrate Christmas, that's fine---but even then, you ought to be able to appreciate why I'm so obviously enjoying the song.

Then may we hope, the angelic thrones among
To sing, redeemed, a glad triumphal song
He that was born upon this joyful day
Around us all His glory shall display
Saved by His love, incessant we shall sing
Of angels and of angel-men the King

So blessed forever dear Jesus our King
Who brought us Salvation, his praises we'll sing

The quiet path

I've had several recurring themes since I started this blog. That's not really deliberate, but I suppose it's inevitable. It's the result of my being an average guy trying to walk it out down here until the Lord Jesus comes back; as opposed to an attempt at systematic theology (or systematic anything, for that matter).

One recurring theme is, there is no shortcut to spirituality. I've had to realize this time and again over the last couple years: time and again, I find myself trying to figure the angles, trying to find the fast-track to maturity and godliness. It doesn't exist.

I was reflecting on that recently: I was sitting on my bed, reading my Bible. My wife was writing email on the computer in the corner. I suddenly realized that of all the spiritual exercises---including many that seem so glamourous and boast-worthy---my silent and unremarkable Bible reading was probably the one worth doing.

And that got me to thinking that one hindrance I've had in my Christian life is the vague expectation that godliness and maturity would somehow be a very visible---perhaps even public---thing. I never really articulated it to myself that way, but I think it's been that way in the back of my mind for years.

I've started to see that godliness and maturity are more likely to look like the Italian grandmother kneeling quietly in a Catholic church than the brilliant speaker delivering a thought-provoking sermon. No, I'm not espousing Roman Catholicism, but I've more and more come to the conclusion that the stereotype of quiet piety is probably what spiritual maturity really looks like.

I suppose a fundamental part of that is the idea that one's spiritual life is a deeply personal thing, perhaps even a private thing. I'm not saying there is no corporate dimension to Christianity---there certainly is---nor am I trying to suggest that there is nothing public about faith. But unless there is the deeply personal relationship one cultivates with the Lord, everything else is smoke and mirrors: show without substance. This is perhaps one of the things the Lord Jesus was warning against when He spoke of praying in the closet, of annointing our heads when fasting.

Obviously there is an appropriate place for ministry, even public ministry. But it seems we rush into these things... and the end result is, we have people saying a lot, but not saying much.

Several years ago, my xingyi teacher told me the secret to flawless kung-fu. It's simple, it's not glamourous; but it takes time, patience, and perseverance. Why isn't my kung-fu flawless? mainly because I'd rather "work on" the more exciting, glamourous bits than take the slow, boring path my teacher outlined several years ago. See, I just have trouble believing---really believing---that the silent, boring, unglamourous "practice" is the key to success.

I've started to see I've made the same mistake in my Christian life: the slow, gradual path seems so boring, fruitless, and lifeless compared to all the cool stuff I could be doing. But just like in kung-fu, I need to realize that I am the least qualified to judge: as Ahab told Benhadad, "let not him who puts on his armor boast as him who takes it off." To know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings---that's the goal. And the more I examine, the more I see that the path to that goal is a path of surprising quietness, privacy, and anonymity.

So as I've been contemplating, praying, reading, and examining, I've finally gotten a glimpse of the path I want to take: it's not an exciting path, not glamourous, and probably pretty lonely. But I am becoming certain it's the one I need to be walking.

Glimmer

For many years, I heard the "brethren" say, "God is done with man in the flesh." I think I'm starting to see just a little bit of what they meant.

It seems when we try to approach God as "man in the flesh," we fall into one of two opposite errors. Either we are so aware of our own unworthiness to come into God's presence that we come in hesitatingly, groveling and bemoaning our worthlessness (like many or most traditional Protestant churches); or we come in self-confident and swaggering, sure that we're good enough to be there (like more modern "seeker-friendly" groups). Those who fall in the first group seem to be constantly looking for improvement in themselves, those in the second are characterized by an irreverent familiarity with God.

