| current | >< | archive » | >< | Site Feed | HSC Home Page |
|
Wednesday, September 29, 2004 posted by R.C. 5:54 AM link |
He is There, and He Is Not Passive Who woulda thunk it? Open theism is a conglomeration of doctrines built around the premise that God sits in high heaven and hopes for the best. He knows not the future, for it hasn’t been decided. The theological bungee jumpers that spew this fertilizer delight that they worship a God who takes chances. On the other end of the spectrum are the Calvinists, predestinarians who hold to a conglomeration of doctrines built around the premise that God is not hopeful, but almighty, that He not only knows the future, but wrote it, down to the smallest detail. And yet, in space and time, these two groups kiss. The god of the open theists cannot act in space and time because he is the god of the Arminians on estrogen. Like some obsequious lickspittle, he hides in the corner, lest he get in our way. It makes sense that those who hold this view see God as passive. But we who are Calvinists find a whole other foolish way to believe the same. We like to live in the ethereal realm of God’s sovereign, efficacious decrees. Here God lays out His plan, before all time. It is a complete script, down to “My servant, R.C. Jr. uses his left middle finger to punch in the quote mark at the end of this sentence.” Now when we get into our debates, which we are rather adept at, we are quick to remember that God works in and through means. This is why prayer, evangelism, any human action, still matters in our scheme. But when the argument is over, we end up, at least in our hearts, actually thinking that prayer, evangelism, and human action don’t matter. Because the secondary causes were determined by the primary cause, we seem to think they aren’t real causes. We are, despite our objections to the contrary, and, admittedly because such was decreed from before all time, practical fatalists. The cure, I believe, is neither to deny the eternal sovereignty of God, nor to focus on the reality of human action. Rather I believe our thinking will only change when we remember that God is also a secondary cause. That is, He not only, from all eternity, did unalterably ordain all that I would do and think, but that He would come and sanctify me, in space and time. The only cure for the tussle between His transcendence and our immanence, is His immanence. This morning I got a phone call. It was one of those rare callers who, because of their sheltered existence think I’m a rock star, and so get all excited that I often answer my phone. But she endeared herself to me when she explained that her husband had e-mailed me about a year ago, wondering if they ought to homeschool their teenage children. I told him, as I presume most of you would expect, that indeed they should. She reported this morning that they have done just that, and are reaping all manner of blessing. Sure enough God ordained that these children should be homeschooled. Sure enough the daddy asked, and I did answer. But what drove the change in space and time was the God of space and time. He sanctified me enough to teach me these things. He sanctified them enough to hear these things. And now He is, and they are, about the business of sanctifying those covenant children. Does prayer change things? No, God does. He is not merely the God who plans, but the God who works. And it is our work, as He planned, to praise Him for it. [comments] |
|
Thursday, September 23, 2004 posted by R.C. 6:56 AM link |
Spies Like Us There I was reading to my children an all too familiar story. One man from each of the twelve tribes has been sent out to spy the land. They come back to Moses carrying grape clusters like a dead deer, and report that, surprise, just like God said, it is a land flowing with milk and honey. Then there is a division in the house. Two of the spies are ready to go and take the land, while the other ten next report on the kind of men that live in that land of milk and honey. They are all the size of Big 10 linebackers, and so they don’t want to go. The people then begin to grumble, and plot their return to Egypt. When Joshua and Caleb speak again about the promise of God, the children of Israel pick up stones to kill them. This story is so familiar to me because I use it all the time to illustrate a hermeneutical principle I hope one day will be taught in all the seminaries. It goes like this, “Whenever you see people in the Bible doing really foolish things, ask yourself, ‘How is this me?’” To illustrate the principle I suggest that when most of us read this story, we all puff out our chests with pride, and gleefully assume that had we been among the twelve, we would surely have been Joshua or Caleb. In order for me to draw the lesson I drew last night during family worship, (that is, in the quiet of my own mind—I didn’t tell all this to my children) I’m going to have to violate this interpretive principle. The truth is, in this application I and many of my friends come out like Joshua and Caleb, while others of my friends come out like the ten. It came on me when the children of Israel cried that they would