It's so very hard to learn the lesson that God has no intention of improving the flesh. God's purpose in Christ is to bring sinners to Himself: but it's not to leave them sinners. We are stuck in sinful bodies, it is true; but we are new creations trapped in an old creation's body. Eventually the body will be changed into incorruptibility, but that's still future. But until we get there, we carry around this thing called "the flesh."

The change from being an old creation to being a new one is significant, because it means we're starting something very new. God isn't looking to improve sinners, He's starting in a new place. It's true we all sin, it's true we all fall short of the glory of God, it's true we all carry the flesh around with us. But it's just as true that God's not looking on His children as sinners and setting out to make them better. And so we ought not to consider ourselves in that light either.

We who approach God are "purged worshippers," who, "once cleansed, have no more conscience of sins." We are to go confidently (not self-confidently!) into God's presence, because we are confident in our Great High Priest, who invites us in. We don't hang around the door nervously, waiting for God to make us worthy before we approach. I get the impression that a lot of pious Christians are hesitant to go in: maybe next Sunday they'll be worthy, but this Sunday they'd better hang back a bit. This behaviour is nothing else than trying to get to God on my own, rather than on the basis of His Son's blood: it's exactly the same thing as trying to swagger into God's presence, sure He couldn't possibly turn me back. While I'm sure the one who hesitates has a more Scriptural concept of God's holiness and man's worthlessness than the lout who presumes on his own worth; neither one of them is trying to approach God in the only way we have: the blood of Christ.

God is gracious, and will tolerate a lot from His children. I don't want to in any way cast aspersion on God's goodness. On the other hand, we need to take God at His word.

Confidence

This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, a hope both sure and steadfast and one which enters within the veil, where Jesus has entered as a forerunner for us, having become a high priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek.
--Hebrews 6:19--20 (NASB)

Therefore, brethren, since we have confidence to enter the holy place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way which He inaugurated for us through the veil, that is, His flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.
--Hebrews 10:19--22 (NASB)

I can't see that the apprehension of having the Son of God as our High Priest would be anything other than confidence. I admit that we often come cringing into God's presence, but that's not the affect the truth ought to have on us. If we really grasp the idea that the Son of God has come here to seek and save the lost, has died for us, and has gone back to Heaven to represent us there; then the logical outcome would be for us to approach God confidently.

Not that we approach Him flippantly---confidence and flippancy are not the same thing at all. But if we believe the Word of God, we must conclude that God wants us there.

Protestants seem to err in one direction or the other. More formal churches are so intent to emphasize our worthlessness, that they deprive the believer of confidence in God. Far from being the One who sent His own Son to die for us, God becomes an aloof and cold judge. The operational word in "Woe is me!" is pretty much "me." In the other direction, you have modern "evangelicals" who seem to think God is some sort of supernatural buddy in the sky.

The main idea we need to get is, we are not confident in what we are to God. That is, we do not approach in the confidence that we are precious to God. We are, but that's not the confidence we need to approach Him. We approach God, confident that the Son of God has made a way for us to go in: His flesh has been torn, His blood poured out; and we approach confident that God is pleased with what Christ has done for us.

We're not confident in our ability to get there, or even in our right to be there. We're confident that the Son who invites us is over the house of God. He has taken care of everything, and is welcoming us in.

It's not remarkable that the Son of God would go back to Heaven. He has every right to be there. What's remarkable is that He went back there to represent us. He went back for us, which ought to give us pause.

It's tempting to try and approach God as an equal: or at least to try and approach Him based on what we are. When we have a good day, we are much more confident to approach God than after we've just fallen into sin for the umpteenth time. But that's because we're looking in the wrong place. We're looking at ourselves, and measuring ourselves against what we see God to be.

God's not looking at us, He's looking at the One who died for us, The One inviting us to come in.