be better off going back to Egypt. There they were facing a false dilemma—die at the hands of the Canaanites, or be slaves back in Egypt. And they wanted to choose the lesser of two evils. Slavery seemed, in comparison, both the compassionate, and the conservative choice. God, of course, provided not a third option, but the only option. His call was to trust in Him, to obey Him, and to wade into those giants in the land like a farmer cutting hay. Of course, when their children actually did just that forty years later, some of them, even in the greatest victories, died. But God gave the victory. In one sense I don’t care how you apply this. One could argue that it is the current President who resembles the Canaanites, in that if we go that route, we are more likely to die. It is a messy business making the world safe for democracy, and he wants our sons and daughters to do it. At least the tyrant Samuel warned about only drafted daughters for the royal bakery. And by comparison, life under Kerry would simply mean, as some suggest, more taxes, making bricks without straw. Or you could go the other way, arguing that Kerry is the greater of the two evils, and that life with Bush would be more like living, as slaves, back in Egypt. It doesn’t really matter. Whether it is the gods our fathers worshipped back in Egypt, or the gods of the Amorites in the land set before us, neither kisses the Son. Both bow before Molech. As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. [comments] |
|
Tuesday, September 14, 2004 posted by R.C. 6:44 PM link |
Catholic for Dummies It’s all about drawing circles. When we consider issues of loyalty, unity, and identity, we not only tend to draw concentric circles, but we draw them with decreasing boldness, the farther out we go. That is, not only do I have a more profound sense of loyalty to the church in which I serve, I likewise have a greater sense of certainty about the souls within this circle than without. The next circle might contain my presbytery, or my denomination. Beyond that we might have a circle that describes our tradition. I’m going to find it easier, for instance, to love a Reformed brother than an Arminian brother. Of course some of my Reformed brothers will argue that very point, including, it would seem, the good brothers who convened the synod of Dordt. Still, my own view of the scope of God’s grace includes most Arminians, and most folks who think it includes no Arminians. It doesn’t include, however, Arminians on steroids, adherents of open theology. That far out, and the line gets messy. It is a habit of those of us who are Reformed to camp around the perimeters. That is, we delight to dicker over the edges of theology. We want to debate catholicity as it relates to Rome or Constantinople. We either want to prove our Reformed credentials by drawing only the closest circles, (that’s me, for those of you keeping score) or prove our grace credentials by drawing the widest circles (that’s my “Reformed Catholic” friends, for those of you keeping score.) Catholicism, however, ought not to be measured by pi. That is, if we would be catholic, let us begin not by making sure we have all our circles drawn just right, but by practicing our love where the lines are most clear. Let’s not, for instance, suggest that those whose center is the same as ours, but whose circles aren’t as wide as ours, are therefore guilty of worshipping another god, as one gentleman suggested of me. Instead, let us demonstrate our catholicity by loving the brethren. To put it another way, you don’t become catholic by believing in the doctrine of catholicity alone, but by loving one another. Here are three simple things we could all get right, before we dicker over whose circles we ought to be moving in. First, let’s learn to recognize the discipline of those churches that are closest to us. You cannot claim to be catholic if you welcome Romanists as your brothers and sisters in Christ, and you welcome folks who were excommunicated from the Reformed church down the street as brothers and sisters in Christ. At least try to tip your hat here. Second, rejoice together. Here in our community, every time there is a fifth Sunday in a given month, five different Reformed churches, representing three different denominations, get together to worship and a meal. It is a time of reunion with our brothers and sisters, and a reminder that for all our secondary differences, we have a great deal in common. When we sit down to eat together after the service (and no far sitting only with folks from your own church), then we manifest something of the unity of the bride. Third, pray together. I’m just off the phone with a brother in my denomination. He serves in a church four states away. But he has a parishioner giving birth in a hospital four towns away. I will be paying a pastoral call there. It is my delight to do so. Is that it? Yup, for now. This is, after all, Catholic for Dummies. [comments] |
|
Friday, September 10, 2004 posted by R.C. 6:06 AM link |