Priesthood

For there is one God, and one mediator also between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave Himself as a ransom for all, the testimony given at the proper time.
-- 1 Timothy 2: 5--6 (NSAB)

I've been contemplating the concept of priesthood recently. Part of that is because I've no longer been gathering with "brethren," but have been attending services in a liturgical church. I don't bring that up to rub salt into any wounds or anything, but to be open about it. I wanted to share some scattered thoughts about priesthood.

Like all protestants, I believe (or claim to believe) the "priesthood of all believers." That is, all Christians function as priests. This is honestly interpreted differently by different people: Baptists take "priesthood of all believers" to mean every Christian is responsible for the Scriptures: you need to read and understand the Bible for yourself. "Brethren" take that to mean there ought to be no clergy in the assembly: every Christian is (at least officially) on the same level, anyone in the assembly can preach or pray. Lutherans take it to mean anyone can pray, and you can confess sins directly to God. I suppose all those interpretations are correct, although whether they sum up the concept is debatable. I think there is more involved than that.

As far as I've been able to find, believers are only called priests in 1 Peter (chapter 2) and the Revelation (chapters 1, 5, and 20). Darby groups Hebrews 13:15 as another "priesthood" verse, but the word "priest" is not explicitly used in that passage (Collected Writings of J. N. Darby, Vol. 10, pp.209--212, "Who is a Priest and What is a Priest?"). I am convinced from 1 Peter that all believers are priests: there is no exception clause in 1 Peter that I can find. Hebrews, while not explicitly naming all believers as priests, certainly makes the point rather clearly that we are to function that way: we're called to worship in the Holiest, which is strictly a priestly function.

The first priest mentioned in Scripture is Melchisidec. He appears for just a few verses of Genesis 14, then disappears until Psalm 110. After that, the Scripture is once more silent about him until Hebrews, which he becomes central to the explanation of Christ's present ministry as our High Priest in Heaven. But the narrative of Melchisidec is instructive:

18 And Melchizedek king of Salem brought out bread and wine; now he was a priest of God Most High.

19He blessed him and said,
"Blessed be Abram of God Most High,
Possessor of heaven and earth;
20And blessed be God Most High,
Who has delivered your enemies into your hand."
He gave him a tenth of all.

-- Genesis 14:18--20 (NSAB)

So Melchisidec, the proto-priest, does four things.

1. he provides Abram with physical food (bread and wine),
2. he blesses Abram,
3. he blesses God Most High, and
   
4. he receives a tithe from Abram.
   

It is significant, as Darby points out (see "The Melchisedec Priesthood of Christ", Collected Writings of J. N. Darby, Vol. 2), that Melchisidec never makes an offering for sin. That is, where we tend to see priesthood as primarily one who offers sacrifice for sin, the original priest did not. He was a priest who stood between God and man and blessed them both. Aaron's priesthood consisted largely of sacrificing for sin: Melchisidec's apparently did not.

Christ, according to Hebrews, has acted in fulfilment of Aaron's priesthood, but His priesthood is "after the order of Melchisidec" (see Psalm 110, Hebrews 5:6). That is, His priesthood is of a greater, higher, and more permanent nature than Aaron's. Christ's offering for sin has happened once according to Scripture, "And He is the radiance of His glory and the exact representation of His nature, and upholds all things by the word of His power When He had made purification of sins, He sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high," (Hebrews 1:3, NASB), "but He, having offered one sacrifice for sins for all time, SAT DOWN AT THE RIGHT HAND OF GOD" (Hebrews 10:12, NASB). There can never be another offering for sin. The very best that can possibly be offered has already been offered: there is nothing else to do, no other offering to make. But Christ's having offered Himself for us does not imply His priestly ministry is over: on the contrary, Hebrews makes a great deal of His acting as our High Priest to bring us to God.

Now, our having a Great High Priest means that we have constant, irrevocable access to God. We are certainly all priests, but that priesthood is practiced under the auspices of the Son of God, who is sitting at God's right hand. He welcomes us to come into Heaven, worshipping God there. We can come in as worshippers because He is there: His sacrifice has dealt with our sins permanently "By this will we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all" (Hebrews 10:10, NASB). His body was offered for us, His blood is our "new and living way" to come into God's presence. He represents us in Heaven, but the urging of Hebrews is not to be satisfied with that (as it were), but to actually go in there and worship ourselves.