Can You Believe It? The devil delights in the false dilemma, to have us coming and going. We, because of his successful labors, are fools who believe that he reacts to the Bible the way vampires react to garlic. If we knew our Bible’s better we might realize that Old Scratch isn’t averse to using the Bible when it suits him. “He will give His angels charge over you…” after all. When the liberals ditched the Bible we, that is, those of us who aren’t liberal, did three things. Some of us, the fundamentalist camp, set about the work of memorizing the Bible. These good folks created the Sword drill. They created AWANA clubs. They gave us Bible memory systems, programs, and para-church ministries. We on the Reformed side tend to find such things rather beneath us. Our program was instead to make sure that we understand the Bible, which being translated means we do theology. That’s why our children tend to know more questions from the Shorter Catechism than verses from the Bible (and why the only verses they tend to learn are the proof texts for the catechism). These two groups together did the third thing—argued for the doctrine of the inerrancy of the Bible. Here we had conferences, monographs, and sundry parachurch creeds to help us win “the battle for the Bible.” To borrow a principle from the Bible, these things we ought to have done. It is a good thing to fight the good fight for inerrancy. It is a great thing to see and understand the Bible as a whole, to do the work, and believe the conclusions of sound systematic theology. And you certainly won’t see me making an argument against memorizing the Bible. It is a great thing to hide the Word of God in your heart. But the devil is perfectly happy when the people of God defend the Word of God, when they understand the Word of God, and when they memorize the Word of God. What drives him batty, however, is when we believe the Word of God. That, finally, is what we are called to do. Of course it is difficult to believe what could contain error. It is likewise difficult to believe what you don’t understand. And it is most difficult to believe what you know not of. But all the defending, understanding and memorizing in the world won’t help you without the believing. The devil himself knows the Bible is without error. He understands it far better than any of us. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he has memorized the whole thing. Look how much good it’s done him. The bad news is that believing is the hardest option. Our problem isn’t insufficient knowledge, but insufficient righteousness. You can’t get that through programs, classes, or para-church ministries. According to the Bible, there’s only one place to get that—from Jesus. Let us then together pray first not the prayer of Jabez, but this prayer—Lord I believe; help thou my unbelief. This is the good news—that He will do so. [comments] |
|
Wednesday, September 01, 2004 posted by R.C. 8:40 PM link |
In Praise of Piety It was enough gospel joy simply to see the bride. She is the kind of woman that reminds you of what if possible with the grace of God—lovely, joyful, peaceful, patient, etc. That patience was rewarded as God had given her a godly man. And God graced me by allowing me to not only know both bride and groom, but to officiate. But there was still more grace. In attendance that day were so many friends, those who with me had prayed for the young lady, who had prayed for the young man, who had eventually prayed that they two would become one. There were also old friends, friends who had in some sense drifted out of our lives, but who in another would never be separated from us. During the reception I visited with one such family. They had been a part of our local body, though they had been less than local. After several years with us they found a local-to-them body that shared theirs and our convictions. And so it had been nearly five years. As we enjoyed our reunion I came face to face with my own sin, that for all my agrarian pretensions, I am still a rank modernist. Their son, a young man I had always admired and respected, an example to my son, and hope to my daughters, was no longer a 12-year-old boy, but is now a 17-year-old man. He not only is taller than he was, but is taller than his dad, by a lot. His dad is a little tall, about 5’9’’. His mom is average for a woman, about 5’4’’. The boy is probably 6’4”. As we conversed over this great change I got a window into this home that shamed me. “Well,” the momma said, “ever since he was a little boy Luke has prayed nightly for two things. He has prayed that he would become big and strong, and has prayed for his future wife.” There I am, politely doing genetics in my head, wondering if Luke, perhaps has distant cousins from Gath, and this saint, his mother, reminds me of what brings things to pass. There I am, afraid the conversation might turn into a Shak-lee meeting, wherein this woman will regale me with how this particular package of vitamins will break the Sproul vertical curse (and perhaps the horizontal one as well), and instead she shows me the power of God. I’ve learned my lesson. I will now seek not only to pray with the faith of Luke, but will seek to join my prayers to his, as I pray in faith for the men my daughters will marry. [comments] |