Since we are priests of God, and since our Great High Priest is sitting at God's right hand, we have no need of another priest to stand between us and God. No one else can do a better job than the Son of God who became Man, we don't need anyone else's help to come into God's presence.

If I am brought to God, I do not want a priest: to go to Him for me. If the veil is rent, and I am told by God to enter into the holiest through that new and living way, I do not want another to go there because I cannot — another who could not go either if I cannot.
--J. N. Darby (Collected Writings of J. N. Darby, Vol. 10, pp.209--212, "Who is a Priest and What is a Priest?")

That is, there is no need of a priest to stand between me and God. Or more accurately, there is already a perfect Priest who stands between me and God, and I don't need anyone else.


But having said all that, there is a sense where we act as priests for someone else. That is, we intercede for others. When we ask another Christian to pray for us, we are asking that person to be our priest. Priesthood is not (or ought not to be) limited to what happens in the gathering. It includes what we do throughout the week: in our daily lives, we are to stand before God for one another.

When someone in a "brethren" assembly stands and prays, he is acting as a priest for everyone sitting there. But if that is the sum of his priesthood, he is falling far short. He ought also to be bringing others to the Lord throughout the week, interceding on their behalf. Similarly, when a Baptist prays for her pastor, she is effectively acting as his priest, representing his interests to God. When the Anglican priest asks the congregation to pray for the bishop, he is asking them to be the priests for the bishop: representing the bishop's interests to God.

Again, this priesthood is practiced under the auspices of the Great High Priest in Heaven, but it is priesthood nonetheless.


There is another function of the priest under Levitical law: the priest is to eat the sacrifice on the altar.

Then the LORD spoke to Aaron, "Now behold, I Myself have given you charge of My offerings, even all the holy gifts of the sons of Israel I have given them to you as a portion and to your sons as a perpetual allotment.

"This shall be yours from the most holy gifts reserved from the fire; every offering of theirs, even every grain offering and every sin offering and every guilt offering, which they shall render to Me, shall be most holy for you and for your sons.

"As the most holy gifts you shall eat it; every male shall eat it. It shall be holy to you.

"This also is yours, the offering of their gift, even all the wave offerings of the sons of Israel; I have given them to you and to your sons and daughters with you as a perpetual allotment. Everyone of your household who is clean may eat it.
-- Numbers 18:8--11 (NASB)

It is certainly true that we participate in the sacrifice of Christ by eating the Lord's Supper (1 Corinthians 10:15--18). But there is a sense where eat the sin offering for one another too. That is, when there is sin that has crept into the assembly (not formally, but in the sense that another believer has fallen into sin); part of our acting as priest for that believer is to eat the sin offering. We stand in place of that believer and intercede for him or her with God, but we also eat of the sin offering. That means, we are affected by their sin: we can be dirtied by it, but we can also come into a sense of fellowship with their forgiveness.

We can't offer sacrifices for sins: there is no more sacrifice since Christ has offered "once for all time." But there is still eating from the altar: this is partly to feed us (John 6), but it's also an expression of fellowship, of communion. And that's not only fellowship in a "good" sense, but in a "bad" sense too. There is the common responsibility and care for one another: the responsibility we have to one another as fellow-members of the household of faith.


As I've been contemplating the role of believers as priests, I've been struck that all the priesthood I need comes from the Great High Priest in Heaven: the Son of God is there to represent me and my interests to God. But there is any number of other priests, functioning as His under-priests, who are my priests too. Every Christian who prays for me, who takes my name to God, is acting as my priest. My wife and children pray for me, my family and friends, even people I've never met act as my priests when they get on their knees and pray to God for me after reading my blog. They can't act independently of the High Priest: Eleazar and Ithamar were priests under Aaron. All my priests are priests under Christ. But priests they are, and they take my interests to God.